The Tempest (6 page)

“You should be resting, my lord. Overexertion will not do for your recovery.”

He snorted, and spotting a chair nearby, he moved over to it.

“I cannot remain in that room a moment longer.”

She started to rise and help him, but he shook his head. “I can manage on my own, if you do not mind.” Falling into the chair, he let out an exhausted sigh. She answered him in her quiet way.

“Whatever your prefer, my lord.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Right away he winced at his own tone of voice, knowing he was being harsh but unable to change what had long been a habit. Her look was one of hurt…and frustration. Frustration at him, and the idea that she might be tiring of him was something that didn’t sit well with him. He tried to sound softer when he replied, though he couldn’t quite keep the edge off his tone.

“I call you by your name, so you will call me by mine.”

Her look was one of curiosity. But it was preferable to that wounded expression of hers…and ten times better than her look of anger. One of her little smiles would have been a great gift at that moment, but he didn’t want to push too hard. It was enough for the moment that she wasn’t throwing him out entirely. After the way he’d handled her just a little while ago, he wouldn’t have blamed her. He watched as she turned her attention back to the hearth. And as he looked at her, he found himself enjoying the light of the fire as it glowed on her hair. Her lithe little body looked so soft, bathed in the glow of firelight.

What would she do if he went to her right then, pushed her to the floor and had a taste of her? It had been too long since he’d known the sweetness of a woman’s mouth. He hadn’t properly kissed a woman since Marian, and she had never been truly willing. She’d never been soft and yielding when he pressed his lips to hers. He recalled the way she grew tense at the feeling of his hands upon her. He silently cursed himself as he reflected on it. What a fool he had been not to see that her hesitation wasn’t born of girlish naiveté…but of contempt for his touch.

There had been other women since her, but kitchen maids and serving wenches didn’t spend much of their time with kissing. And suddenly he wondered…

How sweet would it be to have a woman like Cassia in his bed?

Watching her, seeing her lean over to stoke the logs in the fire, he felt a fierce wave of heat surge through his blood. Only one thought kept him from going to her…from acting on the impulse to press her down in front of the fire.

She was a widow
.

The idea that she was no innocent…that she’d once belonged to a husband…still had a great hold on his mind. The woman before him was truly that…a woman. She was not a simple maiden. There was much more to learn about her…and he intended to satisfy his curiosity.

“What was your husband’s name?”

She paused in her actions, but did not look at him. “Edwin.”

“And what of him? What sort of man was he?”

He knew he had no right to pry, but he was too curious. He wanted to know, and he intended to press for information, even if it made her uncomfortable. He was glad, then, when she answered his question without much hesitation, though she still kept her eyes from him.

“He was a sword maker. The Middleton family were all fine craftsmen of the blade. My brother was apprentice to Edwin’s father.”

A sword maker
, he thought. Such men of talent were of great value in society, even though they were without rank. He could now see what a great loss it must have been for Cassia. She had not only lost a husband…a chance for a home and family…but with her husband’s death, she had lost her chance for something better in life. To be a merchant’s wife would have been something of value. Not so high a place as a noble, but not so poor a position as she was in now.

That point of curiosity satisfied, he now found another matter creeping into his thoughts…one of a much more personal nature. As before, he knew he should not ask it. And as before, he did so all the same.

“Did you love him?”

She turned to him, wide-eyed with surprise at his question. He looked into those eyes of hers…so dark, so beautiful.

And so lonely.

Why had he not seen it before? Maybe he’d been too busy trying to find fault with her. Or perhaps he’d simply refused to let himself see deeper into her soul. But now that he knew this secret she had kept, everything changed all at once. A young, beautiful woman such as she…it was ridiculous to have thought her unwed at her age. Or widowed, as the case was. To his question, she gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders.

“He was my husband. And in the short time we had together, he was kind and generous. So yes, I loved him.”

There was something in her answer that he did not like. It would have been more tolerable if she’d spoken ill of her late husband. If she had told a story of a cold, cruel man who cared little for his mate, it would have given him to use as leverage. He could have told her how she was better off without such a man. And if only she’d been regretful of her lost mate, perhaps the feeling of resentment growing in his heart would not be as strong. Silently he muttered to himself.

You are such a fool, Gisborne. What right have you to envy a man you never knew?

But then he thought of her soft little hands touching someone else…her sweet voice whispering in someone else’s ear. These last weeks, he’d grown so accustomed to her. At times he’d wondered what had first possessed him to ever wish her away. Now as he sat watching her, he imagined her gentle attentions being bestowed on another…and it sent a fierce wave of jealousy through him.

Another man had already claimed her, when he’d been toying with the notion of keeping her for himself. It brought a deep scowl to his expression…and directed his questioning along a more inappropriate path.

“Did he please you?”

If she had leapt up and slapped him for such a question, it wouldn’t have surprised him. But his jealousy was stirred, and he had to know.

What did he manage to do for you, Cassia, in just a fortnight?

His eyes held hers, urging her to tell him what he wanted to know. But she turned her back to him. Her reply was cool.

“That is hardly something to discuss with a man not my husband.”

Husband
. Just the mention of the word made him burn with envy. But in that same moment of spite, a sense of opportunity arose.

A lovely, vulnerable woman like Cassia, left alone for all these years. It seemed so very improper. What she needed was companionship. And a little smirk rose in the corner of his mouth as he imagined what kind of companionship it was he could give her.

Perhaps it was better that she was no simpering virgin. They were more trouble than he cared to tolerate. He’d occasionally thought about making her his own…and now that he knew there was no need to school her in matters of the flesh, the idea of having her was more enticing than ever.

She would probably be more than willing. He recalled how he’d once imagined her submitting in fear to him. But now, that thought was almost laughable. She wouldn’t tremble with fear. Not her.

She would tremble with a feeling much more profound and pleasurable. And if he had anything to do with it, she would soon lose any lingering memories she had of another man. He would be the only man she would think of from this day on.

She knew he was watching her, for she could feel the burn of his gaze.

Lord, why must he look at me that way?

It was so much easier to tolerate his evil glares, his looks of contempt. This heated stare she felt directed at her, his suddenly soft way of speaking, was almost too much to take. She could guess what he was thinking, the way he leering at her now. Knowing the look of lust in a man’s eyes, she couldn’t let it go on without interruption. Without turning to him she spoke as firmly as she could, despite the feeling of her heart beating fast.

“You examine me, Sir Guy. Do you suddenly find something interesting in this lowly peasant?”

There was a slight lingering moment before he replied. And when he spoke, the deep rumble of his voice was unnerving.

“Perhaps I do.”

She could sense his eyes looking her over. For a moment, she was incapable of forming a response, only able to wonder what he would say next.

“But then again,” he added. “There is little else for me to occupy my mind with.”

Any physical response, any warmth she’d started to feel was glazed over with a frost, turned cold by his discourteous reply. She sighed, stung by his words. And yet, when he was being his typical boorish self, at least conversing with him was not so difficult. Still keeping her eyes averted from him, her tone was cold.

“Just when I think you capable of civility, you give another stick of the knife. I should cease any attempts of kindness on my part.”
His response sounded odd, almost as if he were offended.

“I
am
capable of civility. But such a weakness is not suited to a Master at Arms. What would you have me do when I arrest criminals, or collect taxes from delinquent villagers? Shake their hands and ask them to share in a cup of tea?”

he shrugged. “I care not what you do when you go about your duties to the Sheriff. It is of little consequence to me. But when you are in this house, you might make less of an attempt to bite the hand that feeds you.”

He scoffed, giving a sort of laugh. “You speak of how I give you a ‘stick of the knife’ as you like to call it. But I dare say you are not so innocent. You wound me in much the same way when it pleases you.”

“It does not please me, my lord. It is merely done in self-defense.”

His words became dark, serious.

“You are fortunate I do not correct you properly for such wickedness.”

She knew his words should have caused her concern. But as used to his temper as she’d become, she knew it was but an empty threat. If he truly meant to hurt her, he would have managed it some way by now. Other than the pot that had crashed near her head, and the few times he had gripped her arm, he hadn’t carried out any real physical violence against her. And somehow, she sensed he was even less capable of it now. She thought to test her assumption. Feeling a bit bolder now, she turned and rose to her feet, folding her arms as she stood before him.

“What would you do, Sir Guy? Pursue me on one foot, and then beat me about the head with a crutch?”

He tried to look away, but she caught the little smirk of amusement that came to his mouth. She couldn’t contain her own smile, even when he turned his eyes back to look at her, and the smirk was gone.

“A good beating would serve you well. You are a hard-headed woman, Cassia.”

She shrugged, turning back to the fire. “So you have said before.”

Somehow, the mood in the room had taken a very comfortable turn. He seemed to be, if it was possible, quite amiable. What had brought about such a change, she couldn’t say. But she chose not to question it. It was quite possible that it would not last very long. So she chose to enjoy the rare moment of calm between them.

Taking up the kettle that had been warming by the fire, she poured some of the contents into two mugs. Taking one for herself, she came to his side and held one out for him to take. He looked up, eyeing her suspiciously.

“What is it? More of your poison?”

At first she didn’t answer, keeping her arm extended with the mug she offered to him. After a moment he took it, and as she sat down in the chair nearby she glanced at him. She saw that he was about to sip from the cup. And trying to hide a slight smirk, she blurted out quickly…

“Eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat, tongue of dog.”

She saw how he made a face and started to put the cup aside, but she just laughed as he gave her an odd look.

“It was only a jest, my lord. It is hot cider, stewed from dried apples. And I promise there is no potion mixed in it. I made it only for the enjoyment of the drink.”

His look was skeptical. She saw how he tested the smell of the brew before sipping it. But then he took a drink, and his face relaxed as he realized there was indeed no trick.

“The taste is not unpleasant,” he said.

She smiled. “I am pleased that you enjoy it.”

A quietness fell over the room. And for a few moments, it was a comfortable silence as they both sipped their drinks. But after several minutes of lingering quiet, she began to feel his eyes upon her again. A warm flush came to her cheeks. It was impossible not to feel utterly exposed under the intensity of his gaze.

But how many other woman had he looked at in that same way?

She thought back to all the times she had watched him from afar, admiring his every move. He was beautiful to her still, even now. His hair had grown a little since it had been cut, and though it was in need of a wash, it was wonderfully alluring the way his dark locks curled in places. Then there were those eyes of his. Those stormy grey eyes which held a power that defied description. At one time, she would have given anything to have those eyes look at her as they were now, with that smoldering intensity. Heaven help her, a part of her wanted to go to him right at that moment, to throw her arms around him and press her mouth to his.

How many nights had she dreamed of being in his arms? It mattered not that he was a notorious villain. What she saw when she looked at him, even now, was what she had always seen. A lonely and bitter man, one nearly broken by the blows of life.

But despite all the overwhelming love she felt for him, and despite the fact that he was the most sensuously appealing man she’d ever known…Lord, how he could set her entire being on fire, and with only a look…she knew in her heart that it was all for naught.

It was true, there was goodness in him, as she’d always suspected. She’d caught little glimpses of it, especially in recent weeks. But was it enough to give him her trust? If she gave him what he wanted…what, in truth, she wanted just as badly…would he discard her as he’d discarded so many other women? He might have had the potential for goodness, but that did not mean he was capable of acting on it. He’d proven that many times over.