"On the instant," Gwen promised, then turned to tug a bell rope. She told the guard, "When Lanai comes, ask her to bring my medical pack to the broomport in the west tower."
"I shall, milady." The guard gave a small bow as he stood aside. Gwen swept out of the room and off on her errand of mercy.
Rod sat down slowly but glanced anxiously after her before he took up his own reading glasses again. He put them on, then frowned at the door with vague unease.
After all, who else did he have to worry about these days?
Gregory rode the forest paths, disconsolate, hoping he would find Moraga again but very nervous about it, too. His mind was open, though guarded, picking up all sorts of thoughts— faraway peasants at work, nearer ones at play, and a host of animal emotions with the occasional sharp spike that could almost be shaped into words.
Suddenly he stiffened at thoughts of bewilderment and fright, but also at resolution to brave whatever dangers the forest might present. The aura was feminine, the cast one of hunger for experience, especially romantic adventure. Gregory listened and probed ever so delicately, and by the time he rounded the trunk of a giant oak and saw the young gentlewoman, he was already certain that the thoughts were Moraga's, though carefully disguised by a consummate job of acting, so thorough as to partially deceive even herself. Only in the hard shell beneath the fictitious character was he able to sense the angry and vengeful emotions that were the young witch's signature.
The damsel he saw had a heart-shaped face of excruciating beauty, framed by luxuriant jet-black tresses that fell onto the shoulders of a stout broadcloth travelling gown of a rich blue that complemented the startling azure of her eyes. The gown was fitted so expertly as to leave no doubt that her figure was spectacular. She looked up at him, and a wave of desire rolled out from her to rock him with its intensity. There could be no doubt that she was a virgin and impatient to be rid of her state, a passionate creature who longed to experience the mystery of romance and the ecstasy of lovemaking of which she had heard and read so much but never tasted, thanks to vigilant chaperones and strict parents.
Not that she said so, of course. She shrank back against the trunk of the oak, wary but also filled with longing.
Gregory had to admire the screen of projective telepathy so complete as to convince him that he was looking at a black-haired, hungry, but virginal gentlewoman, as well as the construction of the character—not the real person, of course. It was an artful construct indeed. He reined in his horse and inclined his head in courtesy. "Good day, maiden."
"Good . . . good day, sir," the young woman said warily, but her eyes spoke of curiosity and pleasure at the sight of him.
"I am Gregory Gallowglass, and it is quite unchivalrous of me to ride when a lady must walk. If you will mount, I shall step down and lift you into this horse's saddle."
"I... I thank you, sir." The young woman stepped a few feet away from the tree. "I am Lilia, the daughter of Squire and Mistress Hallam—and I have indeed grown weary." Her eyes belied the last statement.
"Then ride you shall." Gregory dismounted, turned, and found himself a foot from Lilia—at least, his face was. His chest was much closer.
Her eyelids drooped, her lips seemed to thicken and moisten of their own accord; she tilted her head to the side as she breathed, "I thank you for your courtesy."
The wave of desire swept out to enfold Gregory, pulling him forward even more strongly than his natural reserve pushed him back, and his lips brushed hers.
It was as though an electric spark jumped from her to him, then welded their lips together. Hers trembled beneath his, then opened, beginning to nibble. With a sigh, she relaxed into his embrace. The tip of her tongue caressed his lower lip, and his whole body stiffened.
At that, alarm won over attraction, and Gregory backed away, gasping for air. "Your . . . your pardon, mistress. I. . . I have no idea what overcame me."
"I have," she whispered, swaying closer again, "and I only wish it would overcome us both."
But Gregory was on his guard now and caught her around the waist with both hands, lifting so that her own momentum helped boost her up to the saddle. Perhaps it was a mistake, for his hands seemed to burn at the feeling of the resilient body beneath the cloth, and he marvelled that his grip could encompass so much of her waist but feel so much more hip beneath them. He let go quite quickly but still found himself staring up at a view even more tantalizing than before as she blinked down at him in surprise.
At least her lips were safely out of reach.
"I... I thank you, sir," she said reluctantly.
"And I must thank you, and very deeply." Actually, it had been Gregory's first kiss, and his emotions were as turbulent as a dozen modulated waveforms in constant interference. He recovered his poise by resolutely ignoring his feelings. "But how does a damsel as gentle as yourself come to be alone in such rough woodlands as these?"
"Oh, my parents are impossible!" Lilia burst out. "They must ever keep me close at home, and when they do let me visit a dance or a meeting, they have my old nurse ever at my shoulder! There is no chance for fun, no chance to taste the delights that are the right of youth!"
"Indeed," Gregory said, shaken. "But it is quite dangerous for you to be alone in the greenwood with none to guard you."
"I shall chance whatever dangers come!" Her eyelids drooped again. "Are you a danger, sir?"
"I? No, never!" Gregory protested in shock.
"That is unfortunate." Lilia leaned forward, lips seeming to swell and moisten again. "I would you were a danger to my maiden state."
Gregory stared, wordless.
Lilia leaned farther forward, then suddenly fell with a little shriek. Automatically, Gregory reached up and caught her waist. She fell right against him, he felt her breasts pressing against his chest, her thighs and hips against his, and his body's reaction was so embarrassing that he involuntarily stepped back.
But she stepped with him, still pressed up to him, lips smiling up, parting, eyes dreamy under heavy lids, head tilted to the side, voice husky as she said, "You are handsome and gentle and, I doubt not, patient, and likely to touch a woman with delicacy. I wish very strongly that you were a danger to my innocence."
It was the wrong word; Gregory protested in alarm, "Such a thing would be quite wrong, maiden! That pleasure is and should be reserved only for those who are wed!"
"Reserved? I think not." Smiling lazily, Lilia pressed even more tightly against him. "I have known many who shared a bed without benefit of clergy."
"And were they not shamed before all the world?" Gregory stammered.
"Not at all, for the lasses had drunk of a potion given them by a wise woman," Lilia said, "as have I. None needed know of it save the couple themselves."
Even with his emotions churning, Gregory's mind caught the logical flaw. "Surely not so, damsel! For if these women were not exposed to public shame, how could you have come to know of them?"
"Servants gossip," Lilia breathed, and her breath was heated perfume. "Servants boast—and no, not the men alone! I have even heard three wantons arguing about who had bedded a handsome plowboy first!"
Gregory found that hard to believe but knew better than to question her veracity. "But. . . but not people of your class! Servants perhaps, but not young gentlewomen!"
"Pooh!" Lilia scoffed. "Why should they have all the fun? Come, sir, explore new delights with me!" She caught his hand and pressed it to her bosom.
Gregory tried to pull it away, but she held his wrist with surprising strength—or was it his weakness that was surprising?
"Come, sir, a beautiful woman invites you," she breathed, "and if you turn her away, she must suspect that you, too, are a virgin and afraid of real pleasure."