Page 46

“Mmm,” he murmured against her mouth, “this is delicious fare.” He nibbled at her lips, pretending to taste her.

“Cherries.” He sampled the top of her cheek.

“Peaches.” He moved his hand down the side of her neck, rounded her shoulder, and lowered his palm to capture her breast. “Mmm, manchet.” He bent down to nip gently at her flesh, as if taking a bite of bread.

Her head was spinning. But her appetite was whetted. And she wanted to take him on this sensual journey as well.

She eased her hand down his backside and clasped his firm buttock. “I see ye’ve brought bacon.”

He chuckled low against her ear. “I’ve a sausage as well.”

She could feel it. Pulsing. Warming. Hardening against her.

He turned his hand and glided his palm over her belly into her nest of curls.

“But I think this to start,” he murmured, sliding his fingers to separate her wet, womanly folds.

He lowered his head, moving between her thighs to tease her flesh with his tongue. She arched in ecstasy to meet him, reveling in the contrast of cool water and warm sun and the divine sensations he painted upon her. Again and again, he bathed her, until she thought she could bear no more.

Then he withdrew.

For one distressing moment, she thought he was finished with her. But in the next moment, he eased into her with his firm staff, and she moaned as her desperate wish was fulfilled.

With measured grace, he made love to her on the warm woolen plaid under the dappled sunlight while the babbling burn played a peaceful song.

At first they moved in a soothing rhythm. Theirs was a dance of nature and quiet and calm.

But soon their tender striving intensified, growing more and more frenzied. Eve writhed against the heat. Her fingers clawed at the plaid. And Adam’s eager groans drove the music to a faster pace. The forest around them disappeared, and Eve saw only Adam in this beautiful Garden of Eden.

With a sharp cry of discovery, she soared high above the trees. He followed in her wake, and they flew like a pair of swans across the sky.

Then they shuddered down together. But it was a long while, wrapped in each other’s arms, before Eve began to notice again the murmuring burn and the filtered sunlight and the slight scratch of the wool beneath her.

“Strange,” Adam mumbled. “I’m even hungrier than before.”

She grinned. “That’s a pity, because ye may have kicked the butter into the burn. But I’ll see what I can salvage.”

They dressed, and then she rounded up the scattered food. They only lost a few oatcakes to the mud, and she managed to blow off the bit of dirt that stuck to the hard cheese.

But when they packed up to leave, Eve felt refreshed and rejuvenated, renewed and reassured, secure in the knowledge that Adam had their future well in hand.

Adam wanted to kick himself. He never should have swived Eve.

Not the first time. And definitely not now.

The trust in her eyes tormented him. The joy in her face pained his heart.

He’d distracted her enough for the sleight of hand he required. But that distraction had taken on a life of its own.

He’d never dreamed she would want to lie with him. Not here, in the wilds of the woods. Not now, when she was so determined to meet with the king.

He could have, should have refused her.

Aye, she’d been nigh irresistible, reclining there like an alluring selkie. Her body glowed in the patch of sun. Her dark hair spilled down over her pale shoulders to caress her delicate breasts. Her sultry gaze melted him like butter.

But he had more willpower than that. He was a man of honor. Certainly he could have resisted her. He could have turned and dived back into the burn, letting the cold water shrink away all desire.

Instead, he’d succumbed to temptation, just like Adam in the Bible, accepting the forbidden fruit from Eve. It had been sweet and delicious and satisfying.

But now, having her look up at him with such adoration as they neared the encampment, knowing what he had to do, he felt like the worst traitor since Judas.

“Do ye think we’re close?” he asked.

“Just up ahead,” she told him. “Not far from where we met.”

He let her lead the way, praying for courage.

At sight of the first red-and-gold pavilions, she turned to him with a knowing nod, telling him wordlessly that it was indeed the royal encampment.

They moved through the pavilions, garnering little attention, for they appeared to be harmless clergy. But Adam was still amazed that they’d been here only a few hours ago, and no one seemed to recognize either of them.

Adam they might overlook. Men didn’t give him a second glance.

But Eve was breathtaking, whether she was clad in a lady’s gown or a nun’s habit. That no one saw that was unfathomable.

At the far end of the camp, the king emerged from his pavilion.

“Let me speak with him,” Eve murmured.

Adam knew that was a bad idea. The men-at-arms might not realize that Sister Eve was the same woman who’d teetered by on pattens just this morn. But surely the king would.

Still, that might be for the best.

“All right,” he said, drawing the cowl close around his face. “I’ll be right behind ye.”

She hurried forward, calling out softly, “Your Grace!”

The king looked up.

“May we have a word, Your Grace?”

“Sister?”

Apparently, the king was as blind as every other man. Without her makeup, her horsetail hair, her lavish gown, and her ridiculous footwear, Eve was apparently unrecognizable to him.

“I’m Sister Eve, Your Grace,” she said, “and this is Brother…” Too late, she realized they hadn’t given him a name.

“Adam, Your Grace,” he supplied. There was no need to lie to the king. All would be revealed in a moment. “May we speak privately?”

The king looked slightly annoyed. No doubt he was tired of speaking and eager for war.

Out of Eve’s sight, Adam pulled off his cowl to show the king his face.

Now Malcolm recognized him. His brows lifted, and he waved them forward into the pavilion.

Adam had promised to let Eve speak, so despite the king looking to him for a report, Adam allowed her to break the news. Let her tighten the noose around her own neck.

“Your Grace,” she said, “’tis with great regret we must inform ye of a terrible sin committed by two o’ your men today.”

“A sin?” Malcolm sighed. “What sin?” He no doubt imagined the terrible sin was going to be skipping Mass or imbibing too much mead.

“They entered an alehouse in the woods, Your Grace, owned by the Fergus clan. Violated the alewife. Attacked the alewife’s husband. And then burned down the alehouse.”

The king made a grimace of distaste, but he didn’t seem particularly shocked. “And you have proof our men did this?”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

She took the satchel off of her shoulder, opened it, and began rummaging through the contents.

“I have the dagger used to stab the man,” she said. “It bears the royal insignia.”

“I see. And what do you have to say about this, Rivenloch?”

Adam stiffened. The king had called him by his clan name. Now Eve would know. Now she would realize who he was.

Eve’s blood grew cold.

The king had called him Rivenloch. Not Brother Adam. Malcolm must have recognized him from their earlier conversation, despite the monk’s costume.

She told herself none of that mattered. Adam might be upset that Eve knew who he was.

But he could explain himself later. All that mattered at the moment was showing the king the incriminating dagger.

Getting restitution for the alewife and her husband.

Stopping the atrocities being carried out by his men.

Shite. Where was that damned dagger?

Adam cleared his voice and said cryptically, “I have my own suspicions, Your Grace.”

“Aye?”

“The woman is lying.”

Adam’s accusation was so unexpected, it took Eve a moment to comprehend it.

In the brief silence, the king chuckled as if Adam had made a jest. “Lying? A nun?”

“She’s not a nun, Your Grace, any more than I’m a monk,” Adam said. “She’s a spy like me.”

Adam’s confession was calculated. Icy. Heartless.

For a moment Eve couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. What was he saying? Why would he tell the king such a thing?

She tried to imagine a useful reason for Adam to pretend she was a spy.

She could think of none.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she gasped out, digging feverishly for the dagger. “I have the proof here.”

Unable to find it, she upended the satchel and shook it, spilling its contents onto the ground. Desperate, she scrabbled through the clothing and tools and foodstuffs.

The dagger was nowhere to be found.

“Look there, Your Grace,” Adam said, pointing to something strewn among the litter.

He lifted up the fine silver piece to show the king. The Rivenloch medallion.

“She stole it from me,” Adam said.

The blood left Eve’s face.

He had done this. Adam had taken the dagger out of her satchel and planted his medallion there.

Why?

She looked at him, bewildered.

For the first time in her life, she was unable to think of a single thing to say. It felt as if he’d plunged her into a bog. And the drowning mire was closing over her head.

She entreated Adam with furrowed brows, seeking some explanation for his treachery.

But he wouldn’t spare her a glance. He only stared at the king. His eyes were grim. His face was as hard as stone.

“She’s a spy for Fergus,” Adam said.

The king gasped, echoing Eve’s shock.

He continued. “She probably planned to capture me and demand ransom from Your Grace.”

Eve blinked in disbelief. Was this the man who had vowed to marry her? Who had promised to ask the king to perform their wedding?

The king growled.

Adam continued. “Does Your Grace remember the woman who came to you this morn with the Rivenloch marriage document?”

Eve could barely breathe as the king narrowed his eyes at her.

“It can’t be,” he said.

“’Tis.” Adam nodded to the twin horsetail braids and the pair of high wood pattens on the ground. “There is her costume. And here,” he said, sweeping up the rolled parchment, “is the document Your Grace signed.”