Fair Juno by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online

‘But what about you? Won’t you be cold, too?’
    In the safety of the dark, Martin grimaced. He was hoping the night air would cool his imagination, already feverish. Only too aware of the direction of his thoughts, and their likely effect on his tone, he forced his voice to a lighter pitch. ‘Sleeping in a dry loft full of straw is nothing to the rigours of campaigning.’ So saying, he threw himself down, full-length in the straw, a good three yards from his coat.
    In the dim light, Helen saw him grin at her. She smiled, then wrapped the blanket around her before snuggling down into his still warm coat. ‘Goodnight.’
    ‘Goodnight.’
    For ten full minutes, silence reigned. Martin, far from sleep, watched the clouds cross the moon. Then the thunder returned in full measure. The horses whinnied but settled again. He heard his companion shift restlessly. ‘What’s the matter? Afraid of mice?’
    ‘ Mice ?’ On the rising note, Helen sat bolt upright.
    Silently, Martin cursed his loose tongue. ‘Don’t worry about them.’
    ‘ Don’t …! You must be joking!’
    Helen shivered, an action Martin saw clearly as a shaftof moonlight glanced through the hay door and fell full on her. God, she was an armful!
    Hugging the greatcoat about her, Helen struggled to subdue her burgeoning panic. She sat still, breathing deeply, until another crack of thunder rent the night. ‘If you must know, I’m frightened of storms.’ The admission, forced through her chattering teeth, came out at least an octave too high. ‘And I’m cold.’
    Martin heard the querulous note in her voice. She truly was frightened. Hell! The storm had yet to unleash its full fury—if he did nothing to calm her she might well end up hysterical. Revising his estimate on which was the safer— spending an innocent night with fair Juno or campaigning in Spain—he sighed deeply and stood up, wondering if what he was about to do qualified as masochism. It was certainly going to make sleep difficult, if not impossible. He crossed to where she sat, huddled rigid beneath the blanket. Sitting beside her, on his coat, he put his arm about her and gave her a quick hug. Then, ignoring her confused reluctance, he drew her down to lie beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, her curls tickling his chin. ‘Now go to sleep,’ he said sternly. ‘The mice won’t get you and you’re safe from the storm and you should be warm enough.’
    Rigid with panic, Helen held herself stiffly within his encircling arms. Heaven help her, she did not know which frightened her most—the storm, or the tempest of emotionsshattering her confidence. Nothing in her extensive experience had prepared her for spending a night in a stranger’s arms but, with the storm raging outside, she could not have forced herself from her safe haven if the stars had fallen. And she was safe. Safe from the elements outside. Gradually, it dawned that she was also safe from any nearer threat.
    Reassurance slowly penetrated the mists of panicky confusion assailing her reason. Her locked muscles eased; the tension left her limbs. The man in whose arms she lay was still and silent. His breathing was deep and even, his heart a steady thud muffled beneath her cheek. She had nothing to fear.
    Helen relaxed.
    When she melted against him, Martin stifled a curse, willing his muscles to perfect stillness.
    ‘Goodnight.’ Helen sighed sleepily.
    ‘Goodnight,’ Martin replied, his accents clipped.
    But Helen was still some way from sleep. The storm lashed the countryside. Inside the barn, all was quiet. Martin, very conscious of the warm and infinitely tempting body beside him, felt her flinch at the thunderclaps. In the aftermath of a particularly violent report, she murmured, ‘I’ve just realised I don’t even know your name.’
    Helen excused her lie on the grounds of social nicety; she had been wondering for hours how to approach the subject. Their unexpected intimacy gave her an opening she