Juliana Garnett (12 page)

If the king had decreed that she wed him, there would be no possibility of buying her freedom with fines. She was caught in this struggle between powerful men. It made little difference to either of them that she was unwilling.

Annice moved to the bed. Smoothing the coverlet with one hand, she lay down and stared up at the ceiling high overhead. Little light reached the corners. Gauzy nets of cobwebs looped in silky drifts, shifting in the breeze that wafted through the uncovered window. The flame in the lamp danced erratically, casting wild shadows on the stone walls. Darkness lay on the land, but the faint glimmer of moonlight threaded into the chamber. Distant noises could be heard, reminding her of long-ago days as a girl when she had lain in her bed and dreamed of the future.

Had she known what lay ahead, would she have acted differently? She had not protested the marriage to Luc, knowing her duty as a daughter and wishing to please her parents. Yet if she had known him for what he was, she might have pleaded for another suitor. A faint smile touched her lips. Yea, and many a wife might do the same, she supposed.

Now she was faced with the prospect of Rolf le Draca as her husband, a fact that left her trembling with emotion. More than just his reputation and harshness frightened her. She recalled only too well her reaction to his caresses the night she had been brought to Dragonwyck. Never had she expected to feel such a response, and certainly not to such a man. It was appalling that he had reduced her to the level of a willing wanton with just the touch of his hands and lips. How could she have been so base as to yield? And worse, he had known of her surrender. There had been a triumphant gleam in his eyes when he’d mocked her, then rejected her.

To him it had been a meaningless encounter. No doubt just one among many. But to her it had been a shattering awakening of a desire that haunted her nights and dreams. More than once she had awakened in this crude bed from a dream of him, his golden hair and green eyes as real as if only a hand span from her. She’d tried to ignore the hot, restless feeling he’d sparked in her, the nameless yearning that twisted her at times.

But it was always there, lurking in the back of her mind like a constant shadow, waiting to claim her dreams. Rolling over, Annice pulled the coverlet around her and faced the wall. She would sleep, and this night there would be no dreams.

A noise awoke her, and she turned slowly to see Rolf enter the chamber. He was smiling, a lazy smile that gave him the appearance of a confident predator. There was a sensual quality to his heavy-lashed gaze that unnerved her, and words froze in her throat. She could not move nor speak when he came to her bed, could only gaze at him helplessly as he began to remove her garments. With slow, casual movements he undressed her completely. She closed her eyes, opening them only when he was over
her, his weight pressing into her, holding her down on the mattress. He was as naked as she; she could feel the slide of his bare skin over hers, feel the press of his heavy arousal against her inner thigh
.

But it was his hands that tormented her, touching her breasts, her belly, that aching moistness between her thighs. She shuddered when his mouth found the rigid bud of her nipple and covered it. The pulsing pressure between her legs grew greater, and she arched against him in a wordless plea. His eyes narrowed slightly, hot and green beneath dark lashes tipped with gold, staring down at her with an expression she could not fathom. It was as if he asked for something, wanted something from her. But what?

Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. She lifted her arms to put them around him, let her fingers slide down his broad, muscled back in a leisurely glide. His breathing was harsh and rasping in her ear, his body curiously heavy, restricting her movements. Empty and aching, she tried to pull him even closer, yearned for the release only he could give her. But he resisted, teasing her with more caresses until she was panting for breath. She stared up at his face in the dim light, saw the deep green of his eyes grow darker and darker beneath the thick brush of his lashes. He was muttering something she couldn’t hear, the words hoarse and blurred. Then his body slid lower, and she felt him brush against the damp, aching need between her thighs. His hardness slid over the place of throbbing torment in a heated glide that made her shudder with pleasure. She wanted more, but her squirming efforts gained her nothing as he seemed to move farther away. Annice moaned. Release was just beyond her reach
.

He was breathing deeply, the dark fringe of his lashes shadowing his face as his head bent to look down at what his hands were doing to her. With his head bent she could see only the thick gold of his hair and his broad shoulders rising and falling in an erotic rhythm. Her hands lifted to touch his face and he looked up at her, eyes a vivid, glittering green that seemed to sear her soul. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, his nostrils flared, and she had the sharp impression of a dragon about to devour her. She cried out, but he did not respond nor loose his
hold on her, however much she tried to get away. She was caught
.

Quivering beneath his weight, she tried to draw a deep breath, but it was impossible. The air was suffocatingly close around her, and she grew frantic. Lashing out, her hand hit the wall in a painful smash of knuckle and stone
.

The sharp, searing pain jerked her upright.…

Annice clawed blindly at the folds of blanket over her head. They confined her arms, twisted around them in a clinging tangle. Finally she was free, and she sucked in a deep breath of cool, fresh air that smelled of rain and fish oil. A dream. It had been just another dream.

She looked down at her aching hand. Her knuckles were scraped and bleeding from where she’d struck the wall. The sound of rain was a light patter against the stone ledge of her unshuttered window. The flame in the lamp was dim now, barely sputtering. Shadows flirted with the pale light. Only a dream, she told herself again.

Yet instead of relief, she still ached with an unfulfilled yearning that seemed to fill her entire body. It seemed that Rolf le Draca had invaded even her dreams. Was this her destiny—to be so completely consumed by him that she had no free will left? Yea, and so now she knew how it must feel for those knights of lore who had gone out seeking dragons to slay. She had her own fire-eating dragon of emerald and gold, looming in her future to devour her as surely as the scaled beasts were said to sate their appetites upon maidens.

Yet she was no maiden, and her dragon was very, very real. Emerald eyes and golden hair, beautiful to behold and deadly to be near. Aye, she was well snared.…

Despairing, she buried her face in her palms.

I
do not believe you.” Annice faced Rolf with a steady blue gaze that did not waver. Her chin lifted defiantly, and she gave a shrug of her shoulders that shifted the heavy weight of a ribboned rope of hair to her back. Light from the central fire played over her face, gilding the high curve of her cheek with a rosy glow. “Aubert would not be so greedy as to demand half my lands in payment for his signature.”

Rolf tossed the parchment to the table between them. Only the brindle mastiff was witness to their discussion. They were alone in the hall, save for a few servants spreading clean, pungent rushes at the far end from the dais, where they stood by the high table. Rolf shrugged.

“Yet he did. Not that it did him much good. The king refused, and in the end your brother will receive a small keep or two that will leave most of the revenue still in John’s purse.” He smiled. “Are you surprised? John is a shrewd bargainer, and he would not yield much. It is to your brother’s advantage that he allowed him any lands at all. If John
chose, he could name you a prisoner, and your dower lands forfeit for your late husband’s unwise part in the plot to overthrow him.”

Annice turned away, her hands trembling. She slid them inside the wide, trailing cuffs of her sleeves and stood with her back to Rolf, staring into the fire. He felt an unaccustomed burst of sympathy. It was difficult being a pawn. Though it had been a long time since he had felt that same helplessness, the emotions were easily recalled. As a page, he’d been thrust about unmercifully, victim to the whims of those older and in command. He’d hated every moment and rebelled so often that he’d worn constant stripes upon his back for flagrant disobedience.

But he had finally realized that one must learn to obey in order to command. Without self-discipline, how could he discipline others? It was that self-discipline that kept him from offering sympathy now. ’Twould not help the lady Annice, save to salve her wounded pride. Best that she learn quickly who could be trusted with her interests and who could not. ’Twas obvious Aubert had only his interests in mind, not those of the woman standing stiffly before the fire.

Moving forward, Rolf slung one leg over the corner of the table and sat quietly while Annice composed herself. He recognized in her rigidly held spine and taut stance that she was struggling with her emotions. When she turned finally, only her eyes betrayed any sign of inner conflict.

“So,” she said quietly. “ ’Tis done, then. The king is agreed and our marriage is at hand.” Her brow lifted. “Am I allowed out of my prison for the ceremony, or is it to be conducted under guard?”

His mouth tightened against a flare of anger. “That depends upon your behavior,” he said calmly. “If you think to make a public spectacle by refusing your vows at the altar, you’d best consider the consequences of your actions to those who depend upon your gentle hand as guidance.”

Knitting her fine brows, Annice stared at him. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes so frosty a blue beneath the dark fringe of her lashes that he was reminded of winter ice.

“Pardon me,” she said coldly, “but I fail to see your
meaning. Who depends upon my guiding hand, save those in my keeps that I am no longer able to command?”

“ ’Tis those I speak of.” Rolf let that sink in, then added, “You know that as holder of demesnes, keeps, and vassals, you have but to beckon and they will honor their oaths to you. Should you do so, however, it will not please the king.”

“I am well aware of that,” she said in so bitter a tone that he knew she had already thought of that alternative. “With me as virtual prisoner, my vassals would be doomed should I attempt such a mad scheme. They could not fight both the king and you, and I would not ask it of them. If the black brush of treason had not touched me, I would never yield. But I know, as do my vassals, that I could well end up as Lady Maud de Braose did for her courage in speaking out against John—starved to death in a dungeon. Nay, my lord, you need not fear that I will repudiate any vows at the altar. I have no choice.”

With her hands still tucked into her trailing sleeve cuffs, she indicated with a nod of her head the parchment on the table. “Is this the terms of our marriage?”

“Yea.” Rolf reached for it. “Shall I read it to you, or do you prefer a scribe to do so?”

Annice removed one hand from the embroidered cuff and held it out palm up. “I will read it myself, if you please.”

Skeptical, Rolf did not give it to her immediately. “ ’Tis written in Latin,” he said, and she gave an impatient nod.

“Many legal documents are. My last wedding documents were also written in Latin. May I?”

Slowly, he held it out and watched as she read it. At some points in the terms her brows lowered ominously and her mouth tightened, a certain sign that she understood what she read. He could not blame her for anger over some of the terms. He would have felt the same. What surprised him most, however, was her ability to read. Many well-bred ladies were taught the rudiments of reading as well as some writing, but the ability to read Latin was rare for a woman of his acquaintance.

After several minutes she lowered the parchment and
looked up at him. “So I am virtually deseisined of all I have.”

“Nay, not at all. Can you not understand what you profess to read?” He reached for the parchment, but she held it up against her breast, eyes flaming with anger.

“It states that my lands will be under your control after we wed,” she replied, “which is expected. But also, should there be a child born of our union, my lands will become his for life by the courtesy of England.” Her lips twisted. “That clause can be omitted, for there will be no child.”

His brows rose. “If I did not believe that, milady, I would not wed you.”

Her eyes widened with surprise, then darkened in confusion. “What say you—that you wish for no child?”

Shaking his head, Rolf said softly, “I have a child and heir that I cannot have with me. I wish for no other child of mine to be born, for there is no certainty that another would not be somehow held as hostage also. Times are perilous. One hostage is enough.”

“I agree.” Her hands shook slightly, and the parchment rustled loudly. “ ’Tis just as well you wish no more children. I have no intention of providing them for you.”

Though he should have told her he knew she was barren, her cold avowal that she would not bear his child angered Rolf. He found himself scowling. “If I wished more children and you were able to provide them, rest assured that you would, indeed, bear them.” He stepped forward when she shot him a look of contempt. “Do not think to fight me at every turn, milady. I will not tolerate it. You are but a woman. Once we are wed, you will quickly learn your place.”