“Are you certain I will not hurt her?”
“You will not hurt her.” He reached for Vanessa, drawing her close. “You are a magnificent creature yourself, but not so big that you will hurt any you are astride.” A vivid image of the two of them lying naked in the fresh hay assailed his mind, her hips spread wide as she rode him. He could almost feel himself pulling her down, crushing her breasts against his sweat dampened chest, and pressing his lips onto hers.
He felt himself harden at the fleeting images. Damn, he was losing his control and all he had done was touch her arm. He had been doing so well. Perhaps it was not such a good idea to be alone with her. He took a quick step backwards.
“Are you well? You look to be in pain.” She was at his side in an instant, her hand rubbing along his chest and down his abdomen. “Are you hurt?” The concern in her beautiful eyes hit him like a stone.
A soft groan escaped him at the heat he could feel through his soft wool tunic everywhere she touched him. Irritated by his sudden and unexplainable loss of control, he grasped her hand and shoved her away. “I am fine.” It came out gruffer than he had intended.
Her eyes widened and he silently cursed himself as she stepped away.
“Let us just get you on that damned horse.”
Peter gestured jerkily toward her mount. Her eyes narrowed stubbornly. Peter was prepared once again for a battle, but to his surprise she went willingly. He enfolded her waist in his hands and lifted her onto the horse. Rain shifted nervously under the weight of a rider and Vanessa grasped his shoulders.
She let out a soft laugh as she fought for balance. “You must be jesting. I cannot ride this.” He barely heard her words and could not respond. Her long fingers were digging into him as she held herself up. Heat seared him. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself deeply inside her until the flames burst around him and freed him from this incessant desire that she provoked in him.
Just as he was about to haul her down on top of him, Vanessa removed her hands. He felt a sudden loss. His shoulders were cold, empty where her hands had been.
Vanessa found her balance. One leg hanging down and the other thrown over the saddle horn, she slipped her left foot into the stirrup, showing a goodly amount of white calf when she did. He sucked in a hot breath at the sight of soft skin and turned away to saddle his own destrier.
Jackal was a light tan with thick black mane and tail. Vanessa smiled as she watched him lead the horse out of its stall. “Such a grand specimen.” Her high pitched squeal echoed through the barn.
“Thank you.” Peter grinned as he readied his horse. “But do not say that too loudly around Jackal. He is jealous. It is good although to hear you think so about me, since you will soon be seeing all I have to offer you, later tonight, in bed.” He stared at her intently. The shocked look in her eyes told him she had reacted to his teasing, while to his annoyance the powder hid any blush she may have had.
Van felt her face heat in embarrassment, but said nothing. She had seen many marital beddings during her three years as a knight, but was not prepared for one of her own. Excitement and fear battled deep inside her, churning her stomach until it rolled and boiled.
For the first time she wondered what it would be like to lay with a man. Would he be gentle with her or would he be rough? She looked at the large size of his body and wondered how she would accommodate him. A tingle of worry tickled at the back of her mind and she tried to push it away.
Peter smiled at her. Without another word, he pulled himself onto the prancing horse and guided him out of the stable.
She took a deep breath and patted the old mare’s neck. “This is it,” she whispered and gently kicked the horse’s side. Van wobbled slightly as they followed Peter out the door, but she steadied herself easily.
She followed along without too much trouble, but she felt on edge and struggled to keep her balance. Feelings of inadequacy that she had not felt in many years overwhelmed her.
She had not been very good on horseback when she had first arrived at the castle for training. She had struggled to get good, practicing until exhaustion left her spent, every time she could manage to sneak away. She had crawled into her cot bruised and battered many a night, but she had managed to become the best.
“That is Joseph Pittman. Both his parents and his two older sisters were killed in a fire.” Peter’s voice, tinged with kindness, drew her attention and she followed his gaze.
A small boy, appearing to be of less than ten years raced between the fences. His tattered yellow tunic and long brown hair fluttered behind him as he disappeared into the stables.
The horse shifted unevenly beneath her. Van tightened the grip on her reins and returned her attention to Peter.
“They were tenants of my father’s. When I came home three years ago, Joseph was here. My father had taken him in.” Peter’s profile was relaxed and a sad smile played on his lips as he looked in the direction the boy had disappeared.
She smiled at the softness in his voice, but said nothing. It was a relief to know he had a kindness toward children, even if not toward women. Having his child would not be awful.
Van started as the idea crossed her mind. She had not considered children before. She wrinkled her brow and stared at his wide back. Her hand drifted to her stomach as she tried to picture herself swollen with child. She had seen many women heavy into pregnancy, but had never given them a second thought. Never once had she imagined being in their position of life.
Peter’s hearty hale to the men at the front gate pulled her from her reverie. He gave them a friendly wave as they rushed to push the gate open. She nodded to the men. A jolt of surprise hit her when they smiled in return and gave a small bow.
It was much different than when she visited castles as the Dark Knight. She had rarely received a smile, other than from the women who hung around the men late at night. The bows she had always received had seemed to be given grudgingly, given more out of fear than from the respect she saw on these men’s faces.
Anticipation filled her as the big oak gate swung shut behind her. She had been many places on these grounds, but never with permission and rarely while the sun was still up. As a page she was restricted to inside the castle walls. Not, she thought with a grin, that that had ever stopped her from going where she wanted.
Peter stopped, looking back at her until she was beside him. “Now stay close by me. I want to be able to help you if you fall.” His words were kind and seemed sincere, but she bristled at the condescending tone that accompanied them.
“I will not fall,” she began, but her words failed as the mare rocked to a stop. She shifted on the unfamiliar saddle.
He stared at her, his brow raised as if he didn’t quite believe her words as she shifted in the saddle, trying to find her balance. “I see.” He kicked Jackal in the side softly and started off without looking back. “I like to keep the tenants close to the castle.”
As they rode, he explained the dangers of enemies and the need to be able to get the tenants inside the castle walls quickly in the event of attack. “I can replace crops and animals, but the people I cannot.”
His soft words and the care he showed toward the lives of his people warmed her heart. She smiled finding it impossible to be irritated with him and admire him at the same time. She settled into the uncomfortable saddle the best she could and was determined to enjoy the tour of the grounds.
Tenants came out of their homes to greet them as they rode. Van was unsure of how to react. She had never been through a village where she had been received with anything besides fear and suspicion. She considered which she liked better, the fear or the friendliness.
She found the decision easy as she returned waves and smiles, stopping to talk to people as they held children up to meet her. This was to be her home and here she would much prefer the open welcome.
Were she to go somewhere else, she might just prefer the fear, she thought. Her soft smile turned to a wicked grin.
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They soon left the homes behind and skirted fields of healthy crops. Peter was silent as he led her into a dense grove of trees.
Fragrant smells delighted her senses. Multicolored blooms intertwined through the underbrush, creating a cascade of brilliance that took her breath away. She inhaled deeply and wondered when the last time was that she had been able to relax enough to just enjoy the smell of flowers. Sadly, she could not remember.
“These trees were my father’s favorite place on the grounds.” His voice was wistful. His hand reached out and his fingers ran across the rough bark of a moss covered tree.
“They are beautiful.” She leaned gently in the saddle, hand still gripping the pummel tightly, and ran her free hand along a massive tree trunk. As the trees thinned, a small meadow could be seen just ahead of them. Peter led her into it.
In the center of the quiet meadow was a pristine lake. Sunlight shimmered and sparkled across the minute ripples that moved along the surface of the deep blue water. Birds flew noisily around calling to each other. Her thoughts touched on her childhood as she drank in the splendid beauty of the lake. She had come here often as a page. Peace had always caressed her when she looked upon the still waters. It did the same now.
“I would take you to the other side of the lake, to a small set of caves over there...if I could trust you on a horse.” His voice, once again patronizing, shattered her illusions of peace.
Anger rolled through her, quickly dispelling the charms of the lake. She had fought hard all her life for respect. She had fought hard to prove herself and when someone had insulted her she had quickly and painfully made them aware of their mistake. Disrespect was always dealt with the same way. Quickly and violently. It was how she wanted to deal with it now, but she forced herself to stay silent.
She tightened her fists through the reins and clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. She did not trust herself to speak. She knew it was imperative that she keep her temper under a tight rein. She must remain in control if she was to protect her identity.
“I should have brought a carriage with us. At least that way, I would not have to worry so much about you falling,” he said with a heavy sigh.
Without turning to look at him, she snapped, “I am just as capable of riding as you or anyone else. I have been riding for a long time, and I do not need to be on this broken down mare that should have received the respect due her and been left alone.” Van was afraid she would lose her balance as she was still not used to the angle at which she was sitting with one leg strung over the saddle horn.
Self-conscious of the way she held tightly onto the saddle, she forced her hands to relax. She shifted uncomfortably. The mare snorted and pawed at the ground. Van felt herself slipping from the saddle and gripped it once more.
“I am enjoying showing you my grounds, but would feel more secure if you were not on the back of a horse beyond your abilities to control,” he said in a soft calm voice. “You seem to be having difficulties with that mare. I am glad I did not allow you to bring that creature you believe is your horse.”
The flames of her anger greedily consumed every twig and branch of insults he threw at her, building in strength and power until she could feel the heat of it erupting around her. “He is my horse and you cannot stop me from riding him.” She heard her voice crack and cringed.
He arched his brows and he scowled. “I can make you do anything I want.” He edged his stallion up next to her.
“The hell you can.” Her voice slipped farther into its arrogant growl as she challenged him. She spun toward him, slipping and off balance. Peter pushed his horse into hers. The mare panicked over the sudden movement on her back and bucked. Van was unprepared for the sudden liveliness of the broken down old mare.
She hit hard into the ground and the beauty of the small lake was forgotten. Her rage, controlled on such a shaky level for days now, boiled over. She was on her feet before he could dismount.
Van had gotten control of herself as she struggled to her feet and started toward him—gotten control of her mind, but not her anger. No, her rage still flowed through her like deadly lava, but the Dark Knight had come. He broke through all her insecurities and brought with him the calm of battle, of knowing what to do and how to do it.
Van grasped Peter’s leg and yanked hard. He planted his foot into the stirrup and grasped the horse’s thick mane. He laughed. “You cannot best me, I am a man. I am your master.”
“So pompous...so full of yourself...men are barely the masters of themselves.” She spoke with a well manufactured voice, one that spoke of uncontrolled rage, uncontrolled thought, all the while pulling up dramatically on his leg.
She faked labored breathing and deep painful gasps as she struggled. Peter laughed, but did not try to stop her. He looked down at her patiently as one would a child, with an air of superiority and amusement as she pretended to unseat him from his horse.
She smiled inwardly as she forced deeper, harsher breaths as she positioned him, pulling his leg higher till his balance teetered. Gripping the girth it took her less than a heartbeat to release it. He didn’t have a chance.
Saddle and all slid off as Jackal lunged away from her. She barely registered Peter’s loud grunt as he hit the ground. She rushed toward him. Intent on doing bodily harm, she forgot her dress. It tangled around her legs and feet like a serpent springing up from the tall grass.
The dress twisted and constricted around her as she kicked wildly to get free. Her balance slipped and she sprawled along the whole length of him.
Peter had barely untangled himself from the saddle in time to catch her, keeping her full weight from slamming the breath out of both of them. She tried to sit up, tried to untangle her legs, and was unable. She cursed loudly as she yanked at the stubborn material.
Peter clutched her dress. His other hand wrapped around her waist, steadying her. He gave several hard tugs. The material gave out a soft ripping sound, but still refused to release her legs. She fought and kicked and soon they were both wrapped in the length of her gown.
Peter added his curses to hers, his voice tight and pained. She knew she was large and was sure she was heavy against him. His breathing was harsh and his arms trembled. Not wanting to hurt him further, she renewed her struggles to release them both from her dress.
She let out a string of oaths that would have made some of her men blush and finally managed to free one leg. Cool air brushed against her sweat laden skin and relief washed over her.
Peter grabbed her raised thigh, shoved the dress from her other thigh and pulled her into a sitting position, astride him.
She froze. His lust was apparent as she felt the rough material of his tights straining against her woman’s mound. She felt a strange pulling sensation deep in her belly and alarm replaced the sweet sensation of relief.
Unsure of what to do, wanting to run and wanting to stay, she did nothing, only sat stiffly upon him not daring to move. Her breathing came in short gasps. Warmth spread from her chest to her stomach and settled deeply between her legs.
Peter ran his hands up her arms, causing them to tremble uncontrollably. She tensed her muscles to stop the vibrations that were overwhelming her, but the shudders continued.
He stared up at her. His hands slipped beneath the bunched material of her dress and came to rest on her hips. Heat raced across her skin.
Images of him beside this very lake, water dripping down his topless frame impaled her and she gasped.
Peter looked up at her questioningly, his grip tightening. Sucking in a deep breath and biting her lower lip, she averted her gaze and focused on the shimmering water and the wild call of the loons at its banks. She closed her eyes, but could still see him clearly as he had been so long ago.
She had been at page training for almost a year when she had come upon him waist deep in the lake one night. Hidden beneath the thickets, she had spied on him, staring raptly at the water droplets, glistening in the moonlight and running in small
rivulets down the defined muscles of his chest as he bathed in the cool water. That had been the first night that she had fancied herself in love with him.
His fingertips ran along her arm, drawing her from her sweet memories. She opened her eyes and reluctantly met his gaze.
Her heart thudded erratically until she thought it would burst forth and reveal itself to him. Feeling as if she was an awkward child once again, she pressed her hands against her chest in an attempt to still the hammering within.
His hands traced a scorching path up her arms. He stared at her intently as he had the night she had saved his life, as if he were unsure of what he was seeing. Alarm tickled in the back of her mind, but it was faint and hard to distinguish beneath the passion that blazed within her.
His fingertips grazed her hands and tickled across her heaving breasts. Small shivers of anticipation buzzed through her head, completely overwhelming the alarm that struggled unsuccessfully to be heard.
He smiled softly and, pushing her hair out of the way, grasped the back of her neck. Lost in the passion she saw in his eyes, she did not fight him as he pulled her down to him.
Her nose brushed his. She held her breath anticipating his kiss, but to her disappointment he did not kiss her. He held her closely, staring deeply into her eyes as if trying to see into her soul.
She tried to draw her eyes away, to protect her secrets, but was unable to escape the hold he had on her. Not that of his hand on her neck, but that of his captivating gaze.
Staring into her eyes made Peter feel as if he were floating upon the surface of the lake, dark into the night, with only the shimmering glints of moonlight to hint at the secrets hidden within the water’s black depths.
Fear, desire, and uncertainty blazed in the darkness of Vanessa’s eyes, and he was lost in the swirling emotions.
Vanessa trembled as his hands pulled up the gown. He was convinced she was untouched by man. She had to be innocent, given the hesitant way she responded to his touches, the way she leaned toward him in eagerness, only to stiffen in fear a moment later.
The Dark Lady Page 12