Chapter 9

Avalene opened her eyes to shadowy shades of daylight, surprised to realize it was no longer nighttime and she was no longer moving. Her gaze moved upward through the canopy of a willow tree. Long, trailing willow branches formed a living tent of green and gold all around her. The gently swaying switches carried the lingering scent of morning dew, but she remained dry and warm in her sheltered haven. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to know the identity of the man who held her. Sir Percival's familiar warmth and scent enveloped her.

Sometime during the night or early morning, Percival had managed to dismount without waking her and settled them both into this makeshift bed beneath the willow tree. They lay side by side, back to front, their bodies fitted tightly together in a position even more intimate than when they rode together. Her "pillow" was a solid male arm, and her blankets the soft wool of his cloak and hers. His other arm lay draped over her waist as if to make certain she stayed close to him, even in sleep. Oddly enough, she felt no sense of shock or maidenly modesty at waking in his arms.

Later she would be annoyed at his presumption. Later she would think about the kisses they had shared the night before and the way she responded so readily to his tempting offers, in thought if not in deed. There would be plenty of time to fret over all of those worries in the next few weeks. For now she wanted nothing more than to relax in the warmth and comfort of his arms, luxuriate in the illusion that the rest of the world and its worries were very far away.

She turned to look over her shoulder but her head was tucked beneath his chin and she could see no more than his arm. Moving slowly, careful not to wake him, she turned her whole body until she faced him. His head rested upon a leather saddlebag and the windblown branches cast moving shadows across his face, giving the illusion of shifting expressions: a stern look that melted into smooth, boyish innocence. Then the shadows caught the angled features of a devastatingly handsome man.

His eyes remained closed and she studied the crescent sweep of his lashes. There were so many mysteries to ponder about a man who should be almost dull with normalcy; a landless knight like so many at Coleway, men who offered protection from the lord's enemies in times of war, or an escort for the lord and his family when they traveled to fairs, shrines, or tournaments. Such a man would not be expected to make so many life-or-death decisions about the fate of his liege lord's daughter, and he would certainly not be so irreverent as Sir Percival was in her presence. He was unlike any other knight she had known, or even any other man she had known. Whatever this attraction was between them, the normal rules of chivalry and courtship did not apply. Indeed, he made clear there were no rules. They were free to do as they wished. The world of convention and propriety was far away. For this brief moment in time, she was not bound by the rules that made a courtship between an unwed noblewoman and a landless knight impossible. She could do almost anything she wanted. She could smile and flirt with him, kiss him if she pleased. She could…

She blinked once, astonished at the lewd direction of her thoughts, and just as astonished that she did not recoil from the idea. In her mind she stepped closer to the place where rules were left behind, drawn to look over the edge and into the abyss. How would it feel to open her arms and throw caution to the wind, knowing it would be Sir Percival who caught her?

She didn't know why she felt so certain of him. He had pledged to protect her with his life, but there was an underlying emotion at work that was harder to define, even though it was just as important. It was the way he made her feel when she was in his company, as if she could do or say whatever came into her head and he would understand, that he knew how her mind worked and the meanings behind her words. It was the sort of connection she saw between people who had been friends for a very long time, or siblings who were especially close, or couples who were long wed. She and Percival barely knew each other, but she felt that same sort of bond with him, a sense of ease that was as comfortable as if she had known him all her life.

Her hand reached out seemingly of its own volition to rest against his chest. Warm stone was the first thought that went through her mind. He was so much bigger and harder than she, but there was a gentleness she sensed in him that made his strength intriguing rather than alarming. She suspected he was a man who had known little of gentleness in his own life, but every time he touched her he seemed to do so with great care, as if she were some sort of breakable treasure. Perhaps it was those small quirks that enticed her, that effortlessly drew her in.

He still hadn't stirred from the weight of her hand on his chest and she grew bolder, moving her hand upward until her palm rested lightly against his cheek. The warm, sandy texture of his face fascinated her. Her palm tickled where it rested against the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw.

He shifted in his sleep and she went still as he turned his head and rubbed his cheek against her hand. After releasing a deep sigh, he rolled onto his back and then his breathing returned to normal. Her thumb now rested near the corner of his mouth and then she watched it move across his lips. She knew this was madness, but the lure proved irresistible. He would never know. She could pretend for just a few moments that there was nothing wrong with touching him as if it were her right. Even in sleep his mouth looked hard and unyielding, but her fingertips encountered skin as soft as her own. She closed her eyes and let her thumb rub over his lower lip, remembering his kisses, wondering when he would kiss her again, wondering how many kisses they would share before this dream ended.

If they were captured and returned to Coleway, she would be forced to endure John as her husband. When they reached the safety of Weston, she would be given to Faulke Segrave with her honor in tatters regardless of her actions. From all accounts, Faulke was a handsome man, but she had known other handsome men at Coleway and they failed to stir any hint of the desire that Sir Percival could arouse just by looking at her. Percival was risking his life for her and had already forsaken his honor. Both their lives were at risk on this journey. Allowing him to introduce her to passion seemed a small price to pay. Indeed, it was a selfish price on her part. She had never wanted another man the way she wanted him, and there was a growing fear that she would never again want another man in the same way.

Suddenly his lips parted and a low, husky voice emerged. "You are playing with fire, Avalene."

She jerked her hand away halfway through that announcement and gaped up at him. The fire he had warned her about was in his eyes, banked for the moment in shades of mossy green, but warm enough to make her blush. She bit her lower lip, trying hard to think up a believable lie for her brazen behavior. "I—I did not think you would awaken…er, mind, if I…"

"You did not think you would be caught," he finished for her, in the same deceptively mild voice. His eyes narrowed when she began to chew her lower lip again. In one smooth movement, she found herself on her back with Sir Percival looming over her. There was a harsh edge to his features that she interpreted as anger. "Did you think your boldness would displease me?"

"I have no idea what will please or displease you." She blinked once, searching for the right answer. "You do not look very pleased."

"I do not look satisfied," he countered. His gaze fastened on her mouth as he rubbed his thumb over her lower lip, mimicking what she had done to him earlier. "Little girls who play with fire get burned."

She wanted to tell him that she was not a girl, remind him that she was a woman full-grown. She could not utter a word. He had burned her lips with his touch alone. His fingertips inflicted the same sweet punishment along the curve of her cheek and she shuddered, feeling a familiar tendril of liquid heat unfurl in her belly.

"Ah, cara ," he breathed, as he gazed down at her.

"The thoughts you put in my head."

Cara . The word sounded foreign to her, yet vaguely familiar. She had heard the word somewhere before, but not in tones so seductive or in a voice that made her breathless with anticipation. Would he kiss her again?

Her thoughts dissolved into swirls of emotion when his lips touched first one corner of her mouth and then the other. He moved lower to trail chaste kisses along the length of her jaw, and lower still to her throat, seemingly intent on exploring every inch of exposed skin. When he lingered near her ear she heard as well as felt him draw a deep breath, as if her scent intrigued him. He slowly released the breath and her whole body rose upward, drawn to him by some invisible force.

"Aye, impossible thoughts," he murmured, settling some of his weight until his hips rested lightly upon hers. Helplessly, she pressed upward again. His low groan turned into words of encouragement as his mouth trailed a path toward hers. "Kiss me, Avalene."

Her sensible voice argued that this was wrong . Then his hand cupped her cheek and all she could think was, this is so right . She obediently turned her head to kiss him. The instant their lips met she felt a tingling sensation begin…in her toes, of all places.

Impossible thoughts began to fill her head as well. Thoughts that maybe the fall would be worth it, that maybe she did deserve to indulge herself on this journey, to learn about lovemaking from a man who found her desirable, from a man of her choosing rather than a man chosen for her by others. This was not wrong.

Determined now to please him, she tried a more serious kiss like the ones he had taught her the night before. He responded immediately, fitting his mouth to hers, but still letting her set the pace. Soon the chaste kisses were not enough to satisfy the craving that began to build inside her. A craving for what, she wasn't entirely certain, but each kiss whet her appetite for more. Unfortunately, he seemed in no hurry to ease her hunger.

A wicked thought entered her mind. Before she could think better of the idea, she darted her tongue between his lips in a tentative stroke. He made a sound deep in his chest that was part growl, part groan, and then he took control. He taught her exactly how to taste him, drawing her into his mouth, then gentling the pressure to stroke her with his tongue. The intimacy should've shocked her. Instead, she tangled her fingers through his hair to hold him closer, growing hungrier.

Somewhere in her drugged senses she realized that his hands were skimming over her waist and hips, and then working at the ties that fastened her surcoat to loosen the garment. His mouth moved away from hers and she tried to tell him all the amazing thoughts that were running through her head, every feeling, every wonderful new sensation that he brought to life within her. The only sounds she could make were small sighs, then soft little moans when his teeth nibbled painlessly along the sensitive curve of her shoulder.

Her eyes widened when he sat up just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. He tugged at her surcoat until that garment, too, lay in a heap. She had scarcely drawn a breath before he leaned over her again, his weight braced on his hands. "Touch me, Avalene. I want to feel your hands upon me."

Her gaze drifted across the vast expanse of his naked male chest, at muscles that stood out in rigid relief along his neck and shoulders, and even along the flat planes of his stomach. Before she could think to refuse his order, he made the decision for her and placed her palm against the center of his chest.

"Feel how my heart beats for you, cara ."

For a moment she could feel nothing but the hard warmth of his bare skin, the rough texture of the dark hair across his chest. Then she felt the steady rhythm of his heart, strong and vital, the very essence of his life force. Tears welled in her eyes when she realized what he had just done and all the implied meanings, intentional or not. He had just placed his heart in her hand.

"What is this?" he asked, as he brushed away a stray tear with his thumb.

She could hardly explain what she did not understand herself. Instead, she put both hands on his chest and marveled at the difference between her pale skin and his sun-bronzed flesh. "I like touching you."

She felt the vibrations of laughter beneath her palms.

"And here I worried that I had shocked your maidenly senses."

"I have shocked myself," she admitted, as she spread her fingers to feel more of him. Her hands drifted lower until they rested on the hard ridges of his stomach.

A deep shudder racked his body and her startled gaze flew to his face. His brows were drawn together, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked. "Are you hurt somewhere?"

"Aye," he answered hoarsely. He shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "Nay, 'tis not pain, but frustration. This is not the time or place for love play."

Despite his words, one hand moved to the laces of her chemise as his gaze held hers captive. Instinctively, she tried to stop him. Panic set in when he effortlessly brushed her hands away. He began to untie her laces. She looked from one side to the other, searching for a gap in the branches that surrounded them. "We should not be doing this. Where is Oliver?"

"Asleep on the ridge above us," he said easily, as he loosened the gathered neckline of her chemise. He glanced over his shoulder toward a place where the ground began to rise. "My other man, Armand, is keeping watch, but he cannot see through the branches of this tree and neither would dare approach before calling out. We are alone." He turned back to her with a determined expression. "You are so beautiful; I just want to look at more of you. 'Twill go no further, I swear."

He parted her chemise before she could object and she felt a chill of cool air on her breasts. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover herself and closed her eyes as well, but he gently pushed her hands away.

"So beautiful," he murmured. His hand moved to her throat and he stroked the sensitive skin with the tips of his fingers. He traced a line down the center of her chest and her own breath caught in her throat, waiting to see what he would do next.

She had overheard enough gossip to know that a man often fondled a woman's breasts when he kissed her. Percival's intentions appeared obvious, but he surprised her by tracing the same innocent path back to her throat, his fingers lingering on a pulse point in her neck. She felt a painless ache in her breasts and wanted his touch there, but he lowered his head for another kiss and his fingers brushed along the line of her jaw.

Eventually his hand began to drift lower as if he couldn't help himself, at first stroking her shoulders, then moving to her breasts, tracing their shape, cupping her as if to gauge their weight. The ache intensified. He drew back far enough to look into her eyes and then he brushed his thumb across one of her nipples in the same kind of stroke that he had used on her lips. Her back arched and she gasped, overwhelmed by the shock of sensations that surged through her.

He seemed to know how to calm her, how to gentle the ragged burst of emotions. He cradled her face and made small hushing sounds near her ear as his lips pressed kisses into her shoulder. Her breathing had barely returned to normal when he shifted to settle more fully between her legs. Their lips touched at the same moment his chest touched hers, and the weight of his big body settled over her. They both gasped.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sensation of his bared skin against her own, at the unexpected shock of contact that passed between them. She wanted to ask him if that always happened, but he took her breath away with deep, drugging kisses and she soon forgot the question. She was in heaven…until his whole body suddenly stiffened and went still. He gathered her closer until it felt as if she were surrounded by him on every side.

The words he bit out were laced with such quiet venom that at first she thought it was emotion that made them incomprehensible. "Rami, se veramente vuole morire, la accontento. Allora, lasciaci in pace! Capisce?"

She was even more astonished when another voice answered, the voice of a child.

"Sì, mio padrone."

Avalene followed the direction of Percival's gaze and caught a glimpse of a foreign-looking boy with dark brown hair and honey-colored skin. Long willow branches lay over his shoulders like a woman's hair, as if he had just pushed through them. He wore strange garb and seemed very thin, and he held something in his hands that might have been a tray of food. He bowed and backed his way out of their sanctuary through the trailing canopy of willow branches. For a moment they both remained frozen in place.

"That boy saw me naked." She pushed against Percival's chest to get him off her so she could put her clothing to rights, and was grateful when he released her.

"He did not see you naked," Percival said, even as he rolled off her and picked up his shirt. Despite her agitation, she could not help but watch him. Powerful muscles stood out in hard lines along his shoulders and arms, flexing in fascinating ways as he put his shirt back on. "I suspect Rami got an eyeful, but I doubt it will cause him any lasting damage."

Her hands stilled on her laces. "You think my humiliation is cause for humor?"

"Nay, I think it fortunate that Rami interrupted us when he did." He looked at her over his shoulder and his lips curved upward in a grin, his expression so unexpected and so disarming that she felt her breath catch. "You are entirely too tempting in the morning, my lady."

She didn't know what to make of his lighthearted mood. "Are you…are you going to blame me again for those kisses?"

He shook his head. "I knew full well what I was about."

"I should say so," she grumbled.

That broadened his smile. "Still, I went further than intended. You have my apologies, my lady."

Percival rummaged through their saddlebags and found her rucksack as she tried to work a knot free in the laces of her surcoat. Rather than give the sack to her, he sat down and began to search through its contents.

"This is much less than I imagined you would try to bring along." He handed her a comb from the bag, and continued digging. "An extra chemise, stockings, a comb, hairpins, ribbons, needles, threads…what is this? Ah, never mind. 'Tis a clever little mirror."

She had never seen him so at ease in her company. Usually there was an underlying element of tension between them, as if he were constantly on guard. She almost hated to ruin his mood. "Why did you speak Italian to that boy?"

Percival stilled for a moment, then went back to his exploration of the rucksack. "He understands only Arabic and Italian. Where did you learn to speak Italian?"

"Merchants. Italian merchants," she clarified. "Where did you learn the language? And where did that boy come from?"

"Rami is newly arrived from Italy and does not yet speak more than a few words of French and English," he said. "Fortunately for Rami, I learned to speak Italian when I was a child, and there was an Italian knight in your father's service who helped polish my skills with the language. The men who are with me also know the language." His mouth turned downward as he continued to riffle through her belongings. "Where did you encounter Italian merchants, and how is it you were allowed in their company long enough to learn their language?"

Despite his casual tone, she felt certain he was focused entirely on her answer. She could understand his concern. All Italian men had a certain reputation when it came to women, an almost instinctive power to seduce them. Even the youngest apprentices had a way of focusing all of their attention on a female that made them hard to resist. "The merchants seek lodging at Coleway each year on their journey between the fairs at Shrewsbury and Chester. Their parties stay at Coleway for at least a fortnight."

One dark brow rose. "You were allowed to associate with these men?"

"Only in the great hall or common areas," she said, "and only when my aunt or Lord Brunor were present."

His curt nod indicated acceptance of her answer, but his continued silence encouraged an explanation.

"I spent little time with the merchants since I could ill afford their wares, but their apprentices often carried trinkets that they would barter for the veils I embroidered." She would not admit that she was just as flattered as every other woman at Coleway by the attentions of their intriguing visitors. She recognized early on that the Italians enjoyed all women and she was nothing special. "I learned a few words of Italian by bargaining with the apprentices."

"It seems you learned enough to understand what I said."

It was more question than comment and she dutifully answered. "I have a talent for learning languages, although I have not had much occasion to practice my Italian. Perhaps I can learn more from the boy, Rami. Who is he, by the way? A page? Your servant?"

"He was a slave, a recent acquisition of mine from a cruel master. I do not like to see children abused." He slid apart the two halves that protected the polished surface of her mirror, then tilted the metal disk this way and that as if he were intrigued by the way the light reflected off its surface. "An Italian merchant owned Rami, perhaps one of the very merchants who visited Coleway. Rami still looks painfully thin because his master was slowly starving him to death. In a moment of weakness I decided to purchase him. I have little use for the boy and offered him his freedom, but he refuses to leave. He tries hard to please. Ofttimes he tries too hard."

And that was how she learned Sir Percival was a true knight and hero. She couldn't name one knight at Coleway who would have bothered himself to save a heathen child in such straits. There was a soft heart beneath Percival's forbidding exterior, another unexpected surprise.

"That was very good of you to rescue the boy," she said. "'Tis little wonder he wants to please you."

He made a noncommittal sound and brushed her concern aside. "Our breakfast still awaits us, and then we must be on the road again. 'Tis already well past dawn."

The thought of leaving their lair made her feel suddenly awkward. They had been moments away from being entirely naked and spied upon by a little boy. In a field. With God only knew how many other people about. She was not acting like herself, but Percival had no way of knowing this was out of character for her.

"There is something I must tell you," she blurted out. The sudden intensity in his eyes was disturbing enough to make her grasp for words. "I do not—that is, I am not—I have never before been so free with my favors!"

The look in his eyes intensified, but he remained silent.

"Given my actions last night and this morn I would no longer blame you if you thought I was some sort of harlot. I do not know what came over me. I never act this way. Something is wrong with me."

The corners of his mouth turned up again. "Aye, there is definitely something wrong with you. Many things, as a matter of fact."

Many? She could guess at a few, but what more did he find wrong with her? Apparently the confusion showed in her expression.

"'Tis not such a mystery," he said in a kind voice. "You are fleeing from an unscrupulous steward who would force you into a dishonorable marriage with the help of your aunt. You are in the middle of the wilderness with a man you barely know and without a chaperone. We are both aware of the attraction between us and we both know this is perhaps the only situation in which we are not bound by any rules. Few young women ever find themselves in such a predicament. I would be worried if you felt perfectly yourself under these circumstances."

"I—I appreciate that you have treated me with honor," she said in a quiet voice. "Many other knights would not behave as nobly as you have."

He took her hands and pressed his thumbs into the centers of her palms in gentle, soothing motions that should have been calming, but instead felt incredibly wicked. "I have never wanted nor needed to force myself upon a woman to gain her favor. If you decide to find me repulsive, then you need not worry that I will take you against your will. If you continue to find our interludes as pleasant as I do, then I suspect you will lose your innocence before this journey ends. Normally I am a patient man. I would prefer to wait until we reach a soft bed with no worry of being overtaken by a search party, but our time is limited and I wish to enjoy every moment with you to its fullest. If you waken me the same way each morn, 'tis possible I may not wait until we reach London to make you mine."

Her cheeks warmed over the way he said make you mine . "What we are doing, what we will do is sinful."

"Is it?" he asked. "Our bodies recognize that we are well matched, even if our minds rebel against the idea. We are in a moment out of time. You are not pledged to any man but me and I am pledged to no other woman. Life is an uncertain thing, Avalene. Events in the future will likely separate us, but no man or woman knows if God will bless them with a future. Our path is uncertain. Today is all that is sure. We can live for just these moments as if we were pledged to each other. Indeed, we actually are pledged to each other in a sense. I am your knight. You are my lady. Time is all that can change those facts, but time is not yet our enemy."

His logic sounded so reasonable that she wondered if he had practiced the speech. It was certainly persuasive.

"This is all happening so quickly," she said. "I did not expect to find myself in such a position…ever. Suddenly I am supposed to disregard every tenet that I have lived by all my life?" She shook her head. "I should resist everything about you that I find irresistible. Just the touch of your hand upon mine is enough to make me forget myself. But then another voice inside me says this is wrong, the same voice that cannot believe I let you unlace my gown and chemise as if I were a common strumpet. I am not that kind of woman, and yet…somehow I am."

"I suspect you will discover many surprising things about yourself on this journey," he said. His gaze dropped to their joined hands and he released his hold on her as if he had been unaware of the contact. "For the first and perhaps the only time in your life, you are free to act upon impulse."

"I cannot bring myself to think it is right." She laid her hand upon his arm and it seemed a reflexive gesture when he covered her hand with his own. "At other times, there is nothing about this that feels wrong. Can you give me a little time to sort through my feelings? Truly, I am not so impulsive a person as I have acted since we met. I need time to come to terms with everything that has happened, and decide how to move forward."

"Are you asking for my permission, or do you seek permission from yourself?" His words were harsh, but the look in his eyes was gentle, understanding. "I will not blame you again for our intimacies, but you must admit that you have a hand in bringing them about. I am not a monk, my lady. If you tempt me, I will respond. If you hold yourself apart, I will respect the distance you put between us. However, I am not above plying temptations of my own. That is the best I can promise."

"'Tis a fair bargain." She forced herself to take her hand from his arm, and then released a small sigh. "I shall try my best not to tempt either of us until I can think clearly again and decide what is the best course."

"I trust you will let me know when that momentous decision comes about." He surprised her by catching her hand and turning it over to place a brief yet sensuous kiss in her palm. "Right now, I am famished and in need of sustenance. Let us break our fast, and then you will have all day to think over your decisions before we stop again for the night. Just be aware that I intend to sleep with you every night until we reach London." His smile grew wider. "For your protection, of course."