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“This time, try to focus on your breathing,” he said, his hot mouth against her ear. “In... and out...” How in God’s name? she inwardly screamed. She felt close to fainting. Her skin tightened at the sound of his voice, the way he spoke those words against her neck as if they meant something else entirely.
She was acutely aware of every inch of her body, how her skin felt against the fabric of her dress, how her hair brushed against her cheeks in the cool breeze.
Blanchette felt the warmth of his body enveloping her. She could smell his scent—ale and sweat and leather and something indefinable that made her heart race. She was growing wet down there, between her hot thighs.
“You are very good with her. Mary, I mean.”
He hesitated, then met her eyes. “When she was a babe, I was the only one who could put her to sleep. Not Beatrice or the wet nurse. I’d sing to her… I still remember how it felt, her little hand gripping my finger…” His confession faded into silence. Then he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“But it does, Rowan. It matters more than anything. She yearns to be close to you. You?—”
“Must keep your elbow up,” he whispered close to her ear, his body brushing against hers, his arousal pushing against her hip. She grew wetter, hotter, and little currents sang in her veins. “Yes, right there, Your Grace.”
Blanchette turned to face him. She was met with a gaze filled with a fiery intensity she’d never seen before. She could feel her cheeks flushing as she realized just how close they stood. They were practically one. His hand still rested on her hip, and she could feel the warmth of his fingers seeping through the fabric of her dress.
Rowan’s eyes roamed over her face, taking in every feature, every curve, every nuance of expression. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time and couldn’t look away. Their eyes locked for several weightless moments.
She parted her lips and expelled a long-drawn-out breath.
He studied her mouth.
Kiss me…
“Are you ready?”
She nodded.
But ready for what?
Blanchette closed her eyes, letting Rowan’s words wash over her. She could feel her body relaxing under his gentle touch and guidance, and she took a deep breath in, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. He placed his large hand across her abdomen and applied gentle pressure.
“Good,” Rowan murmured. “Now, draw back... and let go.”
Let go.
But if I let go, I shall fall…
Blanchette’s eyes sprang open. The arrow had hit the target dead center. She let out a small gasp of delight. Then she turned up to Rowan, excitement racing through her.
“I did it!”
Rowan smiled at her, his eyes darkening with a hunger she couldn’t quite understand. “Yes, you did,” he breathed. “And you’ll do it again... and again... and again.”
* * *
Seven years earlier
“His orders were clear, Rowan. Are you mad? You cannot defy him. Not again.”
Rowan unconsciously dug his heels into Sunbeam’s sides as he adjusted his body in the saddle. Edrick’s mount stood beside him. Together, they looked down from the hill and across Norland’s great expanse. Where farms and fields once grew in abundance, nothing lay but frozen earth. The winter had hit hard, and King Bartholomew had hit harder still.
“I promised them they’d walk free. So long as they laid down their swords and stopped this revolt, they could live under the king’s peace again. I promised them their safety!”
“And what of yours? What of your family’s?”
Who am I without my honor?
What sort of knight harms the innocent?
