Read Online Telepathy of Hearts by Eve Irving - Free Book Online Page B

silent and Matheus praised him for it. “Good lad, a true soldier will never speak of where their master or mistress hides. ” Giving Arthur an apple from his saddle bag he patted the horse. Matheus took his neck scarf and tied it to the horse ’s stirrups. He secured them to the pommel so the horse would not spook.
    â€œNow then, these will not chaff you or bang your flank when you make for home. Oh and Arthur if my men come looking ,prey tell them ’tis their knight ’s scarf and I have found my kill, for if they have drunk too much good ale , they will believe the words of a talking horse above the sight of my scarf. ”
    Matheus chuckled as he slapped Arthur ’s back to e n courage him to go. But the horse stood fast awaiting his mi s tress. It took several attempts for he hated striking a horse.
    â€œ Strike horse nor woman , Matheus , unless the hand of fate forces ye, ” his dad had always said. “ Upon their backs and in their hearts they will carry your body and save your soul in ways you ’ll never understand. Man is often a burden that they are not deserving of. ”
    But eventually after a slap to his flank the large beast cantered off toward the Castle. “Now my little deserter , where are you? ” he muttered.
    Following the newly trod path down to the lakeside, he stopped. Matheus ’s chest rose, and his shoulders stiffened. His body stood quite rigid, viewing his discovery. Grunting, he vocalised the displeasure that crept over his face. He was pained, his brow pinched and his lips pursed into a tight line . His gaze followed, narrowing to a cruel glare. There lay a pile of exquisitely embroidered clothes upon the stony edge. Silently he fumed.
    Unless there is another noble woman running wild as a welsh pony, these clothes are Eleanor ’s.
    This fuelled his temper even more. Out loud he be l lowed. “For the love of God, what is it with this maid? She …Holy mother of God …I — ”
    Scoring his hands throu gh his hair to keep them busy enough to keep from draw ing his sword and strik ing som e thing, he continued to growl deep from his guts. In pure fru s tration, he sucked air through his teeth to prevent hi s screa m ing bloody murder . Striking the air with his fist and kicking sods and stones up from the ground he yelled. “I …Oh hell and damnation! You, Eleanor of Lancaster, could test the p a tience of Job. Damn you, woman, where are you? ” His fru s trations remained unheard for there was not a soul about, not even Eleanor. And i t was turning to dusk.
    The magic of the eve pattered the sky with opal colours of fire and gold. The lateness of the hour found the low lazy sun kissing the horizon , tipp ing it with pink and bronze. The only disturbance was the geese flying overhead, calling as they made their journey home.
    The world just stilled. The sound of his heart was dea f ening. There was not air enough in his lungs to breath let alone talk. Silently he spoke to her.
    â€œDear lord, I have no words, you are exquisite. If I were a poet, I would write prose about you and if I had a palette my hand would nay be ever skilled enough to paint you, for I doubt any master of ink could. ”
    His temper cooling and his heart captured, Matheus backed into the boughs. They were hanging low and dark like widows ’ weaves over the lake side , and he was easily concealed . Not able to look away , h e was bewitched.
    Eleanor rose from the water. The pure female form of a woman with the presence of a goddess. There was something almost otherworldly about her. Matheus ’s eyes followed her delectable womanly curves. From the indent of her belly bu t ton to the peaks of her full breasts, she was so beautiful. Everything that was male in him growled a carnal sound. His senses ignited, blood burning as it pulsed through his veins, the very soul of him searing with heat.
    Need grew in him, a n insatiable hunger only