His Captive Lady by Carol Townend Page B

like this...politics, he reminded himself, think of the politics.
    'How are you?'
    'Parched,' she admitted, continuing to massage her throat.
    Wulf had taken a goatskin bottle out on patrol and had some weak ale left. With a swift glance in the direction of the door, he unhooked it from his belt. 'I have watered ale, my lady.' Carefully, he set it down on the floor by her feet. 'Yours, if you wish.'
    She looked at it, licked her lips and swallowed. Then she nudged the waterskin back at him with her foot--it was a stockinged foot that peeped out from under the vestments, she had removed her boots and tucked them neatly under the altar. 'No, no, put it away, I must not drink.'
    'My lady, you are pale. It is midwinter and you will be weakening fast. Please drink.' He nudged it back.
    She shook her head and more of her hair broke free of its braid. Dark silk in gorgeous disarray. His mouth went dry. Was it as soft as it looked? Curling his fingers into his palms, for it was not for a Norman captain to discover the softness of Erica of Whitecliffe's hair, Wulf kept his voice even. 'No one will know, I will not tell.'
    'No! If I drink, I will break the rule of sanctuary.'
    Wulf's brow creased. 'I am not sure that is so, my lady. I am certain I have heard of friends bringing food and drink to those who have claimed sanctuary. And I have already told you, you might find a friend in me.'
    Leaning forward, he took her hand and immediately felt such a frisson , he almost dropped it. It went clear to his toes. He frowned. In his entire life, a simple touch like that had never evoked such a response. Distraction indeed.
    Their faces were but a foot away from each other. Her eyes were wide and she seemed to have stopped breathing. Wulf was having difficulty himself. She looked at his mouth and heat rushed to his groin. Wulf held down a groan. She was a lady, a Saxon lady . He must not think of her in this way. And of all the times to feel lust...Lord. He was disgusted with himself, it was wrong. Wrong woman, wrong time, wrong place...
    He shuffled uncomfortably on the stool, and forced himself to concentrate on getting her to drink. In that at least he could be a true friend. 'Let me help you, my lady. Please drink.'
    Her mouth was set in a stubborn line. Her eyes flickered briefly to his waterskin. Her throat had to be dry as desert sands, it had to be. Driven by some emotion Wulf could not begin to name, save that the thought that was uppermost in his mind was that Lady Erica must drink, he moved without warning.
    Dropping to his knees amid the gleaming muddle of altar cloths, he pushed at her so she half-lay against the altar. Brutally, he pinched her nose, so she had no choice but to open her mouth. Her body he held in place with his knee.
    Her mouth opened; nails dug into his wrist; and bracelets, warm from her body heat, chinked against his skin. 'Get off me, you oaf! Get off!'
    Ruthlessly, he kept her head still, thrust the bottle at her mouth and tipped. The ale ran down her chin, darkening the rich purple of her gown. She spluttered, choked and swallowed; he definitely saw her swallow. He leaned over and tightened his grip. The tiny gold flecks flashed in her eyes. He tipped again.
    More spluttering. More choking. More flailing about amid increasingly crumpled vestments.
    'Why, you b--'
    'Bastard?' Grimly, Wulf lifted one side of his mouth. 'As you say.' Gritting his teeth, he upended the waterskin again.
    She swallowed again and again; it was either that or choke. And then, unexpectedly, she capitulated. It was as though, having tasted the watered ale, she could not help herself. Her grip shifted; her nails were no longer tearing the flesh from his wrist; she clutched at the neck of the bottle and drank deeply.
    Removing his knee from her belly, Wulf rocked back on his haunches and let out a sigh. It troubled him that he had had to overpower her, but he had got some liquid down her and that was a relief. More of a relief than it