“Yes, my lord.”
The delicious aroma of some kind of baked meat came to Mara’s nostrils, but she paid it no heed. She had eyes only for her husband. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“No sorrier than I,” he replied under his breath. “I’ll leave you. For now.”
Mara wanted to tell him she’d be waiting, aching, until he returned. But they were no longer alone. And even were she free to speak, she feared she could not trust her voice. Instead, she pressed a finger to her lips, then to his. He caught her hand briefly and held it, then was gone.
Elizabeth had known she would be good at this new job, and she was. The moment the baron left, she went into motion. As the beautiful lady stood staring wistfully at the door, Elizabeth arranged her dinner on the table by the window. Someone had placed a jug of wildflowers there, and Elizabeth moved them twice before everything was to her liking.
She called to her mistress, “It’s ready, my lady. If you’d like to eat.”
The lady looked surprised. And pleased. Elizabeth hovered by her chair for a moment, then turned her attention to the parcel the baron’s man, Jack, had delivered. It contained her mistress’s few belongings, and Elizabeth fussed over each one.
Besides the large bed, table, and chairs and the marvelously soft, but foreign-looking covering on the floor, there were two sturdy chests. One, Elizabeth discovered, contained the baron’s personal possessions; the other was empty.
She folded away her lady’s few items of clothing, an ivory comb and a few kerchiefs, a lovely embroidered chemise and matching tunic. It seemed so little for such a fine and important lady. But she had probably lost almost everything when that Cumbrian earl had attacked her father’s estate, Elizabeth surmised. She sent a sympathetic glance in her mistress’s direction.
“Oh, my lady. My poor lady!”
Mara’s head rested against the back of the chair. Her long, light brown lashes lay softly on her cheeks, and her breathing was slow and even.
Elizabeth hated to wake her. Young as she was, however, the mothering instinct was strong within her. She couldn’t allow her mistress to simply fall asleep fully clothed and sit upright in a chair all night Mara roused when she felt gentle hands unfasten the girdle at her waist, and remove her weapons and boots. When she was down to her chemise, she closed her eyes again and reveled in the luxury of having someone brush her hair. She was half asleep, unable to fully waken, when Elizabeth finally led her to the bed.
Mara stirred only once. She turned on her side and reached out. “Stephen,” she murmured.
Then she slept soundly.
* * *
Several candles had been lit, and their slim, fragile flames danced in the darkness. By their light Stephen was able to see Mara’s form on the bed, blue coverlet drawn to her waist, and two figures curled together on the imported carpet. The great hound lay on his side, Elizabeth’s arm thrown loosely across its shoulders. The only sounds in the room were the girl’s soft and childish snores.
Stephen’s sigh was long and heartfelt. But he and Mara had a lifetime ahead of them. The union of their souls had been made-the union of their bodies could wait a little longer.
He closed the door quietly behind him. Undressing, he blew out the candles, then lay down at Mara’s side.
The coverlet was pulled down to her waist. Mara lay clad only in her chemise. Her breath rose and fell evenly, her breasts’ pale pink nipples poking at the thin fabric.
Stephen turned on his side away from her. Her nearness tormented him. He turned on his other side, touched her cheek.
She did not stir, not even faintly. His fingers drifted from her cheek to the line of her jaw, the hollow of her throat.
Mara’s breathing did not alter. Her eyes remained tightly closed.
Stephen groaned and turned away from her again. It was the hardest thing he had done in his life.
Chapter Thirty-two
Mara couldn’t believe it.
When first she opened her eyes, she was disoriented- a strange room, a strange bed. But clarity and memory returned swiftly.
“Oh, no.” She sat bolt upright.
“ `Oh, no,” what‘“
Mara turned her head so quickly she suffered a twinge in her neck. Stephen sat in a chair by the window. On the table beside him were two cups of ale, a loaf of fresh-baked bread, and a pot of honey. Trey sat at Stephen’s feet, tail slowly wagging.
“Oh, no, I fell asleep. Before I. Before we.”
Despite the fact that she blushed very prettily, Stephen felt honor bound to rescue his wife. “You fell asleep before you ate your dinner,” he finished. “Which is why I’ve brought you some breakfast. Will you join me?”
Trey gave a short, sharp bark to underscore the invitation, and Mara climbed from the bed. She took the chair opposite her husband and glanced about the room. “Are we alone?”
“I sent the girl home, if that’s what you mean. She spent the night at the foot of your bed, you know.” Stephen tore two hunks of bread from the loaf. “I told her she could stay with her parents at night, or in the hall. But not here. Not again.”
Mara felt the hectic blush return to her cheeks. But when she dared to look up, she saw Stephen was smiling. “I’m so sorry,” she said anyway.
“There’s nothing to apologize for, my love. I’m glad you’re rested. We have a long, busy day ahead of us.”
Mara arched her brow, but Stephen said no more. He downed his ale and pushed to his feet, chair scraping the floor. “Meet me in the courtyard when you’re ready. Dress for a ride.”
“Stephen.”
But he had gone.
Although she had taken care of herself all her life and had never had a personal servant, Mara found she missed Elizabeth already. As she pulled the blue tunic over her shift and leggings, she recalled the girl’s gentle ministrations, and as she laboriously plaited her hair, she remembered how deft Elizabeth had been with a brush. Had she become spoiled so quickly?
No, Mara realized almost at once. She had, however, been lonely. Terribly lonely. In her whole life she had never had a female friend or confidante other than her mother.
Life was going to be different now, it seemed. It had changed suddenly, violently. But the change was done. The past was over, and the future beckoned.
Every eye in the hall, knight and servant alike, turned in Mara’s direction when she emerged from behind the screen. No one remained unimpressed.
Mara’s beauty and physical stature alone commanded respect. The short-sword and dagger she wore at her waist compounded it. The tale of her bravery, standing to fight at their baron’s side, lent her the aura of legend. Not a man among those who had remained at Bellingham failed to see why their lord had chosen at last to wed.
Mara acknowledged the polite greetings of her husband’s knights as she moved through the hall. More than one, she noted, kept a wary eye on Trey. She laid a hand atop his head as they moved through the wide doors into the summer sunshine.
Hero and Stephen’s chestnut stallion stood saddled and ready in the courtyard. Stephen helped her mount as Jack held the horses.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jack asked.
“Do what?” Stephen took the reins from his disconsolate servant and climbed into the saddle. “You mean go somewhere without you?”
Jack nodded, but Stephen cut him off before he could speak.
“Absolutely sure. If we’re not safe here, we’re not safe anywhere.” Stephen saw Walter and Alfred standing together by the doors to the hall, looking equally doubtful. He ignored them. Castle life afforded little privacy, and he intended to create some. He turned to Mara. “Are you ready?”
Mara had the feeling she answered more than one question when she nodded, and now-familiar butterfly wings stirred in her stomach. She put her heels lightly to Hero’s sides and he kept pace with Stephen’s chestnut They rode beneath the castle gate and down the road.
For the first several miles the only livi
ng thing they saw was a herd of sheep, scattered carelessly over the brow of a greening hill. The only sound they heard was the frightened bleat of a ewe who took offense at their presence and trotted away, lamb at her side. Even the slow, steady clop of their horses’ hooves seemed muffled by the green and warming sod. So companionable was their mutual silence, Mara did not feel the need to ask where they were going, or why.
The peace of the countryside was irresistible, and it filled her as Stephen had known it would. He watched her grow more and more relaxed as they covered the lands that belonged to him. Gradually, as they headed east, the hills flattened and woodlands reappeared. Trey left them for a while, concerned with his own pursuits, and the horses idly pricked their ears at occasional squeaks and rustlings from the undergrowth.
After a time, Mara closed her eyes to savor the subtle sensations of the warmth and shadow against her skin. A long, deep sigh escaped her, and it was as if, with the exhalation of that breath, the last, tattered remnants of grief and fear that clung to her soul were released, and they blew away on the soft summer wind.
Mara was not surprised when she felt Stephen grasp her hand. She returned the steady pressure of his ringers. Then he reined in his horse and her heart fluttered. Their fingers remained entwined.
“I know how unhappy you’ve been,” Stephen said. The deep and seductive rumble of his voice did not disturb the stillness of the wood but, rather, seemed a part of it. “I know what you’ve suffered and, had I been able, I would have done anything in my power to prevent it. But it happened, and now it’s over. All I can give you is a new beginning, a new life-mine. I give it willingly, and with all my heart.”
Mara sought for words, but there were none. There were no thanks to offer for a gift so great. She pulled her hand from Stephen’s and placed her palm against his cheek. Slowly, slowly, she bent toward him. Her eyelids fluttered closed.
Stephen met her kiss, answered it, felt his passion rise, filling him. He pulled away. “Not yet,” he breathed. “Not here.”
It took Mara a moment to regain her dizzied senses.
Then she followed Stephen’s lead, gathered Hero’s reins, and kicked him into a lope. Her pulse thundered along with every pound of her horse’s hooves.
In another mile the woods thinned. Grass grew in patches of lush carpet on the forest floor. Ferns waved lazily in the shadows. Mara looked up and saw from the sun they now traveled in a southwesterly direction. She realized they had ridden roughly in a large circle. Soon, she thought, they would come upon the castle.
But Stephen was not headed to Bellingham. He held his mount to a collected canter as the land began to gently rise and fall again. At the crest of a yew-studded hill, he pulled the stallion to a halt. Mara drew alongside, and Stephen smiled when she caught her breath.
“Kielder Water,” he said by way of explanation. He gazed down on the long, dark lake below them, and pointed to the south where a river left to flow to the sea. “The Tyne,” he continued. “It runs behind Bellingham, thirty miles or better, to Tynemouth. And the great ocean. Someday I’ll take you there.”
Mara held Stephen’s gaze for a long, breathless moment. “I only care about now,” she whispered.
Without another word, Stephen turned his horse and headed down the slope of the hill. In minutes they had reached the water’s edge, where they dismounted in unison. Stephen loosened the saddle girths and tied the animals’ reins to the low-hanging branches of an evergreen.
Mara stared out over the water. It reminded her a little of the Ullsmere. Wavelets lapped at the uneven, pebble-strewn shoreline. A jay scolded, perched for a heartbeat atop a nearby boulder, and was gone again in a flash of blue. A fish jumped with a splash and a swirl. Trees that crowded water’s edge mottled the shadows.
Mara did not look at her husband. She did not need to. She knew his gaze devoured her; she could feel it, like a warm wave of blood thrilling through her veins. She turned her back to him.
All her life, everything that had come before, became concentrated in this single moment. There was no past, no future. Only now. Her entire body tingled, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She had never been so alive, so totally aware of every inch of her flesh. She had never before taken such pride in her lean, hard tone; her heavy breasts; the narrowness of her waist; the sleekness of her legs. She wanted to touch herself, to run her hand from the sharp bones at the base of her throat over her smooth belly and the mound of her womanhood. She wanted to reveal herself to him. Intimately, slowly, sensually.
The moment had finally arrived. The moment that had been destined since those frozen seconds in time when she had risen from the lake and had stood before him, innocent, naked, dripping.
This time she would not run. This time she would know truly what it was to be a woman.
Slowly, Mara dropped short-sword and dagger, her silver girdle, and pulled the tunic up over her head. She removed her leggings and dropped them atop her weapons. She unwound the plait from her head and, with nimble fingers, separated the long tresses until they fell free, over her shoulders and down her naked back.
Still, she did not look at her husband, and no word passed between them. None was needed. The scene had been written long before, and they needed only to play it.
The water was cold. So cold. It licked Mara’s toes, her ankles, her knees. She drew in her breath sharply, held it, clenched her teeth, and walked in up to the level of her breasts. When the ground fell away abruptly to the depths, she struck out and swam.
Water flowed over her shoulders and back, and it mingled with the streams of her long, long moonlight hair. A small wake followed the kick of her slender ankles. She swam back toward the shore.
Sand and stone gritted once more beneath Mara’s feet She let her fingertips trail in the water as she waded onto a small spit of beach. A breeze breathed into momentary life, and the branches of a great fir tree swayed gracefully. Stephen stepped from its shadows.
It was as it had been in the beginning, in that first moment. Her vision was filled with him. It savored him, licked him, learned every line of him. Immobile, her eyes took him inside her, absorbed him into her soul, from the handsome and angular planes of his face, to the dark hair breaking at the tops of his muscular shoulders, down the broad, smooth expanse of his chest to the indented waist and firm, flat belly, to the masculine part of him.
That part of him, however, was not as she had seen it before. This time it was swollen with passion and need. It throbbed and pulsed with the life force it longed to give to her. Her entire being was drawn to it, yearned for it.
Hers and Stephen’s lips parted as they met. Their flesh tingled where it touched, thigh to thigh, belly to belly, breast to breast; she cold, he burning. Hands sought and met, palm to palm. Then Stephen caressed her lightly with his fingertips, feather-soft across the insides of her elbows and upper arms, down over her ribs and the swell of her hips.
A force greater than her conscious will forced Mara’s head back, pulling her mouth from Stephen’s. A cry escaped her throat as her arms encircled his neck. She felt his hands grip her waist tightly, pulling her closer, closer.
She was aware of every inch of him, every searing inch. She was acutely aware of her nipples pressed to his hard, smooth chest. The jut of their hipbones ground together. His hard, tense manhood pressed closer.
She wanted, ached, needed to surrender to him. Like wax against the candle’s flame, she melted. Her arms loosed from his neck. Her hands slid down his sides, over and down the valleys and canyons of his rib cage, across the rise of his tight-muscled flanks. As her knees buckled, her fingers caressed the bulge of his manhood and crisp, curling hairs on his thighs.
Panting now, her lips parted, Mara’s hands briefly cupped the base of his shaft. She laid her cheek against it, inhaled the musky fragrance of him.
All strength left her body. She leaned back on her elbows. Lay back upon the ground. Her knees parted.
Stephen dropped
down in front of her. One hand reached to touch her face. She gripped his hand, kissed his palm.
He lowered himself onto her.
Mara closed her eyes. The feel of him was exactly as she had imagined. His smooth, hard chest crushed her breasts, his flat belly strained against her own; his muscular thighs pushed her legs farther apart His lips captured her mouth.
It was the probe of his tongue she felt first She felt the thrust of him in her mouth and met him joyously, exuberantly, even as her hips rose to welcome the rest.
The pain was searing for a moment, only a moment Then she was aware only of the size and length and stroke of him-in her, filling her, completing her being, the reason for her existence. Rocking with him, moving to the ecstasy of her body, they continued on a journey that had begun long before. Its end was shattering in its intensity, and their cries intermingled.
A soaring hawk moved lazily away. A cloud momentarily covered the sun. Inexplicably, the world continued to turn.
Chapter Thirty-three
A breeze chased a band of ripples across the lake. Mara felt it hurry over her skin, and she leaned up on one elbow. Stephen’s eyes were closed, but she doubted he slept. She felt him awake, as surely as she felt his flesh pressed to hers, from hip to ankle. She lightly touched her lips to his smooth, pale chest Stephen wound his fingers in her hair, still damp, and gently turned her head so he could look into her eyes. “I love you.”
“I know. As I love you.”
His fingers relaxed and Mara laid her head on his chest. A familiar heat sparked in her belly, then faded to a warm glow. She was exhausted.
At first they had thought the fire ignited between them might never be quenched. They had made love again and again, as if they had only days ahead of them, not a lifetime.
Yet while desire was infinite, strength and endurance were not. Sated, amazed, and delighted, giggling like children, they had eventually collapsed in each other’s arms. They still had not found the energy to move.
The Circle Of A Promise Page 19
