“Jenny, am I…”
Her pensive expression quelled his words. He would not increase her worry with questions about the obvious. His memory was sure to return soon, and he would know more about his healing abilities. He did not need to ask if he was a healer, for he felt the power within him. Yet he could not restore his own memory. ’Twas puzzling.
He reached down to the edge of his tunic to pull it off, but it was too tight. His movements made his head ache, but he felt overwarm and nauseated. He wanted to feel the air on his skin.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“The sherte is too restrictive,” he replied. “Help me pull it off, lass.”
She leaned over him and started unfastening a row of buttons that lined the center of the sherte, and Matthew realized his clothing was altogether unfamiliar. He could not quite understand. It was a question he could not refrain from asking. “Do I always dress this way?”
Jenny paused. “What do you mean?”
“This white tunic. Buttons,” he said, his head pounding relentlessly. “Ach. I don’t know what I mean.”
He caught her gaze and noted her hair cascading in loose curls about her heart-shaped face. Her brow furrowed with questions, and her bright eyes seemed troubled.
Matthew cupped her chin, marveling at her uncommon beauty. He wanted her still, in spite of the knives spearing through his head. Again, he tried to remember the words to heal his own injury, but was only able to repeat the most basic of incantations. It was going to take weeks to heal his head if he continued in this fashion, but he seemed to be at a loss to do anything more.
She helped him out of his tunic, leaving him wearing another soft layer of cloth, a second sherte without sleeves, revealing a wide metal band that encircled his forearm, just above his wrist. The bracer seemed familiar, but Matthew could not remember who had given it to him, or why he wore it.
He pulled off the thin sherte and touched the bracer. “Where did I get this?”
Jenny did not respond. ’Twas as if her ears stopped working the moment he bared his chest. He felt his nipples pucker at her perusal, and when she bit her lower lip and turned her attention to the metal band ’round his wrist, he was charmed. And aroused.
“Jenny?”
“’Tis a family heirloom,” was her hurried reply. “From your father.”
He felt the tug of some dark emotion deep within him and he knew he could not avoid asking even more questions. “Where is my father now?”
“I, er…don’t know, Matthew. Sc-Scotland, I suppose. You and I are on our own.”
He knitted his brows together. “Have we quarreled, my father and I?”
“No,” she replied quietly. “Not at all.”
He closed his eyes, too weary even to try to remember his family. It was enough that Jenny was with him now, and he wanted her naked and lying beside him where she belonged. Releasing the fastening of his trews, he pushed them off and turned to her, but she was as shy as a new bride, blushing and quickly turning from his nakedness.
Yet he knew she was not unaffected. “Undress and lie with me, Jenny.”
Abruptly, she left the bed and took on a pensive demeanor. “Matthew…”
“Come, bonny Jenny. I might be ill, but you are the medicine I need.”
She whispered something under her breath, then blew out the candles, one by one. In the dark, he could hear the rustle of clothes as she removed her gown and slid in beside him.
Chapter 3
A weak and watery stream of daylight filtered through the multicolored-blanket curtains. The fire in the stove had burned low, but the cold did not penetrate the warm bed Jenny shared with her “husband.”
She awoke to the exquisite sensation of Matthew’s mouth on her nipple through her chemise and his hand between her legs. She heard herself moan with pleasure as she moved with him, arching her back to give him better access to her breast. Her body flared with arousal, moving against his hand as he shifted their positions.
He touched her intimately, creating a firestorm of sensation unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She knew she should make him stop, knew that his kisses and caresses were the result of a mistaken intimacy between them. But when her muscles tightened all at once and burst with the most intense feelings she’d ever known, she could barely think, let alone speak. Her womb tensed and stretched, and her entire body shuddered with pleasure.
Matthew took her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss as he moved over her, sliding his body between her legs. He was naked against her; the imposing male shaft she’d glimpsed earlier was hard and poised to enter her.
Yet she could not allow it! He was little more than a stranger who believed she was his wife. For all she knew, she was breaking the law by posing as such, and he would surely be angry with her once his memory returned and he realized she was not truly his wife.
“Sweet Jenny—” A loud banging at the door interrupted them, and Matthew pulled away abruptly. “What the devil—”
“It must be Guibran Bardo or one of the others.” Jenny did not know whether to feel reprieved or deprived.
Matthew rolled away and lowered one thickly muscled arm over his eyes. He lay naked and exposed, the lines of his powerful muscles clearly defined, as was the thick shaft of his aroused manhood.
Jenny’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him, and her face heated as much from embarrassment as from sensual curiosity. She felt an insane yearning to touch him, to caress that male part of him as she kissed him, and return the same kind of pleasure he’d given her.
“Hey you! Missus!” called the man outside. Jenny shot to her feet and quickly threw the blanket to cover Matthew’s naked form. Hastily wrapping herself in her cloak, she opened the door.
Bardo tossed her an annoyed look, then handed her a plate filled with a concoction of cooked potatoes, onions, and some kind of spiced meat. “You eat. Then teach.”
“I’ll need to wash and dress, too.” She hardly recognized her own voice.
The Gypsy tipped his head in the direction of the mattress. “Your man. He is better?”
Jenny bit her lip. “Yes, somewhat.”
“Good. You come. Soon.”
Jenny closed the door and turned to Matthew, still shaky, unsure what to say. Her body hummed with the heat of his touch, and she wanted more. “Do you…remember anything?”
“No.” His jaw clenched beneath the arm that covered his eyes, and Jenny was struck once again with the power that had lain hidden beneath his clothes. Her heart squeezed tightly in her chest at the thought of continuing their sensual encounter.
Yet she knew such a pursuit was not only wrong, it was foolish. Their liaison had no future, and Jenny had learned not to yearn for things she could not have. She had to leave the Gypsy camp and get away from Matthew before her body had a chance to betray her again. The weather had cleared sufficiently, and she needed to get back onto Harriet’s trail before the woman got too far ahead.
Matthew was a big, strong man. He could deal with the Gypsies without her. She did not owe him…
Yes, she did. He’d risked his life for her. And what if his memory never returned? Would he always believe he had a wife who’d abandoned him?
It was all too much to think of. Matthew was ill enough that he still needed her, so she had no choice but to play the part she’d fallen into, and follow Bardo’s command. At least they were inching their way toward Carlisle, and she would manage somehow to keep her distance from Matthew until he regained his memory.
“How do you feel?” she asked him.
He lowered his arm and looked directly at her, his blue eyes dark with intimacy. “Well enough to pleasure you in our bed. Come here, Jenny.”
His words went directly to the muscles of her legs, making them feel shaky and weak, causing her nipples to tingle under the heavy cloak. As appealing as it would be to return to the bed they’d shared, Jenny knew better than to start believing in her own fiction.
“Mr. Bardo is waiting for me,” she said.
“I doona want you to meet him alone,” said Matthew.
“Nothing will happen.” She had to get dressed, but Jenny doubted that Matthew would turn his back. Not after…not when he believed she was his.
She should never have shared his bed, never have allowed him to touch her as he’d done. If she told him now that they were not husband and wife…he would rightly conclude that she was a shameless wanton, a hussy with no sense of propriety.
It was such a muddle!
Turning away, she let her cloak drop to the floor and stood before him in her thin chemise. Her black gown was torn at the shoulder, but she pulled it over the long chemise anyway, hurrying as she heard Matthew start to climb out of the bed. She would not be able to resist him if he were to caress her bare skin again. He came up behind her and cupped her clothed shoulders with his big hands while she hurried to fasten the buttons of her bodice.
“We owe our survival to Bardo and the others,” she said. “And I agreed to teach him.”
“I’m coming with you.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck and turned her to face him.
Jenny blushed hotly at the sight of his formidable nude form, her fingers burning to touch him, to caress him and allow him to finish what he’d begun. She curbed her fascination with the mat of dark hair that covered his nipples and belly, and trailed down to the hard, erect length of him. She took a deep, shuddering breath, aware that she needed to put some distance between them. “You’re still unsteady on your feet. Are you dizzy?”
He nodded and winced at the movement, reaching up to touch the bandage on his head. “Aye.”
“And your head still hurts.”
He did not reply, and Jenny could see that his infirmity chafed at him. He was clearly unaccustomed to weakness of any kind.
A week ago, Jenny would have denied having a brazen bone in her body. Yet with every drop of her blood, she wanted to stay here with him. To take care of him and nurse him while he lay unclothed in the narrow bed they’d shared.
She was an idiot.
There wasn’t a man in England to be trusted with her heart. Her uncle had dumped her at Bresland like no more than a charred and useless bit of coal. Reverend Usher had made it clear that she deserved nothing but disdain, and Mr. Ellis had betrayed her when she’d needed him most.
She knew better than to rely on the loyalty, the respect, and the affections of any man. As an educated woman, she could make her own way in the world without suffering the brutish wiles of the male sex.
She pulled on her cloak, as much a barrier to his touch as to the cold outside. “Go back to bed, then. I’ll be all right.”
“Jenny—”
“Honestly, Matthew.” She cleared her throat, refusing to play into the fiction she’d concocted any more than was absolutely necessary. Perhaps when she returned she would confess her lie. “Bardo won’t hurt me, not when he wants something from me.”
“Aye. You’re probably right.” He retreated unsteadily to the bed and lay down.
Jenny pulled the blanket over him again, tucking him in snugly. Then she brushed a lock of his hair back from his forehead, past the band of cloth that encircled it. “Sleep awhile longer. I’ll be back soon and bring you something more suitable to eat.”
She added wood to the fire, then left him alone to go and face Guibran Bardo and his nephew on her own.
Jenny had not returned by the time Matthew awoke.
His head ached and the dizziness persisted, but at least the nausea had subsided. He eased himself out of the bed and looked at his surroundings. Somehow, he felt certain he was unaccustomed to such shabby circumstances, but his memory was still locked inside a dark hole that he just couldn’t penetrate. It was frustrating and maddening, all at once.
He unwrapped the cloth bandage from his head and looked at his reflection in a dingy glass that hung on one of the walls. The bullet had torn a line of skin across his temple, just above his ear, but he seemed to have plenty of hair to cover the graze.
He glanced at the door, missing Jenny.
The strength of the sentiment surprised him, and he had the distinct feeling that he’d never experienced it with any other woman. No doubt that was why he’d married her.
He noticed the bracer on his wrist and slipped it off, studying it carefully, as though it could restore his memory. The reddish metal cylinder seemed familiar, but he could not recall how he’d gotten it, or who had given it to him. The markings on its surface seemed to be a kind of writing, and on closer inspection, he realized he understood the meaning of the symbols.
Let wisdom and kindness prevail.
The words seemed apt and fitting, but their significance was lost on him.
Sliding the band back onto his wrist, he found his trews hanging neatly over a chair and pulled them on, puzzling again at how strange they felt, how rough and tight against his skin. His entire experience since awakening inside the Gypsy wagon was weird, he reminded himself, certain that such a loss of memory could not possibly be a common event.
His confusion was even more disconcerting than the persistent headache and dizziness. Matthew had a feeling he was not often at a loss, and he had a niggling sense of some urgent business at hand. He knew not what it was, and no matter how he strained to remember, he could not.
A pot of water sat warming on top of the stove, and Matthew washed with it. He left the bandage off and cleaned his bloody scalp and hair with some soap he found in a dish on the table, awkwardly rinsing and pouring the water into a second pan. As he dried his head, he noticed a leather satchel on the floor near the bed. Draping the towel over his shoulders, he sat down and hefted it onto his lap.
’Twas a man’s pack—undoubtedly his own. He reached inside and pulled out a clean sherte and another pair of trews, along with a handful of gold coins. Reaching in again, he found even more gold.
The sheer number of coins was astonishing.
Why would he be carrying so much money? Surely ’twas dangerous…which meant he must have a good reason for it. But try as he might, he could not think of any. He would have to ask Jenny. In the meantime, he needed to find a place to hide it. He did not trust Bardo or the other Gypsies in the least. Certainly not enough to leave Jenny alone with them any longer.
He wrapped the coins inside a square of cloth he found on the table, then shoved the whole package under the mattress, flattening it as much as possible. The hiding place was inadequate, but would have to do for now. He pulled on the clean sherte and slipped his greatcoat over it, then opened the door and went outside.
There were twelve or fifteen painted caravans parked in two rows, creating a wide aisle between them. Three large pit fires burned at intervals in the passageway, serving the cooking needs of the entire camp. An old Gypsy woman in ragged clothes crouched on her haunches beside one of the fires, smoking a pipe. A number of younger women worked beside their own “houses,” the wagons on wheels like the one Matthew had just left. The dwellings were made of metal and wood, with an odd kind of aesthetic that gave unity to the camp.
Women cooked over the open fires, nursed their infants, and mended clothes while many of the men sat on overturned buckets and barrels, sipping hot drinks from delicate teacups.
Some eyed Matthew suspiciously, and some with interest as he moved through the camp, looking for Jenny and her two students. He forced himself to ignore the pounding in his head as he passed barking dogs and children who wore mismatched shoes and flapping coats while they played at kicking a ball at the far end of camp. When the children saw him, they stopped their game and fell into step behind him, a motley bunch following him as he searched for Jenny.
Matthew found his wife sitting on the steps of the last caravan. Bardo and Kaulo flanked her, and Matthew was struck once again by her beauty. The hood of her cloak had dropped to her shoulders, and her hair curled like a soft, golden halo ’round her head. Her cheeks were pink in the cool air, and he
r mouth, so soft and kissable, was a deep rosy color, just like her nipples would be, once he finally saw them without her chemise. Soon.
He was smitten with his wife, just as it should be.
He wanted to take her and get away from this ragtag troupe. Surely he had enough gold to provide her a decent home and better clothes. He had noticed how her frayed black gown was torn at the collar and shoulder, and it troubled him. Was he so miserly with his money that he provided only the most basic of clothes for her? And ugly ones at that?
If only he felt stronger, he would take her away from this camp and go on to…He had difficulty remembering where she’d said they were going, though he recalled her saying ’twas some sixty miles away.
Then he remembered it. Carlisle. He had plenty of money to buy clothing for her, and once they got to town, he intended to see that she had pretty tunics that suited her better. He could easily picture her in colorful, loose-flowing silk tunics and trews, but the image disappeared too quickly as he came closer to the rough wooden stairs where she sat teaching the two Gypsy men.
“This reading not so simple,” said Bardo, and Matthew watched as the elder knifed his fingers through his hair in frustration.
The young one with the gold tooth moved closer to Jenny, and she shifted her shoulders to avoid contact with him. “This is the first step,” she said. “You must learn the characters and then we will proceed from there.” Matthew saw that her hands had gone red with cold and he wanted to take them between his own to warm them.
“No,” said Kaulo. “Small English child do this. You show us wrong.”
Matthew felt his ire rise, but before he could challenge the Gypsy, Jenny bristled with exasperation and spoke indignantly. “I most certainly am not teaching you incorrectly. Memorizing the letters is essential. You cannot proceed before you know them.”
He grinned at his wife’s indignation.
Temptation of the Warrior Page 4