Page 8 of Saxon Blade Norman Blood
His hand clenched the dagger’s handle in frustration and disgust. The carvings on it looked Saxon and oddly familiar. Where had he seen them before? Over the years he had dealt with many Saxon lords, most of them hostile to him. But which of them wanted him dead, to the point of sending someone to kill him? Who had thought it expedient to send a servant to do the dirty work instead of confronting him like a man?
He lay by the girl’s side a long moment, lost in speculation, making sure to keep still, waiting for her to wake upby herself. He wanted to see if her first reflex would be to reach for the dagger while she thought him asleep. A moment later she did exactly that and he had the answer to his question.
William could not fool himself any longer. The girl was here to kill him, not pleasure him.
The gasp she gave when she realized the dagger was nowhere to be found only increased his fury.
“Looking for something?”
“N-no, but the covers—”
“Don’t even think about lying to me,” he warned, his mouth at her ear. She made to bolt but he easily caught her, wrapping an arm around her waist. A small laugh escaped his lips. Did she really think he would let her go now? The naïve little fool. “I don’t think so. You are not going anywhere until you tell me what you are doing in my bed with a dagger. Tell me. Who sent you?”
Disappointment made his voice rougher than he would have liked. He had been driven to the edge of control by this girl and now he had to accept she was in his bed, not because she wanted him, but because she’d been waiting for the opportunity to strike. She felt nothing for him, she was simply obeying someone’s orders. No wonder she had refused to tell him her name earlier. She wanted to protect her master.
He should have been sharper. A pretty Saxon girl coming out of nowhere, speaking his language, coming to his bed so willingly and obeying his shocking instructions without a word of protest, should have raised his suspicions. He had let his senses govern his head, something he had sworn never to do again.
His hold on her tightened further.
“You are hurting me!” she gasped.
“Good. Now answer me. Who sent you here to kill me?”
The girl hesitated. It was obvious she was trying to think of a suitable lie to cover herself. William snorted. As if he would believe anything she said now.
“No one sent me,” she said after a long moment, looking him straight in the eye.
“You expect me to believe that you came alone to a mighty fortress teeming with Normans, armed with a single dagger with the sole purpose of killing me?”
“Yes.”
There was a silence, then he laughed. A deep, throaty laugh he rarely indulged in. He couldn’t help it.
“Don’t laugh at me. Don’t you dare mock me!” the girl roared, fighting to free herself from his embrace. “Do you think women are such weak and pathetic creatures that they can’t have ideas of their own or the courage to use a weapon?”
“No. I do not think that.”
The laugh disappeared as quickly as it had come. Indeed, he did not, and this was no laughing matter. He could well have died tonight.
William released his hold and turned the girl around. For a moment she glared at him, his declared enemy. He glared back.
“I do not think women are pathetic creatures, nor do I think they would be too weak-minded to wield a knife. On the contrary, they are often more determined and wilier than men,” he told her, trying to assess how far she was prepared to go in her defense of her master. “But I have to warn you I will not be so easy to kill. I have every intention of defending myself now that I am forewarned about your intentions. You will never get past my guard, and neither will you…”
He did not finish the sentence, but instead let his gaze wander over her body, making his meaning clear. She would never lure him into bed again. And without the element ofsurprise, there was no hope for her. He was much stronger, a warrior, a man honed for combat, when she was just a girl with no experience and no real plan. Whoever had sent her had chosen the wrong person. She looked nothing like a dangerous murderer. How could anyone have thought this slip of a girl could overcome a man like him armed with a simple dagger?
William gave a snort when he remembered the events from earlier. Perhaps the man who’d sent her was not such a fool after all because, small, unassuming as she was, shehadalmost killed him. The dagger was not the only weapon at her disposal. Her sensual appeal had been a far more dangerous one, making him forget elementary caution for a brief, crucial moment. No other assassin he had ever seen possessed such a distracting mouth or eyes that drew him into their blue depths. They did not have breasts so perfect his fingers itched with the need to touch them, or skin that made his mouth water at the idea of tasting it.
“What will you do to me?” she asked uneasily, clearly unsettled by the hunger that would appear on his face.
“Right now, I can think of a few things,” he drawled. His body was not concerned in the least by the fact that she was his would-be assassin. It was hard from being pressed so close to her.
She swallowed. “I-I meant—”
“I know what you mean. But you are in my bed, and I cannot help but think we left things before we were quite satisfied. In my case at least. You seemed rather sated.”
He placed his hand on her stomach before he could think and frowned at the impulse. He reallywantedto make love to her, he realized, not in revenge or even to finish what they had started. He wanted to pleasure her again.
What a fool he was. The woman was here to kill him, he had better remember it. He should not be thinking about the best way to give her pleasure.
