Heather Graham (41 page)

“Well, lady, you are going home now.”

“Not
my
home—”

“Then you will make it so!” he interrupted sharply. “Sleep while you can,” he told her, and stepping past her, he exited the room.

She heard the bolt slip into place.

Eventually she lay down and slept. And she awoke slowly, aware of warmth, and the soft brush of fingers against the bare flesh of her back. She inhaled, afraid to move at first—then momentarily afraid that some stranger had come upon her. But it wasn’t a stranger, it was Adrien, and she knew he could touch lightly and seductively when he was so inclined. His hand had slipped beneath the hem of her nightgown, and he teased her awake, fingertips against her spine, circling her buttocks. His hand rounded her hip, drew her hard against his arousal. An arm slipped around her, holding her tight, and he caressed her breast as his lips pressed against the flesh of her shoulder and his manhood prodded against her until he slipped within …

A small sound escaped her at first, and she tried to hold very still. But it seemed so long since … and the feel of him was so good. Within minutes she was on fire, moving against him, slick, wanting, reaching. She escalated quickly to a sweet, soaring climax, and scarcely moved as she trembled with the aftermath. He remained behind her, and did not withdraw for a long time. She kept her back to him when he did so.

“There’s nothing you want to say to me?” he inquired.

She wished he would not speak. She wished that the night could just be silent, and that they could he together and forget the battles of the day.

“What would you have me say?” she whispered.

“Ah … well, Adrien, you do look well. No battle axes in your head? No, well, thank God for that. Christian charity alone might make you glad to see that I did not bleed my life’s blood over your precious France.”

“The French did not ask you to come from England to fight or die here.”

He sighed, and she was aware that he stared up at the ceiling, worn and weary.

“I knew you would survive,” she told him. Then she admitted very softly, “I prayed that you would survive.”

“And why is that?”

“Christian charity.”

“Ah … but there is nothing else you would say to me?” he inquired, and he turned toward her back once again, an arm around her, fingers gently upon her waist and breast.

“No!” she whispered.

She felt his head settle on the pillow. He held her, and stroked her. He didn’t speak again, and neither did she. She barely breathed.

When he said he would start early, he meant it. Dawn had barely broken when they started across the Channel. The seas were not wild, but slightly rough. Danielle had been at his side as he spoke with the ship’s captain when the motion became more than she could bear. She hurried aft, and was violently sick. Monteine brought her a cool, damp cloth and she cleaned her face, but as she thanked Monteine, she saw that Monteine had left her and Adrien had come to stand at her side. She flushed, looking over the water. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude to your English captain or disgrace you in any way. I don’t know what this is; I admit that it seems as if it has gone on forever and forever. Most probably—”

“Danielle,” he said, leaning against the oak-rimmed hull and studying her with a fair amount of amusement. “I had thought you were trying to shun me in some way, and now I see that you are truly naive.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“So it seems. And if I hadn’t been with you last night, I’d not be so certain myself.”

“I still don’t—”

“You’re not sick, my love. You’re expecting a babe.” She sucked in her breath with surprise, and then she was angry because he was laughing at her. “You don’t know!” she whispered. “You can’t possibly know—”

“I can, and I do.”

“Oh! And how many children have you fathered?”

His gold eyes glittered on hers. “None other, my lady,” he said, and she felt a tremendous relief until he added, “That I know about.” And with that, he walked away.

By afternoon, with the good winds that had made the Channel rough, they reached Dover. Adrien had no wish to stay overnight, and when their horses and belongings were unloaded, they immediately began riding.

That night they stayed at a tavern outside Winchester. Adrien spent much of the early evening in the public room, drinking with Daylin and the men-at-arms who accompanied them, Michael among them, but not Sir Giles, who had remained at Aville. Until late at night, Danielle could hear the men as their voices drifted up to her. They laughed, drank, gambled, told bawdy jokes, and played with the tavern wenches. Danielle tried to bury her head in her pillow. It did little good. Toward dawn, Adrien came up the stairs and into their room. He stumbled, slamming against the doorway as he came in. She heard him disrobe carelessly, then crawl in beside her. He reeked of good English ale. She had every right to fight him when he pulled her into his arms.

“Now you’re a drunken wretched Scotsman,” she told him, which amused him no end.

“Ah, but
your
drunken Scotsman, my love.”

“Oh? And how often is that?” she whispered.

“As often as I desire.”

She shook her head violently. “Nay, sir, you can’t claim a wife that way. Drink with your comrades, whore with your friends, and then …”

“You,” he informed her, rising above her, “are now being a pious French traitor. But you’re my pious French traitor, God help me!”

“Adrien …” she protested, and tried to squirm from the bed; he dragged her back. He kissed her, stripped her, laved her breasts, her belly, her intimate flesh unbearably with liquid strokes. She couldn’t remember why she had been protesting. She no longer cared.

In the morning, for once, she rose before him. When the tavernmaster banged on the door to tell him it was the hour he had asked to awaken, Adrien winced. He glanced at her from half-closed eyes and winced again. “My apologies, my love. Was I terribly rude?”

“No worse than customary,” she informed him coolly, having already washed and dressed. He sat up in the bed, holding his head between his palms.

“Good God, it’s been years and years since I’ve drunk so much …” he murmured. He glanced her way, hair tousled, eyes red. He groaned, and lay back. “What’s that I smell?”

“Fish. The tavernmaster brought fresh fish and bread for our breakfast.”

He groaned anew, closing his eyes. “Must you eat it?”

“It’s quite delicious,” she said. “Try some!” she added maliciously, coming toward the bed with her plate.

“Come near with that, and I shall thrash you.”

“And risk your Scottish son?”

“You’ll probably have a girl.”

“I shall do so on purpose, if it will irk you.”

To her surprise, he smiled, lying back, casting an arm over his forehead. “You’re an evil woman,” he told her, waving his arm in the air. “Out—get out of here with your fish!”

“Out—my door isn’t bolted?”

“I beg of you, go downstairs and enjoy your meal with Monteine.”

She hesitated, puzzled. “You’re not afraid I’ll run?” she asked softly. “We’re still very close to Dover.”

He leaned on an elbow and stared at her, the laughter gone from him. “If you run, I’ll come after you. And I’ll find you, wherever you may go.”

He made no actual threat, but the sound of his voice was chilling, and she realized that whether he had been tender and passionate did not matter; he had not forgiven her. She was not to be trusted.

She fled from the room, and ate downstairs with Monteine. She was startled, moments later, to see that he had made a complete recovery. When he strode down the stairs, he was dressed in emblemed tunic, sword, and scabbard, and was impatient to be on his way, shouting orders even as he entered the public room.

It was a long, hard day. When they stopped that night at the manor of a friend, she tumbled into bed, exhausted, as soon as they had supped. She was aware of Adrien taking off her shoes, loosening her gown, removing it. And she thought that he watched her for a while, but she was too weary to know. She was aware of his warmth in the night, yet he was up when she awakened.

They didn’t ride so hard again. He said that they would stop early the next afternoon.

“It will take us a long time to reach Scotland at this rate, Laird MacLachlan,” Daylin warned.

“We can go no faster. I dare not risk Danielle and the babe,” Adrien replied.

Danielle flushed, feeling everyone stare at her. Yet she was absurdly glad that he had noted her state of exhaustion, and that, simple courtesy though it might be, he offered her that much.

It did take them a long time to reach Scotland. But Danielle didn’t mind the time, nor the ride.

Adrien did not forgive her, nor did she bow to him in any way, asking forgiveness. But they were together. They frequently rode apart, Adrien leading, then tending to the line of their men, goods, and baggage, and riding ahead again. They slept some nights in taverns and inns, and some were passed at the castles of his friends and acquaintances. And at night, no matter who he talked with, or how late he stayed awake—gaming, drinking, or talking by a fire—he always came to her before dawn. And she never tried to deny her pleasure in making love, or in simply being held through the night. They were man and wife, she thought, drifting off to sleep one night, in a way they had never been before.

And for weeks, it was all even better when they reached Scotland. She had charged him that his land would be barbaric; it was charming. The sprawling manor house, built of wood and stone, was warm and comfortable, furnished with beautifully carved pieces. The hall boasted a huge table with lion-clawed feet and huge, high-backed chairs. The master’s chambers were warmer still, the bed covered in a tapestried blanket, the hearth huge, the walls lined with shelving that housed books and armor, Gaelic carvings, and swords from around the world. Off the master bedroom was a nursery, already furnished with a cradle that had been Adrien’s, she was told.

The people were charming to her, welcoming her with a familiarity she hadn’t known before, but that she found pleasant. The house sat on a loch, with the water just feet away, cool and crisp and beautiful. Through a series of channels, it reached all the way to the Irish Sea. The land rolled and weaved; in places it was greener than emerald, in others, mauve, and in others still, it was the color of the stone that seemed to be cast carelessly down upon it. The wind smelled sweetly, cleanly, of the cool, crisp water of the loch, and she found herself quickly entranced by the colors.

Her first night home, she wandered from the bedroom to the attached nursery and stared at the cradle. She set her hand upon her abdomen, admitting that it had grown quite round. Even having been so constantly sick for so very long, she hadn’t really believed she was going to have a baby, create another life. A child who would be a combination of herself and Adrien. It seemed such a special and unique thing to share.

As she stood there, for the first time, she felt movement. She cried out, startled, pleased.

“Danielle!”

She hadn’t known he was in the house, but he was at her side instantly, hands on her shoulders as he turned her around to face him. “Danielle—”

“He moved!” she whispered.

The anxiety in his face fled to be replaced by a wide grin. “He? You told me it was going to be a girl.”

“She moved.”

He laughed softly and swept her up into his arms, carrying her back to the bedroom and laying her on the bed. He set his hand upon her stomach, waiting.

“He—she—moved. I swear it!” she whispered.

“Patience, my love. It’s a virtue with which you don’t seem very familiar.”

She frowned at him, ready to argue. But the baby chose that moment to move again. She wondered if only she could feel it inside her womb, but then she saw his face, and for a moment, it was filled with simple wonder. “I’m glad I’ve brought you here,” he murmured. “I’m glad my son will be born here.”

“It’s a girl,” she protested for the sake of argument.

“My child,” he amended.

There was a knock on the door; supper had been brought to them. They dined in the room, for it had grown late, and when they were done, Adrien undressed her and made love to her very gently, with a strange poignancy.

Over the following few days, he rode the estate with his Scottish steward. Danielle made a point of getting to know the servants in the manor, and the farmers, masons, and craftsmen in the village who also stood as men-at-arms to protect the castle against attack, should some border lord, Englishman or Scot, decide to hunger for greater lands. She enjoyed the people, loved the sound of their speech, and was surprised to realize she was content. Evenings, she shared suppers with Adrien, who told her colorful tales about the great William Wallace and Robert the Bruce, while admitting unhappily that King David of Scotland, like King Jean of France, was a prisoner in Edward’s tower. They argued over books, philosophy, and history. No matter what the argument, he was with her at night. Sometimes he made love very gently, and sometimes with a hungry, yearning, almost desperate passion.

They’d been there a week when she went down by the loch in the afternoon. She wore a simple linen dress, and at the water’s edge, she stripped her stockings and shoes and waded in. It was cold, but delightful. She was there when he came to her just as night fell.

He sat on a rock by her side, chewing a blade of grass and watching the water. “You look very well here,” he teased. “Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are bright, and very lovely.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, emerging from the water. She sat on the embankment and drew her shift over her bare feet.

“You’ll survive my heathen and barbaric lands?”

“They are wild and beautiful,” she said.

“Treacherous as well—you must sometimes take care. Dangerous, wild, and beautiful—my land, and my wife,” he murmured. Looking back out to the water he said, “I leave for London tomorrow.”

“So soon? We’ve just come here—”

“
I
leave for London tomorrow,” he repeated.

She stiffened. “And I am to stay behind?”