Sharon Schulze - For My Lady's Honor

she said, her whispered demand intense with the maelstrom of feeling whirling through her.

His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Show you what, milady?” His gaze beckoned her, enticed her to lean closer to him.

Did she have the courage to continue what she’d started? A simple glance at Padrig’s face was all the answer she needed.

“Show me how to kiss, if you please,” she said, in the haughtiest tone she could contrive—though she mitigated that offense with a smile.

“There are many kinds of kisses.” He nuzzled her cheek, then touched his lips to her ear. “You’ve only to tell me what you want, milady,” he whispered. “I am yours to command.”

Unfamiliar desires engulfed her; her body demanded something, but she’d little notion precisely what it was she wanted. What she needed.

All at once the answer came to her. She wanted more...!

Lady of the Keep

“A warmhearted tale where love mends old wounds and broken dreams.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

The Hidden Heart

“…a medieval romance bound to break your heart, then mend it good as new.”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Shielded Heart

“A fine addition to the author’s L’Eau Clair Chronicles, and one that will make readers look forward to more!”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my son Patrick and his wonderful wife:

May your life together always

be full of love and laughter.

And in loving memory of my grandmother,

Clara Willey—for card games, Sunday dinners

(and wrestling!) and making each of us feel like

the most special person in the world.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Welsh Marches, 1222

Lady Alys Delamare slid her head out of the blanket and greeted the brightening sky with relief. After a nigh sleepless night—during which she’d scarce dared move upon her pallet lest her maddeningly observant escort notice her restlessness—she couldn’t wait to be quit of her bed and on the road once more.

Another day of their journey meant another day in the company of the ever-irksome Sir Padrig ap Huw.

Yet it also brought her another day closer to bidding him farewell.

’Twas a shame the nagging voice inside her head—speaking for the part of her that took a reluctant pleasure in Padrig’s teasing ways—had taken on a sad tone at the thought of their inevitable parting.

She’d plans for her life, plans that didn’t include an attractive young knight…no matter how appealing she found him.

She peeked over at Padrig’s bedroll. ’Twas empty.

By the Virgin, she’d swear she’d heard him every time he’d so much as shifted on the ground in the night! How had he managed to rise without her noticing?

He’s a skilled warrior! Who knows what the man is capable of?

Alys squirmed free of her bedding and stood, tugging at her twisted undertunic and giving a shimmy to settle the garment. Ignoring the stout boots and bliaut on the ground beside her, she edged around Marie, her maid, who continued to snore unabated.

Mayhap Marie had drowned out the sound of Padrig’s leaving. She bit back a laugh. ’Twas possible, for the young woman could nigh wake the deaf at times, she made such a racket.

Once away from Marie, Alys focused instead on the beauty of the morning. Thick grass covered the clearing, soft and cool beneath her bare feet. The sensation sent a shiver of pleasure through her; she could scarce remember the last time she’d had the chance to savor the feel of the earth against her skin.

A smile on her lips, she crept from the clearing and, following a faint path through the trees, entered the forest.

Her unbound hair, mussed from sleep, caught in a low branch. She paused to free herself, the fresh scent of pine adding to her awareness of the world around her—and of herself. She felt vividly alive, conscious of her body in a strange new way.

Her senses alert, Alys heard water splashing. Following the sound, she hurried along the path until she reached a small pool surrounded by trees and rocks.

A pool occupied by a muscular, naked man.

He faced away from her, the water barely hiding his buttocks. Moisture shimmered on his tanned skin, accentuating his strong arms and back. He swept his hands through his wet hair, smoothing it back to lie, dark and wavy, to his shoulders.

She couldn’t mistake that hair. ’Twas Padrig.

Blessed Mary save her! She’d always thought him handsome, but she’d never imagined he looked like this.

Her mouth dry and her gaze intent upon Padrig, Alys stole closer to the edge of the pool. She’d no intention of bringing this mesmerizing scene to an end any time soon by catching his attention.

He stretched his arms over his head. The muscles in his back and shoulders flexed, drawing her attention to several dark, intricate designs on the smooth flesh of his shoulders and upper arms.

They appeared to be drawn upon his skin. She’d never seen such a thing—what could they be?

Padrig began to slowly walk away from her, toward the other side of the narrow pool. Startled from her fascination, Alys knew she should do something to make him aware of her presence, but instead she lingered at the edge of the forest, motionless and silent, to savor this unexpected pleasure for as long as possible.

Padrig’s lips curled in a smile as Alys continued to lurk near the water on the other side of the pond. Her startled gasp when she’d seen him would have given her away even if he hadn’t already heard her moving through the trees lining the path. He should have spoken, or shifted deeper into the water once he’d known she was there, but he couldn’t resist the provocation to tease her.

How far could he go, he wondered, before she’d do something to let him know she was there?

He stretched his arms skyward and took another step away from Alys and closer to the far edge of the pool. He had to fight the temptation to turn around, to see the expression on her face as she watched him. He could feel her eyes upon him, the intensity of her gaze nigh a physical caress over his flesh.

A caress that was causing an all-too-real reaction, he noted wryly. Mayhap he’d better move into deeper water after all; he didn’t need to have her run screaming back toward their campsite, sending her maid into a tizzy and his men scrambling to protect her.

But what if she didn’t react that way? For all he knew, she might even now be removing her own clothing to join him in the water….

Closing his eyes for a moment against the yearning that image brought to mind, he reluctantly shifted his thoughts instead to Lord Rannulf’s reaction should Padrig take such base advantage of a young lady in his care.

Jesu, had lust unbalanced his mind? Lady Alys was a noblewoman—a virgin, he had no doubt.

If Lord Rannulf didn’t have his head for such insolence—or some other part of him a bit lower, he thought with a chuckle—the lady’s father would certainly take exception should Padrig attempt to steal her innocence.