by Alexa Aston
She started to speak but Lord Gregory raised his hand. “I know what I did was awful. I know I can never replace the people who took you in. Who loved you. But you have another family, Jess, and they wish to know you. You could live in luxury and be recognized as the lady you are. I will find a husband for you, one nearby so that we can see you often.”
He took her hand. “Please. Come home to Netherfield. At least try to get to know us. I beg you.”
Jessimond jerked her hand from his. “You know nothing about me, Lord Gregory. Who I am. Who my family is. Even if I come from the place you claim Sir Rodric left me.” Rage poured through her. “I don’t care who you are or who you think I am. I am not your child and never will be.”
She whirled and saw Moss standing nearby, watching over her while she spoke to men he didn’t know. He hurried toward her.
“I need Peter,” she cried.
“He’s back at camp,” Moss said.
Jessimond lifted her skirts and ran. She didn’t dare look back. Tears of anger streamed down her cheeks. How dare this man appear and claim her as his, especially after what he did to her mother. As she raced away, her anger melted and turned to sorrow for the lost innocence of her young mother at the hands of that knave. Gregory de Challon had plied an inexperienced young woman with sweet words and sweeter kisses, claiming to love her even as he deserted her and made a life on his own. He’d kept his title, gained a wife, and had children—while Celia Achard had died on the road with Jessimond by her side.
She wondered what her mother had named her. Though she wished she could ask Sir Rodric, Jessimond determined never to reveal to him or the baron that she was, indeed, that babe.
Arriving at camp out of breath, she saw Peter entering with a stack of firewood in his arms. One look at her and he dropped it, hurrying toward her.
Her friend didn’t ask what was wrong. He merely enfolded her in his arms and held her. Jessimond cried a river of tears for the mother she’d lost and would never know. Finally, her sobs subsided.
“Is it Marcus?” he finally asked.
“Nay. Oh, Peter. ’Twas my father.”
“Lord Geoffrey is here? I thought we wouldn’t see him until we arrived at Lord Ancel’s estate.”
Jessimond composed herself. “Not my father. The man . . . the man who . . .” She couldn’t continue.
Somehow, Peter understood and wrapped his arms about her again. Jessimond let him rock her. The steady motion calmed her.
“Lord Geoffrey is your father, Jess. Lady Merryn is your mother. The de Montforts are your family,” Peter softly insisted. “Nothing—no one—will ever take you away from them. You are a de Montfort daughter as much as Lady Alys and Lady Nan are. No matter who claimed to have fathered you and what woman birthed you, you have been a de Montfort since you were only a few days old. Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn and all of your brothers and sisters love you and cherish you.
“Sit,” he encouraged. “Tell me everything that happened.”
Slowly, Jessimond recounted the entire incident. Peter kept quiet throughout, merely nodding as she spoke.
“I wish never to see him again,” she said vehemently. “Not after what he did to her.”
Peter said, “I wouldn’t judge Lord Gregory too harshly, Jess.”
When she began to protest, he silenced her. “He was young himself. Foolhardy. Selfish. And betrothed. It sounds as if he did love Lady Celia and regrets his actions. If you choose to have nothing to do with him or your half-brother and half-sisters, that is up to you. At least you now know your background.
“And if you change your mind, you know where to seek him.”
A numbness overtook Jessimond. “I think I will lie down. Could you see to the stew?”
“Of course.”
She stumbled to her tent and collapsed upon the pallet. More tears came as she thought over what Peter said.
Her mother and father had been young. Reckless. They hadn’t thought through the consequences of their coupling. They’d been caught up in loving one another.
She thought of what might have happened if she and Marcus had continued in their love play. Each time he touched her and brought her to new heights of pleasure, she realized how much control he must have exercised in not taking things further. If he had, Jessimond might have found herself in the same position as her mother. Alone. Unwed. With child.
Sitting up, she scooped water from the small bowl next to her bed and splashed it across her face. She breathed deeply and evenly, until she knew she was in control of her emotions once more. Leaving the tent, Jessimond walked determinedly back toward the faire.
As she hoped, Lord Gregory and Sir Rodric stood near where they’d spoken, as if they’d waited for her to reappear. She approached them, steeling herself.
“I am sorry I fled, my lord,” she said to her birth father. “What you revealed took me by surprise.”
He gave her a grateful smile. “I knew it would be difficult for you to hear, Jess.”
“Jessimond. My name is Jessimond.”
“’Tis a lovely name.”
“What was my name? Before?” she asked.
“Lady Celia hadn’t chosen one yet,” Sir Rodric said. “She was waiting to find the exact name that would fit you.”
“My sister named me,” Jessimond revealed. “Nan was walking with my father when they stumbled across me.” She smiled. “She’s still very proud of discovering and naming me.”
“You’ve . . . you’ve had a good life?” Lord Gregory asked hesitantly.
“Aye. A wonderful life with parents and siblings who showered me with love. I have three brothers and two sisters. They’ve all wed now. I am the youngest.”
Still, Jessimond held back. She wasn’t ready to tell these men that she was a de Montfort.
“I plan on returning to Kinwick once the mummers conclude their tour,” she continued.
“Would you ever consider visiting Netherfield, Jessimond?” the baron asked. “Byrom, Lina, and Lora would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Her siblings . . .
“Lora is the eldest at eight and ten. Byrom is six and ten. Lina is the youngest at two and ten. My wife, Egelina, died giving birth to Lina.”
She wanted to remain loyal to her de Montfort kin, but Jessimond yearned to meet these three.
“I won’t make any promises to you, my lord, but I will think on it.”
“Would you like me to write to Lord Geoffrey?” he asked. “I know you would need his permission to leave.”
“Nay. If the time comes and I am comfortable coming to Netherfield, I will speak to the earl myself.”
Jessimond saw so many things in the nobleman’s eyes. Hope. Regret. Even love. He had never seen her until today yet she understood that he loved her—because he had loved her mother.
“Celia would be so proud of you, Jessimond,” he said. “You favor her so much but you are much more confident. She was shy and always wanted to please others.”
Jessimond thought she had more in common with her mother than looks. Before embarking on the tour with the mummers, she had been much quieter, a nurturer who looked to help others before herself.
“Thank you for considering a visit one day,” Lord Gregory continued. “I won’t bother you anymore. Sir Rodric and I will return to Netherfield. It lies just south of Denwell, not half an hour’s ride. I want you to enjoy your time singing and not worry if we are in the crowd.”
A deep longing overwhelmed her. Jessimond impulsively embraced him. His arms went about her and held her a long moment before releasing her.
“Thank you for telling me the truth about my origins,” she said. “Mayhap we’ll meet again one day.”
“It will remain my fondest wish,” he said.
Turning to Sir Rodric, the baron nodded. Both men walked away. Neither glanced back at her. Jessimond’s throat swelled, thick with emotion.
When she’d first had the idea, she hadn’t known what touring with
the mummers might bring. Now, she’d learned of her birth parents and also fallen in love. She would return to Kinwick a much different person.
Slowly, Jessimond walked back to camp.
Chapter 17
Marcus eagerly unloaded the mummers’ wagons and set up the tents in a circle for the last time. They had arrived at Glenmore, the final stop on their tour, at noon today. Lord Simeon de Grey’s estate lay adjacent to Hartefield, though the keeps of the two great estates were well over three hours apart. In fact, de Grey had instructed the Vawdrys to use a field far from the castle grounds. Just the other side of the brook that ran nearby the tents was Hartefield lands and at the edge of Hartefield stood his family’s hunting lodge. He planned to take Jess there so they could speak privately.
She had prepared their evening meal early since every belly grumbled loudly after the hard labor of this afternoon. Before they ate, Marcus pulled Rand aside.
“I want you to ride to Harte Castle after eating,” he told his friend. “Avoid my father if you can. Find out what has gone on since we left in the spring.”
“And if I do run into Lord Charles?” Rand asked.
“Tell him you and I will return at the end of the week.”
Rand nodded and they joined the end of the line that had formed. Jess dished up their food and they moved on to where Agatha gave them thick slices from a round of cheese.
Marcus watched Jess and wondered what had changed in her. Ever since they’d been at Denwell, she seemed more reserved. He regretted that they no longer washed the dishes together after the evening meal. When he’d been injured, that task had been assumed by Peter and Agatha. Once Marcus returned to the troupe, the pair continued to handle it. He realized the couple enjoyed their time away from others.
Just as he had. With Jess.
He’d deliberately withdrawn from her since his accident. That was something he would address with her. He scooped the last of the food into his mouth and swallowed whole, ready to set things right with the woman he loved.
Marcus could only admit that to himself. The hurt he’d watched his mother endure and her constant warnings to her son to guard his heart from love rang in his mind. He refused to tell Jess that he’d fallen in love with her. He would convince her to wed him with his actions alone.
Rising, he placed his bowl into a basket at the same time she did.
“Can we go for a walk?” he asked her.
Her brows rose and she pursed her lips. He was afraid she might turn him down.
“There are things I would like to say to you,” Marcus said softly.
A look of resignation crossed her face. “If you must.”
Marcus indicated the way for them to walk. He was afraid to take her elbow since she seemed jittery.
“Why don’t we walk toward the meadow?” she questioned, as he entered the woods.
“I have some place in mind,” he replied.
Following him, she said, “You seem to know where you are going.”
Marcus halted. “I do.”
He took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. Warmth flooded him. It had been weeks since he’d dared to touch her. When she threatened to pull away, his fingers tightened around hers.
“Come along. It’s not far.”
He led them to a narrow place that would allow them to cross the brook, though they’d need a running start. Marcus broke out in a run, pulling Jess along, leaping at the last minute when they reached the water. They both sailed across easily and he tugged her up the bank. Within a few minutes, they reached the de Harte hunting lodge.
The structure stood at the far end of Hartefield and hadn’t been used much as he grew up. Though the handle turned easily, the door stuck. He threw his shoulder into it, forcing it open, and stepped inside. Marcus allowed Jess to enter and then shut the door behind them.
“Where are we?”
He led her to the stairs and sat on a step, pulling her down beside him.
“We are on my family’s lands.”
He watched Jess think about that and saw understanding dawn in her face.
Continuing, he said, “We are at Hartefield, home of the Baron of Harteley. De Hartes have lived at Harte Castle for many years.”
“And you are a de Harte. The son of the baron.”
“Aye, Jess. I am.” He brought their joined hands up and pressed a fervent kiss to her knuckles.
She frowned and pulled her hand from his grasp. “I don’t understand, Marcus. You have ignored me ever since you were injured. Weeks have gone by and you’ve barely said two words to me—much less touched me. Now, you bring me here and tell me you are the son of a baron. What do you want from me?”
He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I want you, Jess. All of you. I haven’t spoken to you or kissed you because of how much I desire you. Every time I touched you, I tumbled deeper into the abyss. You and I played with fire, sweetheart, and I did not want either of us to be burned.
“We’re at my home now. Where I’ve longed to bring you ever since we met. I want to marry you, Jess. Bury my seed deep within you. I long for you to have my babes—a dozen of them. I need you by my side. In my bed. I want to laugh with you. Share my day with you.” He paused. “Even sing with you, if you wish. All I know is that I cannot live unless you are in my life every day. When the mummers disband, I want you to come to Harte Castle so we can wed.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought you no longer cared for me,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “You ignored me. I believed you pushed me away because you’d tired of me. Or didn’t want to commit to me.”
Marcus laughed and kissed her swiftly. “Nay. The opposite, my love. Being near you drove me mad with desire. I couldn’t speak to you without wanting to kiss you senseless. I feared if I touched you again, I would tear your clothes from you and take you, wherever we were.” His thumbs stroked her cheeks. “I think of you with each breath I take. Every step I make. You are the only woman I want, Jess. No other.”
He kissed her deeply, tasting her again after so long a time. As he did, he knew he could no longer wait. Breaking the kiss, he scooped Jess into his arms and ascended the staircase. Marcus brought her to a bedchamber and placed her on the bed.
Kneeling beside her, he said, “My desire for you is strong, love. I know we haven’t made our vows yet but more than anything, I long to make you mine.” He paused. “We can marry in a week but I need you now. Are you willing to commit your body to mine?”
Jessimond gazed at the face of the man she would always love. She had thought she would wed at Kinwick, her family smiling as she did so. Mayhap, that still might occur. For now, though, she needed Marcus inside her, branding her as his.
She took his face between her hands. “I love you,” she said. “Come to me. Make me yours.”
He stretched out alongside her. They turned to face one another. He kissed her brow. Her eyelids. Her nose and cheeks. Her lips. His hands roamed from her face, down her neck, and slipped inside her clothing. Her breasts had ached for his touch and now they were rewarded with it, the nipples springing to life as he teased them.
“Enough of this,” he proclaimed.
Marcus sat up and pulled them from the bed. Before she could ask why, his fingers found the edge of her tunics and pulled them up, over her head. He tossed them aside and stared at her in wonder.
“You are perfect.”
He removed her boots and quickly doffed his own clothing. Standing before her, he looked hewn from rock. Jessimond found she held her breath as she gazed upon him. Then he nudged her back until her legs touched the bed. They fell upon it and Marcus feasted upon her. She felt treasured with each stroke of his hand and tongue. He lovingly tasted every bit of her until she cried out for more.
“Do you want this?” he asked, his smile wicked as he parted her folds and a finger glided inside her.
“Aye,” she said breathlessly.
“And this?”
His tongue repl
aced his finger, darting in and out of her. Jessimond whimpered as his hands clutched her buttocks and his mouth devoured her. The familiar pressure built into a crescendo which erupted with such force that she screamed his name. Her hips bucked as her head whipped from side to side, waves of hot pleasure consuming her until she stilled, limp and unmoving.
Then Marcus hovered over her. He slipped his member inside her, stretching her until she started to protest.
“Nay, you are too large, Marcus,” she said, panicking. “I cannot take all of you.”
He kissed her. “You are tight because you are a virgin, sweetheart, but your juices flow for me. Your body wants mine. It needs for us to join together. Trust me.”
She gazed into the face she loved. “I do. Always.”
With that, he thrust once, covering her mouth with his.
Blinding pain struck. She tried to push him off but his hands captured her wrists and raised them above her head. He remained still, only his lips caressing her throat. Gradually, she became used to how he filled her. The pain had receded. Something built within her again. Without thought, Jessimond’s hips pushed upward.
Marcus took that as a sign and left her, only to return again. She sucked in a quick breath but found no pain accompanied his movement this time. As he continued to move within her, she tried to bring her hands down to stroke him but he still pinned her wrists above her. His mouth slipped to her breast, sucking, laving, teasing her while he continued to thrust slowly.
He pushed her wrists together and captured them with one large hand. The other trailed leisurely down her body. As his thrusts grew more rapid, his thumb found the nub that drove her wild. He circled it, pressing harder as his pace increased. Jessimond wriggled underneath him, her whimpers now becoming pants and then moans.
Suddenly, Marcus strained against her as a sea of stars exploded. She cried out and he did the same and they rode an undulating cloud of joy that went on and on. Finally, he collapsed upon her, spent.
“I cannot move,” he groaned. “I may never move.”
