Delilab turned away, a hand to her mouth.
"Peace, peace!" Alain tried to recover his doublet with a glance at Delilah. "'Tis naught, Cordelia, truly!" Cordelia probed the wound gently, and when Alain only gasped lightly, she grudgingly said, "It seems well enough." She frowned up into his eyes. "My touch does not pain you?"
For a moment, his face turned fatuous. "Not in the slightest," he breathed. "'Tis as the petals of a flower that brush against me."
Cordelia stared at him in complete amazement.
A slight smile touched Alain's face. "If such touch as that be pain, may I live in torment all my days!"
Now, finally, Cordelia blushed, and turned away.
CHAPTER 9
"Why, Alain," Cordelia said, "you have never spoken so before."
"Aye. I have been a chowderheaded fool," Alain said, with self-disgust verging on anger.
Delilah looked up indignantly, and Geoffrey decided it was time he took a hand—a hand he had been wanting to take for quite some time now. He stood up and stepped over to Delilah, reaching down. "My lady, will you walk? While we hunted for dinner, I found a small garden by the riverside. It must have been planted by Nature herself, but it is so sweet a sight that it must needs be the perfect setting for such beauty as yours." He smiled, looking deeply into her eyes. "Will you not come see it?"
Delilah looked startled, then cast an apprehensive glance at Alain—a glance that gained an edge.
"I am sure they will be safe by themselves," Geoffrey said, then leaned to murmur, "as you will be quite safe with me—if you wish to be."
Delilah turned back to him, startled—and for a moment, he saw the naked desire in her eyes, so hot that it led him suddenly to doubt that she was quite the virtuous maiden she seemed. But he could also see the calculation behind her eyes, as she glanced at Alain with a scornful smile. That smile turned to one of amusement, not altogether pleasant, as she turned back to Geoffrey. "Do you promise, sir?"
"Aye, surely—that you shall be safe as you please." Passion flashed in her eyes again, but was quickly hidden. "Then I shall come." She rose in one lithe, sinuous motion, taking his hand. "I thank you, sir. Surely this garden will be at its most beautiful by moonlight."
"Alas!" Geoffrey tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and turned her away toward the trees. "The moon does not rise for some minutes yet."
"Then we shall await it." She turned back with a vindictive smile for Alain—but he wasn't looking, and the smile disappeared. "We shall return anon," she informed the couple. "Fare well in our absence."
"Farewell indeed." Cordelia tried to hide her elationand silently thought a beam of thanks at her brother. He smiled and winked, since Delilah still had her back to him. Cordelia tried to remind herself how thoroughly she disapproved of Geoffrey's womanizing—but at the moment, it didn't seem at all bad.
Alain looked up, startled at Delilah's words, then glanced quickly at Geoffrey, who only gave him a sly wink. Not altogether reassured, he glanced at Delilah—but she was already turning away to go with Geoffrey, and when she looked up at him, her smile was dazzling. Alain stared after her, wondering whether he should feel wounded or relieved. He decided on relieved, and turned back to Cordelia, dismissing Delilah from his mind—and was rather surprised at the ease with which he did it.
He caught Cordelia watching him with a look that clearly said he was being weighed in the balance. "She is quite attractive—in fact, a beauty."
"She is," Alain said judiciously, "but will she remain in my mind when she is gone from my sight?"
"A most excellent question." Cordelia's answer was somewhat tart. "Will she, indeed?"
"I think not." Alain tilted his head to the side, regarding her. "But then, I have been spoiled, Cordelia."
"I know." Inside, Cordelia could have screamed at herself for the sniping remark—but it was too old a habit; it would take her some time to break it.
To her surprise, though, Alain only smiled, amused. "No, I do not mean only as a Prince, having had all defer to me, and having been given ... almost all I wish."
Almost? She wondered what he had been denied, then realized that one thing had certainly been herself. She blushed, looking down.
"I mean spoiled in regard to loveliness," Alain said. "Now and again during my childhood, I have been exposed to true beauty; I have had it before me more often than not. It may be that I have become inured to the charms of beauty alone."
He was speaking of herself, she realized, and suddenly felt rather dizzy. Where had Alain learned to make such pretty speeches? And were they only that, pretty speeches? Or did he really mean what he said?
Alarmed, he moved closer, taking her arm, resting it on his, chafing her hand. "Are you unwell, Cordelia? Or have I given offense?"
"Nay. I am ... well." But the support of his arm felt very good indeed. Suddenly, she realized that if she were a little more unwell, he might put his arm around her. "It—is simply that it has been a long day, and..." She let herself go limp.
Alain's arm tightened about her, holding her up. "Mayhap I should let you sleep."
Somehow, that sent alarm bells ringing through her. She wanted him close, yes, but not too close. "Nay. Only ... hold me ... for a small space."
"Why, that I shall," he said softly.
She let herself relax into the curve of his arm, leaning against his chest. She was surprised to discover how hard it was. "I ... I must thank you, Alain, for your ... gift."
He looked at her, puzzled.
"Some dozen men in rags of green and brown," she explained.
"The outlaw band!" His face cleared. "Did you truly find it pleasing, my lady, or was it another piece of gaucherie?"
"Well ... it did make the day ... quite interesting," she admitted. "I found myself beset with curiosity as to what I should do with them. But it was simple enough—I sent them on to Sir Maris. And I own that I did feel honored, and quite complimented that you had sent me such a tribute."
"I scolded myself for it when it was too late, and they were out upon the road," Alain said sadly. " 'Tis no great gift to a lady to have a dozen filthy, ugly knaves attending upon her."
"Oh, nay! It is the kind of gift that most I wish!" She looked up at him, eyes wide, and very, very earnest. "To restrain the brutal, the predatory, and to protect the weak! Giving me signs that you have done these things, Alain, is the most that I could ask of any man!"
Alain beamed down at her, reflecting that most other women would have been far more pleased by the gift of a diamond bracelet or a ruby tiara. He had no doubt at all the Cordelia meant what she had said. "How..." His voice sank almost to a whisper. "How if I could heal the sick as a king's touch is supposed to do? Would that be a gift to you? Or only my duty to my subjects?"
"Your duty to your subjects would be your gift to me!" She moved within his arm, a little away from him, so that she could look directly up into his eyes. "Truly the greatest gift that any woman can have is knowing that she has made a man a better man! But, Alain..." She lowered her gaze. "I should not accept such presents—or any presents of any sort, for . .." She looked back up at him again, forcing herself to be honest. ". . . I cannot be sure that, were you to ask again, I would be willing to wed you."
Alain gazed down at her, his victory turning to ashes in his mouth—until he remembered her words: "I cannot be sure..." Hope flickered in his eyes again, and he said, "Then there may be yet some chance?"