by Linda Madl
"So, we're safe?” she asked, longing to forget about Leofric and the duel. The anxious tightness in her chest eased a little, but not enough to stop her shaking.
"No, not if we don't warm you up soon.” He let the wet cloak drop to the floor, turned her around and began to work on the laces of her gown. “Your teeth are chattering so loudly I have to raise my voice to make myself heard by you."
Her chill-muddled mind snapped awake the moment his warm fingers grazed the base of her neck. Immediately his hands dropped to his side, and she knew he'd heard her gasp. He moved away. “Girl? Help the lady. ‘Tis your job."
With a wary eye on Garrett, the whey-faced girl crept around to the far side of Leandra. She took up the task of unlacing the gown only when she saw Garrett seat himself on the bed.
"Where are Brenna and Wystan?” she managed to ask as she struggled with her clothes.
"I instructed Wystan to travel on to the Tamar and wait for us there.” He unbuckled his sword belt and leaned it against the tall bedpost.
"You intend to stay here in this bedchamber, sir?” Leandra asked, suddenly aware that she was stripping down to nothing with a man in the same room.
"Yes, I intend to stay,” he said matter-of-factly. “'Tis the only private chamber in the inn. No offense, my lady, but so far, for you, I have raised the white flag of surrender, spent more time on the sea than I ever intended, and dueled around a funeral bier. I do not intend to add to this adventure the discomfort of sleeping in the public room with a lot of mumbling peddlers, flea-bitten shepherds, snoring friars, and drunken sailors."
"I would not think of asking you to suffer such discomfort, Sir Knight.” She pressed her wet gown to her breasts. She did owe him her rescue.
Quietly she asked the girl to bring a blanket from the bed and to hold it up as a screen so that she could continue to undress. He seemed satisfied with that solution.
As she peeled the wet gown from her arms, she could hear him pulling off his boots and unlacing his wet leather jerkin. He was as soaked as she and surely as exhausted. Each time she spied the bed, her longing to forget everything else and climb in grew stronger. She could barely hold her head up.
"Put the blanket over my shoulders,” she told Isabelle once her wet gown was off. With her back turned to him, she used the light of the fire to work as quickly as she could to untie the laces on her shift. But the soaked fabric defied her numb and trembling fingers. She tugged at it with her soft, wet fingernails, succeeding only in pulling the tiny knot impossibly tight. The girl tried to help, but the tangle defied her, too.
Longing now more than ever for the comfort the bed promised, she muttered in frustration.
"What is it?” Garrett asked. She heard his weight shift impatiently on the bed. “You've got to get out of those clothes."
"We can't loosen this,” she admitted, speaking over her shoulder to him.
His feet hit the floor and he strode across the room with a dark, determined frown. In his hand, the blade of his meat knife flashed.
The horrified serving girl gave a cry and threw herself between Leandra and Garrett, her arms stretched wide to hold the blanket and keep him away from the lady.
"What the d—” Bewildered, he stared at the child for a moment before Leandra was able to catch his eye.
She sent him a small smile that begged patience. “No cause for alarm, Isabelle, he only means to cut the lace.” She held out her shaky hand to take the knife from him.
She could feel his eyes on her as she cut at the laces. He stared with such intensity and fascination she could have sworn he didn't know that women had feet—though he'd seen hers that day in the tree by the spring.
This time he wasn't looking at her ankles. His gaze caressed her hips, traveled up to her waist, then lingered on her breasts. She realized with embarrassment that her puckered nipples were plainly visible through the wet linen.
When the lace was cut, she returned the knife to him and peered into his face. The anxiety etched in the lines around his mouth startled her.
"Sweet Jesu, Leandra, you are turning blue all over.” He touched her bare arms. “You're so cold. Girl, where are those warm bricks? Bring them this instant!"
The frightened girl circled Garrett and dashed from the room.
Wasting no more time, he hooked his thumbs in the shoulder straps of the shift and peeled the wet garment from her body. His warm, strong hands brushed along her hips, her thighs, and the back of her knees. When he dropped to his knees so that she could step out of the garment, his breath tickled her belly. A great shiver shook her. With a trembling hand on his shoulder to steady herself, she stepped free of the soaked shift. In a swift movement he grabbed the blanket that had fallen to the floor and wrapped it about her.
Then he pulled her into his arms and began to vigorously rub her back, much as she'd seen him rub down a horse. The scratch of the wool against her skin brought warmth back into her body. She clutched the blanket around her and leaned into him, her arms pressed against his chest. She closed her eyes and let her head rest on his shoulder. She basked in the warmth and security of his embrace.
He stopped rubbing.
"Being close is nice.” She peered up into his face, glad to see that his anxiety was fading into a gentler expression of concern. “Do you think this is the love potion at work?"
"I don't care what this is.” His arms tightened around her pulling her closer. “I just need to know that you're safe and well."
Without warning he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the high-backed fireside settle, where he sat down and dropped her into his lap. Gratefully she sank against his hard body and let him tuck the blanket around her toes.
"I had no idea a love potion would work like this,” she said, too sleepy to understand the import of what she was saying. “Don't you feel it? This attraction to touch and be touched. ‘Tis the potion."
"I feel it.” His voice was hoarse and his lips temptingly close to her face. He removed her chaplet and laid it aside. Then he pulled at her braid, untwisting her wet hair, combing his fingers through the damp strands, spreading the tresses across her back so the heat from the fire could dry them.
She closed her eyes, taking pleasure in his touch, absorbing his tenderness. She sighed.
Gently catching the back of her head, he planted a kiss on her lips. The kiss surprised her, but she didn't resist. She obeyed her instincts to melt against him, lifting her chin to make her mouth more accessible. She let his lips press against hers as long as he wanted. This was too agreeable to stop. The firm, sensuous movement of his lips moving over hers pitched an odd drop in her belly and curled her cold toes.
Then, unexpectedly, his tongue darted over her lips. The intimacy shocked her out of her lethargy—and frightened her a little. He wanted more of her, and she was uncertain how to respond.
"Lovers share everything, lioness,” he whispered, his nose brushing against hers. “In a kiss, even their tongues."
"Truly?” she shivered again. Vaguely she recalled Brenna and Amice discussing the intimacy of kissing once, but she hadn't listened. It sounded too revolting—sharing one's tongue. As she gazed at his mouth, the idea took on a different appeal.
He must have recognized her interest because he leaned toward her again. “Like this."
She closed her eyes and waited. Her breath came in short little gasps, and all her senses tingled through her lips as if that was the only part of her that existed.
Lightly, with slow deliberation, he drew his strong, wet tongue along the length of her lower lip, leaving a path of pleasure in its wake. He kissed her cheek when he reached the corner of her mouth. “See? That's how it's done. At first."
She blinked at him and her gaze fell immediately on his finely formed lips again, still glistening from their kiss. She was suddenly hungrier for those lips than she was for any other kind of nourishment.
"You mean like this?” Freeing one hand from the blanket, she slipped it a
round his neck and lifted her lips to his again. He tensed. But she refused to let his reaction keep her from drawing her tongue along his lower lip with tantalizing slowness, just as he had done to her.
He remained frozen. When she was halfway along his lip, he groaned. His grip on her grew almost painful. His body became restless beneath hers. Just as she reached the corner of his mouth, he pulled away—only to return to her, slanting his mouth over hers.
He demanded admittance this time. Startled and thrilled, she parted her lips and opened to him. The intimate sensations of this contact were strange and new, but oh so wholly right and complete. She needed no further instruction in the art of kissing. She accepted his teasing exploration and returned to his lips with her own. Passion, new and untried, rekindled her body heat, warming her right down through frozen toes—curled in pleasure against the back of the settle.
* * * *
Garrett allowed her to pull away from the kiss first. To his relief, color was returning to her lips, and she no longer shivered in his arms. Her eyes fluttered closed. She settled deeper in his embrace and laid her head against his shoulder.
He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Her expertise in kissing had certainly improved since their first exchange during blindman's bluff in Lyonesse. Enough to painfully remind him of how much he wanted her. Though he'd scoffed at the idea of the love potion, he knew no amount of denial would change his body's and his heart's desire. He wanted the impossible. Leofric had made him face that fact. He wanted Leandra for himself.
Someone tapped on the door. “Here are the blankets and the warmed bricks you wanted, Sir Garr—” Tom stood at the door.
Over Leandra's head he put his finger to his lips.
"She's asleep already?” Tom said, stepping farther into the room. He closed the door behind him. He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “Mistress Innkeeper assumes that you are a knight with his lady."
When Garrett didn't answer immediately, Tom thumped a fist to his chest. “Sir Garrett, you're still my commander. I promised to follow you when you first came to Tremelyn to lead the guard. I'll follow you now. You can count on me and Ned, too. Your concerns are safe with us."
The pledge brought a small smile to Garrett's lips. He hesitated, warring with himself. He looked down into Leandra's face. Although her breathing was even and her shivering had subsided, her coloring still troubled him. A serious chill could kill a strong man and at the least lay him low for some time. He doubted that she'd be ready to travel again for several days. For the first time in his life, he contemplated the benefits of dishonesty.
If he admitted to the innkeeper that he was a Tremelyn knight, their credit would be good and the whole sleepy fishing village would stir to do their bidding. On the other hand, the earl's name and the unusual circumstances would send rumors flying, even from so isolated a hamlet. Something neither Reginald nor Leandra needed.
"Let Mistress Innkeeper think what she likes,” he said to Tom, without taking his gaze from Leandra's sleeping face. “Get some rest. Tomorrow I will have a message for you to take to Wystan. He should be waiting to hear from us."
"As you wish.” Tom slipped the bricks into the bed and departed hastily, closing the door behind him.
Garrett carried Leandra to the bed and tucked her in, careful not to disturb her sleep as he placed the heated, linen-covered bricks around her. That done, he stripped off his own wet clothes, wrapped himself in another blanket, and lay down beside her atop the covers.
He chuckled to himself, the image of a defeated Leofric still fresh in his mind. He grinned into the darkness, more pleased with himself than he'd been since his knighting.
Leofric had flaunted temptation in his face—offered him money, Chycliff, and the woman he wanted—and he'd defeated the man. He'd defeated temptation. He'd defeated Casseldorne.
Next to him, Leandra stirred in her sleep and sighed, her warm, sweet breath caressing his cheek.
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Chapter Fourteen
LEANDRA DROWSED IN the sunny warmth pouring through the opened window.
"Lady? Lady? Are you awake?” a little voice whispered, tickling her ear. “You must awake. Tomorrow ‘tis May Day."
She lifted one wary eyelid to spy Isabelle leaning over her. The girl brightened. “I have fresh bread for you."
When she stirred, her muscles ached and her joints protested. Vaguely she was aware that Garrett no longer lay beside her.
"How long have I slept?” Her voice was little more than a croak.
"Two days and two nights.” Isabelle set a tray of bread, milk, and honey on the edge of the bed. “Your knight sent me with food so you can break your fast. He's been most anxious. Here, eat. You need to build your strength."
Leandra obeyed, at first because Isabelle had shoved a bread crust into her hand. But after a sip of milk and another bite of the bread, she discovered she was starved. She ate like a beggar.
Isabelle busied herself tidying the chamber.
The chill, the harrowing sword fight, leering Leofric, and the kidnapping—all of it wavered, blurred, and shrank, the ghostly part of a long-ago past, a bad dream.
Dim memories of strangers’ faces peering at her drifted through her mind while she ate. A man. A physician perchance? An old woman. Mistress Innkeeper. But Garrett had always been there, too. She recalled his assurances that Brenna was safe with Wystan near the Tamar River.
Leandra munched on her meal with half an ear tuned to Isabelle, who danced about her duties chirping in delight, like a Cornish piskie. Outside, she could hear the songs of children trebling along the breeze. The bass rumble of cartwheels thundered across cobbles of the market square. The villagers were preparing for May Day.
"We'll have a maypole and all kinds of contests and green food,” Isabelle chattered. “You'll stay for the festivities, won't you, lady?"
"Perhaps.” She certainly didn't feel like traveling, and she had to admit, May Day was one of her favorite celebrations. Would Sir Garrett agree to stay a day longer for the spring festival?
The chamber door opened a crack.
"Who's there?” Isabelle went to greet the visitor and returned quickly. “My lady, my mum and a gentleman are here to see you."
"I'm not prepared to receive anyone,” Leandra said, suddenly aware that she was nude beneath the bed covers.
"Please, Lady Anne,” the girl begged.
Lady Anne? Leandra stopped tearing at the crusty bread long enough to recall that Garrett had warned her before he left that they were known only to the villagers as Sir John and Lady Anne.
"I'll help you dress.” Isabelle trotted to the chair by the fireplace to retrieve Leandra's surcoat, and helped her into it while she remained in bed. “My mum is pleased to learn you are recovered. She and the mayor have something important to speak to you about."
Leandra debated for a moment, arranging the surcoat so that she looked as presentable as possible. At last she said, “A brief word only, and you will remain with me, please."
"Of course.” Isabelle opened the door and ushered in the lady innkeeper and a gentleman wearing a fine rabbit-lined, brown surcoat and blue wool tunic that strained across his belly. When the gentleman bowed too low, his blue wool hat flopped over his brow and threatened to cover his eyes. Embarrassed, he hastily pushed it into place to cover his thinning gray hair.
The lady innkeeper dropped a curtsy.
"My lady,” they both began, then flashed each other a resentful glare. Apparently they had no agreement about who would speak first. Respectfully, the lady innkeeper waved a hand toward the gentleman.
"My lady.” The man self-importantly stuck his thumbs in his belt. “We wish to express our pleasure in your recovery. I'm Mayor Amdale, a merchant. You know Mistress Innkeeper."
"I'm pleased to meet you, sir.” Leandra repressed a smile with some effort. What an amusingly officious little man.
"Yes, we are most pleased that you a
re recovered from your illness.” Mistress Innkeeper clasped her hands beneath her apron in a proprietary manner.
"We know Sir John has been most anxious for your health, as we all have been,” Mayor Amdale continued.
The lady innkeeper smiled and blushed at the mention of Garrett, and agreed with a furious nodding of her head. Leandra frowned. He often seemed to have such an effect on ladies, young and old.
"I thank you for your well wishes.” She looked to Isabelle for a hint as to what this call was about, but the child merely gave her a wait-and-see shake of her head.
"Have you seen what is going on in the market square?” the lady asked. “We are preparing for May Day."
"Yes, how wonderful. I have not looked out the window this morn, but I can hear the preparations.” She really must try to get on her feet soon.
"Indeed, my lady,” the mayor said. “We have come to ask you to do our village the honor of being May Queen this year."
"Me?” It was the last request she'd expected to hear from these people who hardly knew her. To be the May Queen was a great honor in any village, on any manor. The queen of the annual spring ritual led the flower cutters into the woods at dawn to gather greenery. She bestowed the prize bells on the game winners and led the Maying-Round-the-Merry-Maypole.
The revelry was the peasants’ merry-making, with the gentry joining in only as guests and observers. All of these doings were part of the effort to force spring back into the earth. Not even Brenna had ever been asked to be May Queen in Lyonesse. “But why me?"
"We ask you for your fair beauty,” Mistress Innkeeper said.
"For your green eyes,” Mayor Amdale murmured, averting his gaze to his feet like a bashful boy.
"To share in your good fortune in overcoming your illness,” the lady innkeeper added, earnestly tucking her hands into the sleeves of her russet surcoat as if she suddenly feared that Leandra would say no.
"We often ask a guest of honor,” the mayor explained with another shy duck of his head.
She should refuse. Surely there was a maiden in the village who would take the flowered May Queen crown with delight. Yet May Day was always such a good time. Carefree romps in the woods, dancing, and hobbyhorse games.