Medieval 01 - Untamed

took only a short time for her to find a comfortable place amid the grass and wildflowers. She removed her mantle, turned it inside out to protect the elaborately brocaded cloth, and made a pillow for herself. Her head cloth had come awry in the frantic ride, as had her braids. She removed the golden jesses, shook out her hair, and set to work on it with the jeweled comb that had been Dominic’s gift.
    From the top of the mound where Dominic now sat, the shift and ripple of Meg’s hair was like firecombed by fingers of gold. The small chiming of the bells she wore at her wrists and around her hips fit the day as perfectly as did the songs of birds.
    No matter how sternly Dominic told himself he must watch for Reevers, the music and beauty of his wife kept drawing his eyes. With a muttered curse he closed his eyes and listened for anything more sinister than the tiny bells and the liquid calling of songbirds.
    Nothing came to his ears but the languid drone of insects and the secret sighing of the breeze through the tender leaves of spring. Dominic looked toward Crusader, trusting the stallion’s instinct for danger.
    The horse’s head was lowered and he was lipping lazily at some tender shoots. From time to time Crusader lifted his head and scented the breeze with flared nostrils and pricked ears, sifting the wind for any hints of danger. Apparently no odor of strange men, horses, or dogs—or familiar ones, either—came to the stallion, for he resumed nuzzling at foliage in the manner of a horse that is bored rather than hungry.
    The sun was a warm blessing on the land. Relaxation began to steal over Dominic, drawing away the tension of flight and battle. He looked back into the chamber and saw Meg stretched out in the grass, her hair fanned in silky glory around her head. The temptation to join her was as great as any he had ever known.
    Dominic resisted the siren song of peace and relaxation for some time, but nothing in the calm day rewarded his vigilance. Finally he climbed down off the mound, led Crusader to the passageway, and tied him just outside where no man could get past without alerting the stallion.
    Inside the chamber, Dominic wearily eased off hishelm and set it aside. His dark mantle made a fine bed over the grass and flowers. As soon as it was prepared, he lifted Meg onto the mantle and lay down beside her. The weight of sunlight unraveled him as deeply as any ale ever had. He threw off his hauberk and chausses, savoring the freedom from war’s weight. With a long sigh he drew Meg into his arms.
    For the first time since he had traded his own freedom for that of his men in Jerusalem, Dominic le Sabre slept without dreaming.
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    W HEN Meg first awoke, she didn’t know where she was. Even so, she felt no fear. The heat of the sun and the sweet trilling of forest birds assured her that she was safe before she opened her eyes. Even more reassuring than birdsong was the heavy warmth of Dominic’s arms around her and the steady, relaxed beating of his heart beneath her cheek.
    Abruptly Meg remembered the frantic flight through the forest. She lifted her head just enough to see through the passageway to the glade and the trees that surrounded the ancient site. Crusader stood at the entrance to the mound with his head down and his weight on three legs, sleeping on his feet after the manner of horses.
    The shadows at the mound entrance had shifted very little, telling Meg that her sleep hadn’t been a long one. Yet she felt curiously refreshed. She always did when she came here. It was as though the peace of a thousand years had pooled here to be drunk by those wise enough to slip between standing stones to the sunlit mound.
    When Meg turned her face back to Dominic, she realized that he had taken off his battle gear to lie in the sun with her. He, too, must have felt the healing touch of the ancient place.
    The realization went through Meg like lightning. Old Gwyn had known of no man for a thousand years who had been able to put aside his unease long enough to enter the inner ring of stones, much less to surrender himself in sleep to the venerable peace of the mound.
    Yet Dominic had done just that.
    The proof of that incredible fact lay before her now, his powerful body relaxed, his eyes closed, sleeping as deeply as any babe. Dominic le Sabre, a warrior so powerful that he made even the king of England uneasy, had a baffling communion with peace.
    Work with me,