Wicked (20 page)

She knelt there for a long time, then she brushed the bee from her neck and sat back on her heels, trying to control herself. She was shaking and her belly was tight and she thought she might be ill.

An instant later she heard a horse neigh. The lashing sound of reins. The thunder of hooves beating the ground. So close it was almost as if the rider were on top of her.

In the distance, she heard a male shout.

Oh, God in heaven above, they had seen her!

Chapter 16

She turned and ran into the woods as swiftly as her feet would carry her. Her heart pounded with her steps. Leaves and branches brushed her face and arms. Scratched her skin. She kept running.

She jumped over a fallen log and skidded in the slick, damp moss. She fell to one knee, still sliding, but got up. Off she went again. She was not certain if she was hearing the rider come after her or the thunderous beating of her own heart.

She dared not stop and check, so she just ran on, then saw an opening and cut sharply to the west, through a thicket and into a clearing. She pumped her arms and legs as fast as she could and ran and ran because her life depended on it. Outside the clearing she turned to the north, hoping to lose them.

She slid under a fallen tree, then scampered over huge rocks and slid halfway down a slope, past another clearing where there was a brook. She ran through the rocks and the water and up the bank into a copse of thick old trees that hung almost to the ground.

She looked left, then right, and ran for a huge tree in the middle, leapt up and grasped onto a branch, then pulled and swung herself up. Cowering there, she hid in the crook of the tree, her heart pounding and her breath lost. She took short, shallow breaths, quiet breaths, because she was afraid, so afraid.

There was the sharp crack of a twig. The crushing sound of leaves. She heard a horse approach and froze on the tree branch.

She sat so still. Her knees were pressed against her chest. One hand clutched the branch above her. The other rested on the trunk. She barely breathed now, because her life depended upon this.

She could not see down through the thick green leaves and did not dare move to see better. She was afraid of what she might see staring back at her. All that mattered was that she stay hidden and safe.

There was only one rider. One man. She could hear his harsh breath, the snorting of his mount, the heavy stomping of horses’ hooves, the sound of twigs cracking beneath them.

Time moved by so slowly, stretching out like years. Sweat began to bead on her hairline; it was already soaking her clothes. She gripped the limb above her even tighter. The splinters and knots in the bark and wood cut into her fingers and palms.

For a moment, she almost thought he had discovered her. She held her breath, afraid to make even the motion of inhaling for fear he would know she was there.

But then there came the welcome jangle of reins and the man spurred his mount out and off toward the north.

Sofia exhaled and sagged a little bit. Her heart was thudding in her ears and the sweat dripped down her temples. She waited a long time before she even tried to move. She shifted, pulled herself up and stood on the branch, keeping her balance by clinging like ivy to the upper branch.

An instant later from the corner of her eye she caught a sudden flash of blue. The sound of a horse rearing. Then a huge gleaming broadsword slashed through the leaves by her head and cut downward, clear through the branch she was standing on.

The branch cracked and broke off, fell out from under her and to the ground. She screamed and grabbed onto the upper branch with both hands, holding on as tightly as she could. The weight of her body jerked hard against her arms and she hung there, her feet and body dangling in the air.

She looked down.

A man’s face stared up at her.

It was a face she knew all too well.

“Damn you, Tobin de Clare!”

He sheathed his sword and leaned casually on the pommel of his saddle. He watched her hang from the tree, not saying a single word.

“Are you just going to let me hang here?”

“You climbed the tree. I have to believe you wanted to be there.”

She cursed again, then stared down at the ground, way, way down there. It looked a lot farther down than when she climbed up here.

Her hands were slipping. The bark was cutting into her palms. She didn’t have the strength left to pull herself up. There were no branches lower to stand on.

There was nothing but the ground below her. And Tobin, waiting. A very angry Tobin.

She preferred broken bones to broken pride. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

One . . . two . . . three . . .

She let go.

She expected to feel the ground, hard and damp, and the jar of it ringing up through the bones of her legs when she hit.

Instead she hit a mailed chest. She felt the soft whoosh of his breath brush her hair as his big arms clamped around her.

She was sitting on his saddle pommel. Her eyes shot open to find herself staring into his, into those blue eyes. Cold blue eyes. She did not like the flintlike look on his face. Clearly he did not find her adventures amusing, in spite of the laziness of his posture.

He was furious.

“You oaf!” She looked away and began to brush herself off. “You could have killed me with that sword.”

“Believe this and do not forget.” His words were sharp and tight, like the jaw they were coming from. “It took every bit of patience God gave me
not
to kill you.”

“Edward would not allow you to kill me.” Her voice was haughty and sure and she gave him a direct look. What she saw in his face made her wish she could take back her words.

“Nay, Sofia. Edward would not allow me to kill you. He would like to do that for himself.”

She kept arguing
with him.

“Be quiet, woman! Already I am sorely tempted to beat you. Do not push me.” He had never in his entire life felt the urge to hit a woman, till now. Sofia had pushed him that far. He gripped the reins in one tight, white-knuckled fist.

She called him something under her breath.

Luck was with her, for he did not hear what it was. He clamped his arm hard around her squirming body and kneed his mount forward, pulling her back against his chest so hard she gasped.

Her breathing was fast. He could feel the motion of her chest against his forearm, but wisely she did not speak again. She just sat in front of him in the saddle as stiffly as one of the tree trunks they were riding past.

“How did you find me?”

“’Twas not easy.”

“There were outlaws. Brigands. I heard them talking. That was why I was running. I thought you were them.” She paused. “I thought I was going to die.” Her voice cracked into a half sob.

“You are fortunate to be alive at all.” He did not feel sorry for her and he would not let her tears affect him.

“You are holding me too tightly. It hurts my ribs.”

He shifted and pulled her across his leg. “Put your arms about my neck, so you don’t fall off.”

She slid her arms up and locked her hands around his neck, then wiggled a bit and finally settled her bottom between his legs on the pommel.

After a moment or two, she leaned her head against his shoulder and she began to cry.

They rode back into
the inn a short time later. Sofia could see some of Tobin’s men waiting, and when they rode into the courtyard, the men saw her and dismounted.

“Go inside and order some food. We’ll follow.” Tobin dismounted and reached up and grasped her waist, then lifted her off the saddle and set her down, his body pinning her between him and the horse.

A stable lad came running and took the reins, then led his mount away. Tobin grabbed her hand and pulled her with him and shoved her inside the inn.

A blast of hot air hit her in the face along with the strong scent of greasy mutton and the sharp yeasty tang of spilled ale. With his hand firmly on her back, he guided her across the crowded tavern room to a table where some of his men sat. They looked at her with odd looks she could only describe as half-annoyed and half-pitying.

She did not need to be pitied. She did not want their pity.

Tobin pulled out a chair and shoved her into it.

She turned and gave him a glare, but it did no good, for he was not looking at her. His eyes were on a barmaid, a big blonde with an udder chest and fat hips. Well, not fat, but bigger than hers so she liked to think of them as fat, especially when the woman’s eyes were all but eating Tobin up.

She strolled their way, a tray filled with hot food and foamy drink propped on one shoulder. Her free hand was on her hip, which swayed and rolled more than the boats on the Thames.

Sofia glanced back at Tobin, who was still looking at the woman when she bent between them and set the tray down on the table and her pink breasts in Tobin’s face.

“You came back.” She said in a breathy voice.

“Aye, sweet.”

Sweet? What is he doing? He calls me sweet.

For a moment, all Sofia could see was the woman’s plump, round bottom, right in her face. So she wedged her way in front of the woman, so the back of her head was between the woman’s breasts. Sofia grabbed the rim of the table and she pushed back.

The woman grunted and took a step back.

“Hmmm, stew! I am ‘bout starved.” Sofia scooted her chair next to Tobin’s, then grabbed a dish of stew and a hunk of bread and began to stuff her face.

The barmaid ruffled Sofia’s shorn hair. “Game, lad, he is. How is yer head?”

Sofia scowled at her and muttered, “Fine.”

But the maid was not paying attention. She only had eyes for Tobin. “Tell me, Sir Tobin. Is he your little brother?”

Sofia choked on her food.

Tobin patted her on the back while she coughed and he handed her a tankard of ale.

She hated ale; it tasted like water and old moldy bread.

“The lad is my . . . groom.”

Sofia glanced up and gave him a pointed glare.

Tobin flashed her a white grin. He was enjoying this.
Damn him
!

“Aye, the boy does smell of the stables.”

Tobin clamped his big hand on her thigh under the table and kept her seated. “We’ve taken your rooms for the night. Send up a bath to my room and I’ll see that the lad rids himself of the smell . . . ” he paused. “And the nits.”

She would like to nit him.

“Anything you desire, Sir Tobin. Your room is the one on the end, right? The one with the biggest bed.” The barmaid winked, then sauntered away.

“Sit,” Tobin said into her ear. “The way you are dressed, and with that hair, you will stay a lad until I return you to Edward.”

Sofia looked at him. “Go to the Devil.”

He gave her a long stare, then laughed and said, “I think I already have.”

Chapter 17

 “I will not take my clothes off with you in the room.”

Tobin was stretched out on the plump feather bed, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms resting behind his head. He was chewing on a witch hazel twig and watching Sofia pace in front of the steaming tub. “Then I will do it for you.”

“You will not.”

He started to get up.

She raised her hand. “Stop! Do not.” She reached around and undid the closure on the back of her tunic. “At least turn your back.”

“I am quite comfortable as I am.”

She stopped. “Fine.” She dropped her arms. “Then I shall undress in the hall, where all your men can see me.”

“Checkmate,” he said. His Sofia. She was a worthy opponent when it came to this kind of byplay. “I will close my eyes.” Then he did.

“Give me your word. On your honor that you will not look.”

“Aye.” Was all he said. He would give her no words of a vow he intended to break. He waited, then opened his eyes enough to watch her.

She turned her back to him and grabbed the hem of the tunic, then pulled it over her head. She had bound her breasts with a piece of linen and she began to untie the knots and then slowly unwind the cloth. ’Twas one of the most erotic moments he could ever remember, waiting for her to finish unwinding that cloth.

When she finished, she bent slightly to pull off one boot. He caught a glimpse of a full pink breast. She tried the other boot. It was stuck and she had to hobble in a circle to pull it off. Her breasts jiggled and he could see the nipples grow hard and pointed.

She glanced up once, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

He had closed his just enough to fool her.

She waited.

So did he.

Unfortunately for him, she managed to pull off the boot. A shame, he would have liked to see her hop like that again.

She spun around almost as if she read his thoughts, but he had shut his eyes again. He moved the twig to the other side of his mouth with his tongue, then sucked on it and began chewing again. He could hear her pad lightly across the room.

She stood by the bed. He could feel her watching him. She waved her hand in his face a few times.

“My eyes are closed, sweet.”

“Then how can you tell I’m here?”

“I can feel the air from you waving your hand in front of my face.”

“Oh.” She paused, sounding disappointed, then she said in a curt tone, “I do not want you to call me that anymore.”

“What?”

“That name. Sweet. You called that barmaid ‘sweet.’ “

“Jealous?”

She sniffed. “Hardly that.” Then she went back to the tub. “Humph!” she muttered and tossed a ball of soap into the water. “Me . . . jealous of some fleshy tavern wench who walks like a ship under full sail.” She strolled around the tub in a circle, mimicking the maid.

“Anything you deeee-sire, Sir Tobin,” she said in a throaty voice as she swung her hips from side to side and wiggled her bottom.

He wasn’t certain what he wanted to do more, laugh at her or lie with her.

She peeled off her braies, still circling her hips around and mumbling about how many men the maid must have lain with. How a shrewd person would be wise to fear some rotting disease. Apparently finished, she stopped wiggling and muttering and stepped into the water.