My Lady's Treasure by Catherine Kean

Author:Catherine Kean [Kean, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Romance, Historical
ISBN: 9781932815788
Google: o7DXV2HeD1EC
Amazon: B005PA9GNM
Barnesnoble: B005PA9GNM
Goodreads: 13107288
Publisher: Catherine Kean
Published: 2007-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“Are you certain you are all right, Faye?” Torr asked, his voice carrying in the dank forebuilding along with their footfalls. His arm tightened around her waist, so her hip brushed against his.

All right? A voice in her head screeched. How, by the blessed saints, could she be all right?

Forcing down the denial, concentrating on the narrow, uneven stone steps ascending to the hall, Faye nodded to Torr, even as she struggled to temper the storm of emotion inside her. How foolish of her to let him keep his arm at her waist. How weak of her not to have found some way to thwart the unwanted body contact, to put discreet distance between them. ’Twas unfair to encourage his attentions. At the moment, however, his possessive hold was an anchor securing her to the cold sea of reality.

Shadows, cast by reed torches lighting the passage, licked over the forebuilding’s walls. Her mind shot back to the tavern room, to the agonizing moments when she lay awake watching the firelight and trying to ignore Brant’s sensual presence, before a vision of him sauntering toward the busty servant consumed Faye with tormenting vividness.

How could he look at that … that wench in such a manner? Faye’s jaw clenched. Only a few moments earlier, he had expressed his desire for her in a tone frayed by such hunger, her whole body had trembled.

The forebuilding’s smoky shadows opened into the keep’s great hall, crossed overhead by blackened beams. His arm still at her waist, Torr guided her across the rush-strewn floor.

“Milord,” maidservants murmured, dropping into curtseys before hurrying past with platters of grain bread as well as jugs of wine. Wolfhounds scampered under the rows of trestle tables, awaiting the bits of food dropped during the meal. The mingled smells of warm fare, moldering rushes, and dog made Faye’s stomach whine in protest.

Sensing Torr’s gaze upon her, Faye managed a half-smile. She willed her nausea to dissipate. This was not the time to be ill. She would never escape from Torr’s cloying attentions under those circumstances.

The tightness inside her eased a notch. Good. Soon, her light-headedness would be gone—as, too, would her emotional tempest.

After all, she did not care what Brant was saying to the servant. She did not care if he found the wench fetching, or what sweaty tryst he might be arranging with her.

From the moment they met, she knew Brant was a rogue. He had never tried to convince her otherwise. An irrelevant, disappointed part of her had come to believe that despite his tough, scarred visage, a knight’s honor burned within him. Especially when it came to protecting Angeline. And herself.

Of all indignities, how could Brant vow he desired her, then pursue the first well endowed wench to smile at him? Such behavior was unforgivable.

She would tell him so when she next saw him.

When. Ha! Sennights from now, if she had her way. With luck, she could avoid him until she chose to speak with him. She did not need any man’s help to find Angeline.

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