Knight's Prize (24 page)

"I
see." His arm went around her shoulders as he pointed to the page.
"And where do you record the losses?"

Miriel
froze. "The losses?"

"Aye."

No
one had ever asked her that. Most of the castle folk couldn't read or do sums,
so they took no interest in Miriel's books. "Well," she hedged,
"as you know, the men of Rivenloch always return their winnings to the
coffers."

"But
what about the Mochries, the Herdclays?"

Miriel
licked her lips. Since Rand couldn't read, she supposed she could make up
anything, and he'd believe it. She pointed to an entry recording the purchase
of tallow candles and said, "The losses go here, in the left column."

"Hm."

Miriel
hated lying to him, but Rand was getting too inquisitive. After all, she could
hardly explain to him that she never bothered recording Rivenloch's losses. Nor
why.

"By
the Saints," she said lightly, "all this must be dreadfully boring
for you."

With
that, she snapped the ledger shut.

************************************

"Not
at all, my love," Rand assured her. Indeed, Miriel's bold deception was
anything but boring. He was glad he'd made the detour into her office. This
manipulative accounting was very suspicious indeed. "How could I be bored
when you're here beside me?" He gave her an unctuous grin.

The
wily wench had lied to him about the ledger.

Of
course, he'd lied to her about not being able to read.

He
knew why he'd deceived
her.
But what was
she
hiding?
Why were there no entries for the silver that her father wagered away? Were his
losses an embarrassment to Miriel that she didn't wish to record? Or something
more devious? Something having to do with a certain woodland outlaw?

He
hoped 'twas the former. It pained him to imagine that the lovely maid beside
him with the wide blue eyes and the guileless smile somehow contrived insidious
accounting plots from the confines of her humble office.

It
troubled him even more deeply to imagine that Miriel might be in league with
The Shadow.

But
he had to get to the truth. And to do that, he'd have to employ more deception.

Rand
had long ago discovered that a coaxing voice and a gentle touch brought out the
honesty in women. He supposed it softened their resolve to lie to him. As much
as he hated using such knavish manipulation on a woman for whom he truly cared,
'twas far more effective than threats.

Besides,
he consoled himself, 'twas not as if Miriel hadn't employed the same kind of
trickery herself. 'Twas she, after all, who had seized him by the tabard and
forced a kiss upon him that first day.

Rand
coiled his fingers in the delicate curls at the nape of her neck, and murmured,
"Would it be too wicked to admit I was pleased to find you alone
here?" He saw her skin shiver deliciously under his touch, and his own
flesh tightened in response. "Forsooth, I feared that meddling maidservant
of yours would chase me away."

"Sung
Li?" Miriel's voice was rough and low. She was definitely savoring his
caresses.

He
dragged his fingertip up along the side of her neck to trace the rim of her
ear, delighting at the shuddering sigh he elicited.

"Aye."
He bent close to nuzzle the lobe of her ear. Lord, she smelled as luscious as
sun-drenched roses. "What ails the wench anyway? She's been limping about
the keep like a lame hound."

He
felt foolish asking the question. The notion that Sung Li might be the one he'd
injured, that Miriel's doddering maid was in sooth an agile outlaw with the
reflexes of a cat, was absurd. But Rand had earned his reputation for
thoroughness by following every lead, even absurd ones. He wasn't ready to rule
out any possibility.

"She's
an old woman," Miriel said on a sigh, "with old bones."

"Ah."
He pressed a kiss against Miriel's throat, reveling in the fragrance of her
skin, in the rapid pulse that beat there. "Do you not keep a store of
medicines to relieve such suffering?" he murmured, knowing full well she
did. She'd treated him with them only a few days ago.

"Medicines?"
she said weakly. "Mm, aye."

He
slipped his fingers beneath her neckline and slowly caressed the tender flesh
above her bosom, idly asking, "Do you list all of them in your ledger as
well?"

"Hm?"

"The
medicines. You're responsible for them?"

"Aye."

God,
she was beautiful, sitting there in the candlelight, her face flushed with
desire, her eyes half-lidded, her nostrils quivering. He wanted to swive her.
Now.

He
clenched his jaw against the urge.

"By
the Rood, my lady," he breathed, "you must have a brilliant mind
indeed." He moved his fingers down, inch by tortuous inch, until they
brushed dangerously close to her nipples. "However do you keep the accounts
straight? Do you write down the name of everyone who comes for medicines?"

She
answered with a throaty sigh that sent a frisson of lust straight into his
loins.

He
forced his voice to a ragged whisper. "The salves you used on me the other
morn, did you record them in the book?"

"Aye."

"With
my name beside?"

"Aye."

He
nodded. 'Twas all he needed to know. With this knowledge, he could sneak into
Miriel's workroom when she was gone and peruse the ledgers, find out which one
recorded the castle supplies, discover who had come for medicines in the last
few days, and compile a list of suspects.

He
had what he required now. At least what his mind required. His loins were
another matter.

For the
last few days, Rand had suffered, playing the courteous suitor, when what he
truly longed to do was ravish Miriel in the nearest dark corner. His mouth hungered
for hers. His nostrils flared with her scent. His body ached for the press of
her soft breasts.

He'd
fought the yearning. The incident in the dovecote had awakened him abruptly to
the fact that he had a serious vulnerability where the bewitching lass was concerned.
Sung Li was right. When he touched Miriel, 'twas more than sparks that ignited between
them, more than flame.

Even
now he felt fire lapping at his veins as Miriel turned her head to gaze at his
mouth, her eyes dark with longing.

But
he dared not indulge his needs. Not yet. Not when he could be so easily led
into carelessness. Despite the aching betwixt his legs, he planned to carry the
damsel gallantly upstairs to her chamber door and bid her a chaste good night.

At
least, 'twas his intent when he withdrew his fingers from her bosom. Until the
damsel burned into the deepest recesses of his soul with her beckoning eyes,
and murmured, "Kiss me."

He
swallowed hard, and his gaze lowered of its own accord to her cherry red lips.
Ah, God, they were tempting. Soft and succulent and delicious.

He
supposed one kiss wouldn't hurt. Especially since 'twas her idea. 'Twas the
least he could do, considering how cruelly he'd abused her trust. Besides, he
was certain he could control his animal instincts for one kiss.

He
was wrong.

************************************

Miriel
knew she was making a mistake, but that didn't stop her from making it. The
sizzle of her hot blood muted the voice of reason. Her skin felt afire, and she
burned for the quenching ambrosia of his kiss.

'Twould
only be one kiss, after all.

The
fact that 'twas nigh midnight, that they were alone in the privacy of her
workroom, that none would come to disturb them, would not affect her judgment.
She only wanted to slake her thirst with a sip of his affection.

The
first touch of his lips assured her 'twould be no easy task to cease. Their
mouths met with a searing heat that melted them together like ores in a
crucible. As their tongues entwined, so did their limbs. Her fists clenched in
his tabard while his fingers plunged through her hair. Again and again, she
strove forward against his mouth, searching for a greater closeness, a more
complete intimacy.

Her
heart beat against her ribs like a caged sparrow as he pulled her closer. She
leaned forward, slanting her mouth over his, possessively wrapping her arms
about his neck, hauling herself into his embrace so ardently that she knocked
over her chair and the pile of ledgers.

But
none of that mattered. All that mattered was the man into whose soul she was
delving.

Suddenly,
with shocking familiarity, he reached down to cup her buttocks and hefted her
onto his lap. She gasped at the heat of his muscular thighs beneath her, a heat
that penetrated the layers of wool and linen between them. She threaded her
fingers through his thick hair, angling his head to better access the warm,
wet, delicious hollows of his mouth.

But
as her blood began to simmer with desire, as her fingers began to scrabble
desperately for purchase in the roiling sea of lust, she felt him withdraw.
'Twas subtle at first, a slowing of their kisses, a lightening of his embrace.
But soon he clasped his hands about her jaw and pulled gently away, panting
heavily against her mouth.

"Miriel...
my love... we mustn't..."

Despite
the smoldering passion in his eyes, the sincere regret in his breathless
words, 'twas like a sobering slap. She knew he was right. If they didn't stop
now, they would
never
stop.
Their ardor was like a wildfire, blazing uncontrolled across the heath.

Licking
her kiss-swollen lips, she closed her eyes, gave him a rueful nod, and withdrew
trembling fingers from his hair. He cradled her then, holding her close against
his shoulder, while they caught their breath.

When
she lifted her desire-weighted eyelids toward the wall, what she saw made her
eyes go wide.

Sweet
Jesu! When they'd knocked the stack of ledgers over, the tapestry had been
dislodged as well. It now hung askew, and from this angle, it clearly revealed
the ragged edge of rock and the darkness beyond that comprised Miriel's secret
passageway.

The
breath caught in her throat. Dear God, what could she do? At any moment, he
would turn his head and see it. She couldn't let that happen.

Her
brain raced through several possibilities.

She
could pretend to be sick. Nay, more tasteful, she could burst into tears. She
was good at that. Perchance in his concern for her, he'd overlook the gaping
hole in the side of her office.

Nay,
'twas too uncertain.

She
could topple all the candles, in the hopes of instantly extinguishing the light
in the room. But if they didn't gutter out, they might set something on fire.

She
could knock him unconscious. She knew strategic pressure points that would
slump him over in an instant, giving her time to straighten the tapestry. But
'twould be impossible to explain his faint later.

Nay,
she had to distract him somehow.

What
was the best way to distract a man?

That
was easy to answer. Doing it was another matter.

Wincing
against the impropriety of such wanton behavior, she brazenly slipped her hand
over the bulge between Rand's legs and gently squeezed.

Chapter
15

“Lass
!"
Rand gasped, jolting with the shock of her touch. But his shock turned rapidly
to lust, and a groan of pleasure was wrung from him as she continued to clasp
him with bold possession.

Lord,
the wench was wicked. And she didn't play fair. 'Twas difficult enough to curb
his passions without her taunting him thus.

"Aye?"
she sighed into his ear.

He
shuddered. Her palm was stroking along the length of him now with sensual
leisure. The cursed woman knew exactly what she was doing. She had him at her
mercy.

But
two could play at that game.

He
eased one hand up the side of her surcoat and brazenly cupped her breast.

'Twas
her turn to gasp, yet she made no move to halt him. Instead, with startled
surprise in her eyes, she leaned forward, trying to deflect him by reengaging
him in a kiss.

This
time he pulled back, pinning her with a purposely seductive stare while he
brushed his thumb over the spot where he knew her nipple to be.

She
groaned, and her lids dipped as he felt her nipple awaken to his touch, even
beneath her surcoat. Then, as if in reprisal for his aggression, she reached
lower to cradle his ballocks.