Innocent's Champion. Meriel Fuller
To her surprise, the man lifted his chin and laughed. The sun caught the rich wheat colour of his hair, augmenting the vigorous strands to shining gold. ‘Believe me, if I was going to kill you, I would have done it by now.’
Well, that was reassuring. Lying prone and limp beneath his intimidating perusal, Matilda glared at him, chewing at her bottom lip, unsure. She needed to sit up, stand up and face him, eye to eye, but right at this moment, a debilitating weakness sapped her strength, made her muscles floppy. What was the matter with her?
‘What were you playing at, shooting at us like that?’ Kneeling at her side, the man spoke with the cool, modulated tones of the nobility, and his clothes, despite being travel-worn, were of good quality.
‘You attacked us!’ she hissed, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. Pressing her hands back into the grass, she struggled into a seated position. It was a mistake. With this hulk of a man right next to her, his rough-hewn features and exquisitely carved mouth were on a level with her own, too close! She shifted her hips, straining her body backwards to create a bigger space between them. His nearness unsettled her. ‘You attacked defenceless women, attacked our knights, our servants!’
‘Not me, not us.’ He shook his head, blond hair falling across his temple. The hood of his hauberk, which he wore beneath his breastplate, gathered in glittering metallic folds behind his head, emphasising the corded strength of his neck. ‘We heard the screams and came running. You’re fortunate that we did, otherwise something worse than falling in the river might have happened to you.’ His piercing grey eyes swept the length of her shuddering body, from her glossy silken hair, past her neat waist, to her diminutive feet in soft leather slippers peeking out from beneath her gown.
Matilda flushed, heated colour flooding her cheeks beneath his diamond stare. His eyes were like silver coins. She tilted her chin downwards, setting her mouth in a fixed stubborn line. The insinuation was unmistakable and she hated him for it. ‘It would never have come to that,’ she stated, trying to inject some confidence into her voice, drawing her spine up straight. ‘Someone would have stopped them, either our knights...or me.’
‘You?’ He tilted his head to one side, a small smile playing across his generous mouth. His tanned skin was flushed from the sun, emphasising the taut hollows beneath his high cheekbones. ‘But you were floundering in the river.’
‘Only because you made me fall!’ Her voice rang out with accusation. ‘You’re on my gown,’ she croaked out irritably, tugging at her skirts. ‘Can you move, please?’
Gilan looked down at his knees planted firmly in the expanse of blue, very wet, velvet silk. He didn’t move. ‘Is that all you have to say for yourself? Most people would be thanking me, and my men, for what we did back there.’
‘You nearly drowned me, or have you forgotten?’ She folded her arms high across her chest, trying to keep her shivers hidden from his predatory gaze.
He quirked one eyebrow at her. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but from the way you lurched back from my hold, I think you were trying to drown yourself.’
‘I thought you were one of them,’ she mumbled, plucking at a loose silver thread that had come adrift from the belt around her ribcage. Her fingernails were pale pink, like the polished interior of a shell.
‘What were you thinking of, shooting like that? You had a perfect hiding place, why did you not keep quiet? Wait until those men had gone?’
Her blue eyes flashed up at him. ‘Because I wanted to help. I could help. I can shoot as well as any man.’ Hands pooled in her lap, Matilda laced her fingers together, trying to stop them trembling.
Gilan raised his eyebrows at her bold words, surprised. Why, he had never heard a woman speak thus, with such a sense of pride in her own ability. She was a good shot, too, he thought grudgingly, remembering the hiss of the arrow past his head. He narrowed his eyes suddenly, noting the telltale shake of her shoulders beneath the countless pleats of her bodice, the blueness around her lips.
‘You’re freezing,’ he announced bluntly. ‘Do you live hereabouts?’ Rising swiftly to his feet, he stepped off her gown. Matilda pulled at it hurriedly, gathering the voluminous folds around her slim legs. Why did he not just go away? He made her feel vulnerable, exposed, as if her own efforts had all been in vain. He towered over her, big shoulders blocking out the sun, dark blue cloak swinging down to his knees, emblazoned with small golden fleur-de-lis.
Golden fleur-de-lis? Her heart flipped dangerously, warning her, a small pucker of skin pleating between her dark eyebrows. ‘Do you ride with the king?’
He grinned down at her pale, worried face. ‘No, the complete opposite. I ride with the man who intends to push him from the throne.’
‘Henry of Lancaster,’ she whispered.
‘Correct.’ Gilan nodded. Insects buzzed and whirred in the tall grass, the sound soporific in the pressing heat of the afternoon.
Matilda’s heart lurched, fear scything through her. She would have to be careful. They would all have to be careful. Katherine and her husband were staunch supporters of King Richard, and by association with them, so was she. She was certain Henry of Lancaster would not take kindly to such a kinship, so the sooner she was away from this man, this formidable stranger, the better. She lifted one hand to her forehead and pushed distractedly at the silver net which seemed to drag lopsidedly over one ear.
‘I said, do you live hereabouts?’
Really, he talked to her as if she were a dim-witted peasant! But with her flesh prickling uncomfortably with river water, and her mind fuddled by his overbearing presence, she was finding it difficult to concentrate. She breathed in deeply, trying to gain some control over her tattered senses. ‘Yes, yes, we do. We were on our way home when we were attacked.’
‘We?’ He raised one dark blond eyebrow.
‘My sister and I.’ She clapped her fingers over her horrified mouth. ‘Oh, Lord... Katherine!’
Gilan arched one thick blond eyebrow, the tanned skin around his eyes crinkling. ‘There’s another one of you?’
‘I have to fetch her!’ Bending her knees, Matilda struck both feet firmly against the ground, struggling against the wet, sticky material in an attempt to rise.
‘Allow me.’ His voice curled over her, a low, seductive rumble. Leaning down, he seized her icy fingers in his bearlike grip, catapulting her upwards in one swift movement. There was nothing gentle about his offer of help: one moment she was sitting on the ground, legs outstretched before her, the next she was on her feet, teetering dangerously at his side. His fingers remained around her hand, steadying her.
‘You can let go now,’ she said, her voice prim. Anything to remove his compelling touch from her body. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine.’ He studied the shadowed patches beneath her eyes, noted the rapid pulse beneath the skin of her neck. ‘You look like you’re about to collapse in a heap.’
‘Well, I’m not,’ she snapped, wrestling her hand away from his hold. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’ She caught the supercilious raise of his eyebrows; he didn’t believe her! ‘I need to find my sister, that’s all. I told her to hide when those men came and not to come out until I called her.’
‘Call her, then.’ His silver eyes scanned the tumbled-down tower, the lumps of stone covered with moss and lichen, the dense forest of trees behind, and he sighed. How long was this going to take?
Matilda ran a slender finger between her neck and the high collar of her gown, trying to relieve the uncomfortable sensation of wet fabric against flesh: an unconscious movement. In the strong heat of the afternoon, her looped-up hair dried rapidly, curling tresses pulling against silver hairpins.