A Knight's Vow Part 44

Much to his amazement, it was Hilaire. With a startled gasp, she removed her hand.

"I... I cannot see in the darkness," she explained, "and I..." She'd clearly not meant to touch him there. And Ryance couldn't help but wish she would again. Already that neglected part of him roused to her brief caress. "But you're all right?" she asked.

"So it would seem." He groaned, sitting up dizzily. "What happened? Are you hurt?" It rankled at him, knowing he'd lain helpless while she ministered to him, unable to come to her defense.

"I'm fine. There was another collapse. You were knocked breathless by a great boulder, and I used my harp to pry..." She sighed shakily. "It doesn't matter. You're safe now, and you seem whole. You've a nasty gash on your forehead, but as for the rest, I felt no broken bones." She gasped again softly. She obviously didn't want him to know how extensively she'd examined him.

He found her feminine modesty rather charming. "I'm grateful for your tender care, my lady," he murmured, though it was more desire than grat.i.tude his body expressed to him now. He slicked his fingers briefly across his brow. Indeed, it was swollen and wet with blood, but the cut was insignificant. He'd wear but a mottled bruise on the morrow.

The morrow...

Would there be another morrow for them? Was it possible the second rockslide had brought them closer to escape? Or did G.o.d mock them by doubly sealing their fate?

He had to find out.

He discovered at once, cracking the back of his head as he stood up, that the ground above the place he'd been digging had collapsed, lowering the ceiling considerably. He had to sidle halfway around the cavern before he could stand aright. And rather than opening the pa.s.sage above, it seemed a fresh spill of earth and pebbles had filled in every possible crevice. Considering the wealth of debris and the fact he'd been standing directly under the slide, he was lucky indeed to be alive. He ran blistered fingers over the rubble and p.r.i.c.ked his thumb on a long sliver of wood.

Her harp. Or what was left of it.

The thing lay in splinters, smashed beneath a great boulder... He frowned. What was it she'd said? A rock had knocked him senseless, and she'd used her harp to pry...

Dear G.o.d-she'd levered this enormous rock off of him. He shuddered as he realized by the size of the boulder how close he'd come to getting his skull crushed. But, however she'd managed it, Hilaire had sacrificed her most precious possession to save him. And a new longing swelled in him, a desire he'd little hope of realizing, a desire to cherish her.

Which made it all the much harder to admit the truth: The fresh slide had successfully blocked their most likely avenue of escape.

seven.

She would not cry. She would not. He'd done everything in his power to save them. She'd not demean his efforts with tears. But he'd circled the chamber thrice now, and she knew he only stalled at telling her the inevitable bad news.

"I've heard," she said, swallowing hard, forcing her voice to remain steady, " 'tis not an unpleasant way to die." The last word cracked, and her eyes filled with moisture, but she bit her lip to halt its quivering.

"What's this?" he said, and she could hear the forced levity. "Have you given up on me so soon?"

She groped forward and contacted his upper arm. It was a good arm, a strong arm, warm now without its steel plate. It was an arm a wife could have depended upon.

"Kind sir, I pray you won't think me too selfish," she said, summoning up all the dignity and grace her station had taught her, "but I'd rather have you here when I draw my last breath than dead from exhaustion hours before."

"My lady, I..."

"You've worn your fingers ragged."

"I would gladly wear them to the bone for you," he answered, startling her with his fierce promise.

Nonetheless, she squeezed his arm. "Nay. Stay with me. Please." She hoped she didn't sound as

desperate as she felt. "I cannot bear the thought of dying alone."

He said naught, but when he cleared his throat a moment later, she could tell he'd taken her words to heart.

"Forsooth," he murmured at last, " 'tis said to be no more fearsome than drifting off to sleep."

Tears brimmed in her eyes. Though she'd known the truth, hearing it from his lips gave it brutal substance.

"And one so young and sweet," he added, "shall doubtless be conveyed to heaven ere your flesh feels the

chill of death."

"And you'll come with me, won't you?" She clasped his arm tightly now, afraid to let go.

"I?" His chuckle was melancholy. "I fear not, my lady. A man such as I was not made to dwell amongst

angels."

"Nay! Say not so!" she cried, stepping close to him. "You are a good man!" She clenched her fists upon his gambeson, over his heart. "You gave me comfort in the dark. You told me about the sea and... and bandaged my hand. You bloodied your fingers digging at the wall for me. And not once did you lift your

voice in scorn, though you knew I fled my betrothed. G.o.d's truth, you've been as virtuous as... as asaint!"He laughed in sincere amus.e.m.e.nt this time, which only fueled her righteous rage."Sirrah, I will drag you to heaven if I have to," she insisted, "else I will join you in h.e.l.l."He seized her wrists lightly in his battered hands, and she could feel the bittersweet warmth of his smile."I believe you would," he said.He ran his thumb along the palm of her good hand, and she marveled at the way such a well-muscled fighter could gentle his warrior touch. Perhaps it was as her maid said, that a woman brought out the mildness in a man.

But she would never know. For she would never marry.

And that realization, more than any other, planted the seed of yearning brutally in her throat and opened the floodgates for her tears, tears she shamefully spilled all over the fabric of his gambeson.

Ryance melted at the sound of her weeping. Taking Hilaire in his arms was as natural as gathering hiscloak about him on a winter's eve. She fit into his embrace as if she were forged for it. Her head tuckedperfectly into the hollow of his shoulder, and he could smell the womanly scent of her upon the soft cloudof hair beneath his chin. She felt so tiny, so fragile within his brawny arms that he feared to crush her, andyet she cleaved to him with amazing strength. Her body hitched as she tried to cease her sobbing, butwhen he brushed the back of his finger across the delicate line of her jaw, it came away wet.

She thought him a hero. The idea was dizzying. He'd done naught to help her. Forsooth, by his very name, he'd sentenced her to this fate. And yet she looked to him for comfort.

Would G.o.d he could save her! But what meager hopes they'd had of escaping were dashed now by the avalanche. More digging would only increase the risk of a deadly slide. Running out of air was a merciful pa.s.sing, but to be crushed under a deluge of rock... Nay, the best he could do was to try to make her last moments on Earth as painless as possible.

He slowly traced her backbone with his palm. She was slender, this betrothed of his, with the subtle curves of a young woman. It was a travesty she'd not see the other side of twenty.

He gathered her hair in his other hand, brus.h.i.+ng it back from her damp cheek. It was soft as rose petals, thick and possessed of a sleek curl that was wont to curve about his hand. How odd, he thought-he'd no notion of its color.

"I'm sorry." She said it so quietly he thought he imagined the words. "For my weeping."

He cradled the back of her head. "No need to be."

She sniffled against his chest. "I don't mean to be such a burden."

"Nay." He gave her a little shake. "Think naught of it."

" 'Tis only that there were so... so many things I'd yet to do... and now..." She stifled her sobs as best she could against the thick padding of his gambeson.

He tried to remember what it was like to be so young, like an arrow nocked for the firing, to have a lifetime of adventure stretching out its hand and the bright blue promise of the open sky above. Sir Ryance had had his adventure. The Black Gryphon had fought for his King, traveled abroad, won a castle, wed not once, but thrice, served his fellow man as best he could, and if he lacked that one elusive hallmark of achievement, an heir to carry on his t.i.tle, still it couldn't be said he would die before he'd tasted life. But Hilaire...

He enfolded his arms more tightly about her, enveloping her in all the solace he could extend. She didn't deserve to die. Curse Fate-she didn't deserve this.

Hilaire rested her head against him. His arms felt wonderful around her. Which made her all the more miserable.

Without chain mail, his embrace this time was far more intimate. She felt the flex of his muscles as he tautened his hold, the warmth of his skin where her forehead touched his collarbone. He smelled like iron and sweat and leather and spice, utterly masculine and irresistibly intriguing.

She closed her eyes, soaking in the scent of him, the feel of him, memorizing his essence, longing to carry the impressions with her into eternity. For it was all she'd ever have of him, all she'd ever know of any man.

She wept anew, but silently this time. His knuckles grazed her cheek, collecting her tears, and yet he neither shrank from nor hushed her. How n.o.ble he was, she thought, how chivalrous and honorable and kind. She rubbed her cheek against his hand. His fingers were ragged but warm with life, and on impulse, she turned her head to rest her open lips against them. Without thought, without invitation, she kissed the back of his hand, closing her lips tenderly over each skinned knuckle. A curious addiction came over her, and she found, like dining on sweetmeats, she could not stop. Again and again she pressed her mouth to his flesh, until she heard him groan.

Sweet Mary-she hadn't meant to injure him.

He didn't pull away. But he turned his hand over and stopped her, crossing his palm over her parted mouth.

"Did I hurt you?" she whispered against his hand.

He sighed. "Nay." His low chuckle confused her. "Nay. Not with those soft lips." He brushed his thumb

across her mouth, and she felt a peculiar tingling go through her body, as if he'd touched her soul.

It left her feeling reckless and brazen and strangely giddy.

There was naught left now, she realized, no one to answer to, no one to judge her. Why not cast caution

to the wind?

"Kiss me," she murmured.

"What?"

"Kiss me." Even the heat that rose in her cheeks couldn't prevent her rash plea. "I've never been kissed.

Please... kiss me."

His breath collapsed out of him, blowing tendrils of her hair back. "You want me to... you want me to...""Aye, kiss me." He was stone silent, and a s.h.i.+ver of worry rocked her. "Unless you find the thought distastef-"

His hand slipped aside, replaced so quickly by his mouth she hadn't time to draw breath. And suddenly she floated on a wave of sensation the like she'd never felt before.

His chin was rough and foreign to the tender skin of her face, but so distracted was she by the startling

softness of his mouth, she scarcely noticed. He tasted of earth and ale and desire, and the way his lips clung to hers, tugging, drawing, calling to her, she cared for naught but responding in kind. It was heaven, this kissing, and she wished it would never end.

Then he opened her lips with his, and the liquid heat of his tongue teased at the edges of her mouth before sliding in to brand her own tongue. As if she bore his scorching mark, she writhed against him, and a hot bolt of l.u.s.t shot through her, sizzling her very bones.

His hands cupped her face then, steadying her, thank G.o.d, for she feared she might well collapse under his onslaught. He tasted like fiery nectar, and she longed to drink and drink until she grew besotted upon his kiss.

Her ears were still thrumming, her body vibrating like a harp string, her heart racing when he slowed his kisses and drew gradually away from her.

She should have been sated. She knew that. He'd given her what she'd asked. Why then did she hunger for more? Why did she crave him as keenly as a starving man craved meat? Why did every nerve in her body sing with current, as if the west wind whipped up a storm in her soul?

She had no answer, nor was it her intent to wonder long. Casting off modesty like a stifling cloak, she snagged her fingers in his gambeson and hauled him back to her.

She behaved like a wanton. She knew she did. But it didn't matter. It was her last day on Earth. Her last chance for love. And she refused to succ.u.mb to death's sleep until she'd wrung every last drop she could from life.

He'd never felt so clumsy in all his years. It wasn't the dark that crippled him, but rather the maelstrom of emotions coursing through his mind. Here he was, buried under tons of earth, both feet in the grave, no hope in sight, his miserable life near its end. Yet his spirit soared with ecstasy.

Blood long tepid now simmered and pulsed through his veins. Desires long dormant awakened. His mouth still tingled from her kiss, the kiss he'd found nearly impossible to end. But he'd let her go, the way a falconer must let his prize tiercel fly. And, miraculous as it seemed, she'd returned to him. Now his senses centered on the delicate woman who seized him with all the strength of a knight reining in his warhorse.

She kissed him fiercely, hungrily, and the pressure of her sweet lips sent a frisson of desire straight to his loins. Lord-she knew not in what perilous sport she engaged. It had been months since he'd lain with a woman. With the slightest bit of encouragement, he might burst like a keg of overripe ale. But the way she urged him on him now-it was akin to hefting a battle-ax at the barrel.

Still, somewhere within his l.u.s.t-fuddled brain he remembered he was a knight, a gentleman, a n.o.ble sworn to protect ladies, not seduce them. And if it killed him, he'd not violate this woman's trust.