The Shattered Rose Page 0,91

attacker does not have time . . ."

He took her hand, rubbing his thumb gently against her skin. "In which case he could attempt assault from a distance. He'd use projectiles, attempting to batter down the walls."

"That sounds rather dangerous to me. Wouldn't I be on the walls hurling things back?"

"And we all know how formidable you are on walls...."

"Oh," she said, lips twitching, "were you hurling yourself at me?"

When he'd stopped laughing, he raised her hand and kissed it. "The other approach, of course, is betrayal."

He switched his grip on her hand, seized her around the waist, and swung her behind the cart so that in a couple of whirling seconds she was out of sight of the others, trapped by his body in a shadowy corner, his hand shutting off her cry.

Aline stared up at him, both terrified and thrilled. Jehanne had warned her.

Were the warnings to come true?

He eased his hand away from her mouth, but immediately sealed it with his own, a hot, overpowering kiss that had nothing to do with courteous wooing and everything to do with conquest.

His whole hard body pressed against her, drowning her in power and danger and a spicy smell of horse and leather. With a sudden shift he pulled her skirts up and thrust his thigh between hers. Despite her stifled shriek, he raised his foot onto the wagon wheel so her feet left the ground.

She had to clutch at his shoulders for balance, as she was stretched wide, pressed open against him.

Then a jolt of something shot right through her.

Panicked by her own feelings, she pushed desperately at his chest, but all her strength didn't move him one inch. He just rocked his leg beneath her, and stretched her mouth, overwhelming her with tongue and thigh and arms until her resistance weakened and she could scarcely think, never mind fight.

Then she kissed him back and found that surrender was much more rewarding than resistance. . . .

At last, at long last, he released her lips with very flattering reluctance, and kissed the tip of her nose. "Are you conquered yet, little castle?" It was hardly a question, but a smug announcement.

Aline pricked him in the back with the knife she'd slid out of his sheath.

"Are you?"

Shock wiped away the smile, but then it slowly returned, though his eyes were a great deal more alert. "Feint, then attack. Excellent tactics. There are dangers to taking prisoners you can't handle, though."

Aline prayed for a steady voice despite her absurd position, still straddling his thigh. "I can handle you, Raoul de Jouray. I'll let you go for ransom, just as long" - she pushed the knife in a fraction farther, so he hissed - "you admit that you were as overwhelmed by that assault as I."

"More, my fair opponent. Or you'd not have my knife."

She hadn't expected such full capitulation.

Warily, she moved the knife, watching for retaliation. But he simply eased her to the ground, then stepped back and held out his hand. She placed the knife in it and straightened her clothes, distressingly aware of a heated ache where his thigh had been, an ache that made her want to seize his belt and haul him back to her. She looked down, concentrating on the precise arrangement of her gown.

"You are a remarkable woman, Aline of Burstock."

She looked up. "Because I am not driven totally witless by your kisses?"

"Because you can keep your wits under pleasure." He slid the knife slowly, very slowly, into his jeweled sheath. "Do you deny the pleasure, Aline?"

She wanted to, but her dry mouth and aching crotch said otherwise. They had stripped another polite layer from themselves, and lying was no longer possible. "No, I don't deny it. But I am angry that you expected to be unaffected."

"I never expected that. I merely underestimated your armory. So," he said with his usual warming smile. "I am your prisoner. What ransom do you want?"

"What do you suggest?"

"Tush, Aline. That is foolish."

"Not at all," she said with a grin, "I merely meant to take your figure and treble it."

He trapped her against the cart again, but gently. "A hundred kisses."

She stared up at him, already sliding under his aura. "Our lips would wear out."

"We could spread the three hundred over many years."

She looked down at his chest, at a fine piece of gold embroidery around a gleaming yellow stone. His fancy, high-colored dress reminded her that he was a foreigner. "But before winter you will be back