Mary Reed McCall (4 page)

His temper broke instead, and he stalked to her, gripping her hands. “Why all the secrets? Why the heavy silences, the mysterious glances? Have you a lover whose seed already grows in your belly? Is that why you take such pains to protect his name?”

Elise’s face turned ashen, and she gasped. “Nay! I’ve taken no lover, now or at any time in my life!”

“Who, then, would dare to visit such abuse upon you?” But even as he uttered the question aloud, its answer burst upon him with startling clarity. Only a man who had access, power, and the right given him by law to exert such force could be responsible for the deed. And only one man fit that description, so far as Gray knew.

“Christ, it was Eduard.” He murmured it half as a statement and half as a question. His wife’s silence gave him the confirmation he needed.

Releasing her, Gray stalked to the door, preparing
to hunt down and drag the bastard from his bed, King Henry’s sanctions be damned. But before he could pull back on the wooden slab, Elise cried out and threw herself against him to block his access. He stared at her, stunned. Though she was tall, he’d not expected her to wield such strength.

She gazed at him, her eyes blue and glistening as the dew-soaked flowers that dotted the meadows near Ravenslock; she’d pressed back against the door, so caught up in the grip of emotion that she didn’t seem to notice how the cut edges of her smock slipped from her shoulders.

Gray did.

His gaze drifted almost against his will, picking up every nuance, noticing how the creamy fabric bunched around her hand where she continued to clutch it to her breasts. The sight enticed him beyond reason. She looked wanton in a purely innocent way, which only added to the spiking shafts of desire and rage that lanced through him at the moment.

The soft linen provided sensual contrast with the smooth contours of bare flesh above it. In the firelight her skin took on a deeper glow, a silky warmth that made Gray burn with the desire to stroke his palm over the exposed places.

And other, more hidden places as well.

Jerking his gaze up to her face once again, he tried to thrust the thought from his mind. He nudged her, hoping to ease her from the doorway. But she didn’t move. Her free hand had tangled itself in the cloth of his cloak, and she squirmed and pushed back in her effort to keep him from leaving their chamber.

“Please, my lord. Take no action against him. It is enough that he no longer has rule over me, and that I can hope for greater mercy at your hands. I beg of you, let it be!”

“Nay, lady. I cannot.” Gray looked down at her, exasperation filling him at her stubborn defense of a villain. “No one may harm you with my knowledge and then continue as if naught occurred.”

Elise looked horrified. She searched his face desperately, as if seeking some measure of mercy. Finding none, her expression went blank, then took on a reckless, bitter cast. She blinked back her tears. “Yet you may continue the righteous hypocrite! Can you say that
you’ve
never corrected a woman in anger, my lord? Now that you hold dominion over me, do you not intend to beat me whenever you deem it necessary?”

Every muscle in Gray’s body tightened. “Regardless of what other men may do, lady, since I was but a lad of fourteen, I’ve never suffered another to harm a woman in my presence. And while there’s no denying that I dislike the slashing barb of your tongue, I do not intend to beat you for it. Now or ever.”

Dead silence greeted him. Elise blinked twice more and then the fight seemed to leave her, seeping away until she went limp and pliant against him. Yet Gray found that he couldn’t continue his plan. He couldn’t just push her aside to go after Eduard.

He felt the warmth of her palm, still resting, forgotten, on his chest; it burned through his cloak and
shirt, holding him captive far more effectively than any steel shackle or metal bars might have. The curve of her breast and hips, pressed so intimately along his body in her struggles, branded him with heat. His desire jolted to full awareness, and he tried to shift away to curtail the swelling need that rose from being so near to her soft curves and enticing warmth.

But his abrupt movement made him pitch forward, and he came into complete, overwhelming contact with the length of her body. The erotic heat burgeoned, sending waves of pleasure through him and making him want to groan aloud with the sensation.

A soft moan broke from Elise’s lips; her face tipped to his, and he was startled to see an answering awareness in her gaze. Without further thought, he bent his head, taking possession of her mouth, savoring the soft, salty taste of her lips. His tongue flicked into the honeyed recess, need for her burning hot and heavy in his groin.

She didn’t resist, and so he deepened the kiss, taking his time, tasting fully of her. Her mouth slid smoothly across his, and he felt the soft sounds of pleasure she breathed against his lips. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to take her to their bed. To strip away her ruined garments, to satiate his hunger deep inside her moist heat.

It took all of his willpower to remain still as he kissed her; his palms were pressed to the door at either side of her head, and the muscles in his arms
twitched as he fought against the urge to let go, to pull her body into him and the molten force of his desire.

But another part of him reveled in the teasing, the tantalizing sensation of holding back. Her body burned him like the kiss of a thousand fiery butterfly wings, making him loath to end the erotic tension that was rapidly spiraling out of control.

Deep in the recesses of his mind, Gray knew he should stop. He knew that he was casting years of self-discipline to the winds as he tasted of this pleasure. But he also recognized that he could as easily harness a storm right now as he could walk away from the temptation that was his wife.

With a groan of defeat, Gray slid his hands from the door to cup her buttocks, cradling her against the heat of his erection. She leaned into him, yielding and warm, and the soft pressure of her breasts, the sweet fit of their bodies, made him groan again. He lavished nibbling kisses down the side of her throat, pausing to breathe in her delicate floral scent as he captured the lobe of her ear with his lips. But when he moved his hands up her back, lifting, preparing to carry her to their bed, her sigh of pleasure ended on a hissed intake of breath.

Pulling back, Gray saw her bite her lip as tears sprang to her eyes.
Christ in heaven.
Releasing her immediately, he stepped back. But it was too late. He couldn’t take away the hurt he’d just caused her by touching her bruises.

Elise shook her head without speaking, trying to
reassure him, but he could see the suffering on her face. Her fingers clenched as he’d seen them do so often in the hours since their wedding, and the sight made him feel sick and helpless.

Damn Montford
. Cursing aloud, Gray turned away from Elise. He raked his hand through his hair and took a deep, shuddering breath until control ebbed back, thickening his blood with slow, painful beats of his heart. He allowed anger to replace his desire, let the cooling force of it drown the liquid heat that had filled him moments ago.

Averting his gaze from his wife, Gray turned back to the door, intending to go past her and find her bastard of a brother this time, pleading or no. But the feather-light touch of her hand made him pause.

“Nay, my lord,” she murmured. The pain seemed to have receded, leaving her expression open and vulnerable. “Grant me one boon in this, I beg you. Do not seek out Eduard this night.”

Desire battled in Gray—the need to beat her abuser to a pulp, warring with a sudden, unaccountable wish to please her, to give balm to the suffering he’d caused her. His hands fisted, even as she tried to lead him back toward their bed. Forcing his control to remain firm, Gray pulled away from her grasp. “Nay, lady. I cannot—I will not—join with you this night.”

Elise stopped, and her face went ashen again. “But—but we must consummate our union.”

“Aye, we will. But not tonight. I would not be
able to complete our joining—” He broke off, uncertain how much he needed to say to her about the intimate act between men and women. He cleared his throat. “I do not wish to hurt you, and so I will not share our bed until your bruises have healed.”

“No, please,” she grasped his arm. “I do not care. We must finish this.” She looked stricken, even more fearful than she’d looked when she’d thought him about to strike her. “Sweet Jesu,” she whispered, as if the words were wrenched involuntarily from her, “If Eduard were to discover that ’tis not in truth…”

Anger swelled anew in Gray. The wretch had far too great a hold on her, he decided; the sooner he broke that connection, the better. As his wife, she needed to learn that she had no more to fear from her brother or anyone else. But until that happened, he saw no reason for her to agonize over Eduard’s reaction. Not when he could easily provide the proof that she seemed to seek so desperately.

Grasping the corner of their bed linen, Gray yanked it from the ticking. At the same time, he slid his dagger from its sheath at his waist, ignoring Elise’s gasp as he sliced a small cut at the edge of his palm. Making a fist, he spattered blood on the sheet’s pristine white; after he dabbed the flow to a stop with it, he tossed it to the floor.

“There. Now no one will question the validity of our marriage. ’Twill serve as proof that I breached your maidenhead.” His cut throbbed, and he wel
comed the burning sensation as he stalked to the door. “I’ll not be forced into barbarity by anyone, for any reason.”

“Wait! What…where are you going?”

Pausing for one moment, he swung to face his wife, willing himself to keep his emotions in check. Her eyes were huge in her face, and the frightened look made him clench his jaw before he was able to answer her.

He took a deep breath and attempted to gentle his tone. “Allay your fears, Elise. None will know of my absence from our chamber to gossip about it.”

“But what of Eduard?” she whispered, as if she could scarce find the courage to voice her request.

Gray felt his lips curl almost against his will into a mocking grin. “Your wishes shall be respected on that account as well, my lady. For this night, at least.” He yanked the door open, adding, “But on the morrow I host a tournament in honor of our wedding. Your brother will not fare so comfortably then, I assure you.”

Gray steeled his heart to the simultaneous rush of relief and renewed anxiety he saw in her eyes. She seemed about to speak more to him, but then she simply looked to the floor, her hands clasped again before her.

“Good night, lady,” he finally murmured, taking one long, last look at his bride. Then, before he could change his mind, he slipped out the door and disappeared into the cool, welcome embrace of the night.

Faegerliegh Keep, Somerset

Heldred’s breath rasped in his throat. The old man leaned his hands on his knees, trying to force his heart to slow, so that he could continue his work. As he rested, he glanced around, concerned more about the possibility of seeing one of Montford’s soldiers than of crossing any evil spirits that might be lurking in this shadowy crypt.

Only two generations of Montfords rested here; the others were back in Normandy, whence the current, corrupt brood sprang. As a man of science, he had no reason to fear the reappearance of their disembodied souls. They were all surely damned to eternal hell for the lives they’d led.

A sudden, fierce pain gripped Heldred’s innards, making him wince and sink to the earthen floor of the vault. Damn his weakness! He muttered and gasped, even as he reached for the bag of herbs around his neck. Taking a pinch of wild cherry bark from his pouch, he ground it between his teeth and swallowed.

There. The pain subsided; the prickly feeling on his neck faded, and he breathed easier. At least for the moment. But he had to hurry, he knew. The scent of morning already seeped into the tomb, urging him on and reminding him that the sun would bring new guards to replace the night watch. If Montford’s men caught him lurking in the crypt, they would capture him and present him into Lord Montford’s bloody hands.

Yet he couldn’t leave now. He had to know.

Heldred’s gaze darted around the dim confines of the earthen vault, searching for the spot. He’d recognize it, once he saw it, of that he was sure. Scuffling his rag-covered feet over the stone and dirt floor, Heldred approached a tomb. It looked like the place. No carved stone figure reposed on its top, so it was either a new burial or the resting-place of a less significant member of the Montford family.

With a groan, Heldred pushed at the lid of the stone case until it grated off-center a forearm’s width. He lifted his torch with a trembling hand, his lips pressed tight as he prepared to see if the horror of his suspicions was true.

A clammy vapor rose from the tomb, bathing his face in chill. He held his breath against the fetid stench of decay he expected to follow soon after. But when he peered into the recesses of the stone case, he saw rotted cloth, topped by the grinning head of a skeleton. A few wisps of hair clung to patches of scalp left upon the unfortunate’s head, but it was obvious that this man had been dead for a long time.

With effort, Heldred pulled the lid shut again and shuffled to another tomb, not far off. This time he paused and scrutinized the area, squinting and trying to visualize the place as he’d seen it in the light, on the day of the burial, when all of the villagers had been allowed to pay their respects.

Carefully he swung the torch along the edge of the stone, searching for some sign. Curse his sight for failing him now! Why couldn’t he see more? Recognize some clue? The torch sputtered and popped, throwing a flurry of sparks that bounced
off the edge of the platform to flicker out on the dusty floor. And then he found it.

With a gasp, he knelt as quickly as his old knees would allow him, bringing the torch closer to the base of the bier that supported the stone coffin. Scuff marks marred the dirt round the sepulcher, the result of scores of mourners who’d filed past the resting-place of their beloved lady on her burial day.