Wild and Wicked (31 page)

“Yes.”

“Then you have heard a myth.”

“Oh, I think not. I overheard Frannie, the seamstress, talking to Iris, she’s the mason’s wife, and there was much discussion about a man, even a healthy man, needing rest before he was able to . . . do his part in the lovemaking. I see no reason that they would make up stories.”

“Mayhap they’ve just been with the wrong men.”

“So all men do not have this . . . problem?” she asked, blinking her eyelashes in mock innocence. She licked her lips, the tip of her tongue darting from the recess of her mouth in a flirty gesture.

He was suddenly rock hard.

“Mayhap you should judge for yourself,” he suggested, and pulled her tight against him, close enough that his resurrected shaft pressed deep into her abdomen.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“Do you doubt me now?”

“Well . . . ?” There was the hint of a smile upon her lips.

“Vixen!” His mouth found hers and he kissed her until she was gasping for breath. And then, as the night wore on, he dispelled any of her doubts about his manhood.

 

“I want to ride with the men,” Miranda announced as she walked briskly beside Devlynn through the bailey. It was early, the gray light of dawn barely streaking the sky, and a search party was being assembled. Collin and twelve men were about to set out to scour the fields, forests and towns separating Black Thorn from Serennog. Collin had selected those to ride with him and, of course, had not included Miranda, which had infuriated her. “I can ride as well as any man,” she pointed out, her chin lifting as if expecting her brother to contest her claim.

“I’ll not argue that,” Devlynn said as he strode past a pen where newborn lambs were bleating plaintively and ewes shifted upon beds of straw. Miranda skirted a puddle swiftly, able to keep up with his longer strides. “But your place is here with Bronwyn.”

“I’ll be gone but a few days,” she argued, her voice rising to the pitch that grated upon his nerves. “There are women who are trained to care for her.”

“’Twould not be safe.” He thought of his own son and how the serving girl meant to tend him had been drugged to sleep soundly so that Yale had been all too easily abducted.

“It is as safe for me as it is for the rest.”

“Don’t be a fool,” he growled, whirling on her so suddenly that she nearly ran into him. The hood of her cowl fell away and a few strands of hair that had escaped the ribbon at her nape caught in the wind. She was a beautiful woman, tall and regal, and stubborn as an ox. “Aye, you are a good horsewoman, and no one can fault your aim, should you need to use your bow. I’ve seen you handle a sword with the dexterity many men have never achieved, but, my sister, you are not a man and you are not viewed as such. You would be a distraction to the rest of the search party and, God forbid, if you were captured by the enemy, ’twould not only be your life that would be in jeopardy, but your virtue as well.”

“My virtue?” she repeated, color staining her cheeks. “You are worried about my virtue?” She laughed but there was no mirth in the sound. Folding her arms beneath her breasts as a cart pulled by a mule rolled past, she advised, “Leave my virtue to me, brother. Worry not.”

“I won’t worry. You will not be with the company.”

“Please, Devlynn.” Her fingers clenched in the folds of his sleeve. “I must.” Her eyes begged him, her mouth curved into an unhappy frown, and he had the feeling that no matter what he said, she would do exactly as she pleased. Miranda, like all children sired by Morgan of Black Thorn, had been born with a will of iron.

“’Tis because of Sir Spencer,” he accused and she did not argue her cause. “You are concerned for him. That is why you want to ride with the others. Need I remind you that you are a married woman? Mayhap you should return to your husband and Clogwyn.”

Miranda snorted her disdain for the old man. “He misses me not nor has he ever loved me.”

“Still, you are his wife.”

“By no choice of mine. Tell me,
Lord
Devlynn. Would you marry without love?”

He didn’t answer.

“You loved Lady Glynda, did you not—oh, that’s right, you were besotted with her, offered her your barony, bested your brother to win her hand.”

“Did I?” he asked angrily, and she paled. “Did I truly best Collin or was it the other way ’round?” For these past three years Devlynn had suspected that the babe that Glynda had been carrying was not his. The timing was wrong. He’d been long away and when he’d returned, not four weeks later, she’d begun to show . . . he’d never accused her of betrayal, had never known, but Collin’s reaction to her death had been more emotional than his own.

“You killed her!” Collin had claimed. “You’re a murdering bastard.” He’d set upon his brother with fists and tears, actually drawing his sword as if to cut out Devlynn’s heart before he’d dropped the weapon and fallen to his knees, weeping. Then the rumors had spread throughout the castle, towns and villages that Devlynn of Black Thorn, in a fit of rage, had murdered his headstrong, beautiful wife and unborn child.

Now Miranda was glaring at him with judicious eyes. “I think you should not lecture me of virtue and propriety, brother, when you are keeping a lady in your bedchamber. A
lady.
Of noble birth. Locked away as your personal whore.”

He felt a muscle tic near his temple. “Careful, Miranda,” he warned. “Lady Apryll is not—”

“I would hope not,” she cut in. “Now for God’s sake, Devlynn, allow me to ride.”

“I cannot.”

“You can do anything you bloody well want. You’re the baron.”

“And what I want, sister, is for you to stay in the keep. With the children. The search party will return soon enough. Besides, Clogwyn has written, asking for your return. I’ve not yet responded, but your duty is to him and your child.” She started to open her mouth to protest, but he sliced his arm in the air to silence her. “No arguments. As you so aptly pointed out, I’m the baron and you will do as I say.”

Defiance flashed in her green eyes as the morning sky lightened and the icy wind brought a promise of sleet. “You are baron because you were born with a cock,” she said baldly, “and I was not so lucky. Remember that I am father’s firstborn.”

“And a woman.”

“Aye. ’Tis the reason I’m not Lord of Black Thorn and the excuse for why I can’t ride with the soldiers.” With a toss of her head, she yanked up her cowl and swept past the carpenter’s shop. Devlynn pushed her out of his mind. He was tired of her complaints, sick of hearing that if not for her cursed gender she would be the ruler of this keep. ’Twas enough to give him a headache and, as for that comment about Apryll being his whore . . . the thought was a stone in his gut. How close to the truth was it? He heard swords rattling and realized that, for the moment, he could not worry what Miranda or anyone else thought. Despite whatever gossip was whispered within the thick curtain walls, Apryll would stay with him, locked safely in his chamber with guards posted at the doors.

As the wind died, he followed a curved path to the stables where the soldiers were already mounted on spirited horses, saddlebags filled and creaking as the horses shifted, weapons rattling and ready.

Astride his bay destrier, Collin grinned down at Devlynn. The nervous horse, as if sensing battle, minced and sidestepped beneath Devlynn’s younger brother. Steam shot from the bay’s nostrils, sweat already dampened his dark coat. Other animals were edgy as well. Backing up, pulling at their bits, feeling raw, unbridled energy charging the morning air.

“’Tis time,” Collin announced. There was something in his eyes that seemed odd, a smug gleam, and the smile he offered appeared false, as if he were holding a great secret. In an instant the arrogance was quickly hidden—or had it existed at all? Perhaps Devlynn was jumping at shadows, looking for traitors in the innocent. Aye, Collin had been in love with his wife, but that had been long ago. “I will not return without the rest of our soldiers,” Collin promised. “Tell Miranda to worry not. I will find Spencer.”

Devlynn nodded. “Godspeed.”

His face suddenly serious as death, Collin tugged sharply on his steed’s reins. The bay reared, front legs pawing the cold air.

Collin gave the beast his head.

Quick as lightning, the destrier shot forward, galloping madly across the wet grass of the bailey to fly through the main gate. A dozen riders took off after him, shouting wildly as their horses gave chase. Legs flashing, eyes wild, hooves flinging mud, the horses tore away from the castle.

Devlynn motioned to the gatekeeper for the portcullis to be lowered as the rumble of hoofbeats faded. Behind a veil of clouds, a pale winter sun was struggling to rise in the east, but the sun held no ray of warmth and as the gate to Black Thorn was locked, Devlynn was left with the eerie feeling that somehow he’d just sealed his own doom.

 

Apryll stretched and sighed. She was warm beneath the furs and snuggled deeper into the blankets before she felt the ache between her legs and . . . her eyes flew open.
Oh, God.
She sat bolt upright, alone in bed—Devlynn of Black Thorn’s bed.

What
had
she been thinking? Ever-changing vibrant images of the night before sped through her mind, each one more erotic than the last. Her cheeks flamed at the measure of her desire, the hunger she’d felt for this man, the wanton way her mouth had roved over the hard, sinewy muscles of his body.

Had she really thrown herself upon him? Held his mouth to her breast? Ran her tongue along the center of his chest and lower? She closed her eyes but the images remained. What must he think of her? How recklessly she’d tossed away her virginity. To a black-heart? Her enemy? Oh, for the love of God.

Flinging herself back onto the pallet, she stared up at the coved ceiling and cajoled herself. So she’d given herself to a rakish rogue, a man who didn’t care for her. So what? Things could be much, much worse. And, really, as she thought about it, the things she’d learned last night had been deliciously indecent. If given half a chance, she would do them all again eagerly.

Oh, she was a wanton! And yet she wasn’t ashamed. Nay, if the truth be known, she looked forward to sleeping with the Lord of Black Thorn again, to learning more in the ways of seduction and satisfaction.

Devlynn had not forced her, nay, other than not allowing her out of the room, he’d put no restriction upon her. Mayhap, after last night, he might change his mind upon keeping her locked and guarded.

She glanced at the door. Was it locked? Did he mean to keep her prisoner? Certainly not. Not after last night. She smiled to herself and blushed again. Oh, the indecency of it all . . . she should be chiding herself, she supposed, but her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. Secretly, though she would never admit it, she looked forward to the night, when she would again be in his arms.

She would talk to Devlynn, explain everything . . . surely there was a way to mend the rift between their castles. Both his father and her mother were dead, and Payton, perhaps he could find a peaceful way to satisfy his need for vengeance.

Geneva’s words whispered through her mind.

She smiled to herself. Was it possible? Could she marry the beast of Black Thorn? Was it truly her fate? The thought was not unpleasant. Surprisingly it brought a warm feeling to her heart and when she thought of kissing him again . . . she quivered deep inside.

She looked at the oaken door to the chamber again.

Surely, now, after last night, he would trust her enough to let her out of this room, if not out of the castle.

She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, humming softly under her breath, fearing that she was falling in love as she searched for the gold dress.

It wasn’t on the floor. Nor were the borrowed boots.

She froze.

No doubt Devlynn had discovered it upon arising. She cursed her luck and wondered if he expected her to stay naked within his chamber. Was that another way of punishing her? Of ensuring that she wouldn’t leave the chamber?

Furious, she stormed through the room to the alcove between Devlynn’s room and the chamber where Yale had slept.

Rounding the corner to the anteroom she stopped dead in her tracks.

All her silly dreams shattered in one moment.

She spied the dress hanging upon a peg, waiting for her.

Not the gold velvet gown she’d worn before.

Nay.

In its stead was her own dress, the gown Devlynn of Black Thorn intended her to wear to remind her of her sins:

Her mother’s bloodstained wedding dress.

“Bastard,” Apryll growled as she wrapped the coverlet around her torso. So much for her silly romantic fantasies. The beast of Black Thorn had said he’d mete out his own kind of punishment and this seemed to be part of it, to wear the damned dress in which he’d first seen her, to remind everyone who saw her that she was an enemy, to mock her for thinking he had a grain of compassion in his sorry, black soul.

She heard the door open and, hauling the bloody dress with her, she found Anne, the serving maid, entering the lord’s chamber. She balanced a tray on one open palm while the fingers of her other hand were wrapped around the handle of a bucket that she plopped into a corner. “Who brought this to me?” Apryll demanded, shaking the dress in her angry fist.

“I . . . I don’t know,” Anne said, her eyes rounding at the sight of the ruined gown.

“Did the baron ask that it be left here?”

“I said I don’t know, m’lady,” the girl repeated nervously as she left a tray of bread, cheese and dried meat upon the small table.