“Who is he, William? Who is your father?”
Any temptation to reveal it to her—and his heart wanted her to know his truth—stopped at the sound of steps down the corridor outside. He waited to see if Lord Hugh returned.
“Sir William,” a servant said to him with a bow. “Lord Hugh is detained with matters he must see to and wishes you to remain at your pleasure here.” Then the man turned to Brienne. “Your lord father bids you to see to Sir William’s comfort and to escort him to the yard when he has finished.”
With the extraordinary message delivered, the man left, and as his footsteps and his presence faded, William understood that this was planned. A battle strategy, plain and simple, for no nobleman would leave his unmarried daughter alone with any man not related by blood and rarely with one related by marriage.
And yet here they sat. The bigger question was—did she know? Brienne stood in the heavy silence and brought a pitcher of wine over to fill his cup. He covered it and shook his head.
“I have had enough wine this night. But my thanks.” She placed it down and returned to the seat next to him.
“Have you eaten your fill? These”—she picked up a small, sticky, folded pastry and held it before him—“are my favorites.”
“Here only a few days and you already have a favorite?” he asked.
“There is a chance I will discover something more pleasing, but for now this is my choice.”
She nodded and brought it closer to his mouth, offering it to him. He opened and took a bite, careful not to touch her fingers as he did. There was an intense burst of sweetness, and then a spicy flavor filled his mouth. He could not identify the flavor, but it was quite good. He watched her eyes as she brought the rest of it to his mouth. This time his lips touched her fingers as he took the rest of it in.
He grasped her hand, holding it to his mouth, and licked the rest of the sweetness off her fingers, one by one. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened as he suckled first one, then the next, then the next.
William knew that the sweet flavor of the pastry was not the one he wanted to savor—he wanted the woman sitting next to him. He tugged her closer and kissed her mouth.
She leaned in to him then, her hand sliding along his arm and up onto his shoulder to steady herself as she kissed him back. Her tongue slid along his lips, and she murmured her surprise at the sticky coating that remained from the pastry on his lips.
“Sweet,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Aye, sweet,” he whispered back, plunging his tongue deeper inside her mouth.
Their tongues played and swirled, and he sucked hers into his mouth. She learned quickly, for she did the same thing to his, and he savored the taste that was only her. A mixture of innocence, curiosity, and desire. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her across his legs, never breaking the touch of their mouths. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kisses until they both were breathless. Drawing back, he watched as she lifted her hand and traced down his cheeks and along his jaw.
“You terrified me,” she admitted to him. “When you first arrived here, you were so stern and forbidding.”
“When did I stop terrifying you?” he asked, curiosity now his to suffer.
“I think I still am a bit,” she whispered, pressing her mouth against his. He tilted his head and kissed her again.
“You do not look terrified,” he teased.
“You were the first man from outside the village and castle who spoke to me. You are a man of war. You come from the king. All of those were good reasons to fear you,” she explained. All the while her finger teased his skin.
“You do not look frightened now, Brienne.” She looked well kissed and bolder than any woman he’d kissed before. “When did you stop?”
“When you came charging after me when those men took me, no matter the danger to yourself.” She stroked along his jaw and outlined his lips. “When you tried to tell me about the dangers of men like you.” Her finger slid along his face and circled his ear, making him shiver. “When you touched me.”
Her body arched against his, and for a moment he wanted to lay her on the table and finish what they’d begun that day in the forest. To peel off the layers she wore and taste every inch of her skin until she opened for him. His breathing became even more ragged, and the battle for control was nearly lost when she slid her hands into his hair and pulled his face to hers, kissing him with abandon.
“But mostly when you held me in the rain,” she whispered when she could speak again.
The footsteps coming down the corridor finally reminded him of their location and stopped her—stopped him—from moving forward. Instead he lifted her from his lap and put her back on the chair. Standing, he adjusted his breeches and walked a few paces away, as though retrieving the pitcher of water had been his intent all along and not the utter and complete ravishment of the lord’s newly claimed daughter.
The person turned in to a chamber before this one and he let out his breath. Though the cockstand that never disappeared when he was near her would argue, the moment, the madness, was over.
“Brienne,” he began. “I apologize for my behavior. I . . .”
How could he explain it to her? She was an innocent. Though if she continued gazing at him with her luminous eyes and well-kissed mouth, he might not be the man of honor he proclaimed himself to be.
“I should return to my chambers. I am certain you will be awake early and be asked to help the lady prepare for her journey.” She stood then and nodded at him.
