abruptly. "Save your flatteries for those who are moved by them, sir. I would play chess."
She
was
moved, but he simply inclined his head and gestured toward her. "Then we will play."
The game proved more difficult than Lyssa expected, so much more so that she suspected she had been fooled by his protestations of ignorance of the game. His strategy was unusual, and followed no plan that she could discern, but it was quite effective.
It did not help that she could not keep her attention focused on the board. Lord Thomas was an imposing presence, and hard to absorb all at once. She watched his enormous hands, big as platters, as he moved his pieces. They were huge, but like Lord Thomas himself, they were graceful and deft. She liked the long, elegant fingers and the strong palms, and admired the play of small bones as he plucked a pawn up and moved it forward. It was a hand that could be gentle, as she saw when he reached down beside him to stroke the head of the pup who trailed him devotedly. But she had no doubt there was strength and size enough that he could crush that same pup's head if he were so inclined.
The hands were not all. He straddled the bench aggressively, and her gaze flitted over the length of his hard-hewn thighs, and the heavy weight of his member between. Even she, with her limited experience, was not so foolish as to imagine a man came large only in hands and legs and not elsewhere.
Her mind recoiled at the thought.
Of all, she liked best his face, with eyes the color of a block of indigo, but liquid and expressive—now teasing, now sober, now dancing with laughter. His mouth was not like the mouths of most men. It was wide, the lips full and red, appealing in a face so hard and dark. His teeth were good and white and strong, and flashed easily with his smile.
It was, strangely, a face she could look upon easily and without fear. She recognized its beauty, but also something else—this was not a man given to cruelty or brooding.
But there was something about him that nagged at her. It was more than the fleeting troubled expression she caught on his brow, but she could not name it.
Watching, Robert snorted rudely as Lord Thomas positioned his king behind a half-circle of pawns at mid-board.
Isobel, too, watched the game, leaning on the table lazily, her splendid form sprawled along the bench. "I admire a man who can do something different."
"You admire men," her brother retorted.
Lyssa looked up in surprise. The pair of them stuck together like feathers to honey—it was rare they disagreed. But obviously, Robert had decided the knight was worthy only of his scorn, and Isobel had decided quite the opposite.
"Please, Isobel," Lyssa said, "sit up and give us all a little breath of air."
Like a cat, Isobel moved languorously, a small, smug smile on her face, only to lean over the table, displaying her considerable charms for Thomas.
Lyssa quelled the urge to roll her eyes, but Thomas seemed not to notice at all. Quite suddenly, she liked him for that.
"Your move, my lady."
With a start, she realized his odd strategy had put her in grave danger. A curious half-circle of pawns flanked his king and bishop, and the warrior queen bore down on her king. But the worst threat was a pawn who threatened her queen. Lyssa frowned, and reached for the lady to move her, but realized almost as quickly that she would have to sacrifice the queen to save the king. She raised her brows. "And so she dies as she has lived, serving her lord at the loss of herself."
Thomas smiled. It was slow, and full of mischief. "Mayhap the lady need not lay down her life."
Lyssa looked back at the board in sudden worry. Had she missed something?
Thomas reached out and took a knight that protected her king. She was neatly trapped—rook at her back, pawns scattered, the queen helpless in her corner. With a defeated smile, she reached out to lay down the king. "Well done."
His smile was broad and cheerful. "I have remembered
She
was
moved, but he simply inclined his head and gestured toward her. "Then we will play."
The game proved more difficult than Lyssa expected, so much more so that she suspected she had been fooled by his protestations of ignorance of the game. His strategy was unusual, and followed no plan that she could discern, but it was quite effective.
It did not help that she could not keep her attention focused on the board. Lord Thomas was an imposing presence, and hard to absorb all at once. She watched his enormous hands, big as platters, as he moved his pieces. They were huge, but like Lord Thomas himself, they were graceful and deft. She liked the long, elegant fingers and the strong palms, and admired the play of small bones as he plucked a pawn up and moved it forward. It was a hand that could be gentle, as she saw when he reached down beside him to stroke the head of the pup who trailed him devotedly. But she had no doubt there was strength and size enough that he could crush that same pup's head if he were so inclined.
The hands were not all. He straddled the bench aggressively, and her gaze flitted over the length of his hard-hewn thighs, and the heavy weight of his member between. Even she, with her limited experience, was not so foolish as to imagine a man came large only in hands and legs and not elsewhere.
Her mind recoiled at the thought.
Of all, she liked best his face, with eyes the color of a block of indigo, but liquid and expressive—now teasing, now sober, now dancing with laughter. His mouth was not like the mouths of most men. It was wide, the lips full and red, appealing in a face so hard and dark. His teeth were good and white and strong, and flashed easily with his smile.
It was, strangely, a face she could look upon easily and without fear. She recognized its beauty, but also something else—this was not a man given to cruelty or brooding.
But there was something about him that nagged at her. It was more than the fleeting troubled expression she caught on his brow, but she could not name it.
Watching, Robert snorted rudely as Lord Thomas positioned his king behind a half-circle of pawns at mid-board.
Isobel, too, watched the game, leaning on the table lazily, her splendid form sprawled along the bench. "I admire a man who can do something different."
"You admire men," her brother retorted.
Lyssa looked up in surprise. The pair of them stuck together like feathers to honey—it was rare they disagreed. But obviously, Robert had decided the knight was worthy only of his scorn, and Isobel had decided quite the opposite.
"Please, Isobel," Lyssa said, "sit up and give us all a little breath of air."
Like a cat, Isobel moved languorously, a small, smug smile on her face, only to lean over the table, displaying her considerable charms for Thomas.
Lyssa quelled the urge to roll her eyes, but Thomas seemed not to notice at all. Quite suddenly, she liked him for that.
"Your move, my lady."
With a start, she realized his odd strategy had put her in grave danger. A curious half-circle of pawns flanked his king and bishop, and the warrior queen bore down on her king. But the worst threat was a pawn who threatened her queen. Lyssa frowned, and reached for the lady to move her, but realized almost as quickly that she would have to sacrifice the queen to save the king. She raised her brows. "And so she dies as she has lived, serving her lord at the loss of herself."
Thomas smiled. It was slow, and full of mischief. "Mayhap the lady need not lay down her life."
Lyssa looked back at the board in sudden worry. Had she missed something?
Thomas reached out and took a knight that protected her king. She was neatly trapped—rook at her back, pawns scattered, the queen helpless in her corner. With a defeated smile, she reached out to lay down the king. "Well done."
His smile was broad and cheerful. "I have remembered
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