Can it be?
As the lead rider came into focus, her heart thudded and she had difficulty breathing. She couldn’t decide whether to rush down to tell the others or stay where she was and wave. She chose the latter and almost fell over the wall in her exuberance, flapping the end of her wimple in salute. Hugh smiled when he saw her and she knew in her heart he’d come for her.
“Hugh! Hugh!” she shouted, as he raised his hand to return her salute. Boden and Brigantia were already barking. She couldn’t remember exactly how she got down from the battlements, but then somehow she was throwing herself into Hugh’s arms as he dismounted from Velox.
“I seem to make a habit of throwing myself at you, my lord,” she sobbed.
“Hugh,” he whispered in her ear. “My name is Hugh.”
He held her tightly, and the two of them almost fell to the ground as Boden launched his massive paws onto Hugh’s back.
“He’s so glad to see you,” she laughed. “As am I.”
Hugh freed one hand so he could turn to rub Boden’s ears. “Good dog!” he cajoled. “I see you’ve healed well. Have you taken good care of your mistress?”
Devona wanted to kiss him until his lips were swollen, but she also wanted to chastise him for leaving her alone so long. She felt the hard male length of him against her thigh as he turned to pet the dog. Her confusion intensified. She wanted to touch him, but what might that unleash?
“Devona,” he rasped, “You’re looking well—not so pale. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
“Yes I do,” she replied.
By now Aediva and Bemia had come running out with the other dog to see what was happening and they too threw their arms around Hugh.
“Could a man ask for a warmer welcome?” he jested. “Three beautiful females!”
“Four, if you count Brigantia!” Aediva exclaimed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sir Renouf de Maubadon clenched his jaw when he saw the Bishop of Arundel’s shoulders sag. The cleric had espied him among the petitioners three sennights after his first visit. Obviously the churchman had no solution for him. He resented having to kiss this fool’s ring, but had no choice. Arundel shifted in his richly carved chair, seemingly irritated. Renouf didn’t wait for the cleric to speak, but launched into his complaint when his turn came. He saw no point in being polite, wanting to underscore the seriousness and legitimacy of his plea. Devona was his. No other had a right to her.
“My lawful wife is still in Normandie. Have you news for me—your Excellency?”
The Bishop cleared his throat. “Messages have been sent, my son. These things take time. It has been only a fortnight, has it not?”
“A sennight longer.”
“Even so—”
Renouf sensed the Bishop was stalling and probably had no intention of helping him. “I suppose it’s difficult to deal with a family such as the Montbryces,” he said loudly.
The Bishop squirmed again and his fist tightened around his crosier. Renouf noticed the cleric was sweating. “Diplomacy takes time. You would do well to heed what I say, my son.”
“Diplomacy is not what I seek. I want justice. I will go to the King.”
“The King is in Normandie,” the Bishop retorted.
“Good. I’m bound for our homeland two days hence.”
The Bishop’s smile turned sour.
“Go with God, then, my son.”
Renouf smirked and left without waiting for a blessing.
Three days later he was kneeling before the Bishop of Caen, explaining once more the crime that had been perpetrated against him. He had decided against going directly to the King. The risk was too great and such a process would take too long.
Caen had meant a detour in his usual travel arrangements. As the interview progressed, he sensed this much more powerful Norman churchman had already been made aware of the matter. However, he left the audience with a feeling that this time something would come of his complaints, and he strode confidently out of the hall to retrieve his sword, bumping into a man whose garb bespoke a person of lower rank.
“Attention, fool,” Renouf scolded. “Watch where you’re going in the presence of your betters.” He grimaced when he saw the man had one arm. “You might have touched me,” he said with disgust.
“Forgive me, milord,” the man replied, but Renouf thought the apology insincere. However, the Bishop’s palace wasn’t a place to cause a scene. He retrieved his sword and left to continue his journey, bothered momentarily by a strange feeling he’d seen the one armed man before.
***
Devona and her family had been at Domfort a month. Their arrival had caused a stir. The master now dined in the hall with his Saxon guests, resulting in all kinds of speculation and gossip.
As she got to know him better, Devona came to understand that Hugh de Montbryce was a man who struggled with unseen demons, just as she did.
Did he know the name of his demons? Hers were fear and hatred. She seethed with resentment at the horrors William the Conqueror and his countrymen had visited upon her land and her people, yet here she was, living comfortably among them, a cultured and educated nation. She hated Renouf de Maubadon because of what he had done to her and her family. But Hugh was a Norman, and she would never hate him, or his brother Antoine, no matter how hard she might try.
Renouf had filled her life with fear and degradation. His cruelty may have rendered her incapable of having a normal relationship with any man, and she was still chained to him and his brutality. The law—Norman and ecclesiastical—was on his side. She dreaded never escaping him and the fear he’d instilled in her—fear of intimacy and fear of herself. Though she enjoyed a measure of freedom in Domfort, would she ever be truly free? Free to have a lover touch her intimately without recoiling? Free to express her deep love for a man? Free to watch a man become aroused by her presence and not feel disgust and humiliation?
Or would she forever be Renouf’s victim, even if by some miracle she were rid of him? Though she was drawn to Hugh, she didn’t know how she would react if he tried to make love to her, which she knew he longed to do. Would her body obey her instinct to love him and welcome his intimacy? Or would it recoil, repulsed by memory? Could she still feel?
She could fall in love with Hugh, already had, but madness might lay in that, if their love was denied, thwarted. There was only one person who might rescue her from her purgatory. Perhaps she and Hugh could help each other exorcise their demons. She resolved to try.
“Hugh,” she said to him one summer’s day as they strolled through the fledgling apple orchard.
He took his attention away from the burgeoning apple he’d been seemingly engrossed in inspecting with great interest. “Oui?”
“What are you most afraid of?”
He frowned and she noticed his hand was trembling more than usual.
“Afraid?” he said hoarsely.
Her heart was beating so loudly she was deafened by it, but had to continue. “If I tell you my fears, will you tell me yours?”
Hugh looked back at the apple tree. “I don’t know if I have the courage to face my demons, Devona.”
“It’s hard to face fears alone,” she replied. “I would help you slay your demons. Will you help me face mine?”
Hugh took hold of her hand. “My biggest fear is that I’ll hurt you.”
For a moment, Devona was tempted to laugh. The torment of being near him, knowing she was bound to a monster intent on hurting her, was unbearable. How could Hugh hurt her? But the desolation on his face gave her pause.
“You would never hurt me, Hugh,” she whispered.
“Not intentionally,” he rasped. “But—I need to tell you—since Hastings—” He seemed unable to continue.
She took hold of his other hand and squeezed them both. “Tell me. I won’t judge you. You are my champion.”
He looked at his feet, kicking at the dirt with his toe. “Hastings brought out the worst in me.”
Devona put her hands on his face and made him look at her. “How can that be true, Hugh? You were a hero of Hastings. You fought with great bravery.”
“I killed men.” He said it so quietly she barely heard it.
“But you didn’t enjoy it,” she said.
“But, I did. I did. I did,” he shouted, pounding his fist into his palm. “It aroused me, Devona. I liked it. Godemite, it aroused me. I couldn’t keep my shaft under control. The more I killed, the more aroused I became.” He fell to his knees, head bowed, hands on his thighs.
“That’s the first Saxon word I’ve ever heard you speak, Hugh,” she whispered.
He looked up at her, apparently confused. “What?”
Her mind was reeling. Hugh was afraid he might abuse her, and her deepest fear was of being abused. “Tell me your fear, Hugh,” she commanded.
She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. “I cannot,” he groaned.
“Will it make you less of a man if you tell me?’
Hugh sighed heavily. “Non, but it might drive you away.”
“Where would I go? This place, you—it’s all I have in the world. You are my world.”
Hugh got to his feet, took hold of her hands, looked into her eyes and admitted, “If we share our passion, I could kill you.”
Now she understood. She took his hands and put them on her neck. “Do you desire me now, Hugh?”
He groaned. “I burn for you. I’ve wanted to bed you since the first moment I saw you.”
She placed her hands over his and pressed them more tightly on her neck. “What do your hands want to do?”
He looked at her, but she could see he didn’t understand. Then he looked into her eyes and she hoped he saw her desire for him. “Tell me.”
He nodded, gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. “I want to put my hands on your breasts. I want to fondle your nipples. I want to run my hands over the curve of your hips. I want to feel your wet heat with my fingers and plumb your depths with my shaft until you cry out.”
“In pain?” she whispered through her tears.
He took his hands from her neck and pulled her to his body. “Non, in ecstasy. I want to hear you call my name in ecstasy.” He kissed her then with a hunger she could feel in the tips of her toes. She allowed his tongue entry. He ran his hands through her hair and she felt his heart beating against her.
“I’ve known pain at the hands of a man, Hugh. I trust you. You won’t hurt me.”
He groaned and buried his face in her neck. His erection throbbed against her. Then with a strangled cry, he pushed her away from him. “But what I want is a sin. You are wed to another. Until—”
Devona put her fingertips on his lips and pressed her forefinger to her own lips. “What makes a marriage binding, Hugh?”
He blinked. “Binding?”
She traced her fingertip along his bottom lip. “Yes. What, in the eyes of God, and the Church, confirms that a man and a woman are wed to each other?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “They give each other their pledge.”
“No. A marriage can still be set aside, at that point.”
She saw the light dawn in his eyes. “It must be consummated.”
She couldn’t look at him. What she had to tell him was so humiliating, so degrading. He seemed to sense her agitation. “What are you trying to tell me, Devona?”
She swallowed hard and inhaled deeply. “I am not wed to Renouf.”
“But—”
There was no use holding back now. She had to make him understand. “I am not wed to Renouf.”
“He has never—?”
“No.”
Hugh was shaking his head in confusion, holding out his hands. “You’ve been married to the brute for more than five years. In all that time he has never—?”
Devona thought she might swoon. Her face was burning and her insides churning. “He has other—preferences.”
Hugh looked at her as though she was speaking in Greek. She felt like a fool.
“Preferences?” he parroted.
Devona could feel anger rising in her throat. How could she explain something she didn’t understand, especially in a language not her own? “For heaven’s sake, Hugh. You’re a man. You’ve spent time in the company of all kinds of men. Have you known none who were—perverse? Men who—”
Unable to continue she turned away, her vision blurred by tears.
The orchard abounded with songbirds and she heard them chirping, the sound of their wings in flight like the rustle of silk on the air.
“Christ Almighty!” He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to turn back to him. She could see he was beginning to understand. Relief and embarrassment flooded through her. Was it something lacking in her to make Renouf act the way he did?
Hugh’s strained voice broke through the fog. “Kyrie eleison, Devona. You’re telling me the man never entered you. You’re telling me you’re a virgin?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Maidenhead completely intact.”
Her knees buckled and she dissolved into a fit of sobbing as Hugh’s arms encircled her, and he held her close to his body, stroking her back.
Then he whispered something in her ear, so low she thought she had misheard. She raised her face from his chest to look at him and he smiled a kind of crooked smile. “Oui,” he whispered again. “Me too—not the maidenhead, just the virgin part.”
A bolt of molten desire shuddered through the deepest part of her being. “Hugh,” she breathed as she put her hands on each side of his head and kissed him, pressing her tongue against his lips. He opened his mouth and she thrust her tongue into its welcoming warmth.
He broke away, panting. “Come with me,” he growled, leading her by the hand out of the apple orchard.
Hugh had never been torn by so many conflicting emotions. The ache in his groin was unbearable. He was filled with anger and elation at the same time. If he ever had the opportunity he would kill Renouf de Maubadon for the damage wrought on Devona. But the monster hadn’t taken her most precious possession. That could yet belong to Hugh. He’d dreamt of making love to her to the point of obsession, but had never imagined her maidenhead might be his for the taking. He wanted to make love to her right there in the orchard, beneath the leafy trees teeming with birds, but thought better of it. This occasion merited a fine bed.
The sensations coursing through his body just from the touch of Devona’s hand were astonishing. He felt the alchemy of love and lust surge through him. It was no longer a detriment that he was a virgin. It had become the most important thing he had to offer her. By the time they reached his solar, he’d begun to realize he would have to calm his raging heart and loins or he would take her too quickly. This would be a once in a lifetime experience for them both and he wanted it to be memorable for her. Not only would he take her maidenhead, it would be the first time intimacy and love would be joined in her body.
He put his hands on her shoulders, careful not to grip her too tightly, and took a deep breath. “I want to make love to you, Devona. If it’s not what you want, tell me now. I would prefer death rather than take you against your will.”
“I am afraid, Hugh. I cannot deny it.”
His heart plummeted.
“But it isn’t you I’m afraid of. It’s myself. I don’t know how to—please a man. I’ve never been able to please Renouf.”
Hugh’s anger threatened, but he restrained the inclination to allow his voice to betray his fury. He swallowed hard before he said, “Renouf is a pig. Pigs are never satisfied. It’s in their nature. We will learn together how to please each other.”
Devona nodded shyly and smiled. His heart soared. “May I undress you, Lady Devona Melton?”
“Yes, milord Hugh de Montbryce,” she whispered. He could see the need in her green eyes.
Taking her by the hand, he led her to sit on the edge of his bed. Kneeling before her, he slowly lifted her skirt and folded it back against her thighs. The s
ight of her knees and calves sent sparks of desire coursing along his spine. He kissed one knee, then the other and stroked his hands down the backs of her legs. He felt her quiver. She put her fingers in his hair and kneaded his scalp, her breathing uneven. He unlaced her leather shoes and removed her garters then peeled off her silk stockings. He felt her shudder as he kissed her toes. He mused that one day, when his needs weren’t so pressing, he would wile away a pleasant hour kissing her toes.
“Hugh,” she breathed, leaning back on her elbows.
“Your feet are cold, my love,” he teased. “Let me warm them.”
Her feet were so dainty, his hands covered them. He rose up on his knees and pressed his chest against her feet. She bent her legs slightly, but kept her knees together. He caught a shadowed glimpse of her dark triangle. He slid his hands from her feet up to her knees and then down her thighs, forcing the fabric of her overdress to bunch around her hips. Standing, he angled his body over hers, put his hands around her waist, pressing his chest to the apex at the top of her legs and picked her up off the bed. She groaned as her body slid down his until his shaft was resting against her warm cleft. He folded his arms around her and held her to his body, gently rocking his arousal against her. She was keening mewling cries.
“Let me take off your wimple. I want to see your glorious hair,” he whispered.
She reached up to help him unwind the cloth from her head. Even through the fabric of their clothing he felt her nipples hard against his chest. He groaned as she tossed the wimple to the floor and he caught the faint scent of female arousal.
“Your hair is like silk,” he rasped, burying his face in it, breathing deeply.
His erection was rock hard, but in his heart he still felt nothing but love and tenderness for this woman. A lead weight had been lifted off his soul. He knelt on one knee to grasp the hem of her dress and in one fluid motion lifted it over her head. She raised her arms and they slid out of the long sleeves as the fabric swished against her skin. She stood before him in her thin linen chemise, raven hair falling over her shoulders to her waist. He licked his lips and reached for the fabric at the top of her chemise, intending to peel it down her body. He longed to see her breasts, longed to know the colour of her nipples.
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