“Don’t be silly,” she said, immediately contrite. “You had more pressing obligations.”
“To a woman who had already relinquished all claim to my care, and who no longer needed it.” He set her hand back in her lap. “I don’t think the bone is broken.”
“It hurts,” she said, faintly fretful.
“It will heal in God’s time.”
“How do you know?”
“I have faith,” he said simply.
She lifted her eyes to his face, and he wished he could force himself to turn away. He couldn’t. She could see the hopeless love in his face if she chose to recognize it, and he could only hope she would ignore it.
A foolish hope. She leaned forward and pressed her soft mouth against his in a sweet, tempting kiss. “Will you marry me, Thomas du Rhaymer?”
He jerked back from her in shock. “What?”
“Will you marry me?” she repeated. “I have decided that I want no one but you, and I am very used to getting what I want in this life.”
“Your brother would never allow it.”
“We won’t ask him. We won’t go anywhere near him. We can sail for France and wander the countryside. You can live by your sword and I’ll cook for you,” she said, growing more enthusiastic.
He stared at her, bemused. “You can cook?”
“No,” she confessed. “But I’m certain I can learn.”
“There is no need, my lady,” he said in a reproving voice. “I will keep you safe, I’ve sworn my life on it, and I won’t fail you again. I have houses and lands of my own. My mother will make you welcome.”
“And you will marry me?” she persisted.
He shook his head. “You need to marry a man with far more wealth than I possess, my lady. You need a man with a light heart and a merry soul.”
“I’ll lighten your heart, Thomas,” she said.
Little did she know she was tearing his heart apart. He shook his head, doing his best to keep his expression distant and austere. “No,” he said. “I will not marry you.”
He wasn’t sure whether he expected relief or displeasure from her. He got neither. She simply nodded. “Very well,” she said calmly. “I shall simply have to be your leman.” And she launched herself against him, ignoring her wounded wrist.
He fell back among the leaves as she covered his face with inexpert kisses, and he reached out to push her away, only to find that his hands were kneading her arms, and he was kissing her back with an unholy fervor, drinking the honey sweetness of her mouth.
He tried to extricate himself, but she clutched him tightly, despite her injury. To get away from her he would have to hurt her, and that was something he simply could not do. He tried not to respond to her kisses, but that was another thing beyond his suddenly limited capabilities. He could no more keep from kissing her than he could keep the sun from rising and setting. He loved her, and there was no way he could deny it, or her.
Her breasts were small, beautifully shaped, and she took his hand and placed it on her, and his fingers cupped her instinctively. He tried to sit up, but she simply climbed astride him, so that she was cradled in his lap, and he told himself he could stop fighting, at least for a moment.
She was breathless, laughing, when she lifted her head to look at him. “You’d best change your mind, good knight,” she said. “If you won’t wed me I’ll seduce you, putting both our souls in mortal danger.”
“My lady…” he protested helplessly.
The light vanished from her eyes. “Thomas,” she said simply, “don’t you want me?”
She looked as if she might cry once more, and he knew he couldn’t bear it if he were the cause of her tears. “Claire,” he said, “a man would be mad not to want you. I want you with every breath in my body, every drop of blood that moves through my veins. I want you so much I could die from it.”
An impish grin lit her face. “Then have me.”
And he knew he would. He would have her without her family’s blessing; he would have her knowing she could do so much better for herself. He would have her, and he would never let her go.
He moved with surprising swiftness, surging off the forest floor, and she would have landed in an ignominious heap if he hadn’t caught her good arm and dragged her up against him. “Not without a priest’s blessing.”
She blinked in disbelief. “You’ll wed me? Because I forced you?”
He was perversely pleased to see his love could be as irrational as most women. Now that she’d gotten her way she seemed suspicious.
“No, my lady,” he said with great patience, picking the leaves out of her tangled hair. “I’ll wed you because I love you.”
“Why? Because I’m comely?”
It was an obvious enough reply, but he had the sense to know that his bride wouldn’t be pleased with it. He picked a twig out of her hair. “My love,” he said with great patience, “your hair is a rat’s nest. Your eyes are swollen from weeping, your nose is red, your clothing is tattered, and your face is streaked with mud. You are still beyond passing fair, but not enough to tempt my immortal soul.” He wiped a patch of mud from her delicate cheekbone. “I love you because you have a fierce heart, a brave soul, a tender touch, and a woman’s grace. I love you for a thousand reasons that I can’t even begin to understand, when I didn’t want to love you at all. I love your mind and your heart and soul, and yes, I love your pretty face as well. But I’ll love you when you’re an old crone as well.”
“I’ll never be an old crone,” Claire said with great confidence, clearly pleased with his confession. “I expect I’ll
