it be any worse? ‘How so?’
He moved behind her. ‘If you look at the water, you see only the rolling of the waves.’
She couldn’t argue with that assessment.
William pulled her against his chest, forcing her to stand upright. ‘And if you keep your eyes closed, your mind still sees the rolling.’
Sarah groaned. ‘Let me go.’
He only held her tighter. ‘No. Look up at the sky. It remains still.’
Too weak to argue with him, or fight his embrace, she tipped her head back, resting it against his shoulder and looked up at the cloudless sky.
When the ship swayed with another swell, William spread his legs, planting his feet further apart. To her amazement, he held her steady against him. And to her relief, the rolling of her stomach lessened.
‘Why are you being so kind?’
‘Because you are ill.’
She pressed harder into the warmth at her back. ‘And if I wasn’t?’
Against her ear, he whispered, ‘I wouldn’t be holding you in my arms.’
His answer gave Sarah reason to pause. He wasn’t being kind because he cared, but because he felt obligated. Not that it mattered, she didn’t want him to care for her. But for a reason she couldn’t name, the knowledge made her uneasy.
‘Since I’m no longer ill, you can let me go.’
Without a word, the arms holding her close fell away and the warmth at her back disappeared.
William cast a sidelong glance at his wife and toyed with the urge to reach across the distance separating them to draw her forcibly to his side. But her near total silence since leaving the ship had made him realise that it would eventually prove useless. As soon as he left her alone, she would retreat back into this cave of silence she’d erected around herself.
She spoke only when addressed directly, and never offered anything of a personal nature. She had seemed content to sleep next to him last night and to accept his assistance while crossing the Channel. So why now did she ride silently at his side?
Since he had given her no reason to act in this manner, William knew he’d be a fool to think this was a normal reaction.
His years in captivity might not have given him much chance to figure out how to deal with women, but he’d had plenty of time, and opportunity, to study people in general. Sometimes his life had depended on his ability to read an opponent’s body language, or even the slightest shift of a gaze.
After a while he’d come to understand that sudden kindness, or attentiveness, would soon spell disaster—if not death. When a jailer doled out extra food, permitted a man to slack in his training, or feigned interest in one particular person, that person had been chosen to die in the arena.
Unfortunately, it also worked in the other direction. When the guards intentionally singled out a prisoner to withhold food and human contact, that person was slated for death, too.
In either case, the death was never in a quick, or easy manner.
Out of self-preservation, the prisoners manipulated each other as much as the guards did. If a man started to pay closer attention, or suddenly decided he wanted to befriend you, he was looking to discover your weaknesses. Once a weakness was detected, it would be used against you in battle.
But sometimes the intentions were even more devious. Stefan of Arnyll found great amusement in breaking a man’s spirit. He thought nothing of befriending others only to pass on information to the jailors. Information that would be used by the jailers, or the slave master, to mentally beat a strong man down until he could easily be defeated and killed.
Due to Arnyll and his vileness, William had learned that his own spirits could be slashed. However, he’d also discovered that sometimes beating a man down did not weaken him…it only made him stronger.
He glanced again at his wife. She’d been so intent on making certain that he understood why she’d so readily spied for the Queen. Too intent. At the same time, she’d never voiced any believable relief that those days were over. Which led him to wonder if perhaps they weren’t.
Eleanor had accepted his offer to wed Sarah far too easily. He was penniless and untitled. Had he made a formal offer for her hand, he would have been laughed out of the court.
The Queen was experienced with playing court politics. Especially since it was her court. She was not a simple participant in the intrigue—she was the manipulator in charge.
So, what had been behind her easy acceptance of Sarah’s marriage to one who could advance nothing? He had never come under the Queen’s direct focus. But Hugh had.
Was it possible that Sarah was keeping an eye on the Earl through him? If so, why? She needed to understand that he’d not let anything happen to Hugh.
More than friends, William, Hugh and Guy of Hartford had shared more than a cell. In a place where friendship often spelled death, they’d shared their loyalty to each other. More than once they’d gone hungry for each other and borne the bite of the lash together.
William cursed. He’d had enough of this. He grabbed the reins to her horse, jerking them through her hands. Before she could say anything, he shouted ahead to Hugh, ‘I will rejoin you shortly.’
Sarah reached for the reins. ‘William, what are you doing?’
He ignored her, and turned their horses around to head back the way they’d just come. The Earl’s men were nearby. They’d been following, guarding their lord, since the ship carrying them across the channel had docked.
The men were familiar with William, so he didn’t worry about them distracting him. While they might be curious, they’d stay close to the Earl, leaving William alone with Sarah.
Once William had led them a short distance away, he dismounted, and looped the horses’ reins around the stout branch of a bush. Sarah was halfway off her horse when he pulled her hard against him.
‘What are you doing?’ She pushed against his chest. ‘Let me go.’
He might not know much about dealing with women in general, but he had learned a thing or two about his wife.
With one hand twisted into her hair, and the other holding her firmly to him, he tugged her head back and cut off her shout with his lips.
William knew she’d be angry, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He was done being nice. It had got him nowhere thus far.
And if he knew nothing else about her, he knew for a certainty that she could be kissed senseless. Right now, it seemed the perfect weapon. In truth, it seemed the only weapon.
She leaned against him, her hands on his shoulders as she returned his kiss, and William feared this weapon was two-edged. He’d meant to set her senses afire, to take her off guard.
Yet his pulse pounded in his ears. His blood rushed hot through his veins. And his senses flamed. A kiss would not be
