Once Upon a Knight. Jackie Ivie

again, only to get interrupted again.

      “Or was it to escape?”

      “More of—”

      “Did you truly think you could do so?” This time when she stopped his words it was accompanied by a movement closer, putting her in front of and below him, making him breathe her scent more fully even if he didn’t want to. He couldn’t escape it. Vincent breathed deeply, let it out slowly, and then pulled another breath in.

      “Well?” she asked.

      “I was hungry,” he replied.

      “You ran.”

      “Actually…I climbed,” he replied.

      She nodded. “Good. I’d hate to discipline Waif for naught.”

      “He couldn’t have stopped me. Although he did try.”

      “You’re wet.”

      Vincent watched as she looked at the damp hair he’d pulled back and then moved her gaze back to his. He could only hope she didn’t spot the instant widening of his eyes as his heart lurched within him. He was afraid he might even be flushing. His smile faded, and he swallowed with a dry throat.

      “I—I swam the loch. I mean I almost…swam the loch,” he amended.

      “Across?”

      “I said almost. Dinna’ fash. I’ll try again come daylight.”

      “Daylight.”

      She didn’t say it as a question, so it wasn’t one. It was a statement. It was as if they were saying words but meaning other things entirely. The fire wasn’t giving off as many sparks as she was starting to send from her liquid silver eyes, either. And nothing about them looked anything but warm…heated…inviting….

      “’Tis easier…to see one’s progress in the daylight,” he said.

      “You dinna’ have much trouble in my chamber earlier.”

      “With what?” Vincent asked.

      “Your progress.”

      He grimaced. “Oh. That.”

      “You’re guilty of trespass.”

      “I did little.”

      “You were told na’ to go through anything.”

      “I was left for too long on my own. With myself for company. I got bored.”

      “You were told na’ to go through anything.” She repeated it.

      “I got bored. Dinna’ you hear me?”

      “Boredom? Is this your excuse for guilt?”

      Vincent sighed. “I doona’ need an excuse for guilt, lady.”

      She was trying hard to be stern. It wasn’t working. Especially when she stepped forward again, entering the area right in front of him and putting herself in arm’s length of him, if not closer. Vincent’s heartbeat picked up in response, and he was very afraid he might be trembling.

      “Good thing I stopped them, then.”

      “Who?” he mouthed.

      “Mary. And that Isabelle. Vacant-headed wenches. Good enough for a tumble, I suppose. Is that what you had in mind?”

      “I was…in need of food and drink. That’s what I was doing.”

      “That’s na’ what I saw.”

      Vincent smiled slightly. “You see? I’m ever guilty. Again. Even when I doona’ deserve it.”

      “You claim now that I dinna’ see what I saw?” she asked and lifted a delicate hand, pointing one finger toward him.

      Vincent gulped and prepared every bit of him to withstand whatever she planned with that little finger of hers. He hadn’t long to wait as she touched a crumb that had fallen from his bread crust and flicked it from where it was stuck on his plaide band. She couldn’t miss the pulsing movement his body made the moment she did it. It was useless to hide it, so he didn’t.

      “We have to return now,” she whispered.

      “Return?”

      “To my…chamber.”

      “Nae.” He shook his head. “Na’ now.”

      “Why na’?”

      Vincent pulled his gaze away from hers and concentrated on the hooks in the firepit for holding kettles of stews. Just like the one he’d feasted on. His mind decided it could work. “I’ve na’ finished,” he explained.

      “Bring it.”

      “What?”

      “Refill your bowl, dip another tankard of ale, get yourself a bit of cheese.”

      “Cheese?” Vincent repeated.

      “They dinna’ give you cheese?” she asked.

      Vincent ran his tongue along his lower lip. If she put her mouth into a pout again like she’d just done saying that word, he was not going to be able to prevent himself from doing the very thing he was fighting. She was going to be kissed thoroughly and soundly, and there wasn’t much that was going to be able to stop it. Stupid lass! Stupid, untouched, pure lass!

      “Nae,” he answered finally as she seemed to be waiting.

      She wasn’t as emotionless and controlled as she appeared, either. She couldn’t be, for it was easy to spot the quick panting breaths she was taking with her lips slightly parted, releasing sweet breath all over his chest, where he could have sworn the shirt was dry enough that it shouldn’t be alternately chilled and heated just from the soft air of her breathing.

      “Pity,” she said.

      “What?”

      “That Mary and Isabelle are such…lacking servants.”

      “Lacking?”

      “They dinna’ see to your needs verra well. Now, did they?”

      Vincent let out the breath with a low groan attached.

      “I make the best cheese. You ken?”

      He was watching her mouth as she said the words, and then she licked at her bottom lip, brought it into her mouth to suck on it…let it back out, where what light there was between them caressed the slickened surface. He wasn’t capable of moving his gaze from the spot, and he didn’t care to try.

      “I oversee the creamery, and I have perfectly aged…cheese.”

      He had her gripped to him and his mouth on hers before anything in him could say no. She tasted even better than he’d imagined. Vincent enfolded her body against his, lifting her fully off the floor as he alternately licked and sucked on flesh that was quivering and giving and not saying anything that felt like denial. Thunder was striking at his chest and lightning was sparking through his head, and then he felt her arms snaking up over his shoulders and those delicate fingers pulling his queue awry as she held him exactly where he was, as if she wanted this, too.

      Harsh breath touched his nose, matching each heave for air that he was making and making each of them deeper, stronger, more earnest. There was a moan of sound emanating from them, but it wasn’t just from him. The enclosure of their kitchen was resonating with it.

      Vincent wasn’t just experiencing anymore. He was listening to the largest, strongest, most energetic heart-pounding piece of music yet. The notes were charging through his mind with an intent and a viciousness that was near pain to hear and absorb. And yet he did, shuddering through chord after chord until the crescendo of notes he was composing and putting into being struck all the way through him, making him groan aloud with the volume of it. And that unseated the suction of his lips on hers.

      She