if she backed away, unsure of her path, then the thick undergrowth would prevent fast movement.
Bastien advanced stealthily into the shadows behind her, his step light assured as a cat. The mouths of his men dropped open in surprise at the sight of him; John, the youngest, began to blush. He knew he had done wrong and that they would pay for it. The maid retreated tentatively, the sword point drooping as her narrow shoulders and slim back began to close the gap between herself and Bastien.
‘And if any of you dare to follow me,’ the maid continued in her high-pitched, imperious tone…
‘…they will have me to deal with,’ Bastien murmured behind her.
Her lithe body jumped and turned, quick as a hare, bringing the lethal sword point slashing round. He grabbed the wrist that held the sword, squeezing the fragile bones that gave her fingers the strength to hold the weapon. Green eyes, flecked with gold, glittered over her.
‘Let go,’ he said, patiently, ‘I am not your enemy.’
The small bones in her wrist crushed under his strong fingers and the sword dropped into the undergrowth, a slither of sound as the blade landed in a heap of brambles.
Alice’s mouth scraped with fear. Her eyes, darting sapphire, widened with a mixture of horror and rage as she gaped up at him, this man who towered over her, his broad chest covered by a white woollen surcoat bearing the personal seal of the Duke of York: the falcon and fetterlock. He stared down at her, down his proud, straight nose, his chiselled features accented by the verdant shadows. Within the hard, angular lines of his face, the shape of his mouth came as a shock. His lips were full, sensual, with the promise of an easy smile. Fixing her gaze on the ground, she cradled her wrist, trying to gather her scattered wits, to slow her racing heart.
Nay, this man was not her enemy, but it was a well-known fact that the Duke of York was not well liked by Queen Margaret, the King’s wife, who would always do her utmost to keep him out of King Henry’s circle of advisors. As the King’s cousin, as well as the top-ranking military commander in England, the Duke of York was favoured by the masses to be the King’s successor. And by wearing his seal, these men followed the orders of the Duke of York, as opposed to the King. Alice needed to tread carefully.
Chewing her lip, she wrenched her eyes upwards. ‘Your men…your men…’ she spluttered out, unable to elucidate the full awful truth of what his men had been about to do.
‘My men should have known better,’ the soldier began, shaking his rough blond head: an unexpected shaft of sunlight turned the strands momentarily to gold, surrounding him with an aura of light that magnified the sheer size of his body. The hood of his chainmail hauberk gathered in metallic folds over his shoulders, emphasising the corded strength of his neck.
Alice gulped.
‘But they were only having a bit of fun,’ the soldier added pleasantly, folding his huge arms across his chest. In this curious half-light, the intense leaf-green of his eyes deepened, drawing her in reluctantly with their magnificent colour.
‘Having a bit of fun?’ she snapped out, clenching her fists against the folds of her gown, disbelieving this man’s audacious defence of his men. ‘My God! Have you any idea? Why, they nearly…they very nearly…!’
‘Calm yourself, mistress,’ he murmured, his voice neutral as he contemplated his men over the top of her head. Dark brown lashes framed his magnificent eyes. ‘Nothing would have happened here, believe me.’
‘Oh, you think to know your men so well, do you!’ Rashly, she poked a finger into his chest, her mind jolting as it registered the unyielding flesh.
Mild amusement mixed with astonishment crossed his sculptured features—the maid’s boldness was quite astounding. ‘I would run, my lady, run back to where you came from, before anything else happens,’ he advised coolly.
But she seemed not to hear his words, incensed that he seemed incapable of comprehending the severity of the situation. She whirled away from him, furious, challenging his soldiers. ‘Look at you, hanging your heads in shame—you know the truth, so why not tell him?’
‘Enough, mistress,’ Bastien said, more sternly now. ‘I will hear their story, and punish them accordingly.’
Alice spun back to face him, her hands planted firmly on her hips. ‘Which, in my opinion, should be nothing less than a horse-whipping.’
Bastien raised his eyebrows. ‘You seem to have a great deal of opinion for…a maid.’ A faint note of annoyance marked his reply; this woman was beginning to severely irritate him, with her argumentative tone and challenging manner. The relentless pace of the last two days travelling began to cloud his brain; he felt weary and in no mood to remonstrate. As far as he was concerned, women were only good for one thing, and even then he preferred them if they kept their mouths shut.
‘You need to understand, you need to listen to me…’ Her voice rang in his ears, scolding, reprimanding.
Self-restraint, laced tightly, unravelled. ‘Nay,’ he ground out dangerously, ‘you need to listen to me.’ His blond head dipped, one thick arm snared her waist, jamming her against the inflexible slab of his chest. His men cheered as he lowered his lips to hers, primitive, demanding, insistent.
He had meant to scare her, to stop that relentless tirade of speech that needled its way into his very soul, but the first touch of her soft sweet lips made him almost groan out loud with desire. Too long! He’d been too long without the pleasure of a woman. The gruelling days of battle, the dust, sweat and heat—all those memories faded, dwindled with the sweet smell of her skin, the luscious pliability of her slender frame hard up against his, the rounded swell of her bosom. Sweet Jesu! Desire rattled through his body, building steadily, inexorably.
Foolish! Foolish girl! Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? Alice squeezed her eyes together, holding her body rigid as his lips came down over hers. She had a fleeting impression of wide green eyes, tanned ruddy skin, before his lips touched. Shock ricocheted through her veins at the impact, breath snatching in her throat as her heart thumped uncontrollably against her ribs. His mouth roamed against hers, wild, plundering; she crumpled against him, knees suddenly weak. Her mind scrambled, his lips luring her, drawing her towards the edge of a plunging abyss, a whispering place of tantalising promise, of…
‘Alice! Where are you? Alice…?’ A peevish, wheedling voice drifted over from the other side of the forest, calling.
Bastien tore himself away, breath ragged.
Alice reeled backwards, shaking, dazed. Senses shredded, she managed to lift one trembling finger towards Bastien, eyes hot with indignant accusation. ‘How dare you!’ she screeched at him, her mouth carrying the hot bruise of his kiss, her cheeks flushed with shame. ‘You insufferable pig! You tell me you’ll reprimand your men, and then you take advantage yourself! How dare you!’
‘Steady yourself, my lady.’ Bastien regarded her tensely. In truth, he was having trouble calming himself. He tipped his head on one side, listening. ‘Someone’s searching for you; go now.’
The deep cerulean pools of her eyes lobbed him one last stinging look, before she turned, stumbling away through the undergrowth towards her mother’s voice, veil sitting askew on her head.
‘Dear Lord, I thought she’d never stop!’ muttered one of his soldiers. ‘What a shame on such a beauty.’
Bastien
