Lord of Hearts

by Gillgannon, Mary

  “Ah. That’s the Little People. Brownies and leprechauns. They’re different from the Fair Folk. The Fair Folk are human-sized. They could pass for one of us, if not for their exceptional beauty.” She turned back to the waterfall. “And then there’s the nixes. There’s likely a water sprite living beneath the falling water. If you look hard enough, you may see her face and her long hair streaming down. She might beckon you closer, but you must not heed her. The fey are cold-hearted and wicked. They love to lure mortals to their doom.”

  She turned to look at him again. The soft silvery light made her fair skin look translucent. Against the milky hue, her coppery hair and moss green eyes were more striking than ever. Perhaps she was one of the Fair Folk, he thought fancifully. Surely no mortal woman could be so lovely and beguiling.

  He moved next to her, locking gazes. “You could be one of the fey. You are beautiful enough.”

  *

  She’d never had a man look at her like this. Malmsbury’s hazel eyes were so intent. So yearning and hungry. As if he was a wolf and she a young, tender coney he longed to devour. But she didn’t fear him. At least not like that. What she feared was the way her body seemed eager for the touch of his. The way her skin thrilled at the thought of contact with his. Other parts of her had come to life and were experiencing a strange craving. As if her body was a flower, unfurling, opening, beckoning him to be joined with her.

  She reminded herself he was her enemy who she hated and despised. But the thought had no effect. Her mind might believe such things, but her body refused to do so. Her fingers still longed to touch his thick wavy hair. To trace the hard line of his jaw, darkened faintly with stubble. To stroke his muscular neck. And lower, to the broad expanse of his chest, where his flesh would be both firm and soft, the perfect cushion to rest her head against. She wanted to feel his arms around her and have his lips press against hers.

  He must sense her thoughts, for his hazel eyes turned smoky and dark. Then he was next to her and all her yearnings came to life as he pulled her against him. Her arms went around his neck. He bent his head and their lips met and everything flowed together. The world shimmered around them until they were not two beings but one. One wild, desperate creature that clutched and shuddered and kissed and moaned.

  She was drowning in sensation, sinking deeper and deeper into the swirling, shimmering magic. The scent of him, sunshine and sweat and maleness. His taste, sweet, yet edged with something dangerous and keen. His calloused hands stroked her back and then lower, cupping her buttocks and pressing her against him. She felt his arousal, firm and insistent against her belly.

  She wanted it. Her whole body ached for it. Her flesh was hot and fevered. She kissed him more desperately than ever, as if the greedy nuzzling, licking, sucking contact of their mouths would satisfy her need. It did not. That required bare flesh against bare flesh. A true joining.

  But their clothing was in the way. And the air was cool, and the ground was wet, and the only way to for them to mate would be standing up, like a stallion and a mare. And yet horses did not kiss and fondle and rub themselves against each other like they were doing now. And so, there was nothing for it but to keep clutching and kissing until they both went mad.

  Her reason was utterly gone. He must have still retained some, because he finally drew away and held her at arm’s length. His eyes were dazed-looking and stormy with regret. “Marared, we cannot…this is not the place…the way…”

  He swallowed, his mouth working. “I want you desperately, but I can’t think how we could do this.” He glanced around, as if he could force their surroundings to alter in some way.

  Freed of the savage, breathtaking pleasure his lips and body aroused, her wits began to reassemble. She realized what she was doing, and what she had very nearly allowed to happen, and went stiff with shock and horror. She’d been on the verge of surrendering to the enemy. And not merely surrendering, but yielding utterly, then reveling in her helpless submission. She’d been willing to not only let him take her maidenhead, but also to allow herself to enjoy every second of his absolute triumph.

  She glanced around frantically. “’Tis this place. I’ve been bewitched. Beguiled.” She set her jaw and fixed him with a steely gaze. “Naught has changed between us. I will not let fairy mischief take control of me. We’re leaving. Now.”

  She went to fetch Gwenevere, who had wandered away and was trying to graze. She hurried to the mare, desperate to hide her shame and mortification. Bad enough he’d seen what a lustful, sluttish whore she was. She would not also allow him to see her crying like a pathetic child.

  He came up beside her. “Here. Let me help you mount.”

  “Nay!” Her voice was a shriek. “I can manage! I can manage quite well without you! I don’t need the aid of a wretched Sais!” She jerked the reins and dragged the horse off. The tears nearly blinded her, but she finally found a rock and clambered ungracefully onto her mount. The path was narrow, and there was no way she could race off like she desperately wanted to do. But as soon as they were out of this wretched valley, she would be clear of him.

  *

  He’d wed a whirlwind. A fierce, elemental force of nature. His body felt raw and aching from the abrupt loss of contact with hers, and he was overwhelmed with a terrible sense of disappointment. Was it fairy magic that had turned her yielding and pliant in his arms? Some sorcery that changed his cold, distant wife into a woman yearning and eager?

  Gerard surveyed the tranquil setting. Although he felt nothing odd or supernatural here, that didn’t mean there wasn’t truly some enchantment in this place. If only it had lasted. If only the passion that burst between them for a few short moments had not evaporated like mist in a sudden ray of bright sunlight.

  But that was foolish. He was the one who had broken things off. And with good reason. He could not have bedded her here. There was nowhere soft enough nor dry enough to possibly allow consummation. And by the time they left the little glade and reached a place where they could continue their tryst, her mood would have shifted. After all, how long did any of her moods last? She was furious at him now, but by the time they got back to Tangwyl her rage might well turn to pensive silence.

  That is, if she went back to Tangwyl. In her reckless state she might ride off in the other direction. She could get lost or hurt herself. He’d better go after her. Although he knew better than to attempt to speak to her, he must at least keep her in sight. He fetched his own horse and mounted. His erection made riding unpleasant. He ignored it.

  Chapter Eight

  He left the valley, climbed to a nearby outlook and surveyed the landscape. Most of the hilly area was open, but there were a few hedgerows and stands of oak blocking his view. After a few moments of anxiety, he finally spotted the russet color of her cloak. She was headed away from Tangwyl.

  He hesitated. Following her might make her even angrier. But he had no choice. She might be used to her father’s territory, but she didn’t know this place. There were many hazards lurking in rough, hilly terrain. She was his responsibility. He had to follow her. Of course, the truth was that he wanted to be as near to her as possible. Her body drew his like a lodestone.

  For a time, her route took her away from Tangwyl. Then she turned back. When he realized she’d spotted him, he slowed Hearthfire. There was no reason to get close enough to give her an opportunity to lash him with her sharp tongue. Although, even her anger was strangely arousing. He enjoyed watching her green eyes flash and her face flush with rosy color. The passion of her fury reminded him of the passion of her kisses.

  A foolish thought, but then, this woman had that effect on him. Her fiery temperament not only drew him, but made his own grounded, reasonable outlook on life seem very dull.

  He followed her at a leisurely pace and wondered how long he it would take for her to cool down. Not long, he hoped. He didn’t want her to go back to avoiding him. Even if nothing could come of it, being near her fired his blood and made him feel mor
e alive than anything he’d ever experienced.

  *

  He was following her. At first, Marared was irritated. Then gradually her anger cooled, and she experienced a vague pleasure. Let him dangle, she thought. Let him brood, thinking how close he’d been to taking her maidenhead, only to have her pull away at the last moment. It had been a near thing, but she’d escaped.

  Unfortunately, her body seemed to get no satisfaction from her triumph. Her lower abdomen felt heavy and throbbing. Her nipples still tingled. And her mouth almost hurt, as if her lips were bereft at the loss of contact with his. She hoped Malmsbury was feeling the same miserable sense of loss she was.

  Was her response normal? She had no way of knowing. No one to ask. Her sudden sense of loneliness reminded her of her plan to ask Malmsbury to let her meet Aoife at Abergavenny. She’d obviously ruined that. After the way she’d rejected him, her husband would be in no mood to grant her any favors.

  Her wretched temper was always getting her into trouble. Now she’d have to bide her time before she dared broach the subject of meeting Aoife. Meanwhile, she’d have to endure the awful torture of being near him at meals, and at night in the bedchamber they shared.

  It had been difficult before this. To have him so close, knowing he was nearly naked. He wore only his braies when he slept. They concealed his private parts, but she felt certain he was well-equipped to satisfy a woman.

  Having observed animals mating, she had some notion of what sex involved. Although, unlike a dog or a stallion, men did not mount women from behind, make a few brief thrusts, and then go off as if nothing had happened. At least she did not think well-born men did that. If they had any manners, they surely took some time to flatter their partner and whisper a few fond endearments.

  But married people might not necessarily engage in such pleasantries. Her parents had been affectionate, but that was because they truly cared for each other. Her marriage was an altogether different matter. After all, if she had her way, her marriage would soon be dissolved, and she would never have to see Gerard of Malmsbury again.

  Which made it utterly absurd that she gave any thought to his attractiveness. She should be thinking of how to convince him to do this favor for her so she could escape this marriage for good. Somehow, she had to make up for her rude, insulting outburst earlier and get on Malmsbury’s good side.

  Should she ride back now and apologize? He might still be angry. Better to give him time to cool off. Then she would go to him and appear contrite and regretful.

  As she rode into the castle yard, she held her head high, buoyed by her plan.

  *

  When he reached the castle yard, Gerard dismounted and handed his horse off to the ostler. He’d given Marared plenty of time to get back to the castle. By now she’d probably hid away in the garden. Or maybe she was still in the stables grooming Gwenevere. It didn’t matter. He had no desire to confront her. At the evening meal he’d have to sit beside her and attempt cordial conversation, but until then, he could be free of her and the intoxicating spell she wove.

  He could not help wondering if she was right and there truly had been some sort of enchantment in the little glen by the waterfall. When he thought back to those brief moments—the feel of her lithe body in his arms, melding against his, her mouth eagerly returning his kisses. It did not seem real. Surely his prickly, hostile wife would never behave like that. After all, she hated him.

  He sought to regain his sense of resignation. Although he believed Marared would eventually let him consummate the marriage, he’d told himself it would likely be a grudging, awkward encounter. Nothing like the thrilling, ecstatic embrace they’d shared by the waterfall.

  He sought to banish his lingering arousal and regret for what might have been. Fairies and enchantments were silly nonsense, and the idea that his wife might come to desire him was about likely to come to pass as seeing one of the Fair Folk. He must stop thinking about Marared. The best way to do that was keep busy. He’d have something to eat, then ride out again. Lambing was past and had apparently gone well, to judge by all the lambs they’d seen. But he could always ride down by the river again and stop at the mill, or visit with some of the villagers. At least they’d be cordial to him.

  He went to the kitchen where he ate a quick bowl of pottage. Leaving the kitchen, he nearly walked into Marared. She halted, looking startled. Then she composed herself and said, “Milord, I have been looking for you. I wanted to speak to you about something.”

  Was she going to apologize? Surely not. And he truly did not want to hear her reiterate her determination to never let him have his marital rights. “I’m certain it can wait until I get back.” He felt a stab of guilt at being so short, but pushed it aside and moved past her.

  “Milord.” Her voice rose in obvious irritation. Then he sensed her fight for calm. “I wish to speak to you now. Mayhaps we could go to the—our—bedchamber.”

  He tried not to grit his teeth. Or to lash out at her. Did she think she had the right to command him? Did she truly think him that spineless and weak?

  “I…that is…I have a favor to ask of you.”

  He was surprised by how uncertain she looked. Was her discomfort feigned or real? How did she alter her demeanor so quickly, at a snap of the fingers?

  He almost refused, thinking it might be good for her to find out what it felt like to face rejection. But something in her face stopped him. There was no doubt she was conflicted. Perhaps her upbringing prompted her to apologize, even though her independent, contrary nature rebelled. An apology would salve his wounds a bit. At least it meant she recognized she owed him civility. “Very well.” He inclined his head to show she should lead the way.

  *

  How the devil had she gotten into this predicament? Marared wondered, as she climbed the stairs to the upper part of the castle. A voice that sounded very much like her mother’s answered: If you hadn’t seen fit to insult him, you wouldn’t have to apologize.

  True enough. But that didn’t make it any easier.

  She moved briskly, fighting anger. And something else: fear. She was afraid of being alone with this man. Not because she worried he would do something to her. His strict code of chivalry bound him too tightly. Even if she struck him, she doubted he would raise a hand against her. He might not even raise his voice.

  She felt deflated that she did not have a more worthy opponent. And yet, he was worthy. Somehow, with his calm and reasonableness, he had won all the battles between them. She was left with naught but bitter words on her tongue, taut nerves, and a disappointed body.

  A body that even now was reminding her that no matter how vehemently she protested, she had actually enjoyed his kisses and caresses.

  The discomforting thought made her want to swear aloud. Nay, she would not think about what had transpired in the glen. Her goal of meeting Aoife was what mattered. And her greater goal of getting free of this marriage.

  She paused when they reached the solar, still feeling a sense of awe that she had access to this room and all its comforts: the carpet on the floor. The comfortable, padded chairs. The ornate brazier that warmed the room on cold nights. And most of all, the glorious light. Even on an overcast day like this, the glass windows along one side of the tower let in enough daylight that she could do fine needlework without benefit of a candle or lamp.

  Not that she took advantage of the well-lit chamber. It was enemy territory and she tried to spend as little time here as possible. Malmsbury was her adversary; she must not forget that.

  She turned and faced him. His expression was impassive, but his hazel eyes were wary. He feared she’d lured him into a trap. Which she had. She was going to lull him into thinking she’d accepted this marriage, even as she used his generous nature to plot against him. Guilt tweaked her. What she was doing was dishonorable. Her father might understand…eventually. But her mother would be appalled.

  The muscles in her neck and shoulders tightened, and shame added to the po
tent brew of emotions making her stomach roil. She tried to smile, although she was certain it looked more like a grimace. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I should not have been so rude…and unkind.”

  He watched her with that watchful stillness she found so unsettling. As if he was a deep, mysterious pool. Monsters might lurk at the bottom. Or great treasure.

  “You asked me here to apologize? Are you so embarrassed to be seen talking civilly to me you sought out privacy for that?”

  The warm heat of a blush crept up her neck. “Nay, I…the truth is, I have something to ask you.”

  “What is it?”

  She took a steadying breath. Things were moving too quickly. If she asked him for a favor now, he would know her apology was false. He would clearly see she was trying to manipulate him and be suspicious. She had to lull him into complacency. Make him think she truly had softened toward him. She could think of only one way to do that. The thought of it terrified her.

  He was not stupid. Despite her vehement denial, he must sense she desired him. That her body—in complete defiance of everything she thought and felt—yearned for his. How did she admit to her attraction and yet stave off actual consummation?

  A plan came to her like an arrowshot.

  *

  Gerard stared at his wife. It was obvious she felt no contrition for brutally spurning him. She spoke the words by rote, thinking he was so malleable and desperate her false apology would pacify him, and he would agree to whatever she asked.

  “What is the favor you seek?” His words came out sharp and angry. He didn’t care.

  She gave him a quick, nervous smile. A dead giveaway of the falseness of her words. She knew he saw through her. That’s why she moved away and went to stand by the windows with her back facing him. She wanted to hide her expression.