Page 83 of The Rebellious Countess
He leaned over her, the pull of their attraction driving him to let his body touch hers despite the audience a short distance away. “S'il vous plaît, mon cher. That wet shirt is giving me ideas I don’t want the cardinal to have."
She glanced down between their bodies and he was certain he could see the heat of her blush pinken her cheeks even in the darkness. He counted himself blessed when she untied the red strip of satin from his waist, rolled it up with the one from her waist, and said, “I can think of ways to use these later.”
“Later I will act upon those ideas.”
She gave him a quick kiss before she headed toward the grassy shore.
Damnation, but he would never get tired of her unprecedented knowledge of what a man desired. More importantly, he could not wait to use that fine strip of cloth to tie her to his bed aboard theMaribelle.
“Stop your wool gathering and come help us.”
He shook his head and returned to the boat Father Charles had pulled up upon the muddy shoreline. He reached in for his shirt and her shoes and then held them out to Sébastien. “Take these to my wife. She is cold from our swim.”
“Oui, monsieur.” The boy assisted the cardinal from the boat, and then ran for where Máira stood in the distance.
Astley’s skin glowed with translucence and pallor of death. He had only met the earl once, but on that occasion the earl’s complexion had been much darker, and much richer.“How is he?”
“He breathes. Beyond that, I could not say,” his mother replied.
“Could not or would not?”
Aventine bristled, yet the question was a valid one. Then she shrugged and lifted the nobleman up and away from her body for Elias to take hold of him. It was at that moment Astley chose to wake. “Where is Sébastien?” His gaze frantically searched the area, confusion marring his face. “Sébastien! Sébastien!” He pushed upward, batting at Elias’s arms as he tried to lift himself from the boat.
“He’s with us,” Elias replied, but Astley continued his frantic search. “He’s here, Astley. We did not leave him. He’s with Máira on shore.”
Astley’s gaze speared the grassy coastline, his eyes finally pinpointing the spot where the two stood, and Sébastien raised his hand in greeting. The affectionate grin that began to form on the earl’s face instantly dropped into stark fear. “No!” He struggled to stand, his lack of strength and balance threatening to dump the boat as his mother also yelled, “Elias, look!”
Two horsemen charged toward Máira and Sébastien.
“Máira!” He raced to her, the distance between them too great as horses drew to a stop and she placed her body between Sébastien and the invaders. She raised one hand with her knife to ward off an oncoming blow, and Elias roared. Everything in him focused on getting to her fast enough to kill the bastards threatening her.
The distance he had told her to take was now his enemy. She was farther on shore than he’d expected, and before he could reach her, a man who matched his size and breadth, but not his fear or anger, jumped off his horse and attacked, his massive arms enfolding her. Sébastien pummeled him with tiny, ineffectual blows from his fists as Elias raced with vengeance and murder flowing through his veins—as Máira disappeared from his view. Absent, as if she’d been swallowed whole by the assault.
Elias sensed rather than saw the second assailant leap from his horse and knew he would have to defeat him first. Despite every fiber of his being wanting to rip her assailant limb from limb, he had to face this second interloper first. He charged without thought, letting his instincts take hold as the man squared off, embraced for impact.
Elias struck iron, his impact driving the two of them to the ground, and Elias wasn’t about to give up his advantage of being on top. He raised up, his fist reared and ready to deliver a punishing blow—only to freeze when he recognized the face below him.
“T-Tomás?” His voice stuttered with shock.
“Elias! Elias, stop!” Máira’s sweet voice raised in panic caused him to push off his mother’s thug and turn toward his wife. Her sweet face framed by the glow of the full moon as the damp tendrils of her blond hair radiating in its light. That was all he wanted to see. Healthy and unharmed, he wanted to kiss her and wrap her in his arms, yet her assailant stood behind her with an expression of murder on his face.
“Touch her and I’ll kill you,” the man growled, as if his English threat meant something in this land. He held a combative Sébastien at arm’s length with a palm to his head. Sébastien’s fists swung at the air, his feet striking out with little success. Then Astley coughed and the boy immediately stilled.He looked from Máira to Elias to the hand that held him in place, and ran for the earl, and the Englishman’s hand fell to his side to ball in a fist.
Elias grasped Máira’s wrist as he attempted to pull her behind him in the same manner she’d handled Sébastien, but the Englishman held her other arm firmly in his grip. He didn’t understand why Tomás was with this man, but he knew with absolute certainty Tomás would not hurt his wife. The man in front of him, however, was an unknown entity.
“Your instruction means very little on French soil, wandought. Release my wife.”
“Elias—” Máira started.
But the man whose nostrils flared and shoulders squared interrupted. “You believe me feeble and impotent?” He wore a smirk, but the look in his eyes held anything but humor.
“You couldn’t hold onto a child,” Elias taunted, as he nodded in Sébastien’s direction.
Máira pulled at his arm. “Elias?—”
“Not now, Máira.” He needed all his attention on the threat in front of him.
“You’re the one being a wandought, you ignorant fool.” This latest insult came from his mother, who was helping Father Charles set Astley on the ground, while Sébastien knelt at the ailing man’s side. The shivering cardinal kept his distance from them all.
