A Knight and White Satin. Jackie Ivie

shutting properly. Dallis hung to his waist as he fussed with it, pushing and shoving and then cursing while she swayed with each movement. The fit had been perfect before God betrayed them and sent the earth heaving. Or maybe it was this Dunn-Fadden and his heathen gods that had the power to make the very earth move with but one hit of a battering ram.

      “Now.” He had the door bowed, but he’d managed to bolt it, and then he had her on her feet. He backed several steps off and then he just stood there, waiting. He didn’t even look to be breathing hard. “What was that said about clergy?”

      “Without benefit.”

      “Unions are held with less.” He was unfastening the falcon glove as he spoke, undoing the leather tyrrits that his peregrine had been attached to. She knew he’d own a peregrine without asking. Such a falcon befitted his station.

      “And without my troth!” She hadn’t agreed to being his wife. She couldn’t have. They’d put a bond across her lips, keeping her from saying anything.

      He looked across at her, spearing her with an ice-blue gaze that had caught her attention when he’d first pulled off his helm and shown her the color of them. They still did. Dallis had to force her heart to calm, cease the fluttering that was making her ribs feel tight, and then she had to gulp around an obstruction in her throat.

      “Your clan had the choice put to them. They should na’ have declined.”

      He had the glove off, and then he was starting to work at the linkage of his thigh-length hauberk. He was wearing Norse battle attire. It was strange, but difficult to fault. It was also difficult to pierce. She had to wait. The dirk hidden in the back of her girdle would be enough. She just had to be patient until he was vulnerable, and that meant until he had the chain-crafted tunic off.

      “And it was na’ agreed! Never! I’m trothed already!”

      “Get undressed,” he said.

      Dallis’s eyes widened. “I’m na’ helping you,” she managed a reply, and it was evenly said and without inflection. She was very proud of that.

      “I dinna’ request it,” he replied.

      He pulled the hauberk from his body, showing he wore a tunic of gray that was plastered to muscles with sweat. And little else. It was going to be easy to pierce flesh. She just had to keep him occupied—and not with bedding her.

      “Why do you wear…mail?” she asked, with the slightest touch of snideness. “’Tis na’ verra manly.”

      “Protection. In battle. My father has but one son. Me. There are some that think me a large target. Easiest to see and easiest to hit.”

      “You are a large target,” she replied.

      He looked across at her again, stopping her breath for the barest moment with eyes that looked so striking against swarthy skin and midnight-black hair. Then he was frowning at her. She assumed it was from lack of motion, as she wasn’t obeying anything he’d said. His hands stopped fussing with the kilt knot at his hip.

      “True,” he replied finally. “I dinna’ like to wear it. I’m forced to.”

      Dallis eyed his arms, bare now and thick with strength. There was an obvious sign of muscle on the stomach his tunic was barely shielding, as well. To think him forced to do anything was a lie. It had to be.

      “How?” she asked.

      “We’ve nae time for talk. You ken it. I ken it. Now, take your wedding dress off or I’ll be forced to tear it from your body.”

      Her eyes widened. Nothing else on her entire frame betrayed anything. “This is na’ my wedding dress.”

      He smiled, not enough to show teeth, but enough to show his amusement. “It is now,” he replied finally. “And I’d na’ like ripping it.”

      That reply created shock akin to an ice bath, and her heart was hammering so loudly, she could barely hear over it. “What difference…will that make?” She stumbled once through the question, and was amazed her voice didn’t warble.

      He’d given off untying his kilt and it helped gain her breath. And then he made it immeasurably worse by pulling the gray wool shirt over his head, moving an array of muscle and baring an expanse of flesh that made her gape. She’d also slighted him. He wasn’t just the largest target. He was the largest, most fit male she’d ever seen. Anywhere. Even on the castle list.

      One thing was certain. He was in much better condition, much younger in age, and much more handsome than her intended husband, who was well-known for two of those things. Admitting that much to herself was a huge mistake. She realized it as her mouth filled with spittle and her eyes widened. She couldn’t do a thing about the increase in her pulse. Someone should have put that in her lessons. He was affecting her too much to think.

      “We haven’t this much time. I’ll na’ speak it again. Take off your kirtle, or face having it torn off and going without.”

      “The king shall hear of this!”

      He gave her another smile, wider this time, revealing teeth that probably owed their whiteness to his tanned appearance, and not any care. “The king canna’ put asunder a union that’s been consummated. I’ve given off the warnings, lass. I’ve na’ this much patience.”

      Then he was striding toward her, making her tower room seem small and insignificant and more stark than usual. Dallis backed up, stumbling on long skirts she didn’t lift. She couldn’t. Her hands were behind her back, fumbling for the dirk with fingers numbed by something she wouldn’t label as fear. They were cold. Her fingers were that. The handle of her knife was slender, jewel encrusted, and fit for a lady’s hand. It looked the size of a needle when she had it out and held in front of her.

      “Stay away from me!” Dallis hissed, waving the small blade in front of her.

      He didn’t break stride. Not even when he reached her and she had it buried in his left side. There wasn’t the sign of anything on his face as she pierced flesh, although Dallis was gagging with the feel of it. The spurt of blood doused her, staining the white with crimson. He had her pushed against the wall with his left hand, and with his right he grabbed the neckline of her serviceable bliant and tore it completely down the middle. Nothing on his features betrayed the slightest bit of pain, or anger, or anything, although the light blue color of his eyes seemed darker. Or maybe it was the shadow cast by heavy lashes in the same shade as his hair.

      There was a loud pounding in her ears, and then she realized it was the door. She couldn’t think. His weight was stifling her as he used it, shoving his body at her, and making her knees tremble and her back clench. She felt him move, smearing his palm with his own blood before jamming it between her legs. Dallis’s jaw dropped, her features flooded with heat and everything on her entire body felt locked into place as he fondled, putting fingers where no man had ever been and forcing a reaction she didn’t know anything about.

      “Deny that,” he growled.

      “Nae! I—” Her voice stopped.

      She saw the door opening from behind him, the hall behind filled with Caruth clan colors. Dunn-Fadden was at the window, the little jewel hilt sticking from his side since her hand had lost grip with it some time earlier, and she was too caught up in stifling all the tremors overtaking her to care. She hoped it killed him.

      “Payton Dunn-Fadden! You crazed whelp of a she-wolf!”

      Someone called his name and the slur with it. He ignored it. He was piercing her with those eyes…fathomless blue eyes, making everything else disappear. She knew it was going to be imprinted on her mind forever; the sight of him silhouetted in a window that was crafted large to let light in, but protected from enemy attack by the sheer height of it. That same light molded him for her, turning solid flesh into a statue of memory and making her absorb it. And then he turned and launched right out her window.

      The room was filling with Caruth clan, all yelling and shoving, drowning out