Free Heartsong by Allison Knight Page B

his table. She fought his warmth and the streaks of fire that streamed up and down her arm at his touch.
    Sitting next to him, she again couldn’t help but study his pleasing features, the thick, dark bronze curls on his head, the smooth skin of his square face, the neat trim of his bread. She caught herself wondering how those curls would feel if she reached out and ran her fingers through them.
    Oh, Blessed Virgin, what is wrong with me? He is English! Aye, but a handsome enemy , a corner of her brain sneered . Lily, think of Lily, your father, your betrothed.
    By the end of the week, Rhianna had finished most of the mending Mildred provided and had a hunger growing under her heart. True, when she sat at deShay’s side, she ate little. But, she hungered, nay, she ached for more from him. She wanted more of his touch. Despite the shame admitting it caused, she ached for another kiss.
    With the passage of each day, she grew more disgusted, lecturing herself constantly. Despite repeating she was nothing but a traitor to her own kind, she wanted, nay, she yearned for the touch of the one man in all the world
    whose blood should stain the soil beneath her feet.
    ~ * ~
    Garrett watched Rhianna and his own confusion grew along with the ache in his body. At first her skill with a needle was pathetic. He smiled in satisfaction. She was not the lady Lydon had named. However, her manners befitted someone of noble birth.
    She’d lost half a stone since he’d captured her. He suspected her fear of him and what she thought he planned for her affected her ability to eat. She consumed little while at his side and Mildred reported she picked at her nooning trays.
    She confounded his thoughts enough so that he took time to seek out her companion and ask about her. Arthur swore she’d never warmed another man’s bed. The boy’s concern haunted Garrett. Could they be related? Arthur refused to say and Garrett was not want to push the lad.
    “Damn,” he growled, remembering the erotic dreams he’d suffered during the night. He wanted her writhing under him, sighing with her pleasure the way she did in his dreams. Now, however, she jumped away from him at the simplest of touch.
    He cursed his feelings. This foreign wench occupied too much of his mind with her rich peach complexion and those deep blue eyes stirring his soul. He wanted her, aye, he ached for her but he would not force her. That thought drove him senseless. He didn’t understand, nor could he explain it, but for some reason, he wanted her willing.
    The soft voice of Mildred drew him from his bewildering thoughts.
    “My Lord,” she curtsied before him, “Rhianna of Wales is doing poorly. Do you say to watch her still?”
    “Aye,” Garrett said and grimaced.
    When she opened her mouth to argue, Garrett raised a hand.
    “Nay, do not disagree. She must have a guard and I would rather it be you. Lydon chose well. I’ve given this much thought. You must tell her I’ve lost interest in her. Tell her about my beckoning to one of the castle maids. Then, we’ll see if that news does not improve her appetite.”
    “You want me to lie?”
    Garrett scowled at the question.
    “Surely others in the castle will not say the same,” Mildred reminded him.
    He frowned, knowing she had the right of it. Nor was she finished.
    “My lord, don’t you have some campaign that would take you from here for a time? If you leave, then mayhap, she will relax.”
    He sighed. First her sister, Edina, and now Mildred stood before him offering advice. In all of England none said as much as these. Still, he did value the opinions of his people and the men and women in his care. He had always encouraged them to have their say, whether he liked what they said or not.
    “All right Mildred,” he said then sighed. “Tell her that I’m off to guard the northern climes. And, I’ll be gone for days—nay, a week. See if that brings some peace to the wench.”
    He watched Mildred’s gray gown