An Outlaw's Honor

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Or so she would tell herself.

  But the way her body ached at his nearness and the way her skin itched to be touched made her a liar then. If he won, when he won, he would touch her. Every part of her body would be his to caress and kisses and... At any time. In any place.

  “Are you well, Lady Annora? You look a bit overheated.” The playful tone in his question made it clear that he knew the effect he had on her now. “The sun’s light is strong today. Mayhap you would like to walk in the shade a bit? Over there?” He nodded towards the river where the tall trees along its edge moved in the breezes. He’d stood and began helping her up before she thought to object. Then she did.

  “I do not think that is an appropriate place to walk,” she said. Just past the food carts and vendors lay the makeshift tavern and past that lay the place where certain women plied their trade.

  “We will go no farther than the water’s edge there.”

  He held out his arm, and she placed her hand on it, and they walked. She would have preferred to simply remove the wimple from her head for it held all the heat in, but then she would chance exposing the bruises on her neck. And then the questions would follow, not from her father for he knew what had happened, but from others. So, she hoped the cooler breezes would help her.

  Annora watched Thomas from the corner of her eyes as they made their way along the edge of the tables set up there. Though many glances were thrown in his direction, by men and women alike, he neither called out nor acknowledged any of them.

  Thomas seemed to know his path, and soon they stood by the edge of the river and in the shade of the tall trees. He led her to a low branch that seemed to reach out towards the flowing waters nearby and waited while she sat. After making certain they were alone, Annora pulled the circlet and veil from her head and tugged the wimple free from the edge of her gown, exposing her neck and braided hair. The cool air soothed her at once, and she could not help the sigh she let out at the feel of it moving over her heated skin.

  “Now imagine the pleasure of such breezes moving over our skin, slick from making love by a river such as this,” he said in a voice no more than a whisper. “I would pleasure you and take you over and over and then allow the breezes to cool the heat of your skin when we finished.”

  Annora felt the immediate results of his words, his promise, his invitation, deep within her body as the place at her core began to throb. Her breasts ached and swelled, and she wanted him to cup them as he had in the dark alcove in the castle.

  “I would strip you naked, Annora. I would spread your hair around you and watch as it gleamed in the sunlight.” He had not moved, but her body flushed with the pleasure of his touch. “I think I will enjoy seeing you so.”

  The way her mouth gaped open then could not be enticing, yet it did not stop him from continuing his provocative words.

  “Can you swim?” he asked.

  So caught up in his arousing description, she did not realize he was waiting for her to answer. A nod would have to suffice.

  “Ah, good.” His wide mouth curved into that hungry predator’s smile she’d seen at their first meeting. “I want to take you in the water. Naked. In a calm place where the current is not strong. I will lift you up and wrap your legs around my waist and enter you like that.”

  Now, the place between her legs clenched at the thought of his possession. “You should not speak so,” she said, her voice quivering with these new feelings of longing and craving.

  “I must remember that you are indeed a lady and a maiden one and not accustomed to talking about such things.”

  His gaze met hers, and she could read frank desire in it. No malice. No harm. Just a demand that her body understood. His smile changed then into something warmer and less dangerous, and yet her instincts did not allow her to be at ease.

  “But, Annora, when you are mine, you will allow it. We will speak of matters such as these, and you will acquiesce to my commands. You gave your word in agreeing to our arrangement.”

  How could his simple words, without closeness or touch, affect her so? An urge to run to him across the small distance between them grew as her body heated, and the hunger for those scandalous deeds nearly overwhelmed her. Here. Now.

  Nay!

  She could blame her lack of control on her inexperience in matters such as pleasure and passion. Glancing at Thomas, she realized he did not appear undisciplined. He looked sure of himself as one did when certain of their actions and their plans. Not inflamed to recklessness as she felt at this moment. Annora must learn from him, or she would put the power to destroy her in his hands willingly. And this whole bargain with him was to avoid that. To keep some semblance of control over her choices, and her life, within her own grasp.

  So, Annora shook herself and took a deep breath meant to ease the tension inside her. When she felt as confident as he appeared, and in spite of the arousal yet coursing through her body, she met his gaze. And asked the very question that had been plaguing her just before he appeared at her side.

  “So, tell me, Thomas, how did le Govic beat you the last time you fought him?”

  Chapter Twelve

  He would deny it to the instant of his death, but Thomas was certain he squawked like a chicken when she blurted out her question. One moment, she was glorious in her arousal and the next, she targeted her words to his weakness with the expertise of a king’s bowman. He laughed again as it made her frown.

  “You should laugh more often, sir.”

  Now it was his brow that raised. “Me? Laugh more? Why, my lady?”

  “You look a...” She paused and shook her head as though she’d changed her intention and then shrugged. “So, tell me about you and le Govic.”

  “Let us get to the heart of the matter then, my lady?” Thomas walked to her and sat on the sturdy branch. As that the glow of the desire between them had burnt away, he could chance being nearer to her. “What is it you wish to know?”

  “I mean no disrespect,” she said, shifting a bit, so she almost faced him. “I cannot offer suggestions or help if I do not know anything about you and him. How does your method of fighting differ from his? Are the lance and horse your strength, or do you prefer the sword on the ground? How did he manage to defeat you last time?”

  How many times could she surprise him? It seemed that she did in their every encounter, and twice so far in this one. Those words coming from another would be an insult at best and an invitation to death at worst. Yet, when she spoke them—and questioned his abilities, his experience and possibly his honor—he heard the honest curiosity in her voice. More, they were intelligent questions likely to force him to examine all three things..

  “This morn was the first time I have watched him fight since we did.”

  “When was that? From my father’s comments and such, it seems like a long time ago?”

  “’Twas fifteen years ago.” Yet, it was never far from his thoughts these days.

  “Had he challenged you or was this less formal?” she asked.

  “We were sparring. Practicing, when it changed.”

  Annora let out a loud sigh and shook her head at his reply. “If I have to ask you for each detail of it like this, the tournament will be over, and the matter decided,” she said with a sharpness in her tone that bespoke of her impatience with prideful men. Or mayhap stupid ones. “Will you just tell me how it happened? Had you met in battle before that?”

  Thomas met her perceptive gaze and then stared out at the river as its water rushed by them. If only it were that easy to explain. If he could just tell her the whole of it and let her judge. If he could... Looking at her now, for the first time since it happened and in spite of years of being questioned over it and reminded of it and hating it, Thomas wanted to tell her all of it.

  She made him want to expose his secrets and his weaknesses and his longings to her. She made him want her in ways that challenged everything within himself. But, life and the n
ear loss of his had taught him a hard lesson in trusting secrets to others. He turned back to her.

  “Suffice to say that we were young and foolish men practicing, insults were offered, fighting ensued. At the end of things, I ended up disgraced in the dirt with a broken jaw.”

  He would have been fine in keeping that resolution of distance between them if she’d not reached up and caressed his jaw, as though searching for the old injury. Mayhap if he’d just taken her last night in his tent when she was so very ready to give him her maidenhead, he could have satisfied this growing need for her. Too late now for such questions. The touch of her soft hand and the damned concern in her blue-green eyes broke him and his control.

  Too late.

  Thomas reached over and pulled her to him. There was a moment when he could have released her, but when she stared at his mouth and leaned in towards him, he gathered her closer and kissed the breath out of her. When she inhaled another, he kissed that one from her and over and over until they were both breathless and panting.

  His cock, hard and needy, urged him to find a place of privacy. His mouth craved her taste. His skin ached to lie naked upon hers and feel the luscious curves she hid beneath her kirtle and gown. His hands slid down from her shoulders to caress her back and hold her.

  Then, sadly for the rest of his body’s parts and places, his wits returned and reminded him of their location and the dangers of being discovered like this together. Thomas eased his way back a few inches that seemed like miles. Her lips were red and swollen from his kisses, and he felt insanely good about that. He glanced away for a moment and then nodded at her.

  “I have not seen le Govic fight again until this day. He was impressive.” The little intake of breath spoke of her dismay, and he continued, “but I do not think he has seen me fight since, either. He is arrogant, stubborn and prideful, and it will be his downfall.”

  When Thomas met her gaze, he recognized confusion and passion awakening and fear there. His words were not the most comforting or filled with the confidence she wanted to hear. But then, she did not understand him or how he approached a challenge or faced a threat. He’d thought her pragmatic in coming to him with her own offer to seek an arrangement in which her future was protected.

  Well, he did not hold to inflated confidence, whether in his training for battle or in accepting this situation. His first reaction after managing to stand before the king and hear his demands was to try to convince William of the folly of it. But a king being a king and completely convinced that his subjects, especially ones facing imminent death, should do his bidding, would brook no refusal from him.

  Now, he must deal with a different sort of opponent here. One who offered her aid to him, even while they battled. So, if she’d offered, he would have to accept, would he not?

  “Tell me what you saw when he fought.”

  “Truly?” she asked. Her eyes brightened, and some of the fear left them.

  At his nod, she settled more comfortably at his side and gave her assessment freely. He tried to pay heed to her words, but her mannerisms as she spoke captured his attention. The way her smile gave away her joy at being given leave to advise him. The manner in which her eyes sparkled as she offered her counsel. The soft touch of her hand on his sleeve as she described a move that le Govic had made during the second challenge.

  How had she made him want her so much in such a short time? And, although he wanted her in his bed—with complete freedom and control over her body—Thomas could sense a growing need of a different kind. One that made him want her intelligence and her keen sense of observation and her skills at piecing patterns together and pulling them apart. She ran her father’s demesne and was experienced in all manner and number of things.

  She would make a nobleman the perfect...

  Thomas shook himself out of that path of thinking and stood abruptly, startling himself and the lady. Annora stared up at him.

  “Are you well, Thomas? You look...” After a pause, she nodded. Annora stood then and narrowed her gaze as she studied his face. “Ill?” Her words repeated his own to her with that slight change, and he smiled as he held out his hand to her.

  “I am well, and I am late to meet someone,” he said, giving the weakest excuse he’d ever given. “May I escort you back to Margaret so you may return together to wherever it is that your father expects to find you?”

  Annora smoothed her hair, replaced her wimple and circlet and then took his arm and allowed his escort back towards the carts and vendors. He nodded to the maid, who stood waiting for her lady. Before they reached her, Annora pulled them to a halt.

  “I wanted to wish you luck in your challenges on the morrow,” she said. “I am certain you will win both.” She let out a sigh then. “I would offer you a token if I could.” She touched her sleeve as though she thought something there.

  “Nay. ’Twould be too dangerous to allow our liaison known.”

  “A liaison, was it?” she asked, a hint of humor underlying her words. He covered her hand where it rested on his arm and nodded.

  “When a woman slips into a man’s tent in the dark of night and remains there until dawn, in his bed—” He raised his brow and winked at her. “’Tis a liaison, my lady.”

  The blush that filled her cheeks then made him want to undress her to see if that becoming pink colored the skin on her breasts. Oh, she would be splendid to take to bed and discover what would draw out that enhancing color and sighs and moans.

  She must have sensed the rising arousal between them, for she ran off then, leaving him to watch her go. He slid his hand inside his tunic and touched the veil he’d hidden there. He knew if he drew it to his nose, he would smell the scent of her. He had done it already...many times.

  When she’d disappeared through the crowds, Thomas turned in the direction of his tent. He needed to prepare for his challenges in the morn. The two knights who’d challenged him were fair in their skills and their reputations. Neither would be less than a good fight, but neither would give him much of a problem. The two would serve as good practice and preparing his skills on the morrow to be ready to face le Govic the following day.

  He reached his tent, feeling confident about the next day. And mayhap the next two.

  The thunder rumbling overhead woke him before his servant could. As he lay there listening, the winds grew louder and pounded against the sides of the tent, threatening to tear them apart. His stomach churned as he heard the rains that struck the ground in waves, driven by those damned winds and made worse by the rolling thunder that shook the ground. The only thing missing was the...

  A bright, blinding flash of lightning lit outside and inside the tent then.

  Thomas sat up and rubbed his head roughly. Leaning his elbows on his knees, now drawn up to his chest, he could not believe it. Last evening when he’d retired, there were few clouds in the darkening skies to portend this kind of storm.

  He had few, if any, choices in this. The challenges on the lists would go on, fair weather or foul. If the one challenged withdrew, they lost whatever was at stake. If the challenger did it, there was no loss of reputation or goods or gold. He let out a vicious curse, at the weather, at the Almighty, at the king and even at his own stupidity for believing this would all work out to his advantage. Neither of the men who challenged him would withdraw and miss this chance to fight him. He knew them both well enough to know that.

  Before he got off the pallet to dress, Martel entered the tent and, even in the midst of his frustration at the conditions, it gave Thomas pleasure to see the man dripping wet.

  “The challenges will go on in spite of the rain,” he said in that dead voice of his. Lightning screamed across the skies above them, and its answering thunder crashed around them as if to make it clear how bad the weather was. “There are several others before yours.”

  So, if the rains and winds continued unabated, there would be deep mud and ruts filling each lane of the lists. T
he baron’s men could try to smooth them out between challenges, but they would not interfere between each run with the lances. Strategies filled his thoughts as he ate some bread and cheese to break his fast.

  He’d fought in rain and mud before. ’Twasn’t easy on man or beast, but he’d done it. He stared at the flap of the tent whipping in the winds and considered what to do.

  “Martel, go and speak to the knights I am to face. I do not wish to sacrifice the horses in this storm to give them a chance to fight me. Increase the gold offered if ’tis too dangerous for the horses, and we meet only on the ground.”

  “Sir,” Martel began. Thomas shook his head and waved off anything else he would say.

  “They are not stupid, Martel. Their mounts must live to fight another day and are not easily replaced in their situations.” He knew, because Martel had told him, that the two men were not wealthy and had barely scraped together gold enough to be taken seriously in a challenge. “Appeal to their common sense or their purses, whichever you think best. If the conditions warrant this and they refuse, make certain they know the king has sent several other horses for my use.”

  He could see that the king’s man wanted to argue with him. But the winds suddenly tore the tent flap free and sent it flying through the camp. Any argument was forestalled until that could be handled, and then Thomas turned his attention to his armor, ignoring the man. From Martel’s lack of mirth, Thomas was certain Martel had seen the logic in his offer, for there was no reason to risk laming and then needing to destroy a valuable asset for their masters’ lack of sense.

  But, Martel was unsuccessful in his attempts after all. So, as arranged, once finished with the long process of lining up and parading with the other knights and then being called to fight by the baron’s marshal, he did indeed meet both his opponents on horseback first and then finished on the ground

  He was caked with mud—on and under his armor and mail, as well as under his helm and in what hair he had—and had to change his surcoat between opponents. In spite of having superior skills with sword and staff and feeling confident of his ability to defeat both of these knights, the day’s fights did not go as he’d planned.