Page 26
There was a shout and sudden laughter, and the two women looked up to see a little boy running toward them, his face alight. A scullery maid was chasing him.
“Mama!” the boy called to Adalia.
Adalia surged to her feet. “Holy Mary, I told that girl to keep him away from the hall.”
Elizabeth tried to shrink back, but it was too late—Joseph had seen her. He had but four years, and would not understand that he couldn’t shout her name to earn his hug.
The boy began, “Lady—”
“She’s not here, Joseph,” Adalia said, swinging the boy into the air and tickling him as he came back into her arms.
He giggled and squirmed and threw himself backward until she caught him, a favorite pastime of theirs. Elizabeth watched fondly, her heart still pounding even as Adalia took her son back to the kitchens.
Elizabeth risked a glance around the great hall. The soldiers were still preoccupied with their game, and more servants had gone to find their beds, or were already wrapping themselves in blankets to sleep in the great hall for the night.
But Sir John was still awake, and he was watching her. How much had he seen—or heard? She knew she should look away, pretend a casualness she didn’t feel. But she couldn’t. His eyes, deep and blue, still showed her compassion and interest. She could not ignore him and hope for the best. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and crossed the hall to stand near him.
“Sir John, I did not expect to find you still awake,” she said, trying to sound pleasant.
He studied her face, but all he did was smile and say, “I was waiting for Philip, but he seems to be winning at Tables.”
Elizabeth glanced at the group of soldiers, but she couldn’t see the clerk in the crowd. “It seems he might be a while.”
Sir John nodded.
“Would you like me to accompany you back to your bedchamber?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “If it would not be an inconvenience for you.” He rose slowly to his feet, as if his bruises pained him.
“Nay, I was about to find my pallet as well.”
“Do you sleep in your mistress’s chamber?”
“I am not permitted to,” she answered with regret.
He frowned. “She is alone then?”
“Except when I bring her meals.”
“It must be difficult for her.”
She shrugged. “She is a strong woman.”
“I am glad to hear that. I pray that things are resolved quickly.”
“As do I, Sir John.”
They walked in silence from the great hall and through the torchlit corridors. There was a comfort and strength in his presence. Since her father’s death, no man had made her feel safe.
And no man had ever made her so aware of him. He exuded masculinity, raw and potent, making it hard to ignore him.
She felt guilty, since she was sworn to another. But if eventually Sir John proved trustworthy, she might need his help. How could she reject him now, just because of her own fears? She had to trust herself to be able to keep temptation at bay. She would be the one to control this situation.
As they neared his door, to her surprise he wheeled clumsily and blocked her path. She came up short, her face tilted up to him, her body just brushing his.
And the awareness grew ever higher, surging from her breasts down to her loins with a heat that was startling and embarrassing and…tempting.
The torch was behind him on the wall, leaving his face cast in shadows but for the gleam of his eyes and teeth. He wasn’t smiling, but his lips were parted, and she realized hers were, too.
