Midnight Warrior (32 page)

She was drowsily aware of the crash of the surf against the rock-strewn shore and the wind’s mournful howl. The sounds of desolation only intensified the pleasure of lying before a bright, warm fire, being held close in Gage’s arms.

Malik was forced to hold on to his cape with both hands to keep the bitter wind from tearing it from his body.

“The fool is huddled there on the doorstep like a huge sack of barley,” Adwen said in exasperation, peering out the window. “Tell him to go away, Alice.”

“Tell him yourself. It’s between the two of you.” Alice yawned as she moved toward her pallet on the far side of the room. “I’m going to sleep. This baby and I both need our rest,”

Alice had been Adwen’s last hope of avoiding becoming involved in Malik’s latest madness. Both Brynn and Alice had stepped aside and left it in her hands.
Well, she would not tell him, Adwen decided. Even if she bothered to try to sweep the idiot off her doorstep, she knew he would not go. She had realized the moment he had told her of his intention that there was more underlying it than the obvious. He was a man who believed in symbols, and if she allowed him to cross her doorstep …

He could stay out there all night. She had no desire to have another man in her life when she had not yet rid herself of the first. She now had a freedom and contentment she had never known before. Why would she want a jester who did not take anything seriously?

The wind whipped again and Malik seemed to grow smaller as he contracted to brace against its power. He buried his face in his cloak.

She had been outside only a short time that afternoon. She had been fervently grateful to get back inside the cottage. The weather had been miserable then, and it was much colder now.

We do not have these hideous north winds where I was born
.

Well, let him go back to his Byzantium. He should not be among strangers anyway. Except for Gage Dumont, she had sensed he was very much alone. Why had he come to this country where he was regarded as an ignorant heathen? She herself had thought Saracens were ignorant until she had met Malik. Though she would never have admitted it to him, his wit and vast knowledge on all subjects had stunned her. She had found it was she who was ignorant. Since she had rarely been able to leave her sickroom during the years of her marriage, in desperation she had called upon the priest to educate her far beyond a woman’s usual lot. To her great annoyance, Malik told her much of what she had learned was wrong and patiently corrected her at every turn.

Thunder
.

Was it starting to rain? No, that was only the pounding surf, she realized in relief Not that it would have made any difference. She would let him drown before she invited him to cross her threshold.

It
was
rain. Big drops falling on the doorstep, being driven like spikes against Malik’s shivering body.

“Mother of God!” She took three steps and jerked open the door. “Get in here!”

Malik scrambled to his feet. “I thought you would never ask.” He smiled happily. “I was sure I would have to stay out here until I took root. Though how anything could take root and flourish in this inhospitable weather I have no idea. It would be—”

“Be silent.” She grasped his arm, pulled him into the cottage, and shut the door. “Alice is trying to sleep.” She dragged him over to the fireplace. “I would not have given in, you know. It was the rain.”

He nodded. “I should have expected the rain. When the cause is just, God always perseveres.” He held out his hands to the blaze and sighed contentedly. “And provides.”

She scowled at him. “Have you eaten?”

“Oh, yes, I knew I must fortify myself for the battle.” He sat down on the hearth and gracefully crossed his legs. He was always graceful, every movement full of lithe strength and vitality. “Proceed.”

“I’m not going to do battle with you. As soon as you’ve warmed yourself, you will leave.”

“It will take a long time to warm myself. You left me for an eternity out in that raging wind.”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“You know that is not true. I was out there suffering for your sake.”

“Because I made a casual remark? I did but tease you and you did this foolish thing.”

“It was not foolish.” He gazed into the fire. “I have no respect for William’s glorious knights, but they do
have a custom that I do approve. When jousting in tournament they carry their lady’s favor and dedicate their battle to her.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“My battle was with the wind and cold. I dedicate it to you.” He turned and looked into her eyes. “Will you give me your favor?”

She felt a melting deep within her. How beautiful he was in the firelight. Beautiful and more. So much more. “I am still wed.”

“That does not stop the ladies of William’s court.” He nodded ruefully. “But I understand it would seriously hinder you. Do not worry, I am a patient man and I believe that situation will soon be resolved.”

She could not stop looking at him. Honor and kindness. Humor and passion. All waiting behind that beautiful mask of which she was so afraid.

“What else?” he asked. “Give me another wall to scale, Adwen.”

“This is foolish,” she said huskily. “I’m not a prize to be won. Take your sweet words and handsome face to a woman who will—”

“Ah, there it is,” he interrupted. “Perhaps the steepest wall of all. You hate my face.”

“I
don
’
t
hate your face.”

“I think you do. If it displeases you, then we must do something about it.” He leaned forward, gingerly took a half-burned twig from the hearth, and lit it from the flames. “It is not the face itself but the comeliness, and that should be easy to fix. A burn on the cheek, perhaps one over the eyebrow …”

“What are you doing?” She watched in horror as he brought the flame close to his cheek.

“Scaling the battlements.” He smiled as he touched the flame to his bearded cheek. “It’s a difficult—”

“Fool!” She knocked the twig from his hand. “Madman! You would have actually done it.”

“With great reluctance. I detest pain.” He raised his brows. “It would be easier for me if you’d do it yourself.”

“Me? You wish me to burn you?”

“I told you. My face offends you, therefore we must rid ourselves of the problem.”

He would do it. Just as he had sat four hours out in that freezing cold. “You fool. You idiot. You—” Tears were running down her cheeks. “Don’t you dare—Promise me you won’t—”

“Shh … I take it you do not hate it that much?”

“Promise me.”

His hand reached out and touched the path of her tears. “If you promise to look beyond the face to the man.”

She nodded jerkily.

He gave a sigh of relief. “Ah, another wall scaled without a wound.”

She couldn’t say the same. She was not sure whether she had suffered a hurt or if an old wound had been opened to release its poison. All she knew was that she felt shaken and vulnerable as never before in her life. She had to retreat, to put up defenses. She wiped her cheeks on the backs of her hands and forced her tone to tartness. “You’ve not come out unscathed. Your beard is singed.”

“I will shave it off tomorrow.” He suddenly frowned. “But that may not be a good thing.”

“Why not?”

“I have a confession to make.”

“What?”

His eyes lit with mischief. “Without my beard I’m twice as handsome. A virtual Adonis. Men are so jealous, they wish to do battle, and women swoon as I pass.
The sun has been known to hide behind a cloud because of the radiance of my—”

“I cannot bear this,” Adwen said, groaning.

“But you are laughing. That is good.”

Her laughter faded. “I don’t want to be a wife again. I did not find it pleasant.”

“How could you have, wed to that foul vermin? I will have to strive to convince you it is not always so.” He reached out and took her hand. “I will bring you joy, Adwen.”

She could almost believe him. His touch was igniting waves of strange feeling throughout her body that filled her with uneasiness. The barriers must be built higher. She jerked her hand away. “Alice told me that the soldiers tell tales of the joy you bring to all women. I would not be one of many.”

“You would not be one—” He stopped, searching for words. “I will not tell you that I sampled these women because I was in search of the perfect woman. It would not be fair to them when they brought me great joy. I
like
women. I find them glorious in body and far stronger and close to the divine than most of us poor males.” He held up his hand when Adwen opened her lips to speak. “But, when I saw you, I knew that you were the woman who would complete me. What we will be together will be without equal.” He held out his hand to her again. “And it will break my heart if you will not give me your favor, Adwen.”

She could not take his hand. If she did, she would yield all she had fought for this night.

She must not take his hand. She would not give up her freedom.

She took his hand, “This means nothing,” she whispered. “I will not lie with you, I make no promises.”

His hand tightened around her own. “I do not ask either. We will just sit before the fire and hold hands and enjoy being part of each other. You will flow into
me and I will flow into you. You will see how sweet it can be.”

Closeness. Sweetness. A singing in the soul. A merging without merging.

“You see?” Malik asked.

“I have a question to ask,” she said dreamily.

“Anything.”

“Are you really twice as handsome without your beard?”

“No, I lied.” He paused. “I’m four times more comely. That’s why I grew the beard. I could not bear to cause such envy among—”

“Be silent.” She was laughing again. “You’re probably as ugly as sin. I’ve no doubt that beard masks a weak chin and your vanity is …” She trailed off as she realized in how many ways he had moved her this night. Humor and tears and this precious closeness she had never known.

It had been a mistake to let him in. Now there might be no turning back.

She closed her eyes and repeated desperately, “I make no promises.”

But she could not bring herself to release his hand.

Gage!

Brynn’s eyes flew open, her heart pounding with terror.

Blood. Gage. Death
.

No!

Then, as she came fully awake, a shudder of relief went through her. A dream. Only a dream.

Gage was next to her in front of the fire, breathing deeply, evenly, his arms still in a loose embrace about her. She lay there, staring at him.

Gage staggering forward, the hilt of a dagger protruding from his back, falling …

Only a dream. Dreams did not always come true. Actually, only a few of her dreams had become reality. She had been worried about Richard when she had fallen asleep, and her fears had no doubt tricked her into that horrible nightmare.

But what if it were a true vision? What if Gage were destined to die in such a horrid manner?

The pain that tore through her was unbearable.

His eyes flew open as if she had called him. “Brynn?”

Her trembling hands reached out to touch his face. Firm, warm, and vibrant with life.

“What is it?” Gage asked.

She did not want to speak of it. It was only a dream. He wouldn’t believe it had any portent anyway. Forget it. Bury it. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Her fingers brushed his lips. “It was only a dream.”

“More of a nightmare judging by the way you’re shaking.”

“Yes.” She nestled closer to his warm, hard body. “But it’s gone now.” “Is it?”

Not entirely, the chill still lingered. “Quite gone.” She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. “And it won’t come back.”

He chuckled. “Because you will it so.”

Hope leapt within her at his words. Destiny could be fought. She battled the dragons every time she healed an affliction, and she knew many would have died if she had not intervened. Even if the dream were a true vision, who was to say she could not change fate? “Yes, that’s right. Because I will it so.”

But what if she did not prevail? What if these moments were among the last they would spend together?

Silence except for the hiss and crackle of the burning logs.

“If you have need—I would not deny you,” she said in a muffled voice.

He stiffened. “Need?”

She did not answer.

“Lust?” he asked. “I’m curious to know why, after refusing me for days, I’m to receive this splendid gift. What of guilt? Am I suddenly less a murderer? Have the angels come down to whisper to you of my innocence?”

“No.” She was silent a moment and then blurted out, “Why do you ask questions? You want this, take it.”

“Why?” he persisted. “What of your own guilt? Are you no longer Bathsheba?”

“I’m still guilty. That will always remain. Always.” She swallowed. “Why are you arguing with me? You said that I must learn to accept what happened. I’ve done it, and that’s the end of it.”

“But why have you accepted it?” He pushed her away from him and lifted her chin on the arc of his finger. “Why now?”