Page 39 of Hers To Command
As they got closer to the green, he put his hand over hers for an instant, then just as quickly withdrew it. He didn’t want to frighten her, or arouse bad memories, as the scent of damp stones could remind him of that dungeon. “Thank God I know how to dance, so I’m not an utter disgrace.”
Mathilde thought she had never met a man who had less cause to consider himself disgraceful. He had performed admirably in every competition that day, and despite his claim that he hadn’t purposefully lost, she didn’t think he had particularly exerted himself to win, either.
Nevertheless, she enjoyed his wry, self-deprecating comments. He was so pleasantly different from most men of her acquaintance, and nothing like the few arrogant knights who’d come to Ecclesford, usually seeking shelter. And usually, once they’d seen Giselle, they’d wanted to stay, until her father sent them on their way.
“Cerdic does know how to dance—or at least, he did,” she amended. “Giselle and I spent hours teaching him when we were younger.”
“He must have enjoyed your company very much.”
Mathilde smiled, thinking of those happier, more innocent days. “He enjoyed Giselle’s more. I teased him too much.”
“Does he still prefer Giselle’s company to yours?”
There was something in Henry’s tone that gave her pause and made her look toward the green where Giselle was gaily instructing Cerdic. Their friend no longer looked disgruntled. He was laughing with her sister, letting Giselle guide him, their heads intimately close—
By the saints, was it possible? Had she been blind to something so important happening between them?
Maybe she had. When their father had died, Giselle had fallen into Cerdic’s comforting arms, and he had stroked her hair. The Christmas before that, they had sat together by the Yule log for the whole of Christmas Eve, whispering and laughing. At May Day, they had gone into the woods together to gather flowers and been gone the whole of the morning.
God save her, shehadbeen blind.
“You see it now, too?” Henry asked softly, his voice close to her ear. “I don’t think I have any chance of winning your sister’s hand, should I wish to try.”
He didn’t sound the least bit disappointed. She thrilled to realize that, because surely he would be upset if Giselle had been his object.
But that didn’t mean he would then want her. Indeed, to think that would be as foolish as…
“I hope their liaison doesn’t upset you.”
“Why should it?” she asked, surprised by his apprehensive tone. “If she wants him for her husband, she should marry him. I certainly won’t object. He’s a good man. My father liked him, too.”
“Although he has no rank or wealth?”
“He is a descendent of kings, if not Norman ones. And if he loves Giselle and she loves him, that is more important than wealth. Besides, Giselle will have enough wealth and land for both.”
“If you win your dispute with Roald.”
“Whenwe win.”
A gaggle of children ran by, giggling and calling to each other. Henry took her hand to pull her out of their boisterous way, bringing her close to the trunk of the oak beside the smithy.
The blacksmith had banked the forge’s fire so he could join the ale. Even so, it was warmer here beside the building and in the shelter of the massive tree. It was secluded, too, far from the bonfire being kindled as the sun set, and far enough from the festivities that when night fell, they would be in darkness, virtually invisible from the merrymakers dancing on the green. It was dark here already, in the shadow of the smithy, in the shelter of the tree.
She could feel Henry’s presence close beside her, and smell him, too—the heady, masculine, earthy odor of leather, horse and ale.
“You aren’t disappointed Cerdic cares for your sister?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.
Did he think that she…? “Not at all,” she honestly admitted. “I’ve never cared for him that way. He’s like a brother to me.”
“I’m glad,” Henry said softly, taking her hands in his.
The sensation of his strong grasp seemed to travel from her fingers to the crown of her head and the tips of her toes, warm and throbbing. Once she’d thought she’d never be able to endure a man’s touch; now, she never wanted Henry to let her go.
She was no longer a virgin. She did not have that prize to lose anymore. It was gone. Gone forever.
Taken. Stolen.
What did it matter if she gave her body to another man?
