Warrior's Deception

by Hall, Diana

  “Why? I know he’s sorry that he broke it off. He wants to see you. Now that your mother is gone, perhaps he can ask for your hand.” A pang of remorse tore at Lenora’s heart. Deep inside, she wanted Beatrice and Geoffrey together so that her cousin would no longer provide a temptation to her husband.

  “Nay.” Beatrice’s eyes opened in alarm. She looked at Lenora with eyes that begged her to understand. “I don’t feel the same about him. I’ve grown up these last few months. I don’t think I ever really loved him. He Just sheltered me from all my fears. He made me feel safe. That’s not love.”

  The fear returned. How did she know unless someone had taught her? Lenora refused to surrender to her jealousy. Trust, she would trust Roen and Beatrice. “I’ll speak to Geoffrey for you, if that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you, I would appreciate it, Cousin. Tell him—” she rubbed her lips with her hand “—I’m sorry.” The words came out choked with tears. Beatrice grabbed her basket and left Lenora alone. Crushed rose petals littered the garden walk. Their bruised aroma reminded her of the concern in her heart.

  Life without Roen’s love she could survive, but if she could not trust him, what life could they have together? Roen promised her loyalty; she had to put her faith in his word. She would push these terrible thoughts from her mind and think of the sunset. Then she could wrap herself in her husband’s arms and dispel all her questions.

  No matter what move she made, victory eluded her. Another loss stared her in the face. Roen’s cheerful whistling from the opposite side of the table caused her to fume. “Stop that infernal racket. I can’t concentrate.”

  The glow of success lit his face. He reminded her of a boy who had managed to hit the quintain for the first time, full of bluster and arrogance. She ought to be used to that look; she had seen it every time they played. This night would be no different.

  A pout came to Lenora’s lips and she threw up her hands. “I lose again.” Roen hooted and slapped his thigh. Goliath lifted his head from Lenora’s feet and peered about with one sleepy eye. He chomped his jowls loudly, then fell over into a deep sleep.

  A crooked smile, which caused Roen’s dimples to appear, crossed his full lips. “I win again. Nine Man Morris is a game I don’t ever intend to lose. The prize is too great to lose.” A naughty wink accompanied his last remark.

  Lenora felt a tingle of excitement in her body. Despite the wonderful surrender she gave to Roen each night and the bliss she found in their lovemaking, she would like to win this game just once. She came so close, so many times, but never a win. ‘Twould do her husband well to deflate his vanity a bit.

  Beatrice, seated near the hearth, looked up from her needlework and tried to console her. “Perhaps next time.”

  Hamlin draped his arms along the rim of her cousin’s chair and chimed in, “You’ve got to get the upper hand.”

  “Of course she does, but she can’t.” Roen crowed with satisfaction. He laced his fingers together and stretched out his arms and long legs.

  Hamlin moved to sit against the arm of Beatrice’s chair. “Don’t be so certain, my friend. There’s always a weakness.”

  Roen shrugged his wide shoulders in a roguish manner. Lenora bit her lip. Just once she’d like to ruin that arrogant armor.

  Her giant of a husband rose and unexpectedly brushed his lips across her cheek. He didn’t make tender gestures often, especially in front of others. “I need to speak with the night guard. I’ll be up soon.” His eyes darkened to an indigo gray. Lenora understood his message. He expected her to be in their room when he returned; he meant to collect his winnings. His eyes twinkled with conquest yet burned with lust.

  Her gaze followed his long, powerful strides across the hall to the door. She could close her eyes and picture every line and contour of his body. The way his hair tumbled down around his back, the scars that marked his battles and beatings from his father; all were as familiar to her as the paths in the woods near her home.

  “I wonder just what he wins each night that makes him so happy?” Hamlin gave Beatrice a wink.

  “Don’t tease,” Beatrice warned. She threatened the knight with the tip of her sewing needle. Hamlin threw up his hands in mock surrender. The two young people laughed, their eyes on each other. Lenora listened to the banter and realized Beatrice exhibited none of her old fears.

  Roen was correct. In the last few months, Beatrice had managed to pick her way out of the shell of her fear. She no longer withdrew inside of herself if a man approached. Vitality had returned to her and it made her even more beautiful, even more of a temptation. The cold warning of Matilda’s words stabbed through her consciousness. Her conversation earlier in the day with Beatrice replayed in her mind.

  “I know how you could win that game.” Hamlin’s voice sounded cocky.

  Lenora shook her head and cast off the dread she felt. “How is that? Drug him?”

  “In a way, you could call it that.” Hamlin raised his eyebrows and looked around as if he were about to impart a great secret. “’Tis his concentration. You’ve got to break it.”

  Lenora shrugged her shoulders and waved her hands in dismissal. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? It doesn’t work. I’ve teased him, ridiculed him, nothing.”

  “Those are the ways a man might do it, but you’re a woman. Use the talents of a woman to best him.”

  Lenora looked to Beatrice for clarification. Beatrice’s cheeks tinted dark rose. “I think Sir Hamlin means to say…” Beatrice dropped her needlework and took Lenora’s hand. “Look at your husband as you do, when you think he can’t see you. As you were just doing.”

  “Exactly.” Hamlin nodded. “Rest your gaze on him like that and I guarantee he’ll lose all thoughts.”

  Lenora bolted up from the chair and hit the edge of the table. The bag of stones fell and its contents spilled across the floor. Her fingers trembling, she tried to replace them.

  Beatrice knelt beside her and attempted to put her arms around Lenora. “We’ve upset you. I just thought if you told him how you really feel…”

  “Nay.” Lenora stood and shook off her cousin’s help. “I’m not upset. I’ve lost the stones is all.” Did Beatrice’s words mean to warn her about Roen, that he might be drifting from his wife to her cousin? “Roen and I have discussed this. We’ve pledged our loyalty, respect and trust. ’Tis all he wants.” She hesitated before adding, “All we want.”

  A painful lump caught in her throat. She passed the bag to Beatrice and nearly ran from the room. Like a little shadow, Goliath trotted at her heels.

  It hurt that others could see her caring, yet Roen did not. The more painful wound stung from the fact that she did care, deeply, for her husband, and he did not return those feelings. Despite the fact that she had been warned, it did not lessen her injury. To tell him her tender feelings would only embarrass him and topple their newfound happiness. Better to go on as they were and live with what emotions Roen consented to express.

  The stones fell into the velvet bag from Hamlin’s hand. Beatrice pulled the gold-cord drawstring. “Did we do the right thing?” Her voice shook with emotion.

  “Aye. We’ve got to make one of them crack that stubborn shell. How are they ever going to know they’re in love unless one of them breaks down and tells the other?” Hamlin took Beatrice’s hand and led her to a chair. He knelt at her feet and leaned back against the arm of the chair.

  Beatrice watched the dark brown head move. She reached out her hand and held it suspended just above the curls. With a feather touch, she felt the silky smoothness of his hair. “Speaking from your heart is always difficult. It leaves one vulnerable.”

  His head turned, and she jerked her hand back to her chest. “Are you regretting your part in my scheme?” Hamlin’s eyes met hers.

  “Nay, ‘tis only the entanglements I regret.”

  He nodded sagely. “There is always a spiderweb of complications when one plays Eros.”

  Beatrice picked up her ne
edlework and whispered under her breath, “I pray ‘tis not I that is caught up in the web.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Water trickled through the slats of the gigantic wooden tub in the middle of the floor. Lenora sat cross-legged on the bed, her skirts pulled across her knees. “This is useless,” she complained. “’Twill never fill.”

  The shoddy workmanship was her own fault. Tom had warned her Cervin needed more time, but she had insisted on delivery as promised. She stared at the wet floor and moped.

  “The wood’s lookin’ like it’s finally goin’ to swell tight, Lady Lenora,” the servant commented while he poured in another heavy bucket of steaming water. “We’ll have it full for ye soon.”

  “Thank you, Darrot.” Lenora skipped to her trunk and extracted a soft cloth and a bar of her favorite scented soap. She grabbed the cloth and soap and laid them on the table her father had made. The game board reminded her of her conversation with Beatrice and Hamlin. How could she tell Roen how she felt? How could she tell him she loved him when he didn’t even understand the emotion? Without sound she mouthed the words, Roen, I love you. Nay, ‘twas not right. She continued her silent practice. Roen, my husband, I need to say this. I love you. She shuddered. Definitely not right. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the confused look of her servant.

  “I’m memorizing a new passage from the Scriptures.”

  “Uh huh.” He nodded and raised his eyebrows. Darrot dumped the last pail of hot water into the tub.

  “’Tis all filled for ye, milady.” He scooped up the rope handles of several empty buckets and excused himself from her presence.

  She rolled up her sleeves and tested the water with her elbow. Steam rose from the surface of the water like a cloud. The moisture clung to her face and throat. She reached for a towel and groaned. Roen would arrive at any moment and she had forgotten to pull a towel from the linen press. Hoping to return before her husband, she made a dash for the press.

  The squire had just managed to pull off Roen’s tunic when Lenora rushed into the room. Color washed her face and she bit her lower lip. She tossed the towel onto the bed and grabbed the cloth and soap. Kneeling by the wooden tub filled with hot water, she urged him to enter his bath. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to assist you, but I forgot a towel. Hurry, or the water will grow cold.”

  Roen waved his squire off and finished undressing. His skin protested the temperature of the water. With his back to his wife, he sat on the stool and soaked in the hot water. The smell of honey drifted to him from the soap in Lenora’s hand. Her strong fingers massaged his shoulders and arms. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his back.

  “This tub is much more to my liking.” The slap of the cloth stung his back. He stretched out his legs and pointed his toes, then sprawled out using as much room as possible. “There’s more than enough room for two.” He waited to see if she took the hint. “Nora?” He cricked his neck to see her behind him.

  “Hmm?” She shook her head and tucked back a curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry, I did not hear you.”

  “Nothing,” he grumbled. For the past several days he had sensed an internal conflict in his wife. She daydreamed and had silent conversations with herself. Each time he broached the subject, she only smiled and told him ‘twas nothing.

  “You’re quiet tonight, wife. ‘Tis not usual.”

  “Relish it.” Firm pressure from her hand eased his head off the tub ring and forward. The cloth moved in large circles down his back.

  So she didn’t want to speak about it. He would respect her wishes, for that had been his promise to her. Yet he ached to share her worries. She moved to sit at the side and he leaned back. The honey-scented soap in her hand lathered his chest with bubbles. Lenora did not meet his eyes while she washed his neck and chest.

  Intent on breaking her melancholy, Roen scooped up a handful of suds and threw them at her. Her eyes flew open wide. “Roen! What are you doing?”

  “Paying you back for an earlier bath. You almost blistered me.”

  The nagging look of worry eased from her face. The familiar glint of mischief returned to her eyes. A gentle warmth spread through his chest. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

  “You sent that old hag to boil me alive.”

  A secretive smile slanted across her lips. “I sent no hag to you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  The smile evaporated from her lips. “Nay, husband, there is one thing you can be sure of, I do not lie.” The smile returned. “I sent no hag, because—” Lenora changed her voice to a reedy waver like an old woman “—I was the hag. A scrap of old clothes and some dirt and you didn’t even recognize me.”

  “Then I must repay you for the temperature and the conversation of that bath.” He made a grab for her and the soap dropped into the foamy water. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and plunged her hand into the water. His voice husky, he commanded, “Find it.”

  Her full lips parted in surprise, and he heard a tiny gasp. Pulling her closer, he trailed his finger down the side of her face. He had her full attention, all distractions forgotten. She slid her arm gently under the water and made contact with the inside of his upper thigh. Instantly, he could feel the heat seep into his groin. When her fingers danced down his leg, he halted them and moved them in the opposite direction.

  Tentatively, her arm glided through the steamy water along his leg. He closed his eyes and allowed the hot licks of passion to devour him. A deep groan of pleasure shuddered from him when her hand touched his organ. Soapy fingers slid up and down the hardened shaft. Slowly, so achingly slowly, they encircled him, tugged at him, then withdrew.

  “I found the soap.”

  Roen opened his eyes. He watched, mesmerized, while she rolled the bar in her hand, over and over again, building up a huge lather. The soap slipped from her hand again and disappeared between his legs. Her hand followed, brushing the tip of his manhood then gliding down its heated length. Like a child playing with fire, she teased the flames of his passion.

  “Nora.” The need grew too great, the heat too intense. He wanted to taste her, to feel the soft skin of her breasts against him, see her nipples harden from his touch. Her touch left ripples of desire across his skin and stoked the yearnings in his groin.

  “My name’s Lenora.”

  A robust laugh shook him. He had her back with him now and he intended to make the most of it. A tug and a lift, and she tumbled over the edge of the tub.

  “Roen, what are you—”

  He drowned her words with his lips. It could not be plainer what he intended. His hands tore at her chemise to expose the rosy circles of her breasts. His lips covered them and he suckled the essence from each milk white orb.

  “Isn’t this what you had in mind when you ordered such a monstrosity built?” He chuckled in her ear. His tongue darted across the tender skin to punctuate his intent.

  “Nay.” Breathless, she nipped his neck with her sharp teeth. “I thought ‘twas you who ordered it.”

  “Aye, so ‘twas.” He held her face in the palm of his hand. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders to her bare breasts. “’Tis well our thoughts are so much in tandem.” He touched each perfect globe, marveling at its softness.

  “Roen, I…” She stopped midsentence.

  He looked up from his passionate explorations and waited. “What is it, Nora?”

  “You’re pleased with our marriage, are you not?”

  “Aye.” His thumbs massaged the tiny, erect peaks of her breasts. “I am well pleased with our marriage.” He couldn’t help grinning at her solemn expression. So this was her dilemma. He should have known she needed more sweet words, more compliments. Women needed that sort of thing.

  “You don’t feel anything is lacking, then, in our union?” Her dark eyes wavered.

  “I’ll let you be the judge of that.” He brought his lips to hers and let her feel all of the passio
n he held in check. She tasted like the smell of the soap, clean and sweet. She clung to him. Her beautiful hair spilled across her shoulders and floated in the water like copper-colored water lilies.

  Water splashed over the tub in deep swells. His hand moved beneath the swimming folds of her gown to her braes. The handful of cloth gave way to his insistent pull and freed delicate curls for his fingers to explore. Her head thrown back, the graceful arch of her neck exposed, Lenora guided him to her.

  Her grip on him tightened. He gritted his teeth and pulled her to him. Using his knees as a brace, he cleared away the yards of material from her gown and had her straddle him. With a push, he plunged his engorged shaft into her. He buried his face into the deep valley of her breasts, his hands cupped the cheeks of her derriere. She moaned, a sound filled with pleasure and desire.

  Roen floated in the ecstasy of the feel of her wrapped around him. He kissed a path from one milky white breast to the other. The low purrs from Lenora heightened his yearnings. He shifted his weight and could not control the outcry of erotic gratification when he eased even deeper into her.

  She began to rock. The waves of water moved in time with her. Surges of fevered heat enveloped him. He moved with the flow of the tide Lenora created. Her pelvis ground against him, causing a storm of golden passion to rip through him. He could feel the involuntary tremors of arousal pulsating through him, through her.

  Lenora’s rocking lost its gentle meter and became more insistent, more demanding. A hot tide of excitement raged through him. His body craved release from its enchanting torture. Lightning streams of passion poured into her womb. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders while a desire-rich groan spilled from her lips. Spent, she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.

  The tepid water swirled, soapy lather covered the floor. Roen held her to him tightly, afraid somehow she would melt away in the water and leave him alone once more. His voice wavered with awe. “I believe that’s the best prize ever.”