Kathryn pushed herself to her feet. She wet her lips nervously. "Where am I to sleep?"
In answer he swept open the flap of the tent. "A trifle humble for her ladyship's taste, I'm sure," he drawled, "but since I've always found it comfortable enough, I'm sure you shall, too."
Kathryn's eyes narrowed. She wasn't quite certain she liked the sound of that. "And you, milord?" she inquired stiffly. "Do you sleep within the tent?"
He bestowed on her a look so withering it would have made many a man cringe and creep away. His mood was as black as his soul, she thought.
"I do," was all he said. Crossing his arms across the breadth of his chest, he merely raised his brows and waited for her to precede him into the tent.
She squared her shoulders. "Then I sleep without," she announced. Her nose in the air, she spun about and began to resume her place beneath the oak tree.
He never gave her the chance. She found herself shackled about the wrist and dragged to the tent before she could draw breath.
"I thought we settled this the other night," he said through his teeth. "I'd sooner cut off my hand than lay a finger on you, Kathryn. Do you think me so enslaved by your beauty that I forget who you are? You stir nothing in me save my temper... most certainly not my passions! In a word, you leave me cold, mistress."
Cold, is it? jeered a voice inside him. He decried her. . . even as he desired her. Why, the very thought of bedding her sent a scalding rush of heat to his loins. Indeed, he half-feared the Lord would strike him down for daring to speak such a falsehood!
She remained where she was, as cool and haughty as ever. His words seemingly touched no part of her.
"I suppose 'tis only right that I warn you, Kathryn... out here in the open you render yourself fair game for any of my men-at-arms." His tone carried a note of bored impatience. "While I am quite discriminating about the lady who shares my bed, my knights are not always so... discriminating. My guess is that it's been a while since they partook of the pleasures of the flesh—so likely as not, most any woman will do."
Even you. There was no need for him to speak the words aloud. His derisive half-smile reeked of smugness. And all at once Kathryn was remembering the lewdness of his men that night at Ashbury, when she had sought to leave the great hall with Elizabeth.
But the earl's scorn made her long to slap the arrogant leer from his visage—oh, if only she dared!
"You are as crude as I expected." She swept past him with an icy disdain, bent low, and entered the tent. She contented herself with the certainty that her choice was the lesser of two evils.
The earl did not follow. Inside, the tent was large and surprisingly spacious. There was a small pile of furs near the entrance. Kathryn selected one for herself and moved to the far corner. Despite the earl's assurances that he'd not lay a finger on her— as if she would even allow him!—she had no intention of disrobing. She lay down, cloak and all, and pulled the fur over her shoulders.
It wasn't long before the earl entered. Kathryn lay on her back, determined to ignore him. The flames from the fire outside cast a faint glow inside the tent, just enough for her to make out the outline of his form.
Every muscle in her body tightened when he moved past her. She heard his scabbard drop to the ground. The next thing she knew he was pulling his tunic up and over his head—it slipped to the ground with a rustle. Now his hands were on his chausses. Kathryn felt her jaw go slack. Surely he didn't mean to sleep naked, with her not three feet away.
Outside someone threw another chunk of wood onto the fire. The blaze burned brighter still.
For the space of a heartbeat, his form was outlined in far more detail than she cared to see. Long legs. Wide chest. Powerful shoulders. A most brazen masculinity...
She squeezed her eyes shut and turned to her side. Her heart was thudding so that she feared it would crash through her chest at any moment.
She had thought not to sleep a wink that night with the earl so close at hand. But it wasn't long before exhaustion wooed her into slumber.
Such was not the case two nights hence. Kathryn curled herself into a tight little ball to keep from tossing and turning—and waking the earl.
For if he woke now, all would be lost.
If Kathryn was feeling a trifle proud of herself, she had reason to. She had used these past two days well. It was a time to lull the earl into a false complacency. He appeared to have relaxed his guard a bit. He no longer warned her sharply whenever she sought refuge for her private needs. His gaze no longer shadowed her slightest move around the camp at night.
But Kathryn did not seek to play the meek and humble maiden. Oh, no, she suspected he was too wise to accept such a drastic change in her. She was no match for him in physical strength and so she continued to battle him with what weapons were at hand.
With words and wit.
The time had passed agonizingly slowly that night. It didn't take long before the earl's breathing grew deep and even, but Kathryn waited hours to make certain he was plunged deep into the netherworld of dreams.
It was now or never.
Scarcely daring to breathe, she slipped from her furs. Not once had the earl mentioned her penchant for sleeping in her clothes. This was a boon she hadn't considered that first night.
She crouched low and began to move stealthily toward the entrance. Behind her, the earl flung himself over on his back. Kathryn froze, her breath tumbling to a standstill. She waited—forever, it seemed!—before daring to creep forward again.
Outside the tent, moonlight spilled down from the sky in shining splendor; the clearing was nearly as light as day. The horses were tethered on the far side of the encampment, some distance away from the knights. It was there that Kathryn directed her silent footsteps. Her fingers were shaking as she found Esmerelda among the horses and released her. Moments later they vanished into the shadows with ghostly ease.
Only the moon bore witness as Kathryn tossed back her head and let a bubbly laugh escape. She was free... free!
And as she rode onward into the night, her single thought was that escape had proved not nearly as difficult as she had expected.
Not once did she consider it might have been too easy.
Guy woke shortly after dawn the next morning. For a moment he lay perfectly still, his half-closed eyes absorbing the purplish ribbon of light visible through the flap. Then, with a yawn and a mighty stretch, he rose and began to dress.
Not once did he glance at the empty pile of furs beside him.
Outside, the camp was stirring to life. Guy called for his squire Tom to bring food to break the morning fast. The boy started to scurry away, then paused to glance back at his master.
His gaze flitted toward the tent. "For the lady, too, milord?"
He shook his head. "The lady is not here, Tom."
The boy gaped.
A smile curled Guy's handsome mouth. "It seems the lady has decided to take a slight detour on her way to Sedgewick, Tom."
"Milord?"
Guy was sorely tempted to throw up his hands.
The boy showed promise with the sword and lance, but he had much to learn about the ways of his enemies.
"She fled during the wee hours of the night, Tom. She thinks to return to Ashbury."
The boy let out a wheezing laugh. "Why, she ought to know she can't escape from you." He laughed again, as if he thought the idea of a mere woman besting his lord highly amusing indeed.
Guy was not so amused a short time later as he ordered Sir Jerome to lead the rest of the party back to Sedgewick. They parted company in a flurry of dust, Sir Jerome and his men-at-arms speeding to the north, Guy to the south.
Aye, he affirmed grimly, urging his destrier still faster, he would bring the Lady Kathryn to heel. And while he was about it, mayhap he would put the fear of God into her soul.