Samantha James (13 page)

His lip curled as he went on. “It is your desire that our marriage remain unconsummated. So be it. But I do not worry that you will tell. And indeed, who will know, for there will be no virgin blood expected from a woman who is not a maid.” He spoke the words as if they were a curse. “Nay, I do not fret. You will not cross the earl. If you refuse this marriage, he will see that you make another—and your next husband might not be as considerate as I.”

Nor was he finished. His features were rigid and stony. Bending over her, he caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, allowing no retreat. Her heart pounding wildly, Glenda found herself staring into eyes that impaled her with the fierceness of their glow.

“But know this, wife, for I make you a promise I will not forsake. When I want you, you will know it. And when I take you”—a cold smile touched the hardness of his lips—“when I take you, Glenda, you will want it as much as I.”

I do not want your seed
.

Even now, a sennight later, those words had the power to lacerate his heart. He felt like shoving his fist through the curtain wall whenever he thought of it. Such imperiousness was wholly unlike her, for in truth, Glenda was one of the most warm, giving women he’d ever encountered in his life. Why, then, was she so opposed to giving herself to him in their marriage bed? Was it him? he wondered. Did she find the prospect of lying with him so unappealing? He couldn’t help but be affronted. Was it his scar? He hurled wordless curses at the fates that had so marked him for life. Yet was he truly so very odious in appearance? There were some who had even called him handsome.

Or was it the fact that the choice had been stripped from her? Now that was something he could understand. Yet he couldn’t help but think of her union with Niall—their marriage had been arranged for many years, and she’d had little choice in the matter.

But she had quickly grown to love Niall
, needled a voice within him.
Indeed, by the time the pair had arrived
at Dunthorpe, mere days after they were wed, she had been madly in love with her husband. It was there in the melding of their eyes
.

Something squeezed inside his chest. He pushed the remembrance aside, chafing bitterly. She’d had to choose between him and Simon. Yet Niall still stood between them. Niall…the name reared high before he could stop it. Guilt seeped at his insides like slow poison. He’d loved Niall like a brother—still loved him—yet there were times when he’d almost hated him…

His soul cried out the injustice. Glenda was now his wife. By all the saints,
his wife
. She was so very near…yet tantalizingly out of reach. Aye, she continued to remain as elusive as ever…the one woman in the world he’d ever truly longed for…

Still he could not have her.

A sennight passed, and then another.

When I want you, you will know it. And when I take you, you will want it as much as I
.

His wicked promise was all the more dire for the very softness of his tone. It pricked her deeply, like a thistle imbedded deep in her skin. She couldn’t deny the tumult that raged inside her. She despised herself for her weakness, for being drawn to Egan, her husband’s friend.

I do not want your seed
.

Until the instant she’d blurted those words, she hadn’t known she would say them. Glenda cringed whenever she thought of what she’d said. She had spoken rashly, in the heat of the moment…but would she recant them if she could?

She knew not.

In truth, there had been no time to consider, no time to adapt, no time to come to terms with all that marriage entailed. Sharing not just a home…but a bed.

For hers was a desperate fear that transcended all else. A fear unlike any she had ever known. Egan didn’t know of the alarm that raced through her at the thought of what might happen if they lay together…he couldn’t know! How could any man truly know? A man did not carry a babe beneath his heart, nourish its body with his, protect it and shelter it from the world those many months. He did not feel it grow, or feel it kick and roll, so tiny yet so alive…only to cradle its limp, tiny body tight against her breast, to will it to live though life was already gone. Oh, but her arms had been so empty…

Aye, the thought of another babe terrified her as nothing else. The pain of losing a child was too great—she could not stand to do it again!

She could not give…not the way a wife should give. Oh, but they should never have wed. But they had, and she had no choice but to make the best of it.

She told herself it was better this way. Better that he should despise her. Better to hold her distance…better to keep
him
at a distance.

But for that very first night, he’d not slept in her bed, but his own.

Aye, his behavior toward her was decidedly cool. He was neither solicitous nor callous. Instead he treated her with polite indifference, keeping his vow
not to touch her. Indeed, he seemed to take great pains to avoid any contact with her, even the merest brush of their fingers! What little time they spent together was marked with strain and tension.

She should have been relieved, yet in the days that passed, Glenda found herself utterly confused. Thoughts of him tormented her. Could it be that his desire had waned? Perchance he did not want her that way. Odd, for she had been so convinced that he did…

Or was there another reason? Mayhap now that he was the lord of Blackstone, she had served her purpose. She should have been glad. Relieved beyond measure that he did not share her bed. Yet somehow she couldn’t stifle a pinprick of hurt.

As he strode through the bailey, greeting this one and that, his manner was easy and carefree; there was always a word and a smile for anyone who approached or came near. It struck her then…it was as if he thrived as never before.

Indeed, Egan embraced his role with an enthusiasm she’d never expected—and for the first time Glenda saw him in a role never before imagined. That first night here with Simon, he admitted he knew naught of farming; yet she saw him one morning as she was out riding in the fields of Godfrey Fyfe. Egan stood behind the plow handles, guiding the colter as it cut through the ground and broke it; Godfrey stood to the left, driving the oxen forward with his goad, while his boys trailed behind scattering seed in the damp furrows.

On this particular morn, Glenda stepped around the corner of the donjon. Lifting the hem of her skirt,
she prepared to cross the bailey, only to look up at the ringing of steel against steel.

A pair of men were engaged in swordplay, while a line of others observed. Egan stood near the pair, shouting encouragement and directions to both. Intrigued in spite of herself, Glenda paused to watch.

The fighting between the pair intensified. Their swords came together time and time again. Then suddenly one lunged forward and sent the other man’s weapon spinning away. It landed in the dirt, sending a spray of dust high. The victor spun around and heaved sword and shield high above his head with a whoop of triumph.

“Well done, Graham.” This came from Egan. “But you must remember, ’tis not just might and brawn and the strength to wield a sword that make a formidable opponent. The battle must also be fought here.” With a fingertip he tapped his temple. “Even as you must be ever on guard, you must be one step ahead, anticipating your opponent’s next move so that you are ready to parry and thrust.” He gestured to a youth, who obediently trotted forward carrying his sword and shield. Egan plucked them from the boy’s hands, then turned to Graham. “Now, let’s see if you’re up to a trifle more challenge.”

For a moment the young man looked decidedly wary. Then he nodded and resumed his defensive stance.

It was Egan who struck the first blow. In the seconds that followed, it appeared Graham had all he could handle to defend himself, let alone initiate any offensive moves. Sunlight flashed off Egan’s sword as it whirred through the air. Graham lifted both
sword and shield to his efforts to ward off Egan’s blows—clearly Egan was the superior swordsman. He wielded his sword with speed and accuracy; his feet were agile and swift. Graham’s expression was harried. Her heart leaped as Egan’s sword crashed against the other man’s shield, a particularly mighty blow. She couldn’t withhold the cry that tore from her throat.

It was then he saw her. His gaze flitted over Graham’s shoulder to where she stood on the edge of the grass. In that split second, his attention shifted just enough that Graham was able to attack. Distracted by her presence, his reaction skewed by a fraction of a second, he was slow in lifting his shield. Graham’s blow knocked him off balance. He landed heavily on his back.

Glenda wasn’t quite aware of moving. The next thing she knew, she was standing above him. She tipped her head to the side and regarded him, the veriest smile upon her lips.

“I should say, sir,” she murmured demurely, “that Graham is certainly up to the challenge. The question is…are you?”

A ruddy color flushed his cheeks. Getting to his feet, Egan scowled at her. “Perhaps you would like to try, madam.”

“Certainly not,” she replied crisply. “I’ve not the strength.”

Egan smiled slowly, his eyes agleam.

“Nor,” she added, “does it seem that you do either.”

His smile was wiped clean. “Could it be you require a bit more might and brawn? Or mayhap you
should hone your skill here.” She tapped her temple as he had done. “Or mayhap your calling is in the fields as a plowman,” she added sweetly, then shook her head. “Alas, if my present husband cannot protect this keep, I fear I shall have to find one who can.”

He scowled anew. “Mayhap you should keep to the accounts and your sewing.”

It was Glenda’s turn to smile. On that note, she turned and departed the bailey.

The men were much amused by his humbling defeat before his wife. Egan bore their good-natured ribbing well, but resolved not to let it happen again. Though Glenda had never suffered from an over-abundance of vanity, he decided it wouldn’t hurt her to have a taste of humility. Nor could he help but be a trifle uncertain of her comment that she should find another husband. She was jesting, wasn’t she?

The opportunity came the very next day. As he returned from the village near noonday, he came upon a family of peasants. Mother and children walked before a lumbering cart piled high with a table and chairs, and various sacks of grain, driven by the father.

Egan greeted them. “Good day!” he called out.

“Good day,” the man atop the cart returned. He reined his oxen to a halt. “Would ye happen to be the Highlander known as Egan?”

“That I am.” Egan inclined his head. “And who might all of you be?”

“I am Randolph, and this is my wife Mary…”

He left them a short time later. The children waved as they continued on their way.

Just before he entered the gate, he chanced to see
Glenda poised on the wall-walk, staring down at him. “Good morning, wife!” He raised a hand in greeting. She didn’t return his greeting; instead her head disappeared from view.

By the time he got to the stable, she was there, awaiting him. The sunlight picked out strands of gold in her chestnut mane, untamed now, for the wind had snatched away the ribbon that bound it.

Desire struck him like a fist to the belly, powerful and relentless. Egan felt his blood surge hot and molten through his veins. But he was still smarting from the day before when he’d been training the sentries in the bailey.

Her expression was filled with distress; he soon discovered why. “Tell me, Egan. The people with the cart…are they leaving, too? God knows, we can afford no more…”

When Egan had first spotted the family, his head stood still, for he’d thought that very thing. “Ah, you mean the Murrays, Randolph and Mary.”

“The Murrays. Yes, yes!” She could barely restrain her impatience. “Tell me, are they leaving?”

He pretended to consider. “Nay,” he said finally, then said no more.

She stared up at him, her agitation plain to see. “Nay?” she echoed.

“Nay,” he affirmed.

“But…their cart was filled with their belongings, was it not?”

“Oh, aye.”

“Then what are they doing if they are not leaving?” Her eyes were anxious and pleading and filled with frustration, all at once.

“The Murrays?”

“Aye!” If her features were any indication, she longed to throttle him.

He decided to put an end to her misery. “They are returning,” he said simply.

“Returning?” she echoed. “To Blackstone?”

“Aye. Randolph told me their cottage lies a mile north of the village.” Calmly he said, “Oh, and I suppose you might be interested in this as well. They told me of three other families who will be returning within the week as well.”

Aware that she gaped, he started to saunter off, only to turn back.

“Oh, and Glenda?”

“Aye?” she said weakly.

“I saw you watching as I worked with the sentries this morn. Six worthy men and they could not take me.”

Oh, the swaggering oaf! Glenda decided. Yet just now she couldn’t even summon the mildest irritation. Her chest was filled with too much gladness. Blackstone’s tenants had begun to return!

“It seems you will simply have to be content with your present husband, does it not?” He spoke with a wicked smile, then departed.

But thus began the contest between them. If he leveled a challenge, she was certain to return it in full measure.

One evening at dinner, their exchange was particularly tart—it seemed neither would allow the other to have the last word. Finally Egan rose, gave a stiff bow and left.

Nessa’s gaze drilled into his back as he made for
the stairs, rife with disapproval. Glenda couldn’t resist one last remark. “A veritable prize to be treasured, is he not?”

Nessa whirled on her. Her glower had not softened in the least. “I am ashamed of ye both! What ails the two of ye that ye should snipe at each other so?”

Glenda was taken aback by her nursemaid’s biting censure. Shame made a brief appearance, but then she squared her shoulders defensively. “We should never have wed,” she said quietly.

“And have ye tried, either of ye? I know not what to expect of Egan. But ye, lassie…when ye were a child, ye had a stubborn streak. Oh, ’twas seldom that we saw it, but when we did…well, yer poor dear mother would say that ye might as well have been rooted in the earth, like a tree that refused to be fallen. ’Twould seem ye have not changed!” She thumped her staff on the floor. “Tell me, lassie—do you wish to live your entire life like this? Would you always have it so between you and yer husband?”

Glenda raised her chin. “This should never have happened, Nessa. I sent him away.”

“And it was I who asked him to stay!” Nessa’s sunken lips thinned further.

Glenda blinked. “What! You mean to say that you—”

“Aye! I asked him to stay and protect you. I asked him not to abandon you…not to abandon Blackstone! I asked him to stay and watch over all of us.”

“Nessa, how could you? You—you cost me my freedom!”