Marie collided with him suddenly, backing him into the shelves. Did she stumble? Bartholomew took a step back and found a wall behind him, then the lady’s lips at his ear. “Sir, I must cast myself at your mercy,” she whispered. “I entreat you to aid me in my distress.”
Was this a trick?
“Of course, I should be glad to be of service to my noble hostess,” he said with care.
Her hands were on his tabard and he could smell her perfume. He decided to believe that she wished to confide in him quietly, but her hands began to rove across his chest.
In a caress.
“You are mostly finely wrought, sir,” she whispered. “And I have need of the services of such a man.”
Should he cast her aside?
Was there more to be gained by remaining in place until she had her say? What would be lost if he spurned her and she was insulted?
“My husband’s seed does not take root, despite these many years of his efforts,” she continued in a heated whisper. “I have need of a child. I no longer even care of its gender, but a son would be best.”
Bartholomew blinked. She wished for him to lie with her?
Her voice dropped lower, her frustration clear. “There are never men in our hall, never noblemen at our board. No knights, no guests, no barons, no hale men within three days’ ride!” She seized fistfuls of his tabard and shook him. “Sir! I must have a child!”
Bartholomew tried to recall the example of Gaston’s diplomacy and chose his words with care. “My lady, I have much sympathy for your plight, but I am a wedded man. I would be faithful to my wife and my vows.”
“She was raised in a convent!” Marie hissed. “What pleasure can she give you?” Her hand was beneath his tabard before he realized what she did. Her fingers closed over him, granting him an intimate caress.
Bartholomew seized her shoulders and pushed her away. “She is my wife. You must know that what you suggest is wrong.”
“Wrong? It is wrong for me to rot in this filthy burg! It is wrong for me to be denied the one thing that would deliver me from this place!” Marie made a growl under her breath, then seemed to steady herself. She continued with low heat. “Sir, do not imagine that my relief will be lightly won. There are those who do not survive the peril of bearing a child, and certainly all women endure the curse of Eve in so doing. Your part would be trifling.”
“But…”
“But I ask for naught you cannot spare.” Her tone turned pleading. “But one visit. Perhaps two. While your lady wife sleeps.” Her voice dropped lower than it had been thus far. “She need never know.”
“It would be wrong.”
“No one need ever know. Indeed, I will welcome my husband to my bed on the morrow. No one will ever guess that it is not his child.”
“There are others…”
Marie interrupted him crisply. “I have no taste for Scots, and the red hair that appears suddenly in their children might reveal my deed. Your coloring is like mine and that of my husband. I choose you.”
“The Templars surely share my coloring…”
Marie laughed. “I have but one night to see this done. Even I do not imagine my charms to be sufficient to tempt such a knight to abandon his vows so readily. It must be you.”
Bartholomew did not know what to say. He would not do it, but telling Marie as much might put the entire party in peril.
She slid her arm into his elbow, as sinuous as a snake and as sly as a fox. “You must think about it, I see,” she said smoothly. “I like a man of principle. Your seed will have integrity.”
She led him forward, and he heard the key turn again in the lock. Marie opened the door a crack and listened, then urged him into the corridor. Her manner changed immediately, though the invitation lurked in her eyes.
“But you must be famished!” Marie declared, speaking so loudly that any might hear her. “A knight so robust as yourself has need of every fine morsel we can summon.”
“Indeed, it has been a long ride this day,” Bartholomew acknowledged. “And even longer since we have dined on fine fare.”
“Then come, come to the hall,” she insisted, tugging him by the hand with such a playful manner that they might have been courting. She leaned close to him before they entered the hall once more and dropped her voice low, her gaze filled with invitation. “I find my husband’s hall is quite dull after the revels I knew in France,” she whispered. Her hand trailed across his chest. “Perhaps you, sir, since you are said to be so gallant, might amuse me later this eve with some tales from the court.”
“I should be glad to regale the hall with any tidings from afar.”
