shirt was cut in a dozen places and clung to his flesh like a wet black sheath. But he had never looked more wonderful to her. Servanne had never felt such happiness, such love, such pride before in her life.
He stopped within arm’s reach, his eyes a paler gray than ever she had seen them, and filled with more emotions than she would have dared hoped or dreamed. He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze moving over her soft curves, pausing at every scratch and bruise as if offering a silent pledge to atone for each and every one. There was a breathless little silence between them and her knees turned to jelly. She knew if he did not say something soon, or take her into his arms, she would melt into the sand and be washed out to sea on the next tide.
They must have been sharing the exact same thought at the exact same instant, for her half-sobbed cry was lost beneath the heartfelt oath he murmured as his mouth came crushing down over hers. His arms went around her, clinging to her so tightly she became moulded to the muscles of his body. His kiss was deep and ravaging and might have frightened her with its demanding intensity if her own lips were not just as eager, just as frantic to become a part of him.
“Ahh-hem.”
The discreet cough behind them made no impression.
“Ahh-hem. My lord?”
Sparrow happened by and chuckled dryly. “I warrant you would have better luck winning a response from a tree trunk, Sir Richard of Rouen. These two shall not move again until hunger, thirst, or body needs lay them by the heels.”
Lucien’s mouth lifted from Servanne’s with a grudging sigh, but he made no move to release her from his arms.
“Sir Richard … were you not supposed to be well on your way to Hull to rendezvous with the queen’s ship?”
“There is gratitude for you,” Sparrow chirped, earning a scowl from Sir Richard in return.
“As it happens, my lord, as soon as we were out of hailing distance of the castle, my men lost patience with the louts sent to escort our troop to Lincoln. We laid them by in short order, then set off in the direction of Hull, but bedamned if my steed did not pull up lame and require the services of a farrier. In all conscience I could not risk the safety of Princess Eleanor over such a trifling matter, and so I sent her on ahead with the bulk of the men, retaining only a few good lads to, ahh, aid me in my search for a smithy.”
Lucien’s gaze had not broken from Servanne’s, nor had the heat in his body grown any less threatening to her composure.
“And? Did you find a smithy?”
Sir Richard ignored Sparrow’s rolling eyes and nodded quite seriously. “Aye, my lord, but by then it was broaching dusk and so misted on the forest roads we could scarce see our hands before our faces. Imagine my surprise when the road we took brought us back to the moor instead of away to Hull.”
“Imagine,” the Wolf mused, his embrace tightening around Servanne, the movement rippling along the muscles in his arms and chest.
“And then the further surprise of stumbling across the camp occupied by our own men! We were naturally pressed into lodging there the night and—”
“And just happened to still be there when I arrived,” Sparrow interjected, “although I am sure, had I been a wink later in gasping my way out of the moor, Sir Richard and his men would have departed for Hull.”
“No doubt they would,” the Wolf murmured, his mouth lowering to Servanne’s with a warm, devouring passion. “Well, my lady? What do you think of such a tale?”
“I think it heroic and brave,” she whispered. “Sir Richard has obviously been in your service long enough to have learned by example.”
“The devil you say, madam.”
“The devil you are, my lord,” she sighed, and stretched up on tiptoes to ensure he did not speak again.
EPILOGUE
Servanne ran the palms of her hands reverently over the warm bulge of male flesh beneath her. Discovering the two raised beads of his nipples, her lips formed a moist pout and leaned brazenly forward to claim their prize. Lucien groaned and raked his fingers into the silken mass of her hair, but that was a mistake too, for it freed her hips to move at their own impudent pace, and he could feel himself being