Page 14 of Taming the Earl (The Earls of the North #3)

M orwenna was trying hard to control her nerves so that Fauvel wouldn’t pick up on them, but it was hard work. Excitement had lodged inside her belly and was reaching spiky tendrils into every last bit of her. Thankfully, the horse had long since decided to trust her and he submitted gracefully to her fumbling fingers as she attempted to secure his halter.

Today was meant to be the day she finally put a saddle on Fauvel’s back, but after the earl’s request to meet her at noon for an afternoon of quiet pleasures, Morwenna knew it would not be sensible. Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest at the mere memory of that conversation, and she couldn’t risk her jitters spoiling the occasion and mayhap putting the horse back several days. Not that she was in a rush to complete her work at Wolvesley Castle, but poor Fauvel should not be the one to pay.

“You’ve suffered enough,” she told him, ducking beneath his head to comb a tangle out of his long chestnut mane. “I shall not do anything to make you doubt humans again.”

Fauvel had been bred from a mighty destrier; likely intended for life as a warhorse himself. His early years had passed pleasurably amidst green pastures, with a kindly stablemaster seeing to his every need. Fauvel had been backed successfully, proving himself brave and fleet of foot. But then, disaster struck. He and two other chargers were stolen by unscrupulous horse dealers, with Fauvel briskly sold to a company of hackneymen who hired out palfreys along bustling Ermine Street that linked York and London.

Fauvel was no steady palfrey, although he tried his best. Still young, the noises of the busy road unsettled him. As did the ungentle riders who hauled on his mouth and plunged sharp spurs into his side. When he threw a particularly cruel man off his back, to land perilously close to the wheels of a wagon, the hackneymen became keen to get him off their hands.

From here, Fauvel’s life spiralled downwards as he was passed from one home to the next, each progressively worse. His trust in humans entirely disappeared as he was tied up, beaten and half starved. Only his height and breeding saved him. One particularly canny knight sold him as an untried charger and soon after, Fauvel arrived at Wolvesley.

All of this, Fauvel had shown Morwenna, with some details nearly too bloody for her to willingly receive. Not yet five years of age, he had seen the worst of humankind. Sometimes, Morwenna wanted to weep for him.

Now he stood in the paddock with his eyes half-closed and one hoof resting on its tip, entirely at ease with her ministrations. Part of her knew a glow of pride at all she had achieved, but another part couldn’t help fretting that her work here was all but done. She had taught Fauvel to trust again. Everything else would come easily, relative to that first step.

Still, it was difficult to be downbeat on a day like today. The autumn sunshine was strong and bright, shining in a sky so blue it was reminiscent of midsummer. Morwenna had already abandoned her shawl and rolled the sleeves of her tunic up to her elbows. It was hard not to think of this unseasonal weather as a blessing on what she had planned. But she stamped down on such thinking with as much force as she could muster.

That way madness lay.

This late sunshine was a fluke. At best, an unanticipated gift; and one she would make good use of. Her eyes flickered over to two grey horses grazing steadily in the next paddock. Horses she had asked Jacob to move closer to Fauvel so that he might grow more used to their company.

True enough, but she had an ulterior motive as well. One that made her cheeks blush at her daring. She was playing with fire, there was no doubting it. Spending time with the earl gave her a rush of feeling, of life, of energy. It was almost an addiction. And why, she asked silently, should she deny herself this pleasure?

The earl was not married. Nor did it seem that he had any plans in that regard. Even young Isaac, who had worked at Wolvesley since his tenth summer, had stated that there was no sign of a new countess coming any time soon. Those, in fact, had been his exact words, that night in the lane.

She had memorized them.

The only reason to turn her back on this adventure was to protect her heart. She had so recently lowered her personal barricades and allowed herself to place a degree of trust in other people, in the future and herself. It made her vulnerable.

But nor could she countenance walking away from the one person who made her feel whole again.

“Am I a fool, Fauvel?” she asked the big chestnut horse, reaching up to stroke his silky soft ears.

He snorted gently, blowing hot air against the top of her head and disturbing a few strands which drifted across her face. Morwenna had tied her long hair into a neat plait, despite the fact she preferred it loose– and from the way he’d been looking at her yesterday, she suspected the earl did too. She’d also rejected the little voice in her head that told her to wear a dress today; to look dainty and feminine for this unanticipated event.

No, no and no again.

She must be true to herself and her position in the earl’s household. She was no beguiling maid, nor fine lady, and she would stand for no pretence otherwise. The road she had found herself upon was tricky enough to navigate without entertaining false illusions.

And so she had dressed that morning in her usual groom’s attire of braccae and tunic, emblazoned with the earl’s coat of arms. A glaring reminder of the difference in their status.

Of the fact she would be a fool to lose her heart to such a man, even though the attraction she felt for him could not be denied.

“Oh, Fauvel.”

She rested her forehead against his satiny shoulder and breathed in the familiar scent of horse and late-summer grass. Warmth from Fauvel’s body stole over her, calming her thoughts and her increasingly erratic pulse.

A picnic, that was all she had planned. A picnic with a man who had so far proven himself trustworthy.

There would be nothing to fear, if only the very thought of him didn’t make her weak at the knees.

“Where should I put these, miss?”

The hesitant enquiry broke through her thoughts. Morwenna pulled away from Fauvel, looking in confusion towards the man dressed in shabby servant’s attire holding two pails of water. He was half turned away from her but could only have been directing the enquiry at her.

“Jacob sent me,” he added. His voice was rough, the words tumbling together as if he had never learned to articulate.

Morwenna frowned. “I didn’t ask for any water, but the trough is over there by the tree.” She shrugged her shoulders. Mayhap the stablemaster had noted the dry conditions and was planning ahead.

It was only when the man began to walk away that she noticed his height and long, easy stride. He carried the heavy pails of water as if they weighed nothing. And as he tipped the water into the trough, the movement shifted his cloak and his hood fell away to reveal tumbling locks of golden hair.

It’s the earl himself.

Morwenna’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she simply observed him. His fluid movements, his muscular shoulders rippling beneath a thin shirt.

The second his eyes met hers across the paddock, he smiled. And his smile released all of her pent-up anxieties. Suddenly, the day seemed full of shining possibilities.

And the lark of it. The Earl of Wolvesley dressed as a servant for the sole reason of spending time with her .

“Very good, miss,” he called over to her. “I’ll go and fetch the rest.”

She took a few paces towards him, arms swinging by her side. “Is that really necessary?”

“I don’t know, miss.” He too closed the gap between them, coming so close she felt the hypnotic pull of his sparkling blue eyes. “I only follow orders.”

Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she made a show of looking into the full trough.

“I think we have all we need.”

“Shall I be off then?” He watched her closely, though his stance was casual. He placed one pail inside the other and pulled both towards his chest.

“I think I might find other work for you to do.” Her voice wobbled with daring, but his gleaming eyes spurred her on. “In the shelter there.” She motioned towards the simple wooden shelter standing beside the gate and at the earl’s urging, preceded him over there. “See?” she declared, putting her hands on her hips and nodding into the gloomy interior.

The earl scratched his beard, peering into the darkness. “See what, miss?”

“There is a plank of wood coming loose. It needs a hammer and nails.”

The earl broke into a broad grin. “Now you have me. The truth is, miss. I have never wielded hammer nor nails.”

She tutted in surprise. “What manner of servant are you?”

“Not a very good one,” he admitted sheepishly. “I did not imagine I would come undone so soon.” He pulled off the shabby grey cloak and flung it over a wooden stool. “But I am glad my subterfuge is at an end. It is far too warm for such an outfit.”

He stood before her in worn braccae and a faded shirt which had two buttons missing. Just below his neck, Morwenna could glimpse the curves of his chest and a swirl of golden hairs. Swallowing hard, her eye unwittingly travelled down over his muscular thighs to a pair of shabby leather boots which barely encompassed his bulging calves.

Poor clothing could not disguise his power or strength. Nor dim his essential charismatic energy.

“And so, I am here at your bidding, Morwenna,” he declared, his eyes glinting in the shadows. “What are you going to do with me?”

His words sent a thrill of adrenaline shooting through her, but she didn’t let it show. Instead she lifted her head higher. “You asked for quiet pleasures, milord.”

“Angus,” he corrected her, placing his large hands on the rough edge of his torn shirt. “For today, at least. You must find it in you to call me Angus.”

“Angus,” she began again. “We are going on a picnic.”

He put his golden head to one side in surprise. “Have the kitchens prepared something?”

Morwenna laughed. “Nay, milord. Angus. Nay. We have no show nor spectacle here, remember.”

“No food either?” He frowned in confusion. “Morwenna, I am a man with an appetite.”

Ignoring a new pulse of excitement which threatened to bring heat to her whole body, Morwenna gave him a little frown. “You are a man who must suppress his appetite in order to understand the quiet pleasures you seek.”

For a moment, she held her breath. Had she pushed this joviality too far? But Angus was quick to dip into a bow, displaying the broad planes of his shoulders. “I am in your hands.”

“You are here as my companion,” she corrected, unable to withstand much more of his flirting. “Pray, fetch the saddlebag from the shelf.”

Stumbling a little in the gloom, Angus located the partially filled leather saddlebag and slung it over his shoulder. “Anything else, miss?”

“Not for now,” she answered primly. “Follow me.”

It was something of a relief to leave the tempting confines of the shelter and stride out over open land. Morwenna went first to Fauvel, patting his neck and feeding him a small apple from her pocket.

“Be good,” she told him, untying his halter to let him roam free for the afternoon.

“He is very easy with you now,” observed Angus, watching from a safe distance.

“Aye,” she agreed, evasively, watching the chestnut horse trot away to a patch of lush grass. Once there, he bent his front legs and laid down on the ground, kicking his white legs up into the air as he rolled.

Morwenna felt her face break into a smile. She risked a glance at Angus to see he was also smiling. Fauvel snorted and rolled again.

“He is carefree and happy,” Angus said.

She nodded. “Like a young foal.”

He chuckled. “Exactly that. As I said before, you have given him a second chance.”

She pursed her lips. “Mayhap he has given himself a second chance by allowing himself to trust again.”

His eyes met hers, approvingly. “Your words are wise indeed.”

Morwenna did not confess that wisdom was not the guiding force behind her musings. Nor was it her experience with troubled horses. Nay, on this occasion, it was personal experience.

She was on the cusp of allowing herself to fully trust again. Perchance, on the cusp of her own second chance.

Warmed by their exchange, Morwenna walked through the gate and fastened it securely behind Angus. The two grey horses waited expectantly in the next paddock, ears pricked towards them.

“Are these to be our steeds?” Angus asked.

“You’ve guessed correctly.”

Morwenna walked up to the horses, talking gently and allowing them to breathe over her outstretched palms.

Angus looked confused. “Where are the grooms with our saddles?”

She tutted again. “For one so intent on quiet pleasures, you are surprisingly determined to make a public show.”

He considered her words while reaching over to pat both of the grey horses. “You’re right,” he said eventually. “Though I have ne’er considered it before.” He pulled a face, seemingly addressing the horses as well as Morwenna. “My life is lived in full public view.”

Despite herself, she knew a moment of sympathy. “Mayhap that is why the notion of quiet pleasures is so strange to you.”

“Mayhap,” he smiled again, turning so she experienced the full dazzling effect of his charms. “I am your willing apprentice.”

Morwenna was already reaching for the horses’ tack, which she had piled neatly by the gate.

His gaze went over the fence. “Which of these fine horses did you have in mind for me?”

She couldn’t help a giggle as she slipped a bridle onto the nearest. “I shall let you choose. However, before we mount, we must first get them ready.”

He frowned, but beneath his lowered brows, his eyes danced playfully. “Do you believe that I have never before saddled a horse?”

She put her hands on her hips and turned to face him. “When was the last time?”

He made a show of pretending to think. “In truth, I cannot remember. However, it is a skill I have not forgotten.” He bent to retrieve a saddle and positioned it onto his horse’s back with unquestionable proficiency. “See?” he asked pointedly. “Can you find fault with my work?”

“Not at the moment.” She hid her smile. “How will you fare without a mounting block?”

He paused in the process of fastening the girth. “Do I take it, Morwenna, that you doubt my ability to mount a horse without one?”

“Without a mounting block, without a groom, without a long line of servants anticipating your every move,” she teased, patting her horse’s strong neck.

“I tire of it all,” Angus announced. “Mayhap from this day forward, I shall live my life on a simpler footing.”

“I bid you not to speak too hastily, my lord. Not until you have tasted the food I brought with me.”

“Wise words indeed.” He ducked under the fence and looked consideringly at the waiting horses. “This one I think.”

Before Morwenna could react, the earl placed one hand on the horse’s withers and then jumped with surprising grace onto his back. The horse started a little, but soon dropped his head and stood comfortably, untroubled by the experience.

Angus threaded the reins through his hands and pursed his lips at Morwenna. “Are you not coming?”

“I was not expecting that,” she admitted, unable to hide her smile.

“I like to believe I am a man full of surprises.”

She could not respond for a swell of some unfamiliar emotion was rising inside her. It was happiness, she realised. The likes of which she had not known for many years.

She guided the second horse alongside the fence, which she climbed before mounting with slow dignity.

“Boring,” Angus chided, wrapping his long legs around his horse’s sides and urging him into a trot.

“Effective,” she countered, reaching for the reins and patting her horse reassuringly. “It is not a race,” she declared primly.

“And where’s the fun in that?” He grinned wickedly over his shoulder.

“We’re here for quiet pleasures,” she reminded him. “Not competition and spectacle.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, eyes still dancing as she drew up close. “And I have already acquiesced to the pleasures of a simpler life. But there’s no simpler pleasure than galloping over a field, do you deny that, Morwenna?”

She couldn’t deny it.

All of a sudden, she was surrounded by memories of childhood. Long, happy days spent outside and the pure adrenaline-fuelled joy of galloping one of Farmer Jerome’s horses over the fields for the sheer thrill of it.

Mayhap she had grown too accustomed to turning her back on thrills.

“What are we waiting for?” she cried, pointing her horse towards the distant woodland and giving him a sharp squeeze with her heels.

With a whoop of delight, Angus was close behind her. The two horses broke into steady canters, extending their strides when urged on by their riders. At first Morwenna was conscious of the uneven ground and the unfamiliar mount, but then she decided to put her worries to one side and simply enjoy the moment.

From the thundering of hooves at her rear, she knew Angus was still seated and gunning for victory. But she was just ahead. Out of nowhere, Morwenna was seized with a desire to win this impromptu and most likely foolhardy race. She wanted to prove– to herself as well as the earl– that she was still young, still capable of having fun.

A copse of holly stood before the first line of trees denoting the woods. Morwenna fixed her eyes upon it, holding the horse steady with her thighs and her voice until they had barrelled past it. Then she straightened her back and gently pulled back on the reins.

“I won,” she declared breathlessly, looking back to see Angus pulling up a little behind her.

“I let you.” He winked, reaching down to clap a large hand on his horse’s neck.

“You did not.” She was indignant. But when Angus broke into a low chuckle, she realised he was merely jesting. “You did well,” she allowed.

“Praise indeed.” He rode up beside her, only slightly out of breath.

“For an earl,” she added.

He raised his bushy eyebrows and clutched a hand to his heart. “Forsooth, Miss Morwenna, you wound me.”

They rode companionably along a wide woodland path, weaving between majestic oak trees with leaves turning red and gold above their heads. Birds called melodiously from high branches and the horses ambled slowly, content to catch their breath after their burst of speed.

“This is nice,” commented Angus.

She flushed with pleasure, glad of the distraction of a small stony slope so he wouldn’t see how much his praise pleased her.

“There is a shady spot by the river where we can stop and eat.”

“Good.” He flashed her a grin. “I’m ravenous.”

Morwenna’s heart beat faster as the horses came side-by-side and Angus’s lower legs pressed against her own. Heat from the horses drifted upwards so she felt suffused with a heavy, languid warmth. It intoxicated her, lending the scene an edge of unreality. Morwenna wondered if she might even be dreaming. Surely, she wasn’t alone in the woods with the Earl of Wolvesley? The colours were too bright, the sun too strong, the woods seemingly waiting to welcome them. None of this could be real. And if it wasn’t real, why should the usual rules apply?

“I’m curious,” he continued, breaking the spell of her wandering thoughts. “What exactly do we have in the way of food?”

His mundane obsession made her chuckle. “Wait and see.”

“You’re a very hard taskmaster,” he grumbled.

“We’re here.” She drew her horse to a halt and sprung off before unfastening the saddlebag.

Angus tutted. “You should have let me take that.”

“Admit it.” She held his eye. “You’d forgotten all about it, hadn’t you?”

He held his hands up in an admission of guilt, swinging one leg over the horse’s neck and jumping lightly to the ground. “I’m very much new to all of this. You’ll have to allow me one or two mistakes.”

“Well, that was the first.” She looped the reins over some branches and picked up the saddlebag.

“Allow me?” He held out his hands and she passed it to him with a smile.

“That’s better.”

“Thank you.” He gave a mock bow.

Giggling, she led the way down a natural staircase of long, flat stones to a grassy glade beside a small, gurgling stream. Buzzing insects darted for food and birds called from the golden-hued trees. It was the perfect spot for basking in rare autumn sunshine.

“Beautiful,” said Angus.

Morwenna folded her arms, forcing herself to be still and enjoy the surroundings. “It is.”

“Nay,” he said quietly. “I meant you.”

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks all over again as she became newly aware of her masculine attire. “Don’t embarrass me,” she begged.

“I am only telling the truth.”

In two strides he crossed the clearing and stood by her side. Tall and broad and warm. She breathed him in, knowing it would be the easiest thing in the world to reach out for him and tilt her face upwards for his kiss.

A kiss she would freely give. If only he would take it.

The Earl of Wolvesley had said he could not kiss her again. But by the rules of the game they were playing, this was not the Earl of Wolvesley.

“Are you still following orders?” she asked, her voice full and throaty.

He only hesitated for a second. “I am.”

Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest. “Then kiss me,” she whispered.

In no time at all, his warm hands were around her waist, drawing her closer. Then came his lips, soft and gentle. His kisses were like butterflies at the corner of her mouth. She breathed out heavily, stepping closer in the circle of his embrace, wanting more. Angus stroked a hand down her spine and rested it on the curve of her hip. With the other, he cupped her chin, holding her steady.

“Is this what you want?” he breathed.

Nay , it was not enough. Any hesitation burned away in the flames of their connection. Her reply was to stand on her tiptoes and claim his mouth with her own. She experienced a fierce rush of energy as the tip of his tongue touched hers, then all rational thought deserted her as she wrapped her fingers in his golden hair. Angus pulled her against him, more roughly now, then lifted her so her head came level with his. She opened her eyes to meet his blue gaze.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, even though commonsense dictated they must.

But this moment would likely never be repeated. Morwenna would take what she could. The memories might have to last her a lifetime.

He burrowed his face into the softness of her neck, as if seeking to prolong a pleasure he knew must come to an end. Acting purely on instinct, Morwenna wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing her whole body closer to his. She gasped out loud as she encountered the muscular hardness of his chest, and the hardness of something else pressing below.

There it was. Proof he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

“We must stop,” he said raggedly.

“No.” She was determined now. Her hands roamed his face down to his shoulders, slipping beneath the thin shirt.

“Morwenna.” He spoke her name pleadingly.

Morwenna didn’t hesitate to consider what he was pleading for. Her hands were on a journey of exploration over his warm skin and taut muscles. Another button pinged off his shirt and she dropped her lips to his bare shoulder. But no sooner had her lips met his golden flesh, and her nostrils inhaled his distinctive masculine aroma, then he was carrying her over to the shade of a towering oak tree, where he laid her gently in the soft grass.

“My turn,” he said.

One of his hands stroked back her hair while the other danced across her tunic. Angus made short work of unlacing the front and she gasped as the rich fabric fell away. Desire such as she had never known pooled inside her as she wrapped her fingers in his hair and pulled him against her; her body writhing with passion as he gently kissed and suckled.

But it still wasn’t enough. She tugged again at his thin shirt, delighted when it fell away and her hands could roam freely over his body. Angus groaned, the sound coming from deep inside him.

“I shall not be able to hold back,” he said into her ear.

“I don’t want you to hold back.”

He leaned on one elbow and rose above her, tracing a hand over her jutting breasts. He bent his head for another kiss as his hand travelled lower, skimming beneath the waist of her braccae and increasing her desperate need for him.

“Angus,” she said, her voice pleading now.

His breath was warm against her cheek. His hand moved delicately between her legs, first finding her curls and circling slowly, then, when she thought she might explode with wanting, sliding inside her.

She gasped and reared against him, pleasure coming over her in waves which made her hips lift and her mouth fall open. He kissed her softly, nibbling gently at her lips before returning to her breasts, all the while stroking her core with infinite gentleness. She felt herself opening up to receive him as the energy built inside her.

“Don’t stop,” she begged.

He didn’t stop until long after her pleasure peaked and she bucked against him, crying out with her mouth pressed into his chest.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” he murmured as her breathing finally slowed and her sharp waves of delight softened into a tingling warmth.

She opened her eyes, blinking as his handsome face came back into focus. He smiled softly, still dropping gentle kisses onto her cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say.”

She rolled onto her side and immediately he pulled her against him, soothing the first twinges of awkwardness with his warm hands and calm certitude.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered.

That was good. Tension flowed away from her as she tuned into the regular rhythm of his breathing, his heart beating steadily just inches from her ear.

“But you could do something for me,” he added after a long while.

Startled, she looked up into his eyes. “What?”

He grinned. “Tell me what we have to eat. Or better yet, allow me to fetch it.”

Morwenna couldn’t help breaking into a laugh. “You can fetch it. I left the saddlebag just over there.”

She hastily made herself decent as Angus rose up in search of food, his long limbs moving as gracefully as an acrobat and his golden hair reflecting back the rays of the afternoon sun.

Morwenna tightened her lips, knowledge sliding into her like a blade.

Her tentative feelings for Angus were blossoming into something else entirely.

Which meant that the trouble she had been in when she first arrived in Wolvesley, was nothing to the trouble she was facing now.

She had played with fire and now she had lost her humble heart to one of the wealthiest men in England.