Carolyne Cathey (26 page)

"Aye.  He
vowed he'd never take a virgin until he wed, and he'd not take a woman unless
she wanted the same as he."

Eleanor bit her
lower lip in remembrance.  He had made certain she wanted the same as he.  Yet
she had been a maiden.  The memory settled in her womanhood and throbbed an
ache as forbidden as the wager.

Sir Jerrod placed
his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face to his, his touch gentle in
comparison to Brigham's.  He cocked a brow and cast her a studied gaze. 
"You were different, lass.  From the first moment Lord Kyle saw you, he
seemed determined to have you."  Sir Jerrod's eyes revealed the pain, the
fear that he buried beneath his humorous facade. 

She could only
stare at him, loving him because he loved Kyle. 

He moved to the
door, then turned to face her.  "Have you made a decision about your
future, lass?"

The reminder
flooded her mind with agony.  "Aye." 

"Do you
intend to be Kyle's leman?"

Another pain. 
"Nay.  If I bore his child, Lady Mellisande and Brigham might be
vindictive to the babe.  An infant would only complicate the impossible."

Sir Jerrod shook
his head.  "If you stay, he will not leave you be, lass.  He is
determined, you see.  And you know how futile your attempts when he is driven. 
However, you show an astute grasp of the situation with Lady Mellisande and
Brigham.  Of course, Kyle may not wed her ladyship, no matter the king's
decree."

Hope increased
her pulse. 

"Even so,
lass, the king will never allow a union between lord and peasant."

Light from the
hearth-flames writhed across the fur cover, a symbol of her hellish torment.

"You need
have no fear, Sir Jerrod.  'Tis my solemn vow.  I will no longer share Lord
Kyle's bed.  I will be the moon to his sun, ever-present, but separate."

She glanced up to
see a sad grin tilt Jerrod’s mouth, a softening of his dark eyes. 

"Even the
moon sometimes shares the sun's bed, lass.  Have you not seen its faint glow
through the golden rays?"

Tears shoved up
from her chest and stung her eyes.  "Sir Jerrod, I will not risk Kyle's
life, or even risk that he sire a child.  I realize I have no future here.  I
will leave as soon as my..." She swallowed the word, mission, wondering
how to word her declaration.  "I will leave if temptation overrules my
intent."  She, somehow, must stay true to her prophetic vision, then leave
for eternity.           

Jerrod nodded. 
"A wise decision.  You have but to ask and I'll escort you wherever you
will."  He stood braced against the open door as if in thought.  "You
know, of course, that when you leave he'll tear the world apart to find
you."

She couldn't form
a sensible response, her mind leapt so from the comment.

He tilted his
head.  "The servants already call you their lady.  Did you notice?"

Her mouth dropped
open.  "Nay!  They..." She halted.  Nurse had called her the same, as
had Jane, although at the time Eleanor had been too distraught to pay much
heed.

Jerrod nodded,
then closed the door behind him.

"Sir
Jerrod!"

He opened the
door again and peered at her, curious.  "Aye?"

"I...I need
a dagger."

His black eyes
darkened to midnight.  "Might I presume to ask why you need such a
weapon?"  Every ounce of his concentration focused on her gaze.

"'Tis
Brigham."

"And the
ship?"

"Burned."

Fury flared in
his expression.  "Damn his vindictive soul.  I'll post a guard by the
door.  I should have left by now to call Lord Kyle's allies to his side, but
I've feared an attack on his life should I leave.  And, aye, you'll have your
weapon, but if we do our job well, you'll have no need of its use."

"Oh, Sire,
Lord Kyle is fortunate to have you for a friend.  I'll be grateful to you 'til
my last breath."  Eleanor winced at her choice of words.

"I wish I
could return the compliment without stipulation, but you have both blessed and
cursed his existence.  'Tis a misery that you and Lord Kyle..." He shook
his head, then slanted her a thoughtful gaze.  "Perhaps at this moment in
time you can save him instead of endangering him."  He cleared the
huskiness from his throat.  "Pull his mind to you, lass.  Draw him from
his nightmares."  Then he closed the door behind him.

Eleanor stared at
Kyle through her tears. 

He groaned and
rolled his head from side to side, trapped in his own private hell.

Moving to his
side, she brushed his hair from his bruised forehead.

He lurched and
the bedhangings swayed in the flickering firelight.  Kyle's hands fisted in the
linens as if he gripped for a hold on life.  Then a shudder rolled along his
flesh and settled into a continuous shiver.

Nay, she would
not let him die.  She would seduce him from death's grip.  Distraught beyond
belief, but wanting him more than the next beat of her heart, she stripped off
her dirt-stained gown and chemise, then slipped under the fur cover and
stretched her bareness beside his. 

Exhausted, she
closed her eyes as the day's momentous events swirled in her memory, both
heavenly and hellish.  After awakening from her illness that morn, she had
surrendered both her virginity and her heart, had slipped from maiden to
woman.  And her interference had not only brought the threat of war, but now
Kyle lay trapped in a nightmarish world.  Somehow she must entice him from his
black agonies. 

Eleanor slid her
hand across his rock-like chest and put her mouth close to his ear.  "'Tis
Eleanor, my lord.  We'll play a game of chess.  But I propose a wager."

Kyle tensed,
motionless.

"If you win,
I'll become your..." She choked back a sob.  "Your leman.  If I win,
I'll become your servant.  How can you lose, my lord?"

Kyle released a
groan.

She ran her hand
down his thigh and across his hip, loving the feel of him, for she could never
do so again.  "And I'd love for you to take me upon Valiant, my lord, in
the moonlight.  Perhaps you will lay me amongst the sea of fragrant wheat and
plant your seed deep, next to my womb.  You claimed the undulating waves of
grain reminded you of when I make love to you.  Do you remember?"

Eleanor kissed
his lips.  His chin.  His ear.

He trembled.

She pushed up on
her knees, and her hair dragged along the trail of her hot tears as she moved
her mouth down his neck, his chest, to his stomach.  "'Tis Eleanor, my
love.  'Tis Eleanor.  I miss your most wondrous kisses.  They have softened my
sharp tongue to velvet."

His breaths
sounded more steady as if he waited, and listened.

"You have
shaped my path to fit you.  I belong to you for..." Her heart lurched at
the impossible.  "For eternity."  Liquid agony streamed from her eyes
as she broke into sobs and rested her forehead atop the taut plane of his
stomach.

Kyle slid his
hand up her spine.

Startled, she
held her breath, but she only heard the wild beat of her heart, felt his warmth
against her tear-dampened face.

Kyle slid his
fingers into her hair and gripped.

A tremor flowed
from his hand to her chest.  "Ah, my lord, I love you!"

He pulled,
drawing her to his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and
squeezed.

He knew her.  She
had reached into his hell and had found him.  Sweet torture.  Eleanor loved him
more than life.  Swallowing her tears, she stroked her trembling fingers over
his sensual lips that would never again bless hers.  "'Twill be fine now,
my love.  'Twill be fine."

He tightened his
grip.  As in the chapel when they had knelt side-by-side in prayer, Kyle held
her as if she kept him afloat on a storm-tossed sea. Moisture seeped beneath
his lashes and drowned her battered heart.

"I love you,
my lord."

Kyle released a
broken moan.

The sound reached
deep into her core.  She gazed into his bruised but rugged face.  She would
protect him with her life.  Until the fulfillment of the prophecy, that is. 
How much time, then, before her world ended?

***

Euphoria washed
over Eleanor in rhythmic waves.

The sea.  Aye,
she and the sea were one.  Her waves reached up to the night, slid down to
watery depths.  Up.  Down.  Slow.  Languorous.

Ecstasy swam
through her, over her, around her.  Warm wetness covered her crests, her
valleys.  Drift with the current.  Yield to the rapture.  Whirlpools of arousal
swirled around her, inside her.  Eddied.  Churned.

A shape loomed
over her.  A shadow.  A god.  The sea god in the form of Kyle.  Her master. 
Her lord.  Her ruler.  He plunged into her waves.  Withdrew.  Plunged. 
Withdrew.

The current
intensified.  Rushed.  Surged.  Cascaded.  Surrender to the sea god.  Submit to
his control.  Yield to his mastery.  Take him into her depths.  Enfold him. 
Submerge him.

Her waves
deepened, surged higher.  Turbulent.  Tempestuous.

He rode her
stormy swells.  Controlled her.  Fierce.  Impassioned.

The sea god
engulfed her.  Filled her. 

A tidal heave
welled, ascended, bore her toward the stars.

The crest
billowed in orgasmic exhilaration.

She and her god
became one. 

He roared his
victory.

The storm
calmed.  He sank into her, submerged her into the depths.  Drift.  Descend. 
Lower.  Lower.

"
S
he's naught but a
harlot."

Eleanor yanked
the weed from the damp earth of the herb garden.  Even though the person who
said the hateful words stood beyond her view around the corner of the keep, she
recognized Beth as the one who whispered loud enough for her to hear. 

"She acts like
she's the Holy Mary herself, but she spreads her legs like any other
slut."

Well curse. 
Eleanor couldn't even defend herself.  The truth stabbed deep.  She already
suffered, knowing that when Kyle awakened she must tell him she will never
again share his bed, but to hear judgment from one whose morality wallowed
lowered than hers, well, 'twas insufferable. And yet, Brigham had forced Beth
when she was but a child, so Eleanor knew she should show compassion instead of
resentment.  Knowing wasn’t the same as doing.

"Hush,
Beth.  She has to obey our lord.  And she did protest."

"Well,
la-de-da, Jane.  The strumpet tried to end up as Her Ladyship, like she'd made
some great sacrifice and was too good fer us common folk.  If the truth be
known, she were most likely a harlot afore she even came here."

Eleanor yanked
out another weed.  And another.  At the angry speed she worked, the patch would
be clean before she had worked off her temper.

"Yer
jealous, Beth."

"Jealous? 
Look at her.  He's tossed her out, he has.  Ye don't think she'd wear those
servant's clothes apurpose.  Nay.  I told ye he'd tire of her skinny
frame."

Eleanor swallowed
her scream of denial.  She owed Beth no explanations.  The hussy need not know
that Eleanor had slipped from Kyle's bed of temptation and had donned the garb
as soon as he had drifted into a healing sleep.  She ripped out a healthy sage.

"Didn't ye
hear, Beth?  She wants to git rid of Brigham.  Wouldn't that be a prize?  Ye,
of all people, should like to be free of that scum."

"Aye, 'tis
true, that.  Look, Nurse calls.  Mayhap the lord wants me."

Footsteps
scurried into the distance.

Furious, Eleanor
glared up at Kyle's window.  Curse and double curse, and curse again.  She
couldn't expect him to live a monkish existence, but the thought of him with
Beth drowned her heart with rage.  She shook her head.  Nay, not Beth.  At
least not yet.  But later…

The scent of
crushed sage permeated the air.

Eleanor lowered
her gaze.  She had killed the helpless plant.  The dirt-coated roots hung limp
in her hand, the stems broken and stripped of life.

The results of
her jealous temper jolted her to reality.  Eleanor rocked back on her heels and
stared at the purple hills beyond the yellow limestone wall.  She had become
everything she had been so certain she wouldn't.  And each time she sinned, the
deed became less of a struggle.  At first, she had fought Kyle as if the devil
called her to hell.  Now, Kyle merely had to hold out his hand, or whisper
sweet words, and her discipline crumbled.  He even invaded her dreams--she as
the sea, Kyle as her sea god.  She wiped her soiled fingers on the rough wool
of her peasant skirt, determined to tell him her decision as soon as he
awakened.

A shadow blocked
the late-afternoon sun.

"What do you
here?"

Eleanor jerked
her gaze up to Kyle.  Elation soared like a falcon and left her breathless.

He towered, a
silhouette against a golden sky, the image of a conquering knight.

She fought to
steady her pulse.  "You should be abed, my lord."

"I awoke
from a nightmare and you weren't there."  He held out his hand.

Temptation. 

Her shoulders
sagged from the unwanted burden of what she must do.  She shook her head. 
"I'm too filthy, my lord."

A halo of light
surrounded his sun-touched locks, his face a shadow.  "I dreamt of the
dragon, Eleanor, the first I have had since you drifted into my life upon the
mist.  But this time the nightmare twisted a more ghoulish torment.  I dreamt
the dragon stole you from me and hid you in his lair beneath the earth.  I couldn't
find you.  I looked everywhere."

Her breath caught
in her lungs as she focused on his face now damp with perspiration.

"And then
when I opened my eyes and you were gone, I felt an emptiness.  I feared . .
." He released a low groan of despair.  "I . . . I came in search of
you."

His revealed
nightmare yanked her fears to the surface.  First he had seen in her the
flames, and now beneath the ground.  Brigham had threatened both fates for her
future.  "I sought some fresh air, my lord.  And this garden seemed in
dire need of attention."

"'Tis I who
am in dire need of your attention, love."

Eleanor closed
her eyes to steel herself against the pull of his gaze.  The very look of him
tumbled her defenses, especially when he appeared in desperate need of her presence
as if she held the dragon at bay, she who struggled with her own terrors.

"Eleanor? 
Is something amiss?"

She swallowed at
the huge stone in her throat and looked past his shoulder to the autumn-laden
oak.  "We must talk, my lord."

"Aye, 'tis
true.  We must talk.  Then shall we walk amongst the fallen leaves?  Or do you
wish to sit upon the stone bench?"

If only wishes
mattered.  She wished she were of noble birth.  She wished she could become
Kyle's wife, throw herself into his strong arms, kiss his wondrous mouth.  She
wished she didn't have to tell him they could never again be as one.

"She tells
lies!  Naught but lies!"  Brigham shoved past her and stopped in front of
Kyle, hands clenched.

Frightened for
Kyle's safety, Eleanor leapt to her feet.

Kyle threw her a
glance that demanded she stay back, then focused his attention on his brother. 
"Lies, you say?"  His voice sounded a false calm.  "Who, pray
tell, has told me these lies?"

Brigham swung his
hand in her direction.  "That whore, of course!  I'm certain she filled
your head with twisted truths of my words as soon as you came to your
senses."

Kyle snatched
Brigham by his surcote, his face as red as the leaves that swirled from the
tree.  "Her name is Eleanor.  And if you call her that filthiness again,
I'll thrash you within an inch of the grave."  Kyle shook Brigham, then
released him.

"What I call
her doesn't change my accusation."  Brigham rested his hand on the hilt of
his sword, and Eleanor's heart leapt into her throat.

"Lord
Kyle!"  She shoved between them, but Kyle pulled her to his side as if to
protect her. 

"But Lord
Kyle, he--"

Kyle pressed his
fingers to her lips, then raised his gaze to his brother.  "Step back,
Brigham.  You pant so for air you leave none for Eleanor and me."

Brigham seethed
fury, then strode to beneath the oak and turned in confrontation.  "Don't
play these insanities with me, Kyle.  I'll tell you this.  I haven't done or
said aught that hasn't been in the best interest of Trystonwood.  No matter
what she says, I'd not hurt you, or her.  She only seeks to drive a wedge
between us."

Kyle remained
motionless, his attention focused on his brother, but she sensed the myriad
thoughts that juggled within his mind. 

Then Kyle cleared
his throat.  "So as to your threats on her life and mine, you meant them
not?"

"I told you,
she lied!  And 'tis not a game of chess that's of import here, or who's body
gives you comfort.  'Tis Trystonwood.  Don't throw all away for a
bedmate."  Brigham sliced Eleanor a threatening glare.  "If this  . .
. female . . . cared for you as she pretends, she wouldn't have burdened you
with her treachery so soon after your revival." 

A swollen vein in
the side of Kyle's neck pulsed a rapid beat.  "Ah.  My revival."  He
paused for an interminable moment. 

While he
hesitated he stroked her hair.  The tenderness of the gesture tightened her
constricted heart and intensified her grief. 

"Is my
upright form a disappointment to you, Brigham?"

Brigham's eyes
widened with rage, then narrowed.  "See how her poison spreads?  'Tis your
welfare that concerns me!"

"I'm touched
by your concern Brigham, but you're dismissed.  As you can see, I'm
occupied."

Brigham swung
wide his arms in an enraged gesture.  "Even after what I've told you about
her lies and how she brings ruin to Trystonwood?  Has all your blood left your
brain to clot between your legs? 

"Cease,
Brigham.  You know how I loathe interference."

She's a curse! 
How long will you insist on this obsession?  Until we are destroyed?  Your
obstinacy brings us to the precipitous edge of war.  And Hanley has the King on
his side.  You can't win, Kyle."

"Leave us. 
You're not welcome here."

Brigham's
expression blazed incredulity.  "You dismiss your blood kin?  Am I the
wrong sex?  You think with your rod again."

"You claim
kinship?  You, who explodes when I call you brother?  Then my rod thinks you
desperate."

"I warn you,
Kyle, I refuse to share this keep with this wench's presence."

Kyle and Brigham
met each other's glare. 

"Don't make
me choose between you and Eleanor, Brigham.  "You'd lose."

Eleanor's flesh
tingled from both pride and apprehension, for Kyle's brother now had even more
reason to hate her--to kill her.

Brigham
blanched.  "You're a fool!"

"Aye.  A
fool to trust you." "Do you think not I see your collusion, Brigham? 
Do you think me blind as well as dense?  Your behavior chips away at the rock
of my promise that I'd always care for you.  Our father would never expect me
to harbor one who plots against me or mine.  So heed well.  Your existence here
at Trystonwood is but a dangle upon a frayed rope.  Don't strain your
burdensome weight, else the strand may snap.  I excuse you from my presence. 
And if you insist upon your rapacious course, I suggest you practice upon the
archery field.  Your accuracy needs improvement."

Brigham slashed
Eleanor a murderous glare, then stormed to the keep and slammed the solar door
behind him.

Kyle said nothing
as he caressed her hair, yet she could feel him tremble.

Wondering what to
say, she watched red and gold leaves eddy in slow circles from the shedding
oak.  Even though much truth had yet to be revealed to Kyle about Brigham's
threats, one of Brigham's complaints had foundation.  Her presence increased
Kyle's risk, and not merely from Brigham but from the king.  Yet, how could she
abandon Kyle?  She should tell him they dare not risk a child.  He would
protest, for certain, unwilling to see past his passion, confident he could
handle all problems, angered at her interference.  Nay.  Brigham steeled her
resolve.  She must be the one to stay strong.

"Eleanor?"

She lifted her
gaze.  Despite the purplish swelling above his left brow, her heart lurched at
his handsomeness.  "Sire, your head is injured, as is your chest, and they
are surely causing you pain."

"’Tis but
superficial, love.  In battle we learn to ignore injuries such as this, else be
killed."

He shook his
head; a golden lock sifted down over his forehead as if tempting her to touch
him. 

"Now, no
more on the matter.  Besides, ‘tis of little import in comparison to
you."  His eyes glimmered with both anger and concern.  "I want you
to know that Brigham will not harm you.  You are under my protection.  Tell me
the truth of his threats.  What else did he insinuate?"

"He means
you ill, Sire.  He seethes with jealousy because you claim what he
cannot--lordship of Trystonwood."

He closed his
eyes, but she knew not whether from frustration or exhaustion.  She longed to
soothe the concern from his face, but if she touched him, her willpower would
melt.  A terrible loneliness draped her like a heavy veil of separation. 
"Let me call Peter and John to help you to your chamber, my lord."

Kyle met her gaze
and laughed.  "Help me?  Do you think me an old, decrepit knight, too weak
to stand?"

Eleanor released
a tremulous laugh and retreated to a less tempting distance.  "Weak and
decrepit are not the proper terms for you, my lord."

Kyle grinned. 
"I think not.  I proved my stamina when we lay cloaked in the velvet
night."

The sea
. 

Her sea god
. 

Not a dream.

An ache fisted in
her chest.  She had broken her vow of abstinence before the dawn had pushed
aside the stars!  She sinned even in her sleep.  Did her sworn oath to Sir
Jerrod that she not share Kyle’s bed demand she leave before she had completed
her mission?  Perhaps that very day?  Aye, she knew the truth.  But she had
sinned uawares! And what about her prophetic duty? Panic clutched at her lungs.

Kyle scowled and
raked his gaze down her peasant-garbed form.  "Why this drab apparel?  You
dress as a servant.  'Tis not acceptable."

Fighting
oppression, she studied the curled leaves that surrounded his black-booted
feet.  "I have ruined your wife's gowns, my lord.  'Tis not practical for
me to wear such finery."

"Come.  Sit
upon my lap.  The bench is too cold for you."

He sat on the
stone seat then held out his hands.  He had dressed in cloth the color of ripe
bittersweet.  How appropriate.  Bittersweet.  Yet, the hue looked glorious with
his eyes dipped from the blue of heaven and his hair spun from the sun's rays.

"I would
smudge your linen, Sire."

He laughed. 
"You think I care?  If I must choose between a clean cote and your soft
body, I'll opt for smudges and wrinkles.  Now, sit."  He gripped her wrist
and pulled her onto his rust-colored lap. 

She couldn't
leave him yet.  Not this soon.  She wasn't prepared.  And yet her vow . . . And
yet her vision . . . His hard body pressed against hers and tortured her
determination.  His sultry breath against her ear taunted her bleak future.