Free Montbryce Next Generation 03 - Dance of Love by Anna Markland Page B

and requiring much less force to do its work than the Norman sword Izzy used. She had never allowed anyone else to touch the shamshir since Georges had wrested it from ad-Daula’s grip.
    How long Izzy had stood in the doorway of the Still Room she did not know. Had he watched her as she daydreamed? She whirled round in surprise when he wished her good morn. “Or should I say, good afternoon? I have never slept this late in my life.”
    He was not wearing gloves and she was elated he no longer hid his hands from her. She had given no thought to covering her scar. But his face was unreadable. She was thankful her dark skin did not reveal her blush. “You needed to rest after your long day in the saddle.”
    He did not reply, but sauntered over to the shelf that held the vials of oil, lifting one down and holding the stopper to his nose, then moving to the next. She stared at him, biting her lower lip. Did he suspect what she had done? Did he feel manipulated?
    He turned to her and frowned when he found the vial he sought. “This is the one, I think. Am I right?”
    Apprehension skittered behind her breastbone. “That is the oil I used last night. You have a good nose.”
    He returned the vial to its place and smiled. “I will never forget that aroma.”
    He wandered around the room, picking up this and that, seemingly unconcerned. What did he mean he would never forget the aroma? Was that a good thing? Was he pleased with the Still Room? She had decided she would gift many of the medicinals to Castle Giroux. She would not need them in Aragón. A busy castle needed a well stocked Still Room.
    He seemed to come to some decision and strode to the door, but stopped on the threshold, his back to her, his shoulders tense. “I thank you for your healing touch last night. I don’t want to impose on your skills, but I would ask that you come to my chamber again this eve.”
    Did he think she would refuse? They both knew it was improper for her to be alone with him in his chamber at night, but she could not deny him, and who would know? “It will be my pleasure to attend you, Izzy.”
    He let out a deep breath and left. Farah gripped the side of the trestle table willing the room to stop spinning around her. This night she would definitely take the spikenard.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Izzy paced his chamber, too nervous to sit. The evening meal in the Great Hall had set him on edge. It was impossible to sit beside Farah and not want her. He had feigned great interest in Aubin’s many suggestions regarding the tenant farms, his thoughts wholly on the woman who sat at his side. Aubin’s ideas had merit, but he feared the man knew Izzy’s attention was not on the tenant farms. His father had told him it was obvious he burned for Farah. Aubin likely deemed him a rutting fool.
    He unfastened the scabbard of his dagger and left off pacing to put the weapon on the sideboard. He splayed his fingers on the wood and put his weight on his hands. No pain! But Dieu they were ugly. Farah might not flinch at touching him, but how would she react if he touched her breasts or wove his fingers through the curls at her mons? Would she recoil if he slid a finger inside her?
    What was he thinking? She was coming to his chamber to massage his hands, just as she had the previous evening, though he had noted on awakening that she had loosened his tunic and leggings. It was hard to believe he had fallen asleep in the presence of a desirable woman and had no memory of it. The last he remembered was a feeling of euphoric arousal. Had she drugged him? He had imbibed nothing prepared at her hand, other than the pain relieving elixir she had made for him. The aroma? Was there something in the oil she had used?
    He heard her footfall outside his door and quickly opened it before she knocked. She gasped and took a step back, dropping her satchel. She knelt, breathing a sigh of relief that nothing was broken. Izzy went down on one knee beside her. “ Excusez-moi! I