Читать книгу Bride Of The Tower - Sharon Schulze - Страница 12

Julianna kept tight hold of the missive she’d found in her patient’s pack, despite his unyielding grip on her fingers and the way his body pinned hers to the rough plaster wall. He might be bigger and stronger than she, but from the way he trembled and rested his weight against her—as much for support, she’d guess, as to hold her in place—she’d only to remain patient and wait a bit before she won this battle.

Before she could read the rest of the letter addressed to her enemy.

His warmth sank through her clothing and into her flesh, tempting her traitorous body anew and reminding her what a fool she’d been. To trust a stranger for even a moment, to lust for a stranger’s touch, when she knew naught of whether he be ally or foe.

Dear God, she must be mad!

The sense of betrayal gave her the determination to slip from beneath his weight. He tightened his grasp, however, his hand fisted around hers, the parchment crumpling within her hold as he spun her around to face him.

“Have a care who you call traitor, milady,” he warned, bending so close to her, his whiskers scraped along her jaw. “Else I’ll be forced to judge you traitor instead.” A swift glance at his face showed no weakness now, only a steady resolve she’d do well to heed. Though his blue eyes burned with fever and pain, she couldn’t mistake the outrage lurking there. Had she insulted him? Could it be that he was no more a traitor than she?

Or mayhap he was simply better at disguising his true nature.

She pushed away from him, making him reel for a moment before he caught his balance against the wall. He retained his grip on her hand, however, maddening her all the more. “With what reason?” she asked. “I am a true and loyal subject of our king—”

“Are you?” he ground out, straightening to his full height and taking a step toward her. “I know nothing of you, lady—not so much as who you are, or the name of this place.”

“Tuck’s Tower,” she told him with hard-won calm. “Do you know of it?”

He shook his head. Then, his lips twisting into a mocking smile at odds with the steel in his gaze, he tugged her nearer. “But who are you? A lady dressed in warrior’s garb…I’ve only known of one other woman who would do so. ’Tis uncommon, you must admit—rare enough to raise questions in a curious man’s mind. Do you command the defense of Tuck’s Tower, milady?” With his free hand he cupped her chin, then slid his fingers down along her neck and over her shoulder before stopping, his open palm pressed lightly just above her breast. “’Tis a puzzle certain to entice a man,” he murmured. “Or could it be you’re simply a siren, meant to lure a man to your bed and render him your slave?”

The low timbre of his voice sent a shiver of awareness down her spine and made her heartbeat thrum faster beneath his hand—he found her alluring?—before the insult of his words and bold caress made its way to her poor besotted brain. He mocked her, more likely.

Though it took all her resolve, she reached up and yanked his hand away. “Hardly a siren,” she scoffed with a mirthless laugh. “Nor a puzzle, either. I am simply a woman, though one with no wiles to tempt a man. I scarce appear a woman at all.” She grabbed the loose-fitting tail of her shirt and held it out. “A man’s garb, stout armor and a strong sword are hardly the weapons of enticement, though they serve me well enough.”

“Aye, they suit you well indeed, milady,” he said, his gaze roaming along her from head to toe, lingering upon her legs in their snug braes before rising to her face and pinning her fast within the heated blue of his eyes. Sudden awareness hardened his features; he shook his head and glanced away for a moment. When he turned back to her, his expression pensive, he added, “Mayhap you’re naught but an outlaw or a robber, then, setting upon any hapless traveler who passes your way. This is Sherwood Forest, after all.”

How dare he accuse her? “The blow to your head has clearly scrambled your brain. I saved your worthless life, you idiot! Is that the act of a robber?” she demanded.

Throughout their discourse he’d retained his hold on her hand and the parchment she’d found in his pack—a fact she had scarce noted till now, to her shame—but her fury made her aware of it, and gave her the impetus to jerk herself free.

It infuriated her all the more that he let her.

“You’ll find no outlaws here—” She clamped her mouth shut, afraid her temper might lead her into dangerous waters. She drew in a calming breath. “Nor traitors, either.”

Julianna wanted nothing more than to pound out her anger and frustration upon his chest, but she greatly feared that to touch him thus would do naught but beguile her to lay her hands on him in other, less aggressive ways.

Sweet Mary save her, had she lost all sense of self-preservation, of right and wrong? The man called her robber and traitor, and what did she do but seek to draw his attention to her in any way she could. She knew better.

She stepped away before her temper led her into worse foolishness, pausing an arm’s length away. ’Twould be better to ease the tension between them than to aggravate it further. Closing her eyes, she combed her hair back from her face with one hand and eased her grip on the parchment with the other. “Thus far we’ve managed to do nothing but provoke each other,” she said, trying to infuse her voice with a note of apology. “Surely we can be more civil than that—and resolve our differences, whatever they might be.”

“I’m willing if you are,” he said, his expression amused.

Did he doubt she was capable of civility? If so, he’d reason, she had to admit. She’d shown scant evidence of courtesy to him.

Though she did know the trappings of well-mannered behavior, she’d look a complete fool to curtsey in shirt and braes. He’d have to be satisfied with polite words, not actions.

She eased her crushing grip on the letter and lowered her hands to her sides. “I am Julianna d’Arcy,” she said, nodding. “I bid you welcome to Tuck’s Tower.”

“You are lady of this keep?”

A strange question, but asked in a most reasonable tone—mildly curious, not accusing or judgmental in any way. “Aye, and defender of it, as well.”

He nodded, then, taking her free hand in his, he swept a low bow. “Lady Julianna, I am William Bowman, a simple knight in the service of Lord Rannulf FitzClifford.” His gaze fixed upon hers, he raised her hand to his lips. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you,” he said, the words causing nigh as much effect as the feel of his fingers stroking her palm and his mouth upon her flesh.

Julianna nearly snatched her hand away before he straightened and released her, so intense was her reaction to the change in his voice. ’Twas all she could do to suppress the quiver skimming over her skin at the sound of it, to resist the urge to lean closer to him, to bask in the feel of that audible touch.

Oh, but he was a clever man! No doubt he used that low, caressing murmur as a weapon to manipulate women; he’d be a fool not to.

But he’d soon discover it had no effect upon her.

She’d see to that, she vowed, no matter how difficult it was to accomplish.

No matter how much it went counter to the inclination of her suddenly traitorous body.

She drew herself up to her full height, tried for an imperious bearing, met his gaze and gave a cool nod. “Now then, Sir William—”

“Will,” he said with an easy smile.

Did he think to cozen her with but a smile? She’d dealt with charming men before—aye, she knew any number of persuasive scoundrels. She also knew ’twas best to give them no chance to attempt to work their wiles upon her. It did naught but annoy her, though with Sir William, she feared her reaction would be anything but annoyance.

He’d not find her an easy target.

“Sir William, what were you doing wandering through Sherwood alone?” she asked.

Will held Lady Julianna’s gaze, silently pondering the sudden change in her bearing. Thus far in their brief acquaintance he’d seen her soft and yielding beneath him, and fierce as any warrior. But this serene woman, wearing the mantle of command so effortlessly on her shoulders, showed him another facet of her altogether—for despite the well-worn men’s garb she wore, he could never mistake her for anything but a noble lady.

He weighed the determination in her amber eyes, his mind—still awhirl from the battering he’d taken—pondering the best way to proceed. She still held one of Lord Rannulf’s letters clutched in her hand, and the leather pouch he’d carried them in lay on the floor behind her. Though ’twould be a pleasure indeed to take his time with her, he’d no business toying with a lady.

Nor did he have time to dally here; Lord Rannulf had set him a task, one he’d yet to complete. It was too important for him to let anything go awry.

Could he bargain with her for the letter? Or would she simply hand it over to him if he asked?

Her lips firmed; her expression, though weary, showed not a whit of compliance. Though she’d been civil, indeed, ’twas clear she’d not simply give in. His pulse quickened in anticipation.

He smiled, and Lady Julianna’s chin rose, her look of stubbornness growing more pronounced. Though he knew he’d have to work to regain his possessions, there was no reason he couldn’t enjoy the process. He’d always enjoyed a good fight, especially a verbal one.

And it appeared his warrior lady had every intention of enjoining him in battle.