Lord of Lyonsbridge

by Ana Seymour

  “I didn’t come for this, I swear,” he murmured.

  But their union had been preordained, Ellen decided as he laid her back against her pillows. It was as if the mists of this wild land had swirled into her body and carried away her will and reason, leaving her wanting only the feel of her Saxon knight in her arms, his lips searing her skin.

  He rolled away briefly to disrobe, then stood next to her by the bed, naked and splendid in the flickering firelight. She’d seen men stripped of their clothes, prisoners and others, but the sight had never before caused this flush of heat to her face, the throbbing all the way to her legs.

  “Now you, sweetheart,” he said. “I’d see thy fair body.”

  With amazingly little self-consciousness, she let his big, roughened hands strip away her nightdress, and she lay quiet beneath his slow gaze.

  His teeth caught his lower lip as he looked at her. After a moment he said, “On my oath, Ellen of Wakelin, thou art the most beautiful woman I’ve ever looked upon.”

  Then he moved over her, finally skin against skin, his warm and hers cold. She felt the roughened hair of his legs against her smooth, sensitive thighs. His hard chest gently flattened her peaking breasts as his mouth joined hers in a long, silken mating.

  She moved underneath him, restless and longing for deeper contact. “In truth you have never known a man?” he asked, low in her ear.

  She shook her head and turned her face away from him for a moment, but her need was stronger than her embarrassment, and when his lips sought hers again, she gave them willingly.

  “Then we must go gently, my sweet,” he murmured, “though my body races.”

  He held her upper arms to still her movement as he kissed a trail from her chin to her breasts, then tenderly drew a nipple into his mouth and suckled. She lifted her head to look down at him. His lashes swept up as his eyes met hers, heavy-lidded and sensual. The sight sent a shaft of longing to her loins.

  Just as her nipple was beginning to sting from his rhythmic sucking, he let it loose and switched to the other side. She let her head fall back and concentrated on the rush of feeling centered in the tiny nub.

  “Ah, Saxon,” she moaned after several moments. “What have you done to me?”

  Connor pushed himself up to face her once again and regarded her with a lopsided, sensual grin. “Saxon? I’ll hear my Christian name on your lips, my Norman enchantress, before we become lovers.”

  “Are we not yet lovers? Is this a dream that I lie naked in your arms?”

  He shook his head slowly, then crooked his leg to allow his thigh to brush that most sensitive part of her body. “We’ve only begun, sweetheart, but I’d hear my name. Say it. Say, make love to me, Connor.”

  It would be a declaration of surrender, and both knew it. He would no longer be a servant, nor yet a conquered Saxon, but Connor, her lover, her equal, her master even, in the age-old way that men had always mastered women.

  She withheld a long moment while his husky voice whispered in her ear and his tongue made swirls around her earlobe and the top of her neck. Then, slow and sure, his hand stroked along her stomach and lower, finding the soft folds of her and sending wild waves of sensation rocking upward.

  “Love me, Connor,” she groaned.

  The slowness was over, replaced by frenzy. The movement of his fingers became faster, more assured, and she let her legs fall open and called out to him again, needy and searching for release. He moved quickly, filling her, with a whisper of apology. But her horsewoman’s body was strong and ready. The brief discomfort turned to an exquisite fullness, then an urgency and she dug her nails into his back as their rhythm became frantic.

  Finally, he stiffened and gave a small moan. Deep inside she felt the pulsing, and it triggered an answering crash that rocked throughout her body, leaving her trembling and weak.

  Connor’s arms had collapsed beneath him and he lay, apparently equally stricken. But he was the first to move, sliding to one side and gathering her in his arms. “I didn’t hurt you, sweetheart?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.

  She shook her head.

  “’Tis a wonder,” he marveled. “I daresay ‘twas vigorous for first-time lovemaking. You made me lose myself.”

  “You weren’t overly lost, horse master,” she said with a teasing smile. “I knew where you were the entire time.”

  He gave a deep laugh and reached down to gently swat her bare behind. “’Tis lucky for you I like my wenches saucy. But I told you to call me by my name.”

  “’Twas the price of becoming your lover. But now the deed is done.”

  “Are you thinking I’ll slink back to my stables then, and things will be as before?” His tone was half-serious.

  They had been said in jest, but her remark and his reply set a sudden chill to the room. Ellen looked over to see if the fire had died. It burned brightly.

  “Things will not be as before,” she said slowly, “but in truth, I know not how they will be.”

  He was quiet a long moment. When she lifted her head to see his face, he was looking around the room as though remembering when this place had been his by right of law and of birth.

  “Connor?” she prompted.

  He finally turned his head back to her. His smile was brittle. “We said ‘twas madness, this thing betwixt us. Mayhap we’ve tamed the madness, for the nonce.”

  “What do you mean by that?” The chill had reached up to her throat.

  He was already putting on his clothes. “My very presence here puts my life at risk, milady.”

  “You’re leaving?” she asked, unable to believe - what she was seeing.

  “If I’m caught, your father will have my head on a pike. ‘Tis that simple.”

  Somehow she knew that fear for his life was not at the core of Connor’s sudden change in mood. He was anything but a coward. He certainly had had little fear when he’d climbed three stories to reach her room. There was something more to his departure.

  Suddenly shy of her nakedness, she covered herself with blankets as he finished dressing. “When will I see you again?” she asked, feeling weak for posing the question.

  He stood gazing down at her, his expression stoic. “Did you like living in a cave, milady? Are you eager to join me in that romantic, dank bower by the sea?”

  She could not reply.

  After a moment, he nodded “I thought not.” He took a final look around the bedchamber. “’Twas madness, in truth,” he said softly, as if talking to himself. “A most wondrous madness.”

  Then she felt a whoosh of chill air as the casement shutters opened and he was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ellen had changed her mind at least a dozen times throughout the night. One moment she’d punch her mattress in fury and vow that first thing in the morning she’d go to her father and tell him the Saxons’ hiding place, so that his soldiers could clear out the entire lot, starting with their arrogant leader.

  The next moment she’d consider making her way to Father Martin at the abbey and asking him to take her to Connor.

  She couldn’t remember her mind ever being in such a muddle, and it kept her tossing until shortly before dawn, when she fell into an exhausted sleep, still feeling the traces of Connor’s fingers on her skin.

  It was midmorning when she awoke, and then only because Sylvianne had knocked on the door to check on her mistress’s welfare. She’d sent the woman away and dressed herself, still no closer to a decision about her next move.

  The most sensible thing would be to put the night of love out of her mind entirely, and the horse master along with it. She should ascribe it to a fit of madness, as he had apparently done with such ease, and forget it ever happened. But how was she to banish that memory of his eyes, heavy with desire? Of his kisses, melting the strength from her limbs?

  Connor had been right about one thing. If her father discovered what he had done to her, he would have his head. And if he knew the whole of it, how after taking her vir
ginity, his stable master had discarded her like a broken pitcher, he would see Connor’s limbs torn from his body.

  She gave a deep sigh as she descended the twisting stairway to the great hall. It was well past the hour to break fast, and the room appeared to be empty, but as she went into the buttery for some ale to cut the morning chill, she encountered Sebastian, filling a cup for himself.

  He raised it in a mock toast. “So you’ve decided to rejoin society, Cousin, now that you’ve unmanned your father with your childish tantrum.”

  “I see nothing manly about a leader flogging his vassals,” she said. “If ‘twas my doing that changed my father’s mind, then I’m grateful for it.”

  “You know not the ways of men, Ellen. A leader who threatens and then doesn’t carry out his threats is seen as impotent.”

  “A leader who is capable of admitting a mistake is seen as wise,” she snapped.

  “Verily, Cousin, I think the damp English air has sickened your brain. In France you were never one to meddle in affairs that were best left to men. No lord worth his salt would let the murder of his reeve go unpunished.”

  “Sir William was not murdered.”

  “So say these Saxons you seem to have grown so fond of. Are you going to listen to them before your own kinsmen?” His sharp black eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Mayhap ‘tis one Saxon in particular you listen to.”

  “’Tis justice I listen to,” she insisted, but she couldn’t help the telltale flush that ran up her cheeks.

  Sebastian cocked his head, considering. “The horse master,” he said slowly, comprehension dawning. “How like a female to be swayed by a handsome face and form,” he sneered. “In case you hadn’t heard, Cousin, Connor Brand is declared outlaw, too.”

  “He’s done nothing,” she said. Nothing but smash her heart asunder not twelve hours ago.

  A light of glee danced in Sebastian’s eyes. “I believe Lord Wakelin needs to know of this, my dear cousin. You must be protected from your own misguidance.”

  Ellen felt sick at the pit of her stomach, but she refused to let her cousin see the weapon he held over her. “Tell my father what you will, Cousin,” she said breezily. “He’s not likely to believe you over his own daughter.”

  Sebastian’s smile didn’t waver. “We’ll see whom he believes, Cousin. And we’ll see how resolute he becomes in finding this stable master when he learns that his precious daughter lusts after the man like a village strumpet.”

  The two fishermen had finally returned, weary and on foot after their boat had been smashed on the rocks in a cove far to the south, where they’d ventured in an unsuccessful search for a cave large enough for all the Saxon refugees. In the end it was decided to split the group and disperse to smaller caves, which were plentiful all along the coast.

  “Mayhap ‘tis a better plan, anyway. ‘Twill be more difficult to find several smaller sites than one big one,” Walter Little had said, trying to put a good face on things.

  Connor had been unusually silent all morning, just at a time when his leadership was needed more than ever.

  Humbert White and his companions had already taken their things and moved, and several of the families had left as well. The Coopers remained, waiting for Connor, along with a number of the other outlaws who remained loyal to their former lord. With the Coopers was the castle page, Rolf, who had vowed to join the outlaws rather than return to a Norman rule that could so endanger John and Sarah.

  Connor raised his gaze from the fire where he’d been staring for the past several minutes. “Aye, ‘tis as well,” he agreed. “In truth, ‘tis time to end this thing of hiding in caves and in the forest. These people belong at Lyonsbridge, raising their families, going about their occupations, leading normal lives.”

  Walter looked skeptical. “Aye, and Normandy should sink into the sea, but I doubt either of those things will happen.”

  Connor stood and picked up the bucket of sand to douse the fire. “Let us leave this sodden hole,” he said brusquely.

  Walter kicked at the sticks that had fallen from the fire, watching Connor with troubled eyes. “We’re but exchanging this hole for another, my lord. You can’t go back to the village, nor can the Coopers. Sometimes I worry over your lack of fear, lad. It goes against good sense.”

  Fear? Aye, Connor thought with another twist of his gut. He was afraid. Not of Lord Wakelin’s men. He’d face them twenty to one if need be. But he couldn’t answer for his bravery if he ever again had to lay eyes on his daughter.

  When his parents had died and left him the trust of caring for his people, he’d thought his destiny had been chosen. He’d never looked beyond that to a reawakening of any sense of a life for himself. In one hot, magical encounter that had all changed. This morning, after lying awake the night through, he’d realized that he’d give over his trust, let every other cause and England along with it fester and rot, if he could but have her. The knowledge had shaken him more profoundly than anything since he’d lowered his mother into the ground.

  “I’m not a fool, Walter,” he said. “The Coopers and I will find another cave to hide away like the rats we’ve become, and you’re welcome to join us.”

  They helped the Coopers gather their things, leaving what they couldn’t carry, and set off. Miraculously, the sizable group of people who had inhabited the cave seemed to have melted into the sand cliffs of the coast like so many snowflakes.

  Connor, Walter, the Coopers, Rolf and the four outlaws who had chosen to join them settled on a small cavern a scant two miles from the original cave. Walter had urged more distance, but Connor had seen that Agnes Cooper was once again flagging, and had decreed that they would camp there, at least for the time being.

  John had spent a lot of time in the past few idle days listening to Humbert and the other malcontents, and had almost decided to journey with them, until Sarah had told him that their mother needed him. But now, as they settled into the cramped new quarters, he was fidgety and ill-tempered.

  Finally Sarah turned on him and said sharply, “’Tis to save your hide we’ve left our home and come to this place, John. The least you could do is try to be pleasant.”

  “Aye, sister, and ‘twas to save your virtue that I put my hide at risk,” he snapped back. “I’ll not be chastened by—”

  Agnes held up a shaky hand, stopping her children in midargument. “We’ve enough trouble with the Normans without turning on ourselves,” she said with her usual firm serenity.

  Sarah looked instantly contrite, but John turned away muttering and left the cave.

  Connor watched him go without trying to stop him. The boy reminded him of himself in earlier days, when he still had the faith to rail at the lot fate had cast him in sending conquerers to his beloved land.

  He’d long since lost that faith. Martin may have come to some kind of peace by turning to his God, but Connor held on to one creed only-his people. He’d sworn to keep them safe and away from the ravages of war. His night with Ellen at the castle had been a betrayal of that creed. It was a mistake he had no intention of repeating.

  * * *

  “Is there truth to your cousin’s words, my daughter?” Lord Wakelin asked, his voice disbelieving. “Have you developed a fondness for this stableman?”

  Ellen wanted to tell her father that Connor was more than a horse trainer, but any attempt at defending him would surely be taken as confirmation of Sebastian’s charges. “My cousin has ever been fanciful, Father,” she said, looking at Sebastian in disgust. He stood hovering over her father’s shoulder, like some kind of ill-fed vulture ready to swoop.

  Wakelin twisted around to look up at him. “What gave you this odd notion, Nephew?”

  Sebastian’s smile came too quickly. “’Tis known among the villagers, milord, that this man has set every maid in the shire a-swoon.”

  “For shame, Sebastian,” Wakelin snapped. “Ellen’s not a village maid. She has the best suitors in Europe at her feet. What care has she for a lo
wborn Saxon lout?”

  Ellen remained silent.

  Sebastian moved around the chair so that he was facing his uncle more squarely. “Mayhap ‘tis but a fancy, as she says. I hope so, for the men I’ve set to investigate Booth’s murder tell me that ‘twas surely done with the complicity of the horse master. Mayhap at his instigation.”

  “’Tis a lie,” Ellen cried.

  Her father turned his head sharply to look at her. “Daughter?” he asked mildly.

  She forced herself to remain calm and lowered her voice. “I was with these people, Father, immediately after the incident. Connor Brand knew nothing about the killing until John Cooper came to him. The boy acted alone, and that only in defense of his sister.”

  “There’s long been bad blood ‘twixt this stableman and Booth,” Sebastian insisted. “And he fled immediately after the murder, which is proof of guilt in itself.”

  “Connor was only helping the Cooper family to get away for fear revenge would be taken by Booth’s men before the full story was revealed,” Ellen told her father.

  Lord Wakelin pushed back his chair and sighed. “’Tis for a court to decide the truth of it. But both the boy and this horseman must be brought to justice.”

  “Aye,” Sebastian agreed with a sly glance at Ellen. “And if my fair cousin cares naught for the man, she won’t demur if we put a reward on his head.”

  “The matter should be settled,” Wakelin said. “You have my permission to offer a reward. Post it in the village as well. I’m sure the people there know more than what your troops have been able to wring out of them.”

  “Father, you cannot—” Ellen began.

  But her father stopped her with a shake of his head. “Leave it be, Daughter. ‘Tis not your affair, and if you continue to meddle, I’ll have to send you back to Normandy, where I should have kept you in the first place.”

  Sebastian cast a look of triumph at Ellen. “By your leave, Uncle, I’ll see to your orders.”

  Her father turned back to his papers as Sebastian left the room, bringing the audience to a close, and leaving her no choice but to retire to her room and hope that the unity she had witnessed among the Saxon villagers would withstand the temptation of Sebastian’s Judas gold.