Free Rose of rapture by Rebecca Brandewyne Page B

when she lay in bed and thought of Lionel. She would mourn Giles's departure, but Lionel's leaving ... ah, Lionel's leaving would be the death of her; she was sure. And so each day with him was like a treasure, to be held close and cherished.
    It was as though some strange madness possessed her, for she was giddy with love. She could not wait to become Lionel's wife. Isabella had seen the way his eyes raked her budding young body and smoldered like embers with desire. She had felt the electric touch of his fingers and his lips upon her hands. She was certain it was only a matter of time before he gained permission for their marriage.
    Oh, Lionel. Lionel!
    The girl did not know she had cried the words aloud until she heard the echo of their refrain. She was soaring high above the ground; the swing that hung from a massive oak was her wings, and Lionel's arms were the arms that pushed her. He laughed.
    "Higher, 'Sabelle!" he called. "I shall make ye go even higher!"
    "Nay! Nay, already I grow faint."
    "Then jump." He was suddenly there before her, his arms spread wide. "Jump! I shall catch ye."
    She never doubted for a moment that he would. She let go of the swing, flying through the air into Lionel's outstretched arms. They closed about her tightly, and then she and he were falling, falling... tumbling upon the wild summer grass, their laughter ringing out over the small, hushed clearing wherein the swing hung. They stopped at last. Lionel looked down at her, his eyes darkening in a way that sent shivers up Isabella's spine.
    He wanted her, wanted her with the hot passion that had come upon him like a fever the first time he'd seen her. It was all he could do to keep from ravishing her then and there. But he held back, for Isabella was no bored Court lady seeking a little amusement during her husband's absence, nor was she some yeoman's

    daughter who could not cry out against his rape of her. Isabella was a young maid of noble birth, Giles's sister, and, most important, the King's ward. Like the rest of His Grace's property, one damaged Edward's wards at the risk of one's life. Isabella would expect Lionel to marry her—and rightfully so. He swore silently at the thought, for much as he might have wished it, he was in no position to wed the girl. He was already betrothed— to Lady Gilliane Beaumaris of Devizes.
    Lionel's eyes narrowed, glittering with anger and disgust as Gilliane's plain brunette image filled his mind. He had no desire to marry that timid brown mouse who squeaked and scurried from his presence; but she was the daughter of his father's best friend, and the betrothal had been arranged while Lionel and Gilliane had been in their cradles. There was nothing he could do about it, and his impotence in the matter galled him. Why should he be forced to marry Gilliane when a woman like Isabella lay within his grasp?
    He was a Valeureux, damn it! Descended from the Normans who had conquered all of England. His bride ought to be thq creme de la creme of women, not some colorless little mouse who would give him a parcel of brats as puny as she. He gazed down at Isabella raptly, his eyes still dark and hungry in a manner that almost frightened her. She was a prize worth having, this slender, silvery forest nymph whom Lionel held in his arms. Ah, what sons she would breed him. fine strong sons a man would be proud to call his own.
    The thought of filling Isabella with such sons made Lionel's loins race with excitement. Never had he seen a maid who intrigued him so. Half-woman, half-child, she had bewitched him with her haunting grey-green eyes, her fey, wraithlike grace. He could almost fancy himself in love with the wench, as he knew she was fervently enamored of him.
    Aye, Lionel wanted her. He must find a way to have her— Gilliane Beaumaris be damned!
    "Ye wouldst drive a man mad, 'Sabelle," he muttered, then brushed a strand of silky hair from her face.
    He's going to kiss me, the girl thought, her heart beating