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Ironheart. Emily French
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His spare hand involuntarily went to the breast of his leather tunic, in an inner pouch of which he kept a stained knot of ribbon. It had become a treasured charm to him through the years, and he had grown almost to believe that it was a safeguard to him from the constant assaults of temptations to thoughts and deeds unworthy of a Christian knight.
He tested his courage by it. He tested it further. He released her wrist. Risked shame that a girl should trust him.
“I give you leave,” he said, a little breathless.
“How generous of you.”
Wordlessly, she reached out and touched his cheek softly. He felt something come alive within him, something that made him feel warm and cherished. He suddenly became aware of the delicious tension tightening his whole body. His heart jumped and started hammering. A fearful thrill ran from his chest to his groin. He had not known he could have so many needs all at once, amid such a nightmare.
Brenna touched him, because she wanted to, because she could not help herself; a brush of fingertips from his cheek to his chin, tracing the path of his scars. It was great daring. He quivered under her hand, but did not pull away. She looked up and caught his eye. A quick smile framed her lips.
“Am I transgressing?” she asked him.
In more ways than one!
“A little.” Meeting her gaze, Leon struggled mightily to keep his expression bland. You must face that which you fear most. Confront and conquer. Know yourself first and you will overcome a legion of adversaries. His arms-master’s words, spoken to him at Whittington. A boy of twelve summers, unaware of the fate that awaited him.
Ever so slowly, her fingers progressed along their tortuous route. He kept still, hardly daring to breathe. She was close, so dizzyingly close! A painful stiffening was pressing against the confining leather of his pants, but he dared not shift to ease his position for fear his actions would be noticed.
Leon closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, allowing himself this rare moment of self-indulgence. Then, with the ease of long practice, he forced the emotional temptation back into a corner of his mind. He’d learned a long time ago that the only way to exist was to keep his feelings under rigid control, his heart hard and unyielding as iron. It was a kind of armor. After everything that had happened years ago, there was nothing left to be afraid of.
They were very close. Brenna could feel the living warmth of him, and catch the scent he bore, faint yet distinct. Musk and saddle leather and wet wool. His face was so close that she could feel his breath, so warm and soft. She hoped he would kiss her—yes, she wanted him to kiss her—and her heart beat faster as she swayed toward him, her soft breasts touching his chest. How would it feel to kiss a man?
Their lips touched. He was very beautiful and very strong, and his kiss was sweet. Swift and startling. Warm and warming. He tasted of spices. She felt his long, lean body pressed against hers, and in her secret places, unfamiliar longings began to stir.
He drew back.
Brenna only stared at him, not moving. His eyes had darkened to emerald, and he was frowning, if only slightly; his gaze gone almost to coldness. He bowed again.
“I am honored, and I hope my presence will cause you no more hardship than is necessary.”
Her throat was locked. She swallowed to open a way for her voice. “It is we who are honored—no, pleased by your presence here, and all will see to your comfort. I will have a servant fetch some wine and a trencher from the kitchen—and some clean clothes.”
And fled.
Two steps outside the door she came to an abrupt stop. Elen, her old nurse and present maidservant, stood there, arms akimbo, blocking the corridor.
“Merciful Mary, what means this, Brenna?”
Brenna did a little jig though she wanted to throw up her arms and yell, to leap and hop and twirl and imitate the merry dance of the minstrels, and burst into the hall shouting the glad tidings to everyone.
“Elen, the inconceivable has occurred! My knight…he has come! He’s a darling, and I shall love him, I know.”
Elen’s face expressed disapproval of so much exuberance. “Telyn made no mention of a knight. He said it was one of the beggars who came to your aid.”
“Whoever heard of a beggar with a horse? A fine horse, at that—and Elen, Aubrey’s magnificent. He’s exactly as I’ve always imagined my knight to look. Fair, powerful, self-assured. I’ve never seen such fearlessness, such absolute recklessness, such wild valor. I’ve no doubt he’s all heroic virtue and unmatched goodness.”
Elen narrowed her eyes. “You sound utterly smitten.”
Besotted, more like, Brenna thought. Every part of her had been drawn to him. Her shoulder still prickled where his hand rested. Her lips tingled from the cool fire of his touch. She laughed lightly.
“He has all the traits of a hero—and his face is that of a warrior—such lovely eyes—all silvery-green and shining like a pigeon’s breast. And his shoulders are the broadest I’ve ever seen. Then again, mayhap ’tis his golden hair. You don’t see much hair that color around here.”
“Upon my soul, Brenna, you are wit-wandering.”
“Not so.”
“No one ought to indulge in passion, it distorts everything.”
“There are passions—and passions.”
“You might as well know that Kil Coed has sent word that he comes not only to propose a new and strong alliance with Dinas Bran, but that it would be his great pleasure to seal that covenant by wedding with you.”
Brenna stared at Elen grimly and let out an impatient breath. “The arrival of my betrothed and our marriage on the Sabbath should halt any ambitions held by another suitor! Assuming, of course, that this isn’t all a joke…?”
“I wish I had told you sooner, but I did not want to burden you until I was sure.”
A wild resentment filled Brenna. “We have taken Aubrey’s coin. I am honor-bound to wed him.”
“Keith Kil Coed is magnificent—and he’s Welsh.”
“I will not marry him!” It was a whisper, lest she scream it.
“You may have no choice. Since winter loosed its hold, he has begun to gather an army. The Lady Agnita says Sir Edmund suspects he will move against us, thinking to forge an alliance, and use our strength to advance west to Gwynedd.”
“I am betrothed to Aubrey of Leeds!”
“Betrothals can be nullified.”
“Not on the very eve of the nuptials!”
“No more dispute now. Sir Edmund has the right to decide your fate. He is in a foul mood because of this latest folly. He will be angrier if you are not at table. Go and put on your blue gown, and be nice to him, and you may find his anger only hot air.”
“Even if Grandy is about to renege on the deal and have me wed that upstart Keith Kil Coed, my knight has come, as if conjured here by magic. It is a good omen.”
“Don’t say that! The walls have ears,” Elen whispered, making the sign of the cross on brow and chest. “And there are always servants and menials of some sort to carry tales of witchcraft and druidry.”
“Old lies and old spite. How can anyone credit a word of it?”
“Be careful! I can’t prevent hostile ears from attending to some ill-spoken words—I would not have you skinned for a witch or burnt at the stake.”
A flood of fondness washed