by Brit Darby
It wasn’t what Liam needed to hear, but he knew he’d have to face Alianor sooner or later. The fact he’d slipped off while she slept was bad enough. At the time, he thought it might be easier on Alianor — not having to face him afterward. Now he wondered if he had done it because it was easier for him, not her.
The thought disturbed Liam. He wasn’t a cowardly man; he’d faced death many times in his life. Yet, this mere slip of a woman made him slink off under the cover of darkness rather than face her. God’s blood, he’d not do it again.
Renewed determination filled Liam’s mind. He’d not let any woman get under his skin. Alianor was no different from other wenches he’d bedded over the years. No different at all.
When he returned to his room and found his bed empty, he went to her cell. He paused at the closed door. Instead of knocking this time, he entered unannounced.
Alianor sat on the bed one leg tucked beneath her, replaiting her hair. The meager light of the single candle made the silver locks shimmer and shine. Her hair seemed alive, like pale strands of lightning pulled from the sky. When she saw him there she rose, leaving her hair half done.
He read uncertainty on her face. She started to speak, but thought better of it. The awkward moment passed, but emotion still bubbled high within Liam. She was too damned irresistible, and it didn’t help his temper any. He was angry at himself, and at her, at the whole situation. Damme, what now? What had even led them there, into a forbidden encounter in an old ruined abbey in the midst of chaos? He didn’t know and he didn’t dare wonder.
“Are you all right?” Liam asked, a bit sharper than intended. He did not know how else to begin.
Alianor stiffened at his tone and her shoulders straightened. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
So, they were back to the cool civility of strangers. Liam took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could. “Niall said you looked — upset.”
Alianor shrugged. “It’s true, I came a bit undone when he looked at me, as if, if …” Her words faded away, her sentence unfinished.
“Why should it matter to you what Niall or anyone else thinks?”
“You’re right, it shouldn’t matter. But I am not used to being regarded as a fallen woman.” She watched Liam as she spoke, awaiting his reaction. He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not, but looked uncomfortable.
“Fallen woman?” he asked, confused.
“Aye,” she whispered, glancing away. “You see, I-I have never —”
“By the rood, Alianor,” Liam exclaimed, as what she was trying to tell him finally focused in his muddled mind. “You were a virgin.”
ALIANOR NODDED. “VIRGIN, AYE. Virginal by nature, it seems I am not.”
Liam stepped closer. His expression reflected his shock, confusion, even anguish, and his eyes darkened with emotion as he studied her.
“I’m sorry, I had no idea. After all, you’re a widow. How —?”
“How is it possible because I was married for so many years?”
“Aye. It does not seem natural a man would ignore his wife physically, especially when she was — is — so beautiful.”
He raised his hand as if to caress her cheek, but Alianor took a step backwards, chin raised, hurt reflected in her voice. “Not all men are rutting boars.”
She regretted the words the moment they left her lips. Liam’s expression hardened and his eyes darkened even more. She hadn’t meant it as a personal insult, but quick defense of her late husband made it seem so. She had always been protective of Walter. Their relationship had been unique, true, but she was content in the comfortable life they had shared. Walter made her feel safe, unlike Liam, who made her feel rash and brazen. This handsome Irishman brought out a reckless streak in her she feared endangered them both.
“What I meant to say is the physical side of marriage never existed for us,” she said, unsure whether she could again broach the wall between them. She avoided his gaze, both embarrassed by the delicacy of the subject and distressed at how she had lashed out so cruelly.
“We had, there wasn’t …” Tears clogged her throat. She swallowed hard and forged on, but the tremor in her voice made her distress clear. “Walter considered me a daughter, and I thought of him a father in many ways. He was chivalrous and devoted to me. But intimate, lovers, it was never something we …” She drew a deep, shaky breath as she glanced at Liam’s stony countenance. “I do not expect you to understand.”
“Aye, what would a rutting boar know of chivalry or devotion?”
His retort stung, but Alianor realized she deserved it. “I am sorry. I did not mean you.” She longed for him to reach out to her again, but he remained rigid, his hands at his sides.
She wrung her hands in frustration, wanting and needing him to understand. “Walter was special, that’s all I meant to say. Our marriage may not have been normal in most people’s eyes, but I-I adored him.”
“And love, Alianor? What of love?” Liam’s green eyes burned into hers, and she nearly succumbed to tears.
“Love?”
“Aye, surely you have heard the minstrels sing of it. Something mysterious and powerful and a wee bit mischievous, for it makes sane people do things they normally would not. If Love ruled a country, ’twould surely be Eire.”
She laughed a little shakily. “Doubtlessly true, William.” She hoped by using the name he so disliked, he might be drawn away from an uncomfortable topic. What she and Liam had done, however rash and ill-advised, felt sacred and beautiful, she had to admit. Yet she did not delude herself into believing he loved her, nor would she let him imply it, merely to salve his own conscience or make her feel better.
“It’s true enough Ireland is the abode of dreamers, of bards, and winsome tale-weavers. Those who use a command of language, their gifts, to ensorcell the simpler souls.”
It worked. Liam shook his head.
“You’re a hard-hearted woman, Alianor.” He stepped away as if to leave her, and despite her determination to remain silent, she lashed out again.
“I must harden my heart against the likes of those who would use me for their own benefit and gain.”
“You had only to say no. I would not have forced you.”
His calm statement shattered the last of her poise. “You misunderstand me again. I do not speak of our — physical union. I wanted it as much as you did and I’ll not deny it. I’ll not play the victim. I accept full consequence for my actions.”
Alianor glanced at the candle lighting the monk’s cell, the solitary little flame struggling so bravely against the darkness. It was a safe focus, a distraction from the rugged lines of Liam’s face. She rushed on to distract her thoughts from wandering toward foolish longings.
“When I spoke of using me for benefit and gain, I speak of a malicious little King, who gave me to a despicable man out of spite to achieve whatever political gain an alliance can bring him. I speak of de Lacy, who chose me to be his wife for his own dark reasons, reasons that frighten me. And I speak of you, William, who kidnapped me because I can bring you even more money than what you have already stolen. Now you see how I have been so sorely used by kings and lords and outlaws.”
Liam was silent. Alianor was about to blurt out an apology when he surprised her by saying, “I know almost nothing about you, except you were wed before. What else must I know?”
She sighed at the change of topic. Her mind drifted back to her sheltered life in England as a respected widow. “My story is simple. I was Queen Isabella’s favorite. Some assumed the King’s as well, for different reasons. I’ve not kept his lecherous hands off me easily.” She looked into Liam’s eyes. “I’d not have let you make love to me if I hadn’t wanted it. Believe me, I’ve held my own against the King of England. He has not had me.”
“Nor did Walter.”
“True, but for a different reason. I was married for a number of years, but due to an old war injury, in one way my dear husband could not love me as a husband loves his
wife. I chose you to take my virtue, William. Don’t ever apologize again for a decision that was mine to make. Don’t ever be sorry for what we shared.”
“I HAVE NO REGRETS,” he said. “Save my own foolish actions.”
He was silent a long moment. “Alianor,” Liam whispered, looking at her with yearning, the strain in his voice telling all, “I’ve a confession. Something compelled me to take you — it was not what I planned. We were after your dowry, ransom was not our purpose. And later, I might have left you with the farmers whilst I negotiated with de Lacy, but I would not and brought you here instead.”
She searched his eyes. “You wanted me at Wolf Haven?”
“Aye. Not for nefarious purposes. In truth I know not why, but I succumbed to the selfish urge anyway.”
“Speaking of urges — I want you to make love to me again. Now.”
He looked surprised at her simple, straightforward demand. But her words ignited his blood for he took her in his arms again. All logic, all reason fled, but she did not care. She only knew she needed him. She closed her eyes against the intense passion in his gaze, but he had already hypnotized her, and beckoned her back into his world of desire.
His fingertips brushed her cheek, and she melted beneath his fire. Her soft little gasp was smothered by lips claiming hers, locked in a desperate longing neither could control. She clutched his shoulders, swaying against him. Jesu help her, it was happening again. It was as if she had lived her whole life for this moment. Lived day after monotonous day in exchange for one wild night of unleashed emotion and reckless desire.
Enemies briefly united, if only in their passion, they came together in a fierceness urging them beyond the tender side they explored earlier. This time, Liam took her standing up, skirts rucked above her hips, lifting her onto him and plunging deep into her softness in a heated, single thrust. She cried out with the intensity of it, her thighs clamped against his hips like a vise, holding on for dear life. Ripples of pleasure traveled through her arched body, and her shattering little cries drove him on.
Liam fed Alianor’s hunger, backing and bracing her against the cold stone wall as he pummeled her in desperate, pleasurable agony. She cried for more, straining to accept all of his hardness as he worked to sate the hunger, the terrible, wonderful need. His mouth slid against her cheek, he groaned and shuddered as he burst within her.
Bitter passion, sweet despair. The whimper caught in Alianor’s throat, struggled forth as her world exploded with his. How could life be so exquisite and so cruel at the same time? She held onto Liam with a fierce desperation, knowing when they parted again, everything would be as it was before. He would still be Irish, and she would always be English.
HOT WATER SLOSHED OVER Alianor’s breasts as she sank down into the small metal tub. She never appreciated a simple bath more. Its therapeutic heat drew the soreness from her muscles, soothed the aching aftermath of lovemaking. Every movement she made, every throb or sweetly aching twinge, reminded her of Liam.
How he haunted her. It seems she spent every minute trying to forget the explosive chemistry they created when they came together in love. Their frustration and anger when they did not.
Alianor swore under her breath, splashing her hand in the water to destroy the image of him she imagined there. But it was everywhere she looked. It would be easier to defy murderous mercenaries than Liam. She wanted to hate him, and tried summoning outrage and indignation, but all she could think of was the way his eyes gleamed when he kissed her, the tender way his hands sculpted her, the shivering passion he provoked in her breast and loins.
Besides, how could she hate a man who went to these lengths to procure a bath for her?
She knew she wouldn’t trade the yearning between them for anything in the world, despite the agony it brought them both. But to cling to a false dream, would only bring her worse pain; this, too, she understood.
Alianor scrubbed every inch until she cleansed the musky male scent of him from her flesh. At least she could rid herself of one reminder of their passionate encounters together. If only she could sluice her mind as easily, and still the memories plaguing her.
Alianor rose, prepared to step from the tub when the door to the room flew open. Expecting Liam, she was surprised to see Rosaleen instead. The brunette slammed the door shut behind her, and stood there arms crossed over her heaving bosom, the anger clear upon her face.
“Do you always burst into a lady’s quarters unannounced?” Alianor asked as she picked up a linen cloth, folded it about her dripping body and stepped out of the water. Her wet feet made a puddle on the cold stone floor, which she was forced to stand in while Rosaleen blocked her way.
“Lady, my arse,” Rosaleen sneered, the withering look she cast over Alianor as ugly as her words. “You’re just a high-bred harlot from what I see.”
Alianor felt a flicker of uneasiness. Summoning calmness she did not feel, she returned the woman’s hate-filled stare with a steady gaze. When she moved around Rosaleen to pick up her clothing, the other woman cut her off, hands planted upon her hips in an aggressive manner.
“Sassenach whore,” Rosaleen hissed.
Alianor shook her head, trying not to let anger unhinge her. “Why on earth or in heaven would you say such vile things to someone you do not know?”
Rosaleen ignored the rebuke. She stepped closer, almost nose to nose with her. “Liam has taken a fancy to you.”
“Oh?” Alianor neither confirmed nor denied it. “And how, exactly, does that make me a whore?” Her level response only seemed to infuriate Rosaleen more.
Rosaleen reached out and pushed Alianor. Not hard enough to knock her down, but firmly enough there was no doubt of the threat. “The Emerald Prince is a man of his word. Some slut spreadin’ her legs will not distract him from doin’ what he must for his people. And you’re nothin’ special, bitch. Just one of many women he’s brought here.” Her eyes glittered with malice.
Alianor did not let the pain reflect on her face. She regarded Rosaleen with contempt. “Captive or not, what I do is no business of yours. Besides, why should you care if Liam fancies me or not? Aren’t you Torin’s woman?”
“So what?”
“So it means what Liam does is not your business, either.” She brushed past Rosaleen to retrieve her clothing laid out upon the bed. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
Rosaleen tossed her head. “Or what?”
“Let us say I am not quite the helpless lady I appear.”
“Stay away from Liam, bitch.”
“Oh, I will,” Triumph flashed in Rosaleen’s dark eyes, until she added, “if it’s what he wants.”
Rosaleen’s smug look changed into a glare of hatred. She looked like she wanted to say more, perhaps even strike Alianor. She didn’t. Instead, she turned to leave.
Alianor stopped her with one last question. “Why do you care who shares Liam’s bed?” When Rosaleen glanced back at her, her face said it all. “Ah, I see. You want him for yourself.”
Without replying, Rosaleen stormed out much like she had breezed in, a tempestuous whirlwind. Alianor’s instincts warned her this wouldn’t be their last encounter.
Chapter Thirteen
LIAM ROSE FROM THE table when he saw Alianor enter the gathering place at Wolf Haven. The large chamber was formerly the old chapter house of the abbey, but had been converted for feasting and meetings. The clamor of the men gathered about him silenced as Alianor approached, her head held high.
At Liam’s look, the other men rose in a show of respect, everything from awkwardness to uncertainty reflected in their eyes and unshaven faces. Liam saw why the King himself desired her. Alianor was a vision, her washed and plaited hair gleaming like a newly-minted silver coin, her black gown simple and neat. She was a combination of dignity and astonishing beauty. A woman of quality and grace was a rare prize, indeed.
“Thig a-steach, Alianor. Come, join us.” Liam nodded welcome to her, his knuckles whitening where he clutched a
goblet of malmsey. She had the damnedest effect on him and he saluted her with the goblet before taking a deep drink from it to steady his nerves.
It was Niall who stepped forward and led Alianor to a seat. He picked a spot between himself and Liam. All eyes remained on Alianor as she took the seat proffered. Liam cleared his throat and nodded for his men to sit and resume the feast.
“You look ever so bonny, milady.”
The compliment issued not from Liam, but his uncle. Alianor thought Niall’s compliment out of place amongst the burly men gathered about, but he seemed unaware of the tension her entrance had caused.
Alianor smiled at Niall and replied, “You are kind.”
Everyone went back to eating, but their nervous gazes drifted back to her frequently. Liam laughed at something one of his men said but it sounded forced, his own uneasiness as apparent as theirs.
Liam had avoided Alianor for two days, making it evident he did not wish to speak of their passionate encounters. She wondered if it had anything to do with Rosaleen and her unwelcome visit. She remembered the cruel words. Was she truly only one of many women Liam had brought here?
“’Tis a pleasure to have you join us, colleen, but I fear our fare isn’t what you are used to,” Niall said.
“Captives cannot be choosy, Niall.” Alianor knew Liam overheard because he flinched at her remark. She figured he could not resist a retort. He did not.
“Nay, but fine ladies can. You needn’t suffer yourself to endure any of our humble offerings here, Alianor.”
She turned and smiled sweetly at him. “Suffer? Not at all, William. I have enjoyed everything Felicity has brought me. I decided it would be nice to enjoy company for the evening meal.”
“The women already feasted and retired to their own amusements in the old nave. Sewing and nattering and the like.”
“Boayl ta guoee ta keck, as boayl ta mraane ta pleat,” one of the men called out, laughing. Niall translated for Alianor’s benefit. “Where there are geese there’s shit, and where there are women there’s prattle.”
