A Knight Most Wicked. Joanne Rock

carnal touch. Instead, he reached up to touch her face, his fingers none too steady from the force of blood pounding his veins.

      He half waited for her to push him away, to find some sense of maidenly outrage. But instead she wound her arms about his neck and held tight, forsaking all control of the situation. Raw lust swamped him, testing his honor and his will, until a noise sounded in the forest very close to them.

      A light, animal snuffle.

      Tristan stilled, gripping Arabella’s arms tightly as he shot her a warning look. Only when he was certain she understood did he turn to peer into the surrounding woods.

      Responding to the slightest movement to their left, Tristan charged into the forest only a few feet behind a dark figure. He knew he would quickly overtake the person who lumbered awkwardly through the night, but just before Tristan laid his hands on the spy, the fleeing man reached a scrawny horse. The lout leaped onto the mount and urged the nag as fast as it would take him.

      Devil take the rutting hound.

      “Tristan?” Arabella called from much too near and he realized she had quietly followed him through the trees. He had to admire her speed and soundlessness, though her feet would no doubt protest the trek.

      Tristan swore a mild oath as he trudged back to where she stood.

      “You’re going to need to be very careful, Arabella. I don’t know who would be watching us secretly, but I have to believe whoever it was could be following the princess’s retinue.”

      “Of course.” She swept her hair behind her ear, her silver circlet askew. “I will return to the keep with all haste.”

      “Not without an escort.” Tristan halted her quick retreat with a restraining hand. “There will be no more late-night escapes from the rest of your party or secluded searches for herbs unless you are with me. Do you understand?”

      Her curt nod told him that he had wounded her feelings, yet he could not temper his warning when her safety depended on it. He had been idle-witted to allow himself to touch her, to allow himself to forget for a moment his purpose in escorting the princess’s women. The mission that had started out as a courtier’s errand had turned into a critical duty with high stakes.

      No wild and reckless beauty would tempt him away from it, no matter how sweetly she danced for him in the moonlight.

      

      Rosalyn hid herself behind the small wardrobe when she heard the door to Tristan’s chamber open. She tensed with anticipation as she heard him step into the room and close the door behind him. Too bad she had to resort to such drastic measures, but Tristan had disappeared after their dance. Afraid he had gone to find the Gypsy Rowan woman, Rosalyn decided she would waste no more time. She needed to lie with him tonight.

      It was fortunate that the captain of the English guard had been given his own chamber in the castle, rather than sharing quarters with the other knights. Tristan’s quarters gave Rosalyn the opportunity to see him in private and to consummate their relationship before her condition developed more noticeably. With the help of a few restraining garments, her waist remained tiny. The only hint of her upcoming babe was the new weight in her breasts that enhanced her figure. She smiled in the darkened room, knowing that she had already won this battle.

      Surprised Tristan had not already lit a candle and discovered her, Rosalyn wasn’t sure how to proceed. Should she wait for him to spy her in the moonlit room, or should she announce her presence? He might not notice her at all and she could slide into bed beside him after he lay down. She decided to do just that if he did not notice her on his own, and watched in breathless anticipation as he removed his houppelande and the tunic underneath.

      Rosalyn ran her tongue around her lips as her mouth went dry. The man was magnificent. His broad chest boasted great strength. The muscles that his tunic had hinted at were now clearly revealed to her hungry eyes. Sitting on the bed, Tristan removed his boots and let them fall to the floor. He was about to remove his breeches when she stepped out from the shadows in her scarlet gown, one sleeve already slipping purposefully down her shoulder.

      “What are you doing here?” His stillness was not the response she had expected.

      Taking a deep breath, she called upon devices her mother had taught her long before Rosalyn turned away from her father’s fallen whore to claim the nobleman’s protection. Rosalyn arched her shoulders enough to press her breasts more fully against the seams of her surcoat.

      “Are we back to being strangers, Tristan?” She draped herself across him. “I thought we were better friends than that,” she purred into his ear.

      “Mayhap we could have been. But I fear you are sweetly attired trouble.”

      He had spoken softly, but his words cut her almost as much as his obvious imperviousness to her offer.

      She slid from the bed and stared him down.

      “What are you insinuating?” Rosalyn’s mind raced, wondering how he could have guessed her plan.

      “I mean no insult. But I fear ’tis not me you really want. Are you using me to hurt someone else? Another lover, mayhap?”

      She spun away from him as though in the throes of emotion, although she needed solely to conceal her surprise. He missed the mark on her intentions, but—truth be told—not by all that much.

      “No. I have no other lover, although mayhap at first I spoke to you to take my mind off of a cruel man who misled me.” Sniffling, she turned back to face him and thought his stance appeared slightly softened.

      “He was a fool,” the English knight assured her, his taut muscles bronzed by the golden glow from the hearth.

      “A man of noble standing in Bohemia led me to think he wanted to marry me and I foolishly let him pay court to me at our home.” Heaven knows, her father hadn’t helped her obtain the match. De Clair thought he’d given her all she deserved when he’d opened his home to her six years ago and had graced her with his name.

      “The matter of marriage is often fixed long in advance. Perhaps your father had hopes that you would ally yourself with another.”

      Someone well beneath her, no doubt. But Rosalyn would not be sold off so cheaply.

      “I cannot say, because I forgot all about the Bohemian nobleman and my father’s wishes when I saw you.” She reached out to touch him and smoothed her fingers across his chest—a most pleasurable diversion. Something stirred inside her and it was not her fledgling bairn.

      Trusting her womanly senses, she trailed her hand down his bare stomach to the waist of his breeches and beyond. Only then did he reach out to restrain her, holding her hand in midair.

      “You are a beautiful woman, Rosalyn.” The hoarseness in the knight’s voice made her hopeful. “But I am without lands and a title. Your parents would not approve of me.”

      “But you are well respected by your king. Your undertaking here proves that. King Richard will reward you when you bring him his bride.” And by the saints, she had affected him. She could see it in the impressive rise of his garments.

      “The English king rewards knights who win battles, not knights who guard royalty. I am afraid I will receive no such reward, no matter how valuable the princess is to my sovereign.”

      Something in his answer did not settle well upon her ears. She had told enough lies in her time to recognize one when she heard it. Tristan was obviously a strong warrior. Anger swelled in her belly where desire had been. With an effort, she forced a few tears from her eyes, desperate to make her ploy work.

      “I am rejected again, no matter how prettily you spoke to me at dinner.” With a broken cry, she lunged for the chamber door, hoping he would stop her. She even paused on the threshold.

      “Good night, my lady.” His feet remained firmly planted until Rosalyn had no choice but to leave. She would try another approach tomorrow, or perhaps she would shift her attentions to Tristan’s second