Once Upon a Knight. Jackie IvieЧитать онлайн книгу.
She had to give him that. He was more than handsome. He was a stunning, beautiful specimen, and the flush was making the gold of his eyes glow. Her stepmother had let her eyes be her guide this time. She hadn’t looked beyond that.
Sybil had it decided. She was going to use crushed and dried chicory on him. She pulled in her lower lip in thought, wondering at the exact portion that wouldn’t prostrate him with sickness but would have him visiting the castle latrine more oft than he could Lady Eschon’s bedchamber.
“Oh, dear man.” Sybil clicked her tongue. “I dinna’ just think you are. I ken it. Perfectly.”
He grunted. Then he moved a step toward her, standing above her and breathing hard on her and making her regret the outstretched arms and aggressive stance. Especially since she’d been the one assuming it. Oh! He was getting a double dose of chicory with bruised leaves. Enough to cause gastric distress for a sennight. That’s what was happening to him, she decided.
“So certain.”
He reached a hand to touch her chin and lift it. She had two choices. Give up her stance, wrap her cloak about herself, and try to escape him again, or wait. Bide her time. Create the events that would serve her intent and not his. She narrowed her eyes to make her choice less noticeable for him.
“What if I were to tell you that the moment I set eyes on you this morn, nae other woman existed…anymore?” he murmured in such a soft, seductive tone that Sybil nearly believed it. Almost. He was good. Amazingly good. And he had a voice like warm butter. He was the best one Lady Eschon had enticed to her side. Easily.
“Other than remarking that such a thing would definitely give her reason to replace you, I’d have only one thing to say,” she replied.
“And…that would be?” He moved closer, but it wasn’t by moving his feet. Or if he was, she didn’t hear it. Since he had a forefinger beneath her chin and was still forcing her to look up at him, she wouldn’t have seen it anyway. She watched him lean a bit closer to her, roamed her eyes all about his face for something to look at other than the mesmerizing quality of those gold-enhanced dark eyes, and had to swallow the increased spittle in her mouth. She knew he felt it.
“Sage,” she said finally.
He blinked a dark fringe of lash, shadowing the honey color into opaque black before letting it back.
“Aye. Brewed with a touch of honey. Such a thing would be wondrous for your condition.”
“What condition might that be?” He was tilting his head and slanting forward even closer, pulling her to her tiptoes with the lifting of his hand at her chin. And with pursed lips he was a completely devastating sight. If she were a female that cared for such things.
Like a first kiss.
Sybil gulped. “Poor…eyesight.” She managed to whisper it, and then watched as he lowered his dark brush of eyelashes. That was tantamount to closing his eyes. She wondered at the man’s sanity. And bravery. And idiocy.
The moment before he’d have touched his lips to hers, she moved. The hall could have him. She was finished with this nonsense. She swiveled, had her cloak wrapped about herself and was nearly to the steps before he caught up with her again. This time he wasn’t subtle. He wrapped a hand about her upper arm and used that to stop her. Then, before she knew it, he had her swiveled and pressed against a rough wall. It was obvious they hadn’t reached that spot yet in their renovations. The entire keep was undergoing massive renewal and work. They weren’t at Sybil’s tower yet. The walls here still needed to be shaved smooth. Or at the very least filed to a smoothness that wouldn’t feel like tiny spikes were jutting into her spine when she least needed that effect. Sybil felt every bit of it as he just held her there and looked her over. He was breathing hard, too, and such a thing as chasing a lass down a hall shouldn’t be raising such an amount of breathlessness in such a muscular male, but she didn’t know what would.
Oh! She was giving him worse than chicory sprinkled on his sup tonight! He was getting dried linden flower petals mixed with hops. Such a thing was going to dull his senses and make everything on his body soft and worthless. Everything. Even the parts she didn’t care to note. That’s what she was going to do to this man for daring to touch her, to prevent her from leaving…for starting a riot of oddity throughout her belly that would have shamed her earlier. Now, it was vaguely frightening…illicit….
Naughty.
He’d finished his perusal of her bosom or wherever he’d been looking and had her pierced with a dark, honeyed gaze from beneath his lush lashes. The man had been blessed with theatrical coloring, perfect features, and amazing presence. He knew how to use all of it. Probably had practiced it. Sybil felt the shuddering of her belly calm a bit, and her head cleared. She couldn’t do a thing about the agitated breaths she was taking, however.
“I am na’ your mother’s lover,” he said finally.
“Stepmother.”
“Hers, either,” he answered.
“Then…what are you doing here? Now? At Eschoncan Keep?”
She watched the black of deviousness slip over him, although nothing looked to have changed. It was like he was being dipped in it, covered over in it, and then stewed in it. She knew the next thing from his mouth would be a lie. She’d been wrong earlier. There wasn’t lye soap enough to clean this man up.
His eyes slid sideways, avoiding contact for the briefest moment, and then they were back, boring into hers, as if daring her to look elsewhere. “I’m putting myself in the running for a certain position,” he replied.
“What?”
He’d moved his chin, facing her and making it too close. The smell of him was too unsettling, and the visage of angered and intrigued male was one she was going to have difficulty ignoring every time she shut her eyes. How had all of that happened? she wondered.
“A certain position. In your household.”
“I heard that. I meant…which one?” It was a good thing the man she was avoiding was a dwarf and dark in coloring. Otherwise, she’d think the increase of her heartbeat when she connected glances with this Vincent was something really horrible. Something akin to arousal…sensual arousal.
“What will you pay me to find out?” he asked.
Sybil’s features fell. She couldn’t prevent it. Just as she couldn’t prevent the stiffening of her entire frame. All that happened was the increased annoyance of hard knots of castle stone against her spine and buttocks, a closer view of his face since he’d lowered it toward her, and the scratch of her underdress on her nipples becoming more distinct and noticeable. She watched him glance there—and for no reason that she could tell. She was still swathed with her cloak. It was if he was looking for such a thing as a woman’s arousal after putting it into being. It was exactly what he was expecting! Sybil knew it. She watched him put his lips into a perfect kissable position in order to get a certain reaction. Her knees quivered as her body betrayed her and actually gave it to him, too!
Sybil was mortified. Completely and totally, and it put her off balance and made her feel weak and fragile. Inside. Which was where she was determined to keep it buried. Nobody was ever going to ever see it—or suspect it. She didn’t need to pay him to learn anything. He was telling her with every prolonged moment in his company. He wasn’t her stepmother’s lover. Yet. That was obviously the position he was seeking, however. And why not? It was known throughout the rocky fells that the widow of Laird Eschon possessed gold, and a powerful amount of it.
Men had been flooding to the castle for over a year in order to get their hands on it. This man resembling a Norse god was one of them no doubt. A common thief. Worse. He was willing and able to use his physical assets on anyone he needed in order to get whatever he wanted.
She’d known she was right. Again.
Sybil huffed a breath and smiled wickedly up at him, surprising him from contemplation of her lips. Or maybe it was her bosom. Or somewhere