David was prying in the subtle way he had. As youths they had become friends while Marcus lived here with Rhys, and had found each other again once Marcus began returning to the ward. Eventually Marcus would satisfy his friend’s curiosity, but not now with Joan listening.
David raised the sack he carried. “I thought you might be here with your sister. I have brought some things so that you can choose a wedding gift. I trust you were not so stupid as to deal with some other merchant.”
Marcus had not even thought about his immediate need for a wedding gift. David’s expression said he had expected as much.
“Come, have some wine and we will all drool over the luxuries,” Joan said, leading them back to the table.
The sack contained a little illuminated book of prayers, a small jeweled cross, some folded parchments, a silver necklace, and a headdress of fine netted gold. Marcus lifted the book and carefully flipped its pages.
“She will prefer any of the other things to that,” David said.
“How would you know?”
“Because she is a girl, which means that she has not yet learned that there is more to beauty than that which glitters.”
David spoke like a young man who knew women well. Marcus suspected that he did. As a handsome, unmarried merchant, he caught the eye of ladies looking to satisfy more than their taste for silks. Marcus did not envy his friend his experiences, but he would not play the apprentice learning from the master of love. “A devotional book is most practical.”
“Don’t be boring. For the same cost you can have both the cross and the necklace.”
Marcus conceded this was not the time to be practical, but he would not give David an easy victory. He lifted the headdress instead. Its woven pattern had an exotic look. He pictured it on the crown of a black-haired beauty.
The face in his imagination did not belong to Genith.
He asked the price and David named one far too low. He gave his friend a sharp look, and David increased it.
“That was my cost, I swear. It is no insult if I do not skin you alive, Mark. I merely choose not to take a profit from a friend on his wedding day. We merchants have very few scruples, but permit me the ones I can claim.”
Joan was admiring the other items. “What are these?” she asked, reaching for the parchments.
“Designs that I brought to show you and Rhys. A lady sold them to me this morning.”
Joan unfolded them. Marcus examined the drawings spread on the table. One showed a hunt scene, and another a May pageant. The third had no people, just birds and animals in a rich, verdant field.
“They are very good,” Rhys said. He ran his thumb over a corner. “Colored with inks, like a manuscript. The parchment has been scraped, though, and reused after writing was removed.”
“They are tapestry designs. I paid much more than I had to, but she was such a Welsh beauty that I could not bargain with any heart.”
Marcus’s attention sharpened to a sword’s edge. “A Welsh beauty?”
“Raven haired, with an interesting face. Blind to my charm, I am sorry to say. I tried to lure her into returning by offering to buy more, but she said she would not be in London long enough.”
Marcus touched one of the parchments. Colored inks, such as used in manuscripts. The women in convents often copied manuscripts. David’s shop was on the lane where he had found Nesta this morning.
“How much did you give her?”
“Too much.”
“How much?”
David raised an eyebrow at the sharp tone. “One pound.”
Marcus muttered a curse. Nesta and Genith could journey to Scotland or Wales easily on that.
He stood abruptly. “I must leave now. I will see all of you tomorrow at Westminster.”
Joan touched his arm. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I merely remember something that I must do this night.”
He turned away from the curious looks the others gave him and strode toward the garden portal. The suspicion nagging him was ridiculous. Coin in hand or not, Nesta and Genith could not leave. The King’s guards stood at the gate of that house.
Still, he felt compelled to go check. David had said that Nesta had indicated she would leave London soon.
It would be just like that Welsh witch to find a way to do so.
The gate was closed but not barred. Worse, no guards stood behind it.
Marcus pushed it open and stepped into absolute silence. No glow came through the windows to indicate that hearths or candles burned.
It was possible that Stratford had called them all to Westminster, to prepare for the wedding there. Marcus doubted it, however, and his blood began a dangerous boil.
He strode to the house. More silence. No servants responded to his call. Head splitting with a furious certainty of what he would find, he climbed the stairs and barged into the bedchamber where his future bride should be.
Empty. Of course it was. No Genith, no trunks, no servants, and, it went without saying, no Nesta.
Returning to the stair landing, he began making plans. Stratford would have to be informed. Then he would rouse the men he had brought from Anglesmore and they would go after the bitch.
Only he didn’t have any idea of where she had gone.
A sound broke into his heated calculations. A muffled groan came from somewhere behind him. He followed the sound through a tiny chamber containing two mussed beds, and into a garderobe at the corner of the house.
There, in the dark, he made out the shapes of two men seated on privies, doubled over in misery.
“What in hell is going on?” he demanded.
“My lord, tell the lady that we will be needing more of the potion. This malady has us purging our guts out,” one of them muttered.
“When did this malady come on?”
“Late today. The potion, my lord. The lady said it was sure to help.”
He could imagine how the potion “helped,” and had no doubt who the lady was. “I’ll have the archbishop send a physician to you. Take no more potions, or any food or drink from this house. I doubt that this malady will kill you, although 7 might once you are well again.”
He left them to their pain, and examined the dark chamber. A little leather flask stood on the floor between the two beds. He smelled its contents. It was redolent with the scent of herbs and mead, but also something else, something oily like tallow or grease.
Nesta had made this. She had probably fed the guards a purgative in their midday food, then provided more in this potion to keep them incapacitated. While the two men moaned on these beds and sat on those privies, she had packed up Genith and the Welsh servants and ridden out the gate.
The scent from the flask wafted to him. Something in it plucked at his memory. A familiar, strong odor seemed to ride atop the others.
He smelled a dried stalk hanging from a vendor’s stall, and saw himself reaching up to cut it down.
Hell’s teeth. He had helped her procure the ingredients. He had even paid for one of them.
He threw the flask against the far wall. The skin split and the remnants dripped in dark streaks on the plaster.
He needed to know in which direction Nesta was headed, and he doubted that Stratford’s men would glean much from their inquiries. The city’s gate guards would feign ignorance, lest they be accused of some negligence.
But they would talk to their own kind, especially if a coin was offered. So would any travelers who had arrived in the city late today who might have passed a retinue of Welsh women on the road.
He needed information fast, and he knew two men who could get it if anyone could. Striding from the house, he headed back to his sister’s garden.
Chapter 4
The fire’s warmth enlivened her damp skin. Nesta luxuriated in the sensation as she knelt naked in front of the hearth in the rude cottage near the Welsh border. Sitting back on her heels, she washed with cool water that dripped down her body. The heat licked at each cold riv
ulet, creating a wonderful streak of contrast before the meandering drop disappeared.
It was done. Genith was away. In a day she would be safely hidden. In a few weeks she would be headed to the marriage awaiting her.
Not a marriage with the King’s man. Not Marcus of Anglesmore. Genith would wed the man their father had chosen, and help to fulfill the dream of Llygad ap Madoc.
She looked to the tiny window, and judged from its light the time that had passed since she handed Genith to her guardians. The swift escape from London had caused them to arrive in this village a day earlier than planned. She had spent many hours watching out that window, waiting for the horses, fearing that the wrong men would ride up first.
It had unfolded as it should, however. Tomorrow she and the servants would take a different route with the wagoner she had hired at the London market, misleading anyone who might search for her little sister.
She stared into the fire, mesmerized by its jumping flames. She imagined her father’s face amidst them, and her chest tightened for that warrior with the heart of a poet. Soon, she whispered to him. The dream would be fulfilled soon. She would see to it. She owed it to him.
She dipped her cloth in the water bowl by her knees. Raising the sodden rag to her shoulder, she squeezed. Water ran down her back and snaked over her hips. Some slithered into the cleft of her bottom tucked above her feet. She moved her hand and squeezed again. Tiny liquid paths played over her breast.
There should be elation in this victory, but she could not shake a melancholy that ruined her contentment. It had been much harder than she had expected to take this step. When the Welsh escort rode up, she had even experienced a moment of panic. Suddenly, desperately, she had wanted to keep Genith nearby a little longer, safely tucked in her arms. They had been parted for so many years, and this brief time together had been bittersweet and heavy with memories.
Now they were parted again. If something went wrong, it might be forever this time.
She tried to shake off her sadness by thinking of Edward’s plan, and the importance of foiling it. He wanted to make amends, it was said. A long time coming, those amends, and calculated to cost him nothing. Such was the way with powerful men. Even in penance they gained more than lost.
Well, she also had amends to make. The world would say she did it for revenge, but then the world, and the King, had always misunderstood most of it.
Rising out of her reverie, she completed her washing more methodically. It felt good to finally be clean again. Too many days on the road had left her soiled and sticky and feeling cold.
She bent at her hips and splashed her face with water, Hands planted in front of her knees, she raised her face to the heat to dry.
And froze.
There had been a sound behind her. No louder than a breeze, it had accompanied her movement. The servants returning from market, no doubt. She sat back on her heels and listened for their steps and talk.
She heard nothing more, but her pulse began pounding. Her soul knew what her senses denied.
She slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder.
Marcus of Anglesmore’s tall, strong body leaned confidently against the chamber’s doorjamb. His dark golden hair fell carelessly around his head and jaw, and the dim light in the chamber sculpted his face into stony planes in which dark eyes blazed as he watched her.
His hard expression made the back of her neck prickle. She calculated the danger he might present, and the time since Genith had departed.
She turned back to the fire, forcing composure on herself. “How long have you been there?”
He did not answer.
“The women?”
“They are safe and unharmed, but silenced.”
“How did you know where to find us?”
“You were seen leaving London and heading west, and travelers passed you on the road. Still, this took longer than it should have, and I am most displeased. Clever of you to pay some of those travelers to lie about the roads you would take on this journey.”
She waited for more. They stayed in silence for a long stretch.
Finally he spoke. “You have a beautiful body, Nesta, and it has given me pleasure to watch you bathe, but put something on now. Cover yourself.” A note of exasperation sounded in the command.
Duty bound or not, angry or not, he had been distracted by her nakedness.
It was all she needed to know.
She rose to her feet. A robe waited on a stool by the hearth, but she did not reach for it. Instead she turned and walked to the chest near the door. His gaze took in the full view of her.
She plucked a sleeveless, sideless surcotte from the chest and slipped it on. Its panels dipped low on her chest and back, and fluttered along her sides, exposing glimpses of her hips and legs. Turning, she raised her gaze. Marcus’s lowered lids and tight jaw revealed what she already knew. The hint of nakedness was even more enticing than all of it.
Good. The longer he was distracted by lust, the farther away Genith would get.
He speared her with a glare. “You like it, don’t you? Making men want you.”
“I suspect it is much like the feeling you get when you unhorse a man in a joust.”
“What did your husband think of your tournaments?”
“He was not young, but lusty enough. It was he who taught me how to use my weapons.”
He took dark amusement in that. “Where did you send Genith, Nesta?”
“I sent her nowhere.”
“She left here.”
“Perhaps she went for a walk. This cottage has beer too crowded.” She spoke lazily while she turned a bit and raised her arms to release the knot into which she had bound her hair while she washed. She noted with satisfaction that Marcus did not miss how the gesture revealed the side of her breast.
She strolled back to the hearth, kicking at the panels of the surcotte, giving him more to see. Each step bought Genith more time. She struggled to suppress the undeniable stirring in her breasts and stomach that his attention was causing.
Gazing into the fire, she waited for more interrogation. It did not come. That worried her. He should be furious with impatience. He should be bellowing demands for information. A good argument would delay him a long while, and she could keep him dangling until night with ambiguous tidbits and flashes of skin. Instead he just stood there, burning her back with his gaze, causing unwelcome thrills to tremble through her.
“Nesta.” His soft, quiet voice was right behind her. She had not heard him move, and she started with surprise. The word sounded soothing and gentle, like the uttering of a man making love.
She glanced back at him. He didn’t look gentle. His eyes held wicked lights.
She almost jumped in alarm when his hands circled her waist. “I am not a man easily distracted, Nesta. A glimpse of thigh or breast will never put me off my duty. Nor will clever lies.” His breath warmed her neck, and then his lips skimmed the edge of her ear. “If you think to unhorse me, woman, you will need to use better weapons than that.”
The bluntness of the offer dismayed her, as did the delicious chills shivering down her skin. So much for keeping this man dangling.
She squirmed out of his hold and turned, backing away. “Such a trade would be unwise for you. Would you have the King’s wrath on you?”
He came toward her. “You expected me to look and desire but not to touch because you are Edward’s woman? That is the armor you use in this joust of yours? It is very old and rusty, to my mind. I do not think the King will care too much. He has not seen you in eight years, and he let you marry another.”
She kept inching away and he kept following. Her back hit the hearth wall. He blocked her. Dominated her. He gazed deeply into her eyes and they were suddenly back in the garden again, under a magical full moon.
A traitorous excitement trembled through her, and she knew that she had made a dangerous miscalculation. He appeared to take amusement in her predicament.
H
er heart beat desperately. “You must leave this chamber at once.”
“Coming now, that command has little weight. You should have said that on first seeing me.”
He touched her lips with his fingertips. A jolt of exhilaration jumped inside her.
“You taunted me, Nesta.” His touch drifted lower, down her neck to the low dip of the surcotte’s edge. He watched his fingers trace a line across her skin. Back and forth, his light touch played at the top of her surcotte, and the swell of her breasts peeking above its edge. His vague smile suggested that he guessed what other lines were coming alive inside her. Tantalizing ones. Delicious strings of thrilling pleasure spun through her and began knotting deep in her belly.
“You tempted me shamelessly, lady. A man can hardly stand down from such a challenge.”
“It was no challenge. I was washing and you intruded—”
“Hush.”
His gaze and hand lowered more, to her breasts. His skimming touch made them swell. She struggled to keep her breath even, but when he brushed the tips her sharp inhale was audible.
He dipped his head to kiss her. Before touching her mouth he stopped, and pulled back to look in her eyes, as if checking her reaction.
She just stared like a witless fool.
Passion crackled between them like invisible lightning. No more stopping then. He pulled her into a dominating embrace and a rough, devouring kiss. Her body had already betrayed her, and she instantly found herself in a storm of pleasure and building desire. He asked for no reciprocation, but only took and took and she permitted it, gasping for breath, turning her neck to his hot bites, opening her lips to the next forceful demand.
She lost herself, forgetting she should not, forgetting everything, even who she was and what was at stake, just as she had forgotten in the garden. She joined the little battle, knowing she had already been defeated, not caring about anything but the voracious desire making them both wild.
The world had receded but somewhere, far away, cries were being raised. On the edge of her awareness a confusion rumbled lowly.
His fingers snaked through her hair, imprisoning her head in his grasp while his arm confined her body. He broke the kiss and gave her a deep look. Then he pulled her toward the small window, his hand still on her head, forcing her forward as he embraced her.
Stealing Heaven Page 4
