Chapter Ten

A Friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of Nature.

-R.W. Emerson

Marcus’ visitor was completely unaware of the turmoil her appearance caused everyone outside. Then again, perhaps, she knew and didn’t care. Either way, she didn’t respond to the leering looks. His training knights grinned as they walked by, their apparent amusement growing as his scowl deepened. He already bordered on possessive.

Before he realized it, he’d placed his hand on the small of her back. An action that seemed so right when he did it. A perfect fit. To guide her in the right direction. He tried to control the shiver that went through him at the simple contact with her body. She stiffened for the merest of seconds then relaxed and didn’t fight or back away. She tipped her head up and met his gaze. His heart melted a bit; something about her made his go into protective mode. Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to have any sort of feelings for someone he may have to have executed for being a spy. Her softer eyes changed her appearance, allowing him to see all woman and not a warrior woman. How will she look with a big smile or in the throes of passion, in my bed? He stifled his groan. These thoughts were getting far too frequent and out of hand.

They walked across the ground until she stopped in her tracks. Head cocked at an angle, she looked up at him. Just a direct look, no coyness or false tears.

“I need to go back to where you found me.” Her husky declaration flowed gently over his senses. “I have some things left out there. Will that be possible?”

“What did you leave?” Marcus tried to sound nonchalant, unsure if his attempt at normal was his suspicion of her or the primitive reaction he had to her voice.

“My saddle. I don’t want it to get ruined by rain.”

“What did you have a saddle for? The only horse was that big black I did not see a woman’s palfrey.” Marcus refused to believe for a second that black stallion had been her mount. He was had been too wild, too untamed.

Her mouth tightened. “Like I keep saying, I was riding in the mountains at home before I showed up here. My horse may have disappeared, but I would still like the saddle, in case I find A…my horse, again.”

“We can go. There is a palfrey you can ride.” Not confident of how well she could ride—after all, she’d lost her horse—he’d give her an older mare.

At the stable, he ordered Marauder saddled and a smaller mare. When the stableboy brought her the horse, Marcus watched her face. She roamed her gaze over the mare as if about to purchase. Yes, he was intrigued.

Then, she walked over to him. She stopped close by and gestured for him to lean down to her.

When he obliged her, she said in a low voice, keeping the words between just them. “I’m not sure that she will do. My saddle won’t fit her. Do you have a horse a little wider in girth? I don’t want to hurt this little mare.”

Stunned that she would make her objections so quietly, he was speechless, for a moment. Her only thought to be that of the horse came as another surprise. “We will bring along a sumpter, a packhorse, to carry your saddle back. If that is all, could we leave, now?”

“Thank you.” Her tone remained modulated. Kit turned away, walked over to the mare and eyed the saddle warily. The stableboy brought over the mounting block. Taking the mare’s head, he waited for her to mount. Marcus remained on the ground as she double-checked the girth and adjusted the stirrups. Finally, she mounted, without use of the block.

He was impressed by her comfort around horses. Marcus took in how she held the reins and wondered how much riding she had done. After swinging up, he nudged Marauder, and they went out through the bailey and into the village. With a tight hold on the horse he was leading, Marcus began wondering the wisdom of doing this on Marauder—he was a trained warhorse and not that docile.

After an hour in the saddle, time that passed in silence, they reached the place where he’d first located her. Marcus dismounted and tied up his two horses, keeping a distance between them. As he turned to help Kit down, she’d already landed on the ground and had tied up the mare. Currently, she was looking in the bushes. He noticed the strange wooden piece stuck up from the saddle.

Kit carried it all over to the packhorse and placed it on the ground. She then shook out the blankets before quickly and efficiently saddling the sumpter. She moved to put the bridle on the gelding when she stopped. Her gaze halted his. He momentarily paused his examination of her saddle. “Am I riding him back or did you wish me to stay on the mare?”

Marcus, turning back to the saddle, pulled the odd wood and metal item out of the scabbard on the saddle so he didn’t answer right away. She jerked it out of his hands.

“This is not for you to touch. Understand?”

He narrowed his eyes, unused to taking orders, especially from women. He hesitated, noting the underlying tone of fear in her voice. Almost as if she worried he would hurt himself. He decided to humor her, for now.

“Which horse?” she repeated, her fingers gripping the item she’d grabbed from his hands.

He focused on her unique saddle. “This is a strange saddle. Nice but strange. Looks different. You can ride the mare. I will lead this one back, again.”

“Fine. I am taking this stuff to my room, though. It will not stay in your barn.”

Her tone was confident. Enough so it struck a nerve with his pride. She hung the bridle over the saddle horn, patted the gelding and went back over to the mare.

“We will see.” He put enough arrogance in his deep voice to make her understand that he was in charge. He swung up on his mount and bent down to untie the rope on the gelding.

She snorted. “Whatever.” With a shake of her head, Kit grabbed the mare’s mane and climbed up with ease. He couldn’t pay much attention to her actions for Marauder was taking severe exception of being a lead pony. Regardless of his horse’s ill temper, he recognized how she sat the mare with great expertise.

Back inside the walls, she hopped down and was by the packhorse before his stablehands were. She removed her things from the horse. She maneuvered the trappings over one shoulder with no problem, the bridle on the horn and the long stick still protruding. She held the blankets in her other hand.

Marcus watched her walk away, her legs eating up the ground, yet all he could think about was having them wrapped around his waist or head.

He was almost in shock by her apathy of the situation. Did nothing throw this woman? He dismounted and went after her. At the door, he opened it for her and watched her head up the stairs and vanish from view. He also noticed the glare that Clarissa gave her as she passed.

Marcus pondered over the woman named Kit Lawson. She was unlike any woman he had met before. Her directness and refusal to accept what was happening stunned him every time he thought about it.

Everyone had been on edge since the wars started. Not sure what her ultimate plan was, he needed to keep an eye on her. He did have his duty to his liege lord, the king.

He crossed his arms. Roger disapproved of her. For one thing, her skin was the wrong color. She was darker than the gypsies they occasionally saw around here, and those people were too dark by Roger’s standards. He’d called Katrina a Moor. Marcus admitted she did appear similar to some of those they fought against in the First Crusade. Perhaps, Roger had a different reason for not trusting her that he hadn’t informed Marcus of thus far. However, it was just as possible Roger’s distrust was because of his fondness for Clarissa.

Marcus also understood Clarissa had incredible jealousy toward the newcomer. Clarissa had always been a woman who craved attention, and he just didn’t have the time or the energy to spend dealing with her whiny whims. She was used to the riches of the court. He was a warrior. Wooing a woman wasn’t his style.

Kit, however, intrigued him like no woman ever had. And, he longed for more time to explore his reaction to her.

Physically, he reacted to her in a way he didn’t for Clarissa. Not even their first time together. There was just something in regards to Kit that made him want to get beneath that calm, composed exterior and release the explosive heat he knew simmered underneath. No one was that poised with what she had been through.

Her gaze overflowed with intelligence and a sensual fire that burned there when she scrutinized him. Usually when she believed he couldn’t see her looking at him. Her skin was clear and smooth. Lashes that framed those intense gray orbs were long, thick and sooty. Her full lips held a natural rouge that made them more prominent and luscious in appearance. She had no reason to use the paint some of the woman of the court did. Hers was a natural beauty.

She had a nice waist and legs that fit in those leggings in a way that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her breasts were high and full. He had never seen anyone like her before. Her waist was not like Clarissa’s, where he could span it with his hands, but it was still small. She was not skin and bones but had nice, extremely nice, curves in definitely the right places.

Once again, he realized where his thoughts were going and forced them to a halt. He had enough trouble around here without getting involved with someone else. Yes, he needed to find a wife, but there was just something about Kit. It was an attraction he just couldn’t explain. Frustrated with his feelings, he headed out to the training area, to take on some of his men and get a good workout. Maybe, then, she would leave his thoughts.