A Knight of Temptation(5)

Melina clenched her hands and refused to rise to his bait. Let Grendell have his little joke; soon he would be laughing alone.

“Lady, I will never leave you.”

His voice was tender but she said nothing, refusing to trust him. And then she felt the warm caress of his fingers against her nape. Startled, Melina turned to confront him but as she’d feared she stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her about the waist, hauling her up against him. He stood, gazing down into her face, the expression in his eyes intent and possessive. For a moment she could say nothing, only aware of his heat, his strength, and her own frantic longing for him.

“Your tunic is new,” she whispered, enveloped in his spicy scent, “and very fine.” It was emerald green with embroidery about the neckline and the belt was sewn with coloured stones that could not possibly be jewels. Could they? Only lords and wealthy men could afford jewels and Grendell was a mere bodyguard.

He smiled without warmth, a mere twitch of his lips. “I had a need to be very fine tonight, lady.”

Melina shook her head and pulled away, clinging to the wall so as not to fall. “We will be late,” was all she said as she hurried ahead, eager to get away from him and the ever present temptation he held for her.

The great hall was awash with noise and candlelight and delicious smells. A troupe of minstrels had been hired for the occasion and a couple of them were tumbling before the dais where her father sat with Lord Saunders.

Melina shuddered.

As the lady of the castle it had been her task to make Saunders welcome and tend to him in his bath. Seated now, so richly dressed, he appeared every inch a wealthy lord, but in her head she could picture the unpleasant old man whose back she had soaped. Grey hairs had sprouted from his shoulders and his skin was wrinkled with age and he glared at her irritably when she dropped the ball of soap. Melina had been so nervous, longing for some kind word—after all, this was her future husband—but apart from muttering about her clumsiness he’d barely acknowledged her.

How different from Grendell!

Melina forced a smile to her lips, curtseying to Lord Saunders and her father, and then seating herself upon the sumptuously carved chair. They were too deep in conversation to notice her, and it made her sad when she remembered how much her father once loved her. Was he really only interested in her as the price to pay to keep hold of his lands? She clenched her hands in her lap, wondering how she was going to swallow a mouthful of the succulent feast before her.

Suddenly, intensely, she was aware of Grendell.

He was close behind her and as she went to turn, to ask him what he thought he was doing, he leaned over her shoulder and reached for one of the platters. His hands were tanned and scarred with the many injuries he had received since boyhood—his orphaned boyhood—when he must have first learned to be a warrior. And yet there was a delicacy to his long fingers, a gentleness in the manner in which he carefully placed the best pieces of meat before her. He took his time, acting as if it was all part of his job as bodyguard to feed her.

Melina bit her lip. Strangely she felt again as if she might cry. Confused and anxious, at the same time she longed to reach out and cling to his hand.

“Lady, you do not have to wed him.”

The warm brush of his breath on her skin made her jump. A tingle went all the way down to the place between her legs, where it turned into an ache.

“What are you saying?” she hissed, feeling cross and out of sorts. She did not have time for her body’s betrayal right now.

“I’m saying you do not have to wed that old man.”

She flicked him a sideways glance. His jaw was shaven and smooth, his dark eyes fixed on the food he was lifting from the platters to set before her. Melina knew she should set him aright, tell him that it was none of his business. He was nothing to her but a bodyguard. And yet the words stuck in her throat and she shook her head instead.

“Marrying him will not change who wins this war.”

“What are you saying?” Her breasts were rising and falling heavily beneath her bodice, as if begging for his touch, and she felt the colour flush her cheeks. Now she did turn to him and saw that he was watching her from the dark pools of his eyes, and although his mouth was curved politely, as if they were having a conversation about the feast, there was a seriousness to him that frightened her.

Surely he was not going to ask her to run off with him? Marry him? Surely he could see how impossible that would be? But at the same time Melina felt the quickened beat of her heart and knew that, crazy as it was, she was sorely tempted to say yes.

“Stephen may not be the perfect king, my lady. I know he can be too accommodating, too generous, and some consider that a weakness. But Matilda is hated by the people. If she were Queen there would be endless wars. Do not choose the wrong side.”