His Border Bride. Blythe Gifford

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СКАЧАТЬ morning sunlight streamed through the stable door and poured over him, picking up streaks of gold in his hair. He did not wear his smile this morning. Instead, the light carved sharp shadows around his nose and mouth. He looked as fierce as a golden eagle. Powerful, graceful, beautiful.

      Deadly.

      Such a bird could pluck Wee One out of the sky without ruffling his own feathers.

      She lifted the cloth in an accusation. ‘This was a beautiful tapestry.’ She swallowed, trying to clear the fury fighting to escape her throat. ‘It came all the way from France.’

      She held it out, but he didn’t take it.

      His wry look returned, masking the danger. ‘That’s a long trip.’

      ‘You ruined it. Deliberately.’ Her voice shook and she hated the power he had to upset her.

      ‘Now that’s a harsh accusation. You sent me to sleep in the hall without so much as a blanket. I wrapped myself up in it and it fell into the ashes during the night.’ He shrugged, his expression holding no remorse. ‘That’s what it’s made for. To ward off the cold.’

      ‘To ward off the chill when one is sitting on the bench.’

      His smile widened, slowly. ‘But your bottom wasn’t on the bench last night, so I didn’t think you’d mind.’

      He was savouring her anger. His very smile seemed to say I know what you are. You are not the lady you pretend to be.

      She dropped it in the straw at his feet, releasing a puff of dust. ‘You dirtied it. Clean it before you leave.’

      He looked down at the banker, then back at her, half-smile still in place. ‘That’s a lot of fuss to be making about a spot of dirt on a piece of cloth.’

      ‘It’s a tapestry, not just a piece of cloth.’ She bit her cheek to stop the tears. ‘From Arras. It was a gift.’

      ‘Are you sure that’s really what’s disturbing you?’

      ‘What else would I be distressed about?’

      ‘Me.’

      ‘You?’ The word fell from her lips as quickly as if he had slapped her. How did he know? His very presence violated the natural order. Knights were supposed to be noble, honourable and kind to women. He was the opposite and worse, he delighted in it.

      ‘That’s right. I think I just roil you inside.’

      He did. In places she had never felt before.

      ‘Yes, Sir Gavin, if you are a “sir.” You do.’ She lifted her chin and lowered her shoulders, trying to regain a lady’s calm. ‘But do not smile with pleasure at the thought. You “roil” me because you deliberately flout the laws of chivalry.’

      ‘Chivalry?’ His mocking tone had a dark echo.

      ‘Yes. You must have heard the word.’

      Gratified, she saw his easy smile vanish. His blue eyes turned hard and he stepped closer, forcing her to retreat. But she could not move far enough away. He still stole her breath.

      ‘Oh, I’ve heard of it. But I’ve been fighting in a war, not a tournament to entertain the ladies. You may not believe this, Mistress Clare, but we don’t see much chivalry in war, so forgive me if I’ve forgotten how to bow and scrape and bend my knee. In a real war, we don’t wave a lance and a lady’s scarf in hopes of winning a silk purse. In a real war, when someone loses, they die. And sometimes, the victor even enjoys the killing.’

      She shuddered. Had he enjoyed killing?

      A momentary vision of Wee One, catching her prey, flashed before her. But that was not the same. Not the same at all. ‘Christian knights do not kill one another. The code of honour requires a fellow knight to be spared, else war would be nothing but brutal murder.’

      ‘War is nothing but brutal murder.’

      What kind of man was this? Whose war had he fought and what demons had he seen there?

      ‘I do not know where you’ve been, but you’re in a civilised household now, where everything is done to then anes, which means to its proper purpose, though I don’t expect you know that. I suggest you learn.’

      The smiling mask returned, wiping the darkness from his face. ‘Mais oui, demoiselle.’

      His French stunned her.

      It was smoother than hers.

      And his half-smile had grown large enough that she noticed, for the first time, a dimple on his right cheek.

      Gavin’s smile faded as he wrestled with the tapestry, a small, poor thing compared to those he’d seen in Edward’s palaces. First, he shook it, hoping the ashes would fly free. Then, he tried brushing the smudges away, but that only dirtied the rest of the cloth and his fingers.

      He knew nothing of how to put things right, only how to destroy them.

      And somehow, Mistress Clare had known. Even without knowing his name, she treated him like the deserter he was. Like a man who had stood outside a church holding a torch.

      And carried the blood of a father who would have burned it.

      If it showed so clearly in his face, he was right not to lie about his name. People would judge him without caring that the truth wasn’t as bad as they thought.

      Nor as good as it should be.

      And Mistress Clare, mired in her fantasies, was very, very good at judgements.

      Blind to the crude tower and the rough life that surrounded her, she acted as if she wandered Windsor Palace.

      Her illusions reminded him of King Edward. A few years ago, the King had gathered his friends at a round table and dubbed them Knights of the Garter: the garter of a woman the King had raped, if the rumours were true.

      Mistress Clare wouldn’t like that part of the story. It would violate all her illusions about chivalry, making her angry. Anger would bring colour to her cheeks and warmth to those stony, grey-green eyes. That, he would enjoy seeing. He had the feeling Mistress Clare didn’t let her emotions show if she could help it.

      A woman like that, well, it would be a pleasure to turn her inside out and force her to feel the passion she disdained. He would unravel her braid, so tight it smoothed her brow, and make her whimper with feelings the woman didn’t know she had.

      Or didn’t want to know.

      He looked back at the tapestry. It showed a man, arms outstretched, flying towards a woman and about to embrace her. One hand hovered behind her head. His face was near her breast. The other arm was reached around her hip.

      He wondered whether Mistress Clare knew how sensual a piece it was.

      He stopped his thoughts from going further. He had to keep his feelings in check. He’d heard from the men that her father was fighting with Lord Douglas and would soon be home. СКАЧАТЬ