Free Knight's Caress by Lynette Vinet

contact with his skin. Her eyes unswervingly traced the scar on his cheek, following the thin, pale line to where it ended at his jawbone. The cut looked deep enough to have caused great pain when it was first inflicted. Tedric noticed her preoccupation with the scar, and Amberlie, seeing how intently he watched her, clumsily smeared the broth’s remains into his tunic.
    “Aye, ‘tis true you’re no serf,” he told her with a twinkle in the depths of his ice-blue eyes, as he stilled her wrist with his hand. “I doubt you’ve ever attended anyone in your life.”
    “I have,” she insisted, hating the feel of his iron hold on her. “I used to attend my husband at his bath before he was murdered.” The moment she uttered those words, she wished she’d remained silent. The merry twinkle disappeared from his gaze, and his eyes grew hooded. She wasn’t certain why she’d mentioned such a private aspect of her marriage to Henri, unless it was to taunt Tedric with her memories, to make him squirm with the knowledge of all he’d taken from her.
    “Leave me,” he whispered in such a low, ragged tone of voice that Amberlie strained to hear him. For a few seconds, it seemed she was rooted to the spot, but her legs swiftly carried her away from Tedric when she noticed the cruel twist of his mouth, the cold, unrelenting stare directed at her.
    She found herself by her own pallet, and sinking onto the rushes, she pulled the sheepskin around her in an attempt to ward off the sudden chill which threatened to freeze her very heart. Never had anyone looked at her with such contempt.
    Somehow she’d forgotten that Tedric was her enemy, a fact she must never forget. Clearly, the man had kissed her for his own amusement, had touched her as a diversion to while away the time until he released her. She meant nothing to him, and she hated herself for responding to him.
    Amberlie noticed Wick, who sat a short distance from her. He stared at her, and for the briefest instant, he flashed her a smile. “My thanks to you for providing me with a coverlet from the cold last night,” she said, and stroked the soft sheepskin. “‘Twas very kind of you, Wick.”
    Wick shook his head. “‘Twasn’t me, but Lord Tedric. He be the one who covered ye.”
    “But—he was the one who commanded that I receive no coverlet,” she insisted.
    “Ah, ‘tis a soft heart he has, my lady. He’d not see ya shiver from the cold and catch a chill.”
    Pulling the sheepskin tightly around her, Amberlie reclined on the rushes. So it was Tedric who’d disobeyed his own orders and covered her. What a perplexing man he was!
    She guessed she should be grateful to him, but she wasn’t. That simple act of kindness only indebted her to him, and she wanted to owe nothing to Tedric the Barbarian. He’d killed her sweet Henri, forcing her into youthful widowhood. Because of Tedric, she would now be forced to marry a wealthy nobleman, and heaven knows what ill treatment she’d be subjected to at another man’s hands. Henri had been gentle and loving with her, which was peculiar given the fact that he’d been Julianne’s child. She didn’t know what her future held now—and all because Tedric had ended her dear husband’s life.
    “I vow to find a way to make him pay for taking you from me, Henri,” she whispered softly, hoping Henri’s spirit heard her. “Some way I’ll avenge your death, somehow I’ll bring Tedric to Norman justice.” She meant each word she said, but she wouldn’t admit that her vengeful attitude stemmed not so much from the loss of her husband as from her own alarming response to his murderer’s stirring kisses.
     

Chapter 8
     

     
    Amberlie woke the next morning to discover Wulfgar watching her. Quickly, she sat up, suddenly aware that the cave was empty except for the two of them. Not even Wick was nearby, and she found this odd since the old man had been one of the few people apparently designated to stay constantly