leather satchel. He shifted the weight of this baggage and pulled his fur lined cloak about his shoulders. The edges of the cloak rustled against the sweet herbs and rushes that covered the floor of the great hall, stirring them among his booted feet. All was silent—even the boy who tended the fire overnight dozed nearby. Only an orange tomcat prowled among the other snoring bodies, doubtless hoping to catch an unwary mouse among the rushes.
Dirick felt an odd sense of sadness as he stepped from the hall for the last time, and found himself under the dark blue, starred sky. He had enjoyed his stay here at Langumont, and the unhappiness he felt at leaving pushed into him like an annoying toothache. Mayhaps, he thought as he trudged through the powdery snow to the stables, ’twas because Lord Merle seemed to be the closest link he had to his father and his father’s murderer.
The whuffling of the horses greeted him as he pressed the door into the stables. Nick was near the front, and he nickered as he sensed his master’s scent. “Aye, boy, ’tis nigh time we were away from here,” he said, leading the destrier from his stall. Nick pranced spiritedly within the small enclosure, obviously eager to get on his way, and Dirick patted his nose to calm him. “’Tis happy I’ll be to see this place behind,” he said aloud.
He heard the noise behind him and whirled, hand clapping to his sword, just as her words reached his ears. “Then ’tis happy we shall be to see you go.” Maris stood there, holding a tallow candle, looking ethereal in the glow of the shining beacon.
The annoyance in her eyes did not, however, bespeak of celestial bearing. Her head had been covered with a wrap, but as the woolen veil slipped, her rich hair showed and gleamed in the candlelight. Her little chin was pointed in annoyance and her full lips were firmed into a thin line. The blue cloak trailed in the rushes on the stable floor, effectively covering her from shoulder to toe.
Dirick recovered from his surprise and dropped his hand from the sword upon which it rested. “Maris—my lady,” he amended quickly, “what do you here?”
Her frown did not dissipate. “Papa told me that you planned to leave early this morrow, and I did not—I thought you must not go without something for your journey. But I see that my consideration is unwanted.” He noticed now that she held a packet under the opening of her cloak. “So happy are you to see Langumont behind you that surely you wouldn’t wish to take any remembrance of this place.”
She turned to go, her back straight as a sword and her shoulders thrown back.
“Nay, my lady.” Dirick, annoyed at having been caught speaking such nonsense to his horse, spurred to action and reached for her arm. “Nay, ’tis not that I wish to leave Langumont…believe you me.”
At his tug, she pivoted back, her eyes a hard, flat brown in the flickering light. “I am not hard of hearing, Sir Dirick.”
He eased her toward him, now taking both shoulders and turning her so that she faced him fully. So close that her cloak’s hem nudged his boots. She felt small and soft beneath his fingers. “And so you heard the nonsense I spoke to Nick. I suppose it serves me right—for did I not overhear your private conversation with Hickory?” His smile felt forced. “I must leave, and that I have no desire to do so the reason I spoke thus.”
She looked up at him as if trying to determine whether he was merely being gallant or whether the words actually were truth. “I could not fathom that you would leave without a word of farewell….”
“I bid your father good-bye,” he told her, releasing her shoulders. They stood much too close. The smell of lemon and rosemary from her hair caught at his nostrils, mingling with the feminine scent of
Maris worked the candle into a cup appended to the wall of the stable, leaving it to light their way, and stepped toward him, unwittingly blocking him into the stall. She proffered the leather wrapped packet from under the folds of her cloak. “I’ve brought you cheese and bread, and there is a bit of salted venison here. I…did not know how long your journey would be.”
He took the packet, warmed by her thoughtfulness and tempted by her presence. “Thank you my lady. I was not able to break my fast and this will be a good meal for the road.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I am a traveling knight, my lady, and I go where I can find work,” he said. “I do not know where my next place of rest will be.”
Maris frowned, a charming line crinkling around her nose. “Then why do you leave? Papa has work for you. I’m certain he would hire you for as long as you wished.”
A sudden flare of anger twisted his insides. Verily, she saw him only as a charity case. A man who could not make his own way.
Despite the fact that he’d led her to believe just that, it rankled that she saw him in such a lowly light. “Nay.” He turned his back to her, taking his time to loop up the reins and bit, hoping she would leave before he mortified himself again.
Or before he gave in to the base temptation she presented.
“Sir Dirick, I vow, you make little sense of anything. You need work, and there is work to be had, but you must leave nevertheless. I vow, ’twill be good to have you gone!”
“Aye,” he said as he turned, his hands brimming with the leather bridle, “I am sure you will not miss my company now that your betrothed has arrived.” As soon as he spoke those bitter words, Dirick wished he could cut out his tongue.
“He is not my betrothed,” she said tightly, the spirit draining from her voice.
“He will be anon, and well you know it. When that happens, I am quite sure Victor will be pleased to trail you on your treks through the wood, digging in the snow for berries and watching as you nurse to the ill.” He knew he should stop speaking, but the words continued to flow. “I saw you come in here with him last night. Your father and I were watching from above. Mayhap you didn’t realize you were seen?”
Maris’s expression altered, but he couldn’t read her thoughts. “Aye. He wished to meet Hickory.”
Dirick quirked one eyebrow and managed to look sardonic even as a barrage of unwanted images assaulted him. He well knew how comfortable the warmth of a stable could be when one’s arms were filled with the warmth of a woman. Hay might be a bit prickly against bare skin, but it was springy and warm. “And was there nothing more that he wanted? Mayhap he wished to taste the lips of the woman he is to wive.”
“Mayhap he did,” she replied, lifting her chin smartly.
“Foolish girl. What if he had wanted more than a taste? Did you not think to have a chaperon with you? ’Tis not meet for a lady to have assignations alone with a man in the stable of all places, particularly if she is not yet betrothed to him.”
Maris’s eyes snapped. “But here I stand with you, then. Alone in a stable, with no chaperone…and my virtue has never been safer.”
His resolve at an end, he dropped the bridle, reaching for her more roughly this time. “I would not say that your virtue is safe with me, my dear lady,” he said, pulling her flush against him. “In fact, Maris, I should say that you are treading upon very thin ice.”
He looked down at her and saw no fear in her eyes, only surprise, and he felt the warmth of her breath touch his face. His hands on her shoulders, he eased her backward until she felt the wall behind her and he imprisoned her there, holding her with his muscled legs.
Maris’s eyes sank closed as his tanned hands smoothed up the sides of her neck to cup the line of that stubborn chin. His thumb traced over her lips and her heart pounded madly beneath his fingers, pulsing in her long neck so that he could feel her unrest. Lifting her hair from the nape of her neck, he carefully pulled the long sweet-smelling tresses from the confines of her cloak. It was warm and silky and it twined like vines around his wrists and about her arms.
Dirick let his breath out slowly as his hands ran through her hair. She was not afraid, he noted, although if she had any sense, she would be. It was all he could do to keep from tearing off her clothes and tossing her onto the bed of hay in the next room.
When his hands stilled on her shoulders, and he eased back on the pressure from his thighs, she opened her eyes to look up at him. “Maris,” he said softly as their gazes met. He would never see her again, and she was not yet betrothed. It was a moment of madness, but not a sin. “I cannot leave without kissing you once more.”
