AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His tongue probed her lips, opening her, and plunged deep. It chased hers in fiery dance, then encircled and suckled, pulling her deeper, unleashing a maelstrom of desire so intense her sole imperative was to have all of him.
She fumbled at the waistband of her trousers, desperate to open herself to the sleek hardness pressed against her, to feel it invade her body as his tongue had conquered her mouth.
Suddenly, in a shock of cold air, he pushed her away. In a tumult of clashing sensations—desperate need, impatience to continue, dismay that he had stopped—she finally heard it: the clatter of jangling harness, a murmur of voices as travellers approached down the road.
At least she had the solace of knowing he felt the same desire and disappointment. As he backed away, he grabbed her chin and, one last time, his mouth captured hers. Then, before refastening the single button she’d managed to unloose in her trouser flap, he slid a hand through the opening and stroked his fingers swiftly across the hot waiting flesh.
Just that glancing touch to the sensitive nub jolted through her like a lightning bolt, the sensation so powerful that, had it lasted a touch longer, she would have reached her release.
When had she last felt that joy? Had she ever felt it so intensely?
Gasping, disoriented, Elodie tried to settle her agitated senses as travellers came into view on the road beyond. Soon, a group of friars with cart and cattle slowly lumbered past.
‘Would that I could get away with kissing my soon-to-be-former valet one last time,’ Ransleigh murmured against her ear, the warmth of his breath setting her still-acutely sensitive body pulsing again. ‘But you wished for a group to travel with and I think the Lord just answered that prayer. Given how we were engaged as they arrived, you can’t say the Almighty doesn’t have a sense of humour.’
Trying to quell the desire still raging through him, Will concentrated on regulating his breathing as he and Madame Lefevre watched the monks plod past.
As soon as the dust settled, she turned back to him. ‘Travelling under the protection of the good friars is tempting, but we’d be rather conspicuous, don’t you think? Unless you have robes, hoods, sandals and rope belts hidden in that bag.’
‘Not yet, but I will. By the quantity of cattle and the amount of goods in the wagon, this group must have been to the farmers’ market at Sonnenburg. Moving as slowly as they are, they probably spent the night at the religious guesthouse we passed at mid-morning. You stay here; I’ll ride back and obtain what we need to become “Brother Pierre” and “Brother LeClair”.’
‘That’s outrageous!’
‘What, you don’t think you can pass as a monk?’
‘No! Well, yes, but lying to a priest? A whole group of priests?’
She looked so aghast, he had to laugh. ‘Ah, so you do possess some scruples! I, alas, have none. Come now, think of it as … divine intervention sent to protect you. It would be a wonderful disguise, you must admit. We could travel south to wherever they are going, spend a few days at their monastery and then head for Paris. Absolutely no one would think to look for us dressed as monks.’
She nodded reluctantly. ‘That’s true enough.’
‘If it chafes your conscience so badly to dissemble to the holy brothers, you could confess the deception before we leave. Besides, even if we admit we are in disguise, have not religious houses for millennia offered sanctuary to those in danger?’
Since she didn’t immediately lodge another protest, Will knew she was weakening. Though he thought it a brilliant plan, her concession was all he needed.
‘I suppose so,’ she admitted at last. ‘But how do you plan to obtain the supplies? The guesthouse isn’t a clothing shop.’
‘I’m sure the friars have a few robes and vestments they can spare. I’ll tell the abbot there was a fire at my monastery that destroyed some of the brothers’ robes and, as penance for some misdeed, I pledged to replace them. If I let him charge twice what they are worth, I’m sure I can persuade him to sell me a few.’
Frowning, madame wrapped her arms around her head. At Will’s raised eyebrow, she said, ‘I shield myself from the lightning bolt the bon Dieu will surely send to punish your sacrilege.’
Will chuckled. ‘Never mind the good Lord, just protect yourself from view by passing travellers. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour to reach the guesthouse. I’ll have us outfitted and on our way to catch up with the friars before nightfall.’
As promised, after a glib explanation and a generous donation, Will returned to madame’s hiding place two hours later with the necessary robes, hoods, belts and shoes. After giving her some privacy to change into the latest disguise—and trying very hard to avoid the further sacrilege of imagining her naked—he stowed the rest of their provisions and clothing in the saddlebags.
A few moments later, she returned, face lowered beneath the shadowing hood, hands clasped together in her sleeves in a prayerful attitude, looking the very picture of a humble friar.
‘What an excellent Brother Pierre you make!’ he marvelled. ‘If I didn’t know your identity, I would absolutely believe you a man of God.’
She shuddered. ‘Please, don’t tempt the Lord’s wrath again by claiming that! Since Armitage knows our current aliases, we should complete the blasphemy by changing names. Shall I be “Brother Innocent” and you, “Brother Francis”?’
‘Of Assisi?’ he asked with a grin, following her thoughts.
‘Yes. A sinner and voluptuary before he came to the Lord. Perhaps the so-divine aura of the name will stick,’ she replied tartly. ‘I intend to protect what’s left of my immortal soul by swearing a vow of silence. You will have to spin this web of lies by yourself.’
Throwing herself up on to her mount, she rode off. He was still chuckling when he caught up to her. But, true to her declaration, she ignored his attempt to converse. After a few snubs, he left her to her chosen silence.
Watching her, bent humble and prayerful over the saddle, Will had to shake his head. Madame Lefevre adopted the role of holy brother as quickly and unquestioningly as she had transformed herself from a gentlewoman into an old man into a valet. Will wished his subordinates on his army missions had understood their roles and mastered them as quickly and completely.
Not that she was merely a follower. Had she not astutely observed that travelling in a group offered them the best chance to evade their pursuers and reach Paris undetected, he might never have recognised the potential in that passing group of monks.
He had to appreciate the good Lord’s sense of irony. How much better a rebuke to the raging desire that had nearly made him take her by the roadside in the full daylight, where anyone might have discovered them, than to send a band of friars?
But, as that same good Lord knew, even in men’s garb, Elodie Lefevre posed enough temptation to break the will of a saint and he was nothing close to that.
All those days telling stories, his gaze continually straying to her soft lips and generous mouth, while eyes blue as the lake at Swynford Court in June focused on him with complete concentration, as if he were the only being in the universe. Wisps of brown hair escaping from under the homespun cap made him itch to slide their silkiness through his fingertips, while his hands ached to cup the softness of those pale, freckled cheeks. Mesmerised by her, he rambled on, recounting by rote stories with which he’d regaled fellow soldiers at camps and billets and dinners from the barren heights of Badajoz to the ballrooms of Brussels, all his will needed to resist the ravaging hunger to taste those lips, invade that soft mouth, pull the essence of her into him, possess her and all her secrets.
It had been worth it, worth everything, to begin the process with that kiss. She tasted of the bread and wine she’d praised, of lavender and woman. He’d hardly begun to penetrate her mystery, to discover the source of that amazing ability to block out all the world’s dangers and embrace the joy of a single moment, but he’d learned she was no sensual innocent.
She’d kissed him back with fire and expertise, fanning his passion to an intensity he couldn’t remember ever reaching so quickly before. If not for the inextinguishable instinct for survival born of six years living on the streets, he would never have heard the travellers approach—or been able to force himself away from her.
Just then, he spotted the dust cloud in the distance that marked the progress of the monks who’d passed them earlier. Gesturing towards it, he said, ‘Time for Act Two to begin.’ He checked a smile at the scowl ‘Brother Innocent’ threw him as he spurred his mount forwards.
Reining in beside the group, Will slid from the saddle and greeted the monks with a nod and the sign of the cross. ‘God’s peace, good brothers! Where are you bound?’
‘His peace to you as well,’ replied a monk mounted on a donkey, to whom the others deferred. ‘We travel to our abbey at Leonenburg, which we should reach just after nightfall. And you?’
‘Returning from Vienna on a mission for our abbot. I’m Brother Francis and this is Brother Innocent—who pledged a vow of silence towards the success of our journey. May we join you?’
