His lips touched hers, just the briefest brush of flesh to flesh. She gasped at this soft caress. Again, his mouth pressed to hers, moving ever so lightly across her lips.
"This is very wrong," she breathed.
"'Tis," he agreed, touching his lips to the corner of her mouth.
Then he took her mouth with his. The depth of his need for her was headier than the finest of wines. Her pulse lifted into a searing beat. Beneath her hands, his heartbeat roared into her palms, matching her own hurried pulse. She wound her arms around him to hold him close. He made a quiet sound of pleasure at her embrace and freed her mouth to kiss the line of her jaw until he nuzzled her ear.
"I ache for you, Elyssa," he murmured. "Where no woman has moved me in a year, you haunt my dreams."
"I do?" she asked in quiet surprise. It was flattering to think a man such as he might be taken with her when she was twice wed and his senior.
"Aye, you. I see you as I did on the road to Crosswell, the wind sending your tresses floating in the air. You, in yon cottage, telling me horses are dangerous beasts. You"—his voice grew deeper and as soft as the fabric he wore—"on the day of your son's departure, your mantle gaping." His hand left her nape, moving down along her neck. He let it descend until he cupped her breast in his palm, his thumb moving across its sensitive peak.
Even through the layers of her gowns, his caress set fire to her. "Stop," she begged, even while her body cried out he should do no such thing.
"I think I cannot," he replied softly. "If I cease, you'll surely refuse me as you should."
Aye, she must refuse him else she'd debase herself. Oh, but look how vulnerable she'd made herself to him already. This was mad, especially when she was five months gone with child.
It was the reminder of the babe within her that restored her. Although her body sobbed in disappointment, she eased back from him. Catching his hand in hers, she moved it from her breast to place it against her own heart.
"Geoffrey, you are right. I must leave you." Her voice trembled against the wanting he made in her. "If I give way to what you ask I'll make myself naught but a whore."
"Marry me, then," he breathed.
Elyssa stared at him for a shocked instant, then struggled not to smile. He was drunk indeed, to suggest such a thing. Not only was she his senior, her dowry, even with the profits she would collect on her dower properties until her death, was far less than his worth. His ridiculous offer, obviously meant to sweep her from her feet, did much to chase away the seduction of his touch.
“It’s fortunate you've told me you’re in your cups, else I might be hurt when the morrow finds you rescinding your offer." She laughed. He made no attempt to hold her when she came to her feet. "I am going now and it’s time for you to return to the hall, else you'll freeze."
He looked up at her, longing still marking his fine features. "I cannot, being trapped here until Cecilia has retired. I'll not mar her Christmas."
"Then, come you and stay in my cottage until she retires." The words were out before she thought about what she offered.
Geoffrey's face warmed in pure, masculine pleasure. "Have you changed your mind, then?" He reached for her, catching her around the waist as if he meant to draw her near once more.
Now, here was a man the way he was supposed to behave. Elyssa smiled and lifted his hands from her hips. "Nay you twit. You will go to my cottage, while I go into the hall. When your daughter is ready to retire, I'll send a man to fetch you."
Her commonplace tone chased the remains of desire from his expression. He came slowly to his feet and paused, swaying slightly. "If we but move like snails, I vow I'll not fall on you," he said. "Come Lady Freyne, lead me to your bower."
Elyssa sighed. So, she was no longer Elyssa to him, but Lady Freyne once more. The morrow would surely find him with an aching head, and the wish that he'd never allowed himself this intimacy. Although she well knew it was for the best to hold tight to reputation and honor and rein in her carnal nature, that didn’t mean she wasn’t choking on regrets.
Geoffrey thanked God that the woman walking at his side had sense enough for both of them. He'd no idea what happened to his. If not for her forcing their parting, morn's light would have seen her crying rape. Or, their marriage.
Marriage! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what caused him to ask her to wed him? God be praised, she'd taken his words as nothing more than a sot's mumbling. A drunken, lustful sot.
Geoffrey savored the depth of his desire for Elyssa of Freyne. Just now, he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any other woman in all his life. Why? Was she not the harridan whose every other sentence was an insult?
By God, she was worse than that. She pried into his life. What right had she to chide him because she didn't think he saw enough of Cecilia? Never mind that he saw nothing at all of his daughter.
His foot caught in the rutted path, and he lurched against her. Elyssa put her arm around him to steady him, and Geoffrey could feel the soft roundness of her breast against his side. He drew a sharp breath, both against his lust and in understanding. He'd offered to wed her, so she'd have no choice but to bed him, thus proving she cared for him as her tears claimed.
A chill shot through him, one not generated by the night's bitter air. Remarriage would give Gradinton the legal right to sue for custody of Cecilia. This thought shook Geoff to the core and banked the embers of his lust. Gradinton would not wait a moment; taking custody of his granddaughter would be far less expensive than an annulment.
Elyssa opened the door to her cottage, and Geoffrey followed her within, only to stop and stare. Much had changed in the few months the widow had dwelt in this tiny room. At the wall behind the hearth, there were now shelves containing a variety of foodstuffs, dried fruits, nuts, and such like. This meant she and her cousin were no longer beholden to Crosswell's kitchen for every crumb. There was even a jug of wine. His stomach turned at that thought. Jesu, but he was going to pay dearly for overindulging on the morrow.
Thick straw mats lay on the earthen floor to keep the chill from rising into the room, while two oil lamps hung from the ceiling beam. Even the yellowish light given off by burning fat couldn't dim the glow of the blue-and-red patterned material covering the walls. He reached out and touched the nearest piece. It had the feel of a bed curtain. Nonetheless, it served to keep winter at bay; the room was tolerably warm.
As for the bed—he crossed the room to lay a hand against one carved bedpost and finger the rich scarlet curtain. Here was a woman who understood there was more to life than just existing.
"Now, this is a piece of work," he said, moving to sit upon the mattress's edge. "No wonder Cecilia chooses to sleep with you."
He watched in mild disappointment as Elyssa pulled her hair free of her mantle, drawing it over her shoulder to swiftly plait it. Her hair was an incredible shade of red-brown, shot through with coppers and golds. As she fastened the thong around its end, she said, "It’s well and truly mine now, my reward for outlasting my husbands." There was such satisfaction in her face that he could only laugh.
"I take it you weren't fond of your mates."
"Who is?" Elyssa gave a skeptical lift of her brows as she caught up her wimple. With practiced ease, she wrapped the thing around her head and fastened it into place with its pins. "Will you sleep? If so, I'll take your cloak and remove your boots for you."
"If you don't mind I'll leave my boots on." He shrugged out of his cloak and handed it to her. "Once I've left this vale to sleep, I'll not be waking for hours and then I’ll be facing my splitting head. You'll need to have me carried out of here."
"You know this for a fact?" There was faint amusement in her voice. She hung his outer garment over the clothes pole.
"I've had the experience time or two, aye. My sire and dam were."
"Were what?" she asked, looking at him from over her shoulder.
"Fond of each other. You asked who was fond of their mates."
Bitter regret twist
ed in him as he fell silent. Why had he wed with Maud instead of finding someone he could have adored the way his father had loved his mother? The answer formed within him as if he'd known it all along and only just now looked in its direction. He’d chosen Maud to avoid needing anyone the way his sire had needed his dam. His mother's death had cost his father his soul. Geoffrey released a breath of dismay at what he'd done to himself for fear's sake. He'd wed for property, only to lose son, daughter, and his soul, without even the memory of love to console him.
"Are they still fond of each other?" Elyssa asked, kneeling to clean what muck she could from his boots. "There. You may set them on the bed. As long as you keep them atop the bedclothes, we'll not begrudge you a little dirt."
"Nay, they're both dead now. My dam died when I was but seven, and my father followed three years after." He turned until he could stretch his legs out on the bed.
"Then, you were the property of a warden as I was," she said, her hand on the curtain as if to close it.
"Would that I had been," he said with a short and bitter laugh. "Instead, I have an older half-brother who to this day persists on behaving as if he were my father. He, along with my father's bastard, saw fit to make my life miserable. Two fathers, not one. Don't close the curtain. I prefer the light." The effects of drink washed over him, making his head spin. "Big bed," he added, striving for a steady world.
"I understand my grandsire was a big man," she replied softly. "Sleep well, Geoffrey of Coudray." She laid her hand against his shoulder in a friendly salute.
"So I shall. 'Til we meet again, Elyssa of Freyne," he replied. He heard the door close and drifted into slumber.
With what was almost a lilt in her step Elyssa walked beside Clare as they left the hall. Although the hour of Matins was almost upon them the celebration continued. The music had been rich, made so by an especially talented troupe, and the dancing energetic enough to leave Cecilia limp in happy exhaustion against Clare's shoulder. Even by starlight Elyssa could see her borrowed daughter's face was flushed a pretty pink. Hair floated around the child's head, torn from her braids by her efforts.
"Look Clare, her hair still dances," Elyssa laughed. Amusement was followed by a sudden, sharp ache. "Whatever shall I do when it’s time to leave my poppet behind? My heart is breaking already as I think on it."
Clare laughed aloud at this. "Oh Lyssa, why must you always worry over the future? Your fears cheat you of ever enjoying the here and now. Let it go. Listen to me this time as you did not for Jocelyn." The woman lifted chiding brows as she stopped at their doorway and waited for Elyssa to open it.
"I am never going to hear the end of this," Clare's cousin replied, but without rancor. "You have my permission to engrave I told you so onto my tomb."
Elyssa stepped inside, holding the door wide for Clare. Her cousin was right. Jocelyn was secure and happy; Cecilia was not hers. She should take what happiness she could against the possibility that the babe in her would be her death.
The room was cloaked in deep shadows, what with the fire having died to embers. One of the lamps had guttered, leaving the scent of burning wick heavy in the air. She shut the door and leaned down to fetch the thick length of wood that was their lock. Clare went on to their bedside to deposit Cecilia upon the mattress.
"There is a man in our bed!" Clare shrieked.
"Oh, sweet Mary," Elyssa said, dropping the bar into the corner and coming to look at Geoffrey. “I forgot him."
Her cousin clutched Cecilia tightly as the lass, eyes wide in startled fright, was fighting to free herself. "You put a man in our bed and forgot him?" Clare's shock echoed in the small room.
"Well, only the sheriff so gone with drink I feared he would freeze 'ere the night finished," Elyssa said, claiming Cecilia from Clare, then set the squirming lass on the ground. "Clare, run and fetch the guard before they close the gate, else we'll have to sleep around him."
"The sheriff was as drunk as that, and you put him in our bed? I think I will not ask the particulars of this tale," Clare said with a sharp look, disapproval thick in her voice.
"There is nothing to ask after," Elyssa retorted. "Hie, or I'll make you sleep with him, then tell the world you laid with Crosswell's sheriff."
Shaking her head, Clare went to call the guard, leaving the door ajar behind her: a clear reprimand. Unlike Elyssa, who had certainly lost her mind, Clare did not wish the world to think them lewd women.
Lost her mind? Elyssa shook her head. It had been a close thing between losing her mind and much more than that.
Cecilia stood at arm's length from the bed, staring at the back of the man who lay within it. Elyssa pursed her lips against the opportunity this presented. She leaned down beside the lass. "Who is that?" she asked softly, pointing to Geoffrey's back.
Cecilia fixed her tired gaze on her temporary mother, then blinked and shrugged.
"It’s your papa," Elyssa said, keeping her voice low and quiet.
The girl's eyes widened, but not with fear. Instead, excitement touched her face. She leapt toward the bedside, but Elyssa caught her by the hand and drew her back.
"Why do we not look upon him together?" she asked.
Confusion flowed over Cecilia's face, but she nodded her agreement. Elyssa lifted the child and carried her to the bed.
Geoffrey lay with the scarred side of his face toward the mattress. His hair tumbled over his brow, hiding the beginnings of the longest mark. As Elyssa brushed the thick strands from his face, she spoke to Cecilia. "Do you remember what happened to your papa, ma petite?"
The girl only frowned at her as if to say nothing had happened to her father.
"Aye, something has." She took Cecilia's hand and pointed the lass's finger. "Touch here," she said gently, laying the child's finger against her father's temple. "Do you feel that?"
Cecilia nodded, her brow yet drawn in confusion.
"That is but a scar. Where there was a wound, the flesh has healed. There is no hurt in it." She drew Cecilia's finger along the raised line of flesh until it reached the bridge of her sire's nose. "Do you understand me? It does not hurt your father to wear the lines on his face." This had been the question Elyssa had asked of her own sire, time and again.
There was worry in Cecilia's eyes as she looked at Elyssa, but she gave a faint nod. When Elyssa released the child's hand, Cecilia snatched her fingers away from her papa's face to clutch her adopted mother around the neck. The door opened behind them.
"Clare, tell them to wait a moment," Elyssa called over her shoulder.
As her cousin did so, then came to join them at the bed's side, Cecilia leaned back to look into Elyssa' face. The child chewed her lower lip and brought a hand to her eye, the same eye her father no longer owned. Her brows raised in question.
"Your papa can no longer see from that eye. For him it is like this." Elyssa put her palm against Cecilia's face, shielding her eye. She felt the brush of the child's eyelashes against her skin as Cecilia struggled with the concept of an eye that no longer worked. Then, the lass pulled Elyssa's hand away and blinked in demonstration of how when the obstruction was gone, sight returned.
Elyssa smiled a little and shook her head. "Even if he removes what he wears he can no longer see. He covers his eye because he is a very vain man. I think he cannot bear for the world to view what became of his face."
There were sudden tears in Cecilia's eyes. It was the first time Elyssa had seen the child release her heart's moisture. Her wee poppet struggled to turn in her embrace so she could again look at her sire.
"What is this, Lyssa?" Clare asked as Elyssa set her on the ground.
"Cecilia is settling her fears over her sire," she replied in a whisper as the child clambered onto the bed.
Slowly and carefully, Cecilia worked her way around her father. When she knelt at Geoffrey's head, she again touched her finger against the scar that crossed his brow. She followed the line, until she reached the bridge of his nose.
Geoffrey
murmured in his sleep, sighing and shifting onto his back. Cecilia scooted away from him as she came face-to-face with the patch she so disliked.
"Touch it, my little love," Elyssa urged softly. "You cannot hurt him."
Her eyes but a gleam in the darkness of the ceilinged bed, Cecilia looked at her father then stared at Elyssa.
"My lady, might we enter? It’s terrible cold out here," one of the men called out.
Elyssa didn't dare turn away from the bed, fearing Cecilia would think she abandoned her to what so terrified her. "Clare, can you let them in, keeping them at the room's end and bidding them to silence?"
"Aye, Lyssa." The woman turned reluctantly away.
"Do it, Cecilia," she urged. "Touch your sire and see that it’s the same papa you once knew hiding beneath what's happened to his face."
There was a flash of white in the darkness as the child lifted her hand. Elyssa strained to see. Cecilia put her hand against the patch shielding Geoffrey's ruined eye.
"Who is that, Cecilia?" Elyssa prodded. "Who lies there beside you?"
The daughter of her heart stroked her hand down her father's cheek then put her fingers into his hair. She leaned down and buried her nose against his neck. With a sigh Cecilia laid her head against his shoulder, rubbing her cheek against his soft tunic.
Yet deep in his slumber, Geoffrey reacted instinctively to the caress, his hand coming to rest atop Cecilia's head. Cecilia gave a yelp and flew back into the comer of the bed. Elyssa gasped at the hoarse and tiny sound.
"Lyssa," Clare breathed, "did you hear?"
"Aye." Hope soared in Elyssa. "Who is that, Cecilia?" she prodded again. "Can you tell me who it is beside you?"
Cecilia shook her head in the negative although it was more the movement of the bed curtains that said she did so. The corner was so dark there was no seeing the lass.
"Do you wish more time to see your papa?" Once again, the bed curtains shook in denial. "Then it’s time for him to leave. Come you men, and fetch your master," Elyssa called behind her without taking her gaze from Cecilia's corner. "Clare, lay his cloak over him."
The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three Page 113
