wanted the ransom, she was a nun and definitely out of bounds. As a spy however, she must take her chances. But right here and now, wound up tighter than a drum, he had no idea who or what she was. He rolled his eyes, glanced at the cave mouth and pleaded for an early dawn.
His thoughts strayed to Wildewood , his childhood home. He’d been away far too long. Ten years of battle, death and dishonour had transformed him from boy to man. He’d left with the outrage of youth and returned with a man’s need for revenge. It sat in his belly curdling and demanding to be set free. He could taste it like bile on his tongue. Soon he would be in a position to exact a long awaited justice. Until then he needed to keep his wits about him. Nothing and no one could be allowed to get in his way.
He closed his eyes and succumbed to weariness. With the release of sleep he moved onto his back and the girl who he’d yet to decipher, moved with him, spending the rest of the night stretched languidly across him, her cheek nestled under his chin.
Chapter Eight
Grace woke slowly at first light, finally warm and rested. She stretched and snuggled deeper into a pillow which wasn’t as soft and fragrant as it should be. Miles’ shirt had come adrift in the night and she was laid upon the warmth of his skin, the firmness of his chest, the taut softness of his belly. She lifted her head groggily, opening her eyes as Miles woke with a start and they found each other nose to nose.
Raising her hand defensively, he caught it swiftly by the wrist
“What are you doing?” she cried, confused and indignant.
“I could ask the same question.” Miles released her wrist, lifted her clear and dumped her on the cave floor at his side. “Mademoiselle, I believe you were the one on top.”
Grace wriggled to a sitting position. She didn’t know how she’d ended up straddling her worst nightmare but when she looked in his eyes, still glazed with sleep, she knew that nothing had happened. The fear she’d felt the previous day remained, but for some reason this morning it was dormant. She glanced at him, wondering how long it would be before his actions caused its reawakening.
“Okay,” she said slowly, hesitantly. “I suppose I should thank you, for being such an obliging mattress.”
“My pleasure, Mademoiselle,” replied Miles with a slow smile. “And if you’re a good girl today and behave as you should, I promise not to reveal your indiscretions to the bishop. Though perhaps in future, it would be wise to choose your bedfellows with more care.”
Grace shook her head and ignored his attempt at humour. “You are mad,” she said as she pushed herself away from him.
Miles got to his feet and reached out a hand as she struggled upright. “How is your leg?”
“It’s okay, a little stiff perhaps.” Grace flexed her leg experimentally.
He raised a brow. “Indeed. I am similarly afflicted this morning. Perhaps we share a malady.”
She glanced up and caught the sly smile that brushed his lips. “I very much doubt it.”
“And your leg is okay?” He sounded out the word, his accent transforming it somewhat.
“Yes...it means good, fine, alright...okay.”
Miles considered her for a moment and she waited. She sensed from the look on his face he had further questions. She watched with rising indignation as he ran his gaze over the length of her.
“Yes?” she queried shortly. “You have a problem with the way I speak?”
He returned his eyes lazily to her face and smiled. “Not at all, Mademoiselle, I am well used to travel and the richness of language. I find your speech unusual...and interesting.”
“Okay then,” she replied shortly.
“Okay, indeed.” He dropped his gaze once more. “I must take a look?”
“You must take a look at what?”
“At your leg, I must inspect the wound to ensure no bad humours remain.”
She chanced a sly glance at him. That had to be the worst line ever. Had she really
His thoughts strayed to Wildewood , his childhood home. He’d been away far too long. Ten years of battle, death and dishonour had transformed him from boy to man. He’d left with the outrage of youth and returned with a man’s need for revenge. It sat in his belly curdling and demanding to be set free. He could taste it like bile on his tongue. Soon he would be in a position to exact a long awaited justice. Until then he needed to keep his wits about him. Nothing and no one could be allowed to get in his way.
He closed his eyes and succumbed to weariness. With the release of sleep he moved onto his back and the girl who he’d yet to decipher, moved with him, spending the rest of the night stretched languidly across him, her cheek nestled under his chin.
Chapter Eight
Grace woke slowly at first light, finally warm and rested. She stretched and snuggled deeper into a pillow which wasn’t as soft and fragrant as it should be. Miles’ shirt had come adrift in the night and she was laid upon the warmth of his skin, the firmness of his chest, the taut softness of his belly. She lifted her head groggily, opening her eyes as Miles woke with a start and they found each other nose to nose.
Raising her hand defensively, he caught it swiftly by the wrist
“What are you doing?” she cried, confused and indignant.
“I could ask the same question.” Miles released her wrist, lifted her clear and dumped her on the cave floor at his side. “Mademoiselle, I believe you were the one on top.”
Grace wriggled to a sitting position. She didn’t know how she’d ended up straddling her worst nightmare but when she looked in his eyes, still glazed with sleep, she knew that nothing had happened. The fear she’d felt the previous day remained, but for some reason this morning it was dormant. She glanced at him, wondering how long it would be before his actions caused its reawakening.
“Okay,” she said slowly, hesitantly. “I suppose I should thank you, for being such an obliging mattress.”
“My pleasure, Mademoiselle,” replied Miles with a slow smile. “And if you’re a good girl today and behave as you should, I promise not to reveal your indiscretions to the bishop. Though perhaps in future, it would be wise to choose your bedfellows with more care.”
Grace shook her head and ignored his attempt at humour. “You are mad,” she said as she pushed herself away from him.
Miles got to his feet and reached out a hand as she struggled upright. “How is your leg?”
“It’s okay, a little stiff perhaps.” Grace flexed her leg experimentally.
He raised a brow. “Indeed. I am similarly afflicted this morning. Perhaps we share a malady.”
She glanced up and caught the sly smile that brushed his lips. “I very much doubt it.”
“And your leg is okay?” He sounded out the word, his accent transforming it somewhat.
“Yes...it means good, fine, alright...okay.”
Miles considered her for a moment and she waited. She sensed from the look on his face he had further questions. She watched with rising indignation as he ran his gaze over the length of her.
“Yes?” she queried shortly. “You have a problem with the way I speak?”
He returned his eyes lazily to her face and smiled. “Not at all, Mademoiselle, I am well used to travel and the richness of language. I find your speech unusual...and interesting.”
“Okay then,” she replied shortly.
“Okay, indeed.” He dropped his gaze once more. “I must take a look?”
“You must take a look at what?”
“At your leg, I must inspect the wound to ensure no bad humours remain.”
She chanced a sly glance at him. That had to be the worst line ever. Had she really
Similar Books
