She read it several times. If someone else read it, they might think she and Nicolas had had an argument, that some problem had come between them, and that she wanted to heal the breach. If questioned, Tabitha could certainly say that that was what she meant. But Nicolas would remember that the last time their eyes met, her bedchamber window had separated them. He would know that she was alone tonight and that she would open the window for him.
So much depended on this. He had to come tonight. Did she dare write anything more plain?
From the inner chamber, she heard Mistress Florain asking Pamela if she wanted to wear a shawl. Pamela decided it was too warm an evening. Tabitha quickly folded the letter and sealed it, then blew a stream of air onto the seal to dry it. She pulled the bell cord to summon Lise, and when the chambermaid entered the room, the letter to Nicolas was within the stack of other thank-you notes on the tray. “Make sure our messenger delivers all of these today,” she instructed. “I waited too long to write them and have no wish to appear rude.”
“Yes, m’lady.” Lise curtseyed and took the letters away. Tabitha went to her window again and opened it a hand’s breadth. If Mistress Florain asked about it, Tabitha would take her cue from Pamela and say that it was too warm an evening and that she needed the air.
She stood at the window, her mind racing. The message was being delivered. Nicolas would come. Her father was already out on some business. Tabitha now needed Mistress Florain to keep to her previous habit. On those few nights when Pamela had gone out but Tabitha had stayed home, Mistress Florain had always helped Tabitha to bed as usual, but then had gone downstairs to the small parlor to wait for Pamela to return, with a book or her tatting to keep her awake. If Mistress Florain stayed downstairs this evening, she would not be able to hear anything from Tabitha’s bedchamber. That was very important, for if Mistress Florain caught Nicolas, the shock of it might make her scream and awaken the entire household. It was imperative that Tabitha and Nicolas, together, calmly told her father that they were, in a real way, already married. She needed Nicolas strong by her side to face her father’s anger, not trying to escape through an upper-floor window. This window. She laid her hands on the casement and dared to send God a quick prayer. Please. I love him so much.
Pamela showed her pink gown to Tabitha, who admired it and acted disappointed that she was not permitted to go to the party too. Pamela promised to tell her all about it. Once she had gone, Mistress Florain turned to Tabitha with what she probably meant as a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s hard for you, dear,” she said consolingly. “But I also know that you understand why your father the duke is so concerned.”
Tabitha nodded.
“Would you like to play cards? Or we could work on the sea-life tapestry if you like.”
“No. I would rather just read in bed.”
Mistress Florain pursed her lips in a way that meant she thought Tabitha was sulking, but she helped Tabitha into her silk nightgown and robe and lit more candles for her. Tabitha held her book open on her lap but did not read, listening instead to make sure Mistress Florain went downstairs. When she did, Tabitha let out the breath she had not realized she had been holding.
Night fell so slowly. She could hear sounds from the city beyond the garden hedges, most muffled, but some curiously clear. A breeze came in the window and fluttered the curtain, then grew stronger, so much so that Tabitha almost got up to close the window. She spent time brushing her hair, over and over again. She lit even more candles.
Nicolas. Nicolas. My love, where are you?
A hundred things could have happened. The note might have been delivered to the wrong suitor. It might have been delivered after Nicolas had left for the evening. It might have been delivered in time, but he had not read it. Or he had read it but had not understood it. Or he had read it and understood it but did not want to take the risk. Or he had come, but had not found a way over the hedge, or past the gate with its guardsman and dog. Or he had come, but had gone to the wrong window.
She paced, she brushed her hair, she inspected her face in the mirror, she peeked out the window. Once or twice she even tried to read.
Then, suddenly, she heard a single hard tap on the glass. A pebble.
Her heart pounding, her throat closing, she hurried to the window. At first she saw nothing, but when she pushed it open further, she saw his beloved face turned up to her. He was here. He was here. The candlelight from her chamber spilled down just enough for her to see his beautiful eyes. “My lady?” he whispered.
“Nicolas,” she sighed.
“Open the window more and step back,” he whispered, motioning with his hand.
He is here. He is here! Tabitha slowly pushed the window open to keep it from creaking, then backed away. The noise of his climb seemed horribly loud. Tabitha winced at every scrape of his boot and every huff of his breath, listening as hard as she could for any sounds from the house. Below her bedchamber was a storage room which led out to the garden and which should be empty at this hour, but it was not far from the chambers of some of the servants. Quiet, she prayed. Everything is quiet. Nothing is happening. Everything is quiet. Nothing is happening.
Nicolas pulled himself up to the casement and sat there for a moment, peering in. He was wearing simple, dark clothes, and his blonde hair shone gold in the light of her candles. “I found a spot on the river side where it’s easy to get over the wall,” he whispered.
“You did?” She sounded stupid, she knew, but she could not help it. He was here.
“Easy for me, at least.” He grinned and swung his legs over the casement. He was in her bedchamber. He was here.
She stood frozen in place as he gazed at her. His eyes moved from her face and slowly down her body. Finally he whispered, “I love looking at you. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
Tabitha trembled as he walked up to her. He cupped his hands around her face and kissed her deeply. His mouth tasted like cool wine. Nicolas. You are here. You are with me. I love you.
He kissed her lips and her neck, and then he held both her hands in one of his and caressed her cheek with the other. “I dreamed of this,” he murmured.
“So did I,” she whispered.
He looked into her eyes. “You are sure you want it to be me?”
“Yes.” She had never been more sure of anything in her life.
“I am honored, my lady.” He kissed her again, and Tabitha closed her eyes, feeling like she was floating among the stars.
He undressed her. It was lovely. He sprinkled kisses on her shoulders as her robe slipped off. His fingers stroked her thighs as he drew up the hem of her nightgown, and a shiver arched her back when he touched her breasts. When he took off her bloomers, she gasped to feel his warm breath on her legs.
“Lie down,” he whispered, and once she was settled on her bed, he lifted her arms to lie on the pillow above her head. Then he moved her leg to lie with half-bent knee against the other. It was a pose, she realized. He was posing her as if he would be painting a picture of her.
He stood over her for a long time, just looking at her, and it made her feel both hot and shivery. When she sighed to try to steady her breathing, his eyes met hers again. “I want to remember you like this,” he explained softly. “For the rest of my life, I want close my eyes and see you like this. Naked and pure.”
Not pure. She almost told him. She opened her mouth to confess, but closed it again. It did not happen. Alain did not happen.
Nicolas tilted his head. “What?”
“You. I want to see you too.” She had never gotten to see Alain.
He gave her that irresistible grin and unbuckled his belt.
His chest and arms were covered with curly blonde hair. His shoulders were broad, his stomach was flat, and his legs were long. But Tabitha bit back a gasp when he turned back to her after dropping his breeches. That was his cock. She had seen three separate drawings of nude men, and she had even seen a statue of one, but hi
s was so big. Had Alain’s been that big? How had it fit inside her? It seemed impossible. Was that why Alain had not hurt her? Because his cock had not been that big?
Nicolas knelt on her bed and touched her knees. She did not open her legs. She wanted this, she wanted him, but now she was frightened, and she shut her eyes. Icy cold shivered her spine.
“It will hurt at first,” he said, rubbing slow circles on her knees. “It always does the first time. Nothing I can do about that.”
She knew it did not always hurt the first time. She knew that if he slowly opened her, like Alain had, it would not hurt at all. But his cock was so big. She could only open so much.
“Tabitha.” The desire, the need in his voice sent a wave of heat through her, melting her. She parted her knees slightly, and he parted them the rest of the way. He licked his fingers and touched her cherry, and her whole body twitched. “Oh, you are beautiful,” he whispered. “You are perfect.” As his hands lifted her legs to wrap around his hips, Tabitha gripped the coverlet below her. She felt more like a virgin now than she had the entire time she had been with Alain. But she wanted this. She loved Nicolas and she was going to marry him. If it hurt at first, she could bear it.
It hurt most going in. It was a burning kind of pressure, pushing and stretching, something too big going somewhere too small, but she did not think it was too bad. He did not ease into her like Alain had, but it also did not feel like Catherine had written, splitting me in half with an axe. After the pain had dulled a little, she tried to decide, but could not, if his cock truly felt bigger than Alain’s. Sometimes he even felt good inside her, but not glorious like before. It seemed to take longer. Nicolas whispered to her between quick, sharp breaths as he thrust, both pushing into her and pulling her onto him, his hands lifting her hips. Tabitha found herself wincing more than once as she watched the shadows move on the ceiling.
Finally he stopped, his hands clutching her hips even tighter. He grunted, grunted louder, then sighed. After a moment his hands slid slowly up and down her thighs, which made Tabitha smile until he pulled out of her and rolled away. She suddenly felt sore and cold.
He lay beside her, breathing hard, and she waited for him to cuddle against her like Alain had. Should she turn toward him instead? After a while she shivered, and he stirred, lifting his head and blinking at her. He smiled, then shifted to give her a long, deep kiss. She savored the warmth of his body and slid her hands over his hair and beard, but he soon broke the kiss and got up from the bed. “I should go,” he said in a hushed voice. “We pushed our luck far enough.” He nodded toward her door, presumably referring to Mistress Florain’s chamber beyond, and picked up his breeches.
Tabitha felt awkward lying naked while he got dressed, so she got up too and put her bloomers, nightgown, and robe back on. He did not speak, so neither did she. She felt a trickle of his seed running down her thigh.
“Can you come tomorrow?” she blurted as she watched him pull on his boots.
He grinned. “Better to wait until after you’re married.”
“Until …” She hesitated, confused. “Until we are married, you mean.”
“No. What?” He turned to face her fully, his right boot still unlaced, and tilted his head to one side.
“I meant that you should come back tomorrow morning so that we can tell my father.”
Nicolas’s eyes widened. “What?”
Tabitha ignored the dreadful suspicion that was rising in her mind. He was afraid of her father, that was why he was so alarmed. “I know he will be angry, but I promise he will not hurt you. He has to let us get married now.”
“You thought—” He broke off to simply stare at her, and then bent to finish lacing his boot.
“Nicolas.” Her heart was pounding painfully. “I told you I was sure.”
“That you wanted me. This.”
“Because this means he has to let me marry you!”
“No, it doesn’t!” Nicolas clamped his mouth shut, looked at her again, and spoke more softly. “Your father made it clear to me that he has a lot invested in your marriage, and that I’m not a candidate.”
She felt like she was falling. “Then why … why did you come?”
He peered at her as if he could not understand her. “For this.”
“But the note—I said in the note—”
“I thought this was what you meant.”
“No.” Was he that stupid? Did he really think she only wanted him in her bed and not in her life? Her legs felt weak. She had to hold onto something. She reached for the bedpost with both hands. “Why would I only want …”
“A real man before you marry some old stick?” But then he sighed, as if regretting how harsh he sounded. He spoke more gently. “I am honored to be your first.”
“But you don’t want to marry me?” Her voice in her own ears sounded high-pitched, almost hysterical.
“I … Tabitha …” He reached for her, but she flinched away, and she stared at the floor as he spoke. “If we got married, we would hate each other. Marriage kills pleasure. Just look at the king and queen. I have never seen a man who hated his wife so much.”
“Then why did you talk to my father at all?” she whispered to the floor.
“You are the richest and oldest blood in the kingdom. I had nothing to lose by trying.” He took another step toward her. “This doesn’t need to be the end. Once you get married, I can visit whenever you like. I can teach you something new each time.”
My God, he does not love me at all. He was not different. He was exactly the same as the king. She felt like she had hit the bottom of a well, and she pressed her forehead to the bedpost.
Nicolas came up behind her, but she jerked away when he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t touch me!”
“It’s all right. Really, it is. Please don’t cry.”
Cry? She had not cried in years. Her fast breathing was born of a thundercloud of rage. She thought of Alain, dear Alain, who had thought she was Marjorie and wanted to marry her. Who was sweet and kind and completely undeserving of his fate, like her little puppy so long ago.
“I need to go,” Nicolas breathed in her ear. “Kiss me?”
Tabitha shook her head violently. Nicolas went to the window and opened it wider to let himself out. She could not help looking at him as he paused with one leg swung over the casement. He was so handsome it made her ache. “Is Sorante in the running?” he asked.
What? She nodded, angry, confused.
“Marry him, then.” Nicolas gave her a warm smile. “He won’t mind me.”
Just as Othot would not mind the king …
Something unlocked inside her as surely as if a key had turned it. She felt the formless rage gaining shape as it wrapped a fierce itch around her neck, around her head, around her whole body. Her arm swept through the air. She seemed to move slowly, but somehow she knew that it was happening as fast as it had that day the puppy had wet the rug. She watched Nicolas’ surprised expression contort with pain as something invisible struck him, folded him in half, and threw him out the window.
Tabitha’s heart pounded so hard it hurt her chest. She itched all over and there was bile in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard before running to the window and leaning out. The guard dogs were barking wildly. She could see Nicolas’s crumpled form, a darker shape against a low hedge.
He did not move. She did not move. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark as the dogs kept barking. She could make out Nicolas’s legs, bent and twisted. She could not see his head. But, yes, she could. It lay at such an impossible angle to his body that she had not recognized it.
He was dead. Dead like Alain.
Only this time, she had meant it.
And what she had wanted had happened.
I am the sorceress. It was all she could think as she sank to the floor. She pressed her hands against her mouth to keep back a scream. I am the sorceress.
That was how she had killed the puppy. How she had killed
Alain. How she had opened herself to keep Alain’s lovemaking from hurting. How she had then healed her own maidenhead to keep Sister Raula from knowing. How she had made the king stumble away from her during their dance. And how she had thrown Nicolas from the window with nothing but her mind.
She was the sorceress!
What else had she done without knowing it? What else could she do now that she knew it?
Change my shape. Fly away.
She would never marry. She would never have children. Her father would have no grandsons, and Othot would inherit Betaul. Should she kill Othot next?
Oh, God. Oh, God, I did not mean that, I did not mean it. But even as she prayed, she knew it was a lie. She had meant it.
She had meant to kill Nicolas.
She had prayed for Alain after she had killed him. She had even prayed for the poor puppy. But at the thought that she should pray for Nicolas, she laughed aloud. It was a high-pitched, frightening sound, and she smothered it behind her hands.
Sorcerer Natayl was at court. Sorcerers could read minds. He would read her mind and see the terrible things she had done with her power. He would tell everyone. Her own father would call her a monster, a whore, a murderess. All his plans for her were in ashes. Othot would get Betaul, and her crimes would tarnish the Betaul name forever.
No! No one can know! No one can ever know!
She could still hear the guard dogs barking, and the guardsmen calling out. Stop barking! Stop barking! Stop barking! Stop it stop it stop it stop it …
The itch raged across her skin like a swarm of bees, and she had to hold her head to keep it from splitting. She held back a scream, and as she listened to the silence, she realized what it was. She had made the dogs stop barking.
But the guardsmen will still search the gardens for intruders. They will still find Nicolas.
She strained but could not hear anything out the window. Were they searching? If they found Nicolas below her window—
He fell. I did not invite him. He came himself. He tried to seduce me. I refused. He fell. He fell. He fell.
She was still shaking. She looked at her hands and tried to think them still, but she could not focus. She wanted more light. Did she have more candles? She crawled the few feet to her bedside table and found candles in the lower drawer. She took one and managed to get up to the bed to sit on it and light the candle from one of the others burning from her table.
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