by Speer, Flora
Having issued his instructions, Royce headed for the keep, leaving Magnus to wonder if King Henry's spymaster possessed any weaknesses at all.
Chapter 10
Lilianne fled from the western tower to the keep and then to her bedchamber. At first she sat on the side of the bed, staring at the wall with unseeing eyes, too grief-stricken even for tears and too numb to accept that her worst fears for her brother had been confirmed by the one person who knew Gilbert's fate for certain.
Guilt bedeviled her. If she had stayed at Manoir Sainte Inge instead of running off with Magnus and his friends, if she had thought to pry open the lock and search Erland's private room while he was gone from the manor and thereby discovered evidence of where he was hiding Gilbert, if she had then ventured into the tower, she might have found Gilbert in time to save him. If only she hadn't been fooled by Erland's cruel trickery.
It wasn't long before her numbness began to recede and her unhappy thoughts coalesced into a need for action. With Gilbert dead, her heart and mind together proclaimed one last duty that she owed to him. No one, not Royce, and not Magnus, was going to prevent her from performing it.
Having made her decision she touched the pouch she kept fastened to her belt. The small leather bag contained the coins and her mother's jewelry that she had brought away from Manoir Sainte Inge. She prayed it would be enough to pay her passage back to France. Unwilling to consider the perils she would surely face during her quest, lest cautious thought should deter her, she caught up her cloak and flung it around her shoulders.
With no parchment or ink in the bedchamber she couldn't write a note for Alice. She resolved to leave a spoken message with one of the servants. She told herself Alice would understand.
She hadn't latched the door, so when Magnus came he just pushed it open and stepped inside. He didn't make a sound and Lilianne was so engrossed with fastening her cloak while trying to think of a means of coaxing one of the grooms into letting her have a horse, that she didn't notice him until she turned to the doorway.
“Where are you going?” Magnus asked, regarding her with what seemed to her unconcealed suspicion.
“It is common courtesy to knock before entering a lady's room,” she snapped. When she took note of the unhappiness etching deep lines in his face, sympathy softened her eagerness to be gone. “Has Erland said anything more about your brother?”
“Not a word more.”
“Do you fear he's—?” She paused to swallow the lump in her throat. “Could your brother be dead, like Gilbert?”
“I believe if he were, I'd feel it. There’s a strange connection between twins. I don't know how to explain it, except to say that I’ve been having chills from time to time, along with a sense of darkness and dampness. I think I’m experiencing some of what Desmond is feeling. It started the day Royce first assigned me to this mission and it hasn’t stopped yet. That’s why I think Desmond is still alive, somewhere. The problem is finding him.”
“How extraordinary.” Lilianne was intrigued, in spite of her own personal misery and her longing to leave Richton before anyone could stop her. “Gilbert and I were always close, too. Sometimes, I could guess what he was thinking. Of course, I cannot sense anything about him now.” Her voice broke a little, so she fell silent, not wanting Magnus to think she was wallowing in grief.
“Desmond and I are not close,” he said. “Not since well before our father died and our older brother inherited Ashendown and the title of baron. I haven't seen Des for years. He and I chose different paths. He was always willing to take wild risks.”
“And you are not?” She couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her lips. “What is a riskier way of life than spying?”
“I am not a spy,” he stated, very firmly.
“No?” She didn't believe him and her doubt sounded in her voice. “Anyone can see how Royce relies on you.”
“I've never done anything like this before,” Magnus said. “When Royce first approached me, I was a simple household knight, just one of many pledged to King Henry's service. Spying doesn't suit me any more than courtly intrigue does. I tell you truly, Lilianne, I wouldn't have been at Manoir Sainte Inge, and I wouldn't be here at Richton now, if my brother weren't in life-threatening trouble. If not for Des being captured, Royce would barely acknowledge my existence on the rare occasions when we meet at court. I’m not clever enough to be a master spy.”
“Oh, you are clever,” she said, wishing he would go away so she could leave. She didn't know why he had come to her room. “I think you are far more clever than either Royce or Erland.”
“Is that meant as a compliment, or an insult?” he asked with a wry look.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “but I know you are not the simple knight you claim to be.”
“I have never deliberately misled you, Lilianne. When we met, I was bent upon bringing Erland here to Richton, and I told you so. I swear to you on my very soul, if I'd had any idea your brother lay imprisoned at the manor, we'd have brought him away, too.”
“I believe you. Don't blame yourself. I am the one at fault. In betraying my uncle to you, I also betrayed my brother to his death.” She covered her face with her hands to hide the fresh spurt of tears. She was so distraught that she didn’t protest when Magnus gathered her into his arms.
“Erland is to blame for Gilbert's death, not you,” Magnus declared. “If he had treated the boy as an uncle should, if he hadn't coveted Gilbert's lands and title, your brother would still be alive. But Erland wanted his nephew dead. Even if we hadn't abducted Erland, he would very soon have made the choice to allow Gilbert to starve. The fact that you were living at the manor wouldn't have stopped him from committing that evil deed.”
“I know you’re right, but still.” She couldn't go on. The thought of Gilbert, alone and frightened in the tower room at Manoir Sainte Inge, growing steadily weaker, his life ebbing with no one to offer a prayer for his youthful soul or to hold his hand at the end, was too terrible for any sister's heart to bear.
“I hate Erland!” she cried. “I've never in my life hated any man or woman, but after what I learned today, I do hate him. How could he be so cruel? And how can he be so indifferent to what he has done?” She buried her face in Magnus's shoulder, clinging to him as if he were the only source of comfort in a lonely and barren world.
“Cry all you want, my sweet,” he murmured. “Perhaps you'll feel better afterward. Then you can tell me why you are wearing a cloak and where you were headed when I opened the door.”
“I was only going for a walk, and I don't want to cry.” Knowing if she remained in his warm embrace any longer she really would cry, she pushed him away saying, “I know you don't care about Gilbert. He was just a boy, someone of no importance in your plan to save your own brother.”
“Of course, I care. What Erland did was a heartless atrocity. Any decent man must be outraged by his villainy.”
“Thank you.” She gazed at his harsh features, seeing how his habitual sternness was gentled by his concern for her. “You’re a good man, Magnus.”
“Ah, Lilianne, what I would give to see you smile again.”
Overcome by sudden tenderness, she raised a hand to touch his cheek. Magnus uttered a soft sound that wasn't any word she understood. The next moment he was kissing her. Grief and rage and longing all blended together in Lilianne's heart into an emotion she could neither comprehend nor control. The touch of Magnus's mouth on hers recalled the kisses and caresses he had bestowed on her while they were aboard the Daisy, and suddenly Lilianne wanted more than mere kisses from him. She sensed that Magnus wanted more, too. She reminded herself that she needed to get away from Richton Castle, yet she couldn't leave Magnus. Not immediately.
She laced her fingers through his thick hair and then, compelled by the primitive urging of her body, she leaned against him, feeling his hard chest against her softer frame.
“We mustn't do this,” he groaned, wrenching his mouth from he
rs. “I’ve nothing to offer you, no lands, no title. I have no right to touch you.”
“Then we are equals,” she said, “for I have nothing, either. My family is gone, my dowry stolen. All I have left is a great emptiness.”
“It's comfort you want, not passion,” he said.
“Perhaps. But I need you to hold me for just a little while. Don't leave me,” she begged, almost beside herself with grief and a hunger she didn't understand.
Torn by conflicting emotions as she was, despairing and frightened of the uncertain future, still she did notice when something about Magnus changed. She knew he had made a decision of some kind. His next kiss was more heated, his tongue pushing at her lips until she opened her mouth and he plunged inside. The sudden velvet warmth and moisture, the sense of being overcome by an unfamiliar emotion left her aching when he broke off the kiss.
Keeping his arms around her, Magnus walked her backward a few steps to the bed. When he reached it, he pressed her down onto the coverlet. Lilianne did not resist. By the time her head was on the pillow, his lips were on hers again, his tongue pushing against her once more. She willingly opened her mouth to him, relishing the hot surge of him into her. Magnus tasted of the honey and cinnamon that had flavored the pastry he'd eaten at the midday meal.
He unfastened her cloak, brushing it aside. One big hand settled over her breast and Lilianne whimpered in surprise. Magnus's palm was warm through the wool of her gown. She felt her nipple tightening against her linen shift, the slight roughness of the fabric adding to the remarkable sensations flooding over her. A hot sweetness filled her, banishing all thought and providing oblivion from sorrow, until Magnus removed his hand.
She shifted in restless urgency, wanting more. As if in silent understanding of her need, Magnus's hand slid along her leg. She wasn't aware of exactly when he had lifted her skirts, but they were hiked up around her thighs. He began to caress her knee, the warrior’s calluses on his hands providing a thrilling contrast to her own, smoother skin. She shivered with awakening desire.
“Lilianne?” He looked at her, a question in his grey eyes.
“Don't stop,” she gasped. “Please, Magnus, I want – I ache—”
“I promise, I'll not hurt you.” His voice was ragged, as if he was fighting his own, complex emotions. He buried his face against her throat and let his hand rove upward along her inner thigh.
Lilianne moaned and moved again, seeking his touch upon the particular place where all of her longing burned and seethed.
“Oh!” She couldn't help the way she cried out when his cool fingers reached her heat. One long finger slipped inside her, probing carefully, while another finger pressed on an incredibly sensitive spot. She pushed hard against his hand, wanting more from him. With a low, completely masculine sound of pleasure, he began to rub and stroke the aching spot. A last, tiny vestige of reason warned her that she ought to protest what he was doing, that no man save a lawful husband ought to touch a woman the way he was touching her. In the next heartbeat reason disappeared and pure, sensual pleasure overcame her.
Lilianne burst into an ecstasy as sharp and intense as it was brief. Magnus's hand stayed where it was, pressing more gently now, until she returned to herself again. Her body was relaxed, all her earlier rigid tenseness and grief-stricken trembling gone, yet she yearned for Magnus to continue his lovemaking and when he removed his hand she protested the loss of the tender pressure with a wordless cry.
“What happened?” she asked as soon as she could speak. “What did you do to me?”
“Nothing to harm you,” he said. “I will never hurt you, Lilianne. I'll continue to serve you as a knight is bound to serve his lady.”
“I’m not completely ignorant,” she said, moving against him, not yet fully satisfied. “I know there's more. If you stop now, it's not fair to you, and I want more, too.” Very deliberately, she laid her hand atop the large bulge in his hose. Before her fingers could curl around it, Magnus caught her wrist and lifted her hand away.
“You are consumed by rage and sorrow,” he said, his voice so tight with longing that she knew he was fighting a battle with his manly desire. “I cannot in honor take any further advantage of you. I’ve had too much already, and I should not have accepted what you gave out of distress.”
“Oh, Magnus, I am sorry,” she cried, contrition winning over naïve yearning. “I've been selfish, thinking only of myself and my own pain and anger, while you are worrying about your brother and trying to think of a way to free him.”
“Hush.” He gathered her close again, resting his chin on her hair so she couldn't see his face. “Just don't wriggle around too much and I'll be fine.”
She lay quietly against his side for a time, glad of his strong arms around her, steadied by the regular beating of his heart beneath her cheek. But though her body was eventually at rest, her thoughts would not be still. His mention of Erland reminded her of her earlier decision to leave Richton and return to France. She could not allow her feelings for Magnus to distract her from what she must do.
“Royce is leaving for Normandy this afternoon,” Magnus said, his soft voice penetrating her consideration of how best to escape from Richton.
“Why?” she asked in surprise.
“He says he wants to consult with King Henry before proceeding further. He claims to have several ideas on what to do next to free Desmond.”
“Really?” She thought about that piece of news for a moment before deciding to speak what was in her heart. She found it impossible to lie to Magnus. “I must return to Manoir Sainte Inge.”
“While Royce is gone I must return to Manoir Sainte Inge,” Magnus said at the same instant when Lilianne spoke.
“In heaven's name, why must you go back?” she cried.
“Why do you want to return?” Magnus countered her question with his own query. “You cannot, Lilianne. It would be too dangerous for you, especially if Norbard is there. Besides, Royce expects you to stay here at Richton.”
“I don't care what Lord Royce expects, and I don't need your permission.” She sat up abruptly, choosing to leave the comfort of Magnus's arms so she could embrace what she saw as her sisterly duty. “I intend to return to Manoir Sainte Inge and bury my brother.”
“I won't allow it,” Magnus told her, sitting up beside her.
“You cannot stop me. Nor can Royce. I am not beholden to either of you. I will hire Captain Piers to carry me across the Narrow Sea and put me ashore on the beach below the manor.”
“Captain Piers will demand more of you than a few coins,” Magnus said, glancing toward the purse at her belt. “He will expect far more than I just had of you. He’ll not permit you to remain a virgin, as I just did.”
“So be it, then.” She clamped her lips together to stop their trembling. “If I must sell my virtue to provide Gilbert with a proper funeral, then I will.”
“No,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” she responded with equal determination.
They glared at each other for several minutes.
“You’re mad,” Magnus declared.
“Then so are you, for you also risk your life for a brother's sake.”
“It's not the same thing.” He spoke as if she were a recalcitrant child.
“I shall leave for Hythe at once. That's where I was headed when you interrupted me.” She grabbed her cloak and scrambled off the bed, evading the hands Magnus stretched out to hold her there. “When Alice returns from her ride, kindly tell her what I have decided. She will understand, if you do not.”
As usual, Magnus moved with startling speed. He surged off the bed and caught her as she wrenched the door open. Slamming the door shut again, he leaned against it with hand on hips, his face as harsh as on the night when they had met. Despite her annoyance with him, his sudden action left Lilianne marveling yet again that a man so large could be so quick and lithe.
“I cannot let you do this,” he told her. “Only think, Lilianne.
If Captain Piers does set you down unharmed in France, what do you suppose the men-at-arms at Manoir Sainte Inge will do to you?”
“What they ought to do,” she said, “is treat me with respect because I am their lady.”
“They are Erland's men, not yours or Gilbert's,” he reminded her.
“In that case,” she responded, struck by a sudden inspiration, “we can return together and you will protect me. Though why you want to return, I cannot imagine.”
“Can you not?” Magnus said softly.
Hoping he would move so she could rush through the doorway, she took a single backward step. As if he understood her ruse, he didn't relax but remained where he was, blocking the door, keeping her from escaping.
“I thought my reasoning was obvious,” he said. “I intend to examine every book, scroll, and scrap of parchment left in Erland's private room. I will collect whatever looks promising. What I cannot decipher there, I’ll bring back here to decode.”
“In hope of learning what has happened to Desmond?” she asked, comprehension dawning. “I was right; you are more clever than Royce. He should have thought of that, instead of rushing off to confer with King Henry.”
“If you want,” Magnus offered, “while I am at Manoir Sainte Inge, I will see to Gilbert's burial. I'll find the room where he was kept, and I'll make the arrangements with the local priest. I promise, I'll see everything properly done and I’ll order masses said in the future for Gilbert's soul, whether you are able to return, or not.”
“We will see to it together,” she told him.
“I hear Alice coming down the corridor,” Magnus said. “I promised to recount to Braedon and William everything that passed with Erland, and they will want to know about Royce's departure. I'll think about what you've said and we will talk again later.”
