by Tamara Leigh
"What are you doing?" she gasped.
"Playing a part," he muttered, "as will you." Raking his fingers through her pinned hair, he quickly loosed the plaits and sent her hair falling past her shoulders. Then he pressed his body to hers, lifted her chin, and bent his head. "Pretend you like it," he whispered. A moment later, his mouth covered hers.
Joslyn was shocked. Nothing in her twenty-one years of life had prepared her for this, not the innocent kisses of her early years, and certainly not the dispassionate ones of the man who had been her husband. Nothing. . .
No gentleness about him, Liam urged her mouth open beneath his, drew a hand down her back, and grasped her buttocks.
A ripple of sensation leaping across her spine, Joslyn loosed a small sound. Liam took it from her and gave back a husky groan. Next, he slid his mouth off hers and trailed its moist warmth down her neck. "Put your arms around me," he said.
Joslyn's hesitation was a moment later met by a shout from the mouth of the alley. They were discovered, and with that realization she began to understand the charade she must also play if they were to convince her pursuers they had stumbled on something not of their concern. Still, it hardly made sense that Liam would go as far as he did with the shadows obscuring them. Especially the kiss.
"Now!" he ordered.
Obediently, she slid one arm around his waist, the other across his shoulder, then dropped her head back and sighed.
When the man at the end of the alley stepped forward, Liam jerked his head around. "Who goes?" he asked in a guttural accent that could not possibly be mistaken for noble, his voice shaded with drink he had not had. The dim light of the alley also hid his attire, which otherwise would have made a lie of him.
The man halted. "Lookin' fer a lady," he said. "A noblewoman who came this way."
"Noblewoman." Liam spat. "Yer dreamin', man, ain't no lady ever come near Whore's Way."
Whore's Way. Lord, no wonder she'd been approached to sell herself, Joslyn realized.
As the other men gathered behind him, the man demanded, "Who's that with ye?"
"Ain't no lady, eh, my love?" With that, Liam jerked a handful of Joslyn's hair, urging her to respond.
"Go on with ye," she tossed at the men, affecting an unrefined accent she prayed would be believed. "I got good money to make, and I canna do it with ye standin' there gapin' like fools." Jesu! Where had that come from? The words had slid off her tongue as if common to it.
Trying to see deeper into the shadows, the man at the end of the alley leaned forward.
"Ye heard the wench," Liam said. "Be gone."
The man hesitated and took a step forward.
Unsheathing his dagger, Liam lifted it to catch the light above his head. "I won't be tellin' ye again," he warned. "Ye can have her when I'm finished but not before."
Trying not to think of the blood that might be shed at any moment, Joslyn swallowed hard. "Aye, do ye got enough coin," she said. "I don't do nothin' fer free." And she held her breath.
A long uncomfortable silence followed. Then, mumbling something, the man swung about and started out of the alley. "Not here," he announced to the others. "Jus' a whore turnin' her trade."
Grumbling their disappointment, the men withdrew.
As the silence returned, one part of Joslyn eased while the other—that still in contact with Liam— tensed further. She tried to ignore his solid chest against her feminine one, his stony thighs trapping hers between them, but something in the recesses of her knowing roused.
Thinking herself depraved to feel anything but fear for this man, she lowered her arms to her sides. However, Liam continued to hold her. Surely it was safe for him to release her now. After all, the danger was past. Wasn't it? She looked up at his unmoving face.
Though Liam's gaze was more felt than seen, the thumb he brushed across her lower lip was unmistakable. Nay, the danger was not past.
"I see Maynard neglected your mouth," he said softly, reminding her of the intimacy they had just shared and which she'd hardly known how to respond to—an intimacy that, as a woman who'd borne her husband a child, she ought to have had more experience with. "What else did he neglect?"
A thousand untried emotions winging through her, Joslyn curled her hands into fists so tight they hurt. "I do not know what you mean."
Liam lowered his face near hers, the hair upon his brow grazing her forehead. "He wanted you only for what you could give him that could take from me," he said. "Isn't that true, Joslyn?"
Briefly, she closed her eyes. Aye, it was true. There was no other reason Maynard had wed and bedded her.
"There was no pleasure in it, was there?" Liam pressed.
No love, no pleasure, only the conception of an heir. But never would she admit it, her marriage having been too much a mockery as it was. She set her chin high. "We should leave here," she said. Unfortunately, the defiant gesture brought her mouth nearer Liam's and his breath upon hers.
"Should we?"
A peculiar ache growing in her breasts, she said, "They might return."
"Nay, they will not. Are you going to answer me, Joslyn?"
Feeling cornered and ready to burst with the straining of her senses, she snapped, "I most certainly am not. And do not be so free with the use of my given name, Sir Liam. If you so soon forget, I am Lady Joslyn Fawke, your brother's widow."
Such power did mere words have that in the next instant Liam released her. "As if I could forget," he said. Sheathing his dagger, he turned from her and strode the reach of the alley. "Do not dawdle, Lady Joslyn," he called over his shoulder. "The tower awaits."
The tower. She hurried after him. "It is not to the tower I wish to go," she said, stepping into the street.
"That much is obvious, but it is where I am taking you."
She grasped his arm through the short mantle he wore. "I promised Oliver I would return to him after the noon hour," she said. "He will be frightened if I do not."
Liam halted in the middle of the street, looking down at where she held him and then into her eyes. "You worry for his safety, do you not?"
She released him. "Of course I do."
"Though I do not think it will console you much, Lady Joslyn, I have sent a man to watch over the monastery to assure no ill befalls your son."
How did Liam, the one from whom she had thought to hide Oliver, know where her son was? Her worry doubled. "Nay, I cannot say it consoles me," she said, "which is why I would see for myself that he is well—and assure him I am well also."
Liam shook his head. "I regret it will have to wait."
"For you, perhaps," she said, turning and starting up the street. However, Liam caught her and pulled her back around.
"In this place, Lady Joslyn," he said, his gaze intense, "it would not be taken amiss for a man to carry a woman over his shoulder. Which would you prefer, to be carried or to go forward on your own feet?"
He would do it, she knew. The threat was there in his eyes. Still, what of Oliver? "Sir Liam, if there were any good in you—"
"Which you do not believe."
"—you would take me to my son first." To Joslyn's surprise, something akin to wavering crossed his face. But that was all.
"You will have to trust me in this," he said. "Oliver is safe—as are you. I give you my word."
In that moment, something turned in Joslyn. Something whispered to her that Liam did not lie. King Edward had not been mistaken about this man when he assured her Liam was no threat to Oliver.
"Which is it to be?" he asked.
She would have to trust him. "I shall walk," she said.
Releasing her, Liam reached forward, dragged her hood over her head, and turned away. "Come."
8
Liam led Joslyn through a series of small side streets she did not recognize until they reached the market street she had first traversed. There, mounted and holding the reins to Liam's destrier, was Sir John.
"I was beginning to think I might have to come in afte
r you," he said.
Liam made no comment, nor did he give Joslyn any warning before lifting her into the saddle of his destrier. She was still struggling for words when he swung up and settled himself behind her. However, her protest fell away as the warmth of his thighs pressed against her, nudging the sleeping thing inside her that he'd first awakened in the alley. "I can walk," she finally managed to say, trying very hard to put from her mind the feel of this dangerous man.
"You can," he agreed. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist and left Sir John to follow behind them.
Halfway to the palace, Liam felt Joslyn move to look around at him. "How did you know I had gone from the tower?" she asked. "I thought you long departed when I left."
He did not answer immediately. Then he said, "As I had other business to attend to, my departure from the palace was delayed."
"You followed me?"
"Aye."
"How did you know it was me?"
Remembering the bent figure that had at first seemed an old woman, Liam said, "You passed by me—near enough to brush my sleeve."
"But I was cloaked."
Cloaked but unmistakable. Tempted to say what he should not, Liam leaned forward and put his mouth near her ear. "When you do not smell of dirt, my lady," he said softly, breathing her in again, "the scent of roses lingers about you. 'Twas how I knew you had gone down the alley."
She stiffened further, but still the shudder she must have tried hard to suppress quaked through her.
He affected her, Liam knew—had known it ere he had even put his mouth to hers. But, be damned, she also affected him, and in that direction lay naught but trouble.
"I am not the only one to bathe in rosewater," she said, her voice tight. "Many ladies use it."
"Ladies, but few if any commoners," he said, reminding her of the disguise she had adopted.
"It could have been another lady."
He ought to let it go, Liam knew, but could not. "Nay, Joslyn, it smells different on you. Your skin." Sliding his hand more deeply around her, he pressed his fingers into her waist.
She jerked against his hand.
Lord, but she was so different from the woman who had seemed without form or figure when she'd swung a rake at him, Liam mused. Never would he have guessed so feminine a shape was hidden beneath those filthy garments.
"Will you tell the king I left the palace?" she asked, obvious in her ploy to change the subject.
Liam smiled wryly. It was just as well, for his body was beginning to answer his thoughts. Shifting in the saddle, he loosened his hold on her. "Nay, for I am sure he is already very much aware of your absence."
"I do not see how. Dinner is yet a time away."
Was she truly so naive as to believe the barony came to her son without recompense? Liam wondered. So blind that she had not seen the desire Queen Philippa's faithless husband had shown for her? Nay, she was neither of those things, for he himself had witnessed the confidence she exuded when she stood beside the king. And when word reached him that Edward had given her an apartment at the palace, it had only confirmed what should not have needed confirming. For certain, Joslyn knew what was expected of her—though Liam did not understand why she had risked the king's wrath to go to her son. "You know I do not refer to dinner," he said.
Joslyn grew so still Liam could not even feel her breathing against him. Then she twisted around. "I know what you are thinking," she said, outraged, "but you are wrong."
Such fire in her amber eyes, Liam thought. As if it were he who had done what the king intended. "Nay," he said, "you are the one who is wrong. Wrong to believe you can promise a man as powerful as the king something and then leave him with empty hands."
She turned three shades of heat, one after the other. "I promised him naught."
"Not even with your eyes?"
In the next instant, those same eyes grew even larger. "You are a despicable cur, Liam Fawke. Never would I sell myself for that bit of land you lust after."
Now it was Liam's turn to feel fury. Dragging on the reins, he brought the destrier to a halt. "That 'bit of land' is a barony, Lady Joslyn. It is called Ashlingford, and it is among the most profitable in all of England."
She stared at him a long moment before looking away. "I know," she said. "The truth is, I had hoped the king would decide on you, rather than Oliver. That my son and I might return to Rosemoor as we were before you came."
Her lies only angered Liam more. "Which is why you stole from the manor in the middle of night to put your claim before the king?" he said.
"Father Ivo told me it was not my decision to make. That Ashlingford was Oliver's birthright and I had no right to take it from him."
It sounded like his uncle, Liam reflected—indeed, most assuredly Ivo had been behind the plan—but he simply could not believe Joslyn preferred a paltry manor to a princely barony. "In that my uncle is right," he said. "No one has the right to decide another's fate." As twice now the king had decided Liam's.
Joslyn must have understood his meaning, for she said no more.
Ignoring Sir John's raised eyebrows, Liam commanded his destrier forward, and not until they reached the tower did either speak again.
"Prepare yourself, lady," Liam said softly, "for the king does not take kindly to spurning."
She looked over her shoulder. "No doubt you hope he will take Ashlingford from Oliver for what I have done."
A grim smile twisted the corners of his mouth. "Hope," he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue. "Twill take far more than that to return the barony to its rightful heir."
Joslyn wanted to ask what he meant but did not. There was no need to taunt him any further. Whatever his reason, he had saved her from those men when he could more easily have left her to them.
So deep in thought was she that she did not notice they were before the palace, nor that Liam had dismounted, until he reached up and lifted her down from his destrier.
On her feet, Joslyn tilted her head back and met Liam's gaze. "I have not thanked you for delivering me free of that place," she said.
"I do not expect you to."
"But I do thank you."
"Methinks there will be many an occasion for you to thank me, Joslyn Fawke," Liam said, and nudged her forward. "The king awaits you."
The guards before the palace gates eyed Joslyn as she advanced, and then one of them separated himself from the others. "What be your business at the palace?" he asked.
"I am Lady Joslyn Fawke." She pulled the hood back to reveal her tangle of black hair. "I am a guest of the king."
The guard blinked with surprise. "We have been searching for you," he said. "It was made known to us not a half hour past that—"
"But now she is returned," Liam said from behind Joslyn. "May we proceed?"
The guard stepped back. "Of course."
Inside the palace, an ornately robed man with disapproving eyes led Joslyn and Liam to the great hall. "Wait here," he said, then nodded for the guards to open the doors. A moment later, they were pulled closed behind him.
Very much aware of Liam where he stood silent at her side, Joslyn stared straight ahead. What would be her punishment for having left the palace without permission? she wondered. She did not have long to ponder it before the doors opened again.
Bowing, the robed man backed out of the hall, gesturing for Joslyn and Liam to go forth.
Drawing a deep breath, Joslyn stepped inside.
King Edward was not alone.
"Father!" Joslyn exclaimed. Forgetting propriety and her sorry disarray, she hurried across the hall and went into the arms her parent had no choice but to open to her. "I feared you might not come," she spoke into his shoulder. "The message was sent you three days past. I—"
"Joslyn, the king," Humphrey Reynard reminded her, his tone gently admonishing. Pulling back, he turned Joslyn with him to face Edward upon his throne. "Twould appear my daughter is found, Your Majesty," he said.
Fearing what she woul
d find in the king's gaze, Joslyn bowed low and then lifted her face and stared into his angry eyes. Was he angry because, as Liam had suggested, she had not been available to "thank" him for Ashlingford? Or only because she had defied him?
"Aye, found," King Edward said, "and by Sir Liam, no doubt." He looked to where Liam stood, to the right of Joslyn and her father. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"I think the lady can better tell it than I," Liam answered.
Once again besieged by the king's regard, Joslyn swallowed hard. "Your Majesty, 'tis not that I wished to disobey you, only that, under the circumstances, I was worried for my son's well-being. I had to see him. Unfortunately, in leaving the palace I became lost in the city, until Sir Liam happened upon me and brought me here."
Her explanation was not well received. "So you thought me a liar when I assured you your son would be safe," the king said.
"Nay, I . . . " How to explain it to a man such as he? "I am a mother, Your Majesty. What else would you have me say?"
Menacingly, the king leaned forward. "I—"
"Only a mother can understand another mother, my dear," a sweet voice said from behind. "You waste your breath upon these men."
Startled by one who dared to interrupt the king's admonishing, Joslyn looked around at the woman crossing the hall toward them.
Queen Philippa. It had to be. And what a sight she was! Though Joslyn had heard it said that the queen was of fairest face and kindliest disposition, such words hardly did her justice. She was a strikingly pretty woman. Her eyes twinkled like stars in a clear night sky, her cheeks glowed with a smile that looked never to turn downward, and her face was the face of an angel. Though she was on the plump side, it did not detract from her beauty.
Pausing before Joslyn and her father, Queen Philippa reached forward and took Joslyn's hands in hers. "I am most relieved you are returned to us safe, Lady Joslyn," she said. "Your disappearance caused quite a tumult. All manner of imaginings had I for what fate might have befallen you."
Belatedly, Joslyn lowered herself before her queen.