Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03 (9 page)

“Don’t want to leave him to die,” he said as he wrapped the rope around Swen’s wrists, then secured it.

“But we cannot bring him with us, either.” He hoisted Swen up onto his shoulder an amazing feat—and carted him over to a clump of bushes. She followed, wondering what he intended to do with the Viking.

He looped Swen’s arms about the branches, then took the pouch from her, pulled out a thick leather strap and used it to bind Swen’s legs loosely around the base of the

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bushes.

“He’ll be able to free himself, but not for a while.

It will give us time to get away.”

Moving without his usual grace, the Dragon took her by the arm and led her back to her seat near the fire. He searched through one of Swen’s packs and pulled out a small flask, uncorked it, and sniffed the contents. His face relaxed into a smile, surprising her.

As fleeting as the smile was, it transformed his face.

He looked almost carefree—and even more handsome, if that was possible–despite the blood smeared on his chin and forehead. Lily reached out and dabbed at his face with the trailing cuff of her sleeve.

He remained motionless until she’d finished, then nodded his thanks.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

Content to watch him, she settled back against the saddle and sighed.

“Aye. I had saved half the meal they brought me last night. It was plenty. Swen has food in the other pack, if you’re hungry.”

He shook his head.

“No, I’ve eaten.” He brought the flask.

“But this is an unexpected boon.” He brought the bottle to his lips and drank deeply of the contents.

“Usquebaugh.” She sent him a questioning look.

“The Irish make it. I’m not certain exactly what it is, but it’s powerful. Makes ale and wine seem like water.” He took another swallow before replacing the stopper.

“Too much will make a man feel sick unto death, but a little warms the blood and takes the pain away.”

He started to put it back into the pack, then hesitated.

“Do you want some?”

“Why not?” What harm could it do? It certainly seemed to please him.

He knelt beside her and handed her the flask, his fingers brushing against hers and lingering, so it seemed. Although she hadn’t drunk yet, heat streaked up her arm and through her blood. Her fingers shaking, she uncorked the bottle and, raising it to her lips, took a sip.

“Jesu,” she gasped, as liquid fire burned all the way to her stomach.

Ian chuckled.

“Had enough?”

Not certain her voice would work, she nodded and handed it back. This time she knew the touch of his hand on hers was no accident, for his fingers intertwined with hers for a fleeting, heart-stopping moment.

Before she could react, he rose to his feet and started gathering up Swen’s supplies.

“I don’t want to make this too easy for him,” he said. Using his sword, he lifted the packs high and hung them from the branches above Swen’s head.

“I imagine he’ll see them—probably long before he can reach them.” Again she saw that fleeting smile, and again her heart raced. She looked away. Did she react so strongly to his smile because she never knew when to expect it?

She stood so that he could take the saddle.

“Where are your horses?” she asked. He must have left them far away, for she’d not heard his approach, nor the whickering of any horse but Swen’s.

He hefted the saddle up into a tree, then picked his sword up off the ground.

“I only brought one mount.”

He kicked dirt into the fire and stomped out the embers.

“You’ll have to ride with me.”

She felt blind in the sudden absence of light. However, she was glad he wouldn’t be able to see her response to his comment. She knew that riding in the Dragon’s embrace would be nothing like riding with Swen. Frowning, she let Ian lead her by the arm through the thick trees.

Now she would learn what purgatory was.

Her other senses seemed more finely attuned than normal.

His strong fingers held her arm in a firm yet gentle grip, sending that insidious heat winding through her veins again. Despite the piny odor of the forest, she could smell his clean, masculine scent. She’d have recognized it—and him—anywhere. The thought was strangely comforting.

His horse stood patiently waiting, not even shifting or stomping when they approached. Perhaps warriors trained their mounts thus, for Swen’s had been the same. Whatever the reason, Lily couldn’t help but be glad of it. She’d never been around such massive beasts, and she found it reassuring that, despite their size, they were so docile.

Ian pulled her to a halt beside his mount.

“Let me take this,” he said, his hands sweeping the cloak from her shoulders. He tossed it over the saddle, then brought his hands to rest where the cloak had been.

Though she couldn’t see him clearly in the faint moonlight, she could feel his gaze caress her’ face She trembled in reaction.

“Are you cold?” he asked, leaning toward her to whisper in her ear. Another shiver coursed through her at the subtle movement of his lips against her skin, carrying fire in its wake. He slowly pulled her into his arms.

“Let me warm you.” ‘

He surrounded her with his touch, his scent, as he brushed his mouth over her face and neck. His tongue darted out to taste the hollow of her throat, turning her knees to jelly. But he held her steady in his arms, lending her his strength.

Lily’s hands had been loosely clenched at her sides, but she could no longer resist the temptation to caress him, as well. She cradled Ian’s face in her hands, savoring the contrast of the rough stubble on his chin with the firm softness of his mouth. When she stroked his bruised lip, he captured her fingertip with his teeth and drew it lightly between his lips; she gasped as the sensation shot through her body to center deep within her.

He hadn’t even kissed her—that was the act Sister Maud had warned her against, claiming it led to all sorts of licentious behavior—yet he’d catapulted her senses into complete confusion. The chills blanketing her body were not caused by cold, but by heat—a fire raging through her blood, bringing with it a burning ache only the Dragon could ease.

The darkness enveloped them in its embrace, adding a sense of illusion. Every movement seemed destined to bring pleasure—and a yearning for more.

Lily gave in to the unconquerable urge and raised her mouth to Ian’s. She felt awkward, unskilled, but he gathered her closer in his arms and met her touch for touch, kiss for kiss. Only the strength of his embrace kept her from sinking to the ground in a heap of mindless pleasure.

Now she understood how easily a woman might be led to sin, how simple it would be to give in to these feelings.

Her body ached for Ian’s touch in places she’d never imagined could feel such sensations. He hadn’t done more than kiss her, and despite her ignorance of what came after kissing, she knew there was more—far more—to lust than this.

He pressed hard into the cradle of her thighs and groaned, then set her away from him so swiftly she would have fallen without his hand on her arm to steady her.

But as soon as she found her footing, he turned away.

“Don’t you know better than to tempt a man like that?” he snarled.

Her emotions already felt rubbed raw. His accusation poured salt on the wound and made her lash out.

“Do you blame me for what happened?” Her voice sounded high with outrage. She sought to lower it.

“I’ve never done these things before. I didn’t realize where they’d lead,” she added, not quite truthfully. She grabbed his arm and tugged until he spun around to face her.

“Can you tell me you didn’t know?”

Ian rubbed his hand over his face, then shook his head.

“I’m equally at fault.” He straightened and took her elbow in an impersonal grip.

“Come. We must leave this place before that Viking bastard regains his senses—assuming he had any to begin with,” he added wryly.

“He won’t come to any harm, will he? He didn’t hurt me. He was simply doing his duty.” It seemed cruel, to leave Swell trussed up alone in the wilderness.

Ian snorted.

“He’ll be fine, except perhaps for a headache. I wouldn’t worry about him; if I were you. He would have done far worse to you, if Llywelyn wished it.” He hoisted her into the saddle, then climbed up behind her.

Her body tensed as she sought to ignore the warmth of him pressed close to her back. His hand on her shoulder urged her to turn and face him.

“And don’t call what he did duty, Lily.

“Twas for his own gain. Duty is when you hate what you must do, perhaps loathe what you’ve become–” he nudged the horse in the ribs “–but you do it anyway.”

Ian held Lily snug in his arms as they rode through the night. His comments about duty had silenced her completely, and once he settled his cloak about them, she soon fell into a sound sleep.

The fight and the usquebaugh, not to mention the kiss—and more—he and Lily had shared, left him feeling revitalized.

The bruises he’d gained at Siwardson’s hands were nothing, especially after the balm of Lily’s touch.

He wished he could push his mount to gallop, to carry them on their way with the speed of the wind. God only knew how much time they would have before Llywelyn sent someone after them.

At first he couldn’t decide where to take her. If he left her at Saint Winifred’s, her situation would be the same as before. He doubted she’d endure that for long before she found a way to escape. Ami as much as he’d love to go home, Gwal Draig wouldn’t be safe. It might be a very long time before he returned there.

If he ever did. All depended upon Llywelyn’s reaction to his disobedience.

He needed to find Dai, to learn if he’d discovered anything useful at the abbey. Perhaps then the question of where to take Lily would answer itself.

Lily stirred in his arms as the colorful rays of the rising sun glowed on her face, then jerked upright.

“Dragon?”

she asked, her voice urgent.

“Aye.”

Her body relaxed, and she nestled her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

“What are we doing?”

Her trust in him was gratifying, though he didn’t know that he’d done much to earn it. Perhaps she was always like this. He fought down a twinge of jealousy when he thought of her cuddled so sweetly in Siwardson’s arms.

Had she been?

“Lily. Wake up.” He nudged her in the ribs with his fingertip. She squirmed, and a groan escaped her lips, before her eyes snapped open.

“I am awake,” she said with a glare.

“Good. We’ve plans to make. I need you to think clearly.”

“I always do.”

Too bad he didn’t, he thought, noticing that she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Perhaps she didn’t, either.

“Good.” He scanned the area around them.

“Do you need to stop?”

A flush tinted her cheeks.

“Please.”

Ian helped her down and held her arm until she seemed steady on her feet.

“Don’t wander too far,” he cautioned as she headed for a thick clump of bushes.

“I’m sure you don’t want me to come looking for you.”

He took care of his own needs, then removed a few handfuls of corn from his saddlebag for the horse This mount was still new to him, a gift from his sister, Catrin, and her husband, Nicholas Talbot. Catrin had named it Mouse, of all things. He couldn’t bring himself to call such a magnificent beast so ridiculous a name. He simply called it Horse, and would until he thought of something better.

On this journey, the stallion had proven himself the tireless destrier Nicholas had claimed. The Norman was accounted a good judge of horseflesh; evidently his skill extended to training, as well.

Ian robbed down the horse with a clump of dried grass, lavishing him with well-deserved praise. When he stepped back to toss the grass away, he found Lily standing at the horse’s head, stroking his nose.

“Have a care,” he warned, moving quickly to her side.

“He can be dangerous. He’s not a pet, like a dog.”

She smiled as she continued to rub the beast’s velvety muzzle.

“But he’s so gentle. What is his name?”

Surprisingly, the animal seemed to enjoy her attention.

Of course, he’d enjoy it, too, if she was stroking him like that. If the beast tolerated it, where was the harm?

“It’s ridiculous,” he said wryly.

“My sister named him Mouse.”

““Tis a good name,” she said. She murmured to Mouse, too softly for Ian to hear, then looked up at Ian and smiled.

“He likes it, I think.”

Didn’t she know anything about horses? Mayhap she didn’t, he reminded himself. She’d told him that her entire life had been spent within the abbey. Most likely the largest animal she’d seen there was a cow.

But it was amazing to see her treat this war-beast as if he were as docile as some farmer’s milk cow. Evidently the stallion’s size didn’t frighten her.

Did anything?

He’d be better off to stop wondering about her, thinking about her, But he might as well tell his brain to cease working. She’d managed to worm her way into his mind.

He couldn’t make her leave; in all honesty, he wouldn’t have, even if he could.

“Come, we’ll eat on the way,” he told her. He rummaged in the saddlebag again and handed her a hunk of cheese and half a round of dark bread, then hoisted her onto Mouse’s back.

Once they were moving, she broke the cheese and bread into pieces for each of them, then handed him his.

“Are we going back to Dolwyddelan?” she asked before she bit into her share.

“Are you daft? Why would I free you from Siwardson, only to turn you over to Llywelyn again?” Didn’t she realize who had ordered the Viking to take her away?

By Christ, he was an idiot! He should have discovered where Siwardson had been taking her. It wouldn’t have changed his own plan—if he could call the unformed thoughts floating through his head a plan—but perhaps if he’d known, it would have given him a bit more information about Llywelyn’s intentions. It was too late now.

Or was it?

“Did Siwardson mention where he was taking you?”