He met her gaze again with the stunning warmth of his own, the shadows having ebbed, it seemed, for the time being. Raising his fingers to her cheek, he used his thumb to brush away the lingering wetness there.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but the emotion behind it was just as intense. “All that I can give, Alissende, I will. Our arrival at Odiham tomorrow will mark the beginning of what I can do to ensure your safety from Hugh or any man who thinks ever to claim you against your wishes; none will be eager to test the matter further when I am finished. This I promise you.”
Alissende wanted to say so many things to him in response, but she found that she could not. Nay, the lump in her throat prevented her. So she settled for nodding in silence, determined to be strong in this…to remember the futility—the danger—in wanting anything more than what they had right now. To forget about the past and future and live only in the present, aware that all the wishing in the world would not change what had already been or what would be.
Damien held her gaze for another moment that was charged with all the emotion of what had been said…and what had not. Then, lifting his arm, he invited her into the warmth of his embrace, saying quietly, “Come, lady. It will be dawn in a few hours, and the morrow is certain to be eventful. We should try to get some sleep.”
Chapter 13
Odiham Castle, Hampshire
Two mornings later
When Alissende stepped out of the large silk pavilion she and Damien would call home for the next week, she looked up at the sky. Lead-gray clouds gathered angrily at the horizon, promising rain. Not the most auspicious of beginnings, to be sure.
They’d arrived here yesterday, as planned, and had spent the day gaining their bearings as their servants had set up their temporary dwelling. The pageantry of the tournament would not get underway until this evening, with a grand gathering that would include food and dancing inside Odiham’s unusual, octagonal keep. If the number of colorful silk tents and pavilions pitched across this field was any indication, the area within those stone walls would be crammed with revelers tonight.
The actual battle events would commence on the morrow, and she could not help but hope that the weather would have cleared enough by then to keep the tournament participants from being forced to slog through mud or engage their opponents under a blanket of uncomfortable drizzle or outright rain. Only time would tell.
Before that, however, they had to get through the opening ceremonies, complete with the call of introductions before the king, which promised to be as enjoyable for both her and Damien as having a physician lance a festering wound. But it had to be done.
“Are you ready to make our appearance, then?”
Damien spoke as he came out of the tent, looking up at the sky as she had done, before he directed his gaze to her. With that, the tension that had been apparent in him from the moment they’d ridden within view of Odiham’s jutting towers eased to something softer.
“You look beautiful, lady.”
“Thank you.”
His murmured compliment drew forth the heat that always seemed to be lingering just below the surface of her cheeks whenever she was with him. It did not help that the memory of his most intimate touches upon her flashed to mind whenever she happened to look upon the mocking, sensual lines of his mouth, or his elegant hands with those strong, expert fingers.
“The hue you’re wearing becomes you,” he said, breaking into her heated thoughts with his teasing. “Perhaps because it serves to accent your blushes in a rather enticing way.”
“You have cleaned up rather nicely yourself, sir,” she somehow managed to quip in response.
“It is none of my doing, I confess, but rather courtesy once again of your mother’s foresight.”
He flashed a brilliant smile, meant to disarm.
It did.
Ah, she saw the way to handle Sir Damien de Ashby this day. “It is fortunate, then,” she retorted, arching one brow, “thatMèrepossesses such a keen eye—able to make the most out of whatever she is given to work with.”
For a moment she thought Damien’s mouth might actually drop open. But he recovered swiftly enough to offer her an exaggerated, gallant nod. “You may tender my undying appreciation to her, when next you meet, for without her skills, I would surely be fit for naught but stable or scullery.” He followed it with a sweeping bow and flourish of his hand, making her laugh, before he straightened up, tall and very fine indeed, to offer her his arm.
“Shall we proceed to the feast, then, milady, such as I am?”
“Aye, sir, I would be honored to appear beside you,” she said, laughing again and slipping her hand into the bend at his elbow.
And that, she feared, would likely be the last lighter moment they would share for several hours, or perhaps even the rest of the week.
As they approached the main gate to the castle, she saw that it was wide open with the portcullis raised, as expected, and that what seemed to be several royal guards were manning the entrance, backed by scribes on either side. They were keeping a list of all who passed through the doors, for the purpose of notifying the tournament’s appointed king-of-arms about each noble or knightly combatant scheduled to compete. That, as well as for providing King Edward’s herald with the names for presentation upon commencement of the festivities.
They came a bit closer, within twenty paces of the gate…and it was then that Alissende noticed it.
“And so it begins.”
She heard Damien murmur that cryptic-sounding assessment at the same time that she felt the weight of the stares begin to shift toward them. Some of the lords and their ladies were better at masking their surprise or curiosity, only glancing and then lowering their gazes, while others seemed to feel no scruple in outright gawking at them as they neared the table to the right of the gate.
