June Francis - Tamed by the Barbarian

Cicely’s eyes widened. ‘Is this possible?’

‘Aye. Although, no doubt, the Church will try to prevent it.’

‘Then there must be some truth in what the Lollards taught,’ she said firmly, ‘if the Church is so determined to prevent men reading God’s word for themselves.’

‘Men doing so could turn the world upside down.’

She did not say so, but she agreed with him. The Church had such power that it would surely fight any challenge to its authority.

Mackillin said, ‘Does Master Fletcher share your interest in reading the gospels in English?’

‘It is a matter we’ve not touched upon,’ she said in a stilted voice.

Mackillin frowned. ‘Yet you want to marry him. Do you have a day in mind?’

She flushed, sensing a criticism of either herself or Diccon in his comment. ‘Eastertide,’ she muttered. ‘If the quarrels between the houses of York and Lancaster do not spoil my plans and Master Husthwaite keeps his nose out of my affairs.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Master Husthwaite! You speak of that lantern-jawed cur who claimed to be your father’s new man of business?’

‘The very same! I do not trust him.’

‘You show sense. In my experience, it is not unknown for such men to act inappropriately with their clients’ funds. You would do well—’ He broke off as his mount lurched to the right and, steadying it with a firm hand, he looked down to where the wind had blown the snow into a drift that blocked the path. Their conversation was forgotten as he dismounted.

Cicely watched as he unfastened the straps that held the staff to his saddle. She hazarded a guess that he intended to test the depth of the drift. His booted foot sank into the snow past his knee as he plunged the staff into the snow a few inches in front of him. The staff disappeared from sight and he lost his balance, toppling face down in the snow. She bit back a laugh.

He lifted his head. ‘Don’t you dare!’

She giggled.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘Stop your cackling, woman. It’s not helpful.’

‘I’m not cackling,’ she said indignantly. ‘I was about to dismount and offer you my hand. Now I’ve a good mind to leave you to your fate and ride back. Perhaps someone will find you after the thaw.’

He groaned. ‘You have to be jesting. I’ve a plan.’

‘So have I. I’ll fetch Robbie.’

‘And have him laugh his boots off? That’s not kind, Cissie.’

He had called her Cissie! ‘I don’t see why it isn’t,’ she teased. ‘Laughter is good for the soul.’

‘Cissie, if you dare fetch him, I’ll…’

He had called her Cissie again and his doing so gave her an odd feeling, as if a barrier had been removed. ‘You’ll what?’ she said sweetly. ‘You’re in no position to threaten me, Mackillin.’

He twisted his head and sighed. ‘That is no way to speak to a lord. You’ll have to help me, but don’t make a move until I say so.’

For a few moments Cicely had forgotten both that he was a lord and her decision to keep him at a distance because she had so enjoyed mocking him. ‘I beg your pardon, Lord Mackillin. Sing loud when you want my help.’

She dismounted, waiting for his command. It was obvious that he could not get up unaided. The snow might be hard on the surface, but it was soft underneath. If he tried to push himself up, then his arms would plunge beneath the snow and he would sink deeper into it.

‘Take the rope from my saddle and tie one end to the pommel and throw the other end to me where I can reach it.’

Instantly she realised what his plan was and wasted no time obeying him, reminded of a day on the fells when she had come upon a sheep that had wandered into a mire. She had wanted to help the poor creature, but couldn’t, and it had vanished beneath the surface. Mackillin’s situation was fortunately different because she was able to help him.

Having fastened the rope to the pommel, she watched Mackillin ease the other end of it round his chest and back and knot it beneath an armpit. He signalled to her to urge his horse along the path the way they had come. She did so and Mackillin spun round slowly and slid along the surface of the snow. In no time at all, he was free of the snowdrift and standing upright. She approached him, reaching out a hand, thinking only to help him unfasten the rope and brush the snow from his clothing.

But he seized her wrist and drew her towards him, a glint in his green-coppery hued eyes. ‘I should punish you for laughing at me,’ he said in a teasing voice.

She was breathlessly indignant. ‘I rescued you! I deserve a reward.’

‘Then you decide which it is to be.’ Smiling, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers in a tantalising fashion. It was so pleasant that instinctively his arms went round her and he brought her against him so that her head rested in the crook of his shoulder.

With a heavily beating heart Cicely gazed up at him, knowing she felt his kiss had been no punishment. Perhaps he saw her answer in her eyes and that was why he followed it up with another kiss that was longer, deeper and intensely satisfying. She should have struggled, but she had no desire to resist him. Her lips parted beneath the insistent pressure of his mouth and she felt a further thrill as the tip of his tongue danced along the inside of her lip. It felt so sensual that her own tongue flickered against the side of his. Instantly she was aware of the quiver that passed through him and knew she should pull away, but her insides seemed to be melting like butter on hot bread and she didn’t want the moment to end.

Then a horse whinnied and attempted to thrust its head between them. Instantly Mackillin released her and his expression was so thunderous that Cicely was shocked and hastily turned away from him and went to her own horse, fumbling at the beast’s accoutrements with shaking hands. She dragged herself up into the saddle. Did he blame her for what had just happened between them? What was happening to her? What were these unfamiliar urges she felt towards him? It had been such fun and satisfying when they had worked together to free him from the snowdrift. If only she and Diccon could share such moments of being in harmony. She needed Mackillin to go far away so that she could concentrate her thoughts on praying for Diccon’s return. She needed inner peace instead of the tumultuous feelings that gripped her now. She must hold steadfast to her decision to keep her distance from Mackillin for the remainder of his stay at Milburn Manor.

‘We must go back.’ The harshness in his voice was enough to make her school her features before looking at him.

‘It would be foolish to continue,’ she said, sensing the tension in him as he held himself erect in the saddle.

He clenched his jaw and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. There were words he would have liked to say to her, but it would indeed be folly to speak them. He was shocked that a kiss he had intended as part of the fun they had shared had turned into something far deeper. What did he think he was playing at? He had made up his mind to marry Mary Armstrong, knowing it was sensible. He did not expect to reach the heights in his alliance with her, knowing that the love that the poets and minstrels raved about scarcely existed between man and wife. Yet just now he had felt such an explosion of feeling inside him that a certain part of his body still throbbed with arousal. He could not help wondering whether Cicely was attracted to him, as he was to her, against her better judgement. He certainly could not allow it to interfere with his plans. After years of travelling and adventure it was time to settle down and raise a family. For that he needed allies to make his position more secure. For the remainder of his stay he would make sure not to be alone with Cicely.