Magic in the Kiss Read online

  She might be possessed of some intelligence, and despite her current discomfort and petulant mood, she was neither delicate nor weak-willed. But neither was she foolish. A woman did not traverse the roads alone. Even Mother Abbess, her habit and reputation giving her some measure of protection on the road, always hired two or three of the village's most imposing-looking young men to act as escort, her favorite being the blacksmith's bulky and coarse son.

  Mother Abbess would have loved a man such as Rhodri to serve as her escort. Not only was he wide shouldered and possessed of an intimidating scowl, he had a quick wit and magnificent voice.

  Sweet mercy, had it been only yesterday they'd buried Mother Abbess?

  Again following Rhodri, at a slower pace this time, Nicole tried not to allow her grief to well up again. But as the forest shadows deepened, from not far ahead came the clang of a bell, ringing terse, the early evening prayer.

  At Bledloe Abbey the nuns would be gathering in the chapel to chant the office and then retire to the refectory for a light supper. It probably shouldn't be surprising that at the moment she longed for the quiet order of abbey life.

  And her body fair screamed for a long rest and a bite of bread.

  "There must be an abbey or church ahead," she told Rhodri. "We could beg a night's hospitality."

  "We cannot chance it so close to Oxford. However, you are right about finding shelter soon. We also cannot risk lighting a campfire to keep away the wolves."

  Nicole shivered at the thought of spending the night in the forest with the wolves, bears, boars, and other dangerous creatures. Just when she could barely see her way in the dark and began to shiver again, this time from the chill of the night air, they came across an unoccupied cottage.

  Rhodri kicked at the latch until the lock gave way. The door opened into a large room too well-appointed to have been the home of a peasant farmer.

  "Some lord's hunting lodge," Rhodri announced with a tone of both surprise and pleasure. "Let us see how well it is provisioned."

  Rhodri found flint and stone on the mantel and used the twigs and split logs in the woodbox to start a small fire in the hearth. With light to see by, Nicole gave silent thanks to whatever lord was supplying unintended hospitality.

  While Rhodri went out to the well to draw up a bucket of water, she searched for treasure—like food.

  She ignored the bows, arrows, and spears leaning against the wall in favor of rummaging through the crates on the floor. From one she drew out a stout candle, which she lit and placed on the table along with tin cups, wooden bowls, and a small cauldron to hang on the hook in the hearth.

  The only food to be found was a sack of oats, enough to provide them with gruel for their supper. 'Twould suffice. And afterward, she planned to curl up on one of the bearskins, toss a woolen blanket over her, and drift into an undisturbed, dreamless sleep.

  Rhodri entered with the water bucket. While she set about making the gruel, which they would need to drink from the bowls because she'd found no spoons, he looked through the crates, too.

  The more crates he rummaged through, the more it irked her. True, she'd done exactly the same thing not moments before. So why did it bother her that Rhodri did the same?

  "What are you looking for?"

  "Something we might find of use on the road."

  "Such as?"

  From his scrunched position in front of a crate, he turned on the balls of his feet, holding up a length of rope. "Rabbit snare."

  Nicole placed the dipper in the cauldron and stirred the watery, unappealing gruel, doubting that adding bits of rabbit would make it less repulsive.

  "'Tis a devilish long way to Wales. We will starve if we must depend upon snaring rabbits. I hope you have some notion of how to live off the land."

  He took immediate offense at her lack of trust in his ability to provide for them. "Believe me, had we been able to retrieve my horse and money pouch I would have done so. But I have had some experience in living off the land. We will not starve, princess."

  "I do not expect this journey to be pleasurable, but I do expect to be fed." She lifted, then tilted, the dipper, allowing the gray gruel to drizzle back into the cauldron. The mixture smelled almost as repugnant as it looked. "If you manage to catch a rabbit with that snare, you had best know how to roast it, too, because I do not."

  "You never learned to cook?" he asked, incredulous.

  "I never needed to learn. The only time I went into the kitchen at Camelen was to pilfer sweets, and Mother Abbess was of the opinion that each of the abbey's residents should work according to her talents and interests. My interest was growing herbs, not adding them to stews."

  "You have certainly led a most pampered life."

  Pampered? Not hardly! But before she could refute the claim, he dismissed her, turning his back on her to again rummage through the crate. The wretch!

  "Ow!" he said, shaking his hand.

  "What?"

  "Sliver. Damn crate."

  She smiled. 'Twas as if the crate pricked him for his nasty comment.

  He came over to the hearth and leaned toward the flame to better see the sliver embedded in the pad of his right thumb.

  Nicole ceased stirring, her body infused with warmth she couldn't blame on the cooking fire. Now wasn't a good time to become aware of Rhodri's lean length. Or of how the fire's light flickered along the jut of his strong jaw, or of how his brow furrowed as he concentrated on the irritating sliver.

  Nor should she be so aware they were completely alone in a cottage deep in the forest.

  The stirring in her woman's places reminded her of the two superb kisses they'd shared today.

  Rhodri had surprised her when he'd kissed her quickly in the tower, giving her no chance to feel more than lightheaded surprise. The second kiss had lasted longer and still lingered on her lips.

  His mouth had been warm, his lips supple and sure on her eager mouth, infusing her with arousing heat. And oh, how her thoughts were winding a wanton path to that most forbidden and so intriguing act of fornication, which the maids at Camelen had whispered about and the nuns at Bledloe Abbey had warned her against.

  Rhodri let out an explicit curse that precisely reflected her unruly, unchaste thoughts, making her face hotter.

  Except he wasn't looking at her lustfully. He studied the thumb he squeezed, then stuck in his mouth to remove the sliver with his teeth. Judging from his aggravation, he wasn't enjoying success.

  "Still in there?" she asked, hoping her voice sounded calmer than she felt.

  "All I managed to do was push it in deeper."

  She should leave him be, let him care for his own wound. However, having spent so much time in the abbey's infirmary, Nicole had removed many a sliver. She could have it out in a trice.

  "Would you like me to take it out?"

  "I can do it."

  Stubborn? Or merely so accustomed to being self-reliant he foreswore assistance, even for so minor a thing as a sliver?

  Deciding it wasn't her thumb that wanted tending, Nicole used the thick square of cloth that had been stored with the kettles to remove the cauldron from the hearth's hook.

  All through their meager supper, which he ate without comment, he rudely pushed and scratched at the pesky sliver.

  She forced down the gruel because it might well be the last thing she would get to eat for a while. Finished, she pushed the bowl aside and crossed her arms on the table.

  "Rhodri, it needs cutting out."

  "So it seems."

  He reached down into his boot and drew out her dagger and began poking at his thumb. Nicole bit her bottom lip, withholding comment, her restraint not breaking until he drew a drop of blood.

  She held out her hand, palm up. "Give me the dagger before you slice open your thumb."

  He ignored her. "Almost had it that time."

  "Rhodri!"

  His eyebrow rose at the implicit command in her tone, which rather startled her, too. She was on the bri
nk of begging his pardon for interfering in what was truly none of her concern when he placed the pommel of the dagger across her palm.

  Now having begun, she must finish. The candle provided enough light to eat by, but she required more light so she didn't slice open his thumb.

  "Come into the light by the hearth."

  Nicole wrapped the thick cloth, with which she'd handled the cauldron, around the dagger's blade, then knelt before the hearth. After an aggrieved sigh, Rhodri followed and knelt on the hearthstones, facing her, his right hand raised.

  She took hold of his thumb; his fingers curled around her wrist, warming her blood. Could he feel her pulse beat harder, faster?

  Forcing herself to concentrate, the dagger a heavy, awkward weapon when held near the pointed, sharp tip, Nicole gingerly removed the offensive piece of wood without provoking further bloodshed.

  Pleased, she looked up, intending to proclaim victory. The hearth's flames danced in Rhodri's brown eyes. Fascinated, she forgot to gloat.

  "Nicely done," he said, nearly echoing the words uttered before each of their kisses today.

  Dare she claim another kiss as reward for removing a sliver? Silly notion.

  "I have had practice. At Bledloe, I spent the greater part of my day in the infirmary, treating ills and burns. Removing the occasional splinter."

  "And you enjoyed it?"

  She laughed lightly. "For the most part. 'Twas better than spending more time on my knees in the chapel."

  He smiled, his expression a mix of confusion and wonder. "What manner of woman have you become, Nicole de Leon?"

  "Not so different from any other."

  "Does any other have the bearing of a Pendragon princess, with the body of a goddess? You possess uncommon hearing and a healer's touch." He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers skimming her skin so tenderly she almost melted. "Yet you retain a touch of the hoyden's spirit. 'Tis a captivating combination."

  She was inordinately flattered at the variety and sincerity of his compliments. But then, Rhodri was a bard. He'd trained for many years in the use of words, of poetry. Still, the hoyden he apparently admired was both aroused and curious.

  "Even though I cannot cook?"

  "The gruel was not so bad. Perhaps there is yet hope."

  Nicole couldn't say who leaned forward first, and she didn't much care. Their lips met and eyes closed, and her presence of mind lasted only long enough to drop the dagger before flinging her arms over Rhodri's shoulders.

  She savored the sweet, stunning force of his long, lingering kiss and rejoiced in the security and danger of his powerful arms enveloping her. She felt on the edge of a cliff, her footing precarious, and she was precisely where she wanted to be, knowing deep in her soul that Rhodri wouldn't allow her to fall.

  He broke the kiss and promptly rose to his feet. Nicole sensed his urgent retreat and wanted to pull him back.

  Rhodri towered over her, his eyes dark with the same desire that raged in her woman's places. " 'Tis a long, hard walk to Glenvair," he said raggedly. "Best you get some sleep, princess."

  Then he grabbed the bucket and walked out the door, leaving her achingly restless in the half-circle of firelight.

  She wanted to be angry at him for not fulfilling her wishes, but she couldn't, realizing Rhodri had saved them from a tumble into an abyss. He'd done the honorable thing by her, and she should admire his restraint.

  Still, as she curled up on the bearskin to attempt to sleep, Nicole fantasized about tumbling naked on the fur with Rhodri, in most unprincess-like abandon, at the moment quite willing to explore an abyss.

  Come home, Nicole. Come home to Camelen.

  Unmercifully wrenched from a beguiling fantasy, Nicole resisted the impelling urge to raise her defenses. This was the second time William had taken her by surprise. Again his voice was calm, the order given without his usual rancor.

  'Twas the strangest feeling to want to talk to her brother.

  You must give me a reason, William. I do not willingly follow your orders, as you should be well aware.

  Silence.

  He'd treated her this meanly and unfairly before, when he'd ordered her to leave the abbey. She disliked it as much now as she did then.

  If you do not give me a reason, you cannot expect me to obey. Why should I go home?

  Again William didn't answer. But then, she knew precisely what he wanted her to do, if not the reason for this second oddly given command.

  I will not kill Alberic! I shall refuse every time. If you wish me to come home to help you move beyond this world, I shall try. Are you ready to move on?

  He answered her question with silence.

  Chapter Eight

  "Is it done yet?" Nicole asked.

  Rhodri smiled at the longing in her voice, sharing her impatience. He gave the rabbit, speared on a stout stick, another turn over the small fire before glancing her way.

  Nicole sat cross-legged on the brown woolen blanket taken from the hunting lodge. For the past three days, she'd used the blanket as a cloak during the day and then rolled up in it at night. Alone. As she would tonight, too. No matter how much he wished otherwise.

  "Almost done," he said, hearing his stomach growl in earnest appreciation for victuals other than apples plucked from orchards they'd passed or berries picked from patches alongside the road. A road they were still avoiding, for the most part, because Rhodri wasn't yet confident he and Nicole were out of reach of the earl's patrols.

  The damn patrols were persistent, and Rhodri wasn't sure whom the earl wanted to get his hands on more—him for having the audacity to kidnap Nicole, or Nicole, so he could hand her over to King Stephen's choice for her husband.

  Nicole, most likely. A Pendragon princess would be the more valuable prize to an earl who wished to remain in his king's good graces.

  Fortunately, they hadn't seen a patrol since yester noon, making this small fire somewhat safe, not only to roast the meat but to keep away the beasts of the forest. They'd been blessed so far to find shelter along the way, but tonight there was no lodge, barn, or cave in sight, so they must spend the night in the forest. He'd seen no sign of wolves or bears in the area, but that didn't mean the beasts didn't lurk nearby.

  "How much longer?" she asked, still eyeing the roasting rabbit with a desirous look nearly as intense as she'd cast Rhodri's way a few nights ago.

  He again turned the stick, trying not to remember Nicole's unveiled hunger and passionate kiss, or how he'd come within a hair's width of succumbing to her blatant invitation for a tumble on the hearthstones.

  Or on the bearskin.

  The tantalizing image of Nicole sprawled naked on a bearskin still stiffened his rod to aching readiness. 'Twas why he'd rarely come within an arm's length of her for three days and three long, cold, restless nights. As now. She sat within reach of the fire's warmth, so he'd scrunched down on the opposite side.

  Determined to put out of mind the knowledge that Nicole might allow him full liberties with that sweet body of hers—because he damn well shouldn't be itching to run his hands all over her creamy skin, to suckle at her high, proud breasts, or to bury his aching cock within her heated female sheath—he forced his attention back to the roasting rabbit.

  "Soon. Give me your dagger."

  From her boot she pulled out her brother's dagger, which he'd given back to her before leaving the hunting lodge. With the innate grace of a princess, she rose from the blanket and came toward him, holding out the weapon. He took it, careful to avoid touching her hand.

  After several pokes into the meat to check for a thorough roasting, he sliced off a chunk and dropped it into Nicole's outstretched palm. Laughing lightly, smiling hugely, she juggled the hot offering from palm to palm before lifting it with delicate fingertips to place the welcome fare between her eager lips.

  Rhodri inwardly shivered at her mew of pleasure, knowing beyond doubt he could evoke that same cry of satisfaction from her in an entirely diff
erent way.

  "Oh, Rhodri, that is utterly without compare. I daresay I have never had better."

  Hell's bells, he had to cease comparing her every movement or utterance to coupling or he would go mad.

  "More?" he asked.

  "Certes," she said eagerly.

  Damn, it was tempting to tease her, to make her suffer just a little for all the suffering she caused him. Make her hunger as he hungered.

  But this was food, not sex. One did not tease with the nourishment they both needed to remain strong for the hard days of walking still ahead of them. So he cut off another chunk for her, then a chunk for himself.

  Nicole had the right of it. The rabbit was flavorsome and might well be the last satisfying meal they would enjoy for several days.

  With his knees beginning to feel the strain, Rhodri stood up, and side by side they greedily ate rabbit.

  "I do not suppose," she said between bites, " 'tis possible to snare a dove or two."

  "Not likely, and a dovecote would be more risky to filch from than an apple orchard."

  "A swan, or heron?"

  "One needs a hawk or falcon to hunt the bigger birds, unless you are of a mind to wade into a pond and attempt to pounce on one."

  She sighed. "That would depend upon how hungry I am."

  He supposed she had the right of that, too. If desperate for food, a man, or woman, would go to great lengths to procure whatever morsel could be found, including poaching.

  Having no idea whose land they camped on, Rhodri wasn't sure if he'd committed that grievous offense when snaring the rabbit. Norman lords were protective of their hunting grounds and had no qualms about hanging poachers.

  But he and Nicole needed to eat and must forage for whatever they found available. Given the circumstances, Rhodri thought they'd done rather well.

  "Do you tire of apples already?"

  "Nay, but I cannot help wishing the next apple was sliced, mixed with sugar and cinnamon, and baked into a pastry. That may be the first thing I ask of Uncle Connor, to have his cook bake a huge pastry, filled with apples and almonds. And I intend to eat the whole of it while still warm!" She held up a hand to refuse another slice of rabbit. "You eat the rest."