Seeking The Truth - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 11)
Page 5
She stood, shaking out her dress before stepping carefully across the platters and bowls to return to Oliver’s side. He offered a hand to her, his eyes sparkling with delight as he helped her back down again. She laid herself languorously along the blankets, reaching out, selecting a raspberry from one of the pottery bowls, popping it into her mouth.
Oliver laid his hand against her back, begin kneading at her with easy familiarity, and she relaxed against him. His fingers were gentle, firm, and she appreciated their skill, but it was not the same. There was not the same fire trailing behind his movements, not the same delicious tension building up within her.
She found her eyes flickering open, catching Sean’s gaze in her own, and he smiled, his eyes knowing, a swirl of passion deep in the grey depths. She felt the power of it, felt her throat grow tight. He brought his right hand to his face, slowly ran his thumb down along the edge of his chin, and she shuddered, watching his movements, craving his touch, closing her eyes lest she burn up alive.
“There you go,” murmured Oliver against her ear. “You really are relaxing.”
Morgan rolled over, buried her face into the blankets, willing herself to release the sensations. If Sean could do that to her with a look, then she was doomed.
*
She let the conversation swirl around her as the afternoon drifted on, as the bees moved from flower to flower, as she worked her way through the mugs of ale. She kept her gaze away from Sean’s, not trusting herself further with the man. She had considered herself skilled in the art of flirtation, a practiced hand at it for many years now. Sean was something new, and until she figured out his secret, it was best to keep him at arm’s length. She would not allow herself to be taken in.
Finally the air drifted into coolness, the sky burnished with rich oranges and shimmering golds. As the shadows lengthened, the servants arrived to gather up the blankets and dishes. Oliver solicitously offered an arm to bring her to her feet, and she turned to draw him in with a grateful hug.
“Thank you for a delightful afternoon,” she smiled at him tenderly as she drew back.
“Any time,” he agreed in a gentle voice, patting her on the shoulder.
It was a friendly touch, with a familiar warmth in it, but her body ached for more, and her resistance gave out. Her head turned without conscious thought to seek out Sean. He was gazing at her with a knowing smile. She met his eyes, saw the amused acknowledgement of her frustrations, the sensual curve of his lips offering far more than she had found.
Oliver’s voice was quiet behind her. “Shall we head in?” He held out a hand to her.
She nodded absently, taking his hand, walking through the deepening dusk as he led her toward the keep. She moved alongside him with familiar ease. He often escorted her to her room; it was almost a bedtime ritual of gallantry.
A shadow moved across her in the torchlight, and Oliver paused.
Sean gave a low chuckle. “Heading to bed so soon?” His eyes moved from Morgan’s to Oliver’s face with the slightest indication of tightness.
“We sometimes turn in early around here,” agreed Oliver, his hand still on Morgan’s. She could feel the tension stretch across his shoulders.
“Good night, then,” Sean murmured, bringing his eyes over to hold hers for a long moment.
The offer in them was palpable. Her eyes slid down to his firm lips, the strong line of his arms, the hands which had done such body-melting caresses. She flushed with heat, and then she was turning, moving with Oliver, heading toward her chambers. She had to reach the privacy of her room, to drive Sean from her mind, get his powerful hold over her broken. She only hoped that it was possible.
Chapter 4
Monday’s sun was already high in the sky by the time Morgan rolled awake from her dreams. She dressed quickly, stopping by the kitchen buildings to grab some dried meats from Letitia with a smile. She barely had enough time to make it to her morning practice, and she would not miss that for the world.
When Morgan reached the sparring area, her mouth tweaked with interest. Oliver and Christian were standing to one side, sharpening their swords with focused attention. To the other side, Sean stood in light tunic, doing lunge-stretches in practiced rhythm. Roger and Peter sat along the periphery, mugs of ale in their hands, laughing quietly to themselves.
Sean looked up with a smile as Morgan came into the area, coming over to meet her.
“I thought I might join you for your practice session,” he said by way of greeting. “If you do not mind, of course.”
“No, not at all,” agreed Morgan, her eyes moving between the men with interest. She was quite curious how he would do, and looked forward to the sparring with bright anticipation.
“So, who should I fight first?” she asked, looking amongst the three newcomers.
Christian’s eyes were blazing. “I want to fight him first,” he countered.
Morgan smiled, stepping back. “By all means,” she offered, waving her hands toward the central space. “I would enjoy watching that!”
She sat down alongside Roger, who passed his mug to her without being asked. She took a long draw on the ale, relishing its cool freshness sliding down her throat. “A coin says Christian lasts thirty seconds,” she muttered under her breath.
“Ten seconds,” responded Roger, taking his mug back with a nod.
“You are on,” agreed Morgan, turning her eyes toward the practice area.
Both men approached the center warily, saluting each other with their swords. Sean swept his sword backwards, dropping into a crouch, watching Christian with an attentive eye. Christian bounced left, bounced right, then dove in for an attack, aiming for the kidney. Sean watched him come, then swept down in a quick, twisting move.
Christian’s sword went flying out of his hand, sailing high in the air to land in the grass five feet away.
Morgan shook her head, patting Roger on the leg. “That is one I owe you,” she agreed with a chuckle.
Christian’s voice was tight. “Another round,” he insisted, jogging over to pick up his weapon, taking a long swing with it.
Sean nodded, settling down again. Christian began more tentatively this time, feinting left, circling around, but Morgan knew it would not last long. Sure enough, within several passes Christian’s impatience took over and he began driving in hard. Sean deflected one pass, then two, then landed a solid hit against Christian’s thigh. Christian yelled out in frustration, standing and acknowledging the blow.
Oliver stood. “Here, let me,” he offered. He gave Christian a pat on the back as the younger man moved to the bench, settling himself down with a surly look.
Oliver strode forward with a steady gaze, sweeping a salute to his opponent. Sean nodded in approval, setting himself into a low, forward guard.
Morgan leant forward, her eyes bright with interest. “Five minutes,” she whispered.
Roger passed her the mug again, and she took down another mouthful. “You may be right,” agreed Roger with a nod, running a practiced eye down Oliver’s form.
The two men began circling each other. Oliver leant forward with a probe, which Sean batted away. Another set of steps. Another probe to the opposite side, which Sean also parried. Oliver smiled then, and suddenly he launched into an attack.
Morgan found herself calling out in excitement as the men swung and parried, attacked and retreated, their footwork dancing across the dirt. Oliver dove in for a hit she was sure would land, but somehow Sean twisted out of the way, landed on one knee, spun to stand again, pressing a fresh attack. The minutes ticked by in a series of moves, lunges, and circling.
Sean feinted left, feinted low, then pressed in hard with an angled attack. Oliver saw it too late, tried to twist hard to get the block in, and failed. Sean’s sword landed flat against his thigh, resounding in the hit.
Morgan cheered in delight. “Excellent!” She applauded with the others as the two men dusted the dirt off their outfits. Sean offered his hand, and Oliver
took it with an appreciative smile.
“Nicely done, Sean,” congratulated Oliver, shaking his head. “I can see I have a lot to learn while you are here.”
“You have good form,” returned Sean with a smile. “Roger, Peter, and I will spend some time with you later on. With a few minor pointers, I think you could have me.”
Oliver smiled, then moved over to the stone bench, sitting alongside Christian. Christian gave his friend a congratulatory pat on the back, his upbeat mood returning after the great fight.
Sean raked his hand through his hair, sweeping the dark waves back from his face. Then he turned to smile down at Morgan, his look inviting. “So, are you ready for me?”
Morgan chuckled. She took the mug from Roger, draining down the last of his ale. “I will see you in a little while,” she commented to Roger, returning his empty mug, then rolling to a standing position. She drew her sword easily, sweeping a few practice swings in the center of the area, loosening out her arms, rolling her head around from shoulder to shoulder. She settled down into a defensive posture, snapping a salute out to Sean before drawing her sword back into a low guard.
Morgan thought about what she’d seen while watching the previous bouts. Sean clearly had skill. He moved with a cat-like grace, his thrusts intricately agile. His strategy was excellent; it was as if his mind was always thinking three moves ahead. He was part of an elite fighting force. He was sent up against well-trained troops, against men of his own kind.
His strength was greater than hers. He had a longer reach than she did, and had far more training. She knew her advantage lay in the fact that she had been fighting since she was born. It was not something she had been taught, it was something that had been ingrained. She was smaller than him, perhaps quicker, perhaps more agile.
Most importantly, there was her unique advantage.
She began circling. He followed along with her, his eyes bright with curiosity, ever patient. She found it a refreshing change from Christian’s impetuous nature. Unlike Oliver, she felt no need to probe. She maintained her balanced posture as she went, retreating back ever so slightly, drawing him in. He came in after her, reacting to her moves as if they were in a dance. She wove her sword left, teasing him, and he reacted viscerally, his guard rising. Then, shaking himself, he reset his stance.
Suddenly he was in motion, lunging left toward her calf.
Morgan chuckled, dodging right, twisting, sweeping low. He saw the move, leapt back a half-step, turned hard with a swing at her shoulder. She bent around him, and they were in a twisting synchronized ballet, sliding around each other, dropping to one knee, rising and falling back, working through a three point sequence, each move blocked and redirected and rerouted. It was not the impulsive stabs of Christian, nor the ordered strategy of Oliver. It was something new, something organic, where they read each other’s movements, anticipated the turns. Morgan dropped beneath Sean’s longer reach. She twisted and turned to avoid his strength. She built him up into a rhythm, catching him in its power.
She saw she had him. It was in his eyes, the mix of passion and pure enjoyment of the action. She began another three point move, and she saw his feet anticipating the moves, anticipating where the second point would take them, then the third. He was thinking ahead, planning for his counter.
She leant in, tilting her body so her cleavage was clearly visible, catching his eye. At the same time, she curled so her head drew closer to his. She pitched her voice low and deep, meant for his ears only.
“Please,” she sighed out, filling her voice with all the longing, the desire which flooded through her loins.
A hot flush drenched his face, passion smoldered in his eyes as he struggled to concentrate on the second point, on the third point -
She spun with a hard, low blow, driving the flat of her blade as hard as she could against his thigh. He saw the danger at the last minute, tried to regroup his angle, but it was too late. Her sword contacted his leg with a resounding thwap.
“Yes!” she cried out, throwing her arms into the air, elated beyond all measure. “Yes, Yes, Yes!”
Christian grabbed her from behind, whirling her around in glee. “That is my girl!” he called out, a wide grin on his face.
Sean was shaking his head in disbelief, staring at her with a newfound respect. “You little vixen,” he finally choked out, coming forward to offer his hand. “I guess there is always something new to learn, after all.”
“I am not sure that I can teach you my tricks,” laughed Morgan, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. “I have been doing this since I could crawl; it is part of my blood.”
“Some of your tricks, I lack the proper anatomy for,” commented Sean with a smile, glancing down at her chest meaningfully.
Morgan grinned brilliantly, performing a courtly curtsey. “I can only use what I have been given by God,” she pointed out with a contented shrug. “I do not have the broad shoulders or immense strength, but I do enjoy my own traits.”
“I enjoy your traits as well,” agreed Sean with a knowing look.
He glanced around at the other men, realizing suddenly that he had an audience. He turned and looked up the hill to where a group was gathering. “Well my friends, shall we work with the main troops now? It seems they are waiting for us to begin.”
The men headed over to the larger training ground, and Morgan watched them go, a smile still on her lips. He was indeed a skilled swordsman. She had enjoyed that immensely, and knew the same trick would not work a second time. She wondered who would win if it came down to endurance, to simply sparring without making any mistakes, any faults. It would be interesting to find that out.
She headed back into the keep, stripping off her guards as she went. She tossed them into a corner by the main door, walking through to find Lady Donna in the sitting room.
“Are you ready for that ride now?” she asked the older woman, giving her arms a stretch over her head.
“Yes, looking forward to it,” agreed Lady Donna with a fond smile. “While we travel, you can tell me all about how you are finding your time with my nephew.”
The two rode for an hour out across the countryside, stretching their steeds’ legs as the trail traced along the undulating ridges of hills and delved into the dappled shadows of deep forests. Morgan entertained Lady Donna with moment by moment descriptions of everything that had occurred in the past few days.
Soon they had reached the quiet estate of Lady Donna’s friend, Mary. Morgan dismounted by the low surrounding fence, holding Lady Donna’s horse for her while she carefully climbed down. In a moment Mary had come out to greet them, carrying a pair of mugs of ale.
“Why Morgan, you are looking fine this afternoon,” crowed Mary in her high, reed-like voice. “Was the ride over that exciting?”
Lady Donna’s mouth curved into a knowing smile. “I think it more has to do with a certain new addition to my household,” she confided to her friend.
Morgan blushed, taking the pair of reins from both horses in her right hand, sipping from the mug with her left. “I will just see to the horses,” she commented in an embarrassed mutter. “You two enjoy your talk.”
Mary’s voice rang clearly through the afternoon air as the two women moved slowly toward the house. “Oh, my dear Donna, you must tell me all about this new romance.”
Morgan flushed even more deeply. She immersed herself in the familiar comfort of the stables, brushing down the horses, tending to them, taking the time to do some cleaning and mucking of the stalls. There were buckets to clean, hay to fetch, and the time spun by in the easygoing stream of hard work.
She did care for Mary, but when the two got to gossiping … she wondered just what tales Lady Donna was sharing. There were times that she felt Lady Donna was like a mother to her, the calmer, gentler mother she had always dreamt of. And, perhaps like any mother, Morgan had felt her push her at times toward one beau or another. She wondered what Lady Donna would do in this situation.
“Of course,” answered Morgan promptly, moving to resaddle the two horses with quick efficiency. In a few minutes she was leading them out to the two women, holding Lady Donna’s steed for her while she clambered on.
Mary gave a wave. “Have a safe ride home,” she offered, her white hair glistening in the sun. “Do not let a handsome ruffian waylay you on the road, for who knows what he might steal.” Her eyes twinkled. “Perhaps it might be your heart!”
Morgan’s face flared with heat, and she turned, mounting quickly, then pulled to come alongside Lady Donna.
Lady Donna smiled. “Good bye, my dear friend,” she called down. “I imagine I will not be back for a month or so; it is so infrequent that I get to see Sean, after all. Have a wonderful summer.”
Mary chuckled. “I would suppose that your bodyguard might be a little busy, as well,” she needled, then waved merrily as the two headed out at a trot toward home.
Lady Donna smiled fondly at Morgan as the pair wended their way across the familiar paths, the sun’s golden glow softening from yellow to muted orange, rosy red, and twists of violet.
Lady Donna’s voice broke into Morgan’s musings. “You know, my dear, I was thinking … you so rarely get to take a break from being on call night and day for my rides. Maybe it is time you have a proper vacation.”
Morgan tensed, looking over quickly. “Have I done something to displease you? I enjoy our time together greatly!”
Lady Donna shook her head, her smile gentle. “Not at all. It is more that, with Sean here, I will be staying at home and not leaving the keep. Since the soldiers watch over me while I am within the walls, and your special talents are only necessary when I ride out, this seems like the perfect opportunity for you to have some … free time.”
Morgan’s mind instantly flashed to the memory of Sean’s fingers kneading her back, on the rich lushness of his lips, on the dark depths of his eyes …