Lord of the Blade (20 page)

Corbett refilled his goblet with wine and
removed the cover from his platter of food.

"I like black. If you think 'tis so morbid,
what color do you suggest I wear?"

She stroked her chin in thought as she eyed
the luxurious purple curtains around the bed.

"I think purple is nice."

"Purple?" He shoved a piece of venison into
his mouth, chewing vigorously. "Hah! purple may be a good color for
bed curtains, or knaves like Malcomn, but you'll not find me ever
wearing the likes of it."

He figured this girl would do anything she
could to raise his temper and ruin his meal. She had consumed his
attention so much, that he had just only realized his food was
cold.

"I told you I like it hot!" he slammed his
fist so hard upon the wooden chest, that the platter jumped.

"It was hot!" she raised her voice to match his.
"And would still be, if you had eaten it at once, instead of trying
to lure me into your bath."

"Sit down, and be quiet so I can finish my
cold meal in peace." He pointed to a spot next to him on the bed.
She looked at him without moving.

"I said, sit down!”

She moved so quickly, she ended up sitting
on the helm of his sword, which lay next to him. She jumped back to
her feet, and Corbett found himself almost choking on his food as
he held back a laugh.

"You must be careful," he nonchalantly
reminded her. "My sword is not very forgiving, although I may not
be so harsh if I were in its position right now."

Devon shook her head. "You speak as if I
should be calling your sword by name."

"My sword has not yet been named."

"Well, then I suppose it should be done
promptly, so I may pay it proper respect."

"I suppose you are right, however I am not
good at naming things."

She strolled closer, actually seeming to
consider this. "Well, surely you had no trouble in naming your
stallion or raven?"

He continued to eat, refusing to answer.

"They do have names.” She moved her face
closer to his. “Don't they?"

"Of course." He took another gulp of wine,
not offering any more information.

Devon leaned her hands on the trunk,
bringing her face even closer. Corbett couldn’t help but see down
the neck of the tunic she wore, and swallowed deeply, trying to
look away.

"And those names would be…"

He hated having to admit he didn't have
any.

"Well, I call my stallion…boy, and my
bird…raven." He nodded his head as if the idea pleased him and
wiped his mouth in his sleeve.

"I do not believe it. Are you so unattached
to anything, that you cannot even find the closeness in your heart
to name your loyal animals?"

She was more right than she knew. He never
wanted to get close to anyone or anything again. The pain was still
too bad from losing both his parents, three of his siblings and
even his best friend, Orrick.

"Well, if you feel you can do better, go
ahead. Let me hear you name my sword."

She stood silent, a small pout on her lips.
She licked her lips, about driving him mad at the sight of her
tongue running over something he’d already had the joy of
tasting.

"That’s what I thought. You can’t do it
either.”

"I have no desire to name your sword."

"Then tell me, for I am truly curious, what
is it that you desire?"

"A man like you could never understand what
a woman like me could desire."

"Well, how do you expect me to learn when
you constantly challenge me and show disrespect?"

"I meant no disrespect, my lord." The
apologetic tone in her voice sent not only a gratifying feeling to
Corbett's head, but also a curious need to know more of this
mysterious woman. This evening was not at all turning out the way
he had hoped it to, and though he had set his mind to disciplining
her, he could no longer do it. He slowly picked up his sword and
unsheathed it before her. Her eyes grew wide with anticipation.

"Relax," he reassured her, "for I don't mean
to harm you. I was merely thinking."

"My lord?"

"Realize it or not, you have just named my
sword." He held it high, watching the reflections beaming back and
forth from the light of the candle next to the bed.

"I have?" She seemed most confused.

"I know my sword better than I do myself,"
he explained, turning it over to inspect it, and rubbing the pommel
with his sleeve to shine it further. His fingers traced the outline
of the four intertwined rings. If only he had had the chance to
know his siblings.

"'Tis true," Devon agreed.

"My sword has been with me since the day my
father passed away. It is like an extension of my own arm. In fact,
I'd say I know it better than I have ever known any woman.
Although, I've never felt compelled to really know a woman.” He
looked at her. “Until now."

Devon dipped her head and smiled shyly.
Lowering his sword to his side, he reached out and raised her
chin.

"If I could only know you the way I know my
sword. For yes, Devon, I truly long to discover your desires."

"I…I…"

"Shhhhhhh," he placed one finger to her
lips, feeling her softness beneath his callused skin. "Let me
finish, as I've yet to reveal to you my sword's name.” Triumphant
that his sword would now bear a name - an honor he should have seen
to long ago, he held his sword proudly in the air. "Behold!" he
exclaimed. "You are now feasting your eyes upon
Devon's
Desire
."

Devon's mouth dropped open in pure shock.
"You wouldn't. You couldn't."

"You said I should name it, did you not?" He
tested the weight of his sword in his hand, watching her with a
sideways glance.

"Aye, but . . . "

"And you also insinuated that I knew naught
of your desires?"

"But I didn't mean for you to - "

"'Tis done," he said with finality. The
sword was now named, and nothing she could say would change his
mind. "My sword is like my right hand as I rule over my land. And
in time, I hope to understand more of Devon. Devon the land, as
well as the woman."

Devon silently cursed Heartha for naming her
after the land of Devonshire. His land. 'Twas an awkward position
she had been thrown into, and she honestly doubted any woman of a
different name would ever have to endure the embarrassment she now
felt. Surely, a fine knight like Corbett would never have named his
sword,
Edna's Desire
, or
Gertrude's Desire
. Oh how
she now regretted she had been given such an admirable name.

"Well?" he asked, holding his sword up in
front of her. “What do you think of my sword now?"

This act caught her by surprise, and she
staggered back a step to make distance between herself and this
magnificent, huge weapon.

"You…uh…have one of the biggest swords I
have ever seen," she stammered.

"Oh really?" he asked, watching her face
redden. “And how many men's swords have you had the pleasure of
seeing?"

She knew what he meant. If she tried to fake
ignorance, he would only make things worse.

"Just yours, my lord,” she answered
softly.

He put his sword back into the scabbard and
placed it carefully back on the bed. He had no doubt she was a
virgin, but still needed to hear her admit it.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" he asked, but
Devon remained silent.

"Sit down," he softly said, pushing his
sword to the side, and patting the bed with his hand. She
hesitated, then walked over and did as he asked.

"Have some wine." She refused the goblet he
handed to her. "It will help to relax you, now have some wine."

"No thank you, I am already relaxed."

"I order you to have some wine." His voice
startled her and she grabbed the goblet and chugged down the whole
thing before handing it back to him.

"That is better," he said, refilling it for
the third time that night. "Now, I promised you a good meal before
I left for the hunting trip, and I intend to keep my word." He cut
the trencher in half with his knife and motioned for her to
eat.

Devon eyed the venison she had so
desperately craved now sitting upon the cut bread. She never would
have thought she would share her trencher someday with a lord, let
alone actually be tasting the meat that was served only to nobles.
But as much as she wanted it, she was determined to defy him. She’d
challenged him to share a meal with her on the hunt and he refused.
She’d refuse him now in private.

"I am not hungry."

"I do not care if you are not hungry. I
promised you a good meal, now I command you to eat."

Before she could ponder his statement,
Corbett scooped up a piece of venison and shoved it into her mouth.
His fingers slipped between her lips as he placed the succulent
meat on her tongue. Laden in rich gravy and spices, Devon’s mouth
watered as she basked in the flavor.

"I have never tasted venison," she admitted.
"Now that I have, I realize there is naught better."

"Oh yes, there is." His sultry grin led her
to proceed with caution. "Hot venison,” he said with a smile, and
she found herself smiling along with him.

"Well, if you like your game hot, my lord,
then that is the way I will make sure it will always be." She saw
his eyes widen at her play on words.

"I will look forward to that," he reassured
her with a wolfish grin.

Devon eagerly accepted the goblet of wine he
handed her. "I have never tasted fine wine before tonight either."
She handed back the goblet, and he had to steady her wavering
arm.

"Well, I would venture to say, you would
have many new tastes before this night is over."

"And I would venture to say, so would
you."

Devon picked a piece of venison off the
trencher. She slowly, and deliberately placed it into her mouth.
Corbett squirmed as she sucked the juices from her fingers, and
then used the tip of her tongue to lick her lips.

“Don’t play temptress unless you are
prepared to deal with the consequences.”

She liked the playfulness between them, and ignored
his warning. She picked up a saucy piece of venison, and held it up
to his mouth.

"Now, ’tis your turn." She pressed it to his
lips, but he refused to open.

"I command you to eat," she whispered his
own mocking words into his ear, letting her tongue flick his lobe
in the process.

"I will not take orders from a - " It was
too late. She had tricked him into opening his mouth. Corbett
admired her cunning. And he thought
she
would be eating out
of
his
hand by the end of the evening. God's teeth, how fate
had taken a wicked turn. Now that she had him, he knew he would be
on his knees if she kept it up. He grabbed her hand, and purposely,
deliberately sucked the creamy sauce off each of her fingers in a
slow, seductive way. He saw her eyes close and her body quiver.
Then, regaining control, she rigidly drew back her hand.

Corbett picked up his goblet intending to
drink, but before he could take another sip, she grabbed his hand
and brought the goblet to her own mouth.

"Slow down," he told her, prying the goblet
from her hand.

"’Tis hot in here." She stood, unlacing the
ties on the tunic, and bent over to scratch her leg. The tunic rose
to expose her and he wondered if she purposely tempted him
again.

"I believe I am finished." He pushed the
platter away, and walked to the other side of the room to try to
contain his urges. One more act of seduction and he wouldn’t be
able to help himself. He’d have her on her back with her legs
spread before she had a chance to object. He heard the sound of her
bare feet scampering across the floor, and then the sound of the
bed ropes as she settled herself atop his bed.

"I believe I have just begun."

He hesitated to turn around, but when he did
it was not at all what he’d expected. Devon sat crossed-legged atop
his bed, his mother’s lute balanced across her lap. Her long
fingers gracefully reached out and plucked a few notes of alluring
music. Then her mouth opened, and out came the voice of an angel as
she sang sweeter than he’d ever heard, relaying a song about a man
and a woman who never should have been together, but risked their
lives to do it, because of their love for each other. As the last
note vibrated, she looked up, her face soft and glowing, her smile
warm and inviting.

“You can play the lute,” he said, surprised
by the girl’s talent.

“Aye. The monks taught me well, did they
not?”

“What else have you learned, living at the
monastery?”

“I can read and write. Not just one
language, but several. And I can count and keep tallies as
well.”

All the qualifications of a lady. No wonder
she seemed different than the rest of his servants. This woman
really intrigued him.

"That was my mother’s lute,” he said, his
memories alive once again. “No one has played her lute since . . ."
he could not bring himself to talk of his mother's death. He loved
his mother with all his heart, and when he’d left her to be
fostered, it was the last time he’d ever seen her alive.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have asked
permission before I plucked it from the wall.”

“Nay,” he answered. “You have brought music
back into my life. I am happy you did.”

“Tell me about your mother.” Her eyes begged
him to open wounds from the past. If he hadn’t cared about Devon,
he never would have obliged. But it felt so good to have someone to
talk to. He sat next to her on the bed as he spoke.

"She was a wonderful woman. So kind and
loving. She died when I was being fostered at the age of eight, by
the baron.”

“I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

Corbett raked his hand through his hair,
battling the emotions within him. "She died from complications.
After birthing the twins."