With Her Kiss (Swords of Passion) (8 page)

“My friends.”

“This is not wise. I will not destroy you and yours.”

With a gentle finger, he lifted her chin and gave her a consoling smile. “John is the one destroying his people.”

“Why do this for me?”

“We have been over this, Katherine.”

“Then we do so again! You gain nothing by this but war. Men will die. Boys, too. And you? You make John your enemy. You may lose your own lands and your title.”

“You must see beyond this.”

“To what? Geoffrey, John will hunt me down and take me back. You will go to the Tower again or, worse, he will starve you!”

One side of his handsome mouth tilted up in mirth. “He has not the men, the money nor the mettle to capture me. Not now. Not now that I have you once more.”

“Bluster cannot spare you his wrath.”

“I have more than bluster to foil him.” He nodded towards the plains where his men in arms camped.

“
What?”
she countered.

“Reason.”

“When has this ruler ever listened to reason?”

“When a force of his barons assembles against him. When he has a smaller retinue to back his claims than I. When he is wrong to take an heiress and abscond with her fortune, or when he demands a widow marry a man of his choosing, decades younger than she. Or when he seizes a noblewoman and shoves her down a hole to starve her. Men do more than object to the mistreatment of their mothers, sisters, daughters and aye, their widows. They fight for them.”

Kat nodded, chastised by his sentiments and his deeds.

“You plead sweetly, my dearest, but you do not persuade me to put you out to the misfortunes of the world. I can and will do more for you than you can for yourself alone.” He turned solemn. “Unless you tell me you have another champion I know not of, I am your saviour.”

She lowered her gaze to his chest. He spoke the truth, this big broad hulk of a man who had risked his life and worldly goods to rip her from that dungeon. Yearning to put her head down and let him fight her battle, she gritted her teeth instead. “John put Ferrer to the task of usurping my castle and my lands.”

“John will ever persuade men such as Ferrer to steal what they cannot earn. What confounds me is his reason to imprison you and treat you so vilely. Why, Katherine, does he do this?”

She lifted her eyes to his, her declaration not one many would believe of any other man than this King of theirs.

He focused on her with gimlet eyes. “Tell me.”

She owed him the awful truth. “John came on a progression through the South West last year as he has come nearly every time he has inspected the fortifications of the Welsh Marches. He had been tracking William de Braose and his wife Maud to no avail. He was wild, raving and always in his cups. I fed him and his men, and politely asked him to move on. He laughed at me.” She wrung her hands.

“Aye. And?”

She winced at the memory of John barging into her bedchamber, uninvited, full of wine and brash words. “I was a new widow.”

Geoffrey stilled.

She stiffened her lower lip. “Over the years, he had hoped to lure me to his bed. Last year, with no husband to deter him, he assumed he could pursue me more freely. He has the habits of a rabid dog.”

Not even a breath passed through Geoffrey’s frame. He narrowed his eyes on her, but saw, she was certain, only red.

“I refused.”

“As well any right-minded woman would.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. “I did not think he was so mad as to want a woman who would not have him. He has a wife. A comely one. An eager one!”

“And mistresses.”

She nodded, forlorn.

Geoffrey sent one hand over her back as the other drifted to her nape. Pressing her into his warm strength, he held her close and dear. She could feel him flex his jaw and tense his shoulders. “He takes as he wishes and expects us all to look the other way.”

She stroked her fingers up his throat. He was stronger, more tender and noble than she had credited. She cupped his cheek. “I fear for you.”

“Do you, my darling?” Geoffrey grinned at her. “Good to know. But you do no good to fret. I have made my choice in this matter.”

“I must free you from the service, Geoffrey.”

“You cannot.”

“I declare it.”

He caught her chin, his features rigid. “Katherine, I have taken you from John. His greed. His lust. And I will not give you back. My friends out there on that field believe with me that I am right. And more arrive by the day. Come let me love you while we wait.”

His tender declaration was more than she could bear. She worked at words.

He had no more. Only a sorrowing look into her eyes, a low moan of despair, then with a stark curse, he hauled her up into his arms and kissed her.

His lips crushed her own. The force of his possession knocked all else from her mind save his claim upon her. He broke the force of it and took her again, this time with a tenderness that took her breath. She flung her arms around his wide shoulders, sank her fingers into his long silken curls and gasped with the pleasure he so liberally dispensed. He anchored her neck and drove his tongue inside her mouth to sweep and seize and devastate. Willing and wanton, she gave as good as she got, plunging her own tongue into his sweet mouth, duelling with her desire to end this or surrender.

He kneaded her spine, rucked up her gown and stroked her naked derrière. Teasing the cleft, he growled and angled her so that he could insinuate his hand between them and sink his fingers into her cunny hair. She undulated, urging him on, and for her reward, she felt him find the crease of her swollen wet cunt and stroke her sweetly, softly there. She hung in his arms and let him have her. She let him caress her and possess her clit. She let him use her and persuade her as he uttered nonsense while he kissed her once more and again. She mewled and he pulled away, swept the garment away and dropped it to the floor, only to catch her up in his arms and carry her to her bed.

He sat her down, hovering over her as his gaze took in her nakedness. Sinking to his knees, he took one of her breasts into each hand and thumbed the nipples. They pebbled and she thrust forward.

“Nibble me. Devour me. I want nothing more in this world but you upon me. Inside me. Consuming me.”

He brushed his lips over hers, sank inside her and fucked her with tender ferocity.

Moaning, he came and she followed in a pounding crescendo of delight.

He slipped out of her, leaving her bereft. For he took with him her resolve not to love him.

Chapter Six

That night he did not come to her room. Without him, her supper seemed bland. She sat in a chair, growing weary waiting for him, and, uttering a curse, crawled into her bed. But the linens became unbearably cold. Curiosity consumed her, warming her mind in need of an adventure and a search for Geoffrey.

She rose, wrapping a cloak about her naked torso and sliding her chilled toes into velvet slippers. She took a brazier from a wall sconce to exit her chamber and investigate the upper hall. She had walked these halls often as a child. Sometimes, with playmates, she had scampered all the way to the cellars. She paused, her memory snagged on a vision of a door to the plain…

A door! Of course—that’s what she recalled. If ever Marshall and his family needed to escape, the Earl had ordered the stonemasons to carve out a small door at the western end of the castle where he and his retinue could leave at will undetected.

She must seek it out. Learn if it still existed or if the Earl had bricked it up. Because if John came for her and his siege caused famine and disease, she might well have need of that little door. No one would starve for her. She had sampled the ravages of lack of food and water. She would permit no one to die like that. No one.

Taking the winding stairs down, she clutched her cloak tightly about her. But as she arrived at the entrance to the great hall, she heard men talking. One, she knew by his gruff voice, was Geoffrey. The other, a younger man. A third, younger still. They spoke together quietly and she strained to hear them.

“We wait for word from Marshall in Ireland,” Geoffrey told his companions. “But whether he sends more men to us here or not, we will organise and drill his retainers in preparation for the possibility that John or his surrogates attack.”

“We have at last count this midday one forty-two men, milord,” declared one young man with a baritone voice.

“We can pray that the King cannot raise more than that, Reginald,” Geoff responded. “John has so few who are ready to take up arms for him. Fewer who will justify the capture and starvation of a woman.”

“You are assured of that?” asked the youngest man.

“Quite so. The king has backed himself into a corner,” said Geoff. “My friends de la Poer and Dunwick offer their own retainers and arrive as soon as they possibly can.”

“How soon will our lady be fully recovered, my lord?” asked the same young man.

“I would say within three or four more days,” Geoffrey answered. “I will not rush her.”

“And does she know that there are so many who support her?”

“She went up to the wall walk yesterday and has seen those who have come to aid her cause.”

Aye. That they might die for me is one miserable thought. But that their stance here might change the way that women are treated by John and his closest nobles would be a boon.

The men pushed back their chairs, the wood scraping on the rough floorboards. Kat sank back to the far wall, prepared to flee quickly.

“We meet again at dawn,” Geoffrey told them. Wake me, Reginald. You, too, young man. I bid you both goodnight.”

Kat scurried up the winding stone steps to her chamber. There she paced, awaiting Geoffrey, her mind awhirl with questions about the numbers of men they might expect and how effective any force would be against John or his friends.

But Geoffrey did not come to her.

At last, wearied by his delay, she reclaimed her bed. Sleep did not come easily. Her mind whirled, seeking out solutions to her dilemma. The one she concluded was most useful was for her to find that small door she recalled from her playtime with her friends. Exhausted by her failure, she finally fell to sleep. But it was fitful, her dreams vivid, lurid ones of a man taking her in sweet abandon. Awakening often through the night, she noted ruefully that when she had Geoffrey in her bed, she did not dream but slept the oblivion of the protected.

* * * *

The next day when the two maids appeared once more to fill her tub anew with steaming water, Kat was ready to stare down the resentful one and smile at the other.

They both did their duty quickly and left as silently as they had come. But when Geoffrey did not appear soon after, Kat cursed and went in search of him.

She found him in a small room behind the great hall’s dais. He sat at a table where stood one large ledger and two short stacks of silver coins. That was more precious mint than she had seen anyone possess in many years. The thought comforted, even if his absence from her side did not. “Where have you been?” she accused him like a badgering wife. “I need to talk with you.”

Looking up from the ledger, he arched a long ginger eyebrow at her. His eyes were puffed and bloodshot, as if he had worked late into the night. But a smile teased his lips as he raised both hands in surrender. “Very well. You have found me. Begin.”

“You did not come to bed last night. Where were you? Here? Counting your silver?”

“Counting our supporters who arrive by the hour. When I was done greeting them, it was late and I did not want to disturb your slumber.” He tipped his head, his eyes full of molten desire as they rushed over her linen shift and hastily tied gown. “I assume you missed my company.”

She lifted her nose. Of course she had pined for him. “You flatter yourself.”

“Shouldn’t I?” When she scolded him with a sideways glance, he pushed his ledger away. Then his gaze skimmed the bare skin of the tops of her breasts. “What else?”

She wanted him to elaborate on what she had heard him discuss with his two young retainers last night. The more she knew of his plans, the better she could tell about their prospects for success. “How long do we stay here?”

“Until you are able to devour a pigeon pie by yourself.”

He would avoid her with humour? She could play that game while urging him to leave here. She held her head high. “Get me a plump one.”

He examined her head to toe, then, seemingly convinced, he smiled. “I’ll order the cook to prepare one for your supper.”

“I’ll have wine, too. And a horse.”

His eyebrows shot high. “You intend to eat a horse, do you?”

“First, I will gallop with him.”
I must determine my own ability to endure a long ride.

“I see,” he said with caution in his tone. “I will have a gelding saddled.”

“Good. Let me know when he is ready.”

“We will both ride out,” he told her, insistent. “Shall I say this afternoon?”

She grabbed up hands full of her skirts, her demeanour gay and light. “You may. I need to be out of here and doing! Make certain you give me a spirited creature and a man’s saddle.”

“You wish others to know that you dare ride astride?”

“If it proves my hardiness, so be it. After all, servants talk. We know not to whom.”

He looked askance. “You have witnessed this?”

“No. But you know such things occur.”

“And?”

“One maid gives me the evil eye, although she has done nothing to provoke me.”

“Dismiss her then to the kitchen.”

“I do not wish to insult the good graces of my Lord Marshall by impugning his servants.”

“But she irritates you. Why?”

Kat bit her lower lip, ashamed of herself for an unfounded jealousy. Had Geoffrey not come to her often and proven his devotion in myriad ways? “I was wrong to intimate. Forgive me.”

“Nonetheless, my Lord Marshall would not want you unhappy. He would wish the maid banned from your presence if she is a nuisance. He demands, as we all do, a loyal service.”

She grimaced. “Where there is no cause for disloyalty, aye. Really, there is none.”

“Good. Come then, be of good cheer,” he assured her with a smile. “We will venture out in the sunshine today and show all what a fine rider you are. In days of old, you were a legend. And a vision on that white gelding of yours.”

“Give me a horse with spirit.”

He bowed, gallantly. “Your wish, my lady, is my command.”

“One more thing.” She picked at the cloth of her tunic. “While you are at it, find me more suitable clothes to ride in than these garments.”

He grinned, a light of humour chasing away his darker countenance. “Men’s hose, mayhap?”

She nodded with a saucy smirk. “A start. We do not want our supporters to think I am some frail dimwit. If they must fight for me, let them see they fight for one who is worthy of their sacrifices.”

“A fine tactic.”

“Besides,” she said with a toss of her head, “I wish to know which man here will give up his hose to a woman.”

“Not many here have such large”—he considered her figure—“hips.”

She snorted. “Thank God. Get me that horse. I must be up and about.” She picked up a silver piece from one of his stacks and rolled it in her fingers. She would bring him down a notch. “After all, I cannot lie abed waiting for you all day long.”

“No, but as long as you continue to miss me all night long, I shall call myself satisfied.”

She threw the coin at his chest.

He caught it and winked. “Call for your bath. I will come to you as soon as I have counted my funds and have new clothes for you.”

“Make haste.”

“Aye, my lady. You in a man’s loincloth. The idea spurs me on without delay.”

* * * *

Hours later, they took the two black geldings down to the river. The spring day was brilliant and a gentle warm breeze wafted over the flowering hillside.

“Think you we can safely stroll beside the water?” Kat ventured as they drew close to the bank, and out of sight of most of the knights camped before the castle fortifications.

“Today, aye, we can.” He scanned the eastern horizon.

She heard caution in his tone and followed the direction of his attention. “You have watchmen stationed out there?”

“A few. In the forest. Along the river.”

She caught apprehension in his words. “But you need more, don’t you?”

“We do. I have not every approach to the outer village manned. As soon as de la Poer and Dunwick arrive, we shall be better prepared.”

“Do we have enough money?” She paused, remembering his pile of silver. “To be more precise, do you have enough to fund this stand against John? These men who come to fight will need food and wish for some show of thanks for their service.”

“I think so, aye.”

“That sets me at ease. Though I wonder if we bankrupt you.”

“I fear it not.”

She smiled at him. “Your silver is full-valued, not John’s clipped coins of lesser value. You are, my dearest Geoffrey, a rich man. And thrifty.”

“I never speak of it.”

“Others do tell of your generosity, though. You are a legend in that. How you have aided de la Poer and Dunwick in their quest for justice for their wives and for themselves. How you treat your serfs with care and a gentle hand.”

“I am glad such news met your ears.”

She grinned at him. “I may have put out that I hated you, but I am a woman and I do listen to the latest news.”

He laughed.

A slice of fear cut into her joy in their ride. How could she see this conflict ended without bloodshed? Without Geoffrey’s disgrace or impoverishment? Was there a way?

She dismounted, leading her horse along by a tether. Geoffrey did the same and walked beside her.

Picking up a stone to throw and skip along the river rocks, she asked him, “Have you ever wondered why John is so covetous that he would strip his coffers and force his knights to fight for small and bitter causes?”

Geoffrey crossed his arms and sighed. “Men’s character is a mystery to me. His most of all.”

“John’s father was not like that. Or so I am told.”

“I have heard those tales, as well. His mother was a wise owl, too. I was in her company a few occasions. She commanded the room with her logic and wit, outshining Richard and John. Would that our King had inherited more from Henry and Eleanor than their cunning.”

She examined the circling ripples of the water. “I am not young nor a virgin. Why would he want me so badly as to risk battles, deaths and political conflicts with his barons?”

“John does not anticipate consequences. He merely takes what he wants and calls it his right. But, more important, you challenged him.”

“I am not the first woman to do that.”

“Perhaps not. But as it seems that he harboured such a passion for you for years, then you have sorely tested his manhood.”

“He is not desirable. Unless you like the thick-headed, brutish type.”

Geoffrey threw back his head and laughed up at the sky. “Ho! He cares not what others think of him. He knows what they
should
think. And that includes any woman who appeals to his particular tastes.”

“How can I appeal to him? I am not one to charm a man. I do not play at conquests. I never wished his attentions and remained a demure woman in his presence.”

“He would like a woman of right virtue.”

She stared at Geoffrey. “I am not that.”