simple need for an heir. She wanted Rand to make love to her, to fill the void that had gaped like an open wound in her heart all her life. He’d awakened the dreamer within her, given her the will to reach out with both hands for the love that had ever eluded her.
Since she was accustomed by now to finding the glade empty, her heart hammered in surprise when she spied Rand through a frame of budding willows. Filled with gladness and fear, she approached him from one side. The woods craft schooled into her by Chiang gave her a light, silent step. Rand didn’t notice her; he appeared deep in thought.
His back against the stone cross, his sun-gilt head bowed over his chest, he put her in mind of a sleeping giant, his power unsprung, hovering beneath a patina of repose. Hazy, diffuse light showered over his profile. His hair, she noticed with affectionate attention, had grown longer, the ends curling like a halo around the unspoiled beauty of his face.
His guileless pose, his pensive attitude, made her regret her intention to take advantage of their attraction, yet the heart-stopping magnificence of his long, muscled body filled her with guilty excitement.
She expressed her agitation with a soft gasp, a whispered greeting.
With a start that sent her stumbling back, he jumped to his feet and yanked out a pointed dagger. Recognition, then undiluted joy, blossomed on his face. The weapon disappeared back into its sheath. “You gave me a start.” His smile touched her heart like the shimmer of a sunbeam.
She flushed. “I didn’t mean to.” Studying the tender ferns on the forest floor, she felt suddenly shy.
“You always startle me, sweet maid,” he said, a strained note of longing in his voice.
Her throat constricted at the sight of those leaf-green eyes, that rugged face far more animated, more compelling, than the one she saw in her dreams each night.
With one swift movement he swept her into his arms. “Oh, God, Lianna, I have missed you.” He hugged her close with his powerful arms, buried his face in her neck, and plunged his hands into her hair. The plaited locks yielded to his fingers, and soon her hair lay loose around her shoulders.
He smelled of the sea and the sun. She felt as if she’d come home, with his arms tight around her, his chest solid against her cheek. “Where have you been?”
“Nowhere. I am nowhere without you.” He cupped her chin and tilted her head up. His lips began a slow descent onto hers.
Trembling, she clung to him, relished every tingling sensation that shivered over her as their lips melded into a long, slow kiss. Her hands ranged up his sinewy torso, feeling the sweat-dampened skin beneath his mail shirt. She twined her fingers through his golden hair and pulled him closer, her lips parting, inviting the velvety sweep of his tongue. He filled her with masculine sweetness, wrapped her with steel-tempered hardness, and kindled the fuse of her passion.
Seared by yearning, she pressed closer. He dragged his lips from hers. His eyes glinted jewel-bright with an inner torment that tore at her heart and filled her mind with questions. “Why did you stay away for so long?” she asked.
He touched her cheek, her brow. “Because it is wrong for us to meet like this, in secret. I can offer you nothing.”
“How can you say that? How can you belittle the friendship you’ve given me?” He started to pull away. She grasped his hands, leaned up on tiptoe, and kissed him hard on the mouth. Then she stepped back and let her hair fall forward to hide the fire he’d ignited in her cheeks. Peering uncertainly from between her locks, she wondered if her bold behavior appalled him. He’d certainly been disapproving enough of her interest in gunnery. Doubtless she violated every image this knight-errant had of feminine ideals.
He parted her hair with his fingers. With relief, she saw only affection in his smile.
“Would that I could give you more than friendship,” he whispered.
Hope billowed in her chest. “I’ve come here almost every day,” she admitted.
Taking her hand, he pressed his lips to the pulse at her wrist. “Testing your guns?” He sounded both teasing and annoyed.
She shook her head. “Looking for you. And I asked where you’ve been.” He didn’t speak. Raising one eyebrow, she ventured, “Doubtless on knightly business of utmost secrecy.” She fixed him with a probing stare. “But I’ve guessed your secret.”
He fell still, seemed not even to breathe. “Lianna—”
“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling softly. “I’ll not put it about that you’ve chased the Englishman from Eu.”
He blinked. “Chased the—”
“Aye, we heard that the god-don has sailed away.” Excitement danced in her eyes. “Did you fight him? Did you slay the man who came to conquer Château Bois-Long?”
“No blood was spilled.”
“Did he run back to England like the coward he is?” She touched his sleeve. “You wear no colors, my Gascon. Are you for the Armagnacs or the Burgundians?”
“I could ask you the same of your mistress. She is of the blood of Burgundy, yet she houses a supporter of Armagnac.”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know about Gaucourt?”
“His presence at Bois-Long is no secret.”
She regarded him with mock severity. “Perhaps you’re a spy for Burgundy...or the English.”
He grinned. “Suppose I were?”
“Then I would steal your dagger and use it on you.” She took his hand and laid it alongside her cheek. “Talk to me. I want to know you.”
“There is much I would share with you...if I could.”
“Have you a family?”
His expression softened. “If you could term a band of motley men a family.”
“Your men?” She turned to scan the area.
“My comrades. But you won’t find them here.”
“Tell me about them, Rand.”
“They are men like any other. They have mothers, sweethearts...except for the priest, of course.”
She smiled. “Somehow it seems fitting that you would keep constant company with a priest.”
Laughing, he said, “You’d not think so if you knew this priest. He’s more likely to be found ranging the fields on a hunt than in a chapel hearing confessions. He often says mass in muddy boots and falconer’s cuffs.”
“What of your other friends?”
A guarded look made him seem suddenly distant, unapproachable. “I think it is better for us both to keep silent about certain matters.”
Wanting to draw him back to her, she leaned up and kissed him lightly. It wasn’t fair to question him, not when she was full of her own secrets. She couldn’t tell him now that she was the Demoiselle de Bois-Long, and married, with the wrath
