Fatal Truths (The Anarchy Medieval Romance)

by Markland, Anna

He and Elayne had agreed not to divulge their secret union to his brothers or to her children until arrangements could be made for a formal wedding.

  He sat down to await his bride in his favorite chair by the fire, his ankle resting atop his knee in an effort to stop his leg shaking. In his youth he’d imagined that, if he married, his wife would be a virgin. He regretted he wouldn’t be Elayne’s first lover and it filled him with anger that her husband had been a careless brute. But he was elated to be the one who’d show her the pleasures to be found in the marriage bed with a husband who cherished his wife. He sensed great passion in Elayne—a passion he longed to release and satisfy.

  She didn’t wait for him to answer after tapping lightly at the door. To his dismay, she’d covered her hair with the playd. But she came to him quickly, brushing a shy kiss on his lips. “I thought you would enjoy removing it,” she whispered.

  The caress of her lips sent more blood rushing to his groin. Her words were a balm to his soul. He reached up and gently slid the wool from her head, revealing the flaming beauty of her thick hair. He pressed his hands to her shoulders as he gathered up the fabric and lifted it from her body. He kissed it reverently before placing it on the bed.

  She fixed her gaze on his face as he ran his fingers through her tresses. “I love your hair. I’ve dreamt of touching it like this. You must clip a lock or two and I’ll carry it with me, next to my heart, when we’re apart.”

  She reached up to touch the hair at his temple. “Good idea. I will take this little curl as my memento.”

  He put his arms around her waist then cupped her derrière, gathering her to his arousal. “My need for you is great, Elayne.”

  Her hips responded. “I never knew what it was to want a man until I met you, Alexandre,” she breathed.

  He put his forefinger on her lips. “You are my wife now. Please call me Alex.”

  “Alex,” she whispered. “Alex.”

  His name on her lips, whispered with sultry longing, exhilarated him.

  He broke them apart and led her to the table with the mead. She eyed him curiously as he poured a little in each goblet, handing one to her. “We have a tradition that a man and his new bride drink mead on their wedding night. We are supposed to do so after getting between the sheets, but I fear I won’t be able to stop to drink mead once I have you in bed.”

  Elayne laughed. “We have the same tradition in Scotland,” she said, taking a sip. “Mead is well known there. This tastes very good.”

  The sparkle of mischief in her eyes drew him. He traced his tongue lightly over her wet lips, savoring the honeyed wine. “You taste very good,” he crooned. “I want to lick all of you.”

  He put down his goblet and bent to raise the hem of her bliaut, gathering it up to ease the garment over her head and outstretched arms.

  She stood before him in her linen chemise, blushing like a maiden, arms folded across her breasts. “I am no longer a young woman, Alex. I’ve had children.”

  He took hold of her hands, easing her arms apart to reveal nipples pushing at the thin fabric, pouting to be suckled. “You are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever met. Don’t hide your body from me. I want to see all of it. Take off your chemise.”

  ~~~

  ALEX’S WORDS caused her body to heat with anticipation. Dugald had never uttered words of praise, only grunted with ill-disguised lust and a brief jerk of his head when he wanted her naked. His clumsy filling of her body always left her feeling degraded, empty, cold, and often bruised.

  Even during her difficult pregnancy, he’d treated her like a chattel.

  Alex would be different. His touch promised love, warmth, a shared passion.

  She lifted the chemise from her body, resisting the temptation to cover her naked breasts. His smile and the flare of his nostrils as he inhaled deeply told her he liked what he saw. He cupped one breast with his hand, reaching for the goblet with the other. He took a sip of mead, then cupped her other breast.

  She gasped when he swiped his tongue over one nipple, then suckled, hard. Indescribably delicious sensations travelled rapidly through her body from her nipple into the back of her thighs and thence to her most intimate place. A pulse throbbed between her legs. “Alex,” she murmured.

  He pressed her breasts together, then looked up at her and smiled. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”

  She gripped his scalp, desire rippling through her body as he repeated his tender worship of the other nipple.

  When she thought she might go mad with the pleasure of it, he removed his mouth, then rolled both nipples at the same time between his thumb and forefinger. “Mmm, mead never tasted so good,” he rasped.

  A need was building inside, a need she couldn’t name. “Alex,” she growled.

  “Soon, my love, soon,” he reassured her as he tore off his shirt, though she wasn’t sure what he meant.

  Seeing his bare chest for the first time stole away her breath. He was everything a woman could desire. Well-muscled but lean, his neck strong, but not thick, a torso that wouldn’t flinch if you struck it with a soule stick a thousand times. And beautiful, copper brown nipples she wanted to lick.

  He had dark curly hair on his chest, which she supposed many men did, but its softness took her by surprise when she reached to touch it. “Maybe this is where I’ll claim my curl,” she whispered.

  She let out a little oh of surprise when he dropped to his knees, nuzzling his nose into her mons, his hands on her hips. “You have curls in other places too. You smell wonderful.”

  As quickly as he’d knelt, he straightened, gathering her into his strong arms. “Time for bed, wife.”

  Alex raked his hungry eyes over her body after laying her on the bed. She’d never felt so beautiful, so loved. She thought the aching hunger couldn’t get any more insistent, but then he parted her nether lips with his thumbs and licked the diamond of her desire. She arched her back, digging her heels into the mattress.

  When she cried out his name, he sucked her nub. The relentless need built and built. Something was coming. She didn’t know what until he slid a finger inside her. A wave of euphoria crashed through her womb, stealing the breath from her lungs. It cascaded through her body like a thousand stars strewn across the heavens by a divine hand.

  Alex gently slid his finger in and out of her throbbing sheath, prolonging the ecstasy. She felt her inner muscles clenching on him.

  But something was lacking. Her body craved more. “I need you inside me,” she murmured breathlessly.

  ~~~

  ALEX FEARED HIS HEART MIGHT BURST out of his chest as Elayne convulsed with the pleasure of what he suspected was the first release she’d ever experienced. The exquisite taste of her had almost been enough to make him abandon his determination to bring her to ecstasy and simply plunge his aching shaft inside her. But now he was glad. He wanted to beat his chest with his fists.

  However, there were more pressing needs, rendered more insistent when Elayne fluttered lazy eyelashes at him and growled, “I want to see you.”

  He’d never shucked his boots and leggings so fast in his life. Breathing heavily, he knelt between her open legs, his engorged shaft bucking at the sight of her intimate place, coated with juices, ready for him.

  Her eyes widened and she sat up, reaching for him. “You are magnificent,” she rasped. “Truly Alexandre the Great.”

  His arrogant cock took over, now too big for its breeches in more ways than one. Seemingly finding her opening on its own, it plunged into the sweet, wet heat of her passage. This was right. It was good. He had come home.

  She locked her legs around his, tucking her feet under his calves. “I have you now,” she declared as he thrust deeper and deeper.

  She was tighter than he’d expected, but if he let his thoughts wander in that direction, he’d come too quickly. He wanted the incredible sensations to go on and on.

  The warmth of her sensuous smile caught the attention of his busy couilles, an
d the love in her eyes confirmed what he already knew. He was more whole than he’d ever been.

  His essence rushed from his body into hers as intense pleasure raced up his spine and exploded into his brain.

  He might have called out something. Or perhaps she had? He wasn’t sure, but he savored the certainty she’d released again—with him. He collapsed on top of her, unable to summon the strength to support his sated body any longer.

  She twirled her fingers in his hair. As sanity returned he became aware she was breathing heavily, and he was drooling into her neck. He raised his head, making an attempt to move off her. “I’m too heavy.”

  She held him fast. “I love the feel of your weight on me.”

  Slowly, his contented cock slipped from her sheath. He rolled onto his side, pulling the linens over their sweat sheened bodies. He drew her against him so they were nose to nose, his hand on her derrière. “I’ll never let you go, Elayne. We fit together perfectly.”

  Her blush charmed him, but what she said next resurrected his earlier urge to beat his chest.

  “What you did, Alex, the incredible pleasure you gave me—I never—”

  He pressed his forefinger to her lips. “You are a passionate woman, Elayne. All you needed was a man who loves you to make your body sing.”

  With a contented sigh, she snuggled into him, humming a lullaby.

  They drifted off to sleep. He wondered if she was hoping, as he was, that they’d made a child this night.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AS THE FIRST LIGHT OF DAWN CREPT INTO THE SKY, Alex quickly climbed the ladder to the battlements, exchanging greetings with his soldiers. Each bowed in deference.

  “Any change?” he asked Brodeur as he came to stand beside his Capitaine, looking out at the tents and pavilions of Geoffrey of Anjou’s besieging forces camped in the distance on the edge of the apple orchards.

  “None. No movement. Only smoke from their cooking fires wending its slow way to heaven. They just sit there, as they have for a fortnight.”

  “He’s trying to set us on edge,” Alex replied, but didn’t add that Geoffrey’s plan might be working.

  The daily gossip among the servants revolved increasingly around when Anjou would attack. Bets were laid. Arguments erupted. Tension and uncertainty filled the air, adding to Alex’s turmoil.

  He was a newly married man who longed to share the news of his happiness with his brothers. He wanted more than a few stolen hours in the dead of night. Waking up each morning without Elayne intruded on his contentment.

  It rankled that he wasn’t free to come and go around his own lands. Even the old orchards on which Montbryce depended for its famous apple brandy were out of reach. The crop would be lost if serfs didn’t harvest the ripening apples soon. Not only would there be no brandy distilled, the fruit was an important source of food they might need.

  He longed to stroll through the familiar trees with Elayne and her children. He’d reach up and pluck a rosy apple and give it to her—a token of his heart.

  They could wander down to the lake where his grandparents had first met. He’d wager she’d enjoy the story of his grandmother picking bluebells, though the tale of his grandfather coming upon his future wife lying almost naked in the grass would have to wait until they were out of earshot of Henry and Claricia. His body heated as he imagined her reaction.

  He had a vague recollection of his grandmother, Mabelle, but it saddened him he’d never met the great Ram de Montbryce.

  “Autumn’s chill is already in the air,” Brodeur declared, jolting him out of his reverie. “We must be careful with the wood supply.”

  Alex nodded. “Bonhomme has it in hand. People are grumbling about some of the rationing, but they understand why it’s necessary.”

  Brodeur gripped the hilt of his sword. “I hope that holds true when winter wraps its cold hands around their bodies, and freezes the fingers and toes of their children. I hate this waiting. I’d rather be fighting.”

  They’d discussed launching an attack on Anjou’s men, but uncertainty as to how many lay in wait outside the walls had led to a decision to wait. More of his forces might be camped out of sight. Geoffrey could come and go at will. It was unlikely he was sitting in one of those distant tents, warding off the chill.

  Romain bounded up the ladder. “Bonjour, mon frère. Brodeur.”

  Alex had thanked le bon Dieu every day of the standoff for his brother’s ability to maintain his good humor. He regretted hiding his marriage from such a close member of his family, and suspected the perceptive Romain knew very well what was going on.

  The man was seemingly everywhere that grumbling, uncertainty, and fear surfaced, spreading his laughter and joviality, calming people’s frayed nerves.

  He organized soule games in the bailey and the shouts of happy children bounced off the stone walls of the castle, bringing a smile to many faces in spite of the dire situation. He tried to implement new rules about avoiding the makeshift animal pens filled with livestock, but the boys seemed to take added delight in extricating the ball from under the feet of squealing pigs, squawking chickens and bleating goats. Peasant women complained about the impossibility of removing animal filth from clothing when water was rationed.

  Faol was generally considered the best player of all. Every boy wanted to be on his team, even when his shaggy grey coat was matted with dung.

  “How long will they sit out there?” Romain asked, his voice betraying an unusual trace of worry.

  “Only Dieu and Geoffrey know that,” Alex replied, hooking an arm around his brother’s neck, enjoying the new easy familiarity they shared. “Let’s go break our fast.”

  ~~~

  ELAYNE HAD EVENTUALLY CAPITULATED to Alexandre’s insistence she sit at the head table with her children, but only because the servants had pushed her to do so once they’d been told of her true identity.

  She still felt awkward in the new clothing the seamstresses had conjured in a few short days. It seemed wrong in a time of lack and restraint, but Micheline, newly appointed as her lady’s maid, reassured her. “Forgive me, milady, but we could tell all along those darling children were yours, and anyone can see you and the Comte have eyes for each other. All of us would like to see our Comte happily wed—and a father to young Henry and Claricia.”

  Had the maidservant guessed the truth? Her children needed a father like Alexandre—brave, honest, noble. And the more time she spent in his embrace, the more she wanted him with an ache that grew more insistent every day.

  She still wore her playd, partly for familiarity, mostly to ward off the chill, but now she draped it over her shoulder and across her body, pinned with the Douenald clan brooch her father had given her on her wedding day, a brooch no longer concealed in her trunk, but worn with pride. She hoped one day to give it to her daughter.

  She was worried about Claricia who’d been listless for a few days and had lost her usually healthy appetite. She was coaxing small pieces of smoked ham into her mouth when Alexandre and Romain strode into the Hall.

  She could never look at the man she loved without a rush of heat spiraling through her body.

  He bent to peck a kiss on Claricia’s forehead. “She feels warm.”

  Elayne put her hand where his lips had been. “I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

  “I want to sleep, maman,” her daughter complained, adding to her concern.

  “Just eat a little more, for me,” she pleaded.

  Claricia gave in, chewing the morsels with difficulty, but suddenly she gripped Elayne’s hand, turned away and vomited. Faol leapt to his feet with uncharacteristic swiftness just in time to avoid being splattered.

  The child swooned. Alexandre moved quickly to catch her before she fell off the bench. He scooped her up, holding her against his chest, seemingly not caring about his fine raiment. Servants rushed forward, their worried faces touching Elayne’s frantic heart.

  “Fetch the healer,” Alexandre shouted as he carried C
laricia from the Hall.

  Henry bolted from his place to follow, his young face tight with dismay, but Elayne touched his shoulder. “Stay here, Henry. I don’t want you getting sick too.”

  She could see he wasn’t happy about it, but Romain came quickly to usher him to another table while a servant cleaned up the mess. “He’ll be fine. Go.”

  Her belly in knots, she ran out of the hall, praying the healer had a solution to her daughter’s illness.

  ~~~

  FOR ANOTHER SENNIGHT Alex made the rounds of the castle, reassuring weary villagers, encouraging his soldiers, checking the weapons in the armory, the remaining provisions, the water supply. Henry was his constant shadow, walking resolutely at his side, a miniature lieutenant accompanied by his hound, politely refusing suggestions he play soule with the other boys. Alex wondered if the lad sensed he was missing Elayne in his bed and wanted to make up for it.

  Still Geoffrey’s army made no move.

  After the evening meal in the Hall, Alex joined Elayne in her vigil at Claricia’s bedside, distraught that he didn’t know how to console her torment as the child’s illness worsened. The castle’s healer could offer no solution to the high fever and headaches that beset the girl. Nothing she ate or drank stayed in her body. She was wasting away before their eyes.

  Alex felt like part of him was dying; he couldn’t imagine what the child’s mother was feeling. Yet she remained strong, refusing to admit her daughter wouldn’t recover.

  He usually stayed by Elayne’s side until midnight, then left to go to his own chamber to offer what comfort he could to Henry who’d been moved there to avoid contagion. Micheline had prepared a chamber for the boy, but Alex wanted him close, wanted to be a father to him.

  He was about to admonish Elayne, in vain he knew, about staying awake for another long night, when a loud knocking startled them.

  “Milord, milord. Vite. The orchards.”

  Bonhomme.

  He thrust open the door. Distress creased his Steward’s face. “The bastards have set fire to the apple orchards,” he rasped.

  Alex ran by him, almost bumping into Romain. They joined a throng of armed men scaling the ladders to the battlements.