Tori Phillips (25 page)

She covered another huge yawn with her hand and hoped Brother Guy had not noticed the first two. She didn’t want him to be held back because of her weakness.

Guy suddenly rose, and helped her to her feet. Though the night had turned quite cold, his hand felt warm as it closed around her near-frozen fingers. He took her other hand and rubbed both of them to warm them. Celeste sighed aloud with pleasure.

“Merci,
Brother Guy.” His callused fingers sent tingly showers of sensation on her soft skin. The glow he generated intoxicated her. “I do not feel the night’s discomfort, with you to keep me warm.”

Guy dropped her hands as if they burned him. He frowned, then pointed to her horse.

Taken off guard once again, Celeste straightened her shoulders and tried to shake away the smothering fatigue that closed in upon her. She mutely agreed it was wiser for them to remount their horses and be on their way. If he had continued to hold her hands, Celeste feared, she might have fallen asleep standing up. Guy grasped her around her waist and lightly placed her on her sidesaddle. For a brief moment, their gazes locked and held. His blue eyes reflected the moon’s glimmering beams of crystal light. In their depths, she saw a message that she did not understand but that caused her breath to come in short gasps and her cheeks to flush with a fiery heat. Hearing her gasp, he quickly lowered his lids, then turned to his own horse.

More than a little shaken by their silent encounter, Celeste clutched the reins firmly in her hands and fought off another yawn. She reminded herself that soon she would be at her journey’s end and could at last have a bath and a safe night’s sleep. Through the fringe of her lowered lashes, she watched Guy mount Black Devil in a single fluid movement. She couldn’t help admiring the way he controlled the temperamental horse. What a perfect knight Brother Guy would have made! Celeste chewed her lower lip. Once she had dreamed of Walter as her champion, but now that she had met him... No, she wouldn’t think about that now. Out here in the middle of nowhere was not the place to mourn the shattering of one’s childish fancy. She kicked Starlight into a trot and followed after Guy.

It seemed only a few minutes later when he signaled her to stop. After dismounting, he tied Devil’s reins to a low bush beside a cluster of rocks. Celeste blinked. Had she fallen asleep in the saddle and traveled farther than she thought? Guy walked around to her near side and held up his hands to her.

“Are we lost?” Celeste scanned the countryside. It looked the same in all directions.

Guy’s lips twitched, and then he shook his head.

Celeste allowed herself to be lifted off her horse. She would never have admitted it but her backside was numb and her every muscle ached.

“Why have we stopped so soon?”

In answer, Brother Guy opened his mouth in an enormous, jaw-breaking yawn. Then he stretched his arms out to each side, the movement accompanied by a faint cracking of his joints. He concluded this performance with another yawn, and a fierce rubbing of his eyes, followed by a shrug. Celeste did her best not to laugh, but failed miserably.

“You are tired,
n’est-ce pas?
” Guy had never once admitted either hunger or fatigue during the past two months.

He nodded and laid his head on his folded palms, miming a pillow.

Celeste put her hands to her hips. “Sleep? But where?”

Nearly folding himself in half, Guy crept under the rock outcropping. He beckoned to her to follow. Lifting her skirts from her ankles, Celeste picked her way over the gently sloping boulder until she was inside.

“Ma foi!”
Celeste gazed at her escort with wonderment. “You must have the eyes of a cat, to find this small cave in such a wild country. Either that, or an angel sits on your shoulder and showed you the way, eh?”

Guy arched his brow, then patted his shoulder. In the darkness, the moon lit up his white teeth as he grinned at her. He brushed away the loose dirt and pebbles, then pointed to the cleared spot. Did he expect her to sleep here? Outdoors, on the bare earth?

Before she could voice her objections, Guy ducked outside and tended to their horses. Celeste sat gingerly, wrapping her cloak about her. She hoped no spiders or mice lurked about. Admittedly, the tiny cave provided a windbreak and a little warmth. The earthy smell of moss and peat filled her nostrils. She found the scent oddly comforting.

Guy crawled back inside, carrying both their saddles. He spread out one of the horse blankets and motioned for Celeste to lie down on it. He placed her dowry bag under her head. Without warning, he pulled off her boots, then tucked her stocking feet securely under the second blanket.

“But where do you sleep, Brother Guy?”

Surely he didn’t intend to lie on the cold ground—or, worse, stay awake all night. He pointed to the mouth of the cave.

“C’est impossible!
You will freeze in only that poor robe of yours. No, you must have one of the blankets. I have my cloak to cover me.” When he started to shake his head, Celeste narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “You should have listened more closely to Gaston when he told you that I can be a very stubborn woman. You will take this blanket, or I will stay awake all night.”

Guy studied her thoughtfully for a moment; then he bowed his head and accepted her offer. Taking his place at the mouth of the cave, he rolled up in the worn blanket, which smelled strongly of Black Devil.

Having gotten her way, Celeste laid her head on the lumpy leather saddlebag and burrowed under her cloak. For the first time since meeting Walter Ormond, she allowed her thoughts to wander over the events that had brought her to this hard, cold bed.

Sweet Saint Anne! What would happen on the morrow, when they finally arrived at Snape Castle and met Sir Roger? Celeste tried to remember what the man looked like, but she had only a dim recollection from eight years ago. At age eleven, she had been much more interested in gazing at the handsome knights of the French and English courts, sampling the various sweetmeats and shopping with her sisters for such gaudy trifles as pretty songbirds in wicker cages. All she could remember of Sir Roger was his loud voice and a grizzled beard.

Celeste rolled over in an effort to get more comfortable, then returned to her train of thought. Sir Roger must be halfway civilized, or else Papa would never have allowed her to marry his son. Celeste shuddered as Walter’s hideous face rose in her mind’s eye. How could Sir Roger let her come all this way, knowing his son’s disease? Perhaps he was not so civilized as Papa thought.

Ma foi! He lives at the end of the world! Good Lord, give Sir Roger a cup overflowing with compassion and have him free me from this contract, for I swear I will die before I marry with his odious son
.

Something rustled in the bracken near the cave’s entrance. Celeste sat up with a start. Guy didn’t move. Being a man—and a monk—he naturally was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places with unknown creatures roaming under his very nose. They probably had mice in his priory.

Celeste hugged her knees. She vowed not to wake him with her fears. He needed sleep more than she did. And she did not want him to think she was a coward.

When she was a little girl, she used to beg her nurse to let her sleep in the garden on the nights when the moon rose fully round. People said the faerie folk always danced on such nights, and Celeste had passionately wanted to see them. Now, huddled in a dirty cave in the middle of a savage land, Celeste rued her youthful wish.

She heard the flap of wings as some night bird swooped low. Bird? Or bat? Celeste grimaced in the darkness. Aunt Marguerite had once told her that bats liked to roost in a maiden’s long hair. Celeste flung herself back down on her makeshift pillow and pulled her cloak over her head.
In a
month I shall laugh at this adventure
. She squeezed her eyes shut. A month seemed so very far away.

Guy lay still and watched Celeste through slitted eyes. Poor thing! This was probably the first time she had ever slept on the ground. He hid his grin when she jumped at an owl’s soft hoot. Any moment he expected her to call to him. He couldn’t go to her side unless she invited him. And he desperately wanted to lie as close to her as he could. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Guy imagined himself lying on a four-poster bed, with a feather mattress and a velvet coverlet, and making long, sweet love to a very naked Celeste. He could almost feel the silky curtain of her raven hair cascading over his chest. He ran his tongue over his lips as he imagined the taste of her kisses. He grew hot and hard with a deep, aching desire.

Guy inhaled the cold air and tried to banish the tormenting image. Once he delivered her to Snape Castle, he would fast for a week—and wear a hair shirt, if he could find one. Most of all, he would pray—pray without ceasing for forgiveness for the weakness of his flesh.

Less than three feet away, he heard her shiver, despite her furred cape. Surely she would ask him to come warm her.
No! You must not wish for that!
his conscience chided him. He had renounced the pleasures of a woman’s soft body molding against his while her fingers gently teased him into sweet agony.

Guy dug his nails into his palms.
I am in agony now, and there is no sweetness about it.

As he wrestled with his demons in the darkness, Guy became aware that Celeste had grown quiet. He cocked his ear, but could not hear her breathing. Jesu! Had she been bitten by some poisonous thing, and died within the reach of his arm? Goaded by this terrifying thought, Guy threw off his blanket, and crept over to where she lay.

Only when he put his ear close to her mouth did he hear her soft, even breathing. In spite of her fears, and the uncomfortable bed, she had fallen into a deep, healing sleep. Touching her cheek with his knuckle, Guy found her skin cold. ’Twas a Christian duty to give comfort to the weak, he reasoned as he pulled his blanket over both of them. Celeste did not stir. Guy carefully edged his long body next to hers, silently offering his warmth to her. Like a flower seeking the sun, Celeste relaxed against him, her face resting a heartbeat away.

Guy’s body burned with a familiar fire. If he stole a kiss from those tempting lips, no one would know — no one except himself and God. What was a little kiss? He had tasted her lips once aheady, and a bolt of lightning had not thundered down from the sky. One gentle kiss—a brotherly kiss of affection—to comfort her.

Guy moistened his lips.
To steal an unsuspected kiss from her while she slept is a sin
, his conscience told him, stinging like a horsefly in June.
To take is not to give. Remember, she is in your protection.

The horsefly stung him again.
Would your flaming desire allow you to stop at one “brotherly” kiss? Where is the honor you are so proud of, Cavendish? Remember why you left the court in the first place? Or have you now decided to follow your king’s current fashion and make a mistress of a virgin you cannot wed
?

Guy stared up at the low, rocky ceiling and whispered every prayer he knew. He didn’t remember falling asleep.

Gray clouds welcomed the chill mist of the morning. Guy woke, and wondered for a moment why he felt so stiff. Then he recalled the day before, and the long night that had followed. He gazed at the lady nestled in the crook of his arm. Celeste’s sleep-softened face made her look much younger than her eighteen years. During the night, her gray-velvet coif had fallen off, and her hair spilled over his arm. Thicker than he expected, it reminded him of a skein of costly silk from the mysterious East.

Gently, so as not to awaken her, Guy eased his arm out from under her. He needed a brisk walk. He needed confession and absolution. He needed to drown himself in a peat bog.

Outside, Black Devil and Starlight cropped the brown grasses which poked through the thin cover of snow. Overhead, a hawk wheeled against the pewter canopy of the sky. Guy stretched and gulped down deep drafts of the clean, sharp air. Home! He could taste it. Just a few leagues over the horizon, and yet the gates of Wolf Hall were no longer open to him. His father had made that perfectly clear the day Guy bade his parents goodbye and headed south to join the Franciscans.

“Brother Guy?” Celeste poked her tousled head out from the tumble of blankets. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, she reminded him of a young vixen, snug in her burrow. He dropped down on the damp grass beside the opening.

She yawned behind her hand. “Did we really sleep all night in this place?”

Stifling the urge to grin, Guy nodded.

“Gaston would never believe it.” She opened her pack and pulled out her ivory comb. She began to work it through the tangles of her hair. “In fact, I think it might be wiser if we didn’t mention it to him at all, eh? Gaston would not approve of your sleeping arrangements for me.” A delightful dimple appeared by the corner of her mouth. “He is very old-fashioned.”

Guy couldn’t bear to watch her groom her hair. He yearned to take the comb from her hand and do the service himself. Instead, he snatched up the blankets, shook them out, then threw them over the horses’ backs.

Celeste crawled out from the shallow cave and stood unsteadily, massaging her shoulders. “
Zut alors!
I am like a stiff old lady all dressed in widow’s weeds. Ah! I even have the weeds to prove it!” She pulled a piece of prickly gorse out of her bodice, and laughed as she flung it to the wind.

Saddling the palfrey, Guy ignored her until she hiked up her skirts and pulled on her boots. Great Jove! What a shapely leg she had!

“I don’t suppose there is anything to eat?” Celeste asked, with a hopeful look in her violet eyes.

Guy shook his head and pretended to be very busy adjusting Devil’s girth strap. Why didn’t she pull her skirts back down, like a proper lady?

“No friendly rabbit to hippity-hop by and join us for breakfast?” She sighed as she stood again. “Have you ever eaten a jugged hare—all dripping with butter, wine sauce and parsley?” She closed her eyes and swayed a little, caught up in the imagined delights of rabbit stew.