Spirited Away (29 page)
Before she knew what was happening Tristan had drawn close and her skin tingled. His stare was intense, searing, purposeful; she thought she'd drown in the deep depths of those blue sapphires.
She couldn't help herself. She reached out and grazed his strong jaw with her knuckles, ran her thumb along his lips, tried to push back the dark lock of hair that kept falling in his eyes, but her fingers barely skimmed the lines of his face. God, she wanted him to kiss her so badly, she ached.
She actually
hurt.
He must have read her thoughts, because his expression tightened.
"Andrea, don't." His deep voice washed over her. "Let us walk to the hall and sit by the fire.
Jameson won't go to bed until he grovels at your feet and begs you never to leave again, and I aim to have you alone."
Had he ordered her to bungee-jump from the battlements, she would have tied the cord to her ankle and gleefully thrown herself over the wall, what with the way he looked at her that very moment.
She had to snap out of it. Fast. She took a deep breath and smiled. "I guess I'm just a little nervous, Tristan." She smiled up at him. "I'm not used to being in love with someone, you know."
Tristan's jaw clenched. "You make my knees useless, wench, with such words." He frowned. "I vow you are the only one who can manage such a feat." He stopped in the middle of the barbican and looked down at her, brought his lips to the shell of her ear. "You humble me, Andrea Monroe. In truth." Then he continued leading the way.
Andi followed, unable to take her eyes from him. And goodness, she couldn't hear that voice of his enough. The deep, strange accent melted her on the spot. She looked up to the starry sky. A bright, full moon bathed the bailey in a haunting glow. The sounds of the sea surrounded her, and the tang of salt twinged her tongue. Tristan walked beside her, just far enough away so she didn't pass through him. Everything about him shouted leadership, power, and strength. She found him impossibly beautiful.
Her very own knight.
He glanced down at her and smiled. "What form of mischief is combining in that lovely head of yours, Dr. Monroe?" he asked. "I vow I can see smoke rising from atop you."
Andi laughed. "No mischief, I promise." She searched the water in the moat and noticed how the moonlight gave it a silvery reflection. "Does it bother you to be here, Tristan?"
Tristan's answer came quick. "Since I met you, no." He slowed his pace as they passed over the drawbridge and started through the inner barbican. "Before, 'twasn't Dreadmoor I grew weary of."
He looked up as they walked under the portcullis, then glanced down at Andi. "My mates keep me company, as does Jameson." He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I missed my family enough to wish passing, in truth. My mother and sire, along with my siblings, had all passed on by the time I came out of that well of nothingness, after Erik killed me. 'Twas nigh onto two centuries, at least."
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him. "What are we going to do, Tristan?" She slowly shook her head, hoping maybe the motion of it would jar some sort of awe-inspiring brainstorm to occur, solving all their problems. It didn't happen.
"Let us go sit by the fire inside and get you something to eat. I vow Jameson's hopping up and down in anticipation of having you home, and cannot wait to smother you, no doubt." He smiled. "Once he is satisfied you are truly home and in one piece, I'll run his bothersome self off and we can spend the evening having speech. Or mayhap just gaping at one another. I vow I couldn't grow weary of either task."
"Let's try speech first," Andi said, laughing. "And then maybe we can gape a bit. I want to know everything about you."
Tristan grunted. " 'Tis a tale that could possibly take quite some time, lass."
"I've got the time."
Tristan gazed down at her. "Your hair gleams silver in the moonlight. 'Tis beautiful."
Those soft-spoken words nearly caused Andi to stumble. She saw white slash his face as he bared his teeth in a devilish grin. God, he looked so real. "What are you smiling at?"
"You, my lady," he answered, his voice deep and raspy, "are passing adorable."
Andi sighed. "Not so bad yourself, Dreadmoor."
He laughed, and the sound warmed her inside.
As they reached the doors, Tristan held up a hand to stop Andi from opening the door for them.
"Nay, woman. I'll not have you opening doors for me this eve. 'Tis bad enough I cannot manage the task myself." He gazed down at her, raised one dark eyebrow, and then bellowed.
Loudly.
"Jameson! Open the door!"
Seconds later the door swung wide and a flustered Jameson stood in its opening, a crooked smile planted on his usually stoic face.
"My lady Andi!" He literally beamed. "I am ever so glad you've decided to come home."
Andi wasted no time in dropping her bag, throwing her arms around him, and kissing him soundly on the cheek. "It's good to be home, Jameson." She picked her pack up, slung it over her shoulder, and grinned. "What'cha got to eat in this place, anyway? I'm starved."
"Not anything you would prefer, I'd wager," Tristan said, chuckling. "Jameson, don't you have something nice and healthy prepared?"
Jameson stepped aside to allow them to pass, then closed the heavy doors behind them. "Quite healthy, I am sure of it. None of those Pop-Tart concoctions she's so fond of."
For the second time in less than an hour, Andi's jaw nearly disconnected from her face as her mouth slacked open. She looked all about the great hall, completely amazed. She looked up at Tristan, who leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He grinned.
"There were too many of them to fight off, I'm afraid." He pushed off the wall and bowed. "I'm not the only mooning fool at Dreadmoor, you know."
As Andi looked around her she easily counted at least fifty chain-mailed knights littering the great hall. Dragonhawk's knights were there, all fifteen, including Tristan. But there were more. They sat on the floor. They perched on the steps. They waited in chairs.
And they all stared at her.
Grinning.
"They are powerful glad you have returned, lady." Tristan's whisper brushed her ear. "You see, you won their hearts the day you traipsed out to the lists in those, those—"
"Pj's, my lord," one knowing knight called out.
"Thank you, Graves. Aye, those pj's." He grinned. "They've been besotted idiots ever since."
Andi blushed. "You guys are crazy," she said, "but very sweet."
That gained several grunts and grumbles from the ghostly garrison, and a few blushes, as well.
"Now, you moon-faced dolts have had your look, you see she is fine—now begone. Get to your posts and make sure no one passes onto Dreadmoor's land without my knowledge of it." He scanned the room, glaring. "Keep her safe, or answer to me. Now go, and make haste." He turned his gaze to Andi, and his frown disappeared. "I've a mind to have her to myself for quite some time."
Andi didn't doubt for a second he would succeed, either.
Her heart already belonged to him.
* * *
Which is why he'd decided to give fate a helping hand.
Erik stepped out of the shadows as the pair made their way up the alley.
"Bloody saints," the one called Sonny murmured.
The other just stood, gaping.
But even in a drunken stupor the pair gasped as recognition set in.
"Well, well, my boys." The man spoke with a crooning calm. "You seem a bit jumpy this fine eve."
He took another step closer, causing the men to back against the wall. "Are you not glad to see me?"
"Uh, aye, boss," Sonny said. He shifted his beady black eyes to his partner. "Was it ye who bailed us from the jailhouse?"
The man smiled, content with the reactions he caused in the two useless idiots. "Technically, yes, it was. I could not afford for you two babbling fools to tell the constable too much information, now, could I?" He smiled. "And why was it that you felt the need to approach Dr. Monroe, when I had clearly instructed you to merely follow her to the inn and alert me to her arrival?" He watched as the men shifted their weight. Their eyes were clear now, the haze of liquor snuffed by fear. He took another step. "Now, what to do?"
Without another word, Sonny bolted. In one swift motion, Erik calmly reached his arm out and snatched the running man by the throat, lifting him soundly off the ground. He allowed the man to dangle helplessly while pinning the other with a glare. "You're next, you know." With a quick snap of his wrist, the man dropped the lifeless body of Sonny to the ground.
The other drunken man opened his mouth to scream, his eyes wide with terror.
His scream died on his lips.
Smiling, Erik flung the second man to the ground. "Useless, witless fools." He brushed his trousers off, straightened his jacket, and left the alley.
He thought briefly that he couldn't have found a more spectacular mortal host.
Only after Andi had devoured one and a half peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which she had to practically force Jameson to prepare, were she and Tristan finally left alone.
Heaven help her.
She wasn't used to such attention.
And she most definitely wasn't at all used to being on the receiving end of such heated, ravenous looks such as the ones Tristan de Barre of Dreadmoor now cast her way. Except, of course, for the one night, not too long ago, when she'd opened her eyes and he'd been standing over her, staring.
Starved.
The memory of his near-touches and stark-honest confessions made her heart race.
Andi pulled her legs up under her bottom on the soft, leather sofa that had conveniently been added to the great hall furniture. It now sat facing the fireplace, and the low fire burning gave the room a gentle radiance, casting just enough heat for a mid-August night.
Tristan sat beside her, turned comfortably to the side, his long, jean-clad legs stretched out and perched on one of the matching ottomans. He'd kicked off his illusioned hiking boots and socks and now sported his bare feet, his sword propped against the stone hearth. He watched her with a predatory gaze that unnerved her. Her stomach flip-flopped. God help her had he been able to actually put his hands on her.
"You've a bit of that mixed concoction on the corner of your mouth, love."
Great. He wasn't staring at her with uncontrolled lust. He gandered at the remnants of her PB&J, which obviously plastered her face. An awfully big ego she'd developed of late, it seemed, and a fat lot of good it did her.
Andi quickly found out it wasn't the PB&J Tristan seemed so fascinated with. Once she removed the concoction with the end of her tongue, his ghostly gaze remained glued to her mouth. She gulped.
"It's not polite to stare, Tristan."
Tristan took his time dragging his gaze from her mouth to her eyes. "I vow I do not remember taking an oath to be polite when entering knighthood."
Andi couldn't help but grin. "You're not very shy, are you, de Barre?"
He slid closer, proving that he really wasn't. With one arm braced behind her, he leaned forward, his mouth inches from her own. "Were I alive, this conversation would not be taking place." He moved to her ear and echoed the request he'd asked nights before. "Close your eyes, Andrea."
Her eyes closed on their own, so fierce were the emotions his voice and nearness caused. Her breathing became rapid, and she gripped the side of the sofa in a tight clutch. "What are you doing?"
"Can you feel me, Andrea?" His voice spoke softly against her neck.
The slightest bit of static, or a slight breeze, grazed her skin and she shivered. "I ... think so." Her stomach knotted, and she itched to reach out to him. "Tristan ..."
His breathing, while not stirring any air, sounded harsh against her throat, as though he were actually devouring her. "Ever since the night I lay beside you, I've thought of nothing else, save touching you." The staticky, sensual feeling moved to her mouth. "Tasting you."
She slowly opened her eyes to find Tristan's heated gaze fixed on hers, his mouth hovering close to her lips.
With a steady hand, he lifted his thumb to trace her bottom lip.
"I would kiss you senseless, woman," he said, his voice low, erotic, "and I vow 'twould be burned into your memory forever."
What he was doing now was burned into her memory.
Andi lifted her hand and fingered his stubbled jaw, traced the sexy Adam's apple, the hollow, and the so-real-looking vein in his throat. "I've thought of nothing else except what it'd be truly like to be with you," she said.
"Aye, and I, you." His ghostly touch moved down her throat, caressing her collarbone. "Unfasten your buttons, Andrea."
With her heart pounding, Andi kept her eyes trained on Tristan as, one by one, she undid the first few buttons of her shirt, revealing the laced edges of her bra. Her skin grew warm as those beautiful eyes darkened, watching her every move.
Fascination lit those darkened eyes as he moved his forefinger along the edge of that lace, over the rise of her breast above the material. It left a simmering warmth in its wake, one that made her shift, trying to get closer, trying to ease the ache that burned low in her abdomen.
So close they were, in fact, that their bodies all but melded into one another.
She watched his hand, strong with thick, roping veins, move over her stomach, across her hip, and down her thigh.
She shifted some more.
A bit of Tristan's hair loosened from the queue and fell over his shoulder, and it looked so tangible, she couldn't stop herself from reaching out to slide her fingers through it.