Samantha James (17 page)

All at once Glenda was not sure she
wanted
to know. Propping herself on her forearm, she tucked the sheet against her naked breasts. “What? What is it?”

Egan took a deep breath. “I did not lie with her. I did not lie with Belinda.”

Glenda inhaled sharply, for his confession was not what she’d expected. But it pleased her. It pleased her mightily.

She searched his face—endlessly, it seemed! Oddly, her eyes were the first to falter. “Egan”—her voice was half-stifled—“I would not blame you if you did. Truly—”

Warm fingers captured her chin. His gaze trapped hers. “I did not. Not before we were wed, or after. Nor will I,” he vowed. “I would not have this come between us, Glenda.”

“Nor would I.” Her breath tumbled out in a rush.

He had yet to release her eyes. “Indeed”—there was an uncharacteristic huskiness to his low voice—“I would like to please you as I did not last night.”

Glenda blushed. “You did please me,” she said faintly.

“Nay. It was too fast. Too rushed.”

True, she had been a little overwhelmed by the force of his passion. But not disappointed. The night returned in scorching remembrance—the stunning thickness of his shaft imbedded deep inside her. Nay, she thought vaguely. Never that…

“Too…hard.”

A teasing light glimmered in her eyes. “Well,” she said gravely, “you were that.”

Egan caught his breath. God, but the sweetness of her smile made him feel like frumenty pudding inside.

His eyes caught the flame in hers. “Ah, would that I could savor all I could not see last night.” A hard arm swept the covers back in one swift move.

Color warmed the whole of her body, but she didn’t flinch from his scouring gaze. Lingering on the bountiful curves of her breasts and the golden brown fleece between her legs, his eyes seemed to sizzle. She was suddenly proud that her figure had not gone to mush after the babe. He’d said he wanted to please her; but she liked knowing that her body pleased him far more…

She shivered when a callused fingertip traced a flaming line down the flare of her hip. Her nipples were taut and tingling even before he bent to feast greedily on first one, and then the other. She bit back a cry when at last his lance thrust home inside her.

But when she came hurtling back from the heavens, she found she could not look at him.

Fingers that were incredibly tender brushed the damp hairs from her cheek.

“Glenda. Glenda, tell me, what is it?” He was suddenly petrified. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, then hid her face against the hollow of his throat. “Egan, please!” she said in a choked little voice. “Do not make me tell you!”

“Now I fear you must!” His laugh was shaky. Sitting up, he pulled her upright as well, curling his
knuckles beneath her chin. “Glenda, tell me. What is it?”

Her gaze shied away. “I thought I was wrong,” she said jerkily. “I thought I must have imagined it last night…”

“Imagined what?”

“I cannot tell you. You will be angry.”

“I won’t.”

“You will!”

To his shock, her voice wobbled traitorously. And there was a suspicious glaze in her beautiful golden eyes…

“Tell me, Glenda. Tell me now.”

“All right, all right then…’tis different with you than it was with…with Niall,” she blurted.

If it hadn’t been for her tears, he would have snatched back his hand. “Different…how?” The pitch of his voice was very low.

“With him, ’twas like the calm of the loch near Dunthorpe on a windless day. With you, ’tis as if a storm rages inside. Like—like fire burns through me.”

The relief that swept through him was so great, he felt like weeping. Instead he smothered a laugh. “Where? Let me guess,” he said before she could answer. He tapped her forehead. “Here?”

“Nay!”

He tweaked a curl that lay over her arm and spoke with hearty certainty. “Ah. Here then.”

His teasing had the desired effect. She glared at him, her eyes just as bright, but now with indignation.

“No?” He feigned the greatest exasperation, a dark
brow arching high. “Well then, where?”

“You—you know where!” Her gaze both accused and pleaded.

Lazy amusement glimmered in his eyes. “I do indeed. And do you know what? It pleases me to know you feel the same as I.” His mouth closed over mutinous lips. He coaxed them apart with the tip of his tongue. Her lashes fluttered shut and she sighed.

There was a sudden pounding on the door. “Is my lassie in there?”

It was Nessa.

Glenda dove for the sheet. Egan had no such qualms regarding modesty—his or anyone else’s, it seemed! Naked, he strode to the door and threw it wide.

“Come see for yourself.”

Nessa entered, bold as you please, her staff resounding on the floor. But if Egan thought to shock the old woman, he was sorely disappointed. Nessa gazed calmly at the rumpled mound of bedclothes.

“Will ye be needin’ a bath this morn, mistress?”

The form beneath the coverlet moved, yet no answer was forthcoming.

Egan folded his hands across his chest. His mouth quirked as he addressed himself to Nessa. “You must forgive your mistress. The morning’s activities seem to have stolen her voice, but aye—she would indeed like a bath.”

Nessa’s head swivelled back to him. For an instant it appeared she wished to throttle him with her bare, gnarled hands. But all she said was, “I’ll see to it, then.”

Not until the door had closed did Glenda deign to
show her face. Her head popped free. “Egan! How could you say such a thing?”

“Nessa has been on this earth a good many years. I suspect she’s heard a good many things far more shocking.”

Glenda moaned and ducked beneath the covers again. She didn’t emerge until the tub had been wrestled out from behind a screen and filled with water. Egan leaned back against the pillows, decently covered again. A fiery blush proclaimed her embarrassment as she slipped from the sheets, yet she made no attempt to cover herself as she walked to the tub, then sank beneath the water.

She felt his scrutiny with every ounce of her being. Aware that he watched, her heart thumped. With a nonchalance she was far from feeling, she dipped her cloth into the water.

Behind her there was a rustle. She glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes widened.

Egan had pushed the sheet aside and was on his feet. If she had thought him splendid before, in the sheer light of day, he was even more so.

His body was all sleek, animal hardness. Muscles rippled between dark, golden skin as he approached. Captivated by the power and grace of that stark masculine form, she couldn’t look away.

She expected him to kneel beside her.

Not so.

One long, virile limb lifted over the edge of the tub. Water sloshed precariously as the other joined it. Glenda’s heart lurched. She saw the hair-matted landscape of his chest…and much more.

Hard flesh slid against hers, wet and warm.

Without a word he took the cloth from her hands. Slowly he began to wash her. The cloth glided down her neck, the slope of her shoulder, breasts and belly. Oddly, she could have sworn there was nothing sexual in his ministrations. When he’d finished, he transferred the cloth to his own body. Instead it was Glenda whose heartbeat quickened. The sight of his flesh, wet and glistening, made her feel all hot and fluttery inside. She couldn’t help but wish he would allow her the same privilege—to wash him as he had washed her.

She wanted to. She wanted to quite badly, and the realization shocked her to her core. She wanted to run her hands all over him, explore the satin heat of his shoulders, thrill to the solidness of muscle and sinew.

At last he finished, he folded the cloth into a neat square and laid it over the edge of the tub.

Only then did he speak.

“What are you looking at?”

Her stomach clenched. Her heart beat high in her throat. “You,” she whispered in awe.

In order to accommodate them both, he’d drawn his legs toward his body, letting his knees rest against the side of the tub.

Her gaze was trained between his legs. The sight of his manhood widened her eyes and made her breath catch. He was swollen and thick, rigid with arousal.

Egan nearly groaned. Knowing she stared at him thus and did not look away made him swell still further.

The smile he offered was crooked. “I want you, sweet. I fear I cannot hide it.”

The breath she drew was ragged. She dragged her gaze back to his face. The way he looked at her—the longing he made no attempt to disguise—made her feel humble and perilously close to tears. Suddenly his words the night before resounded in her head.

The night you first came to Dunthorpe…I wanted you then. Christ, all I could think of was you. All I wanted was you
.

What had he meant? Surely he hadn’t wanted her all that time. Something inside her balked. God above, that was
years
! Nay, her ears had deceived her. Surely it was so.

“Why?” It was a soft cry, half-strangled. “Why do you want me? Egan, I…I am old!”

His smile faded. Leaning forward, he curled his hand around her neck, beneath the fall of her hair, urging her toward him.

He rested his forehead against hers. “If you do not know, then ’twould seem it’s my turn to show
you
.”

His head bent. He kissed her, long and sweetly—and with mounting urgency. All at once she feared the moment it would end; her hands came up and caught at his bare shoulders. She yielded her mouth with a moan she couldn’t withhold.

In a surge of power, he was on his feet, his wife in his arms.

Their bath was forgotten.

Summer came to Blackstone Keep with days of warmth and sunshine that sent the crops surging skyward. A deep, verdant green, the fields bowed to the winds that rippled through the valley and the showering rays of the sun. The people of Blackstone went about their work with the fervent hope that summer’s endeavors would be the bounty that sustained the long winter months ahead—that, and the prayer that relief from the midnight raids would continue.

All had been quiet since Egan had begun sending out nighttime patrols, yet it was not so easy to forget. Oh, smiles abounded readily and fear no longer prevailed; while the cloud of menace had lifted, the threat that the raiders might stir havoc anew had not been fully extinguished. One had only to mention the marauders to know it—smiles quickly faltered. All talk would cease, and those present exchanged uneasy glances.

Egan sometimes accompanied his men on their nightly patrols. Glenda hated it, yet she would not ask him to stay; she knew he would not ask his men
to do something that he himself was not willing to do. On those nights she tossed and turned, for there was no rest until the moment he slid into bed beside her.

So it was that many a morn found the lord and lady of Blackstone Keep locked fast in the arms of the other. Thus began many a day…and thus began many a night.

That very first time, Glenda avowed it was duty that compelled her to lie with him. His right as a husband. Her obligation as wife, just as it was to see to his clothing and his comfort.

She did not blame Egan. Yet neither could she deny him, any more than she could deny her own treacherous longing. ’Twas she who had given herself to him. Yet many a time she wondered…should she have tried harder to resist?

She knew not. She
could
not.

She despaired her own weakness, for she was powerless to fight his masculine allure. She could not deny him, any more than she could deny herself. It felt good to feel the strength of his arms hard about her form in the darkness of night. No longer did she feel so—so empty, as she had those last months at Dunthorpe, so very alone!

Perchance it
was
duty that sent her to his bed.

That was not what kept her there.

It was something else. Something far different.

A fire of the flesh…a fire in the heart? Nay. Not love. Surely not love. Love was what she’d felt for Niall. With Niall, love had blossomed slowly, steadfast and true. Yet he had never made her feel as Egan did, as if a tempest swept through her—inside her—
with naught but a look. A hike of his brow…

Desire. Passion. Lust. And yet, by whatever name it was called, it was just as she confided that very first night…it seared her veins like a sword of molten steel. He had only to enter a room and the murmur of her pulse began to clamor. Ah, but he commanded her senses, the very rhythm of her heart! A restless hunger quested inside her. Heat seeped beneath her skin. Wanton urges surged within her. She could not control them. She could not withhold them.

’Twas a battle she could neither fight…nor win.

Yet neither did she lose.

Beyond that, she refused to examine.

Indeed, she could find no fault with him. He was strong and loyal and protective. He knew all the tenants by name—even she did not! Though she told herself it was her lands that he coveted, he was as determined as she that Blackstone should prosper and thrive.

Yet she was learning much about him that she had never truly known. He made her laugh, even when she did not expect it! There was nothing he would not try; no task he deemed below him. On her way to visit the chandler one day, she paused to watch him alongside Edgar, the swineherd.

Several squealing little piglets had escaped their pen. All but one had been captured—and this one proved most elusive! Glenda’s mouth quirked. Egan’s expression was grimly determined as he stalked the wee creature who sniffed and squealed and ran about the bailey at will. Every time Egan paused and drew close, the piglet darted out of reach, as if he scented captivity. Swearing and red-faced,
Egan was wholly unaware of her regard.

It had rained before dawn, and the morning sun had yet to dry the puddles that filled the ruts left by the tanner’s cart. Just then the piglet paused. On silent feet, Egan came near the little beast, who rubbed his snout in the damp grass, seemingly oblivious to the man who crouched behind him.

Anticipating victory, Egan’s eyes gleamed. His chest expanded as he took a breath.

The piglet scampered forward, but Egan was not to be dissuaded. He leaned forward and grabbed his quarry.

With a high-pitched squeal, the piglet bolted from his grasp and leaped through the spoke of a wheel.

Egan was left sprawled head first in the mud. It was Edgar who finally seized the little piglet. Cursing hotly beneath his breath, Egan lumbered to his feet.

When he turned, his wife stood before him. She looked him up and down, wrinkling her nose as water dripped from his nose onto his chest.

“You, sir, need a bath.”

Egan was undaunted. He reached out and seized her, hauling her up against his chest.

“Egan!” Now as filthy as he, she screeched her outrage as loudly as the piglet. “Egan, nay!”

Not so lofty now, was she, he thought in satisfaction. His smile was wicked. “What a pity,” he remarked in lazy amusement, “but it seems I’m not the only one in need of a bath, now, am I?”

The bony shoulders of Edgar the swineherd heaved in laughter. Several soldiers near Bernard and Milburn called out ribald encouragement. Amidst her
protests, Egan swept his wife high in his arms and toward the tower stairs…

They were not seen for some time to come.

Egan had honored his vow not to wrest control of the keep from her. Glenda continued to see to the immediate matters of the household, while he saw to Blackstone’s defense. Initially Glenda had been a trifle reluctant to involve him on other matters, yet all this was new to her, too; she did so gradually, and found herself admitting his insight and observations were enormously helpful. Soon the decisions being made were done jointly, with mutual consent.

Where justice was concerned, Glenda also came to realize that Egan could not long remain an observer, else he—and she—might well risk putting his authority in jeopardy. He seemed surprised when she asked that he join her to adjudge those matters that arose. Thus far, he had proved both fair, lenient and impartial in his judgment.

On this particular day, a young couple stood before them, an arm’s length separating them. When Bernard gestured, the pair stepped forward.

The young man cleared his throat. “Good day, my lord, my lady. I am Alfred, and this is my wife Annabelle.”

Egan inclined his head. “Good day to both of you. What brings you here?”

The young man shot a sullen look at his wife, who had maintained the distance between them and stood with eyes downcast. “’Tis not I, my lord, but my wife who insisted we come here.” He clamped his mouth shut as if determined to say no more.

“Indeed. Annabelle, would you explain why?”

Annabelle wiped her face with the corner of her apron, then slowly raised her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from weeping. “I wish to return to—to my mother and my father, my lord, my lady. Alfred will not allow it.” Her wounded tone took on an indignant note. “He said he will chain me with the goats if I try!”

Glenda’s heart went out to her, for even now, the girl’s lip trembled anew. Why, her husband was surely a brute to threaten her so! Her back stiffened, and she prepared to tell him so in no uncertain terms, but Egan’s hand was on her forearm. The slightest pressure from his fingertips compelled her silence.

“How long have the two of you been wed?”

It was Alfred who answered. “Two days, sir.”

“I see. Was this marriage arranged between your families?”

“Nay, milord. We…we wished it, Annabelle and I.”

Egan shifted his attention to Annabelle. “Annabelle, is this true?”

Annabelle looked uncomfortable. Finally she gave a nod.

“So it was your wish as well?”

She said nothing.

“Why, she insisted, she did!” said Alfred. “Why, she would not even…” All at once he stopped short. He seemed to have recalled that he stood not only before his lord and lady, but various others as well.

Egan cocked a brow. “Annabelle, is this true? You went to the marriage of your own free will?”

“Aye, milord,” she answered finally, her voice very small.

“And you, Alfred? You entered the marriage of your own free will?”

“Aye, milord.” Alfred’s voice rang out clearly.

“I see.” Egan nodded thoughtfully. “I wonder, then, why Annabelle wishes to return to her father and her mother?”

“Oh, I do not wonder, milord. ’Tis because we quarreled!”

“I see. Is this true, Annabelle?”

Annabelle’s lips trembled. ’Twas clear to see that speech was impossible, Glenda decided. Her eyes flitted away. Her head dipped low.

“Annabelle, have you and your husband quarreled often since you’ve been wed?”

Alfred started to answer. “But, milord, ’tis only two da—” Egan help up a hand, signaling him to halt.

“Nay, my lord”—her voice quavered—“’tis the first time.”

“Then I must ask the nature of this quarrel.”

Annabelle’s head came up. Her eyes flew wide. Her ruddy cheeks turned scarlet—and so had her husband’s. She cast a pleading look at her husband, who for the first time was unwilling to speak.

“My lord. I canna say, truly…”

“It is of a private nature?”

“Oh, aye!” she gasped.

“A matter between man and woman…say, a matter between husband and wife?”

Her head bobbed furiously.

Egan pretended to ponder. “Annabelle, I would not embarrass you, but I must ask…does your husband desire another woman?”

“N-nay, milord.”

“Does he beat you?”

“Nay!”

Egan glanced at Alfred. “Alfred, would you set this marriage aside if you could?”

Alfred was startled at the question, then lifted his chin. “Nay, my lord.”

“Then come closer, both of you.”

They did as they were bid, but both appeared rather tentative.

“You made a solemn vow before God,” Egan said sternly, “a vow you must honor. Annabelle, it is not a vow you can put aside, to run willy-nilly home to your mother and father at the first sign of trouble.”

Annabelle began to blubber.

“Whatever comes between you must be settled between the two of you. Is that understood?”

Alfred’s head came up. “Aye, my lord.”

“You are to stay within your hut for three whole days, both of you, and you are not to come out.”

The makings of a smile appeared at the corners of Alfred’s lips. “We understand, my lord, and we submit to your good judgment.” He reached for his wife’s hand. “Come along, Annabelle,” he announced.

Annabelle was wailing as they left the hall.

Egan reached for his wife’s hand as well. Once they were out of view of the others, she snatched it from his grasp. Egan shrugged, but kept pace behind her as she marched toward the stairs. She was smoldering so that she never even noticed when he waylaid a passing maid and told her they would take their
meal in his chamber. The moment they were alone, she whirled on him.

“How could you do such a thing?” she demanded. “Didn’t you see the way that poor girl wept? That wretch has made her miserable!”

He let her rant, watching calmly as she paced before the hearth.

“Why did you even bother to ask why they quarreled? You had only to look at Annabelle to know why!”

Egan defended himself smoothly. “How could I know when she would not tell me—and neither would he?”

“Of course they didn’t! I’ve no doubt he asked her to perform some lewd perversion!”

Lewd? Perverted? Egan shook his head. “More than likely she was just shocked.”

“Of course she was. She probably came to the marriage a maid!”

Egan shrugged. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “If that’s so, then probably her shock blossomed into outrage, and her outrage into a quarrel.” A glint appeared in his eye. “Now, if she were just more willing to accept what her husband knows of such things—”

Glenda halted in a swirl of skirts. “That a man knows better?” she snapped.

Egan spread his hands wide. “If you say so,” he began.

“If I say so!” Glenda glared. “Do not grin at me like that! I do not approve, Egan. You asked him if he wished to remain wed. You didn’t even ask Annabelle!”

“There was no need. I knew what her answer
would be…if only poor Alfred is given the chance to prove himself.”

Glenda’s mouth turned down. “Poor Alfred?”

Egan had never had such a difficult time keeping a straight face. “I can think of worse things than to be shut away with one’s husband for three days.”

Glenda was still muttering when the maid knocked and delivered their meal. “Three days! Lord knows what he will do to her!”

Three days. Perhaps he
had
gone too far. Ah, but no wonder Alfred had been grinning from ear to ear. He suppressed a groan of envy. Ah, but he could only imagine…he envied Alfred—not for his choice of bride—but for the time
spent
with his bride.

“Wait and see,” he predicted mildly. “Their marriage will be the stronger for it.”

“Let me guess. A man knows best…a
husband
knows best?”

His smile reflected his acknowledgment. He walked to the table where their food awaited and pulled out a chair. “Come. Let us eat.”

Glenda moved stiffly to the table and sat down. Though she was determined to say no more, she was still smarting. So a man knew best, did he? She chewed furiously. Her gaze chanced to light upon a small spiced tart filled with almonds and currants. Her temper, still simmering and not yet eased, spiked anew. Even the cook bowed to him!

“I see the cook has made your favorite. Are you hungry still?”

“I am.”

A pause, and she arose. “Would you like for me to feed you?”

Egan had seen the gleam enter his wife’s eyes. He was well pleased by the seductive sway of her hips and the sweet melody of her tone—along with her attentiveness when she moved to sit upon his lap.