After the Storm (13 page)

"Lady Isabeau's in residence at the castle."

"The place is a burned wreck." It hurt to say the words in a calm, cold voice. He remembered fire, and screams, and running and running until his lungs nearly burst. He'd run away from Lilydrake. "The place is cursed."

"Perhaps, Bas, but the good lady is there. She has workmen repairing the walls.

And…" Cynric paused dramatically.

"Out with it."

"The sheriff's in residence as well."

"Reynard? At Lilydrake? Not two miles from our camp?" Cynric nodded. "Come to hunt us down with the lady's help, has he?"

"Now, we don't know that the lady is helping him. She was friendly to us when we were prisoners, you'll recall my telling you."

"Aristocrats care nothing for peasants like us," Bastien reminded his friend angrily. "Nothing!" Heads turned their way at his shout.

Cynric held up a conciliatory hand. "As you say, Bas. Don't get your temper up.

Stay cool. You're at your best when you think cool instead of hot."

That was true. It was better when logic ruled emotion. Bastien took a deep breath, ignored the pain and tried to use his mind. "So, Sir Reynard's come to hunt us, has he? Using Lilydrake as a base? We'll have to move the camp."

"That's sense."

"And we'll need to know his plans—how much time he can spare to search the forest, how many men he has, how Lady Isabeau and her stronghold figure into Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

his schemes." He rubbed his hands across his bearded, rough cheeks once more.

"We need a spy," he said. "Someone inside Lilydrake."

"And how do we do that?" Cynric asked.

"It's easily enough done," Bastien answered. "You said there were workmen repairing the castle."

"There are."

"Then all I have to do is join the work gang to make my way into the castle."

"You? You'll be recognized."

"I won't be recognized."

"You swore you'd never go near the place."

"I'm breaking my vow."

"Better if I go."

"You're too old."

"Odda, then."

"He's our best tracker. I want him to find Sikes's lair."

"Harald?"

Bastien put a hand on Cynric's arm. "You'll need Harald to help you organize moving the camp. Enough, friend. I know you fear the place will drive me mad.

It won't."

Cynric didn't look happy, but he nodded. "You, then."

He didn't want to go back. He did fear for what sanity he had recovered. He refused to live in fear of a pile of stones. So he would go back. Better to ride the devil than let it ride him. It had been riding him long enough.

"Me."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Chapter 7

Her hands landed on his chest. They paused there, the palms laid flat across his
nipples. The warmth from the contact singed into his skin, into his being. He
didn't move, he didn't open his eyes, he just waited, breathless, anticipating,
longing. All she was doing was resting the flat of her hands against him, but the
surge of desire that moved through him was as powerful as from any caress
.

"Shh," she whispered, though he hadn't made any noise. Her lips touched the
base of his throat, leaving one soft kiss before moving away. Her hands traveled
slowly down to his stomach. They paused there while he longed for them to make
their way down to his groin. While he held his breath in anticipation her lips
circled one bared nipple. He gasped as the soft heat of her mouth touched him.

She suckled for a moment, then gave one sharp nip. He nearly jumped out of his
skin in reaction. So, she was in one of her wild moods, was she? He laughed,
and grabbed her by the arms. They wrestled for a moment, her skirts tangling
around both of them, then he had her beneath him and he was kissing her. Her
mouth was sweet and hot and fire danced between them. She moved eagerly
beneath him as his hand found her breast. She was tangled up, wrapped in a
cocoon of heavy cloth like a present to be opened. There were at least two layers
of linen between his hand and the hard bud he sought. He teased and played
with the hidden nipple, making her moan in pleasure and frustration while they
shared a hungry kiss. Finally, he paused long enough to look into her eyes.

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Her beautiful brown eyes.

Were her eyes supposed to be brown ?

"Isabeau?"

She blinked. Her eye color didn't change. Her face was clear when he'd gotten
used to seeing only shadows. "What?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Where?" She spoke in some foreign tongue, yet he could understand it.

"Here. What are you doing here?"

She gave him a wide, wicked, hopeful grin. "Having sex?"

Anger rose in him, killing passion. "Not with me, you're not!"

"
But, Bas
—"

"
You have no business here! When she reached out to him he pushed her away.

"No! I want my
— "

"Wife," Bastien whispered into the dark as he woke from the dream. Nightmare.

Who the devil was Isabeau of Lilydrake that she
dared
to intrude on his dreams?

The anger that surged through him at the thought was as hot as the passion of the dream. Nobles were greedy. They'd steal anything they could from a man, including his dreams.

He found that his body was tight and aching, covered in sweat. In the dream he'd wanted his lover very badly, it had all seemed very real. In the dream there had been the promise of pleasure, completion, release. Now he was alone and still lustful. He deserved the pain, he reasoned, just punishment for dreaming about the wrong woman.

Isabeau of Lilydrake was to blame. What man wouldn't remember the feel of her soft skin, the clean smell of her, the sensuous shadow play of her body as she Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

moved in her bright silk clothing? She was everything a poor man could dream of in a woman, forbidden fruit, all the more tempting for being so far from reach.

But his arms had circled her once, and in those few moments she'd spun a web of desire with her kiss that he still hadn't fought off.

fust why was he really at Lilydrake? he asked himself as he lay back on the hard beaten earth of the hut. There were a dozen such structures hastily built for the workers who crowded into them to sleep. A short, fierce dispute during the evening meal had convinced the other peasants that he needed a sleeping place to himself, so he was alone. He was thankful that no one was there to witness his shame if he'd cried out the lady's name in his dream.

Right now he wanted Isabeau of Lilydrake.

He hated wanting her, but his body wouldn't let him deny it. That was why he was spying on the rebuilding of her stronghold, spying on her. She hadn't seen him as he'd mingled with the workmen, but he'd seen her often. Unreasonable as the drive was, he wanted to see her now.

He wished he had the will to stay put, to wait for the dawn, but he got up and left the hovel to move silently through the moonlit courtyard. The sheriff had men on patrol on the castle wall, but Bastien knew how to use the shadows well. No one saw him. Nor did the castle give up any of the secrets of his past to his searching gaze while he crossed the inner bailey. He'd had some faint hope that returning would bring back the memory of why he and his love had been at Lilydrake that day. In a way, it was a relief that the memories hadn't come back to distract him.

His goal was the central tower, the unguarded entrance to the lady's chamber, but the newly hung doorway creaked open before he reached it. Before anyone could come outside his back was pressed against the tower wall, his hand on his hidden dagger. The dogs came out first, their lean, alert shapes frosted by the moon.

They stopped and looked his way, sniffed the air, but kept his presence to Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

themselves. He smiled, satisfied that his efforts to gain the animals' trust in the last two days had not been in vain. He was no stranger, and they were too intent on some other mission right now to come to him for a petting.

"Go on," Lady Isabeau's voice called to them from the doorway. "Do your business. I want to get back to bed." The dogs bounded off into the darkness.

"They need to be housebroken," she said to someone who had accompanied her.

"Besides, I was having trouble sleeping."

"You were moaning in your sleep, my lady."

"I was not," Isabeau answered sharply.

"And twisting in a most unseemly fashion."

"I was just trying to get comfortable."

"And whispering about baring your breasts to—"

"Matilda!"

So, the lady was having restless dreams of her own. Bastien thought. Wanton dreams of him, perhaps? He caught himself smiling at the thought and fought down the curiosity.

"I want to go for a walk. Why don't you go back to bed?"

Yes, Matilda
, Bastien urged silently.
Go back to bed
. He wanted to be the one to accompany Isabeau on her walk.

Isabeau stepped from the doorway and turned her face up to the sky. Her hair flowed down her back like a dark river. Bastien wondered what it would be like to gather up the heavy locks in his hands, to push them aside and press his lips to the base of her slender neck. He almost took a step forward when she spoke.

"What a night," she said, almost reverently. "It's so clear here. The air tastes of moonlight and night-blooming flowers."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

"The wind's coming from the stable." Matilda answered, and yawned again.

Isabeau laughed, and turned quickly around, her thin linen underdress swirling around her legs. The material clung, outlining her breasts and the length of her thighs. Bastien's body was growing tight with need and he prayed Matilda would go away.

"You have no romance in your soul, Matilda," Isabeau told the girl. "But you do have a pretty good nose. Very well, the night smells of horses and hay. It's not such an unpleasant smell."

"No, my lady," the girl agreed. She sounded distressed by Isabeau's words.

Isabeau must have heard the hurt as well, for she said, "There's nothing wrong with being practical. And if you think I've insulted you, tell me so. Don't let anyone get away with treating you with less than the respect you deserve."

"But, my lady—"

"Isabeau. Just Isabeau. We're equals." Isabeau moved out of the moonlight, so he could no longer see her, but he could hear her voice. "You have to learn to stand up for yourself."

"Henry would not like—"

"Especially to Henry. Haven't you seen how his mother leads Sir Stephan around by his—I mean, haven't you seen what an equal relationship his parents have?

Henry's used to strong women. But I think his mother's maybe a little too smart and Henry doesn't know he's used to strong women. Sibelle is subtle. I'm not sure Henry understands subtle."

"I am not subtle."