Carolyne Cathey (18 page)

"The vision
says you're mine." 

Kyle crushed her
against his body and assaulted her anger.  His mouth covered hers, possessive,
hot, wet.

A distant voice
whispered about self-respect, about protecting her inner being, her self-worth,
or the world would guzzle her spirit . . . Kyle slid his tongue into her
mouth.  She let him drink, allowing the theft, and she only had herself to
blame.  Eleanor molded herself to him in surrender.  Although her mind scolded
her for her submission, her pulse raced in exultation, her heartbeat merged
with his, as one.

Kyle loosened his
grasp, but he shook as if he fought not to take advantage of her melted will.

Breathless and
confused, Eleanor leaned against the oak's trunk for support, the scaly bark
poking into her back through the thin fabric of her gown.  Tendrils of her hair
tickled her cheek from the afternoon breeze, the same breeze that plucked from
the branches the red and gold leaves that reminded her of Kyle, and of his bed,
and of the fire that burned within her wicked body. 

He stood in front
of her, his head at a gentle angle as he rubbed his rough fingertips across her
still-damp lips.  "So, you love me, do you?  Then, how could I ever let
you go?  Ever."  Kyle leaned toward her.  He slid his hands down her neck
to her shoulders and pulled her to him.  "Although I've not shown you any
reason why you should trust me, I ask you to have faith in me.  Don't abandon
me." 

He groaned and
brushed his lips on her lids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, then blessed her
mouth.  She closed her eyes with the rapture.  How could she deny him?  And at
that moment, she couldn't seem to remember why she should.  Needing the feel of
him in her arms, she sank against his chest and slipped her hands over his
shoulders to the soft curls of his hair.

Kyle pressed her
into him until her breasts swelled against his chest.  And the taste of his wet
mouth---beyond wonderful.  His hands caressed her back, then lowered to her
buttocks.  He lifted her and pressed her against his firm desire.  A growl
rumbled in the back of his throat.  His tongue became more frantic, as did
hers. 

Against her will,
sensations tumbled inside her like burning leaves in a gale.  Her womanhood
felt swollen, heavy.  The throbs between her legs pounded "aye". 
Heaven's mercy.  He had weakened her resistance until she would do anything he
asked, right there.

"Lord Kyle? 
Oh, forgive me.  I didn't know you were---involved."

Eleanor gasped at
the sound of Lady Mellisande's voice, upbraided by the remembrance of why she
shouldn't allow Kyle to kiss her or touch her.  Disgusted with how easily she
submitted to Kyle's seductions, Eleanor attempted a subtle shove from his side,
but Kyle refused her release.  Anger surged anew that he should hold her in
such a possessive manner in front of his betrothed, but determined not to make
a public scene she stiffened in his arms to express her disapproval of his
treatment.

Lady Mellisande
stood as a picture of sweet gentility draped in rose silk.  "I only meant
to take a walk in this lovely garden and to breathe the fragrant fall air.  The
interruption, 'twas unintentional."  The woman clasped her hands in
nervous twists, her eyes downcast, submissive.  "My lord, I want to assure
you that I would never stand in the way of your paramours with lowly female
peasants.  All wives expect such behavior."  She revealed a sad smile. 
"Ours would be merely a business arrangement, and I want you to know that
I would be tolerable of your affair with your leman."

Kyle tightened
his hold and crushed Eleanor to his side.  "Lady Mellisande, Eleanor is
neither my leman nor a lowly peasant.  She is a woman of knowledge and
intelligence."

That he should
defend her to his intended startled Eleanor and softened her fury.  Resigned to
her future, she summoned her battered dignity, then straightened her spine and
lifted her chin.  "My lady, I wish you blessings on your betrothal to Lord
Kyle.  You are a fortunate woman to share his name."

Absolute victory
exploded in the wraith's expression.  "I’ll take that as your acceptance,
Lord Kyle, even if the verification does come from your harlot’s mouth.  I’ll
send word to the king, poste haste." 

Lady Mellisande
whirled and waved to a shadow of a man in the solar window, who in turn, lifted
his hand as if gesturing to someone in the bailey.  With a speed in timing that
shocked Eleanor, the sound of horse’s hooves thundered over the drawbridge.

Kyle jerked his
shocked gaze to Eleanor's, his face the color of pale parchment.  He pushed her
back against the trunk and shoved his mouth against her ear.  "Did I not
order you to stay out of this?"  He snarled the harsh words for her ears
alone.  "Your tongue might have just cost me my life."

Stunned, Eleanor
searched his distraught expression for a clue of explanation.  "Your
life?  Why?  What have I done?"

Lady Mellisande
laughed.

Kyle released her
and Eleanor felt plunged into ice.  His red surcote swirled about his legs as
he spun toward the manor and strode from her view.

Eleanor grasped
the trunk of the tree to hold her upright.  His life?  Dear God.  What had she
done?

E
leanor caught at a sob and
took a step to run after Kyle.  He must tell her what sin she had committed to
have endangered his life.  She must beg his forgiveness, right the wrong.

"I fear I
must do something about you, slut.  You're a hindrance.  Aye.  A
hindrance."

Eleanor froze at
the sound of Lady Mellisande's voice.  Horrified, she confronted the woman whom
the fates had chosen to share the name and the bed of the man she loved.

Lady Mellisande
posed beside the stone bench, head tilted, eyes narrowed, arms crossed over her
waist as if she contemplated a problem.  Her face and demeanor appeared so
altered that she looked as if a stranger had inhabited her body.  "Not
only do you not know your place, harlot, but you are too great a threat, your
influence too strong.  So 'twill have to be special, this solution of mine. 
'Twill take some thought." 

Eleanor wondered
what had happened to the lady's sweetness, her whispered tone.  With Lord Kyle
she had been all meek and shy, a soft-spoken frailty, yet with Eleanor she
spoke with the devil's tongue as if possessed.  Evil seeped through her amber
eyes to mar her porcelain beauty.  Yet, for all her ambiguity, she still lay
claim to a betrothal.

"I don't
blame you for your ire, my lady.  But I assure you, although the situation
seems otherwise, I'm not Lord Kyle's woman."

The pale moonbeam
laughed.  "Whom do you think you fool, harlot?  Do you think me a
slobbered idiot?  I never thought to see a man more besotted with a female. 
The sight sickens me.  'Tis obvious he wants you.  And since he is your lord
and master, 'tis obvious he will have you.  Lord Kyle's determination is known
throughout England." 

"But, my
lady--"

"Nay.  What
you claim matters not, for you are as filth upon the soles of my shoes and will
have no say in the matter.  You are like a mute animal who can only stand and
wait to be slaughtered."  Then something bright flickered in the lady's
eyes and a slow smile spread across her waxen features.  "Aye.  What's
needed is a special solution for a special problem."  Mellisande tapped
her slippered toe on the leaf-strewn walk as if impatient to execute her
"special solution".

The threat rang
as clear to Eleanor as a death knell; she could almost feel the thud of dirt
clods on her face as she lay in a grave.  Hiding her fear beneath her anger,
Eleanor met Mellisande's malicious gaze.  "My lady, you seek to take Lord
Kyle's name, yet you pretend to be other than you are.  'Tis a trickery you
attempt."

Fury flashed in
Mellisande's eyes.  "You impudent slut!  You dare to speak to me of
matters not of your concern?"  She took a step toward Eleanor, her hand
raised as if to slap.  "I will teach you not to open your vile mouth
unless asked!"

Eleanor lifted
her arm and blocked the blow with her wrist.  She glared in return. 
"'Twould be horrid if Lord Kyle lived his life with a duplicitous woman. 
Horrid.  He deserves a woman who loves him."

"Do you
suggest that woman be you?"  A most unladylike laugh erupted from her
swan-like throat.  "Brigham told me of the wager and that you believed
such a commitment possible.  You already dress in lady’s clothing, an audacity
that is beyond belief.  You are too stupid to breathe if you think the king
will allow such disrespect from you, a slug among the nobility.  You are a
creature of disgust, only to be used by we of noble birth for our pleasure and
amusement.  However you came to think otherwise, amazes me, but 'tis a flaw
I’ll correct before this day is ended."

"Lord Kyle
would never permit you to touch me."

"Touch
you?"

Lady Mellisande’s
laugh slithered along Eleanor’s skin like a draft from an open grave, most
likely hers.

"I’ll more
than touch you, harlot.  Before the next moon rises, I’ll strip you naked of
your pretentious finery, then whip you until you faint so that you’ll never
forget your lowly status.  By the time I’ve finished teaching you your place,
you will lick between my toes, and even clean my private parts with your tongue
should I so order.  In between your obedience sessions, I will toss you to our
visitors, male or female, for their sport, to be used in whatever way they
will.  As further entertainment, I’ll throw you, naked, to the knights, then
feast while they ravish you before the dais.  Mayhaps even mate you with
animals!  The possibilities make my blood rush."

Eleanor stared,
in shock.  Lady Mellisande trembled as if in a mad type of frenzy, her eyes
aglow with a strangeness that frightened Eleanor to the core.  Eleanor had been
punished in the past, many times, but the woman in front of her threatened
violence as if the act gave her a sensual pleasure.  Surely not.  But despite
her attempt at disbelief, apprehension curdled within Eleanor's breast.  She
forced a calm tone.

"My lady, I
hate to douse your fire of excitement, but I do not belong to Lord Kyle.  I
only work to repay a debt, therefore, after you wed, I'll never belong to you
to be an object for your obscene enjoyment."

"We shall
see about that.  You see, I always get my way."  Lady Mellisande grinned,
turned in a flounce and swished toward the keep.

Rage at the
injustice flamed In Eleanor's chest.  "Lady Mellisande, I had decided to
remain impassive while the fates ruled Lord Kyle's and my lives, but I will
never abandon him to such as you."

The woman
halted. 

"And as for
heirs, my lady, I doubt you will ever breed Lord Kyle's child, for after I
reveal to him how evil your soul, he could not possibly bear to spill his seed
inside your womb.  He might help create another Lady Mellisande, and one is far
too many." 

Lady Mellisande
lifted her chin and spun to face her.  "You won't be around long enough to
whine your revelations to Lord Kyle.  But even so, I am so shy and meek in his
presence, so breathtaking to the eye, he will never believe such of me, not
that my manner or beauty is of consequence in this arrangement."

The vile woman
drew in a deep breath as if for control, her slender hands fisted at her sides,
her eyes like nuggets of amber resin, without life, without soul.  "You
think yourself clever, whore, but you will pay for your cleverness in ways that
will turn your hair more pale than mine.  Your interference has sealed Kyle's
fate."  A frightening grin curved her marble-like mouth.  "And
yours."  The she-devil spun her rose-clad form and strode to the stone
building.

The slam of the
door vibrated in Eleanor's heart along with her fury, her fear.  Lady
Mellisande, a hateful beast in the shape of a beauty. Beast?

The dragon?
 

Eleanor’s already
queasy stomach, fisted. 
Might Lady Mellisande be the dragon?
  Immediacy
of the threat urged Eleanor to warn Kyle at the first possible moment.  Not
only did the woman possess a sadistic nature, but also she might be the fiend
in Eleanor’s vision.  Why would Lord Kyle agree to such a marriage?  He had
said Eleanor didn't know the facts of the situation.  He also seemed upset by
the arrangement, to the point of distress.  And he had accused Eleanor of
endangering his life.

But she had
merely acknowledged the marriage, a fact already known.  However, Lady
Mellisande had just now gloated that Eleanor's interference had sealed Kyle's
fate--and hers.  An interference Kyle had commanded her to withhold.  Her
insolence with Lady Mellisande had created even more danger.  Kyle would hate
her now, as well he should.  Her lungs ached at the thought and a painful knot
twisted behind her breastbone. 

A gust of wind
swirled red and gold at her feet.  The red of Kyle's surcote.  The gold of his
hair.  She would give all to be his lady.  Yet, fate had chosen otherwise, or
else Eleanor would be a true noble and not a peasant.  Her inner being wept for
solace and guidance.

A sound drew her
thoughts outward.  Bells for vespers rang in the evening air, the sweet sound
calling her to feed her soul by kneeling in prayer.  Like a lost tone in search
of a melody, she followed the music to the other side of the keep and spied the
small limestone chapel.  Wondering if she dare enter, or if Lord Kyle would
mind, she moved to the open entry and hesitated as she looked into the spare
sanctuary.

Someone grabbed
her wrist from behind. 

Kyle strode past
her without even a glance and pulled her with him into the chamber that still
reverberated from the bells.  She ran to keep up with his steps; he halted at
the altar and knelt.  He tugged and she knelt beside him, the rushes stiff
beneath her silk.  As he made the sign of the cross, his hand shook, his body
shook, and when she studied his face, she sensed the storminess of his mood. 

He hated her.  He
must have taken her with him to show God what a travesty He had created with
Eleanor.  The painful knot behind her breastbone swelled into a horrendous
ache.

The resonance
faded.  A young man with tonsured hair and in a brown friar's robe moved to
stand before her and Kyle.  In spite of her agony, Eleanor noticed how young
his years.  He was most likely a lad from the village who had scraped enough
coins together to buy his position, a common enough occurrence from what she
had heard.  The sound of steps scuffled behind her as others joined them in the
chapel.

Kyle slid his
hand down to hers and wrapped his long fingers around her palm, then squeezed. 

Hope leapt that
he might still care for her.  Eleanor squeezed his hand in return.

She wondered if
Kyle, in honoring his knights' oath to take daily mass, had knelt in that same
spot in the chapel while she had tossed with fever, and if he had prayed for
her while there.  The thought gave her comfort.

The friar intoned
false Latin phrases as if not expecting anyone to know the difference.  All the
while, Kyle never once looked her way, and yet he clasped her hand as if she
kept him afloat on a storm-tossed sea.

Eleanor bowed her
head.  Oh dear, God.  What to do?  She loved Kyle.  Yet, what he desired, what
she desired, the world looked upon as sinful, dangerous, impossible.  Kyle
wanted her as his leman, but how could she ignore her beliefs of morality,
beliefs as ingrained in her as the pith of an ancient tree?  She knew what she
and Kyle wanted, but what did God want?

Like a muddy pond
inundated with a clear stream, Eleanor's muddled mind saw more clearly.  No
matter Eleanor's status, she had been given a vision, a purpose, a mission to
help improve the lot of Trystonwood.  And to accomplish the feat would require
more than eliminating Brigham's sadistic influence, for once Mellisande became
lady, she would attempt a reign of terror.  For certain, Kyle would not allow
the lady's behavior, and yet . . . 

A chill slithered
down Eleanor's spine.  Lady Mellisande had claimed that Eleanor would not be
around long enough to tell Kyle the truth.  But then, the woman didn't know
Eleanor's determination. 

Somehow, she must
stop the marriage.

The friar
pronounced the benediction.  Kyle rose, then pulled her to her feet and drew
her past the sparse attendance of servants and knights and through the doorway
into the evening air.  He turned to face her, concern hardening his eyes, yet
the concern softened as he gazed on her, and the knowledge enlarged her heart.

"My lord,
about Lady Mellisande--"

"Nay,
Eleanor, you have already said too much.  I warn you, interference is an action
I tolerate only from the king, and even that requires my studied discipline. 
Never interfere again."

She swallowed her
rising panic.  When he learned the danger her meddling had caused with his
betrothed . . .   "But, my lord, you must know--"

"Say no more
on the matter.  Trust me, Eleanor."  He ran his callused thumb across her
cheek.  "No matter what the future brings, love, I need you.  I couldn't
bear to lose you." 

She leaned into
his palm and closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of his hand against the
chill of her flesh, fighting the urge to wrap her arms around his strength . .
. fighting the fear of his wrath when he learned she intended to interfere once
more, even after he had ordered otherwise. 

For somehow, she
would stop the marriage. 

Images of his
rage when she had mentioned ousting Brigham would pale in comparison to this. 
And yet, she must protect Kyle from the she-devil.

He stroked his
rough palm down her neck, the turned and strode from her view, his red surcote
in rippled folds from his long strides.

With her mind
awhirl on how to achieve the impossible, Eleanor hurried to the scullery in
search of Nurse Kincaid or Peter.  Both of them knew Kyle's past and might have
a clue on how to aid his future.

She ran through
the doorway into the low light of the smoky kitchen.  The aroma of roasted
mutton mingled with sour ale and stale bodies.  Eleanor glanced around the dim
haze, surprised that everyone stood in a cluster around Nurse Kincaid,
wondering why they weren't busy with preparations.

Beth sobbed in
Nurse's arms.  Curious, Eleanor stepped to the fringes of the gathering. 
Beth's cheek flamed of a red hand-print that match the red of her wet eyes. 
Eleanor couldn't understand Beth's whispered words, but others in the group
laughed.

"Ye mustn't
say such things about the nobility, lass."  Nurse brushed a copper strand
of hair from Beth's face.  "'Twill only get ye mired in a worse
predicament.  Now, out with ye.  Ye must serve yer master his supper
afore--"

Juices from the
mutton sizzled into aromatic steam on the coals and drowned out Nurse's words.

Eleanor stepped
closer.

Beth swiped at
her copious tears and stamped her foot.  "Nay!  I won't!  'Twas but an
accident, yet her ladyship threatened to reduce the size of me bosom if she
ever set eyes on me again.  And she says she'll do the carvin' herself and
laugh while she's doin' it."