Templar Knight, Forbidden Bride. Lynna Banning
portly man glance about, then surreptitiously gulp the dregs from a pewter cup left on the table.
His own mouth felt dry. Just as the red-faced wine server reached for Reynaud’s cup, he rescued it and downed the contents in two swallows. Then he turned to search for Leonor.
He surveyed the hall, watched as a troupe of musicians tumbled in through a doorway, one carrying a gut-strung rebec and a vielle, three others with wooden flutes, a gittern and a battered tabor drum. They took up positions at one end of the hall, and the chattering crowd cleared the floor. The string players adjusted their tuning and knights and ladies linked hands for a circle dance.
He scanned the faces of the onlookers, then searched for Leonor among the dancers, but the slim, black-haired woman in emerald silk was not among them. Surely she would not retire this early, not after such a triumphant reception? Unless…
A thread of alarm travelled up his spine. Was she in danger? He grabbed a sloshing pitcher out of the wine server’s grasp and refilled his cup with a hand that trembled.
Before he could lift the wine to his lips, a low voice spoke at his elbow. ‘Reynaud, do you dance this evening? Or…’ Leonor looked pointedly at the wine cup in his hand ‘…do you prefer to drink?’
He started so violently a bit of wine spilled over the edge of his cup and wet his fingers. She moved like a cat! Her green silk tunic was girdled with gold links, accentuating the curve of her waist and hips. He worked to keep his gaze elsewhere.
‘I did not see you approach.’
The grey eyes rested briefly on his, an expression of amusement in their depths. ‘I did not intend you to.’
Reynaud drew in a careful breath. He was supposed to watch her, not the other way around. His belly tightened. She could appear and disappear like a wraith. Hassam was right—he would need all his wits to keep track of her. At this moment, the idea did not displease him as much as it should.
‘Do you dance, Reynaud?’ Leonor repeated.
The thought of touching her, even linking hands, brought the blood to his brain. His senses came alive, then careened out of control. He could not risk it.
‘I can dance, yes. I choose not to.’
‘As you wish.’ She smiled up at him and his heart lurched.
He did not wish. He wanted to hold her close, drink in her scent and let his mouth explore hers.
This was madness! Was he not a holy knight? Never had he wanted a woman so. But now his mind reeled as if he were fevered.
‘You have not yet told me,’ she murmured, ‘which of my three songs you found most enjoyable.’
Reynaud could not answer. Here in this noisy hall was neither the place nor the time to question her about the coded words.
Count Henri approached, and she stepped to one side to accept her uncle’s invitation to join the dancing. Without a backwards glance she glided away on the count’s arm, pivoted and made a deep reverence.
Reynaud watched her move gracefully in the circle of dancers until his eyes burned. No wonder Benjamin was enamored. Leonor was like no other woman he had ever encountered. By the time this evening ended, every man in the hall would be in love with her. Watching over her, wanting her, was pure torture.
And suddenly he knew he could not do it.
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