Her father was alive. She had been honored by Zander’s gifts and memories. She had given herself to the man she wanted and shared an intimacy to last a lifetime.
Only a very foolish woman would expect anything more.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Zander cursed under his breath as he strode through the town. Dark had fallen and doors had closed, but he could hear muffled sounds and saw the dull glow of candles. He walked fast, pacing out his discontent, negotiating with his soul. Only when he emerged through the portal and onto the field did he stop his furious stride.
It was the first time he had been alone since he parted from Hugo after their competition. The first time to be with his thoughts, and to weigh all that had happened.
An offer was coming from Lord Marcus. Soon. The arrival of that family in his pavilion had all but promised one. “We will talk after the melee,” Marcus had said while they walked back to the castle, with his lady and daughter a few steps behind them.
He wished Lord Marcus had not come to his tent with that child. He had been waiting for Elinor instead, and almost called her name when he saw the pavilion’s flap rising. Instead she arrived later, while Lord Marcus was congratulating him on winning the championship and Matilda was eyeing him like a favorite horse.
How polite Elinor had been, despite her surprise. Gracious and elegant. His request that she stay died on his lips when she turned and hurried away, leaving him with Matilda’s adoration.
That had not been the worst of it, however. Upon returning to his chamber in the castle, Lord Yves had summoned him. That long conversation had lasted until the dinner, which in turn had gone on too long.
Long enough for Lady Judith to get him alone and propose marriage.
He gazed up at the night sky. It had been a day of good fortune and new opportunities. Most of the knights encamped here would never see the like of it in their lives.
So why was his spirit so unsettled?
He walked through the camps toward the noise coming from the tavern at the back of the field. Only his legs changed direction, and he found himself on the edge of Sir Hugo’s camp. The fire was down to embers and the flap of the tent was closed. Disappointment branched through him. He had hoped Elinor would be outside.
He wanted to talk to her. He needed to say that she did not owe him gratitude or anything else. It would be pleasant to be something of the squire, for a short while, before he became The Devil’s Blade again, and a knight with too many decisions to make.
Elinor turned on her pallet. Her father’s snores rarely bothered her, but tonight they interfered with her sleep and intruded on her thoughts.
Then something ruffled her hair. She swatted at the mouse that had thought to make a nest. It did not stop, so she swatted harder. When that did not help, she angrily grabbed for it, only to discover she grasped not a mouse, but a hand.
“Elinor.” Zander’s muffled whisper came from the other side of the canvas.
She glanced at her father, who still snored peacefully. She released the hand, grabbed a light mantle, and snuck out. She draped the mantle over her shift while she walked around the tent.
She found Zander stretched on the ground, his hand still under the back edge like a thief. He noticed her and scrambled to his feet. He said not a word, but took her hand and led her away, around the camps nearby, toward the river.
She should not go. She must not. Yet she hurried her steps to keep up until they reached the riverbank.
“It is a good thing you remembered where I put the pallets. You could have ended up stroking my father’s head.”
“His snoring told me where he lay.” He looked down at her. “I am sorry there were others with me when you came. You did not have to leave. You should have stayed.”
She could not stay. She did not belong there. “Have you been with Lord Marcus all this time?”
He shook his head. “Lord Yves. Before dinner, and during it.”
“He honors you.”
“Perhaps. I will tell you about it, and you can be my counselor.” He tugged at her hands enough to encourage her to sit on the grass. He settled beside her, so close that his body warmed her side. In front of them the inky water of the river, black like the sky, showed dancing moonlight on its ripples.
“You look beautiful in the moonlight, Elinor. But then you always do.”
“You were going to tell me about Lord Yves.”
His arm moved up her back. “Later.” He turned his body toward her and pulled her into an embrace. He kissed her cheek as if he posed a question. She already knew her answer and turned so their lips met.
It had not been snoring that kept her awake, but wistful longing and an aching heart. She had foolishly fallen in love with The Devil’s Blade, the tournament champion. He could give her nothing except these secret kisses and would promise her even less. She might be nothing more but the woman who was available, but she would hold him while she could before they parted forever.
His passion rose, carrying her along in mutual pleasure. She sensed a brooding in him fall away until they shared joy and smiles along with deep kisses and physical warmth. He laid her down, and while he kissed and bit her neck and chest, he peeled away the mantle and lowered her chemise until her breasts were bare.
Such pleasure then, as he teased and aroused her with fingertips, tongue and mouth. Breathless from sensations pitching higher with
