Julie Garwood: Gentle Warrior

Not a cloud marred the horizon as Geoffrey made his way through the forest in search of the waterfall. He had ridden hard for over an hour when the sound of rushing water, echoing through the lush green foliage, drew his attention. He quickly dismounted and secured the reins to the nearest tree branch and then began to make his way through the denseness. The mist from the cascading water mixed with the heat from the afternoon sun and formed a blanket of steam that covered his boots.

He knew from Joseph's description that the hut was well hidden within a cluster of trees just beyond the gathering pool. He was headed in that direction when a splash, followed by a faint cough, stopped his advance. Geoffrey automatically drew his sword and turned, waiting for another sound that would give him advantage over his enemy, when he caught a glimmer of gold reflected through the branches. He moved slightly to get a better look. His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. His vision-the golden one, as his men had so aptly named her-rose out of the water like the goddess Aphrodite. He watched, hypnotized, as she moved to the shallow end of the pool and stood. Her legs were braced apart and she stretched her arms high over her head in a lazy, unhurried motion. Streamers of sunlight poured through the canopy of branches and bathed his goddess in gold.

With a slow, graceful motion, Elizabeth brushed the hair back from her forehead. She sighed, content for the moment, enjoying the feel of the sun's warmth upon her shoulders and the contrasting cold of the clear water slapping against her legs. She forced herself to block all thoughts, all worries. In her heart she knew that her trusted servant would move heaven and earth to hide Thomas from Belwain's eyes, until Geoffrey could be made to listen. But the waiting… it was becoming unbearable. Perhaps the fever had returned, and the warrior was dead. Perhaps Belwain had arrived at Montwright and convinced everyone that he had nothing to do with the murders. Stop, she demanded. There is nothing to be done but wait, she told herself. Wait and pray. A woman's lot in life, Elizabeth decided with despair.

Scooping water into her cupped hands, she poured the liquid down her neck. Geoffrey was close enough to see her shiver, to watch the drops of water slip down between her full breasts, past the narrow waist he was sure he could span with but one hand, and farther down, into the blond, curly triangle at the junction of her legs. Her nipples grew hard from the chill but it was Geoffrey who shivered in reaction. Innocent sensuality radiated with her every motion and Geoffrey was hard-pressed to control his emotions, to suppress the primitive desire raging inside of him.

The gentle sway of her hips as she walked from the pool and gathered her clothes nearly made him wild with need. He took a deep breath, gaining control. He was Baron Geoffrey, overlord of all William had bequeathed! He would not take her now, though he thought he would go mad if he didn't taste her soon. Yes, he would have her. Of that there wasn't any question. She would belong to him. It was a simple fact of life. The law. What the lord wanted, he took.

The dogs Geoffrey remembered suddenly appeared at their mistress's side, hovering while she completed her dress. The animals were huge creatures, but from the way they both nudged her as she turned and disappeared into the forest, Geoffrey knew they would protect her well.

He was about to replace his sword and follow Elizabeth to the hut when an abrupt scream penetrated the stillness. It was a woman's scream. Geoffrey raced toward the sound, his sword at the ready. He could hear the dogs' ferocious growls, screams and shouts from men… at least three, judging from the different guttural sounds. Geoffrey crashed into the clearing in front of the hut and took in the tableau in one second's breath of time. There were three of them. Two were struggling with the dogs while the third half-carried, half-dragged the resisting girl toward the hut. The sight of such filth holding such beauty, his beauty, completed the transformation. The fair and noble ruler of the manor was gone, replaced by the Herculean warrior intent on a single action: to kill. There would be no hearing, no fairness, no understanding. The enemy had dared to touch what was his, and whether they realized that fact or not bore no significance. The price for their lust, for their stupidity, would be death.

The warrior's bellow of outrage stilled Elizabeth 's attacker. Terror washed the lust from his eyes as he flung Elizabeth from his arms and turned to face the challenge. The look of fury on the warrior's face changed the attacker's mind. He turned to look for a means of escape from the intent he read in those cold black eyes. His hesitation was his death sentence. Geoffrey's blade whistled as it sliced through the air, guided by the warrior's strong arm, until it plunged down through the man's shoulder, cutting bone and muscle as easily as if they were sheep's fur, in its quest to find and pierce the heart. With one additional jerk of his wrist, Geoffrey completed the kill, removed the sword, and turned to deal with the two men behind him. "Call your animals," he ordered over his shoulder, and Elizabeth, stumbling to her feet, obeyed without question.

Geoffrey allowed both men time to stagger to their feet and reclaim their weapons before he moved forward. Then he stood, his legs braced apart, his sword at his side, waiting. The two men crouched and began to circle the warrior, and their puny attempts to kill him brought a smile to the warrior's face. A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Before either man could issue a scream, Geoffrey killed them with two swift slaps from his blade.

Stunned, unable to comprehend how the lord came to be there, defending her, Elizabeth could only watch in a daze. When Geoffrey finished the deed and turned his attention to her, Elizabeth felt her knees buckle from the power, the raw force that radiated from him.

"Come to me." The harshness of his voice startled her. There was a different kind of terror pulling at her now, and Elizabeth couldn't understand what was happening. Shouldn't she feel relief? This man had saved her life, killed for her. Perhaps it was because he was so much larger than she remembered, or perhaps it was because he had killed so easily, so effortlessly… so unemotionally. She was too confused, only knew that the danger was still there, clinging to the air, mingling with the scent of death and sweat. Tension enveloped both of them as they stared at each other. Elizabeth stood rigid and straight, facing the force that poured from him. Power. It was there in his stance, in his muscled legs braced apart in sureness and victory, in the tightly fisted hands resting on his hips, but most of all in his face. And the power drew her to him.

Elizabeth met his stare and slowly walked over to him. She stopped directly in front of him and waited. For what, she knew not.

Geoffrey's body relaxed. Elizabeth could see the tension, the violence, evaporate. He took a deep breath and his eyes wanned a little. And the fear left her.

"I have just killed for you." His tone was arrogant and challenging.

Elizabeth watched as Geoffrey cleaned his blade and then replaced it before she replied, "Yes, you have saved my life. I am in your debt," she acknowledged, her voice soft.

"That is so."

"But I have also saved your life," Elizabeth added, "for I was the one who tended your wounds."

"I remember," Geoffrey answered.

"And therefore, you are in my debt, are you not?"

"I am your lord." What was Elizabeth leading to? Geoffrey wondered. What was her plan? " You belong to me ."

Elizabeth didn't answer, waiting for him to continue. A long moment passed and the lord frowned his displeasure. It would do her cause no good if she alienated him, for her fate was in his hands. In truth she did belong to him. Was that all he wanted? Her acknowledgment that he was now her lord?