“I detest your Norman grapes,” she said haughtily.
He grinned. “Do you? Truly?”
“Yes.”
“But the Norman fruit bears seed more potent—did you not know?”
“Do not play with my words, you know what I mean.”
His blue eyes sparkled. “I think that there is Norman fruit you like very well.”
She went scarlet. “You are drunk!”
“I have good cause to celebrate.”
“Oh, yes,” she said bitterly. “You may now deliver my brother’s head to your bastard king!”
His easy humor vanished. “’Tis correct.”
“I demand you free Guy of his guarding me.”
“You demand, Ceidre?” His brow lifted. He was amused, indeed in a rare spirit.
“I request,” she amended, flushing.
He leaned against the hearth indolently, yet his aura was unmistakably sensual. He crooked a finger. “You may demand whatever you like.”
She blinked.
“Come here and demand of me, Ceidre, that which you want. I am most amenable tonight.” He smiled again.
It was like the brightest of suns, when he smiled, perhaps because true mirth, from him, was so rare. Ceidre realized her heart was fluttering madly and that her limbs were taut. “You are not serious.”
“Oh,” he said softly, “I am most serious. Do you not know you can get anything you wish of me?”
She stared.
“Especially”—his nostrils flared as his gaze shifted —“when you are clad in such a thin gown, your eyes so dark with righteous anger, your mouth so full and slightly parted, mayhap for me …”
Ceidre trembled.
“Take down your hair,” he said softly.
“What?”
“I have never seen it loose. I wish to see it now.” His tone was still easy. “Please me, Ceidre.”
“I did not come here to please you,” Ceidre managed. “I came to insist—to request—that your man leave me be. I cannot even seek a private spot for my body’s needs without him there, on my heels. ’Tis most unjust.”
He smiled his beautiful smile, his gaze wandering over her again, slowly, with languid enjoyment. “I do not trust you,” he said mildly.
She flushed.
“Take down your hair,” he coaxed, his tone distinctly sensual. “Please.”
Startled, she realized that he had asked her, not ordered her, to free her hair. The word please rolled like honey from his tongue, yet she was sure he had rarely used it. Of course, she would not do as he asked.
He smiled, and before she knew it he was in front of her, his hands gentle in her hair, pulling the binding off. Ceidre could not move, she could not even breathe, as with his fingers he loosened the strands until a cloud of bronze tresses whirled around her shoulders and breasts, down her back, and past her hips.
