Once Upon a Knight. Jackie Ivie

about. I am in your bedchamber, and you are na’ armed.”

      “A woman does na’ need steel and wood to be armed.”

      “What does she need?”

      He’d prefaced the question with two steps toward her and lowered his voice at the same time. The shivers were horrid, the tightening in her nipples even more so, and the agitated breaths she was taking made it all so much worse.

      Sybil realized she should have taken more than one step back, but there wasn’t much room left before she’d be banging up against one of the armoires she’d arranged about the room. That would have shown him that she felt threatened, which was sheer stupidity and obstinate besides. It was obvious she was feeling threatened.

      She really should be doing more than breathing hard and looking up at him.

      “You should na’ have unattached males in your chamber.”

      At her gasp, he continued. “Actually, you should na’ have males in your chamber at all, attached or otherwise. ’Tis too much temptation.”

      “You’re blind,” Sybil replied automatically.

      One side of his mouth lifted. He took another step toward her, entering the space she needed for security, comfort, and protection. Except now. All she could think about now was the arcs of heat that seemed to be leaping from his body directly to hers. If she wanted to, she could swear she’d be able to touch them…and what was worse, they didn’t have far to travel.

      He reached out and lifted a stray strand of hair off her shoulder. Sybil usually had it in two plaits on either side of her head, and then she wrapped those about the crown of her head to get the knee-length tresses out of her way and because it gave her much-needed height. She hadn’t had time to redo it this eve, and tendrils had escaped. She watched as he toyed with one, a mere handspan from her face.

      “Well, I did take a blow to the head,” he said, finally.

      Sybil snorted the giggle through her nose and made such a choked noise that he sobered. There was an instant release from the invisible thread keeping her tautly in place, and she slipped to the right of him and was over by her apothecary cabinet before he could react. The large, locked structure gave her a sense of comfort. Sybil put her back to it and faced him again.

      He was right behind her and heaving a bit for breath. Which was odd. Such a thing as chasing a wench across a room shouldn’t require effort that made every bit of him look tensed and ready to pounce.

      “You ken how lovely you are when you’re disquieted?”

      “I am…not…disquieted.” Her words definitely were sounding like it, though. Lovely? Her heart actually lurched forward, startling her with the strength of it.

      “Nae?” he replied.

      “You are…my stepmother’s…lover. To. Be.” Sybil split the words between pants of breath. She tried to sound stern. It failed. She sounded young and breathless and excited, all of which was terrible.

      “I am?”

      She nodded.

      “On whose authority?” he asked.

      “Why else would you be here?”

      “I came upon a fork in my path. I had a choice. I dinna’ ken that you lay in the midst of it, however.”

      “Is there a truth in there somewhere?” Sybil asked with as much self-confidence as she could muster.

      He tipped his chin down slightly and favored her with a half-slit look from his eyes. The instant result within her was frightening. She had to put her hands to her breast to prevent her heart from leaping right out onto her bodice. Her fingers were trembling, and as she clasped them together she realized the tremor went all the way through her.

      This man knew the extent of his male potency, and he knew how to use it. She’d never been up against such. She’d never before believed it existed.

      “You’re verra young,” he replied finally.

      Sybil gasped for a breath, let it out slowly, and gasped in another. She didn’t answer.

      “And now that I get a good look at you, without the disfigurement of yon cloak and veiling, I see that I was mistaken earlier.”

      “About what?” And curse her own tongue for asking it!

      “The blow dinna’ affect my sight, lady. Dinna’ fash on that. I was referring to your beauty. And my failure to spot it this morn.”

      “You lie,” she replied and dropped her eyes.

      That made it easy to spot his forefinger as he lifted her chin with it, making her face him. The moment he’d touched her, she’d gone so weak in the knees that she’d had to lock them. Then the warm, weak feeling transferred to her hips, up her back, and into her throat, suffusing her with a warmth and sense of security she’d never known or believed existed.

      “You dinna’ look in your mirrors oft, do you?” he asked softly.

      A bit of her realized he was about to kiss her; a larger bit wondered at the reality of it, while the largest portion was still in shock. It had to be. That’s what had her standing so still, holding her breath as she waited, making it easy.

      Vincent hovered above her, a slight smile on his handsome features and his lips pursed in an expression she had now memorized.

      The thudding of her heart got louder, deeper, more strident, and then he was lifting his head with a heavy sigh and looking over his shoulder as he released her to answer the knock.

      The apothecary cabinet rocked slightly with her weight as she fell against it. Sybil was eternally grateful that he was already answering her door and wouldn’t have heard it. Nor would he have seen her legs crumpling beneath her. She’d gained her feet before he opened the door a fraction and peered out and was working on getting her composure in the same state when he turned from contemplation of the hall and closed the door again.

      “What is it?”

      “A serf. Appears they’re requesting you. In the hall.”

      “I dinna’ hear anything.”

      “You canna’ hear anything, because yon serf will na’ venture farther than the top of the steps and whispers his orders from there.”

      “He whispered?”

      “He dinna’ wish to disturb your dragon at his feast. I’m different. And I have great hearing.”

      Sybil tilted her head to one side and peered up at him.

      “What?” he asked.

      “Did he say why?”

      “He dinna’ say much. He does na’ appear fond of your hall. Again.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug of motion. “I canna’ fash why. I found it comfortable enough.”

      “You did?”

      “Aye. And warm, once my body heated the stone floor enough.”

      “Liar.”

      “Ah, lady. I dinna’ lie. Not in truth. I make light of circumstances that I canna’ change, and turn to it with humor to make it palatable.”

      “Why?”

      “It beats the other.”

      “Other?” she asked.

      “Dinna’ tell me you dinna’ do the same. I’ll na’ believe it.”

      “You speak riddles.”

      “Good. Now go. See what they request of you. And then hurry back to me.”

      “I’m na’ leaving you in my chamber!” Her voice rose on the last of her words, making him look at her with one eyebrow cocked high. That look was