The Knight's Fugitive Lady by Meriel Fuller

Author:Meriel Fuller
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarlequinUKLtd
Published: 2013-11-09T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

It was early morning when Katerina woke again. Somewhere near the open chimney-hole, a blackbird trilled frantically, a continual bombardment up and down the musical scale, warbling and squawking. The air in the cottage was chill; lying on her back, Katerina saw her breath form a white cloud above her face as she exhaled. Lifting her hand, she brushed one finger across her lips, remembering. The sensitive flesh tingled, stung slightly, as if bruised. Something wilted inside her, twisted her gut. She switched her head abruptly to the left, eyes travelling over the fire’s ashy remains, seeking out the space where Lussac had slept. Empty. Loose strands of straw poked out from the bales, drifting listlessly in the slender draught from the open window. She wondered where he was, but doubted he had gone far, after her exploits yesterday.

A long slow breath escaped her lungs. Last night, she had been lucky. Fortune had been on her side; he had been on her side, scooping her up on the river bank last night when she was down, at rock bottom, and tending to her wounds. Any decent man would have done it. Of course, not any man would have kissed her, but from the way he had ended it, he had no intention of ever trying that again. She stared at the ground miserably, recalling the hot, white-light intensity of his touch, his eager, skilled mouth against hers. How could she have known what such closeness, such connection could feel like? She was naïve to the ways of men, an innocent.

She raised one arm in the air, stretching her muscles, testing, then raised the other arm with her damaged shoulder, assessing the strength of the movement. The healing, overly taut skin across her shoulder strained cruelly, ached. She couldn’t afford to be injured, couldn’t afford to be unfit to perform. Did those men her father had hired know she was with the troupe? Or had they been lucky in Ipswich, catching sight of her across the market?

Reaching for her clothes, dried stiffly over the chair, she lifted Lussac’s tunic up and over her head, the movement awkward with her damaged shoulder. She folded the fine material carefully, smoothing her hand across the creases. Her naked skin puckered in the cool air and she shivered. The folds of her own tunic had clumped together and she held the garment across her bare thighs, tugging irritably at the unwieldy fabric.

The door sprang open. Lussac filled the opening.

Instinctively, Katerina hunched over, clasping the tunic across her naked bosom, dragging it down so it covered the tops of her bare thighs. ‘Lord in Heaven, you might have knocked!’ she blurted out, horrified.

‘I thought you would still be sleeping,’ Lussac replied, breath snaring in his throat. One gleaming swell of naked breast peeked out from the inadequate covering, framed by the delicate cage of her collar-bone above. Her legs were slender, feet pink-tipped with tiny, shell-like toenails. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such small feet.

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