Gayle Callen by The Darkest Knight Page A

chasing us in the middle of the night, do we?”
    “Of course not. Yet—” She covered her eyes as Reynold stripped the man of his hose.
    “You can look now. He is beneath the bedclothes.”
    The young man seemed to have fallen into a peaceful sleep. He snored heavily and rolled to his side.
    Reynold picked up a pillow. “Hold still, Katherine.”
    He wiped the pillow up and down her body, especially into her hair. She grimaced and finally pushed him away.
    “Whyever—”
    “Because it will smell like a woman.”
    “Oh.” She was quite impressed by his cleverness, but she cried out as he plucked a few strands of hair from her head and placed them atop the pillow. The nobleman continued to snore.
    Taking Katherine’s hand, Reynold pulled her from the room and led her down through empty castle corridors.
    She caught up to walk beside him. “Can’t we just leave the castle rather than resort to this farce?”
    “The guards will not open the gates at this time of night, Katherine. If we ask them to, they shall merely become suspicious. Which means we must stay until morning.”
    “But when he awakens—”
    “He will smell you and see the rumpled bed.”
    Katherine blushed. “You think he’ll believe we were—together—even though he won’t remember it?”
    “I saw how much he was drinking.” Reynold stopped and faced her. “I thought he was just a drunken boor. Then when I saw him follow you from the room—”
    He broke off and stared deeply into her eyes. She shivered violently, remembering the man’s hands on her. Reynold swept her into his arms and held her tightly. She relished his comfort and support, quietly glad that he had not abandoned her.
    Reynold closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer of thanks that she was safe. But still she shook and burrowed closer to him, her soft hair tickling hischin. He took a deep breath and just held her, rubbing her back in what he hoped was a calming motion. She slowly quieted in his arms, and as his anger fled, the sensation of her body against his exploded in his brain. His vows and promises receded from memory, and all that was left was the crush of her rounded breasts against his chest, the soft indentation where her thighs met her hips.
    He had a sudden mad desire to put his hands beneath her buttocks and lift her until their hips strained against one another. Instead he smoothed the tumble of curls from her cheek.
    Katherine did not know what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t the gentle touch she felt along her cheekbone. His fingertips brushed her lip, tracing the lower curve, and she quivered violently, wracked by emotions she had never known before. A small, sane recess of her mind told her to pull away, to stop this mad assault on her senses. Instead she was held immobile by a stab of fierce longing. She wanted his touch, his gentleness. She needed to hold the man people were afraid of. When his hands cupped her face she closed her eyes and a soft moan escaped her.
    The shock of his lips touching hers made Katherine’s knees weaken. She clung to him, her arms around his waist, pressed intimately against his body, so much harder and broader than hers. His mouth moved softly against her lips and she found herself imitating his movements, savoring the rasp of his chin against hers and the faintest taste of ale. His lips parted and she felt the gentle intrusion ofhis tongue. Katherine came to her senses with a rapidity that almost disappointed her. She had never even kissed her betrothed, and here she was, wantonly allowing what another had just tried to take by force.
    Katherine groaned and pushed away from him. “No,” she whispered, wiping a shaking hand over her mouth. “I can’t—I won’t—”
    “Forgive my lack of manners, Lady Katherine,” Reynold said stiffly. His features were weary, shadowed by sadness, and he looked over her head as if he didn’t dare meet her eyes.
    She could hardly slap his face and stalk away. He could not be