Page 16 of Hers To Command
The first woman he had ever made love to had been a dairymaid.
God’s blood, it had been years since he’d thought of Elise, and the passionate excitement, unique to youth, to be found in her welcoming arms. That must explain the sudden heating of his blood and the rush of desire in his loins.
Whatever Lady Mathilde looked like and whatever she aroused, she was no milking maid eager to instruct him in the ways of love.
“My lady,” he said, bowing in greeting as he waited for her to reach him, glad his shirt hung loose to midthigh.
She ran a puzzled gaze over him. “Have you been in the water?”
“It’s a warm day,” he replied, “and I thought I’d save your servants the trouble of preparing a bath. Cerdic challenged me to show my skill and I obliged. Afterward I wanted to wash more than my face and hands.”
Her brows knit with concern. “I hope he didn’t hurt you.”
He couldn’t help smiling a little. “He was the one left lying on the ground.”
“You defeated Cerdic?” she asked incredulously.
He shrugged with chivalrous modesty. “As I said, I can wield more than a sword.”
She started walking toward the castle, her strides betraying her agitation.
He’d better keep quiet about the wager, he decided as he fell into step beside her. “Would you rather I let him hurt me?”
“I don’t know why you had to involve yourself at all,” she snapped, her full lips turned down in a peeved frown.
“I had nothing better to do. Neither you nor your sister were in the hall to offer suggestions as to how I might spend my time while I was your guest.”
He let the implication that they had been remiss in their duty hang in the air between them.
“I thought Giselle would be in the hall when you finally deigned to get out of bed,” Lady Mathilde replied, her voice betraying some slight remorse. “She usually does her sewing there, and there was no need for her other skill today.”
“Other skill?” he asked, curious as to what that might be and trying not to get annoyed with Lady Mathilde’s less-than-ladylike tone.
“She tends to the sick in the castle and the village.”
A most excellent quality in a knight’s wife, Henry reflected. His recent recovery would surely have been aided, and made all the more pleasant, had he been cared for by such a physician. “And you, my lady?” he inquired politely. “Are you similarly skilled?”
“The smells of the sickroom make me ill and the sight of a bloody wound turns my stomach.”
Blunt and to the point, as always, and should he ever require another reason that this lady would not make a suitable bride, there it was. “I take it you weren’t visiting the sick in the village then,” he remarked, nodding at her basket.
“No,” she curtly replied. But then her lips curved up in a secretive and surprisingly intriguing little smile. “I was visiting one of my tenants whose wife just had a baby.”
He suddenly noticed a little beauty mark on the nape of Lady Mathilde’s neck, like a target for a kiss—a light kiss, no more than the brush of a moth’s wing. A caress of the lips before they traveled toward her full mouth and…
God’s wounds, what was the matter with him?
“You shouldn’t have gone out of the castle by yourself,” he said, sounding not a little annoyed, although he wasn’t angry with her.
“Why shouldn’t I go by myself?” she demanded. “This is my home, after all.”
Obviously, since she couldn’t really read his mind, she’d taken his tone of voice to imply criticism and condemnation rather than anger at himself. Yet even though he shouldn’t have spoken so brusquely, he did think she’d taken a risk. “You and I both know Roald is without scruples or honor. I can well believe he’d stoop to abduction to get what he wants.”
Which was perfectly true.
When Lady Mathilde faced him, her expression was as stern as that of any man. “Even if Roald did something so stupid, it would avail him nothing.”
“You think not?” Henry replied. “You don’t think your sister would give in to any demands he might make if your life depended on it?”
