Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03 (11 page)

“Do you realize what it does to a man when a beautiful woman touches him, pets him?”

“I meant no harm—” “The harm will be to you, Lily, if you continue. Do you think I’m made of stone?” he asked as he released her.

“You would never harm me! How dare you say that!”

She reached out to him again, but didn’t touch.

“I thought you liked it when I touched you.”

“Aye, I like it,” he admitted.

“Far too much.” He took her hand in his once more.

“Don’t you understand what comes after the kissing, the touching? By Christ, Lily, if you keep that up, yOU’re apt to find yourself flat on your back with me between your legs before you even realize what I’m about.”

It was difficult to see her expression in the firelight, but he didn’t think she understood. Otherwise, she’d have moved as far away from him as she could by now.

“I want you, Lily, as a man wants a woman. Feel what you do to me.” He pushed her hand down, pressing her palm over his swollen manhood. Perhaps this would shock her into keeping her distance.

If it didn’t kill him first.

Ian knew he’d made a mistake even before she moved her fingers, Shaping his aching hardness in an innocent caress. Innocent or not, that simple touch threatened to send him over the edge. He’d hadn’t felt so near to spilling his seed with so little provocation since he’d taken his first woman.

“I didn’t realize,” she said, wriggling her fingers again.

He bit back a groan and pressed her fingers tighter about him.

Then, sighing in frustration, he shoved her hand away and turned his back on her, resting his forehead on his up drawn knees and gulping for air.

“I must be mad,” he growled.

Lily moved closer to Ian and laid her cheek against his bowed back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Slowly, lest he push her away, she wrapped her arms around his torso and held him.

“You must think me a naive fool.”

He permitted her embrace; indeed, it seemed to her he welcomed it, for he brought his hand up to touch her arm where it wrapped about his chest. His breathing had slowed, and his body no longer felt rigid with tension.

“And now you know I’m a crude one,” he said, turning into her arms. He drew back a bit, until their chests barely touched.

“Forgive me. I just wanted you to understand how it is for a man—and a woman, too, I’d imagine.”

Was that possible? she wondered.

“Do you think so?”

She cringed at the eagerness in her voice.

He must have heard it, too, for he looked her sternly in the eye.

“Perhaps. But don’t ask me to show you, for I’ll not do it. I don’t know how I’ve withstood the temptation to make you mine.”

She felt oddly pleased by his admission. And curious, as well. Just how much could he withstand? The question brought a flush to her entire body as she remembered the feel of him enclosed within her fingers. She’d never have imagined men were so very—so excitingly—different.

But now that she knew, he tempted her even more.

Ian rolled away from her and took up one of his saddlebags.

“I’m going to sit in the stream for a while.” It seemed a strange thing to do, and she wondered at the laughter she heard in his voice.

“Perhaps ‘twill calm me.

Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered, heading into the trees.

Lily lay back on the cloak, absently drawing the edges about her. She felt cold now, without Ian beside her.

How could Ian think she’d leave, when she could imagine no place she’d rather be than with him?

Besides, where did he think she’d go?

She had no place to go to.

Lily and Ian traveled the next two days in near silence, separated by an unacknowledged, invisible wall. This journey passed much more quickly and smoothly than Lily’s trek from Saint Winifred’s to Dolwyddelan. She knew that Ian made certain she was as comfortable as he could keep her, under the circumstances. She couldn’t fault him for that. She, in turn, labored hard to keep from inadvertently doing anything to anger him.

Or to tempt him.

With so much time to think, she turned the problem over and over in her mind, although continued thought brought her no closer to an answer. The question of why Llywelyn wanted to lock her away she pushed aside for the moment, since she had no way of solving it.

But Ian… Ian captured her thoughts constantly.

The longer she was with him, the more she found to admire. She enjoyed looking at him, ‘twas tree. His vivid green eyes and dark hair were a perfect foil for his strong, even features. But she loved his determination the most.

No matter what obstacle fortune threw his way, he sought to overcome it with a single-mindedness she couldn’t help but respect.

And he treated her with a consideration that she doubted she deserved, for compared to Lord Ian ap Dafydd, she was no one. No nobleman would want a woman of unknown origins, not for more than his leman.

After a lifetime spent within the abbey, giving her body outside the bonds of marriage was not an option she believed herself capable of—unless it meant survival.

So, despite her growing admiration and yearning for the Dragon, she remained courteous but silent, and tried not to wish for more, They reached the cave in the full, rich light of early afternoon. Ian emptied his saddlebags, placed their remaining stores inside the room like cave and gathered firewood, but didn’t unsaddle Mouse.

“I have to go for more supplies, and for information,” he told her.

“Will you be insulted if I ask if you’ll be all right here, alone?”

She shook her head.

“Of course not, milord.” He sent her a curious look–because of her formality? What did it matter?

“Not so long as you return quickly.”

“I’ll return as soon as I can.” His gaze searching, he stepped closer and handed her a dagger.

“Don’t be afraid to use this.”

She accepted the knife and tucked it into her belt, patting the hilt for reassurance.

“Be careful, Dragon.”

He bent and brushed her lips with his.

“Don’t stray farther than the stream. It would be easy to get lost. I could be gone till after dark.”

He swung into the saddle and set off down the hill without a backward glance. She stood in the entrance and waved anyway: “May God protect you,” she whispered as he disappeared from sight.

Ian made good time on the familiar trail leading toward Gwal Draig. Finally he paused outside a cotter’s hut on the fringe of his land, hailing the inhabitants.

In no time at all, a child had been sent on to Gwal Draig with a message for Dai, and Ian had filled his saddlebags with food enough to last them a week, if they were careful. The cotter’s wife gladly accepted his coin in return for the supplies—and the promise of more once this was over.

An honest family, and loyal, in all likelihood they’d have done what they could for him without payment, but he refused to abuse their generosity. If he dealt fairly with them, so they would with him. It had always been his way.

The child returned just before dusk, bringing Dai with him. One look at his lieutenant’s face in the fading light told Ian the man was fair bursting with news. After thanking the lad, they left.

He and Dai led their horses into the woods, not picking up the trail until they were certain they hadn’t been followed.

“What do you here, milord?” Dai asked urgently.

“I

never expected to hear from ye so soon—nor to find you so close to home. I just got back here myself, just past midday.”

“I had to leave Dolwyddelan sooner than I planned.

You wouldn’t believe how much has happened,” Ian said, shaking his head. He swiftly outlined the events of the past few days, glossing over his growing attachment to Lily. But he didn’t fool Dal.

“I knew you’d get dragged into whatever happened to the girl.” Dai’s lined face creased into a from.

“Christ, milord, just wait until you hear what ye’ve stirred up.

“Twas a surprisingly easy task to find out the information you wanted. The abbey was in a bit of’ disarray. I managed to listen when they didn’t think I was about, and then I was lucky enough to find an ancient boarder quite willing to talk—once I told her I’d come from Llywelyn,” he added with a rueful smile.

“Seems the abbess was afraid of what Llywelyn might do, since one of’ the boarders came up missing.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Ian said dryly.

“Nothing would, after the things I’ve seen happen lately.”

Dai snorted.

“Oh, I think you’ll be surprised by what I have to tell ye, milord. I couldn’t have imagined the news I heard at that place, not in a hundred years.” He pointed toward a tree trunk lying in the woods along the trail.

“You’d best sit down to hear this tale, milord.”

“Jesu, is it that bad?” Ian asked. Curiosity piqued, he tethered the stallion’s reins to a nearby bush and took a seat on the log.

“It appears the prince has been doing a lot of lying these many years,” Dai said. His gaze fixed on the ground, he hitched up his belt and toyed with the hilt of his dagger. Finally he looked up and met Ian’s questioning look.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, milord, except to say it straight out. D’ye remember the Lady Lowri, Lady Gillian’s mother?”

“Of course. I’m hardly likely to forget my own kinswoman, even if it has been years since her death.”

“That’s just it, milord.” Dai cleared his throat several times before he got on with it.

“She wasn’t dead after all .”

Ian surged to his feet.

“What?” he roared.

“That’s impossible!” Dai must be mistaken-“Sit down, milord, and be quiet.” Dai shoved at Ian’s shoulders until he sat down again.

“I’m not going to tell you another damned thing until you calm yourself. No sense hopping about. You’ll be too busy stewing to hear a word I say.”

Ian did feel ready to leap up and do battle, and Dai had barely begun. But what he’d said seemed too preposterous to be true. However, he knew Dai would never lie to him–-especially about something as important as this.

Drawing a deep breath, he dropped back onto the tree trunk.

“All right, I’ll behave.”

“You remember how Lady Lowri ran off from l’Eau Clair a short time after Lady Gillian was born?”

Holding his tongue with a patience he hadn’t realized he possessed, Ian nodded.

“Who told Lord Simon his wife was dead?” Dai asked with a questioning look.

“Llywelyn.” Ian began to see where this was headed, but he kept his mouth shut so that Dai would get on with it.

“Aye. Said they’d discovered her body in the forest near her parent’s manor. Lord Simon grieved, and gave up his rights to his wife’s dowry.”

“Which the prince inherited, I believe.”

Dai gave him a quelling look.

“He did. But the truth of the matter is that the poor lady’d lost her wits. Your kinsman Llywelyn,” he said with a glare at Ian, “found her wandering about, confused and ill, in the woods near his holdings. Instead of caring for her until she recovered, then sending her back to Lord Simon, he brought her to an abbey where no one knew her and convinced her that her husband and daughter were dead. After about six months, she gave birth to another child—” “Lily,” Ian said.

“Aye. The poor child’s had a family all these years, milord, though she never knew it. She’s your cousin.”

“A distant cousin.” This time when he stood, Dai didn’t try to stop him.

“This explains any number of things, except for one. Why?” His mind working furiously, Ian paced back and forth along the side of the trail.

“Llywelyn destroyed an entire family, and for what? By Christ, when I think of the years that Simon grieved… And Gillian needed a mother so badly.” He pounded his fist against a nearby tree.

“And all this time she not only had a mother, but a sister, as well.”

Dai plunked down on the log with a sigh.

“From what I heard, Lady Lowri wasn’t a mother, milord.

“Course, who’s to say that would have been the case if she’d gone back to l’Eau Clair? Most of the time, she lived in a world of her own. Perhaps grief turned her mind. I don’t know.

But Lily—beg pardon, milord—Lady Lily didn’t have anyone in that place, even before her mother died.

“Tis no wonder she left when she got the chance.”

That certainly agreed with what Lily had told him about her mother. Poor child—and poor Lowri. Pawns in a game of Llywelyn’s making.

But now the rules had changed, Ian thought with a surge of satisfaction. Lily was alone–and powerless—no longer.

“Has Llywelyn contacted the abbey?”

“He hadn’t when I was there. But the abbess had just sent a messenger to tell him that Lady Lily was missing.

Didn’t want to admit they’d let her run off. I imagine he’s heard from them by now, not that it matters. Of course, I doubt the abbess thought Lady Lily would run to the prince.”

“I need to think about this, decide what to do.” Ian stopped pacing and placed a hand on Dai’s shoulder.

“Thank you, old friend.” He could see that Dai was drooping with weariness.

“Go home and rest. I’ll send word to you in a day or two, once I talk with Lily and figure out some plan. Right now, my bead’s in such a muddle, I don’t trust myself to do much of anything.”

Ian waited until Dai headed toward Gwal Draig before he mounted up and rode in the opposite direction. His mind was still whirling like a top. The news Dai had given him opened up a host of possibilities for Lily.

And it brought his own battered feelings to the fore.

He’d enforced Llywelyn’s law, carried out Llywelyn’s justice, for so long, he’d reached the point where he seldom considered the effects his actions had on others. As long as he worked toward his goal, he could close off the part of him he buried deep inside. The near-silent voice of censure, of caution, seldom made itself heard over the cry for justice that echoed through his brain.

It was his father’s voice he heard calling for him to do all he could to stop the endless squabbling of the Welsh nobility, to carry out the work to unite them under one leader. Would that voice ever be silenced?