The Warrior's Wife by Denise Domning

half because she now craved his kiss with every inch of her being.
    Deep within her Adele scolded. Even if Rafe weren’t her sire’s enemy to crave a kiss was immoral. For heaven’s sake, folk watched!
    Despite that, Kate sighed in disappointment when rather than touch his lips to hers Rafe brought her hand to his mouth. Rather than press a courtier’s kiss to her fingers, he turned her hand in his to touch his lips to her naked palm. Kate caught her breath. His lips were warm, the hair of his beard felt both rough and soft in one glorious instant.
    His mouth moved in her hand, turning the simple press of flesh to flesh into a sweet nuzzling. Kate gasped as her spine dissolved.
    His mouth moved from her palm to the delicate skin at her wrist. Kate’s knees weakened. She shifted nearer to him.
    Rather than embrace her as she so craved, he released her hand and stepped a full pace back from her. “Nay, Kate,” he whispered in warning. “We can’t.”
    Embarrassment scourged Kate. Where were her morals that she should need a Godsol to tell her what was appropriate behavior? Panic followed. What was she doing?! She’d let her father’s enemy kiss her hand right there in the center of everything where anyone might witness!
    “Oh, help,” she muttered to herself, not a little unnerved. She whirled, more than ready to retreat now, only to stumble back as someone barreled past her.
    With a wordless, raging shout, her father launched himself at Rafe.

 
    Damning himself for letting his longing to touch Kate blind him, Rafe sprang back from Bagot’s lord. He wasn’t fast enough to completely escape the thrust of the nobleman’s hunting knife. The tip of Lord Humphrey’s weapon gouged his leather vest at waist level.
    Rafe stumbled under the assault. The old man pursued, his teeth bared. Bagot’s next blow was low and fast but not fast enough. Catching Lord Humphrey’s wrist, Rafe gave the smaller nobleman, a man thirty years older and two stones lighter, a goodly shove.
    Hissing in frustration, Bagot fell back, grabbing a handful of Rafe’s clothing as he went. It was a strange, panting dance they did, one attacking, the other retreating, while both fought for footing. A woman screamed. Kate? From all across the glade, men shouted. Relief shot through Rafe. Their voices were the sound of aid coming his way.
    Again Lord Humphrey tried to drive his knife into his enemy’s gut. Rafe’s fingers tightened on the old man’s wrist to hold him at bay. It was all the defense he dared. Thief or not, Bagot was still his better. Only a man with a death wish struck his better.
    Breath by breath, Rafe’s world shrank until it encompassed only him and the old man. Sweat beaded on Kate’s sire’s brow, slipping down the grimy lines that tracked his weathered face. Hatred seethed in Bagot’s pale eyes. His front tooth was chipped. A bit of pasty clung to the wiry strands of his ruddy beard.
    Lord Humphrey’s breath wheezed from his lips. The old man’s arm trembled. It was the edge Rafe needed.
    Another sharp shove sent Lord Bagot spinning back from him. In the same instant Rafe wheeled in the opposite direction, his hands lifted to show any who watched that he held no weapon. He careered into Will.
    His brother caught him by the shoulders to steady him. Panting more from tension than exertion, Rafe let his world once more expand. Men crowded around him and Bagot.
    Howling, Lord Humphrey lunged for Rafe only to come up short as Lord Haydon and three other men grabbed him. The old man writhed against his captors. “Godsol scum!” Lord Humphrey shouted, intent only on the man he hated. “You’ll die for what you’ve done!”
    Rafe, his arms yet held clear of his sides, didn’t bother replying. He but waited as Josce pushed past his noble sire to join him. His friend reached around Rafe to snatch his hunting knife from its short scabbard. Only when Rafe was thus disarmed did he lower his hands. Turning, Josce held the