The Truest Heart (21 page)

His mockery escaped her. Her breath snagged in her throat. Never had she thought to experience such unbearable sweetness. She dipped her head low, afraid her answer was starkly visible in the depths of her eyes.

He lifted his head, gazed down to gauge his victory. A soft laugh betrayed his triumph. “Oh, Gillian, I not only see it, I can feel it.”

And indeed, Gareth had already glimpsed her pleasure, reluctant though it was. No matter that she decried him to the ends of the earth. Her body betrayed her. Her body bespoke a far different message than the strident oaths hurled at him from lips that still glistened from the damp heat of his tongue.

With a ragged breath, Gillian tried to raise a hand to push him away. He thwarted her, trapping it back against her side.

She was suddenly frightened of the way she felt. As if she had no control over herself, as if she didn’t know herself and her emotions were flying all about with no hope of recapture. Why did she feel this way? She had no wish to give what he would take, as if it were his due.

She pushed aside the inner voice that whispered what she did not wish to hear. That it was indeed his right—his due—for he was her husband.

“Stop!” she cried.

If he heard, he ignored her. His mouth captured hers once more, holding her against him, dragging her tight against him—even into the cradle of his thighs!—so that she was aware of every long, powerful inch of him. Something hard as stone jutted the hollow of her belly. She could feel it stirring, as if restless. Growing… Her heart leaped into a frenzy. This was the part of him that was so different from her own softness—the part of him that would become a part of her. But it felt nothing like what she’d seen at the cottage.

His kiss was starkly sensual, blatantly bold. His tongue traced the outline of her mouth, then dipped along the seam, a silent demand for entrance to her mouth. Her lips opened. The plunging of his tongue erotically mimicked the act that was soon to follow. She should have been frightened, should have protested anew, but a languorous warmth had slipped over her. Her pulse clamored and her insides melted. When he swept her high into his arms, she caught at his shoulders instinctively.

The coverlet was soft and smooth against her skin. Yet when Gareth suddenly loomed over her, the reality of what was about to happen swamped all through her.

Very deliberately he placed his hands near her face, his knees alongside her narrow hips, straddling her. That smile she’d begun to despise crept across his lips, as though to tout his mastery over her. She hated that she was the king’s pawn … and now his.

Everything within her rebelled. All at once Gillian refused to submit meekly. Nay, she would not bow to him as if she possessed neither wit nor will. Everything within her demanded resistance, futile though it was. This was not Gareth, the man who had very nearly stolen her heart in the cottage. This was Gareth, lord of Sommerfield. Arrogant. Presumptuous.

Wildly she said, “Is this the bed where you took your wife’s virginity?”

Gareth froze. His jaw locked tight. The very air around him sizzled and cracked. His visage grew black. His features were suddenly a mask of pure granite, his eyes like ice.

His lips curled. “Aye,” he said heartlessly. “The very one where I’ll take yours.”

His mouth devoured hers, taking her lips with scalding passion. There was no evading him. No stopping him. He clamped his fingers against her scalp and held her lips captive to the punishing furor of his kiss. His chest was an oppressive weight that cut off her breath. His lips left hers; open-mouthed, he dragged his lips down the arch of her throat, clear to the valley between her breasts. Gillian filled her lungs with air, for she could scarcely breathe.

He was seething. She could feel it in every pore of his body. She sensed in him a ruthless determination. His patience had fled, his gentleness with it. Nay, there was no tenderness in him. She knew the difference now. She could feel it in the constriction of his muscles, the clench of his jaw, the brittleness of his features.

Straightening upright, he tore off his tunic and threw it aside. When he turned back, he was naked to the waist, clad only in his hose. Gillian’s mouth grew dry. She couldn’t look away. She’d seen him without benefit of clothes before, to be sure. But alas, this, too, was different. Her heart lurched. Her mouth grew dry as bone, for he exuded an aura of latent strength and vitality that could not be dismissed.

A dense, curling mat of hair covered his chest and belly, disappearing into his chausses. His arms were lean and knotted with muscle. The candlelight flickered, revealing the clearly visible outline of thick, turgid flesh beneath.

A shudder ripped through her. She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. Strong male hands closed over the pale white flesh of her thighs, parting them wide. She hated her vulnerability, her feminine secrets lying open and exposed to his gaze. There was no mercy in him, for he had no mercy to give! Nor would she beg or plead. Nay, she thought brokenly. Whatever might follow, she would not cry out.

Nor would she bestow on him the victory he sought. Though he would bend her to his will, he would not break her. Her conviction thus avowed, when he lowered his head, seeking her mouth, she jerked her head aside.

It was a vehement denial. A flagrant refusal of his kiss … and him.

Such sacrifice did not come without cost.

Sheer fury splintered through him. Blast her hide for spurning him so! With a growl, steely fingers bracketed her cheeks; by God, she would see him when he took her!

But what he found brought a vivid curse to his lips. He snatched a candle from the bedside table and held it above her.

“Don’t!” She dragged her elbow across her eyes, wiping away the evidence that still lingered on his fingertips. “Don’t look at me!” Her cry was half-angry, half-defiant… and wobbled pitifully.

For Gareth had already glimpsed the trickle of tears leaking from her eyes. Silent tears she’d held inside, that he would not know.

For one thundering moment, her tears did not erode the pounding in his brain, the red-hot haze of desire that churned within him and swelled his rod to stiff, painful erectness. Desire commanded his body, a desire that eclipsed all thought. All reason. All he could do was feel… and what he felt was a fire in his soul, the craving need to quench the hunger in his loins … to tear away his chausses and drive deep into her tight, virginal flesh until he exploded in ecstasy.

Should he stop? He didn’t want to. Sweet Christ, he didn’t think he could. Not with her lying beautifully naked and open beneath him. The temptation was almost more than a man could bear—than he could bear. Passion had taken root and would not be banished so easily.

A battle warred deep in his being—a battle no longer waged between the two of them, but solely within his soul.

It was a battle such as he had never fought.

He almost hated her then. For the tears that cracked his heart and left it open, deterring his plan. For rousing a pang of guilt he didn’t want to feel. For defying him and daring to accuse him. He wanted to tame her, to smother her impudent tongue with the fever of his kiss.

In a heartbeat he was on his feet. “Dry your tears,” he said harshly. “I’ll not bed a bride so reluctant.” He stared at her, his eyes blistering, his temper barely in check. “But bear in mind, Gillian, the king can count—and will no doubt be eagerly counting the days until you deliver a child. If you do not, we’ll both pay the consequence.”

Snatching up his tunic, he left her alone.

Gillian’s lips still throbbed from the fierceness of his possession. Suddenly cold as death, she crawled beneath the covers, uncaring that she was naked. Despair wrapped around her like a shroud.

Perhaps it was the strain and uncertainty, the tumult of the day, but the tide of emotion inside her erupted in a torrent of tears.

Before long, there was a silvery flash of light outside the shutters. The crash of thunder in the distance reached her ears. She turned her back to the window and hugged a pillow to her chest, but there was naught she could do to shut out the sound.

It came to her then. She had done naught but exchange one place of storms for another … and a patient for a jailor. Aye, she thought with bitter rancor, she had surrendered herself… to her executioner.

Chapter 15

Gillian woke the next morning feeling totally drained. For the longest time, she stared at the ceiling with burning eyes, feeling as if she’d been sucked dry. As if all emotion had been leeched from her. She could scarcely summon the will to crawl from the bed. Though she willed it not, memories of the night before crowded her brain… but no, she would not succumb. She would not think of him!

For sometime during the night, Gillian had sworn a vow to herself. Never again would she allow Gareth to bring her to tears. He already controlled her life. She refused to let him rule her feelings. Brother Baldric had said she was strong, and so she must be, no matter how difficult it proved.

With a sigh that seemed pulled from the very bottom of her being, she slipped from the bed. Her gaze chanced to alight on her clothing, lying in a heap on the floor. Hurriedly she gathered it up and draped it over the chair. It was then a knock sounded on the door.

Gillian dove for the bed and curled the covers up under her chin. Was it Gareth? Her heart was suddenly pounding. But no, she thought with a sniff, he wouldn’t have bothered to knock!

“Yes?” she called.

” ‘Tis Lynette, my lady. Your bath water is ready. May I come in?”

Gillian let go a pent-up sigh of release. “Of course,” she responded.

Lynette entered, a trail of maids with buckets of steaming water behind her. When they’d finished pulling out the wooden tub and filling it with water, the maids departed. Lynette remained.

” ‘Tis late, Lynette, is it not?”

Two bright spots of pink appeared on the girl’s plump cheeks. “My lord said you would be tired this morning, my lady.” She flashed a shy, dimpled smile. “And that we should not wake you too early.”

It was apparent from Lynette’s smile that she was under the impression Gareth had spent the night in his bed—even clearer that she was convinced he’d spent it with her.

It embarrassed her beyond words to crawl naked from the bed, knowing that Lynette believed her lord and his new lady had spent the night indulging in fleshly pursuits, when in truth they’d spent it apart. Oh, the devil take her vows! Where had Gareth slept?

One thing was for certain. She would not ask him, or any of his people. To do so would humiliate both of them. She winced inside. The prospect of facing him again was one she did not relish, especially in light of the way he’d stormed away last night.

After her bath, Gillian sat down to partake of the tray of food Lynette had left. It was simple fare, bread, ale and smooth, creamy cheese. She ate heartily, having eaten little the night before. Brushing the crumbs from her skirts, she heard a rustle near the door, which stood ajar. Thinking it was Lynette come to collect the tray, she called out, “I’ve finished, Lynette.”

But Lynette did not enter. Gillian glanced over with a frown, for she was certain she’d heard someone.

All that was visible were eight small fingers curled around the frame of the door. Before she could say a word, a blond head and a pair of impish green eyes followed.

Gillian blinked in surprise. She advanced closer, but not so near that she would frighten him. “Hello, there,” she said with a smile. “Would you like to come in?”

By then he’d presented himself in his entirety. He ambled several steps within, then stopped and regarded her curiously.

Gillian tipped her head to the side. “Are you lost, Robbie?”

He shook his head.

She suspected as much, for he looked neither lost nor forlorn. “Are you looking for Nurse?”

He shook his head.

“Have you run away from Nurse?”

Again a shake of his head.

“Well, then, let me have one more guess. Are you hiding from Nurse?”

He giggled, and bobbed his head up and down. Those incredibly green eyes sparkled. His impish smile was surely contagious, for despite her best efforts, one tugged at her own lips.

“She will wonder where you are, Robbie.” Gillian tried to sound stern and failed. “Surely she will be worried.”

“But you said I could come in,” he said promptly.

Gillian bit her lip. “I did, didn’t I?” She didn’t want to go back on her word. It would not set a good example for the boy. “Well, perhaps just for a bit. Then we’ll have to go in search of Nurse and let her know you are safe.” She moved to the bed and patted the coverlet. “Would you like to come sit with me?”

She’d barely spoke when he darted across the room toward the bed. It was set high off the floor and he could not manage it without assistance. With no hesitation, he lifted his arms for her to swing him up.

Gillian placed her hands on his waist and lifted. “Oh, good heavens!” she said when she’d deposited him next to her. “What have you been eating? You are heavy as a stump of fallen oak in the forest.” She spoke only half in jest, for he was surprisingly solid. All at once, pictured in her mind’s eye was the way Gareth had lifted the lad into his arms as if the boy weighed no more than goose feathers.

The image faded. “How do you know my name?” he asked.

“Well,” she said lightly, “I saw you ride in with King John and his party yesterday. ‘Twas then I learned your name was Robbie.”

His lower lip pushed out. His brows puckered over his little nose in a frown. “I do not like King John,” he announced.

Gillian lowered her head and beckoned him close with a finger. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered. “Nor do I. But it must be a secret,” she cautioned. “What do you say? Can you keep a secret?”

“A secret,” he breathed, then clapped his hands together. “I have a secret!” he chortled.

Gillian smothered a laugh. Faith, but it didn’t seem possible—to laugh when speaking of the king! She pressed a finger to the middle of her lips. “We have a secret.”