The Shattered Rose (46 page)

So much for chaperones and guardians!

An excitement was building, almost stealing Aline's breath, but for the moment she was intrigued by practicalities. How would he find a private corner in this crowded house?

This upper floor contained the hall and three linked rooms leading off it. The women's chamber she'd shared with Jehanne lay farthest from the hall. The door led into the men's chamber full of Lord William's snores, and where Raoul and Galeran had pallets on the floor. Beyond that they entered the solar, where Hugo, Mary, and two daughters slept in a big curtained bed, their personal servants sprawled around the floor.

Picking her way through the room, Aline heard rain. He couldn't be taking her outside.

The hall would be jammed with servants.

Quite a challenge, even for an experienced warrior.

He led her to the corner between the hall and the solar, where stairs ran down to the lower floor. But the lower floor, she knew, was used by the vintnery servants and the men-at-arms.

The stairs were wooden, and a straight flight turned at a flat landing. He stopped there under a narrow window and slid down to sit, taking her with him, tucked cozily against his side.

"Very clever," she whispered, knowing she was about to be soundly defeated by a master. She could hardly wait.

"Elementary scouting." He kissed her gently on the cheek, almost as her father might, or as she might nuzzle against Donata.

And yet the feelings were different, and the excitement within her became a shiver.

He rubbed her arms gently, as if she had shivered from cold, speaking to her in a voice so soft, she felt she picked up words from his breath on her skin rather than from sound in her ear.

He spoke of his arrival at Heywood and his first sight of her, of the progression of his feelings from curiosity to interest, from admiration to obsession, from obsession to love. It was a devastating assault, melting any lingering resistance into aching tenderness for him, for her beloved.

And all the time his hands worshipped her without ever doing anything that could be considered improper at all.

Had he stolen her from her bed to talk and cuddle?

And how could cuddling be so unsettling?

Restlessly, she shifted so she was closer, so her left hand could touch his chest, stroke him as he was stroking her, learn him through touch in the dimness. Such a mighty chest, covered only by a light linen tunic. Such broad shoulders so well layered with muscle. Such a hard belly. She suspected that she could bounce on his belly and he'd hardly notice.

He shifted too, moving his leg over hers. So she explored the hard, well-trained muscle of his thigh through the cloth. At the hem, however, she encountered naked flesh, roughened by hair. In her mind she could see golden hair on golden skin. She hesitated only a moment before sliding her hand under the cloth, her mouth suddenly dry, her heartbeats clear to her, every one, even though she didn't dare explore higher.

"I've wanted to feel your hand on me like that, Aline," he murmured, shifting a little so his hand found the edge of her shift, and her naked thigh. She felt calluses as he worked up to cup her buttock.

Aline sucked in a breath and swallowed. "I thought even the tortures of the damned wouldn't make you dishonor me."

His tormenting hand did not move. "We are to be married. There is no dishonor in this. But even so, I will not make love to you tonight."

"Oh." She hoped she didn't sound disappointed. "What will we do, then?" His hand had moved to the small of her back and circled there. She could have purred.

"Just test your defenses, my green cadet, and show you a little of what you're missing." Breath warm against her neck, he whispered, "Your defenses are totally inadequate, you know. See the army now, massed around you, pennants flying, blades glinting in the sun. Hear the drums of your defeat."

He must mean her thundering heart. "I'm not sure about this," she said.

"Do you fear surrender to your rightful lord?"

"I fear being discovered here like this with you."

He chuckled. "No one is likely to find us unless you cry out."

"Why would I do that?"

"Remember Dame Helswith's house?"

She stared at his shadowy face. "Are you going to hurt me, then . . . ?"

"I will do my best never to hurt you, Aline. But it is possible to scream with pleasure."

Before she could express her skepticism, he covered her mouth in a powerful, conquering kiss that reminded her strongly of Waltham. Just from curiosity, she felt for his scabbard, and found it empty.

He chuckled, but didn't stop kissing the wits out of her.

A part of Aline—the well-bred, well-trained almost-nun—urged that she struggle and scream just to prove that she was a good woman. The sensible part said she could struggle and scream if it got to the point where she really wanted to.

Scream the alarm, that is. She didn't believe she could ever be brought to scream with pleasure when it would bring people out to catch her at this.

She settled to learning this business of kissing, mourns open, tongues engaged. When his hand found her breast, it enhanced the pleasure of his hot mouth and she kissed him even more enthusiastically, running her fingers into his hair to hold him close to her.

He disengaged and moved her a little. That’s when she realized she'd scrambled on top of him like a child climbing a rock If she was trying to appear to be a reluctant conquest, she was failing miserably.

He cupped her breast, raising it so his mouth could play with her through the fine linen cloth. From stroking, her fingers in his hair turned to clutching. "What are you doing now?" But she kept it quiet.

He raised his head long enough to ask, "Don't you like it?" Since his hand still pleasured her other breast, Aline managed only an inarticulate noise.

He seemed to interpret it correctly, and returned to his labors.

The sensations were quite extraordinary. Rather like a high fever in the nicest possible way. Still, Aline thought smugly, she was not even tempted to scream.

Then he slid her shift off her shoulders and down so his mouth found her naked flesh, just as his hand found the place between her thighs that was even more sensitive than her breast. Aline did almost let out a squeak of astonishment, but managed to control it.

It wasn't that she was surprised to be sensitive there. She'd heard talk of the pleasure to be found by rubbing between the legs. She'd tried it, though, and it hadn't seemed exciting enough to sin for. Clearly, she thought, clutching at his sleeve, she'd been doing something wrong.

For an assault on a castle, his stroking hand was remarkably slow and gentle. . . . Except inside her, where something hot flared.

"Mining," she murmured.

He raised his head from her breast. "Yes, I'm yours."

"No. Yes. I mean, mining. You're mining me. Undermining my walls."

He laughed softly. "I've been undermining you for weeks, little castle. Burrowing under your walls. Placing tinder there ready. Tonight I'm putting torch to tinder so that heat will crack your bastions, and you'll be defenseless before me."

"I think I already am. . . ."

"Shall I stop, then?" She heard by the laughter in his soft voice that he knew the answer.

"No, but ..."

"Shhhhhh," he said, his lips fluttering against hers. "Just remember to be very quiet. You don't want your overlord to ride to your rescue at this point, do you?"

Then, returning to the pleasuring of her breasts, he used his thigh to spread her legs wider and stroked more firmly so she had to clutch on to him for fear of falling. Which was ridiculous, when they were already on a solid surface.

Then, at the peak of a stroke, he sucked hard on her breast and slid his finger into her so that a jolt shot right between the two points.

"Ah!" She managed to swallow it, but only just.

"Bite me if you want," he whispered, circling gently again.

So Aline filled her mouth with the cloth and muscle of his shoulder, wondering if perhaps she should scream for her overlord after all.

Raoul's big hand summoned the fire that would destroy her, and like an encircling army, his thigh between hers would not let her evade it. She almost felt as if she were fighting for her life as she stiffened, hands gripping him, teeth clenched in him.

But she wasn't fighting to escape, even though he was destroying her. The inarticulate sounds she was choking against his shoulder were not cries for help.

Then the tinder caught, the wood burned bright, and her walls shuddered, cracked, and fell.

Through them she saw light.

No. Light was too weak a term.

Through the broken walls, she saw heaven. A momentary glimpse of the infinite wonder of heaven.

His hand. His slow and gentle hand held her suspended there until she thought she'd faint, but then, part sorrowing, part relieved, she felt the wonder fade, felt herself float back down to the wooden landing like a tuft of thistledown on a very still day.

He moved to hold her in his arms, smoothing down her shift, then continuing to stroke her gently in a way that made her never want to part from him at all.

"I don't think I screamed," she said at last.

"Can you be sure?"

"No one's raised the alarm."

"True. I'm not sure I'm not scarred for life, though." But she could hear a smile in it.

She touched a damp patch on his tunic where her mouth had been. Underneath, she felt the indentations left by the teeth. "Oh, dear."

"A warrior expects a little pain in so conclusively conquering a castle. Are you now my vassal?"

She didn't answer that, but instead said, "Perhaps, in time, I can learn to undermine
your
walls."

He laughed softly, laying his head against hers. "I'm already rubble, love, but I look forward to your attempts at further destruction."

She stroked him, and that was sweet, to be able to cherish him as he had cherished her. "I can see now why you were reluctant to promise to do without that pleasure for a whole year." There was a question in it, and she blushed to hear it. She was begging for more.

He looked up at her. "I won't deprive you. Once we are married."

"Once .. . !" She'd almost spoken at normal volume and returned to murmuring. "You mean, you won't. . . ? Until we are married?"

"Self-restraint, remember?" he teased.

"Oh, you! But it
is
good for the soul."

"Our souls are going to be very healthy, then." He gathered her into his arms and she cuddled there, giving thanks for finding this one man in the huge world. It was terrifying to think that they might never have met, and frightening to part with him, even for the few remaining hours of the night.

Perhaps he felt the same, for in the end it was she who pulled away, stood, and led them both back to her sleeping chamber.

"Good night," she whispered, wanting to say so much more but not quite comfortable with the words as yet.

He, of course, was more at ease. "Sleep well, beloved. And when you dream, dream of me."

* * * * *

In the next days, Aline decided that a strong, resolute man could be a pain in the neck. Or in other places. Tease him as she might, Raoul would give her no more than a sisterly kiss, and generally, he avoided her. Aline went through the days in heated frustration, though that could be attributed to the fact that southern England was baking under a heat wave.

For distraction, she threw herself into work. When she wasn't preparing for the journey home, she was pestering Hugo and his friends for any and all knowledge of Guyenne, its people, its agriculture, and its trade.

From being fearful of the adventure, she now couldn't wait to marry and sail to a new land with her husband. The marrying was the important part, however. Why did they have to go north to be wed?

When her father rode into Hugo's yard, therefore, she threw herself into his arms with ecstatic delight.

"Hey, hey!" said Lord Hubert, staring at her. "What's up, chicken?"

Aline was suddenly tongue-tied, and it was Galeran who said, "She’s hot to marry Raoul de Jouray."

Aline went brick-red and wailed, "Galeran!"

But Galeran just grinned. "It's the truth. You two are probably responsible for this heat wave. It'll be a relief to the south of England to get you calmed down a bit."

Lord Hubert scratched his head as he was led into the house. "I thought you wanted the church, chicken."

"I've changed my mind, Father. He has land," she said quickly, getting to the important part.

"Has he? Well, that's something."

It was soon clear that Lord Hubert had decided he, too, should come to pay homage to Henry. He listened carefully to his daughter's adventures—a somewhat edited account— then took Raoul aside for a long talk.

Aline was left suddenly fearful. She'd never considered that her father might refuse the match, but now she wasn't sure. He clearly felt all the qualms she first had, and he wasn't at all swayed by charming smiles and broad shoulders.

Raoul came out of the room and just raised his brows. "He wants to speak to you, Aline."

"What does he say?"

"Go and talk to him."

Raoul was being infuriatingly uncommunicative, even by expression. Aline went in, rubbing damp palms on her skirts. "Yes, Father?"

Lord Hubert just looked at her. "Do you want him?"

"Oh, yes."

"Do you trust him?"

"Yes."

He shrugged. "So do I, though he might just be a fine trickster. You've always had a head on your shoulders, though, lass, so if you're sure, I'll not stand in your way."

Aline ran into her father's arms. "Thank you! He is honorable, and I do love him."

Her father patted her shoulder. "And you're like your mother, God rest her. Sensible and warmhearted at the same time. He wants to marry you here and now, chicken, but I'll make him wait if you'd rather."

Aline blushed. "Oh, no."

He chuckled. "Aye. I judge he'll serve you well in bed at least. We can get the contract drawn up today, since I gather you've already settled most of it, and you can be married tomorrow if you want."