Alyce laughed. She had never before enjoyed banter such as this with a man. It was fun and oddly stimulating. It made her want to go up on tiptoe and break into a little dance.
Thomas straightened and walked over to her, holding out a number of blossoms. “If you’ll not pick, you can at least hold these while I gather more.”
“I’m sure you already have enough, Sir Thomas. Lady Alyce’s bedchamber is not very big.”
Thomas looked at the bunch in his hands for a long moment. Then he said, “You’ll still have to hold these.”
“Why?” she asked, but took the flowers from him.
“Because I need my hands free to hold you,” he said. Then he encircled her with his arms and pulled her close up against him. The blossoms crumpled between them. They both laughed as he looked down at them ruefully and observed, “Oh, bother. This won’t work, either.”
Alyce was embarrassed to admit to herself that she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She’d been unable to get Thomas’s brief kiss out of her mind, and, though she knew it was a scandalous desire for a well-bred maiden, she wanted another sample. And she wasn’t about to let some fast-wilting flowers stand in her way. “Never mind,” she said, bending down to deposit the bouquet on the ground. “They’ll be fine right here until we’re ready to leave.”
Thomas’s smile of satisfaction was confirmation that she was acting like a village hussy, but she didn’t care as he put his arms around her again and lowered his lips to hers. Unlike the brief kiss of the previous evening, this one was slow and deep. His mouth gently melded with hers, warm and moist, then opened to urge a more ardent joining. For several moments, Alyce lost track of everything that surrounded them. She could no longer smell the dry grass of the meadow or hear the horses’ impatient huffing. Her entire world was centered in Thomas’s kiss.
He gave a little groan of pleasure as he drew away. Closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers, he murmured, “By the rood, Rose, I’ve never in my life tasted anything so sweet.”
Her arms had crept around his neck and they tightened at his words. He sounded utterly sincere. Thomas Havilland was obviously a practiced gallant, but there was a note in his declaration that rang true. Of course, the notion was absurd. He had kissed many women. In his eyes, she was just a servant on whom he could practice his skill at flirtation. And he was obviously hungry for a woman after a dreary campaign.
She put the thought into words. “You say that you’ve been away from home for a long time, Sir Thomas. No doubt the slightest attention from an English maid would seem wondrous to you.”
He loosened his hold on her and answered slowly, “Nay. I’ll admit I’ve had few kisses over these past months, but this is something…” His voice trailed off.
His expression was genuinely puzzled, and Alyce was tempted to believe that he had indeed found the kisses as compelling as she had. Unconsciously, she tilted her face, and he accepted the mute offer by kissing her again. This time she didn’t know how many minutes transpired before he pulled away with a deep, ragged breath.
“You’ve bewitched me, Rose. Or have you fed me one of old Maeve’s love potions?” When she flushed, he laughed and added, “No matter. I’m not objecting. But you must know ’tis dangerous to incite a man’s passions.”
Alyce knew no such thing, but his teasing expression did not look the least dangerous, so she smiled back at him. What would a lady’s maid say at this juncture? she wondered. Daringly, she tried, “Fie on you, sir, if you think I need a potion to do the job.”
His expression changed once again, and this time she did glimpse danger in his hooded gaze and the flare of his nostrils. In one fluid motion he scooped her up into his arms and began walking toward the copse of trees at the far end of the meadow. It was some distance, but he carried her easily, without so much as breathing hard. It was Alyce’s chest that was rising and falling in short, panicked breaths.
He reached the trees and gave her a hard, quick kiss. “In truth, I judged Sherborne a modest place when we rode in, sweetheart. I never thought to find such riches here.”
Her insides were churning. Though inexperienced, she knew enough to realize that Thomas was intending to move beyond flirtatious kisses. Part of her wanted to let him continue. His kisses had been exciting, and her untutored body wanted to learn what further wizardry he could show her.
He laid her gently on a mound of soft grass at the base of an ash tree and knelt beside her, looking down. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, then his hand moved down to sculpt her breast through the thick cloth of her dress. “Shall I free you of these wrappings?” he asked.
With sudden panic, Alyce brushed aside his hand and sat straight up as if stung by a bee. What had possessed her? The knight might think her a serving wench, but she was not one. She was the lady of Sherborne Castle, in liege to the king of England. Neither her fate nor her body were her own. “I can’t do this,” she said stiffly.
At first Thomas seemed to think it all part of the game. He took her shoulders and dropped a gentle kiss on her nose. “Don’t worry, sweetling,” he murmured. “We’ll be careful.”
She had only the vaguest notion what he meant by those words, but she knew that no amount of care could make it all right for the lady Alyce of Sherborne to lie with a wandering knight. She pushed him back. “Nay, you don’t understand. I must return to the castle. Please.”
The touch of alarm in her tone seemed to reach him. He pulled his arms away and let them drop to his sides. “I’m sorry, Rose,” he said stiffly. “It seemed that you were willing.”
She bit her lip and found it still sensitive from his kisses. “Aye,” she said miserably. “That is…nay. I hold you no blame, Sir Thomas. ’Twas my fault for acting recklessly.”
If he was disappointed or angry, it did not show in his expression. He smiled. “Perhaps I went too quickly, sweetling. The fault was not in your actions but in your beauty and sweetness. I didn’t mean to press you, but you made me quite lose my head.”
She realized that after the bold way she had acted, she should be grateful for his easy acceptance of her change of heart. “Thank you,” she said.
He stood and held out his hand. “Come, let’s see if any of our flowers survived, to take back to your mistress.”
Feeling a little shaky, Alyce accepted his hand to help her up, but dropped it immediately when she was on her feet. She was quiet as they made their way back to the horses. He helped her mount, then quickly gathered the scattered blossoms and got on his own horse.
She remained silent on the ride back to the castle, confused at her actions and at how fast things had progressed between her and Thomas. Didn’t she have enough problems, she asked herself angrily, without losing all vestige of good sense because a handsome knight wooed her with pretty words?
As they dismounted, he asked about seeing her at dinner. He seemed a little hurt by her swift change of mood, but she didn’t trust herself enough to spend more time with him to soothe his feelings. She gave a vague answer, then handed him the reins to her mount and bolted for the security of the castle.
“Thomas, you were the one who said we shouldn’t tarry long at any place lest Dunstan get wind of our movements. If he and Prince John learn that we are collecting the ransom for Richard, they’ll have their dogs on us in an instant.”
This time Kenton had recruited assistance in arguing with his leader. Harry the Stout had joined them at the table, along with a third knight whom the men had dubbed Martin the Reaper. Unlike Harry, Martin’s nickname had nothing to do with his appearance. The phrase came from the number of Saladin’s legions Martin had mowed down in battle.
“Kenton’s right,” Martin said, sober in spite of the pitcher of ale he had single-handedly consumed. “’Tis time we leave here before word of our presence spreads. We’ve already judged this