A Dishonorable Knight - By Morrison, Michelle Page 0,54
shirt, pushing it up around his armpits before leaning on him again, never once breaking their kiss.
All of this proved too much for Gareth. He felt that at any moment he would go insane with wanting her. Amazed at himself that he had been content to let her do so much of the seducing, he smoothly rolled her onto her back and, tearing his mouth from hers, began trailing kisses down her throat, across her collarbone to her breasts. Elena's hands tangled in his hair again, running restlessly through his rumpled locks as her breathing came in quick and unsteady inhalations. She gasped and arched against him when he trailed his tongue along her navel. Gareth was just about to tug his breeches off when Cynan pounded on the door and shouted, "Gareth! Wake up! The rain has stopped and there's a rumor that a troop of English soldiers are headed this way and they've been asking after us!"
Gareth glanced up at Elena who looked disoriented and dazed as she propped herself up on her elbows, her hair a glorious riot of chestnut curls. "Damn!" he said under his breath as he rolled to the side of the bed and sat up. He leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees, his head cradled in his hands as he tried to slow his breathing. Finally lifting his head he turned to Elena. "I'm sorry, but we're going to have to leave right away. I know you've not recovered fully and I'd leave you here if I could, but if the English find you, they may wonder why you're here alone." Standing, Gareth arranged his crumpled clothing, being careful to keep his back turned until the evidence of his passion subsided. When he felt collected enough to turn back, he wished he hadn't. Elena was struggling into her chemise, pulling the bunched yards of ivory material over her head, her slender body creamy in the morning light. Gareth struggled and lifted his hands to help her. He stopped himself inches from touching her, his hands shaking, wondering if she would be insulted by his help. Of course, he thought to himself, considering what they had been doing--what they would have done had they not been interrupted--surely it would not be too forward to simply help her dress...
But Gareth had debated too long. Elena finally got the chemise in place and reached for her kirtle, carefully avoiding his questioning gaze. When she pulled this over her head and began struggling to tie the laces in back, Gareth finally forced his inhibitions down and said, "I will help you with that, my lady." She said nothing as he pulled the laces tight and tied them with shaking fingers. As soon as he was done, she looked around, leaning over to search under the bed.
"Where are my boots?"
Gareth racked his brain. What had they done with her boots when they'd undressed her?
"I--" he began.
"Oh, here they are," Elena said as she carefully edged around him without touching so much as a fold of his clothing and retrieved her worn boots from the hearth where they had dried stiff and misshapen. Gareth tried to speak and had to clear his throat instead.
"They'll soften up after you've worn them a bit. They were sopping wet when we took them off."
Elena finally looked at him, her eyes opening wide with shock. "We?" she squeaked.
Gareth realized she must have been thinking of Cynan and Bryant and hastily said, "Er, rather, the wife of the man who owns this inn. She was very kind and, uh, put you to bed when we brought you here. You were very ill. A fever." Gareth's tongue felt like it was tied in knots. "We weren't sure you were going to live."
Elena frowned. "I've never been ill before." She suddenly remembered Cynan's words. "Gareth! The abbess! She told the English captain that you were on your way to help Richmond. And the soldiers–I think they were the same ones we ran across on the way to your father’s house. If they catch you'll they'll surely execute you for betraying King Richard."
"Was that why you were on the road that night? Were you following us? Were you trying to warn us?"
Elena hesitated, clearly flustered. Gareth felt his focus on her intensify. If she cared enough to warn him, perhaps she—his thought was interrupted by the entrance of the innkeeper's wife.
"I thought your wife might want some breakfast before you go tearing off."