For My Lady's Honor

“’Tis said that patience is a virtue, milady. I’ve no doubt you’re a virtuous lass—”

“’Tis also said that virtue is its own reward,” she pointed out. She stepped onto the rock-strewn rim of the pool, her bare feet shifting on the slippery stones. “I’m not certain I believe ’tis true, though. Have you ever noticed that the most virtuous people you meet seem the least happy?”

Aye, he could not disagree with that. He closed his eyes for a moment as memories swept through him. His own mother, Lord rest her, had been an intensely virtuous woman—yet to her, life had been a constant misery of disappointment and sorrow. No one and nothing could ever meet her standards; he’d stopped trying when he’d scarce the years or wisdom to understand the impossibility of it. Only by the grace of God—and his cousin Lady Catrin—had he escaped that torment.

He’d often wondered, in the years since his mother’s death, if she’d simply died of frustration that the world fell short of her measure.

While he’d been momentarily lost in the shadows of the past, Lady Alys had made her way around the pond. Her gown hiked up to her knees, she waded through the shallows, her face alight and her lips curled into a winsome smile that set his heartbeat racing.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. By the rood, but he wished he were dressed! He felt at a distinct disadvantage, trapped here in the water while Lady Alys, all unknowing, tempted him nigh beyond endurance. The gauzy fabric of her gown—naught more than her undertunic, he’d vow—clung to her where she’d got it wet, the thin material outlining her curves and heating his blood further.

His mouth dry, his mind numb, Padrig sought in vain for the words to deliver himself from this situation. In her innocent dishabille Lady Alys was seduction personified; now that he’d seen her thus, he doubted he’d ever again be able to treat her with the deference a lady of her station deserved.

“The water is so soothing,” she said, ignoring his question.

Soothing? Was she mad?

He drew in a deep breath. There was nothing soothing about the look in her eyes—no, nor little of the innocent, either, he noted.

His pulse thrummed harder. Damn the woman! She knew precisely the effect she was causing, he’d warrant.

Damn him, for finding that truth so exciting. He took a step back, in the futile hope of hiding his rampaging body.

“Lady Alys—” His voice sounded strange even to his own ears.

“Aye, Sir Padrig?” she asked, her tone light with merriment as she followed him. “Was there something you wanted of me?”

He bit back a groan. “Go back to the camp,” he said flatly.

The glow of mirth brightening her eyes faded, replaced by embarrassment. A bright tide of pink swept up her face and she looked away from him.

“Milady—” He’d not meant to upset her, only to bring a halt to her teasing before it went too far.

Her shoulders set in a rigid line, Lady Alys spun on her heel, lost her footing, and, letting out a shriek, came tumbling into Padrig’s arms.

Chapter Two

Padrig caught her as she fell backwards. She barely even touched the water—a testament to his knightly prowess, no doubt. Whatever the reason, Alys was glad of it, for in spite of her taunting prowl through the pool, she’d no desire to immerse herself completely.

He gathered her close and hiked her up into his arms. She gasped at the touch of his wet flesh, for despite the icy water and the slight breeze wafting gently over them, Padrig’s fiery skin smoldered through the linen of her gown as though the fabric didn’t exist. Hot, firm muscles lightly dusted with dark hair and the sensation of Padrig’s chest and stomach against her was nigh branded upon her body for all time.

“I ought to drop you right here,” he muttered. He raised her slightly away from him, still holding her easily within his grasp. “’Twould be no more than you deserve.”

“Don’t you dare!” Alys shifted in his hold and wrapped her arms tight about his neck lest he try to make good upon the threat, although a swift glance at his face confirmed her suspicion that he’d not actually do so.

The movement brought her face close to his. Her mouth tingled with the need to touch his, to test the contrast between the dark whiskers on his jaw and the surprising softness of his lips. Mouth dry, she swallowed and dragged her gaze down before she gave in to temptation.

She should have glanced away instead, however, for everything within her view tempted her.

And she could not look away.

She had to dig her fingers into his shoulders to keep from stroking the smooth, tanned flesh within her reach. ’Twas a feast for her senses; she felt nigh drunk on the feel of him, the fresh scent of his wet body, the warmth radiating out from him to envelop her like a cloak. ’Twas as though they were linked together by invisible bonds. She glanced up and met his eyes—a mistake, for they smoldered with a heat fit to match that of his skin. She dared not hold his gaze, for fear she’d lose her will completely if she did.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head to clear her muzzy thoughts, the movement tugging sharply at her hair where it was caught between their bodies. When she drew away from him to free herself, a feeling of loss rushed over her. The sensation, though painful, brought her to her senses; she wriggled loose and dropped into the water with a splash.

’Twas so cold! The water closed over her head for but a moment before Padrig hauled her up and out of it, but ’twas enough to clear her wits. A tide of heat rose to her face as her actions replayed themselves in her mind.

What had she been about, to tease and taunt him as she had?

Alys found her footing, rose and swiped her wet hair out of her eyes. Backing toward shore, she risked a glance at Padrig, then whirled away from him in shock.

He’d come after her, leaving the protective cover of the water. He stood before her in all his naked glory—and by the Virgin, he was a glorious sight. Fully aroused, his wet body gleamed in the early morning light.

Somehow she forced her reluctant feet into motion, away from him, toward the camp.

Unlike her journey to the pool, this time she noted nothing of her surroundings. Instead all she could see in her mind’s eye was Padrig, her only thought a question pulsing repeatedly through her brain.

How in God’s name could she become a nun now?

Padrig watched Alys stumble away from him and along the path with mixed feelings. ’Twas for the best that she’d left, no doubt—but by the rood, how he wished she’d stayed!

He grinned. The Lady Alys he’d observed at l’Eau Clair—though he’d not seen her much, ’twas true—had led him to believe her to be vague, distracted, scarcely aware of her surroundings. She’d surprised him this morn, her actions and her words both, for she’d been quick-witted, clever and enticing.

He had noticed her very soon after his return to l’Eau Clair several weeks ago. She was a comely lass, petite but curvaceous, her dark chestnut hair and light amber eyes a striking contrast to her alabaster skin. Something made her stand out among the young ladies in Lady Gillian’s household, though he could not say what made that so, for more than a few of them were beautiful.

Still, when he’d tried to speak with her on several occasions, she’d scurried away with scarce a word to him—she’d barely even looked his way.

When he’d asked about Lady Alys, he’d been told by Hugh, one of the other knights in Lord Rannulf’s train, that she was nigh a lack-wit, scatterbrained to the point where Lady Gillian despaired of teaching her much of anything. She appeared cautious of men, so that none had managed to lure her into the slightest indiscretion—though not for want of trying, Hugh had added with a wry laugh. It had soon become apparent, though, that Lady Alys seemed lost in a world of her own, unaware of most everything and everyone around her.

Not worth the bother.

A day ago, he might have agreed—reluctantly, ’twas true, for he’d continued to be drawn to her.

Yet now… Now he could only wonder which woman was the real Lady Alys.

He bit back a laugh. He had no doubt which he’d rather she be!

Though in truth, it should matter naught to him whether she were a woman, a horse, a missive to be conveyed. So far as he was concerned, delivering her safely to her father’s care should be a responsibility he must fulfill.

Nothing more.

Yet he’d never before felt anything stronger than a sense of duty toward anyone he’d been obligated to escort, to protect.

Nor should he now, he reminded himself sternly, no matter how sweet, how enticing the provocation.

Padrig waded to the side of the pool where he’d left his clothes and sword, relishing the sensation of the breeze on his damp skin. His body had finally begun to cool, now that Lady Alys was no longer there to tempt him, though the desire she’d stirred still simmered low in his belly and thrummed through his blood like the hot, dark embers buried deep within the heart of a banked fire.

He’d do well to ignore that craving until it disappeared, rather than let his continued exposure to the lady rouse it to fever pitch again. A man in his position couldn’t afford to give in to his passions whenever he encountered a pretty maid.