Dance Of Desire Read online

  Her eyes huge, she stared at the parchment crushed between his fingers. The dog licked its lips and nuzzled her gown's hem. Her expression hardened with sadness and regret.

  "Promise me you will help Rudd," she whispered.

  "I do."

  "Swear it!"

  In her damp, glittering eyes, he glimpsed the fire he had sensed the night she danced for him. A fierce heat driven by determination, integrity, and love. If she gifted him with only a fraction of that passion, he would be a fortunate man.

  First, she had to begin to trust him.

  He pushed the parchment into her right hand. Bowing his head to her, a gesture of utmost respect, he dropped down on one knee. His cloak tumbled over his bent leg to spread behind him on the rush-strewn floor. Straw and dried herb stems poked through his hose into his skin, and the scent of mildewed food wafted to him, but he did not rise. He would not interrupt this important ritual.

  Clasping her left hand in his, he looked up at her. "I swear, Lady Rexana. Before you and God."

  Her breath trembled through her lips.

  Squeezing her clammy fingers, he said, "Please. Sign."

  In the distance, a door creaked open. A blast of cold air whipped over the floorboards. Voices echoed in the forebuilding — a man and woman arguing as they climbed the stairs to the hall. As though recognizing the voices, Rexana started and glanced toward the sound.

  Fane rose. Her fingers stiffened in his grasp. She tried to pull free, but with his thumb, he caressed her knuckles. A reassurance. A promise to protect her, now and always.

  An instant later, a man-at-arms emerged from the forebuilding. Henry, Fane recalled. The tough old warrior had very reluctantly admitted Fane and his men into Ickleton Keep.

  A flustered looking maidservant, her apron askew, hurried at his side.

  When Henry's gaze fell to Rexana's clasped hand, he stopped talking. He abruptly halted.

  Holding back a grin, Fane met the older man's stare, which darkened with frustration, dislike, and protectiveness. Henry obviously cared a great deal for his lady. Fane guessed he had accompanied her to Tangston last eve.

  "Henry," Rexana said.

  Offering a polite smile to Henry, Fane said, "Good day to you, once again."

  The warrior scowled. "Why do you hold Lady Rexana's hand?"

  "I bid farewell to my intended bride."

  The maidservant gasped.

  Henry recoiled as though shot by an arrow. "What?"

  "You are overbold, Sheriff," Rexana muttered, looking as though she would love to throttle him. "I have not agreed."

  "You will."

  Before she could pull away, before he thought twice and snuffed the mischief coiling inside him, Fane tightened his hold on her. He drew her fingers to his mouth. Her skin smelled of violets. Sweet. Inviting.

  He felt her shiver. Her eyes spat warning sparks, but he merely smiled. With lazy intent, he kissed the back of her hand, leaving his impression upon her skin. Once. Twice. Then he nipped her with his teeth. To those watching, the tiny bite would appear no more than another gallant kiss.

  Her lips parted on a shocked gasp. Outrage flared in her gaze, then embarrassment and confusion. Did he also see a hint of pleasure? She twisted her fingers free.

  "Good day to you, little fig," he murmured.

  He turned on his heel, nodded to Henry and the swooning maidservant, and strode from the hall.

  "You cannot sign!"

  Her palms pressed to the trestle table, head between her arms, Rexana shut her eyes and waited for Henry's shout to fade. Oh, God, how could she have told Linford she was practically betrothed to Garmonn? Loathing shuddered through her to the core of her soul. She would die before she ever committed herself to that merciless oaf.

  Weariness pressed upon her heart. Despite her best efforts, she had failed to thwart Linford. Now, she must do what had to be done.

  "'Tis the only option, Henry," she said quietly. "You know it, as well as I."

  "Surely there is another. If you spoke to Lord Darwell —"

  "Whatever opinion he has of the sheriff, Darwell will not act against a high-ranking crown official. He would be foolish to do so. He could lose his lands, his keep, his fortune." She sighed and felt the morning's frustrations settle deeper into her bones. "Since Darwell is the one who revealed me to Linford, I would rather eat pig slop than ask him for a favor."

  Henry exhaled on a growl. "How could he?"

  "I know." Nudging aside skeins of hair, she stared at the parchment pinned down with ale mugs and the fragrant soap. Her brooch glinted nearby. She inhaled a calming breath, then, as Linford's essence drifted up to her, dearly wished she had not.

  The memory of his kiss shuddered through her. The back of her hand warmed, as though once again his lips caressed and nibbled her flesh. An indecent heat roused within her.

  She blinked hard. Focus, Rexana! She must not let Linford's flirtations rule her body or ruin her concentration. Narrowing her gaze, she focused on the missive's lines of black ink.

  Behind her, Henry paced. "Why not contact Garmonn?"

  Her stomach tightened. With effort, she steeled the disgust from her tone. "He is of a temper to charge into Tangston and challenge the sheriff to a bloody tourney. I do not wish any deaths on my conscience."

  "Wait! If Garmonn weds you on the morrow . . . a secret ceremony —"

  Beneath her hands, the wood felt cold as a sheeted ice. "Then Rudd will be at Linford's mercy. Rudd will have no one to help him win his freedom. I cannot allow that to happen."

  Henry snorted. "You place a great deal of faith in Linford's vow. Can you guarantee he will follow through with his offer to help Rudd? Nay. Since your brother is no doubt innocent of treason — as Linford will discover — you will have bound yourself to that. .. that barbarian for naught."

  She squeezed her lips together. Dear Henry. Ever loyal to the Villeaux. For his support, she would always be grateful. Yet, she had no other course but to tread the path Linford had set for her. Rudd had risked his life to save her from certain doom months ago, and now she must risk hers.

  "Linford will keep his word. I will make certain he does, by becoming his wife." Swallowing the lump in her throat, she traced the parchment's rough edge and skimmed the formal Latin script that committed her in mind and body to Linford.

  Her breath caught. "In written word . . . only?"

  Hope bloomed inside her. Could the answer be so simple?

  Her finger skimmed the neatly penned text, the parchment slightly abrasive against her fingertip.

  Henry stopped his furtive pacing. "Milady?"

  Excitement thrummed inside her. "What if the marriage is not consummated? Linford and I will not lawfully be man and wife. Correct?" She looked up at Henry, sweet hope pulsing through her. "I can say I stayed pure because I did not truly consent to the marriage. I can petition for an annulment."

  With a hearty roar, Henry clapped his hands together. "Aha! In the meanwhile, being inside Linford's keep, you will find a way to save Rudd. Rudd escapes, he is proven innocent, you demand an annulment, and the sheriff is left in a very foul mood."

  Rexana laughed. "Exactly."

  Hands on his hips, Henry grinned at her. "A clever plan, milady." The warmth in his eyes faded. "But dangerous."

  She straightened away from the table. "I am willing to face the danger."

  "You are prepared to tempt Linford's appetites?"

  The spot on her hand where he had bitten her tingled. In his own crude way, he had marked her as his own. She covered the back of her hand with her other palm, smothered the tingling sensation, and smiled. What delicious irony, that he would never have her as he desired.

  "Henry, please fetch me a quill and ink."

  Chapter Seven

  Three days later, the morn dawned clear and bright. A perfect day for a wedding. Or, at least, it would be, Rexana thought moodily, if she were to marry a man she loved.

  She adjusted her hold on her p
lodding mare's reins and struggled to calm her jittery nerves. As she had often reminded herself since signing the marriage contract, she had good reasons for wedding the sheriff. She would not lose sight of her purpose. Not now. Not in the coming days.

  The morning breeze carried many sounds: the hoof- beats of horses bearing her wooden chests of clothes and personal effects; the snap of the banner displaying her family crest; and the merry tune played by the musicians who walked ahead of the procession to herald her arrival. A few paces in front of her, Henry spoke to one of the men-at-arms who escorted her to Tangston's village church. There, the wedding ceremonies would be performed.

  There, in name only, she would become Lady Rexana Linford.

  The town gates loomed ahead. The fortress rose on the grassy hill beyond, tall and imposing like Linford himself.

  'Tis the right choice, she told herself firmly. Believe it, and you will not fail.

  Henry dropped back so that his horse walked alongside hers. "Not far now, milady." He frowned, as he had earlier when he helped her onto her mare and smoothed her mantle so her bliaut would not gather dust on the journey.

  "I shall be fine, Henry."

  "Still, I worry." He swatted away a bee that shot up from the wildflowers growing along the roadside. "If you need help, no matter what 'tis —"

  Tears clogged her throat. "I will ask you. Thank you."

  Shouts came from the gates ahead. Rexana straightened and looked at the peasants gathered on either side of the gates and peering over the stone wall. Curiosity and excitement warmed the faces of the men, women, and children who watched her approach. The enormity of her decision flooded through her, yet she managed a smile. No matter how fearsome her decision seemed, she would persevere. She would win Rudd's freedom.

  Children darted toward her, clutching bouquets of wilting daisies and meadowsweet. Leaning down, she took them from their sticky fingers. One day, her womb would bear a babe, but not Linford's child. The thought left her feeling strangely empty. How ridiculous. She felt naught for Linford. Certainly not love.

  The men-at-arms moved closer to contain the crush of people. Tucking the flowers in front of her saddle, Rexana followed the musicians through the town gates. More people crowded the streets. The noise, the narrow wattle and daub buildings reaching upward toward the sky, the sea of anonymous, staring faces melted into a blur around her and she kicked her mare forward.

  "Rexana." The familiar voice cut above the din. "Here. By the tavern."

  A man staggered out of the building's crooked doorway. His handsome face looked unshaven, his shock of red hair unkempt, his rust brown tunic stained and creased. She hardly recognized the young lord. Garmonn.

  Her mouth went dry. The last thing she needed was a confrontation with him. Not when she had done her best to avoid him the past few days. She waved, then coaxed her mare onward.

  "You refused to receive me," Garmonn called in an overloud, petulant voice. He elbowed his way through the throng. When he reached her side, he stumbled along beside her moving horse. "Why did you refuse me? What have I done to deserve your disfavor?"

  He set his hand on her leg. Memories flooded her mind, sending panic rushing through her in a harrowing deluge. He had won her disfavor months ago, but 'twas not wise to remind him now. Forcing a gentle tone, she said, "With only days to prepare for the wedding, I had no time for visits. I am sorry."

  "You are heartless." His bloodshot eyes hardened. "Rudd rots in the sheriff's dungeon. You do naught to help him. Instead, you wed that crusading bastard. You should be marrying

  The noise around her quieted. Warning buzzed in her veins, as well as anger. Did he not see how mortifying this was for himself, and for her? Did he intend to cause a scene? "Garmonn —"

  "Do not marry Linford." His fingers tightened on her, crushing her mantle and gown. The mare flailed her head, and with a gasp, Rexana struggled to keep control of the animal. "Listen to me." He leaned closer, his lips wet with spit. " 'Tis dangerous —"

  "To mistreat my bride," boomed a deep voice. "Unhand her, or you will find yourself in my dungeon."

  Her breath caught. The crowd parted as Fane strode toward her, flanked by men-at-arms, one hand on his sword's grip. Sunlight gleamed on his silky hair and embroidered blue tunic, crafted from the most beautiful fabric she had ever seen. The lavish garment denoted wealth and authority.

  She swallowed. "Sheriff Linford."

  "Milady."

  Her horse snorted, sidestepped. Fane reached up, caught the jingling bridle, and steadied the animal. His gaze slid to Garmonn. "Lord Darwell's son, I believe?"

  Garmonn's face reddened. He managed an unsteady bow.

  "Your father is looking for you. He hoped you would honor Rexana and myself by attending the wedding ceremony." Fane shook his head. "I vow you should go sleep off your drink."

  With an awkward gesture, Garmonn smoothed his tunic. "I am not besotted."

  "You reek of tavern smoke and ale." Fane's eyes narrowed. "You have already embarrassed my bride with your foolishness. Leave, before I choose to take exception to your crudity."

  "You dare to call me crude, you bast —"

  "Leave," Fane snapped. "Now." His hand closed on his broadsword's hilt.

  Garmonn reached for the dagger at his hip.

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  A sickening tightness clawed at Rexana's chest. She stared down at Garmonn, his face a ghastly shade of purple. If she did not intervene, he would attack Fane. She knew well of Garmonn's twisted cruelty.

  "Please." She softened her words to remove any hint of insult. "Do as he says. Rudd would wish it, as do I."

  Garmonn's gaze held hers. His eyes scorned her, condemned her. Called her a liar. Fear stormed through her.

  "When Rudd is proven innocent and freed from the dungeon," she soothed, "I will tell him to come see you."

  As though her words eased an internal dilemma, Garmonn smiled, then spat out of the side of his mouth. He sheathed his knife. After casting Fane a last, disparaging glance, he turned and staggered through the crowd.

  She sighed. Her shoulders sagged. Past the rushing sound in her ears, she scarcely heard Fane's command to his men-at-arms. "Find Garmonn's horse. Make sure he leaves and does not return."

  Guards thundered past. The chatter and music resumed.

  Rexana unwound the reins that had somehow become twisted tight around her fingers. Bits of meadowsweet, dislodged from the saddle during the fray, tumbled to the ground.

  The mare suddenly eased into a walk. Rexana looked up, to see Fane leading the horse off the main street into an alley cluttered with broken wine barrels and crates. The crowd moved back to allow them room to pass. As men-at-arms stepped forward to control the throng, Fane said, "Do not let anyone follow."

  He strode farther into the alley. His tunic glittered and outlined the muscled swell of his shoulders. Lower down, the fabric shifted against his buttocks, suggesting taut muscles and curves. Rexana quickly averted her gaze. She should not notice such things.

  "Where are you taking me?"

  He glanced over his shoulder. "To the church, love, to make you my wife."

  Frowning, she pointed to her right. "The church is in that direction."

  "I thought you might need a moment to calm yourself and right your garments." He kicked broken crockery out of the horse's path. "Father John might think I could not wait to sample you."

  Her hand froze in the midst of straightening her skirt. Her heart lurched into a steady thump, thump and she glared at the back of Linford's head. "You are a rogue to suggest such a misdeed."

  Again, he looked back at her. His smoldering gaze skimmed over her mantle before he grinned crookedly. "I am tempted."

  A thrill skittered through her. She ignored the sensation. "You would not dare."

  "You misjudge me." He chuckled, a sound of wicked intent. "Then again, mayhap not. 'Tis rumored, after all, that I have few morals."

  The horse slowed, then
halted. The trill of a flute, laughter, and voices drifted from the distant street. As the sunlight slanted over the buildings and lit Linford's eyes, Rexana's heart slid down into her belly.

  Releasing the horse's bridle, he strode to her side. Her embroidered shoe touched the front of his tunic.

  Oh, God. What did he intend?

  "Have you forgotten the way to the church, milord?" She stared at him. The leather reins bit into her palms — just as Linford had bitten her hand. With shocking vividness, she remembered his mouth's moist heat, and his teeth grazing her skin.

  "I remember the way," he said. "So, too, do I recall your skin's warmth. You smell like violets. You taste like a sweet, ripe fig. Irresistible." His fingers brushed her sleeve. "I want to kiss you, Rexana."