His dark eyes stared at her, hard and unreadable.
She reached for another piece of cheese, and her hand touched his and she drew in her breath at the touch. Instantly, she found herself crushed against him, his face near hers, his breath soft, warm. He needed no words to say his thoughts, for his eyes told all. He wanted to believe her, so desperately wanted to believe in her again. The pain was there, a steel spike behind his eyes, an ancient wound, healed over and concealing the poison beneath. She saw his questioning, the silent pleas he gave her, and she answered him in the only way she knew how—by pulling his lips to hers.
The sweet music of the birds joined in the rolling waves of desire that covered her body. The smell of grass mingled with the soft, delicious feel of Ranulf’s lips as he moved them against hers, so gently at first, searching, exploring, on a quest for treasure. His arms supported her, his strength in strong contrast to her growing weakness.
She was aware of naught but him, but some instinct made him draw back and look at her as his hand held the back of her head and his thumb caressed her temple. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, rubbing her head against his palm—how small he made her feel!
“I would like to believe,” he whispered, and when she parted her lips to speak, he closed them with one fingertip. “I will know. Words are too easy, given too freely. I fear those little hands of yours hold much that is mine.”
She did not know why the simple words caused her to experience such a violent tremor of fear, as if she had been given foreknowledge of some evil to come.
They saw the fire even before they saw the towering walls of the donjon of Bedford Castle. Lyonene was startled at the instant reaction of the men, and she spurred her horse hard to keep up with the thundering black horses ahead of her.
The entire village seemed to be ablaze, and the screams of the serfs and the animals caught in the raging heat tore at her, freezing her momentarily.
“Get to the donjon,” Ranulf bellowed at her, his furious face towering above her.
“I can help,” she screamed as she saw a child tearing across the courtyard. She started to dismount. Ranulf’s steel grip on her arm stopped her. The noise roared and the horrible light shadowed his face into a creature unknown, unearthly, a black devil.
“I have no time for this. Obey me!”
She could but do as he said and turned her nervous horse to the inner bailey, the gates locked in some semblance of protection against the threatening fires.
No one was about except the lone gateman, for all the castlefolk had fled to help fight the fire. She found the stables and paused for a moment, watching the flames leaping, licking above the low stone wall as they sought more fuel, more sacrifice to their gluttony. She turned to the horse to unsaddle it and then to look for a chapel to offer her prayers for the safety of the people.
“I knew he would not allow his precious little jewel so near such destruction,” a voice hissed near her.
She whirled around. “Giles! What do you here?” She looked around her nervously. The roar of the fire seemed deafening even in the stable, or mayhaps it was her own fear and panic that threatened to drown her.
“You did not think me so callous a lover that I would concede the battle so easily? Surely you knew me better.”
“I do not know you at all. Why have you followed me?”
“That is easy enough to answer.” His eyes raked her body as she backed to a wooden stall wall and braced herself there. There was no escape from the boy, once a childhood friend, now a glazed-eyed madman. “I was willing to admit defeat had I been beaten fairly, but how could I compete with the riches of your earl? I placed you second only to the Holy Mother, yet all the while you schemed to betray me.”
“Giles, you are wrong.” She moved even closer to the wall, as if a door might appear by some magic. The heat increased
She reached for another piece of cheese, and her hand touched his and she drew in her breath at the touch. Instantly, she found herself crushed against him, his face near hers, his breath soft, warm. He needed no words to say his thoughts, for his eyes told all. He wanted to believe her, so desperately wanted to believe in her again. The pain was there, a steel spike behind his eyes, an ancient wound, healed over and concealing the poison beneath. She saw his questioning, the silent pleas he gave her, and she answered him in the only way she knew how—by pulling his lips to hers.
The sweet music of the birds joined in the rolling waves of desire that covered her body. The smell of grass mingled with the soft, delicious feel of Ranulf’s lips as he moved them against hers, so gently at first, searching, exploring, on a quest for treasure. His arms supported her, his strength in strong contrast to her growing weakness.
She was aware of naught but him, but some instinct made him draw back and look at her as his hand held the back of her head and his thumb caressed her temple. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, rubbing her head against his palm—how small he made her feel!
“I would like to believe,” he whispered, and when she parted her lips to speak, he closed them with one fingertip. “I will know. Words are too easy, given too freely. I fear those little hands of yours hold much that is mine.”
She did not know why the simple words caused her to experience such a violent tremor of fear, as if she had been given foreknowledge of some evil to come.
They saw the fire even before they saw the towering walls of the donjon of Bedford Castle. Lyonene was startled at the instant reaction of the men, and she spurred her horse hard to keep up with the thundering black horses ahead of her.
The entire village seemed to be ablaze, and the screams of the serfs and the animals caught in the raging heat tore at her, freezing her momentarily.
“Get to the donjon,” Ranulf bellowed at her, his furious face towering above her.
“I can help,” she screamed as she saw a child tearing across the courtyard. She started to dismount. Ranulf’s steel grip on her arm stopped her. The noise roared and the horrible light shadowed his face into a creature unknown, unearthly, a black devil.
“I have no time for this. Obey me!”
She could but do as he said and turned her nervous horse to the inner bailey, the gates locked in some semblance of protection against the threatening fires.
No one was about except the lone gateman, for all the castlefolk had fled to help fight the fire. She found the stables and paused for a moment, watching the flames leaping, licking above the low stone wall as they sought more fuel, more sacrifice to their gluttony. She turned to the horse to unsaddle it and then to look for a chapel to offer her prayers for the safety of the people.
“I knew he would not allow his precious little jewel so near such destruction,” a voice hissed near her.
She whirled around. “Giles! What do you here?” She looked around her nervously. The roar of the fire seemed deafening even in the stable, or mayhaps it was her own fear and panic that threatened to drown her.
“You did not think me so callous a lover that I would concede the battle so easily? Surely you knew me better.”
“I do not know you at all. Why have you followed me?”
“That is easy enough to answer.” His eyes raked her body as she backed to a wooden stall wall and braced herself there. There was no escape from the boy, once a childhood friend, now a glazed-eyed madman. “I was willing to admit defeat had I been beaten fairly, but how could I compete with the riches of your earl? I placed you second only to the Holy Mother, yet all the while you schemed to betray me.”
“Giles, you are wrong.” She moved even closer to the wall, as if a door might appear by some magic. The heat increased
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