Mary Reed McCall (13 page)

Aidan remained silent, though it took all his self-control not to answer back. Kevyn glanced sideways at him, obviously not pleased at his lack of response. “You had better take this seriously, Aidan. Not only will the alliances that are so important to you crumble, but feelings will be wounded as well—most notably, Lady Helene’s. And she deserves it least of all—”

“Damn it, man, enough,” Aidan finally growled.

“You’re right—’twas a foolish risk, bringing Gwynne to
Dunston. I shouldn’t have done it. Are you satisfied now?” He contented himself with glaring at Kevyn, though he’d have preferred to knock his head off his neck.

Kevyn just stared back, the look of quiet reproach in his eyes almost making Aidan ashamed of his outburst. Almost, but not quite. After a moment his friend shook his head again and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees, his big hands balancing the cup between them. “’Tis your life, Aidan, not mine. I just don’t want to see you or Lady Helene get hurt because of all this.”

Aidan felt his ire cool a little, and after a pause, he leaned forward as well. “I won’t let that happen, Kev, never fear. I can’t afford to.” Yet as he spoke, he knew such a result would be a forgone conclusion unless he took the step he’d been mulling over and resisting for the past five hours.

Gripping his goblet tightly in his fist, he muttered, “For the remainder of the time Helene and her father are here, I plan to cease my efforts to make Gwynne remember her past with me. I’ll avoid being alone in her company as much as I can. ’Tis the best I can do.” He glanced back over to the women, his mouth tightening as he did. “I just hope that Lord Rutherford doesn’t get it into his mind to stay too long.”

“Perhaps you’ll get lucky and he’ll leave right after the celebration.”

“Not likely. Helene has it in her head that she needs to spend some restful time with me—something about keeping my mind off war and bloodshed for a while—a belief she maintains, no doubt, thanks to my dear sister.”

Kevyn sighed. “Ah, to be so fortunate as to have a woman like Helene wanting to soothe my spirit.”

Aidan glanced over to him in surprise, allowing himself a smile. “What—the world’s greatest lover, and you
cannot find such a boon with any one of your many women?”

Now ’twas Kevyn’s turn to scowl. “Lady Helene is as unlike other ladies as a jewel is to a stone. You know that, Aidan. Any man in the kingdom would spill his blood for the honor of championing her, even without her fortunes or her connection to the king.”

“Aye, I know, old friend,” Aidan answered, looking back over at his betrothed as his smile faded. “And in truth, I know that I am not worthy of her affections. Would that you could take my place in worshipping her as she deserves.”

Before Kevyn could answer, the castle hounds distracted him; the dogs began to whine and get up as the main keep’s door swung open. ’Twas Dafydd, looking as solemn and focused as he always did. He brushed by the dogs and made a path straight to Gwynne, obviously startling Helene and Diana as he approached.

“What the devil is the man doing, stalking through the hall like he’s come to announce a war?” Aidan muttered.

Gwynne looked up from her sewing and set it aside as Dafydd leaned in and murmured something in her ear. Her face stiffened with the news. In the next moment she turned to Helene and Diana, apparently making some kind of excuse before getting up and walking with her guardsman from the hall.

Aidan watched her until the door closed behind her; then he set down his cup and stood. “I’m going after her.”

“What happened to leaving her alone?” Kevyn chided.

“Dafydd’s been gone all day to meet the Welsh messenger in the wood. I want to know what’s happened.”

Kevyn sat still, arms crossed and brow raised as he stared up at him; his condemning expression made Aidan set his jaw. “’Tis a matter of security, Kev, for Dunston
and for England. Now, be a good friend and see to my sister and Helene for me, will you?”

After a pause, Kevyn nodded, and so, without waiting for Kevyn to try to argue him out of it again, Aidan set off in the direction of the door, intent on finding Gwynne and her bodyguard—propriety be damned.

Gwynne held the parchment up to the rush light in the corridor, examining the seal she’d broken just moments ago. ’Twas Marrok’s insignia, of that she had no doubt.

“Did my cousin say more about why he is acting as messenger in Eldred’s place?”

“Nay,” Dafydd answered, “Only that his father wanted to ensure safe delivery of this important message, and that he’d be serving as go-between from now on. He said he’d offered himself for the position, as he craves some activity during these months of enforced peace.”

Gwynne’s mouth tightened. “Aye, that sounds like Lucan.” She frowned, her heart pounding as she glanced briefly through the message again. “I just cannot believe that Marrok would command this of me.”

Dafydd glanced at the parchment, having also just read its contents. “You can choose not to follow the order,
Chwedl
. Marrok is not like his brother Prince Owain was—he will understand if you feel the need to disobey.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “yet he is the clan’s leader now. If I ignore his order, ’twill encourage others to do the same once they hear of it.”

Dafydd remained silent for a moment before saying, “’Tis your decision to make,
Chwedl
. But I know something of the struggle within you, and I feel it is my duty to caution you. If you feel that you must undertake Marrok’s command, be very careful.” He went quiet again, nodding in that thoughtful way of his before adding, “The heart is a powerful thing,
Chwedl
. Make no mistake.”

“Aye, Dafydd, I know.” Gwynne’s mouth felt dry as dust. “Yet my duty must be to my people. I will complete my mission here in whatever way Marrok thinks I should, no matter how difficult the task.”

“What task is that?”

Whirling around, Gwynne met Aidan’s gaze, her pulse leaping at the spark of warmth in his eyes. He’d approached them almost silently from the shadows of the corridor, and her surprise made her clench down so hard on the parchment that it crackled. Sucking in her breath, she tucked it in the front fold of her bliaud.

“What is it?” he repeated, his expression unreadable.

“’Tis obviously of concern to you. Perhaps I can help.”

Gwynne’s mind raced with what answer she could give that would sound plausible to him, but her thoughts refused to cooperate, fixed as they were on the last lines of Marrok’s message:

Dafydd cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. “In his latest message, Marrok has asked
Chwedl
to consider perfecting a difficult new series of sword exercises that they’d begun to practice before the advent of our treaty with you. He wants her to teach it to some of the younger warriors when we return to the village.”

Gwynne threw her bodyguard a grateful look.

“Ah, I see,” Aidan said, rocking back a little on his heels. His expression suggested otherwise, however, revealing just how much he doubted Dafydd’s glib response, but unless he wanted to grab the parchment out of
her bliaud and read it, there was no way he could refute the statement.

“’Tis a challenging sequence of moves, and we were just discussing whether or not we would be able to perfect them in the time we have left here,” Gwynne added, trying not to wince at the higher pitch her voice took with the lie.

Aidan cocked his brow. “Would you like some help, then? I’d be glad to come down to the old stables and work with you through the exercises.”

“Nay—” Dafydd began firmly.

“Aye.” Gwynne cut Dafydd off, giving him a brief but pointed stare, before swinging her gaze back to Aidan again. “I think ’twould be a welcome change. But only on one condition.”

He smiled. “Back to your old penchant for making bargains, are you?”

She tipped her chin up defensively, flushing.
Damn him
. She crossed her arms over her chest to show her disdain for his teasing, then widened her stance a little to increase the effect. “The bargain would be this: I’ll teach you my series of sword exercises,” she said at last, “if you show me one of the training sequences that you use with your men.”

Aidan crossed his arms as well, then, his brows knitting together as he nodded in an exaggerated display of considering her proposal. “I can see the logic behind that.”

Her temper pitched higher at his mockery. Scowling, she snapped, “’Tis the only fair way to do it. Now what say you—does the idea interest you or not?”

“Aye, it interests me.”

All pretense of playfulness had vanished, suddenly, from his voice; she found herself the object of his full attention. His velvety gaze focused on her—completely on her—making a swirl of butterflies erupt into flight in her chest at the same time that a slow ribbon of heat uncurled
in her belly. Vaguely, she was aware of Dafydd shifting from one foot to the other and looking down at the floor.

She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe before she could speak. “So it’s settled, then.”

“Aye,” he answered, and she somehow felt as if he were caressing her with his voice. “It only remains for you to tell me when.”

“Just after dark. ’Tis my accustomed time.”

“I know,” he admitted, his mouth quirking into another soft smile as he continued to gaze at her. “I’ve made it a point to learn your habits.”

Gwynne flushed again, glad for the relatively dim light in the corridor. “Within the hour, then.”

“Within the hour,” he repeated. “I anticipate the moment.”

With that he tipped his head in a bow, never breaking his gaze with her, before finally pulling away to turn and walk back toward the great hall.

She watched until he disappeared into the shadows, only then releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Dafydd stood silently next to her, shaking his head with an expression that told her he thought she was making a mistake. A very big mistake.

“Don’t say it,” she muttered, rubbing her neck with one hand, while wrapping her other arm around her waist and twisting to face him. “It will be a good opportunity to begin what Marrok has commanded of me.”

Dafydd just looked at her; she’d never seen him appear more unconvinced. “What exactly are you planning to do with him during this training exercise?” he asked gruffly.

“I don’t know yet. But at least it provides me a chance to be alone with him.”

“But you will not be alone. I will be there, as always, by your order.”

She met Dafydd’s stare with her own. “My orders are
going to have to change. Marrok’s command makes that clear. I must be alone with de Brice. ’Twill be difficult enough to find my way in doing what I must without having an audience as well. Don’t worry—I will be fine, I promise you.”

Dafydd didn’t answer; he just continued to look at her with that same worried expression in his eyes.

“All will be well, Dafydd—never fear,” she added, trying to sound reassuring, though the desperation tingeing her voice rather ruined the effect.

Dafydd seemed as if he would continue to argue, but then just shook his head again, sighed, and turned to go and do her bidding.

“Be careful,
Chwedl
,” he called softly over his shoulder as he went. “’Tis a dangerous path you’re about to take.”

“I’ll do my best, old friend,” she murmured to herself as he disappeared down the hall. “God help me, but I will.”

A
idan glanced into the great hall on his way out of the main keep a half hour later. He wanted to go and prepare for his meeting with Gwynne, but first he had to check to make sure that all was under control with Helene and her father. Through the sliver-shaped opening of the door, he could clearly see Helene, Diana, and Kevyn sitting where he’d left them; all three were engaged in conversation. Just then, Kevyn leaned in and murmured something to Helene, and she smiled, gentle laughter spilling from her as she shook her head at him.

“Thank you, old friend,” Aidan murmured. He knew Kevyn could keep Helene amused with his tales for a while—long enough for Aidan to spend what time he could with Gwynne before he’d need to make another appearance in the hall to wish his betrothed a peaceful night’s rest.

Carefully, he creaked the door open a bit further, to get a wider angle of vision into the chamber. The duke sat
against the far wall near the one lit hearth; he leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. A castle musician strummed a lute nearby, and though Aidan wasn’t near enough to hear anything, he knew by the duke’s gaping mouth that he was asleep.

Good
.

Quietly, Aidan pulled the door shut and headed for the portal that would lead him outside the main keep, taking a rush-light torch with him as he went. The coming night lent a fresh, cool feel to the air compared to the heat of the day, and he breathed deeply of it as he made his way to his weapons chamber. He’d need to bring a few different swords with him, he decided.

Entering the darkened building attached to the main keep, he chose what he wanted, then went back out and headed for the abandoned stable room. He kept to the shadows as he went, for though activity in the yard slowed dramatically at nightfall and few castle-dwellers and villagers made their way through the area, he didn’t want to risk being seen.

Soon enough, he reached the old stable door. Glancing around, he checked to make sure that no one loitered nearby and then ducked silently inside, planning to gain his bearings before he let Gwynne know he’d arrived.

He looked around, not having been in the chamber since handing it over to Gwynne and her men to do with as they wished. They’d dismantled all of the old stalls and stacked them against the walls, so that the place was like a large and empty arena, lit all around with wall torches perched in sconces.

In the middle of the dirt-packed floor Gwynne herself stood with her back to him; she was alone, and his breath caught to see her once again in her masculine garments, her long legs encased in the form-fitting laced braies of a warrior. She wore a leather sword-belt slung at an angle
from her waist to one hip, bunching her linen tunic in a provocative display of slender form and shadow.

He swallowed, reminding himself to stay focused on the work at hand. He’d agreed to this for the chance to learn a Welsh exercise, he told himself—not for the pleasure of being in her company. ’Twas his duty to keep current on any tactical strategies England’s enemies might employ against her in battle. Aye, that was it.

But God help him, Gwynne was like a siren’s song to him. He couldn’t stay away, no matter what he’d told Kevyn. She tempted him, teased his senses—tugged at him from memories that were lodged deep down inside, near his heart. Even something as simple as imagining what, exactly, lay beneath those warrior’s clothes lent all sorts of vivid fantasies to his thoughts—fantasies he hadn’t needed to contend with when he’d faced her on the battlefield and believed her to be a man.

“Are you coming in, then?” she said, still with her back to him.

He stiffened in surprise. “How did you know I was here?”

She shrugged. “I can usually feel it when someone approaches me. ’Tis a sense I think I’ve always had—though of course it helps knowing of the imminent arrival beforehand.”

Turning to face him she gave him a brilliant smile, and the heat inside him turned to a molten rush. Jesu, but she was beautiful when she smiled at him like that. He’d almost forgotten, it had been so long. He willed his legs to move, trying to shake off the stunned feeling as he walked up to her. This was
his
castle,
his
territory, he reminded himself. She was his hostage, and he needed to stop reacting like a tender lad in the throes of first love every time he was near her.

Forcing himself to pull his gaze from her, he glanced
around the room before clearing his throat to ask, “Are either of your bodyguards joining us tonight?”

“Nay. They needed some rest, so I told them to do what they wished. In truth, we’ll be quite alone.” She arched her brow at him, the inviting look in her eyes making his mouth go dry.

What in the blazes…?

“Besides, as you’ve said,” she continued, “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” Smoothly, and so quickly that in his stunned state he didn’t realize what she was doing, she slid her sword from the belt at her waist and dragged the tip lightly from his belly to his chest, murmuring, “The only woman you know who could possibly slice you in half if I’d a mind to do it, remember?”

His mind finally caught up with his senses, and he smiled, a surge of pleasure rising along with the competitive spark she always managed to incite in him. Ah, yes—if she wanted to play, he’d oblige.

“I’d be careful with that if I were you,” he murmured, slipping his fingers beneath the edge of the sword to push it away from him. “One never knows what kind of retaliation one’s opponent might take.”

“My opponents are usually unable to retaliate, once I’ve done with them,” she answered, letting the blade swing back toward him, dipping just above his manhood.

He quelled his instinct to flinch, instead murmuring, “But I am not like any other opponent you’ve ever faced.”

“And I am not like any other warrior, either,” she clipped, winking as she pulled the sword up and stepped back to move through a few practice sweeps. “But come, let us begin, or we’ll be here all night bantering instead of working on the exercise.”

Aidan chuckled, bowing gallantly to her before turning to go toward the door and take up his favorite of the two
swords he’d brought with him. Aye, she was in a rare mood tonight. He sensed that he was going to find this training session far more pleasurable than any he’d ever undertaken with his men.

Half turning, Gwynne watched him retrieve his weapon, then deliberately put her back to him, so that she could concentrate on easing her breathlessness and quieting her pounding heart. It raced more with this flirtatious repartee than it ever had before the start of a battle. ’Twas far more challenging—and enjoyable—to spar so with him than she’d thought it would be.

“Where do we begin?”

Aidan’s voice tickled her ear, and she jerked her head to see that he stood right next to her again. He looked rather pleased with himself for sneaking up on her this time; she allowed the point, giving him a crooked smile as she directed that he take a position in front of her. Then, widening her stance, she lifted her weapon with both hands and paused until he did the same.

“Does the series include one of those unusual jumps I saw you do on the field that first day, by any chance?”

“Nay,” she answered, slowly working through the first sword stroke, a classic move that Aidan met easily with his blade.

“Why not?” he asked, locking his gaze with hers and following her lead into the next move. “Afraid that I might decide to use it against you someday?”

“Hardly.” She swung her blade up, meeting his stroke above their heads, sweeping down with another near the floor as they both lunged in toward each other. They stilled for a moment, their faces inches apart. His warm breath caressed her cheek, and she felt herself flush as if its feather-light touch had tinted her skin the delicate hue.

“No one knows that move but me,” she continued, trying
to seem unaffected by his nearness. “’Tis far too difficult for anyone else to master.”

“Then who taught it to
you
, Legend?”

She paused, taken aback for an instant before she grinned. “What makes you think I didn’t conceive of it myself, to have at least a bit of an advantage over brutish louts like you?” Pulling away, she whirled around, sword upraised in both hands, before slicing down, stopping her blade but a hair’s breadth from his throat.

She held the position, noticing that he didn’t look as dismayed as she’d thought he would by her besting of him with the move; a moment later she realized why. His sword dangled, useless, from his right hand, but she couldn’t see his left; then she felt something bump against her side, up high, next to her breast. It was the hilt of his dagger—drawn, apparently, in the instant that she’d made her spinning move: now he held it poised in perfect position at that vulnerable spot beneath her upraised arm.

“Well done,” she whispered, her eyes widening in surprise. In the last seven years of training and battle, no one had managed to sneak beneath her defenses so.

“And you,” he murmured, shifting his neck a bit away from the edge of her blade, even as he continued to gaze at her. She felt herself unable to look away, mesmerized by the powerful emotions at play in his eyes. “But it appears that we have reached a draw,” he added, sounding strangely neutral compared to the heat—the
desire
, she realized with a jolt—that she saw in their depths.

In the next instant she gasped as she felt his hand brushing forward along the curve of her breast. He took advantage of her shock to disengage from their locked stance; backing up a few steps to their starting position, he sheathed his dagger and rested his sword, point down, against the dirt-packed ground.

“So, is that it, then?”

The exaggerated nonchalance of his expression would have made a saint choke with disbelief—and Gwynne had never been known for her piety. In a smooth movement she sheathed her own sword, sucked in her breath, and vaulted into the air, tucking and twirling, to land directly in front of him. Their upright position brought them physically nearer than they’d been before; they stood chest to chest now, her lips a whisper away from his.

“That depends,” she murmured.

“On what?” he asked softly, his gaze flicking down to her mouth; she licked her lips and heard his breath catch before she watched him drag his gaze up to her eyes again.

“On whether or not ’twas too hard for you.”

A slow, sensual smile curved his mouth and smoldered in his eyes. “’Tis never too hard, Gwynne. In fact, I always say, the harder the better.”

Gwynne felt her cheeks heat again, but she couldn’t back down now. “I’ll have to take your word on it,” she finally managed, struggling to keep her breathing even.

“Perhaps…” He paused. “Though as my instructor tonight, ’tis within your rights to assess for yourself…”

Her heart bumped a frantic rhythm in her chest as he tilted his head down fully now, his lips brushing lightly over hers. Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed in and kissed him back, tingles of pleasure spreading like wildfire through her. He tasted so good. She tipped her face to the side to kiss him more fully, the smooth, warm sensation of his mouth sending a ribbon of longing spooling through her.

Their kiss went on and on, full of slow, sweet yearning, and for the first time, she allowed herself to relax and truly revel in the moment. She didn’t need to berate herself for what she was feeling. She was only doing her duty by kissing him, after all—and ’twas pure heaven. His kiss was a little taste of paradise, made all the more erotic by
the teasing heat of their bodies so close together, yet not quite touching.

All too soon Aidan pulled back, and she forced herself to open her eyes, struggling to regain both her balance and her senses. Her limbs felt loose and heavy with the desire coursing through her, and her mouth was still moist, aching for more. But when she met his gaze, a jolt of dismay filtered through those feelings. He looked torn; conflicting emotions showed full in his face—his own longing and need battling with something else. Something painful…

“Gwynne,” he said, his voice rough with feeling,

“Gwynne, I—”

“Damn it, Aidan, I’ve been looking all over the castle for you!” Kevyn stopped short in the doorway, spotting them both and realizing, suddenly, just what had been happening.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered. “Christ, man, did you hear nothing I said earlier?” After another oath he just shook his head, growling over his shoulder as he spun on his heel to leave again, “If you can spare the time, it might interest you to know that your betrothed and her very powerful father even now await you in the hall. They’ve been lingering for nigh on a quarter hour, hoping that you might grace them with your presence.”

Cursing under his breath, Aidan sprang into motion after Kevyn. He took a few stiff steps, then jerked to a halt, glancing back at Gwynne, as if he would speak—as if he might say something to ease the horrible strangeness that had suddenly blossomed between them. But he didn’t. After a strained pause, he simply frowned and muttered an apology before stalking ahead toward the door.

And then he walked through it and was gone, leaving her alone again.

Alone with her racing pulse and panicked thoughts, trying to figure out how she was ever going to fulfill Mar
rok’s command where Aidan de Brice was concerned. What had just happened here had proved to her without a doubt that she was in great danger—not the kind that threatened her life; nay, that was as secure as always, with her fighting skills as ever at their peak. But this…this danger was far greater, for she knew now that if she continued down the path of sanctioned seduction Marrok had commanded of her, she might well lose her heart to the one man she could never have.

The man it was her duty to destroy.

Stars covered the sky as if someone had flung them up in great, sparkling handfuls when Gwynne finally trudged up the stairs to her bedchamber. After Aidan’s departure, she’d spent another hour in hard training, hoping to burn off some of the frustrations he’d left brewing in her.

It hadn’t worked.