The Dark Knight (39 page)

About a half mile beyond Wycombe, they turned onto a narrow lane that led away from the road. Eventually a large structure loomed before them, a massive black square against the gray shadows. She felt tears come to her eyes when she realized it was a village tithing barn, likely empty and abandoned at this time of year. They would sleep indoors tonight after all.

Still, a roof over her head was hardly a reason for tears.

“Avalene?” Dante had already dismounted and stood next to her. Rami held both of their horses by the reins, ready to take charge of them for the night. She could barely see Dante’s face in the moonlit shadow of the barn, but she heard the worry in his voice. “Do you mind if I help you from your horse?”

Why would she mind? “Of course not.”

She let go of her reins as Dante’s hands closed around her waist, but he released her as soon as her feet were on the ground, almost as if he were reluctant to touch her longer than was necessary. “Stay here. We have a few candles in one of the packs with the flint. I will return soon.”

She nodded and then wondered if he could even see the gesture. “All right.”

He hesitated for a moment, and then followed after Rami. She could hear water running in the distance and knew they were close to the river. Oliver was probably watering the horses while Armand and Rami unloaded the packs again for the night. She should be helping, but
found herself grateful to be alone for a little while. The inexplicable tears were still clouding her eyes and her breathing felt unsteady. It was just a barn, for goodness’ sake. There was no cause to become so emotional, but the tears continued to roll silently down her cheeks.

Dante returned before she could compose herself. She kept her head lowered so the moonlight would not reveal her state.

“There is a doorway on this side,” he said, as he motioned her toward the door.

She followed him inside and was immediately swallowed up by the darkness. No dusky shadows or moonlight reached inside the barn. She was completely blind.

“I’ll have a candle lit in a moment,” he said, his voice very near her. “Just stand still for a few moments.”

She heard a rustling sound and then saw the spark of flint and the glint of the dagger he drew along its edge. It occurred to her that there would soon be enough light to see the pesky tears, and she used the sleeve of her gown to wipe them away. The sparks from the flint stopped.

“Are you crying?”

“Of course not.” She made a concerted effort to sound firm, in control. “Why should I be crying?”

The scrape of the flint started up again, and then a small flame caught in a kindling pile of hay. Dante lit two candles, and then stamped out the kindling fire with his boot. Candles were dangerous enough in a barn, but a hay fire, even on the earthen floor away from other hay, was madness. The candles would be their only source of light in the cavernous building. Dante handed her one of the candles, and then lifted his higher to explore their surroundings.

The tithing barn was similar to Coleway’s; buttressed stone walls with a high pitched roof. At the far edges of
the circle of light thrown from the candles she could see a ladder that led to lofts that were built into the rafters to store straw. There were wooden slatted walls on the ground floor, seemingly constructed at random places and in random sizes to hold sacks of grain or sheaves of wheat, each stall standing empty now. The whole place smelled of dried hay, old dust, and cats.

Dante drew his sword and ventured forward into one of the stalls. She followed in time to see him wedge his sword between the slats in one corner of the stall, and then he turned the candle sideways until a small puddle of wax accumulated on the blade. He then placed the bottom of the candle in the puddle and held it steady until the wax cooled enough to hold the candle upright.

“I have to check on the men and horses,” he said. He motioned toward a pile of empty grain sacks that were neatly stacked along one side of the stall. “Why don’t you make a bed for us from these sacks while I am gone.”

She eyed the empty sacks. “What about a bed for Rami and the men?”

“They will sleep outside near the horses and take turns at watch,” he said. “I do not want all of us trapped in here, should someone from the village stumble across us. ’Tis the same reason we will not have a fire tonight; we are too close to Wycombe.”

She nodded. “I will prepare our bed.”

A crease formed between Dante’s brows as he studied her. “I will be back very soon.”

She nodded again, and then watched him turn and melt into the darkness. The dark, musty air around her felt suddenly empty and she knew he was gone. She went to the sword and placed her candle next to his in its own wax, and then began to peel away the top grain sacks. They were dusty and made her sneeze, but the
layers below were still relatively clean. She laid the sacks in neat piles at the center of the stall, away from the walls where spiders lurked, and kept stacking until she had created a pallet several inches thick.

She spread her cloak over the bed, removed her surcoat, and then folded it into a square to use as a pillow. Next she sat on the edge of the pallet and removed her boots. Dante still hadn’t returned so she decided to stretch out on the bed for just a few minutes. She couldn’t recall ever being so tired on this trip, even on the days when they had covered many more miles in much worse weather. The pace today was almost leisurely by comparison, but she was so exhausted that she could no longer keep her eyes open.

The first things she saw when she closed her eyes were the blood-soaked bodies of the mercenaries. Her eyes popped open again and she stared up at the darkness above her, trying to imagine the stars that were on the other side of the roof, anything to erase the images of the bodies.

The imagined stars were not much of a distraction, so she thought about a tapestry she had worked on before she left Coleway, the intricacies of the design, all of the frustrations she had endured to get the pattern just right before she even picked up a needle. Who would complete the tapestry in her absence? None of Lady Margaret’s ladies had enough skill with a needle. It would likely remain unfinished. Perhaps she would redraw the design when they reached Italy. She concentrated on cataloging the colors of thread she would need for the tapestry and the dyes they would require, and closed her eyes again.

The bodies were still waiting for her.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and started naming off the colors of thread and their dyes, picturing
the strands in her mind. “Blue woad. Yellow weld. Brown walnut. Red madder—”

“What are you doing?”

Her eyes popped open and she found Dante standing over her, a saddlebag and a linen sack in his hands. She sat up and pretended to busy herself by brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. “I was thinking about a tapestry project I would like to start when this journey ends. ’Tis a depiction of a unicorn hunt. The piece is—” She suddenly ran out of breath and had to take a quick gasp of air before she could continue. “The piece is quite—” And then another gasp. “The piece is quite complex!”

Dante dropped the sack and saddlebag to the ground, and then took a seat next to her. A moment later she was seated in his lap, cradled in his arms. He pressed her head to his shoulder.

“Go ahead and cry,” he encouraged. “I have been waiting all afternoon for this dam to break.”

Her spine stiffened but she did not lift her head from his shoulder. It felt too heavy to lift, her position far too comfortable to move. “I am per-perfectly fine!”

“Of course you are,” he murmured, as he rubbed her back in small, soothing circles. “You are very brave, very fierce. I am so proud of how you handled yourself. Amazed, actually. But you do not have to hide what you are feeling from me.”

“I am n-not huh-hiding anything,” she insisted. Her arms tightened around him and it was the first she became aware that she was clinging to him as if she would take a great fall if she let go. Why were her teeth chattering? She wasn’t cold. “I am s-simply tired, but I d-do not know why.”

“I do.” He laid her down on the pallet, still wrapped in his arms but with hers pinned against his chest now. His leg curved over her hips, wrapping his big body
around hers, as if to protect her from herself. “We are alone now,
cara
. You do not have to hide from me. Tell me what you are feeling.”

She kept her head buried against his chest, mortified to realize the dampness there was from her tears. “I see them. Whenever I close my eyes, I see them in the road.”

“They cannot hurt you now.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Look at me, Avalene.”

She lifted her head reluctantly, and then sniffed once when he used his thumb to brush the tears from her cheeks.

“They were brutal murderers and thieves,” he told her. “ ’Tis the end they deserved, and the fate they intended for us and who knows how many others?”

“I have told myself much the same,” she murmured. “You did what was fair and just, and y-yet they haunt me still. I do not know why. This is not the first time I have w-witnessed bloodshed. I have watched men die by the sword; I have tended serious injuries. There was just s-so much … blood.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her temple and then cupped the side of her face with his hand. “I should have made certain you could not see any of what happened. I will never forgive myself for causing you this pain.”

“I am
not
in any pain,” she hastened to reassure him. She had been so caught up in her own weepy emotions that she had never considered how her reaction would affect him. Tears, of all things. She had long thought herself immune to them and did not care for their consequences. “Truly, I am just being childish. Everything you said about those men is true. Granted, their … executions were more violent than the hangings I have witnessed, but I have seen blood and gore before.” She pushed against his shoulder to emphasize her point. “You will
not
feel guilty.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up at one side. “Your wish is my command, my lady.”

“I am serious,” she insisted. “You saved my life. Again. I never intended to make you feel guilty about it.”

“I never imagined that a woman could watch me kill so many men, and then calmly offer to help saddle my horses.” He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “And yet your mouth was set in a hard line from the moment we left the mercenaries. You looked upset.”

“I did?”

He nodded. “At first I thought you were angry with me for killing them, rather than just taking them prisoner and letting the local sheriff handle the matter. And then I began to imagine the other reasons you would be upset.”

“I was not mad at you.”

“I figured that out eventually, but I could have saved myself a great deal of worry if I had simply asked what you were thinking.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I cannot take away the images of what you witnessed, but the memories will fade in time.”

There was little doubt that he spoke from experience. She placed her hand on the side of his face, and then rubbed her palm against the sandy roughness of his cheek. “Help me to forget them.”

He took her face between his hands and she watched his eyes darken. As he spoke, one hand curved around the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. “Your wish is my command.”

He captured her lips in a demanding, scalding kiss that scattered her senses. Soon all she could think about was the way his mouth moved against hers with hungry yearning. His kisses were as powerful as his poison, drugging her with their potency, and yet imparting a
power of her own when her tongue darted out to taste him and she heard him moan.

Liquid heat raced through her as his hands moved over her body, at once soothing and inflaming. The laces of her gown were soon undone and then he pushed her chemise off her shoulders and laid her gently on their bed, his lips never leaving hers. She gasped when he cupped one breast in his hand. His thumb stroked over her nipple and the gasp turned into a low moan. His kisses burned a path down her neck and soon his mouth replaced his hand, his tongue inflicting painless torture, then his lips closed over her breast and he began to suckle. Her back arched and she cried out in astonished pleasure. His hand moved lower as he continued the erotic onslaught on her senses, pushing up her skirts, his fingers trailing a ticklish path along the inside of her thigh. He pressed his palm to her mound and her cries turned into mindless whimpers. She quit breathing altogether when his finger slipped inside her.

He lifted his head to look down at her, his eyes blazing green fire, his breathing labored, and then he began to move his finger in a slow rhythmic motion while the palm of his hand pressed against a sensitive spot she hadn’t known existed. The moment was intimate beyond anything she had ever experienced. His gaze held hers captive while he held her body open and vulnerable, his hand working a dark, sensual magic upon her.

“Put your hand next to mine,” he ordered, in a voice roughened with desire.

She hesitated for a moment, and then did as he asked.

“Do you feel how slick and wet you are, how ready your body is for mine?” His hips pressed against hers, and then he shifted his hand over hers to make certain she knew exactly what he was talking about. “Now touch your fingers to my lips.”

Her eyes widened and she could feel the fire ignite in her cheeks. She couldn’t trust her voice, so she gave a small shake of her head.

“Offer yourself to me,” he commanded. “Let me taste your desire. Give me the most secret part of yourself.”

His hand stroked her with more pressure, encouraging her to do as he asked. Her hand trembled, but she pressed her fingers to his lips. He drew a deep breath through his nose, and then his tongue darted out to thoroughly lick each finger. Once that was done, he drew the tip of each finger into his mouth to gently suckle away all trace of her essence. At the same time, his hips began to move against her in the same rhythm as his hand.

His mouth returned to hers in an abrupt move and there was no longer any trace of gentleness in his kisses. His tongue thrust into her mouth in movements that matched those of his hand and hips, and her body answered his with the same rhythm and demand. And then his thumb began to rub against the sensitive spot between her legs and all sense of shyness fell away. Her body was his to do with as he pleased, her mind driven only by desire.