Medieval 01 - Untamed

falcon?”
    â€œOnce.”
    â€œWhy?” he asked.
    â€œShe never accepted her jesses.”
    â€œAye. But all the other falcons did.”
    Meg nodded.
    â€œAnd in doing so,” Dominic continued, “your fierce sisters learned a different kind of freedom.”
    Green eyes asked a silent question.
    â€œThey learned the freedom of being cared for when ice covers the land,” Dominic said, “of being fed when there is no game in forest or field, of living in comfort twice or thrice as long as their untamed kin. Who can say which freedom is superior?”
    Meg started to speak, only to have a fig slipped between her lips by Dominic’s deft fingers.
    â€œIt all depends on the falcon’s acceptance of her new life,” Dominic continued.
    Meg chewed quickly, parted her lips to say something, and found herself with another mouthful of food. When she gave Dominic a sidelong look, she saw that he was smiling.
    â€œAle?” he asked innocently.
    She swallowed and wisely nodded instead of trying to speak.
    When Dominic picked up the mug of ale and drank, Meg expected him to hold the mug to her lips as though she were a child learning to drink from a bowl.
    But instead of a cold mug, it was Dominic’s warm lips that met hers. A stream of cool, potent ale poured over her tongue. Automatically she swallowed. Dominic bit her lips very gently, lifted his head, and drank again from the mug. Then he turned and let Meg drink the ale from him.
    The elemental intimacy of the act made her tremble. Bells stirred almost secretly, a music more sensed than heard. He drank from the mug and she sipped from his lips until she felt light-headed.
    â€œEnough,” Meg whispered.
    The words were spoken against Dominic’s mouth. She was breathing the heady scent of ale on his breath, tasting his warmth, feeling the edges of his teeth as he delicately nibbled on her lower lip.
    â€œAre you certain?” he asked, biting with exquisite care.
    â€œI fear I have no head for ale. I’m quite dizzy.”
    Dominic’s laugh was like his voice; low, velvet, very male.
    â€œâ€™Tis not the small bit of ale you’ve drunk,” he murmured against her lips, “’tis the way you drank that is making you light-headed.”
    Meg didn’t argue. She knew that ale had never gone to her head so quickly before.
    â€œMaybe it’s simple hunger,” she said, looking longingly at the platter of food.
    Laughing silently, Dominic resumed feeding Meg with his fingertips rather than with his lips. Her heartbeat settled as she became accustomed to the novel way of eating. Meat and figs, cheese and bread—and the crisp greens—vanished with surprising speed.
    â€œYou have taken nothing,” Meg protested as Dominic held out another bit of fig for her to eat.
    â€œI’m not a small falcon.”
    â€œEven eagles eat,” she said dryly.
    But she was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling as she watched him from beneath long, auburn eyelashes.
    Dominic laughed aloud and stole a crumb of bread from the corner of Meg’s smile. Then he continuedfeeding her one small bite at a time until she could eat no more.
    Yet even then Meg was reluctant to stop. The man who was holding her so carefully, teasing her so gently, feeding her so intimately was a revelation to her. Her heart insisted that there must be more to the dark Norman knight than ambition and deadly skill with sword and lance.
    The stubborn hope that had kept generations of Glendruid women alive stirred once more within Meg, whispering to her that a man who was capable of such tenderness and laughter might also be capable of love. She could not love a man who was too cold and self-controlled to love her in return, but if he could love her…if that were possible…
    Then anything was possible.
    Even a Glendruid son .
    When Dominic offered Meg yet another bit of bread, she shook her head in refusal; but at the same time, she brushed a fleeting kiss over his fingertips. His eyes narrowed and his breathing quickened at the caress that had been given freely.
    â€œSomething sweet?” Dominic asked, his voice husky.
    Meg looked at the tray and saw the selection of Turkish sweets that had been hidden beneath the bread. In the wavering light from the hearth, she couldn’t tell which of the sweets would have the flavor she preferred.
    â€œWhich is the lemon?” she asked.
    â€œWe shall find