Sharon Schulze (22 page)

Another paroxysm arrived nearly atop the first, and she judged it time for the real work to begin. “The next time you must bear down and push hard,” she told Gillian. “Lean back against Rannulf and let him hold you up.”

Folding back the sheet, Catrin positioned Gillian’s legs wider and helped her brace her feet. Between them, she and Rannulf coaxed Gillian through the contractions. She marveled at Gillian’s returning vitality; with each push she seemed to gain the strength and the will to bring her ordeal to an end.

Finally it was time. “I see the babe’s head,” Catrin cried, willing herself to patience. “Push again.”

Gillian’s voice broke as she concentrated all her energy on this last, powerful thrust. Catrin reached out and caught the child as it began to slide from Gillian’s body.

Blinking away tears of joy, Catrin turned the babe and eased it the rest of the way. “You have a daughter,” she said, grinning at Gillian and Rannulf.

“Aren’t you a beauty?” she crooned as the child screwed up her face and began to wail. She needed to free her hands to cut the cord. “Here, Nicholas,” she said, placing a tiny blanket beneath the babe and holding her out to him. He looked at her as though she’d gone mad. “Take her—’tis only for a moment.”

Nicholas moved closer and held his hands out awkwardly. “Like this.” She placed the child in his arms and showed him how to support her. Satisfied he’d manage, Catrin turned her attention to her remaining tasks.

Swiftly averting his eyes while Catrin attended to her business, Nicholas gazed down at the slippery, squalling infant. Skin bright pink, her face looking slightly
squashed, she couldn’t be called beautiful, Nicholas thought, but there was something compelling about the tiny scrap of humanity he held in his hands.

Not ready to identify the foreign emotion, he looked up and saw that Catrin had cut the cord. Wrapping the blanket more securely about the child, he brought her to her parents.

Gillian lifted her daughter from his hands with a cry of happiness, immediately moving the cloth aside to inspect the babe from head to toe. Smiling, his eyes suspiciously wet, Rannulf enclosed his family in his arms.

Seeing their joy made Nicholas aware of an ache of loneliness somewhere in the region of his heart. Not wishing to intrude upon their privacy, he turned to go.

“Nicholas,” Catrin called when he’d nearly reached the door. Halting, he turned to face her. “I’m almost through here.” She crossed the room to where he stood. “Will you wait for me?”

“I’ve intruded long enough. I thought I’d leave so they can be alone. Once Gillian realizes I was here, she’ll never look me in the eye again,” he said with a wry smile.

“Perhaps. But you might be surprised.” She placed her hand on his arm. “If you don’t wish to stay here, will you wait for me in my chamber? I don’t want to be alone.”

A strange lightness flowed through Nicholas’s blood. Would he await her in her chamber?

He’d be mad to refuse.

“Neither do I,” he said softly. He bent to whisper in her ear. “Take your time. I’ll wait however long it takes you. Some things are worth waiting for,” he said, taking a last look at the joyful parents before closing the door behind him.

N
icholas settled into a chair by the small fireplace and, pushing off his boots, warmed his feet by the hearth. This had been his chamber when he was Gillian’s guardian, and he felt very comfortable here.

He poured a goblet of mead from the flagon on the table. Smiling, he raised the drink high to toast the newest FitzClifford. He hadn’t noticed whether she favored one of her parents over the other. But she was bound to be pretty; both Gillian and Rannulf were attractive.

If he and Catrin had a child, what would it look like? He knew he was considered handsome, although he took no particular pleasure in it, and he found Catrin’s dainty face and form exquisite. But perhaps any offspring of theirs would be no more than passing fair.

It wouldn’t matter. Considering the surge of emotion he’d felt from simply holding someone else’s child, one of his own would be a treasure to cherish.

Especially if he’d created that child with Catrin.

Tilting back in the chair and closing his eyes, Nicholas settled into an almost dreamlike state. He’d not slept in several days, and the potent mead worked powerfully
upon him, bringing to mind thoughts he’d never before considered.

What would it be like to have someone waiting for him when he came home from battle, someone to share the small, precious details of everyday life?

He started to push the idea away, but decided against it. Too many times in the past he’d buried thoughts of home and family, warmth and love, deep within where they couldn’t hurt him. Those concepts did not fit in with the persona he’d created, of a noble knight who expressed few feelings—and indulged them even less.

But he’d not hide behind that mask any longer. He didn’t care whether his background—who he was—offended anyone or made them think less of him. The time had come to allow his true feelings—his true self—free rein. The joy would outweigh any risk, any hurt he might suffer to gain happiness—

To earn Catrin’s love.

He would take that gamble and win.

The creaking of the door halted his reflection. He rose to his feet as Catrin slipped into the room.

Her shoulders drooped with weariness and circles darkened the delicate flesh beneath her eyes, but she radiated an energy he noticed at once. He pulled another chair near the fire and she sank into it with a sigh.

“Mother and child are well, I trust?” he asked, moving behind her.

“Aye,” she said. “Gillian seems quite lively for a woman who just labored to the point of exhaustion for nearly two days. But that isn’t unusual.” Careful of her healing injuries, he placed his hands on her shoulders and began to slowly stroke the tense muscles. She moaned. “’Tis a shame only the mother feels that surge of power. The midwife could use a bit of vigor now, as well,” she
added, her low laugh sending a flash of heat through his blood.

He leaned down and nuzzled her ear. “What would it take to renew your strength? A nap? A soak in the tub?” He nipped at her earlobe. “Or would you like me to continue what I’m doing?”

Catrin moaned.

He took that for assent.

Lifting her into his arms, Nicholas carried her to the bed and tugged down the covers. She nestled into him like a cat, her body soft and warm, enticing him to sink into her softness.

He sat down on the mattress and laid her full-length next to him. Her eyes opened slowly, her lips curling into a smile so seductive he couldn’t resist.

His gaze holding hers, Nicholas smoothed the curling wisps of hair away from her face, his fingertips lingering on her cheek, then brushing over her mouth. His own mouth followed, tongue darting out to cajole a response from hers.

She met him touch for touch, taste for taste, until he would swear the room was afire. He drew back. “It’s too warm in here for so many clothes, don’t you think?” When he tugged at the laces of her gown, she smiled and turned to give him better access.

Together they removed her clothes, until she lay before him clad only in a silken shift. The rose-tinted fabric lent a warm glow to her skin, tempting him to touch. Fingers trembling slightly, Nicholas picked up her disheveled braid and unplaited it, then spread her hair over the pillows like an ebony veil. “How do you feel?” he asked as he combed his fingers through the wavy strands. “Shall I rub your back for you?”

She reached up and untied the neck of his shirt. “Aye—if you take this off first.”

“Whatever you wish.” He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside, sucking in a breath when she smoothed her hands over his chest. “Wait, love—I said I’d rub your back…”

“And I’ll rub your front,” she said, gifting him with a winsome smile.

“Yes—but later.” He covered her hands with his and slowly slid them to his shoulders. “Else our pleasure will be over too soon.”

Though it was torture to do it, Nicholas urged Catrin over onto her stomach, closing his eyes for a moment and praying for control before he reached out and laid his hand on the strap of her shift.

Opening his eyes, he nudged the silk off her shoulder.

Her skin was so smooth against his battle-hardened palm, the delicate ivory a stark contrast to his darkly tanned flesh. Slipping a finger beneath the other strap, he pushed it aside, then eased her shift down to her waist.

Careful to avoid her nearly healed wounds, he laid his palms over her back and ran them over her tense muscles in long, smooth strokes. Catrin arched beneath the caress, the sound she made reminding him of a contented kitten. He kept at it until she felt soft and relaxed beneath his hands.

She rolled over, her smile radiating contentment, and took his hands in hers. “So strong, yet so gentle,” she murmured, nuzzling his palm. “So very talented—in so many ways.”

Releasing him, she sat up, catching the front of her tunic just before it slipped over the tips of her breasts. She held the fabric up with one hand, and used the other to push him back against the pillows. “Your turn…or is
it mine?” she mused. “I believe I’ll enjoy this as much as you will.”

She let the hand holding up her shift fall away, the slippery material following in its wake. She left it where it fell, pooled about her hips, and leaned over him.

“Don’t move,” she whispered against his lips. Her nipples brushed over his chest, making his fingers ache to caress them. But she pressed his hands into the mattress on either side of him and sat back on her heels.

“Temptress,” he groaned.

“If you wish.”

Nicholas fought the urge to close his eyes, fascinated by this new side of Catrin. He didn’t want to miss a moment, a nuance of this.

Her hair brushed over his stomach when she leaned close, the feathery sensation sending a lightning bolt of fire straight to his loins. “Do you like that?” she asked, her voice little more than a purr. The sound spoke of pleasure—hers, as well as his—and conjured up an exciting array of erotic images.

They all centered around the woman he needed more than life itself.

“It feels wonderful.” He moaned when she worked on the knot of his chausses, her fingers brushing against the flesh of his belly in a not-so-innocent caress.

Fingernails scraped along his thighs as she eased off his leggings. She sat back, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe. “So I see.”

“Come here,” he demanded, burying his hand in her hair and drawing her down for a scorching kiss.

Though he initiated the kiss, she swiftly resumed her role as the aggressor. Catrin sprawled over him, surrounding him with her scent, the feel of her lips devouring his, the cascading caress of her hair slipping over his body.
She paid no heed to restraining his hands now—nor to any other restraint between them.

She met his passion with her own full measure.

Nicholas’s hands closed about Catrin’s waist, shifting her to sit astride him. She didn’t want him that way, she decided suddenly. Though she knew he would give her pleasure—passion beyond her imagining—she wanted to feel him over her, around her.

Lips still meshed with his, she shifted off Nicholas and lay beside him on the soft mattress. “Come to me,” she whispered, drawing him over her.

“Are you certain?” Concern darkened his eyes, and he refused to rest his weight upon her.

She nodded. “I need you—here, now. You’ll not harm me,” she added, once again urging him near. “You make me feel safe, protected within your arms. Please, Nicholas.”

“As my lady wishes,” he said with a crooked smile. “When the temptress demands, what can her lover do but obey?”

But he moved away, just far enough to lavish attention upon her aching breasts. He suckled hard, drawing an answering response from deep within her. Soon her legs entangled with his, and her hands moved lower to caress him.

“Do you want me now?” he asked, staring into her eyes. “Do you want what I can give you? Passion? Love? A child of our own?”

Her heart stilled for a moment, then picked up again at a frantic pace. Could it be that he offered her all, everything she thought she could never have?

“Yes, Nicholas,” she whispered, welcoming him into her body. She had never felt such joy! “Yes.”

He watched with heart-melting intensity as they moved
together, the look in his eyes, his expression making this act a promise, a solemn vow.

“You are mine, Catrin,” he said as waves of passion broke over them. “And I am yours.”

A wordless roar woke Nicholas. His mind still caught in Catrin’s sensual spell, he shook his head to clear it and blinked the sleep from his eyes.

Ian crossed the room with murder in his eyes, jolting him awake. Nicholas jerked the coverlet up over Catrin’s nakedness and scrambled from the bed, hands held before him. “Ian, it’s not what you think.”

“Do you think I’m blind, you Norman bastard? I’d say this looks clear enough.” His sweeping glance took in the clothing scattered about, the disheveled bed and Nicholas standing nude beside it. “The question is, what do you intend to do about it?”

Before Nicholas could answer, Ian turned his back and crossed to the open door. “FitzClifford!” he bellowed down the passageway. “FitzClifford, get in here now.”

A maid passed the doorway, pausing briefly to look inside the chamber. She stared past Ian to Nicholas, her eyes growing wide, then covered her mouth with her hands and scurried off down the hall.

Nicholas picked his chausses up off the floor and stepped into them. Evidently Ian didn’t intend him harm, for the moment, at least. “Why don’t you just invite everyone in while you’re at it?” he asked dryly.

Cursing, Ian slammed the door shut and turned. “At least you’ve the decency to cover yourself now. Too bad you didn’t think of it earlier—before my sister saw you.”

Catrin stirred behind him. Ignoring Ian, he sat on the edge of the mattress and reached out to tug the blankets around her.

“A little late for modesty, don’t you think?” Ian sauntered over to a chair by the cold fireplace and slumped into it.

“Shut up, Ian.” Catrin pushed her hair back from her face and leaned against Nicholas. His heart warmed at the sign of trust. “I doubt anyone invited you in, so don’t complain if you see something you don’t like.”

“You can’t talk your way out of this,” Ian snarled, his eyes flashing. “I’ve permitted you too much freedom. That much is clear. First you race off from home and get four of my men killed, and now this.”

Nicholas didn’t intend to sit idly by while Catrin’s brother took her to task. “It’s not her fault she was attacked—”

“Keep out of this,” they both snapped. He might have found their expressions humorous in another situation, but not when he was on the receiving end of their matching glares. However, since Catrin obviously didn’t want—and likely didn’t need—his help, he folded his arms across his chest and resolved to hold his tongue, no matter the provocation.

Catrin snuggled closer to Nicholas’s side and turned toward her brother. “Why do you have to be this way? Can’t you allow me the first happiness I’ve had in years? What I do is none of your business.”

“Do you think it doesn’t matter to me that this Norman took your maidenhead?” Ian leaned forward in his chair and glowered at Nicholas. “I should take him out to the bailey and run him through.”

“He didn’t take anything from me that I didn’t give willingly.”

“Took, gave—the word doesn’t matter. But the fact that you permitted him to take liberties—”

“Liberties! Listen to yourself, Ian,” she said with a
mirthless laugh. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve never taken a woman to your bed?”

Nicholas missed Catrin’s warmth next to him when she straightened and moved toward the side of the mattress. Once she was beside him again, he slipped his arm around her and held her close.

“What I’ve done is not the issue here,” Ian said.

Catrin leaned against Nicholas’s shoulder, grateful for his support. “I’ve tried to shield you, Ian. But I’ll do it no more,” she said, her voice quavering. “I won’t let you ruin my happiness simply to protect you from my past. Not any longer.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I wish I could have come to Nicholas untouched, but I didn’t.”

“That’s impossible,” Ian said flatly. “You’ve never allowed a man that close. I’m surprised you let him.”

“You don’t know everything.” She felt like getting up and clouting him in the head, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Why did he have to barge into her chamber and find them like this? Now she had no choice but to tell him—but she didn’t have to like it. “Don’t pretend you do. I was raped.”

“What?” Ian sprang from the chair. “When did this happen? You never said a word.” He paced before the fireplace. “Who was the bastard? He’ll not live much longer, I promise you.”

“Sit down,” she said, weariness edging her voice. “It happened four years ago. And I never told you because there was nothing you could do about it.”

“Who was it?” Ian repeated, his tone lethal.

“Madog ap Gerallt.”

Ian looked at her as though she’d gone daft. “Madog is dead, Catrin. He died in a fire.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked down. She didn’t dare meet either man’s eyes. “I know he’s dead. I killed him.”