Before she thought to step away or raise her hands, his mouth was on hers. She could not think of how to protest it, all her arts of defense defined by years of hard practice in fighting. Avoiding the cutting edge of a sword she knew well, and the quick thrust to surprise the foe, the quiet centered place inside her that demanded balance at every turn of the match. But he took her balance as easily as he had taken her veil, and the brush of his fingers on her cheek trapped her heart in a fluttering heat. More than his mouth on hers, the touch sent her breath to racing. The gentleness of it woke a desperate hunger that she could not, could not bear.

In her anger and confusion and panic, she pressed her mouth into his, hard. Another foolish and unthinking action, as though it were a straightforward attack and she could disarm him by attacking in kind. It was all lips and teeth and tongue, so clumsy and angry and starved. She had no skill in this type of battle, but still it made her blood sing. In only moments – two breaths, three? – he was already winning, so quickly did he find her hunger and turn it against her. And then her mouth was open to his, soft and spread and willing, ceding all control. Even as his lips pressed harder, even as his hands tightened and the kiss became a command that she could only obey, even as she knew that all of it, from the first moment, was only designed to impose his dominance over her – even then, she did not protest it.

In the same moment that she remembered herself and raised her hands to push him away, he ended it. He paused there, calm and still, as she trembled and swallowed and blinked like a great gaping fool.

“You have the taste of a woman, if nothing else.”

She caught only a glimpse of the laughter in his eyes before he turned away and left. She stared after him, forgetting her veil, forgetting her armor and even her leg where he had cut her. He walked away, leaving her with shame and defeat, stealing her victory over him with a kiss.

CHAPTER 6

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It had been her intention to skirt the towns, to avoid any habitation as a prevention to Morency’s escape. But now they were no more than four days ride to Windsor, where the king held court. Were the skies and land dry and were they able to ride, they would have been there a week hence, even avoiding the main thoroughfares. Instead they faced this river, near impossible to cross, though not for want of trying.