by Rue Allyn
Troubled, her hand slid into the small pouch sewn into the right side of her arasaid and sought the comfort-stone nestled there. Her thumb smoothed over the rock’s flat surface, and in an instant, her anxiety eased. She pushed away from the table and stood up.
“Niece — ” Onora protested.
“No, ’tis fine. Forgive me, aunt. You’ve been so very good to me, and this is how I repay you. I’m sorry to have been unkind.”
“Not unkind, my dear, never unkind.”
Sympathy radiated from her aunt’s eyes as she moved into the seat next to her.
“You need to know that Aeden’s father all but fell apart when his first wife died.”
“I don’t understand.”
Onora squeezed her hand.
“Gavin could not function for almost year. He was immobilized by grief, and relied on Aeden for almost everything, until he finally put his sorrow aside. The lesson Aeden took away from that experience was that love disables the strongest of men.”
Elisande stayed quiet for a time and absorbed the information and then a seed of hope took root.
“I shall have to be patient,” she accorded and offered a rueful smile.
“After years of living under father’s roof, one would think I should be accustomed to the virtue by now.”
After a few more words of encouragement, she left the hall and wandered into her private solar. There was not much in the way of organizing that required attention. The housekeeper ran Caeverlark with a determined hand. She wondered where Aeden spent his days. She hadn’t seen much of him except during meals, and when he sought their bed late at night, he had yet to reach for her and she’d little idea how to close the breech between them. On the other hand, he seemed in no hurry to repair their estrangement. She supposed this was another instance where she needed patience. Nevertheless, she wanted to be a mother, and he required an heir. She often wondered if he regretted marrying an outsider. He must see she didn’t fit in.
She sighed and cut off the disconsolate thoughts. Wallowing in one’s misery benefited no one. Unsettled, she drifted over to a low sidetable. Her instructional tome lay illuminated in a sunbeam pouring through the narrow lancet. It called to her, and a kernel of an idea began to take shape. She flipped through the discolored pages until she found a specific prayer. Her finger underlined the title.
“Composed Remunerations for Spectral Presences,” she recited. Filled with purpose, she hurried from the solar to collect items for the cleansing ritual. Eager to take on the mission, she followed the aroma of fresh baked bread to the kitchen.
“Good gracious, you scared the wits from me — oh, milady, please forgive me words.”
Elisande dashed over to help collect the onions dumped onto the floor. “I apologize for frightening you. I should have called out first.”
“Oh, weel, no harm done.”
The trim, middle-aged woman wiped flour-covered hands on her stained apron. “Beggin’ your pardon, milady. Are you lost?”
“Not really — at least, not yet. I came to have a word with you.”
“Oh, dear. I … oh Lord.”
“Please, stay there, I have it.”
She ran down the last wayward vegetable to give the flustered woman a moment to gather herself. It was just not done for the lady of the manor to visit the kitchens, but she had been unable to enlist a servant to procure the objects she required.
“Thank you, milady.”
Cook grasped the onion with a death grip and stowed it safely in a small cloth bag.
“Now, what might I do for you, milady?”
“I promise it isn’t much. By the by, the manchet this morn was delicious.”
The woman beamed.
“If it’s not too much trouble, I should like a long loaf of bread, and the key to the salt cellar. I only need a pinch.”
She tapped her foot anxious to get on with the ritual before the quiet of the day was interrupted. In an instant, a loaf of long bread and tiny linen filled with salt were thrust into her hands.
“Thank you … ?” she prompted.
“Mrs. Riach,” the woman supplied.
“Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Riach.”
Halfway to the door, she heard Mrs. Riach exclaim to the scullery girl, “She’s never going to eat all that on her own is she?”
Elisande hurried up the stairs to the northern end of the second floor. She poked her head into a few unoccupied guest chambers and selected the furthest from the second floor’s arched entry. Facing the east, she balanced the baguette on her right shoulder, pinched a minuscule amount of salt and threw it over her left shoulder. She closed her eyes and recited the ancient prayer.
“I call upon the souls of Caeverlark’s dead. I invite Aeden’s ancestors to break bread. I offer reparations to one and all, so that your rest may be peaceful. The specters that remain, and up to no good, may you be banished from this home and surrounding wood.”
The door bouncing against the wall jolted her and she dropped the salt.
“Blast!”
“It’s true, yourn a witch.”
Her hand on her chest, Elisande whirled around. “How did you know I was here? Did you follow me?”
“Yes and good thing I did,” Fiona sneered.
The gleeful taunt from the redhead’s mouth put Elisande’s back up. She had no notion why the other woman would follow her, except to make trouble. She watched as Fiona clamped her hands on curvaceous hips and sauntered over. “When I tell my Aeden, he’ll not want anythin’ more to do with you.”
“Are you so in love with him, then?”
Peals of laughter were not what Elisande expected. “In love with Aeden? Don’t be foolish,” Fiona scoffed. “I wouldn’t waste me beauty on one such as him if he didn’t have a title and plenty of coin.”
Elisande’s temper stirred. “What exactly do you mean when you say, ‘One such as him’?”
Fiona sniggered. “Don’t act the lack-wit. You know as well as I, he’s hideous. So does Aeden for that matter.”
Her mockery sparked Elisande’s anger. She threw down the bread, stepped over it and pulled herself up to her full height. She towered over Fiona and speared her with a fierce stare. The unvarnished aggression in her voice caused the other woman to step back.
“You don’t deserve a man such as Aeden. Now, if I were you — and I thank God I am not — I would leave this instant afore I do something irreversible.”
Fiona paled, but darted into the corridor. “I’ll make your life hell here. Mark my words, witch.”
Chapter Eighteen
Elisande paced the empty chamber. Despite the venom the other woman spewed, she also gave her an unintentional glimpse into Aeden’s mind. Little instances began to add up, and she thought perhaps it wasn’t she from whom he hid, but himself. Was it possible he believed he wasn’t worthy of a woman’s love and loyalty because of his disfiguration? It was a ridiculous notion to be laughable yet it did seem plausible. The ritual forgotten, she went in search of Onora.
• • •
Later in the day, Aeden walked into the keep for one particular reason. He wanted to catch a glimpse of Elisande. It seemed the only time he saw her was at night. His intention had been to ease her into her new role as Caeverlark’s mistress, but a dispute between allied clans needed mediation and his time had not been his own. Now that the disagreement was settled, he planned to devote some time to his wife. He spied her in deep discussion with his stepmother; she had not noticed him yet. He sought his chair, signaled for a servant to serve his meal and never took his eyes from her beautiful visage. He still couldn’t believe she belonged to him. A trencher of salted salmon and boiled leeks placed in front of him halted the pleasant reverie. He waved away the mead wench in favor of honey-flavored well-water.
Ronan dropped into the seat opposite him. Aeden ripped off a chunk of bread and handed half to his friend.
“What have you heard?”
“Seems Fiona has
been stirring up trouble.”
Aeden’s lips thinned.
“I’ll speak with her and persuade her to keep her mouth shut,” Ronan offered.
“Do you no’ think I’ve no’ spoken to her before now? She expected things I had no intention of giving her, and once the shrew understood there was no changing my mind, she cast her net elsewhere.”
“A broken heart?” Ronan shrugged. “It’ll mend.”
Aeden set his beaker down and waited for the servant to replenish his drink before he spoke. “The woman does no’ possess a heart to break.”
His eyes sought out his wife again. Here was a woman with heart enough for ten. Her expression was in earnest, as if whatever topic they discussed meant life or death. A glint of light reflected off the weapons arrayed above the fireplace. They exhibited a luster he had never imagined they could. This wasn’t the only change in his house since Elisande assumed her role. The aroma of freshly baked bread hung in the air, multicolored tapestries adorned the walls, the moldings were polished to a high shine, and the oak trestle tables no longer wobbled when he cut his meat. A profound sense of contentment swept over him threatening to drown his senses. Within less than a month, his fortress had been transformed from a place he ate, slept, and trained, into an inviting home. His gaze returned to Elisande, and as his eyes traveled over her, desire warmed his blood and flooded his groin. And it shocked him to realize they had not lain together since the bridal night. Images of Elisande naked, writhing beneath him fortified his determination that two things were going to plan. Come hell or high water, his clan would accept Elisande and more importantly, tonight, he intended to bed his wife.
“What are you planning?”
Aeden set down his spoon and faced Ronan.
“I’m thinking it’s time my clan witnesses Elisande’s healing abilities first hand.”
“And this will happen by what means?”
“I’ll get caught in an ambush.”
“No one would believe you,” his friend countered. “I’ll be the target.”
“And what will you take away from this little deception?”
Ronan grinned. “Having the honor of saving my chief from certain death.”
Aeden shook his head and laughed. “Well, thank Christ you were with me.”
With that, Ronan left the hall.
Replete, Aeden sat back to watch the servants. Although they took care not to offend Elisande, they didn’t engage with her, either. They gave her a wide berth only coming to the table when Onora signaled. He frowned, disappointed in his people. Did they really hold with Fiona’s account, or, were they wary of having a stranger in their midst? They should give Elisande the benefit of the doubt if for no other reason than to honor his choice in wife. Well, whatever their reasons, the disrespect and disharmony ended tonight.
• • •
Sensing a strong presence, Elisande looked around until she spied Aeden’s intense stare. A blush spread across her cheeks.
“I’m not sure how you might convince him that his scars don’t matter. If you … ”
Onora’s voice faded into the background. She watched him make his way across the room. Her heart picked up speed and her body responded like a flower opening to the sun. She didn’t realize she stood, until he stopped in front of her.
A sensual smile spread across his face. “Hello wife.”
“Hello husband,” she returned her voice breathy.
Reaching out, he traced his knuckles alongside her jaw.
“Forgive my absence these past weeks. My duties kept me away from early morning until late night.”
Acute relief that it wasn’t she who drove him to late evenings tempered her response. “And you are through with these extra duties?”
“Aye. For the time being my evenings are my own.”
She stared into his eyes, hoping to convey her need to have him in her bed. “Well then, perhaps — ”
“I beg yer pardon, chief.”
“Yes, what is it,” he snapped, unhappy about being disturbed.
The servant stood frozen.
“Well?” he prompted.
“I — I found this odd stone under your bed cover.”
Pleased, Elisande snatched the smooth stone from her palm exclaiming, “Oh, that’s where it has been hiding. Thank you, Gerda.”
“Aye, Gerda,” he parroted, “It’s a nice flat stone to sharpen my blade with.”
Elisande dropped her gaze. She knew what he was trying to do, and knew too, that the rumors of her supposed witchery had spread to the training ground. Gerda dared to regard him with raised brows, and she almost laughed. The dagger Aeden carried would dwarf the stone considerably. After a moment’s hard stare from him, the servant bowed and took her leave.
“Aeden, there’s something I think you should know.”
“Not here.”
He grabbed her hand and half walked, half dragged her out of doors in the direction of the loch and didn’t stop until they were at the shoreline.
His mind immediately blanked at the site of her heaving breasts and hard nipples pressed against her woolen. He released her and slid his hand upward to cup the back of her neck. Everything faded into oblivion. He closed the gap between their bodies, propelling her pliable curves against his hard planes. He groaned, and traced his lips along her cheek. She whimpered. Then his mouth came down hard and demanding on hers, his tongue thrusting with a greedy passion, threatening to devour. He willed himself to slow down, but his body overruled his mind. Her breathless moan fueled his need and he slanted his mouth over hers again and again. Her fingers dug into his sides. She massaged his heavily muscled, sun-warmed skin, and returned kiss for kiss.
Dragging his mouth away, he grazed his lips the length of her neck, down her chest and across the swell of her supple bosom. He slid his hand into the neckline of her dress and freed a plump breast. He brought his head down and latched on to a distended nipple and sucked.
She wanted to faint from the pleasure he inflicted.
In a frenzy to feel skin on skin, her deft fingers unbuckled his belt and the leather strap dropped at their feet.
“I want you, now,” he whispered against her breast.
“Yes,” she pleaded.
He swept her in his arms and sought shelter in a coppice. He braced his back against the wide base of an alder tree. He slid her down his body.
“Spread your legs on either side of me,” he instructed.
“Aeden — I,” she moved restlessly against him.
He rubbed his hands along her back from shoulder to bottom. His sensual fingers kneaded and massaged the delicate skin.
“Tell me.”
She wanted the lovely pressure to go on, wanted to ignore the entreaty she heard in his voice. Uncomfortable with her raw need, she struggled to find words.
His hands traveled up her waist and cupped her breasts. His thumbs toyed with her exposed nipples and he swooped in to nip their swollen peaks.
“Do you want me inside of you?” He licked and then blew on her.
She sobbed. “Yes.”
“Gather your skirt and wedge it between us,” he rasped.
The featherlike breeze skimmed her overheated skin, the feeling decadent.
“Now, link your arms around my neck.”
She did as he asked and in one graceful movement, he lifted her off the ground and impaled her on his sex. A guttural moan freed itself from deep inside of her, as he glided in and out of her body. His ragged breathing filled her ear and she turned her lips to kiss his gnarled scar.
She heard his breath catch. Her own breath came in shallow gasps. He played her body like a harp, and plucked just the right strings to yield the most beautiful notes. Her emotions were in a tangle. Her hunger, much more intense than before, frightened her, and she strained toward a crescendo not yet in her grasp.
“Aeden, please,” she begged, not understanding what she needed from him.
In answer, he trailed his hand
down her waist, over her damp feminine curls, and fondled beneath the crest of hidden flesh. At that moment, he pulled back and thrust one last time. His roar of satisfaction echoed through the trees.
“Aeden — ” Anxiety tinged her voice.
“Let go, Elisande,” he urged stroking her.
“Oh, oh, yes, I feel it.”
She pulled him close, and then stiffened against him just as she clamped down on him. A powerful burst of sensation erupted within her, creating an aftereffect of erotic ripples. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She fell forward, and sobbed into the hollow between chin and neck. Fevered lust yielded to gentleness and he murmured nonsense words to soothe her enflamed emotions.
The sun climbed higher in the sky. With reluctance, he disentangled her hands from around his neck and set her on her feet. Planting a soft kiss on each tear-stained cheek, he willed his body to get a grip on its rampaging lust.
She reddened at the sight of his member dangling in the breeze. The wind swept across her bared chest and too late, she remembered her own state of dishevelment. She gasped and readjusted her blouse. She caught his smile before casting her eyes to the ground.
He belted the strap around his waist and tilted her chin up.
“Come now, lass, you can no’ be shy after what we just did.”
A fiery blush flooded her cheeks. “Aeden, please, a gentleman wouldn’t speak of such things.”
Aeden threw his head back and laughed. “All right then, what would you like to discuss?”
For some reason, he derived pleasure from her perpetual state of embarrassment. To redirect his attention she blurted out the first thought that came to mind.
“It was good of Gerda to find my stone.”
His sigh was sharp enough to slice bread. He stood up and towered over her.
“Wife, you really must take care when practicing your rituals. I would ask you to cease all together.”
Taken aback by his decree, she frowned and watched him walk to the water’s edge.
A trace or wariness crept into her voice. “What rituals in particular?” Stone-faced, she waited for him to speak. God’s truth, she had no clue what prompted his stern demand. After their passionate encounter, his irritated tone confused her no end. Would she ever understand how her husband’s mind worked? She trailed after him, her manner composed.
