Dance of Desire (16 page)

 
Three days later
, the morn dawned clear and bright. A perfect day for a wedding. Or, at least, it would be, Rexana thought moodily, if she were to marry a man she loved.

She adjusted her hold on her plodding mare's reins and struggled to calm her jittery nerves. As she had often reminded herself since signing the marriage contract, she had good reasons for wedding the sheriff. She would not lose sight of her purpose. Not now. Not in the coming days.

The morning breeze carried many sounds: the hoof- beats of horses bearing her wooden chests of clothes and personal effects; the snap of the banner displaying her family crest; and the merry tune played by the musicians who walked ahead of the procession to herald her arrival. A few paces in front of her, Henry spoke to one of the men-at-arms who escorted her to Tangston's village church. There, the wedding ceremonies would be performed.

There, in name only, she would become Lady Rexana Linford.

The town gates loomed ahead. The fortress rose on the grassy hill beyond, tall and imposing like Linford himself.

'
Tis
the right choice,
she told herself firmly.
Believe it, and you will not fail.

Henry dropped back so that his horse walked alongside hers. "Not far now, milady." He frowned, as he had earlier when he helped her onto her mare and smoothed her mantle so her bliaut would not gather dust on the journey.

"I shall be fine, Henry."

"Still, I worry." He swatted away a bee that shot up from the wildflowers growing along the roadside. "If you need help, no matter what 'tis —"

Tears clogged her throat. "I will ask you. Thank you."

Shouts came from the gates ahead. Rexana straightened and looked at the peasants gathered on either side of the gates and peering over the stone wall. Curiosity and excitement warmed the faces of the men, women, and children who watched her approach. The enormity of her decision flooded through her, yet she managed a smile. No matter how fearsome her decision seemed, she would persevere. She would win Rudd's freedom.

Children darted toward her, clutching bouquets of wilting daisies and meadowsweet. Leaning down, she took them from their sticky fingers. One day, her womb would bear a babe, but not Linford's child. The thought left her feeling strangely empty. How ridiculous. She felt naught for Linford. Certainly not love.

The men-at-arms moved closer to contain the crush of people. Tucking the flowers in front of her saddle, Rexana followed the musicians through the town gates. More people crowded the streets. The noise, the narrow wattle and daub buildings reaching upward toward the sky, the sea of anonymous, staring faces melted into a blur around her and she kicked her mare forward.

"Rexana." The familiar voice cut above the din. "Here. By the tavern."

A man staggered out of the building's crooked doorway. His handsome face looked unshaven, his shock of red hair unkempt, his rust brown tunic stained and creased. She hardly recognized the young lord. Garmonn.

Her mouth went dry. The last thing she needed was a confrontation with him. Not when she had done her best to avoid him the past few days. She waved, then coaxed her mare onward.

"You refused to receive me," Garmonn called in an overloud, petulant voice. He elbowed his way through the throng. When he reached her side, he stumbled along beside her moving horse. "Why did you refuse me? What have I done to deserve your disfavor?"

He set his hand on her leg. Memories flooded her mind, sending panic rushing through her in a harrowing deluge. He had won her disfavor months ago, but 'twas not wise to remind him now. Forcing a gentle tone, she said, "With only days to prepare for the wedding, I had no time for visits. I am sorry."

"You are heartless." His bloodshot eyes hardened. "Rudd rots in the sheriff's dungeon. You do naught to help him. Instead, you wed that crusading bastard. You should be marrying

The noise around her quieted. Warning buzzed in her veins, as well as anger. Did he not see how mortifying this was for himself, and for her? Did he intend to cause a scene? "Garmonn —"

"Do not marry Linford." His fingers tightened on her, crushing her mantle and gown. The mare flailed her head, and with a gasp, Rexana struggled to keep control of the animal. "Listen to me." He leaned closer, his lips wet with spit. " '
Tis
dangerous —"

"To mistreat my bride," boomed a deep voice. "Unhand her, or you will find yourself in my dungeon."

Her breath caught. The crowd parted as Fane strode toward her, flanked by men-at-arms, one hand on his sword's grip. Sunlight gleamed on his silky hair and embroidered blue tunic, crafted from the most beautiful fabric she had ever seen. The lavish garment denoted wealth and authority.

She swallowed. "Sheriff Linford."

"Milady."

Her horse snorted, sidestepped. Fane reached up, caught the jingling bridle, and steadied the animal. His gaze slid to Garmonn. "Lord Darwell's son, I believe?"

Garmonn's face reddened. He managed an unsteady bow.

"Your father is looking for you. He hoped you would honor Rexana and myself by attending the wedding ceremony." Fane shook his head. "I vow you should go sleep off your drink."

With an awkward gesture, Garmonn smoothed his tunic. "I am not besotted."

"You reek of tavern smoke and ale." Fane's eyes narrowed. "You have already embarrassed my bride with your foolishness. Leave, before I choose to take exception to your crudity."

"You dare to call me crude, you
bast
—"

"Leave," Fane snapped. "Now." His hand closed on his broadsword's hilt.

Garmonn reached for the dagger at his hip.

A hush fell over the crowd.

A sickening tightness clawed at Rexana's chest. She stared down at Garmonn, his face a ghastly shade of purple. If she did not intervene, he would attack Fane. She knew well of Garmonn's twisted cruelty.

"Please." She softened her words to remove any hint of insult. "Do as he says. Rudd would wish it, as do I."

Garmonn's gaze held hers. His eyes scorned her, condemned her. Called her a liar. Fear stormed through her.

"When Rudd is proven innocent and freed from the dungeon," she soothed, "I will tell him to come see you."

As though her words eased an internal dilemma, Garmonn smiled, then spat out of the side of his mouth. He sheathed his knife. After casting Fane a last, disparaging glance, he turned and staggered through the crowd.

She sighed. Her shoulders sagged. Past the rushing sound in her ears, she scarcely heard Fane's command to his men-at-arms. "Find Garmonn's horse. Make sure he leaves and does not return."

Guards thundered past. The chatter and music resumed.

Rexana unwound the reins that had somehow become twisted tight around her fingers. Bits of meadowsweet, dislodged from the saddle during the fray, tumbled to the ground.

The mare suddenly eased into a walk. Rexana looked up, to see Fane leading the horse off the main street into an alley cluttered with broken wine barrels and crates. The crowd moved back to allow them room to pass. As men-at-arms stepped forward to control the throng, Fane said, "Do not let anyone follow."

He strode farther into the alley. His tunic glittered and outlined the muscled swell of his shoulders. Lower down, the fabric shifted against his buttocks, suggesting taut muscles and curves. Rexana quickly averted her gaze. She should not notice such things.

"Where are you taking me?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "To the church, love, to make you my wife."

Frowning, she pointed to her right. "The church is in that direction."

"I thought you might need a moment to calm yourself and right your garments." He kicked broken crockery out of the horse's path. "Father John might think I could not wait to sample you."

Her hand froze in the midst of straightening her skirt. Her heart lurched into a steady
thump, thump
and she glared at the back of Linford's head. "You are a rogue to suggest such a misdeed."

Again, he looked back at her. His smoldering gaze skimmed over her mantle before he grinned crookedly. "I am tempted."

A thrill skittered through her. She ignored the sensation. "You would not dare."

"You misjudge me." He chuckled, a sound of wicked intent. "Then again, mayhap not. '
Tis
rumored, after all, that I have few morals."

The horse slowed, then halted. The trill of a flute, laughter, and voices drifted from the distant street. As the sunlight slanted over the buildings and lit Linford's eyes, Rexana's heart slid down into her belly.

Releasing the horse's bridle, he strode to her side. Her embroidered shoe touched the front of his tunic.

Oh, God. What did he intend?

"Have you forgotten the way to the church, milord?" She stared at him. The leather reins bit into her palms — just as Linford had bitten her hand. With shocking vividness, she remembered his mouth's moist heat, and his teeth grazing her skin.

"I remember the way," he said. "So, too, do I recall your skin's warmth. You smell like violets. You taste like a sweet, ripe fig. Irresistible." His fingers brushed her sleeve. "I want to kiss you, Rexana."

She twisted away. "Stop."

"Am I that fearsome? Come. I am to be your husband. Grant me one little kiss. For luck."

Luck
? Oh, aye, she needed plenty. His sinful smile promised he knew all the ways to kiss a woman and make her beg for more. Did he know she had never been kissed on the lips by a man? Did he know that if she kissed him here, now, she might not want to stop?