For My Lady's Honor

she said, her whispered demand intense with the maelstrom of feeling whirling through her.

His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Show you what, milady?” His gaze beckoned her, enticed her to lean closer to him.

Did she have the courage to continue what she’d started? A simple glance at Padrig’s face was all the answer she needed.

“Show me how to kiss, if you please,” she said, in the haughtiest tone she could contrive—though she mitigated that offense with a smile.

“There are many kinds of kisses.” He nuzzled her cheek, then touched his lips to her ear. “You’ve only to tell me what you want, milady,” he whispered. “I am yours to command.”

Unfamiliar desires engulfed her; her body demanded something, but she’d little notion precisely what it was she wanted. What she needed.

All at once the answer came to her. She wanted more...!

Praise for Sharon Schulze’s novels

Lady of the Keep

“A warmhearted tale where love mends old wounds and broken dreams.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

The Hidden Heart

“…a medieval romance bound to break your heart, then mend it good as new.”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Shielded Heart

“A fine addition to the author’s L’Eau Clair Chronicles, and one that will make readers look forward to more!”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

For My Lady’s Honor

Sharon Schulze

To my son Patrick and his wonderful wife:

May your life together always

be full of love and laughter.

And in loving memory of my grandmother,

Clara Willey—for card games, Sunday dinners

(and wrestling!) and making each of us feel like

the most special person in the world.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter One

The Welsh Marches, 1222

Lady Alys Delamare slid her head out of the blanket and greeted the brightening sky with relief. After a nigh sleepless night—during which she’d scarce dared move upon her pallet lest her maddeningly observant escort notice her restlessness—she couldn’t wait to be quit of her bed and on the road once more.

Another day of their journey meant another day in the company of the ever-irksome Sir Padrig ap Huw.

Yet it also brought her another day closer to bidding him farewell.

’Twas a shame the nagging voice inside her head—speaking for the part of her that took a reluctant pleasure in Padrig’s teasing ways—had taken on a sad tone at the thought of their inevitable parting.

She’d plans for her life, plans that didn’t include an attractive young knight…no matter how appealing she found him.

She peeked over at Padrig’s bedroll. ’Twas empty.

By the Virgin, she’d swear she’d heard him every time he’d so much as shifted on the ground in the night! How had he managed to rise without her noticing?

He’s a skilled warrior! Who knows what the man is capable of?

Alys squirmed free of her bedding and stood, tugging at her twisted undertunic and giving a shimmy to settle the garment. Ignoring the stout boots and bliaut on the ground beside her, she edged around Marie, her maid, who continued to snore unabated.

Mayhap Marie had drowned out the sound of Padrig’s leaving. She bit back a laugh. ’Twas possible, for the young woman could nigh wake the deaf at times, she made such a racket.

Once away from Marie, Alys focused instead on the beauty of the morning. Thick grass covered the clearing, soft and cool beneath her bare feet. The sensation sent a shiver of pleasure through her; she could scarce remember the last time she’d had the chance to savor the feel of the earth against her skin.

A smile on her lips, she crept from the clearing and, following a faint path through the trees, entered the forest.

Her unbound hair, mussed from sleep, caught in a low branch. She paused to free herself, the fresh scent of pine adding to her awareness of the world around her—and of herself. She felt vividly alive, conscious of her body in a strange new way.

Her senses alert, Alys heard water splashing. Following the sound, she hurried along the path until she reached a small pool surrounded by trees and rocks.

A pool occupied by a muscular, naked man.

He faced away from her, the water barely hiding his buttocks. Moisture shimmered on his tanned skin, accentuating his strong arms and back. He swept his hands through his wet hair, smoothing it back to lie, dark and wavy, to his shoulders.

She couldn’t mistake that hair. ’Twas Padrig.

Blessed Mary save her! She’d always thought him handsome, but she’d never imagined he looked like this.

Her mouth dry and her gaze intent upon Padrig, Alys stole closer to the edge of the pool. She’d no intention of bringing this mesmerizing scene to an end any time soon by catching his attention.

He stretched his arms over his head. The muscles in his back and shoulders flexed, drawing her attention to several dark, intricate designs on the smooth flesh of his shoulders and upper arms.

They appeared to be drawn upon his skin. She’d never seen such a thing—what could they be?

Padrig began to slowly walk away from her, toward the other side of the narrow pool. Startled from her fascination, Alys knew she should do something to make him aware of her presence, but instead she lingered at the edge of the forest, motionless and silent, to savor this unexpected pleasure for as long as possible.

Padrig’s lips curled in a smile as Alys continued to lurk near the water on the other side of the pond. Her startled gasp when she’d seen him would have given her away even if he hadn’t already heard her moving through the trees lining the path. He should have spoken, or shifted deeper into the water once he’d known she was there, but he couldn’t resist the provocation to tease her.

How far could he go, he wondered, before she’d do something to let him know she was there?

He stretched his arms skyward and took another step away from Alys and closer to the far edge of the pool. He had to fight the temptation to turn around, to see the expression on her face as she watched him. He could feel her eyes upon him, the intensity of her gaze nigh a physical caress over his flesh.

A caress that was causing an all-too-real reaction, he noted wryly. Mayhap he’d better move into deeper water after all; he didn’t need to have her run screaming back toward their campsite, sending her maid into a tizzy and his men scrambling to protect her.

But what if she didn’t react that way? For all he knew, she might even now be removing her own clothing to join him in the water….

Closing his eyes for a moment against the yearning that image brought to mind, he reluctantly shifted his thoughts instead to Lord Rannulf’s reaction should Padrig take such base advantage of a young lady in his care.

Jesu, had lust unbalanced his mind? Lady Alys was a noblewoman—a virgin, he had no doubt.

If Lord Rannulf didn’t have his head for such insolence—or some other part of him a bit lower, he thought with a chuckle—the lady’s father would certainly take exception should Padrig attempt to steal her innocence.

Pah, as if Lady Alys would want the likes of him anyway!

Though her continued silence did make him wonder what she was about.

Unable to resist one last taunt, Padrig took a step back, until the water covered him to just above his hips, and turned.

“Can I help you with something, milady?” he asked evenly. ’Twas difficult to maintain a neutral air once he saw Alys, however. The mere sight of her sleep-tousled hair, combined with the way the soft fabric of her gown clung to her lissome form, sent his body into instant rebellion against his strength of will. The expression on her face—soft, curious, her gaze intense as it grazed over him—was impossible to ignore. Despite his attempt at restraint, he could not suppress an equally heated response.

He moved deeper into the water at once, lest he flaunt his reaction to her; he’d no wish to embarrass her or himself.

She wet her lips with her tongue and raised her hand to smooth down her dark chestnut hair, a tide of color tinting her cheeks. “Nay, sir,” she replied, her gaze meeting his with a hint of challenge. “I was simply curious. I wished to explore a bit before we resume our journey.”

“And was your curiosity satisfied, milady?” he asked.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Not yet, Sir Padrig.” She moved closer to the water’s edge. “Though I believe if I’m patient enough it will be.”

Padrig drew in a deep breath and reminded himself she was an innocent maiden who didn’t realize how her actions and words might be interpreted. Though he willed himself to cool down, his body would not obey. ’Twas a miracle the water around him hadn’t begun to boil from the heat pouring through him!

How could he make her leave?

“’Tis said that patience is a virtue, milady. I’ve no doubt you’re a virtuous lass—”

“’Tis also said that virtue is its own reward,” she pointed out. She stepped onto the rock-strewn rim of the pool, her bare feet shifting on the slippery stones. “I’m not certain I believe ’tis true, though. Have you ever noticed that the most virtuous people you meet seem the least happy?”

Aye, he could not disagree with that. He closed his eyes for a moment as memories swept through him. His own mother, Lord rest her, had been an intensely virtuous woman—yet to her, life had been a constant misery of disappointment and sorrow. No one and nothing could ever meet her standards; he’d stopped trying when he’d scarce the years or wisdom to understand the impossibility of it. Only by the grace of God—and his cousin Lady Catrin—had he escaped that torment.

He’d often wondered, in the years since his mother’s death, if she’d simply died of frustration that the world fell short of her measure.

While he’d been momentarily lost in the shadows of the past, Lady Alys had made her way around the pond. Her gown hiked up to her knees, she waded through the shallows, her face alight and her lips curled into a winsome smile that set his heartbeat racing.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. By the rood, but he wished he were dressed! He felt at a distinct disadvantage, trapped here in the water while Lady Alys, all unknowing, tempted him nigh beyond endurance. The gauzy fabric of her gown—naught more than her undertunic, he’d vow—clung to her where she’d got it wet, the thin material outlining her curves and heating his blood further.

His mouth dry, his mind numb, Padrig sought in vain for the words to deliver himself from this situation. In her innocent dishabille Lady Alys was seduction personified; now that he’d seen her thus, he doubted he’d ever again be able to treat her with the deference a lady of her station deserved.

“The water is so soothing,” she said, ignoring his question.

Soothing? Was she mad?

He drew in a deep breath. There was nothing soothing about the look in her eyes—no, nor little of the innocent, either, he noted.

His pulse thrummed harder. Damn the woman! She knew precisely the effect she was causing, he’d warrant.

Damn him, for finding that truth so exciting. He took a step back, in the futile hope of hiding his rampaging body.

“Lady Alys—” His voice sounded strange even to his own ears.

“Aye, Sir Padrig?” she asked, her tone light with merriment as she followed him. “Was there something you wanted of me?”

He bit back a groan. “Go back to the camp,” he said flatly.

The glow of mirth brightening her eyes faded, replaced by embarrassment. A bright tide of pink swept up her face and she looked away from him.

“Milady—” He’d not meant to upset her, only to bring a halt to her teasing before it went too far.

Her shoulders set in a rigid line, Lady Alys spun on her heel, lost her footing, and, letting out a shriek, came tumbling into Padrig’s arms.

Chapter Two

Padrig caught her as she fell backwards. She barely even touched the water—a testament to his knightly prowess, no doubt. Whatever the reason, Alys was glad of it, for in spite of her taunting prowl through the pool, she’d no desire to immerse herself completely.

He gathered her close and hiked her up into his arms. She gasped at the touch of his wet flesh, for despite the icy water and the slight breeze wafting gently over them, Padrig’s fiery skin smoldered through the linen of her gown as though the fabric didn’t exist. Hot, firm muscles lightly dusted with dark hair and the sensation of Padrig’s chest and stomach against her was nigh branded upon her body for all time.

“I ought to drop you right here,” he muttered. He raised her slightly away from him, still holding her easily within his grasp. “’Twould be no more than you deserve.”

“Don’t you dare!” Alys shifted in his hold and wrapped her arms tight about his neck lest he try to make good upon the threat, although a swift glance at his face confirmed her suspicion that he’d not actually do so.

The movement brought her face close to his. Her mouth tingled with the need to touch his, to test the contrast between the dark whiskers on his jaw and the surprising softness of his lips. Mouth dry, she swallowed and dragged her gaze down before she gave in to temptation.

She should have glanced away instead, however, for everything within her view tempted her.

And she could not look away.

She had to dig her fingers into his shoulders to keep from stroking the smooth, tanned flesh within her reach. ’Twas a feast for her senses; she felt nigh drunk on the feel of him, the fresh scent of his wet body, the warmth radiating out from him to envelop her like a cloak. ’Twas as though they were linked together by invisible bonds. She glanced up and met his eyes—a mistake, for they smoldered with a heat fit to match that of his skin. She dared not hold his gaze, for fear she’d lose her will completely if she did.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head to clear her muzzy thoughts, the movement tugging sharply at her hair where it was caught between their bodies. When she drew away from him to free herself, a feeling of loss rushed over her. The sensation, though painful, brought her to her senses; she wriggled loose and dropped into the water with a splash.

’Twas so cold! The water closed over her head for but a moment before Padrig hauled her up and out of it, but ’twas enough to clear her wits. A tide of heat rose to her face as her actions replayed themselves in her mind.

What had she been about, to tease and taunt him as she had?

Alys found her footing, rose and swiped her wet hair out of her eyes. Backing toward shore, she risked a glance at Padrig, then whirled away from him in shock.

He’d come after her, leaving the protective cover of the water. He stood before her in all his naked glory—and by the Virgin, he was a glorious sight. Fully aroused, his wet body gleamed in the early morning light.

Somehow she forced her reluctant feet into motion, away from him, toward the camp.

Unlike her journey to the pool, this time she noted nothing of her surroundings. Instead all she could see in her mind’s eye was Padrig, her only thought a question pulsing repeatedly through her brain.

How in God’s name could she become a nun now?

Padrig watched Alys stumble away from him and along the path with mixed feelings. ’Twas for the best that she’d left, no doubt—but by the rood, how he wished she’d stayed!

He grinned. The Lady Alys he’d observed at l’Eau Clair—though he’d not seen her much, ’twas true—had led him to believe her to be vague, distracted, scarcely aware of her surroundings. She’d surprised him this morn, her actions and her words both, for she’d been quick-witted, clever and enticing.

He had noticed her very soon after his return to l’Eau Clair several weeks ago. She was a comely lass, petite but curvaceous, her dark chestnut hair and light amber eyes a striking contrast to her alabaster skin. Something made her stand out among the young ladies in Lady Gillian’s household, though he could not say what made that so, for more than a few of them were beautiful.

Still, when he’d tried to speak with her on several occasions, she’d scurried away with scarce a word to him—she’d barely even looked his way.

When he’d asked about Lady Alys, he’d been told by Hugh, one of the other knights in Lord Rannulf’s train, that she was nigh a lack-wit, scatterbrained to the point where Lady Gillian despaired of teaching her much of anything. She appeared cautious of men, so that none had managed to lure her into the slightest indiscretion—though not for want of trying, Hugh had added with a wry laugh. It had soon become apparent, though, that Lady Alys seemed lost in a world of her own, unaware of most everything and everyone around her.

Not worth the bother.

A day ago, he might have agreed—reluctantly, ’twas true, for he’d continued to be drawn to her.

Yet now… Now he could only wonder which woman was the real Lady Alys.

He bit back a laugh. He had no doubt which he’d rather she be!

Though in truth, it should matter naught to him whether she were a woman, a horse, a missive to be conveyed. So far as he was concerned, delivering her safely to her father’s care should be a responsibility he must fulfill.

Nothing more.

Yet he’d never before felt anything stronger than a sense of duty toward anyone he’d been obligated to escort, to protect.

Nor should he now, he reminded himself sternly, no matter how sweet, how enticing the provocation.

Padrig waded to the side of the pool where he’d left his clothes and sword, relishing the sensation of the breeze on his damp skin. His body had finally begun to cool, now that Lady Alys was no longer there to tempt him, though the desire she’d stirred still simmered low in his belly and thrummed through his blood like the hot, dark embers buried deep within the heart of a banked fire.

He’d do well to ignore that craving until it disappeared, rather than let his continued exposure to the lady rouse it to fever pitch again. A man in his position couldn’t afford to give in to his passions whenever he encountered a pretty maid.

He’d never had trouble keeping himself in check before, a fortunate thing, as all too often the women who caught his attention were as far beyond his reach as the moon.

The same could be said for Lady Alys. She was far enough above his station that any attention from him could be considered bold arrogance on his part, at the very least.

And if his suspicion about the reason her father wanted her back was true, he’d be an idiot, indeed, to allow himself the slightest interest.

He wasn’t about to become a fool now. He tucked his shirt loosely into his braes, picked up his sword and dagger and headed for the path Lady Alys had taken through the trees. He’d yet to meet a woman who was worth more than a moment’s thought anyway.

Why, then, had he already spent so much time thinking about her?

The camp was astir by the time he returned, some of his men busy loading and saddling the tethered horses, others gathered near the ashes of the previous night’s fire to break their fast.

Of Lady Alys he saw no sign, though her maid lingered by a thicket on the far side of the clearing, her expression troubled, her hands waving about in agitation as she spoke to someone within the bushes.

Her mistress, no doubt.

He wondered what reason Alys had given for her state of soggy dishevelment. He glanced at his men. Had anyone realized that he and Lady Alys had been away from the camp at the same time, and that though they’d returned separately, they were both wet?

His own damp state was less apparent than hers had been, but it scarce took much imagination to consider…

His face grew hot, as it had not since his youth. Thankfully no one could guess what they’d been doing, nor would they realize his lapse in judgment as he’d taunted Lady Alys with his words….

With his nakedness.

Jesu, but he must have been mad, to have treated a noble lady thus!

Nor would anyone ever imagine—for he could scarce believe it himself—that Lady Alys had also done her innocent best to tease him.

He shook his head and forced away the nagging sense of guilt that plagued him. They’d done nothing amiss. ’Twas the knowledge he’d behaved badly plaguing him, nothing more.

Nay, no one would expect such behavior of Lady Alys—and he’d shown naught but the slightest, most general interest in her. They were more apt to believe she’d fallen into the pond on her own—for ’twas precisely what they’d expect of her, after all—and that he’d had to rescue her.

Padrig crossed to his baggage and drew out a dry shirt, turning away from the men nearby as his face grew hotter still, in anger this time. What must it be like, to have everyone assume the worst of you? To be treated as though you were nigh brainless?

His stomach knotted—not from hunger, but because he recalled all too clearly what it was like to be the focus of attention, to be watched, weighed and found wanting.

To be the cause of jeering and mockery.

For the most part it had been silent attention in his case, but he’d been aware of it all the same. His fear mounting as he waited for his body to betray him, to fold in upon himself for lack of breath, his strength flown with his last lungful of air.

How could he fight in battle, be a warrior, when he didn’t know when next he’d be stricken?

He’d won his spurs despite the hurdles the ailment placed in his path, working hard to become physically powerful, to hone his skills till he could hold his own against all opponents. Through strength of body and of will, he had proven the naysayers wrong.

And been fortunate enough to outgrow the weakness—so he hoped. It had been several years since he’d last been set upon by the malady.

Pray God it never returned again.

Enough! Such thoughts belonged in the past, buried deep, nigh forgotten, where they couldn’t slink forth to weaken him.

He’d dressed and armed himself while he’d been lost in thought. A glance up at the brightening sky told him ’twas past time they were on their way. He looked around the campsite, noting that his men had finished their preparations and appeared ready to leave.

Where was Lady Alys?

He crossed to where he’d last seen the maidservant. There wasn’t so much as a path through the trees here, though the underbrush was bent where the women had trod upon it.

He’d no intention of going into the forest after them, however. He’d rather not even imagine Lady Alys’s state of dress—or undress. He felt unsettled enough already from the morning’s earlier events; no sense making matters worse.

A low murmur of voices sent a wave of relief through him, swiftly followed by impatience. He moved aside several leafy branches and moved into the trees—but not too far. “Milady!” he called. “’Tis past time we were on our way. Come along now—I doubt you want me to come in after you.” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth, for the image that rose to his mind set his pulse pounding as wildly as it had during their encounter by the pool.