“Come with me,” he whispered in the coming twilight.
Where would she go with him? Anywhere?
They hurried to the first stable. He saddled a different horse than the one he’d ridden all day. He untied his blanket and cloak from his horse’s saddle and tied it to the new mount.
“We’re riding?” she asked, pausing.
“Aye. Why? Are you afraid?”
“Yes. It’s getting dark. We could run into a tree or ride off a cliff.” She gasped and took a step back.
It wasn’t too dark to see his smile. “I know the way. Trust me.”
“Wow, you ask a lot on the first date, don’t you?”
“The first date?”
“Oh please, don’t make me explain that.”
“Now you must,” he said and fit a boot into the stirrup. He leaped up and swung his other leg over the side. He held his hand down and lifted her under her arm. This time, he set her down in front of him.
“Begin,” he said and flicked the reins. He kept the pace at a steady trot.
Kes didn’t like riding horses. It always hurt her inner thighs and horses sensed when their rider was untrained at riding.
He held the reins with one hand and curled the other loosely around her waist. She thought, with the warmth of his lap beneath her and his waist and chest behind her, this might be a really nice ride after all. It was better than clinging on behind him, crying her eyes out.
She told him about dating and kept it brief, but still he picked up her distaste for the subject.
“You have been hurt by men you have dated.” He guessed. His voice resonated in his chest and echoed through her.
“Yes,” she admitted. She didn’t usually tell guys about herself so soon, but Nicholas wasn’t just a guy. “In the twentieth and twenty-first century, most men slept—sleep around or cheat. There have been songs about how ‘he done me wrong’, sung by women since before I can remember. Women are beginning to take their lives into their own hands and, well, they are sleeping around now, too. It’s very hard to find someone you can trust your heart with when his dic—” Her eyes cut to what she could see of him. Women didn’t speak like that here, did they? It wasn’t a question. She knew the answer. “—his penis is—”
“His what, my lady?”
“His penis,” she said just above a whisper this time.
“Forgive me. I still cannot hear you.”
“If I elbow you in it, will you understand then?”
He laughed behind her, a rich and resonant sound against her back, sending cascades of pleasure through her. He didn’t laugh often. So to get him to relax his guard and do it was a grand accomplishment.
“Now you made me forget what point I was trying to make.”
“You kept speaking of his penis.”
She kept—“Nicholas!” she scowled for all she was worth and pushed off him.
He yanked her back. “Why are you so eager to return to that life?”
Believe me, she wanted to tell him, if it were just about you, I’d work you until I won you and never look back.
“I told you,” she said. “My father will be alone. He never remarried but dove into his work. He digs up bones and studies them. I’m all he has. And I would be leaving my friends, my work as a historian. I would miss all of it.”
“Aye. I understand.”
“No, you think it’s madness.”
“And yet, here I am taking you to see my historian friend a half-mile away.”
She turned and smiled up at him and ran her palm over his stubbled cheek.
He cupped her wrist and kissed her fingers while she whispered to him her thanks.
“But you are weary from your day already traveling. I hate to think you are exhausted and doing this for me.”
“Why would you hate to think that?” he asked, leaning down so that his lips fell across her ear. “It would be showing you my intention toward affection. It should please you, unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you don’t share my affection.”
“I do,” she told him without hesitation. She closed her eyes knowing she was in trouble when he leaned into her, his big arm resting in her lap, his face inclined to her ear. “I’m not accustomed to your behavior,” she admitted.
“I will help you grow accustomed to it,” he promised. “For however long you remain here.”
He almost sounded like he believed her—or he respected that she believed it. She smiled even though the idea of leaving him made her feel miserable. She snuggled closer to him.
“Kestrel?” he said in a low, husky, sexy voice.
“Yes?”
“I’m wearier than I thought. Speak to me and help me stay alert.”
“Nicholas!” She began to turn to admonish him, but he held her still and dipped his mouth to her throat. “In truth, I like listening to you speak. Your words are colorful.”
She smiled when he kissed her neck. “All right then. But it’s you who must do the talking in order to stay awake and alert. My voice will lull you to sleep faster.”
He tried to deny her, but she stopped talking and waited for him to continue. “Very well,” he sighed. “What would you have me speak about?”
“Whatever you want.”
He muttered under his breath, but he did as she asked.
So far, for a medieval man, he wasn’t doing bad. Not bad at all.
Chapter Twelve
“I was thirteen. I had been with Edward six years. I was with him when he fled to Flanders fourteen years ago. I was one of two people who knew why he left. Richard was the other. The king had fathered a son in Flanders with a woman he loved. He knew that if his enemies found
