Magic in His Kiss

by Shari Anton

  She shrugged a shoulder. “Sister Enid believed it eased aches. I imagine that even if the moss does not aid healing, it cannot do harm. A full night’s rest is sure to do the injury good, moss or no.”

  True enough.

  “I feel rather useless sitting here, rather like a two-legged stool.”

  She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Play your harp. That is how you thought to reward the family for their trouble, is it not?”

  It was, so he played, gay tunes at first. After the boys clambered up into the loft for bed, Rhodri chose lilting melodies. The fire in the hearth had burned low and eyelids drooped before the mistress of the house declared it time for sleep.

  “Milady, we would be honored if the two of ye would accept the use of our pallet.”

  Jolted from the calm he’d effected with his music, Rhodri glanced at the drapery hanging in the corner. Knowing what was behind it, his now unruly parts urged Nicole to accept.

  She held up a hand, palm outward. “You have been kindness itself to take us into your home and feed us. I thank you for your generous offer but will not deprive you of your bed and proper rest. We are content where we are.”

  Rhodri forced an agreeing smile.

  The wife looked unhappy but resigned. “Another blanket, then?”

  Nicole agreed to the offer, and after a round of good wishes for a pleasant night, the farmer followed his wife into their snug little nest behind the drapery.

  As she had for several nights, Nicole wrapped up in her blanket, but unlike other nights, she now stretched out beside him, well within arm’s length. In the quiet, he could hear her breathe.

  Too close, his common sense warned. Not close enough, his base self countered. Not even if he rolled onto his side to face the wall could his body ignore her nearness. So he remained on his back, successfully keeping his hands from reaching out to pull Nicole closer.

  She squirmed, then rose up on an elbow. “Why is it I have slept on the ground all this while without trouble but tonight cannot find comfort?”

  He knew why he couldn’t find comfort. Was Nicole’s reason the same? Best if he didn’t know.

  “Not tired?”

  “Not tired enough to sleep, apparently.”

  “Try anyway. We must put a few leagues behind us on the morrow. ’Tis too dangerous to remain here, both for us and for our hosts. I should hate for this family to come to harm for sheltering us.”

  She glanced at the drapery. “I agree. How much farther must we travel until we are out of the earl’s reach?”

  They wouldn’t be entirely safe until they crossed the Welsh border. He didn’t like adding the days he must allow because he didn’t know this part of England very well. He’d taken a more direct, northerly route on his way from Glenvair to Bledloe Abbey to fetch Nicole.

  “A sennight, perhaps more, depending upon how much trouble we have crossing rivers. Let us hope there are bridges aplenty and no toll is required for the crossing.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “If there are no bridges?”

  “Then we ford the rivers.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. “I know not how to swim.”

  “We will find a way to cross, never fear.”

  Except Nicole did fear, despite his assurance, and the woman certainly had reason for concern. “Perhaps we can find a boatman to take us across.”

  “Ferries cost coin, and we have none.”

  Too true.

  The more difficult she made the journey sound, the more obstacles she tossed in his way, the more resolute he was to overcome them.

  He rolled to his side and rose up on an elbow to face her.

  “I give you my oath, we will cross the rivers without mishap. Nicole, why do you expect the worst?”

  “I do not… I.” She closed her mouth, her shoulders slumping. “These days, I do not know what to expect. At the abbey, I knew from the moment of rising how the hours of my day would progress. Prayer, meals, sleep—all were done in order, by the bell. I have lost the pattern of my days, and I find that disconcerting.”

  He brushed back a lock of reddish-brown hair that had come loose from her waist-length braid. “’Tis merely a new pattern.”

  “An ungainly pattern.”

  Rhodri wasn’t sure who leaned toward the other first, but when his lips touched Nicole’s, he didn’t care. When their mouths melded, he couldn’t think beyond enjoying the taste of Nicole and noticing how perfectly his hand fitted the curve of her waist.

  Nothing was so natural as lowering her to the floor, and nothing so grand as her soft body beneath him. Unless it was the splendor of her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers twining into his hair, holding him firmly in place.

  Nothing would have stopped him from raising her skirt and lowering his breeches except the knowledge that he might hurt her. Oh, he would love to be the first to sink into her virgin’s depths, but breaking a maidenhead took time and care and betimes caused enough pain for a woman to cry out.

  If Nicole cried out, she would alert the household. Besides, her first coupling should be done properly, in a comfortable bed with privacy ensured. Not on the dirt floor of a farmer’s cottage.

  “This is new to me, too,” she whispered.

  If Nicole had been fully raised in a castle, and not in a nunnery, some lad would have surely found a way to kiss Nicole. Rhodri was suddenly perversely glad she’d been sent, at a young age, to reside among the nuns.

  “Do my kisses frighten you?”

  “A bit, but not as much as the thought of fording a river.”

  “Once we cross the Avon, we will be in territory still very loyal to the rebellion, where the earl’s royalist patrols dare not roam too freely. There we should be able to find an inn or two where I can earn some coin to make the rest of our journey less difficult.”

  Her fingers slid along his whisker-laden jaw in what he was sure was an innocent exploration, making him wonder which of them would be more familiar with the other when they were finally able to couple.

  “Innkeepers allow you to play your harp in the taproom. That is how you earned your way from Wales to Bledloe Abbey, is it not?”

  “Patrons can be generous, and if business is good, sometimes the innkeeper allows me free board.”

  And bed, which could be shared and put to vigorous use.

  Rhodri indulged in one more kiss before he forced himself to roll off Nicole and onto his back. With every fiber of his being aware of the woman beside him, he looked forward to the oblivion of sleep.

  Except the woman didn’t accept his abandonment. Nicole brazenly snuggled up to his side, tossed an arm over his chest, and laid her head on his shoulder.

  He breathed in her scent, felt the rise and fall of her bosom, noted the graceful, possessive weight of her arm across his chest, knowing he should be content with having earned her trust.

  Hellfire. He wasn’t a callow youth with scant control over his lust, but it was damn hard to resist such enticement to unleash the demon, even if the woman who so naively lay in his arms didn’t know precisely what havoc she invited.

  Using every dram of his resolve, Rhodri managed to lie still while he fought the demon, not winning until the wee hours of the morn.

  Three days later, Nicole was nearly ready to walk back to Oxford and throw herself on the earl’s mercy.

  From a position of concealment among the trees along the road, she observed the men who stood between her and easy passage over the Avon. Two soldiers, garbed in the earl’s livery, shared a jest with the man who collected the toll to cross the lovely wooden bridge. She also saw the soldiers’ horses—beautiful brown, strong-legged animals.

  Possession of just one horse would make this journey so much easier.

  They’d pressed hard since leaving the farm, through the forest because Rhodri shunned the road. They’d not yet eaten today, and it was well past nooning. Tired, hungry, her gown filthy, her hair a mass of tangles, Nicole fought the despon
dency that threatened to overwhelm her.

  She tried to think of this new disheartening obstacle as merely one more difficulty to overcome along a journey fraught with hardship. But God’s truth, she wanted to scream out her frustration or sit down and have a good cry. Except she didn’t dare utter a sound and alert the soldiers to her presence.

  Nor dare she say a word about attempting to relieve the soldiers of their horses. Rhodri would outright reject any such suggestion, not only because ’twould be nigh impossible to do, but merely because she’d suggested it.

  Since leaving the farm, no matter what she thought a good plan, he thought it a bad one. His caution was becoming irksome. Especially at night, when she wanted to sleep closer to him and he did not.

  She glanced at Rhodri, standing next to her, leaning on the walking stick he didn’t need anymore, carried only to humor her. His gaze narrowed in on the horses, his wish to possess them likely as fierce as hers.

  With a sharp jerk of his head, he told her to follow him away from the horses, and the solid bridge, and the earl’s patrol.

  Nicole knew she should be more upset over coming so close to a patrol, but damn, right now what scared her more was wading through the Avon.

  The sound of flowing water should be soothing, not terrifying. There was no hope but to go through the river if they didn’t wish to travel leagues out of their way.

  But she didn’t know how to swim. If she lost her footing and became caught in the current—Nicole shivered, not wishing to contemplate disaster. She followed Rhodri along a narrow path for what seemed a long way, before he paused to inspect what could be a place to ford.

  “I wager others have crossed here,” he said, pointing to where the path sloped down to the bank.

  “Successfully, I hope.”

  His hand swept out to draw her attention to what would be a beautiful view of the river and surrounding greenery were she able to appreciate it. “See you any bones lying about?”

  How could he jest! “You are not amusing.”

  “After we cross, you will wonder why you worried so. Leave on your boots, but hike up your skirts.”

  Nicole’s nose wrinkled with distaste, not liking wetting her leather boots. They’d be uncomfortable to walk in afterward. However, she supposed it made sense to wear them. The soles would protect her feet against rocks.

  At this moment, Nicole wanted nothing more than to point her nose north and go home to Camelen. Aware that wasn’t wise for several reasons, she held out her hand.

  “Might I have the rope, please?”

  Rhodri dug into the sack and pulled out the length of rope he used as a rabbit snare. With the rope securely belted around her waist, she grabbed hold of the gown’s back hem and pulled it up and forward between her legs, as she’d seen peasant women do when laundering clothes in a stream near Camelen. She tucked the back hem under the knot, securing the skirt and baring her calves.

  How odd to feel early autumn’s cool breeze whisper against her legs, a sensation she’d not enjoyed since outgrowing girlish short tunics. A pleasure she would be most willing to forego if not for the necessity.

  Rhodri had bared his legs, too, his breeches rolled up to just under his knees. Nicole couldn’t help but admire those sculpted limbs, the muscles of his hair-sprinkled calves clearly defined.

  He also inspected her legs. She might have been discomfited by his intense stare, if not for his obvious approval and the flicker of desire that had gone lacking since their night at the farm.

  Sleeping in Rhodri’s arms had been both wonderful and disturbing. She’d wanted more than those few stirring kisses, more than cuddling against his hard body, but hadn’t been bold enough to entice him to further endeavors.

  Since then, he’d kept his distance, especially at night, going so far as to bed down on the opposite side of the small fires he built. Deep down Nicole knew Rhodri was being noble, but his rejection still hurt.

  Perhaps tonight he wouldn’t be so reticent. Maybe she could muster the courage to make a bold advance on his defenses.

  But first they must cross the river.

  Be bold, be brave. Rhodri was right. Others had used this ford across the Avon. No bones were scattered about.

  Except any old bones would have washed downstream.

  Nicole swallowed hard and draped her blanket around her shoulders as a mantle, tightening the knot over her breasts.

  Rhodri smiled at her preparations. “The river is passable, Nicole. I doubt the water is very deep here, nor is the river wide. Why, I could throw a rock and hit the opposite bank!”

  “Maybe you could,” she grumbled.

  He picked up his walking stick and slung the harp’s sack over his shoulder. “Just walk where I do, mind your footing, and stay close.”

  She already had a plan for doing so. Rhodri no more than turned around when Nicole grabbed a fistful of his tunic. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled but said nothing as they entered the river.

  Using his stick, he measured the water’s depth before taking steps. When not far from the bank, she felt the tug of flowing water, then the water itself when it flowed over her boots’ tops. Sweet mercy, the water was cold, chilling her clear through.

  She glanced south toward the bridge, glad to see they’d come far enough along the path and around a bend so they couldn’t be seen by the soldiers. Still, she could hear the men’s voices carry up the river, though she couldn’t understand what they said.

  “Careful here,” Rhodri quietly ordered.

  Indeed, the rocks were smooth and slippery, and the closer to the middle of the river, the deeper the water, the louder the rushing sound, the harder her heart pounded.

  Rhodri’s breeches were getting wet, as were her skirts that hung just above her knees. Nicole diligently strode forward, her eyes on the opposite bank. Not until the water reached her thighs did she begin to pray.

  Her foot slipped on a rock, abruptly unsettling her balance. Only her hold on Rhodri’s tunic and his solid footing saved her from a tumble.

  He halted, standing sturdy and strong as if rooted in the riverbed. “The worst is behind us,” he whispered. “Only a few more steps.”

  She tried to smile and tell him she no longer feared for her life—a lie—but smiles and speech were both beyond her. ’Twas all she could manage to slog through the too-cold and swiftly flowing river.

  Within four more steps the riverbed began to rise; the water became more shallow. The closer to the bank, the easier each step. The less treacherous the rocks, the more she took comfort in having survived the crossing.

  With the water now below her knees, finally confident she wouldn’t drown today, Nicole released Rhodri’s tunic to gather up the sodden, sagging skirts coming loose from her rope belt.

  Rhodri reached the bank first, his longer stride giving him the advantage.

  Bemoaning her discomfort, she flung the soaked skirt over her arm. The shift of weight upset her balance. Her foot slid sideways. Nicole dropped her skirts and, with arms reeling, fell backward, hitting the water with an inelegant splash. She shrieked her outrage at her ill fortune before she landed hard on her bottom, her fear of drowning welling up again before she managed to put her hands down to keep from tumbling over.

  She felt the veriest fool, sitting in water up to her bosom. If she weren’t so angry, she might cry.

  Rhodri put down the harp’s sack and waded back into the water, trying not to laugh at the humorous sight she presented.

  “It appears you let loose of me too soon,” he said, planting his feet and extending a hand.

  She grasped his hand—and heard a shout. The bend in the river had put them out of view of the bridge, until now. She could see the very end of the bridge. One of the earl’s soldiers stood there, pointing.

  Sweet mercy, the soldier must have heard her shriek!

  Rhodri pulled her upright. “Hurry,” he said curtly.

  “Halt!” came the cry from the bridge. “In the name
of the earl of Oxford, I order you to halt!”

  Nicole scrambled up onto the bank, her heart in her throat, her hand firmly clasped in Rhodri’s. Without pausing, he scooped up the harp’s sack and turned upriver.

  Behind her, she could hear horses’ hooves pound across the wooden bridge.

  Rhodri steered her to a clump of bushes. He tossed the harp’s sack and walking stick in amongst them. “Give me your blanket.”

  Nicole untied her cumbersome brown shawl, thinking Rhodri intended to lightly hide their belongings and relieve them of extra weight until he added, “Crawl in there. I will cover you so you cannot easily be seen.”

  Myriad questions begged answers as she settled into the thicket, but only one was important enough to voice. “What do you plan to do?”

  “I intend to relieve one of the soldiers of his horse. I will return in a trice.”

  He tossed the blanket over her, leaving her in the dark to sit and await his return.

  She didn’t like this at all.

  Rhodri intended to take on two soldiers and two battle-trained horses and come away with a horse. True, she’d watched him thrash two guards in Oxford, without a proper weapon. He might now possess a sword, but Nicole well knew the value of a trained horse.

  Rhodri could get stomped on! His head split open. His bones broken. He might not come back for her!

  Alarmed, Nicole pushed aside the blanket far enough to take a peek toward the bridge. The thicket obscured most of her view, but she could see Rhodri hurrying toward a large oak tree, his sword drawn. He wasn’t limping, but certes, if he made one misstep and again injured his ankle, he’d go down and the patrol would have him.

  She heard the horses coming toward them, faintly yet, but most definitely headed their way.

  Biting down on her bottom lip, she debated over how to help Rhodri, vainly wishing she had a sword and some knowledge of how to use it. Her dagger was in her boot, but the short blade was no match for a sword.

  But then, she didn’t need a weapon to be of help. She’d assisted Rhodri once before to their benefit.

  Rhodri took up position behind the oak tree, taking a moment to push down the legs of his wet breeches before settling into a stance.