by Glenda Diana
A penetrating pain rushed through her. Yet, at the same time, the revelation did not surprise her. How foolish she had been trying to make up excuses for Blake's actions. Why else would a man leave the comforts of home, a home well-stocked with spirits, to visit a filthy inn?
“Thank you, Luc.”
“Are you ready to leave now?”
Thorton shook her head.
“Why the hell not? The bastard has left you on the night of his vows! And why? To go spend it with a wench who probably smells worse than a barnyard!”
“He didn't want me for his wife, nor in his bed. It doesn't change the fact he is my husband. Perhaps, this will make you feel at ease ... I told Blake that, in one year, if he so decided, he could end the marriage. Until then, I will not leave. I will not forsake my vows.”
A muffled noise made Thorton look down the hallway. Her eyes met Griggs. By his expression, she knew he had overheard. She was tempted to ask if Blake frequently visited the tavern, but the words died in her throat. She didn't want to know the answer.
“Good night, Luc,” she whispered, closing the door.
Thorton leaned against the wood as hurt rose inside her. The pain seemed to swallow her. This was her fault. It was her ignorance that made her think that, by saying sacred vows, everything would be all right.
Should she leave like Lucas suggested? She was not a coward. Never had she backed down from anything and she wouldn't begin now. If Blake chose to bed every woman in England, that was his choice. In retaliation, she would show indifference. All she had to do was wait. Patience was something she had plenty of.
* * * *
Blake returned to Stonecrest with the morning sun. He slammed the door to his bedchamber with such force, he winced at the vibrations. He yanked the heavy drapes closed, blocking out the bright sunshine. His gaze stopped at the decanter on the bureau. He sighed ... reinforcement.
He couldn't do it.
Those haunting words had echoed through his head for endless hours. What a fool he had been! He had deluded himself in thinking he could slake his lust with a tavern wench. The moment he had gotten her to the rented room, guilt had already begun eating at him. By the time she had disrobed, he felt bile boiling in the pit of his stomach. At the sight of her large breasts and the nest of dark hair, his ardor had cooled to ice. After his barked order for her to get out, she grabbed her clothing and ran from the room. By the morning, his tarnished reputation had probably been darkened even more by the wench's tale.
He knew the cause for his lack of ardor-the redheaded witch. That acknowledgment had raged through him the whole night. Her body beckoned to him.
Blake collapsed backward, the mattress catching his heavy frame. Staring at the dark amber canopy, he wondered how his dear wife would greet him this morning. Did she think he would not notice the hulking giant following him? That was what prompted him to choose a wench so quickly. He had thought to nurse a bottle first, to get good and drunk, then pick out a barmaid. That way he would be too far gone to recall the woman he had married.
Was she grateful he had gone to another woman's bed? Did it ease her mind to know she would not be required to feed his baser needs? Or was she lying in the arms of her lover? Anger boiled within him as he pictured her body molded to the handsome giant.
Every instinct screamed for him to rush to her room to see if his imaginings were correct. But what good would it do him? By now she would be up. Besides, he would only look a fool if he broke down her door. Perhaps after a few hours of sleep he would see what reception she gave him.
It was noon by the time he exited his room. He felt invigorated. Upon waking, he had soaked in a hot bath, then donned fresh clothing, ready to face whatever lay ahead.
Roger's laughter echoed down the hallway. Out of curiosity, Blake went to investigate. As he increased the length of his strides, he tried to remember when last he'd heard his sire laugh. Laughter was not part of Stonecrest's history, not part of the Bradley heritage.
At the open doorway, he paused. Sitting on the end of Roger's bed was Thorton. Soft rays of sunlight brought fire to her red tresses. Her royal blue gown dipped to reveal the tops of her round breast, molding her body in a way that made Blake's mouth water. His gaze was drawn to the outline of her lush mouth as she murmured to his father.
“Get on with your telling,” Roger ordered, smiling. “How did the Black Knight come to the attention of the Conqueror?”
“The morning air was filled with shrill screams, boisterous shouts, and heartrending cries as the battle between Saxons and Normans continued. William's sword flashed through the air, sunlight gleaming from the cold steel, when off to his left came a slithering Saxon, sliding up to the Conqueror's unprotected side.
“The Black Knight clenched his left fist and raised his hand high above his head, his battle cry rendering the fierce sounds of battle, echoing, silencing those around him. In that brief second of hesitation, the Black Knight threw his dagger. Gasps of disbelief broke the stillness as men watched the glimmering steel sail through the air, heading toward William. The knife found its mark, the hilt vibrated from the Saxon's chest.”
“Serves the scurvy dog right,” Roger growled. “Ain't much of a man to go sneaking up on the old Conqueror that way. Why, the Black Knight's quick actions saved William's life.”
“True.” Thorton smiled as she watched the gleam in Lord Bradley's eyes. “The Knight was duly rewarded by William himself.”
“What was his reward? To ride next to the old Conqueror? To be his personal guard?”
“He asked for something much more dear to him.”
“What could mean more than being a personal guard to the Conqueror?”
“Why, the Black Knight wanted nothing more then the hand of the fair maiden, Thortisa.”
Roger sputtered. “I told you, no prissy stories.”
Thorton laughed as she gathered up Roger's lunch tray. “If you take a nap, I'll tell you the true ending this evening.”
“You're a cruel woman to let a man linger.”
“And you're an old dour-puss to fuss. Now, get some rest.” Thorton turned. Her step faltered when she saw Blake braced against the door frame.
His eyes ran over her, taking note of the pink appearing in her cheeks.
“Good day.”
His brow raised at her greeting. Had her guardian neglected to inform her of his whereabouts last night? Unlikely. Yet, she showed no sign of indignation; no trace of scorn could he detect within her golden orbs.
“Have you no greeting for the girl?” Roger's voice cut through the growing tension.
“Good day,” he finally stated.
“Are you hungry?”
“I will not have time. I must get the accounts tallied and written in the books.”
“If it's all right, you could go to your study and I can prepare a tray and bring it to you. It's not good to miss too many meals.”
“You do not...” Blake stopped his words. “I would be most grateful.”
“Would you like breakfast or lunch?”
“Whatever there is.”
“Both,” Thorton said, smiling. “I wasn't sure which you would want.”
A frown pulled Blake's brows together. Just what was the little she-devil up to? And why was she acting as if nothing happened? Had he been correct earlier? Perhaps she did not care where and with whom he spent his nights. “I'll take lunch.”
The whip-cracking sound of his voice made her smile fade. “I will see to it right away,” she murmured and slid past him.
“There was no need to treat her so.”
Blake faced his father. “No?”
“She was being generous, considering.”
“Considering, what?”
“Considering you left her last night to tumble with a tavern wench.” Roger voice came out as a growl.
“How news does get around. What I do is none of your concern. I do not have to answer to you or anyone else.”
“Fine!” Roger bell
owed. “Get out so I can rest.”
“Oh yes, you must rest ... if you want to hear the rest of your bedtime story.”
After casting a scowl at his son, Roger rolled over. “Bloody damn arse, if you ask me. Got a beauty, yet you crawl in bed with vermin.”
Blake slammed his father's door and stalked down the hallway. What was the matter with the old man? Just because the witch sat and told stories was no reason to turn away from everything he had so diligently taught.
And that was another thing. Thorton's story. Just how had she heard about him saving Wellington's life? Oh, she might have changed the names, but it was still a part of his life she had turned into a bedtime story for his father. The Black Knight.
Then there was the part where the Black Knight had wanted the hand of the fair maiden, Thortisa. The woman was not only a witch and a she-devil, but positively daft.
Chapter Six
Bright afternoon sunshine filtered into the dark room, dots of dust dancing upon its beams. A soft warm breeze whispered through the open window, bringing the fresh smell of spring, ruffling the pages of the ledger that lay open on the desk. Blake stared at the book in front of him, not seeing the numbers on the pages. Instead, his mind had wandered off, drifting on the gentle whiff of musing.
One month of marriage had passed. A month of pure hell. A month that seemed to have lasted an eternity. He was at a loss as to what to do next. He had to do constant battle with himself as his need for Thorton ate away at him. Three nights a week he rode to the Partridge and Hound. No longer did he wait until everyone had retired for the night before leaving; instead he made a great show of his departures. Always making sure the household had risen before riding in the next morning looking ragged, scraggly and smelling of ale.
The attitude of those in the house had drastically changed. His father laid about in his big cozy bed awaiting the woman he was supposed to hate to serve him. The old man had gained weight, his color was good, and the coughing had all but disappeared. And now he acted as if his son were the enemy.
Griggs said very little, except to complain that Roger was running them ragged. Roger, thinking it a great game, liked to wait for Griggs to make his way downstairs before he would ring for him again. Griggs thought about breaking Roger's hands. Shortly after Griggs announced his grievance, Thorton took over the task of seeing to Roger.
It was time to put a stop to his father's need for attention. The old man was doing fine and would likely do better if he would get out of bed, perhaps even journey outside for some fresh air, sunshine and a little exercise.
Then there was the Spartan warrior, Lucas, who, for the most part, ignored Blake. When they did happen to meet, the Goliath merely scowled. Blake wondered what Thorton and her watchdog did on the nights he visited the inn. Repeatedly he told himself he did not care, still the thoughts plagued him.
What really irritated him was the thought of her finding pleasure in the arms of her guardian while he sat alone in a dank smelly room above the noisy inn waiting for daylight. Since the first night at the inn, he had not bothered to engage the talents of any barmaids. He went strictly for appearance's sake.
One thing had not changed, though. No matter how rude, how despicable he was, Thorton was always sweet and kind. Sitting back in his chair, Blake closed his eyes. She was the core of all his problems. The woman made him crazy. As his insanity grew, so did his desire for her. The more he tried to avoid her, the more he saw her.
He had even gone as far as changing his afternoon rides to the early morning so she could not go with him. It was another form of torture to watch her riding at his side. Her in those damned clothes she wore. But that was not what made his stomach clench and his loins fill with need. No, that he could have handled. The woman had to be the most unconventional female he had ever met. She could not ride like other women; she had to ride astride. That was the crux of his dilemma. He could not seem to keep his eyes off her bouncing derrière.
Sharing meals with her was getting as bad as riding with her. He watched the way her mouth moved, the way her throat worked when she swallowed, or the way her hands seemed to caress everything they touched. Though he tried, desperately, he could not keep his gaze off her.
He was ready to admit defeat, he was ready for Bedlam, while the woman driving him toward that destination was not even aware of the turmoil she caused. Her and her bloody smiles and husky voice. God, he hated his desire for her.
Blake remained in his study until the sun went down, and as the clock chimed the hour of midnight, he decided it should be safe to go up to his chamber. Being as quiet as possible, he made his way up the stairs and down the silent corridor. What he would not give to sleep through the next eleven months.
Upon entering his room, he stripped and pulled on his black silk robe. With a weary sigh he sat in the nearest chair and leaned back his head. His sigh turned into a growl. For the last month, he preferred sleeping in the chair instead of the bed. He did not want to consider the reason why, knowing the answer would only serve to irritate him. What was the matter with him? He was a hard man, a man others feared, surely he could find a way to handle this situation.
Blake tried to turn his thoughts to something else. Two days after the wedding Thorton's guardian had left for home. Unfortunately he returned within three days. The bond between Thorton and Lucas confused Blake and served as another source of irritation. Like the morning Lucas had returned. One would have thought Thorton had not seen him in ages. Before Lucas could dismount, Thorton was at his side, hugging and fussing like a mother hen. Blake would have bet every last stone of Stonecrest his wife was more than friends with her so-called protector. He had to force himself not to tear apart the giant with his bare hands.
And just why did she need a protector? Did they not realize he was supposed to be her protector? Ha! Now there was good jest. A Bradley protecting a Lynwood. There lay the answer. Lucas was still acting as guard over Thorton, protecting her from her worst enemy ... Blake.
A knock on the door brought Blake's thoughts to an end and a fierce scowl to his brow. If it was Griggs coming to complain about his father, Blake was going to throw out his skinny arse.
“Come in.”
Blake came to his feet as Thorton entered. Her white nightgown seemed to glow in the semi-dark room, like a beacon calling to him. He groaned.
Thorton's eyes widened at the rough sound. She watched him sink into the chair. Her heart fluttered as she realized he was wearing only a robe. “Am I disturbing you, Baron?”
Blake closed his eyes and counted to ten. If she only knew how much of a disturbance she was. If he had known she was still awake, he would have stayed downstairs. Obviously, he was blessed with nothing but bad luck. “What is it?”
“I'm sorry for my intrusion,” she whispered, turning to leave.
Blake gave a heavy sigh. “What was it you wanted?”
“It was ... something I had overheard one of the maids talking about. I'm not sure if I can handle the situation to your satisfaction and thought it might be best to let you take care of it.”
She had not bothered to turn around. Blake was more furious with himself than with her. He wanted her out of his room, did not want to be alone with her. He was only human, and worse, a man in need. “What's wrong, Madame? Did you not have staff members at your home that liked to wag their tongues with gossip? I have no time for such things. If you have a matter to discuss with them then do so. You are, after all, the Lady of Stonecrest now.”
Thorton knew he had been keeping late hours and considered it the cause of his short temper. But then, he always seemed to be snapping at her. Just the other day he had flown into a rage because she had ascended the stairs ahead of him. She was sick of his rudeness. She might have had a deep reservoir of patience, but it had run out. “Very well, Milord.”
Blake's brows drew together as she turned and started toward him, not stopping until she stood in front of him. He had the urge to leap up, but he coul
dn't, for she was standing with her feet between his.
“Do you find me repulsive, Baron?”
“What?”
“You avoid me. At first I thought it might be because of who I am, but now that I've had time to think, I've conclude you find me distasteful to look upon.” She finished with a slight nod, as if to say she had it all figured out.
Blake, feeling naked, adjusted his robe. “This conversation is ridiculous. Go to bed!”
“That's it, isn't it? You find me undesirable, perhaps repulsive. That's why you wished to keep our marriage on an impersonal level. That's why you visit the inn. There you can find an attractive woman, one who meets with your approval.”
Blake saw the hurt in her eyes. “Madame, you are far from ugly.” His angry voice rounded her golden eyes. Taking a calming breath, he thought to say something to pacify her, and at the same time, get her to leave. “We are strangers.”
Thorton face flushed with anger. “We are married. Apparently you must like strangers, or had you been previously acquainted with the tavern women? I've been here a month. If we are strangers, then who's to blame?” With each word, her temper rose. “You hide in your study, not coming out until you think I have retired. You ride into the night to find passion in the arms of other women. I'm branded as the virgin wife. Not that any would know by looking at me, but by your actions toward me.”
Blake scowled. How dare she condemn him? “If you would use that beautiful head, you'll see what I'm doing is for your sake. Have you thought about what you will do after this year? What if you should want to remarry?”
“I'll never remarry,” she stated, raising her chin.
“Why the hell not?”
Thorton gave a small shrug. “I know what's best for me. Is there another reason for not wanting to consummate our marriage? It can't be because I'm a Lynwood. I'm a Bradley now.” All she got from him was a startled look. “You think I'm ugly, and if you should make me your true wife, are you afraid you will be forced to keep me?”
“Have you considered what would happen if you got with child?” There, he had voiced his major concern. Knowing logic was not one of her traits, that left it up to him to be the voice of reason.
