When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but strong. “You’re not beneath me. I’d never think that.”
Yes, you are beneath her, he reminded himself, bracing against the forbidden bliss coursing through his veins. And don’t dare imagine you’ll ever be atop her. Or curled behind her. Or buried deep inside her while she—
Bloody hell. The fact that he could even think such a thing. He was crude, disgusting. So undeserving of even this slight caress. Her gesture was made out of guilt, offered in apology. If he took advantage, he would be a devil.
He knew all this.
But he flexed his arms anyway, drawing her close.
“You’re worried you’ve hurt my feelings,” he murmured.
She nodded, just a little.
“I don’t have those.”
“I forgot.”
Amazing. He marveled at her foolishness. After all he’d said to her, she would worry about him? Within this small, slight woman lived so much untapped affection, she couldn’t help but squander it on music pupils and mongrel dogs and undeserving brutes. What was it like, he wondered, to live with that bright, glowing star in her chest? How did she survive it?
If he kissed her deeply enough and held her tight—would some of its warmth transfer to him?
“Wait,” came a call, echoing vaguely in the distance. “Hold still! Not yet!”
Perhaps the voice belonged to his conscience. He couldn’t bring himself to pay it any mind. All he knew was her touch and her caring and the raw, trembling force of his own need.
He drew her closer still. Her eyes went wide. Larger and more lovely than he’d ever seen them before. A whole world of possibility was opening in those dark pupils.
And then . . . Her gaze drifted up and a little to the side. Her lips fell apart in wonder.
A strange shadow appeared on her face.
A shadow that was round, and growing larger by the instant. As though some projectile were rapidly approaching from above.
Jesus, no.
Thorne had been here before, many times. Battle, sieges, skirmishes. Thought ceased, and instinct took over. His grip tightened on her shoulders. His already thundering heart pumped faster, powering strength to his limbs.
The word “Down!” tore from his throat.
He threw himself forward, wrapping her body in his arms and flattening her to the ground—
Just as the explosion hit.
Chapter Eight
It took Kate several seconds to register what had happened.
One moment she’d been staring, incredulous, as an object plummeted toward her from the sky. She’d stood transfixed by the sheer absurdity of it. This strange, roundish thing silhouetted against the sun, growing larger and closer . . . and greener.
The next thing she knew, she was on the ground. Corporal Thorne was on top of her. And they were both covered in wet, sticky melon pulp. Shards of rind littered the ground nearby. A pungent sweetness filled her heightened senses. Evidently, Sir Lewis’s adjustments to the trebuchet had gone awry.
Really, there was nothing else for it. She had to laugh. Softly at first, but soon her whole body shook with mirth.
Thorne didn’t share her amusement. He didn’t rise or roll to the side. He kept her in his arms, covering her with his body. His muscles had gone rigid, everywhere. When she sought his gaze, she found his blue eyes searching and unfocused. His nostrils were flared and his breaths were harshly won.
“Thorne? Are you all right?”
He didn’t answer. She didn’t think he could answer.
He wasn’t there.
It was the only way she could think to describe it. His body lay atop her, heavy as sacks of grain. She knew he was alive, from the way his heartbeat slammed against hers. But mentally, he wasn’t there. He was somewhere else. On some scorched, smoking battlefield, she imagined, where round objects falling from the sky had a great deal more destructive force than the average overripe melon.
She touched his face, just lightly. “Thorne? It’s all right. It was only a melon. I’m not hurt. Are you?”
His arms flexed, squeezing her until she winced with pain.
He forced a strange growl through his clenched teeth. The sound was inhuman. Each hair on her arms stood tall, as if to wave a tiny flag of surrender, and her pulse drummed in her ears. She was truly afraid now. For him, and for herself. She lay small and defenseless beneath him. If he’d mistaken her for the enemy on his phantom battlefield, he could do her true harm.
She caressed his face with trembling fingers, reaching to sweep the hair back from his brow. Between the velvet of his thick, soft hair and the wetness of the melon pulp, it felt like stroking a newborn foal. Tenderness swelled in her heart.
“All’s well. We’re unharmed. This is Rycliff Castle. Spindle Cove.” Kate tried to keep her voice low and steady, aiming to soothe them both. “You’re home. And it’s only me. Miss Taylor. Kate. I’m the music tutor, remember? I’m your . . . I’m a friend.”