DOAExcerpt

Dream of the Archer Excerpt

    Damian pondered Lenore's question. Even as he'd kissed her, the knowledge of what he was about to do weighed heavy on him. Upon seeing Lenore shadowed in gold in the glow of the bonfire, he'd pushed the unsavory task aside, if but for a moment, to relish the feel of her lips pressed to his--haps for the last time. He could still taste her on his tongue, honeyed and warm, could still feel the heat of her pressed against him--so painfully sweet. Painfully indeed. Even as he'd held her dear to him, he knew he may well lose her to the outcome of this night, to duty and honor should he link Lenore to the man Robyn regarded a spy.
     But what choice had he? In truth, it was the only way to know for certain who the stranger was.
     "Damian?" Lenore prompted.
     "'Tis but a small distance ahead," he replied. "There is one I would that you meet."
     "Meet? Who?"
     Damian fell silent, the tension in him coiled so tight that to speak required a strength he did not feel. "You shall know this soon enow," he replied. He heard her hiss as he led her down the dark, rutted path, could feel her frustration. It fairly sizzled about them, matching his own apprehension. With each ensuing step, his grip tightened on her arm. A possessive hold. A frantic hold. A hold that begged her back even as he drew her forward--and he cursed, then thanked that hold when she stumbled and he stayed her and kept her from falling. "Take care," he advised as he steadied her on her feet.
     "I can barely see where I'm walking. And I can't keep up with you. Please slow down."
     Damian paused. "Forgive me." He resumed his mission in a slower gait so that Lenore could keep stride. When he saw a bend in the path, his chest felt suddenly heavy. They were nearly there.
     Around the bend a small lodging rested in the trees. Before its door stood a guard, tall and alert, his hand touching on the hilt of his sword. Damian had been here many times and the stench of what it was pervaded him. A prison. A place of holding before execution. Damian's hold on Lenore tightened once more as he approached the man.
     "Who goes there?" the guard bellowed at the sound of approaching footfalls. The rasp of steel on leather rent the air.
     "Piotre, 'tis I, Damian."
     "Damian!" Piotre lowered his sword. "Ye cur. About time ye returned."
     Though feeling the shadow of the moment, Damian grinned.
     "I would take care walking the path so late in the eve," Piotre continued. "Especially with one so fair at yer side.Ye of any of us know that the path twists and turns at a moment and fairly disappears at times."
     "I go no further, friend. I have come to see the prisoner."
     "Prisoner?" Lenore whispered. Her gaze shot to Damian who was still focused on the guard.
     The guard stiffened, then stood tall. "Were it my decision," he returned, "I would bid ye enter. But orders are that no man visits the prisoner lest Robyn decrees it so."
     "I did speak with Robyn earlier this day." Damian pulled the missive Robyn had hastily written out from his belted waist and handed it to the guard.
     Unrolling the small scroll, the guard read the fine script. His gaze shot from Damian to Lenore. Slowly, he stepped aside. "'Tis in order, milord. Pray, enter.".

    Lenore felt the hint of a smile as his mouth brushed softly against her own. Common sense warned her back, to get as far from him as possible. But her body had a mind of its own and it pressed against him. Was she in love? The urge to turn and run swept over her. Warning bells rang in her head. Then his mouth covered hers completely, warm and moist, and a purr of acquiescence escaped her. Soon the warning bells ceased to ring and she gave in to the warm and heady feel of his hands on her back, to the sweet taste of him as he eased his tongue between her lips, coaxing, inviting, intoxicating. She felt his calloused palm glide across her shoulders to rest at her nape, felt his fingers slide into her hair, his chest press firmly to her breasts. Then his kiss deepened and she met his fervor with equal need, forgetting where they were, who they were--knowing only the sweet ecstasy of a warm and wondrous kiss that rocked her to the soul and joined them as one.
     "Methinks ye should make an honest woman of the lass first," a husky voice boomed from the darkness.
     Lenore jumped. A chorus of rowdy laughter rose from the watchful crowd. A warm flush spread to her cheeks and she tried breaking free from Damian's grasp. Damian tightened his hold and smiled unabashedly.
     "Well?" John Littell prodded. "Would ye make an honest woman of her or nay?"
     "You are an infidel," Damian teased, bedevilment sparking in his eyes. "For one so large, you move as a spirit in the night."
     John laughed. "Nay, Damian. A herd of horses could thunder by and ye would not have been awares."
     The crowd once again burst into laughter.
     Damian clapped John's back. Securing a hold on Lenore's arm, he led her to a narrow path..
    "Where are you taking me?" Lenore asked as he drew her away from the main village area.

This is not an actual book cover, just my rendition of the characters.