A Lily on the Heath 4 by Colleen Gleason Page A

shoulders slumped. She looked bedraggled and exhausted. Yet she held her chin high and made no complaint, and Mal felt a niggle of admiration for her composure. He’d known squires—aye, and even men—who’d been through less trauma and spewed complaints.
    Dirick dismounted, handing the reins to his squire. “Lady Judith, may I help you up? I am fair certain Warwick’s Alpha can easily handle another small weight such as yours.”
    Judith’s attention flew from Dirick to Mal, her eyes widening as she took in the distance he sat off the ground. As if to emphasize his strength and size to the tiny woman, Alpha stamped and shimmied then gave a snort. Mal tightened the reins to check the beast, then before he could think better of it, reached down and scooped up Judith around the waist.  
    She gave a surprised squeak as she went airborne, clutching Mal’s arm as he plopped her firmly on the saddle in front of him. “Well,” she said, a little breathlessly. “That was unexpected.”
    Dirick’s face was turned away as he took back his own reins, but Mal caught the hint of a smile curving his cheek. He grimaced, tamping down a burst of chagrin at his overeagerness to assist Lady Judith. Fool.
    “Thus our party has shrunk yet again,” Dirick said to the group at large after vaulting into his saddle. “Warwick and I will continue on. Bethrel, Fredrick, Mark, come you with us. The others will catch up to you soon enough, once their task in the forest is done,” he added to the grounded de Rigonier, who was surrounded by his squire and two men-at-arms.
    Mal was only vaguely aware of these arrangements as they were being made, for there were arrangements of his own that must be attended to. Lady Judith, once settled onto the saddle in front of him, had adjusted herself so she sat astride rather than sidesaddle. This meant that Mal, who sat behind and had an easy view down the front of her, couldn’t help but notice the way her widespread thighs gripped the sides of their mount…something that would never have happened if she’d been wearing a proper gown.
    He felt mortifyingly lightheaded for a moment as a variety of fantasies galloped through his mind, then firmly redirected his thoughts—and gaze—upward to the road in front of them. But as Judith jounced along in the seat, her curvy behind nestled into his widespread thighs, Mal had countless other disturbing thoughts with which to contend.  
    He was required to ride with one arm banded around her middle and the other holding the reins, blocking her in on one side. Despite his arm settling over the relatively innocent span of Judith’s midriff, Mal couldn’t be more aware of the curve of her breasts just above. And since she’d thrown herself into his arms upon her rescue, he was fully aware of how soft and curvy she was…everywhere. Once, she bent to the side to adjust her shoe or boot and the underside of one breast came perilously close to brushing against his mail-clad arm.  
    And then there was the matter of her hair. Directly below his chin bounced her head with its fiery braid, smelling of flowers and pine and some other scent that made his insides tighten and shiver. Wispy curls freed from their moorings fluttered into his face.  
    He couldn’t bear to think about her warmth seeping into his thighs and groin—burning even through the hauberk, mail sherte, and chausses he wore. Or so it seemed. His cock responded accordingly, filling and straining uncomfortably inside his hose. But there was naught he could do to relieve the situation without announcing his condition to the very person who caused it.
    Hell. He should have insisted she ride with Ludingdon, who hadn’t even noticed another woman since his betrothal and wedding to Maris of Langumont. Yet at the same time, Mal realized this was the closest he’d likely ever be to the wench who’d taunted and teased him—knowingly and unknowingly—for more than a decade.
    “Did you fall off your