The Fire and the Sword (Men of Blood Book 2)

by Rosamund Winchester

  With the greatest care, he pulled out, sliding off of her only to reach over her and pull her into him. She snuggled into him, her head cradled in the crook of his neck.

  They did not speak. He couldn’t speak even if he knew the words to say. How did one describe the power and the overwhelming pleasure he’d just experienced?

  With her body against his, he felt whole, complete, more alive than he ever was in battle.

  He peered down at her, where she was smiling into his chest, her fingers making slow circles on his belly.

  Bliss. Pure and beautiful.

  He sighed, astonished at the sight of her, there in his arms, at long last. Where she belonged.

  Just as he belonged to her.

  Elric lay there, staring up at the ceiling as Minnette slumbered beside him, her supple, well-loved body curled into his side. Her head rested on his chest, just beside his heart. Her naked breasts were crushed against him, and he could feel the steady beat of her heart match his in cadence.

  They made love once more, bringing each other the ultimate pleasure until they both collapsed in delirious heaps. He had never experienced anything so incredible in his life. Aye, he’d tupped before, had lain with a woman in the after-throes of their impassioned buffet of one another, but this was not like that. This was different.

  Minnette was different. And it wasn’t just because she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. It was also because she was light. There was innate goodness to her that shone like a beacon for those in the dark.

  As I am.

  When he was with her, his heart was lighter, the pains of the past weren’t as agonizing. With Minnette, he would breathe, he could feel something other than anger and guilt. With her, he was just a man, not a knight or a leader or a shamed son. With Minnette, he felt whole.

  “What are you thinking about,” her husky, sleep-heavy voice brushed hot air over his chest.

  He thickened at the sensation, his body coming awake at the most arousing of exhalations. Fighting back a groan, he answered, “Too much,” because that was the truth of it.

  She was silent for a long time, her breathing even, and he wondered if she’d gone back to sleep.

  “Are you regretting what we have done?” she asked, her voice tight.

  He tensed. Regret what they’d done? Never. It was more than he ever could have dreamed. She had been both passionate and innocent, and both of those things had created a partner that both excited and humbled him. She had given herself to him—him!—the man who couldn’t even keep her safe. She’d trusted him enough to offer what was most precious to her, and he did not take that lightly.

  You could offer her more. You have taken her innocence, a gift she could have given to any man. It would be unthinkable for her to marry another without first telling him of her lack of maidenhead. And what then? Could he live with himself knowing that he had taken something that robbed her of the comfortable life she deserved after all she had endured?

  She can be yours. Make her yours.

  “Nay, Kitten. I do not regret what we have done. I cannot,” he replied, stroking the arm she’d flung over his belly in her sleep.

  She pushed herself up on her elbow to look down at him, her ebony hair sliding over him like a lush kiss over his heated skin.

  “Then what troubles you so?” she inquired, her blue eyes marked with concern. “Can I help?”

  His chest ached at the sweetness of her question. Could she help him forget about how his mistakes killed his brother? Could she help him find a way to save his men from excommunication and the flames of the pyre? Could she help him destroy her own uncle? No, she couldn’t help him with those things, but her simply being there helped him remember what it felt like to find pleasure in the things he loved.

  Loved!

  He loved Minnette Calleaux with every fiber in his being. How had he not guarded himself against it? How could he have allowed himself to fall for the niece of his greatest enemy?

  She is far more than that. Aye, she was. She was his everything.

  He’d given in to his desire for the fiery beauty, and he wanted to do it again. And again. For as long as they both lived. There would be no going back now, not that he’d ever wanted to. Because right here, right now, was where he wanted to spend the rest of his days. In Minnette’s arms, near Minnette’s heart, and on Minnette’s thoughts.

  “Nay, you cannot help me,” he finally replied, making sure to keep his tone level. He could not reveal to her how vulnerable he was to her. He might love her desperately, but she could not feel the same.

  Could she?

  “Then what can I do to get that furrow from your brow?” she asked, her voice dropping into a purr. The whole of him filled with liquid heat, but he stanched the flow. As much as he wanted to thrust himself into her warm, wet channel again and again, he needed to keep himself sharp. He needed to find a way to save Minnette, his men, and, hopefully, himself from the cardinal’s machinations.

  “While I am eager to pleasure you once more, my love, I would much rather lie here, enjoying the simple delight of finally having you in my arms.”

  She giggled, slapping his chest. “Oh, you are too funny,” she teased in French. And, in French, he replied, “Not funny, honest, and maybe a little delirious from the ecstasy.”

  She melted into him and he closed his eyes, willing himself to remain where he was and not climb atop her, between her thighs, where he longed to be.

  “So,” she sighed, “should we talk then? I am ashamed to say that I know little about you, Sir Elric, save that you are a remarkable lover.”

  He chuckled. “That I am.”

  She slapped him again. “And so modest, too.”

  Laughter escaped his chest, and he was shocked by the ring of genuine joy in it. “I cannot admit to that.”

  She laughed, the sound alive and bright. “Your humor reminds me of my papa.” She continued laughing, but there was a sadness to it now.

  Kissing her head, he pulled her tightly to him, wrapping his arms around her securely.

  “Tell me about him.”

  She sighed and then nuzzled him with her chin before saying, “He was the best man I have ever known. Kind, gentle, intelligent, loving. He worked hard to be a good lord to our people, but he still found time to spend with me. I remember running into his study, and instead of shooing me away or chastising me for my unruly behavior, he would settle me on his knee and tell me all that he was doing. He hid nothing from me, always answering my questions, no matter how silly, and showing great patience.”

  “He sounds like a good man,” Elric murmured, unsure of what else to day. His own father had some of the same qualities but, instead of patience, there had always been a tense anxiousness about him. He was always on edge, ready to lash out. It was no wonder his stepmother had put so much of her love and attention on her son, his young brother Elton. And it was that desperate love for her son that had driven her to force her husband to banish his own heir from his rightful lands. And rather than deal with the grief of losing one son and taking his wife in hand, he had given in, taking the easiest route to reacquire the peace in his household.

  Elric wondered if that peace still stood. Had the Pridies taken the ransom money and left Marchande alone as they had promised, or was his abduction and imprisonment the first in a long line of such moneymaking schemes?

  He had been gone from home for fifteen years now. Perhaps it is time to return.

  “What are you thinking of now?” Minnette asked, her lips pursed. “When you are thinking troubling thoughts, your brows pull down and your face grows hard.”

  Heaving a sigh, Elric replied, “Tis nothing. Tell me more about your father. Is he still living?”

  Minnette’s sharp, critical squint told him that she was not fooled by his change in subject. But she must have decided to humor him because she answered, “Non. He died of a wasting illness when I was but a child.”

  “What sort?”


  “We do not know. One day he was as healthy as he ever was, and the next day he was abed, sweating, shivering, and muttering about sour wine. Every day, for two weeks, his condition worsened until he did not wake up again. Three days later, he was gone.” A sharp intake of breath was his only indicator that she was close to tears.

  Oh, his strong and beautiful Minnette. He pulled her closer, kissing her head again. Her hair smelled of roses, like the soap he knew Bell Heather made.

  “I am sorry, Minnette,” he murmured honestly. He knew the agony and grief of losing someone he loved, the empty place in his heart that grew as the loss only deepened. He knew what it was like to grieve endlessly, and to feel a sorrow so great it was like a disease of the bones, eating away at him from the inside.

  Intent on changing the subject, yet again, he asked, “And how did you end up here? Your mother is still alive, aye?”

  He could feel her nodding. “Oui. She is. But she has since remarried and welcomed four new children into her home.”

  Elric didn’t miss the bitterness in her tone or the way she’d said “her home” instead of “our home”.

  “Is that why you came to England? To give your mother time with her new family?” If she noticed how he’d said “her new family” she didn’t indicate it.

  “Yes and no. Her new husband did not wish to saddle himself with a grown daughter who would eventually need a dowry.”

  The bastard.

  “And the no?” Elric prodded, suddenly very interested in Minnette’s life in France.

  “Before my papa’s death, my uncle had been visiting. He and my maman spent much time speaking to one another, alone. At first I thought it strange, but I found I did not care. My uncle seemed innocent enough.”

  Elric wanted to sneer and bellow at the wrongness in that statement, but he knew Minnette had first-hand experience at the inaccuracy of what she said. So, he waited for her to continue.

  “It was long ago, so I do not remember much save that I went to my father with what I had observed. He seemed troubled by it, even murmuring about how his brother could not help stealing what was not his. I did not ask him what he meant, but now, in hindsight, I wish I had. It was not until ten years after Papa died, that Maman received a letter from Uncle Remi, offering to take me into his care to lessen the burden of grief on my mother. Of course, Maman took that opportunity, allowing Uncle Remi to pay my passage across the channel and welcome me into his home at Cieldon. Shortly after arriving, I met you.”

  But that was far from the end of their tale.

  “What do you think your father meant about Calleaux stealing what was not his?”

  She tensed, her emotions vibrating through her. “It means that Remi Albion Calleaux stole my papa’s name and used it, and my papa’s reputation, to gain a position he did not earn within the Church.”

  Something struck at Elric’s thoughts. He could remember that Minnette had blurted something about her father during the nightmare with Stringer in the cottage. “Cristian? Your father’s name was Cristian,” he remarked.

  “Oui.”

  “In the beginning, when you spoke of your Uncle Remi, I did not think to consider the cardinal.”

  “How would you? He had lied to everyone for decades.”

  “What about his reputation? How could a man steal that?” As flabbergasted as Elric was, he couldn’t focus enough to think of a way that would make sense.

  “My papa was a well-liked patron of the Church in France. He gave money, he offered counsel to the bishops in Nantes, and he spent many hours a week in prayer at the chapel in Locronan, where our estate was located. The priest knew him and loved him, and word spread throughout the country of his piety, charity, and wisdom.” She shook, so great was her anger. “That is what my uncle stole. He stole all that my papa had spent most of his life creating—his name as a man of God.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Calleaux is a fake.” Tristin dropped the words from his lips as though they were made of shite. “How is that possible? There had to have been reports, documentation supporting his claims of good works and favor among the French bishops. I cannot believe they would take his word for it.”

  Elric knew that Tristin had a point, but there was something they were missing. They just had to figure out what that was.

  “And how is Lady Minnette faring?” Bell Heather asked, her concern obvious. She was a healer by nature, and so she worried about the welfare of the body and of the heart of all those around her. When she’d come to tell him about Minnette’s recovered health, he could see the twinkle in her eyes, the one that said she knew what they were planning, and she approved.

  That morning, he’d dragged himself from Minnette’s side, leaving her sleeping soundly. She had revealed much the night before, much that needed discussion and investigation. But damn, he much preferred to crawl back into bed, wake her up with slow, heated kisses, and make love to her until the sun set again. But he couldn’t. He needed to put aside the needs of the man and, once again, take up the mantle of the commander of the Homme du Sang.

  “She is understandably heartbroken about it. How would anyone feel when they realize the man they loved had been robbed of his honor by a man who chooses to abuse it?”

  Bell Heather pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “Terrible. Just terrible.” She rose to her feet and Tristin followed suit, always the knight gallant, and looked down at his wife. She smiled up at him and patted his arm as a woman would an upset child. “I think I will check on her. Perhaps she will appreciate the company.”

  Elric stood, nodding. Tristin planted a soft kiss to his wife’s cheek and watched her leave the room, his eyes dark. Elric knew that look. It was probably the same look he’d had the night before, watching Minnette walk to him with that gauzy, utterly ravishing night nail. It was almost as though she’d worn nothing, but the fabric had clung to her breasts, her hard nipples, and her lush curves in a way that made him a praying man.

  He wanted to spend the rest of his life worshipping that body, and the woman who had stolen his heart.

  “If Calleaux is not who he says he is, that is grounds for defrocking and excommunication,” Tristin remarked and he settled back into his chair by the crackling fire in his father’s private study. Since Lord Harrington was traveling on Crown business, he had left the care and protection of Bridgerdon in Tristin’s capable hands. While Tristin had an elder brother, who was heir, his brother Fredrick was also gone on business for the Crown, traveling in Spain. And Tristin’s sister, Odette, was married and running a household of her own near Bath.

  “Have none of ye considered what this means?” Glenn interrupted Elric’s thoughts. Glenn had been sitting in his customary place by the hearth. He liked to keep his back to the wall but also liked to see who was coming and going from a room. It was a necessary thing for a man like Glenn, who depended on knowing to keep from dying.

  “What do you mean?” Tristin asked, his brows in a deep V.

  Glenn kicked out and crossed one leg over the other before crossing his arms. Elric knew that to be Glenn’s tense posture. What he was about to say was not good.

  “Elric, she told ye that Calleaux had visited her pater before he had died, that her pater had mentioned his brother stealin’ what wasna his.”

  It was like a sense of the sickest dread took root in his spine, twining its black fingers around his heart. “You think he could have killed her father to keep him from reporting Calleaux’s fraudulence to the English bishops?” Even as he spoke the words, he realized they were the truth. “Damn!”

  “Minnette’s father must have caught wind of what was going on in England and confronted him about it.”

  “Aye, and died because of it,” Glenn added unnecessarily. “I wager my best dagger that Calleaux thought ta use his brother’s name and reputation without any man in England ever findin’ out.”

  “But how is that possible?” Elric asked, incredulous. “Surely they do not let anyon
e become a layman cardinal. Does it not take years of selfless service and favor from the bishops before one can even be considered? Calleaux was not a priest, so that means he came into his position simply by falsifying his past.”

  “And if, say, Archbishop Checheley discovered that Calleaux had lied to get his position, he would he stripped of all his powers, excommunicated, and more than likely dragged naked through the streets before being burned at the stake as an example.” Tristin, though his expression was grave, sounded somewhat intrigued by the idea. Elric didn’t blame him, after all Calleaux had done to Tristin and his family, Calleaux was persona non grata. Like a pox of the arse.

  “I’ve killed a man fer less,” Glenn supplied, shrugging.

  Elric couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Oh?”

  Glenn’s eyes danced with mischief. It was a welcome sight at such a harrowing hour. “Aye. A bastard Sassenach thought he could piss on my new boots. I removed his pecker. He bled out quick and dirty.”

  Elric wanted to be shocked at Glenn’s words, especially since he could hear the truth in them, but he knew that there had to be more to it than that. Though he was a man of shadows and death, Glenn was not a heartless murderer, killing without purpose or need.

  Not like Stringer. Elric might not have been able to see much of the man’s face or look into his eyes, as dark as it had been in that cottage, but there was the stink of death and darkness about him, as though he wallowed in it, bathing in it like it would wash him clean. Aye, Stringer was a killer, an unconscionable one. And he was after his Minnette.

  “As much as I enjoy hearing of Glenn’s creativeness, we still need to determine how Calleaux was able to fool the archbishopric into handing him a layman cardinal appointment. Aside from his connections to the Camraros in Venice, he has little else, besides what he stole, to recommend him,” Tristin said, his face pinched in confused determination. He didn’t know what to think but he was determined to unravel it all.

  The Camraros were an Italian family with deep coffers and beringed hands in everything from the Church to politics to trade. How Calleaux was able to find favor with them was a mystery, especially since they had a reputation of being shrewd and suspicious.