Heather Graham

by The Kings Pleasure

  Something inside her yearned for what Adrien MacLachlan could not give her. What he had given to Joanna, what he had buried with her. She didn’t want her strength, position, nor her soul taken away by a man who would ride away again to serve a warring king, do whatever he chose, and return to make demands. Especially if that man was Adrien. She didn’t want to feel the quickening of her heart and the pains of jealousy that would follow. She was not a possession to be used when convenient and then ignored as if she was nothing more than a prize on a shelf when he had no further use for her.

  “I don’t wish to marry—anyone,” she said.

  “How strange! Rumor abounds all throughout Europe that you are interested in Simon, Count Montejoie.”

  “Simon is a distant cousin and a good friend. I told you, I’ve no wish to marry.”

  “Well, milady,” he said, and he sounded tired, “I’m afraid that you—and granted Aville and Gariston—are too rich a prize between warring nations to make such a choice.”

  “If you and the king would just leave me be—”

  “Politics will not let you be, Danielle. And you are right. I was given the title of earl and made overlord of all the counties within Glenwood on the good faith that our marriage would take place eventually. I was born the son of a proud and noble—but impoverished—Scottish laird, and he taught me to fight for what was mine and not to let it go. I give up nothing that is mine.”

  “I am not yours.”

  “You have been, these many years.”

  “When we were betrothed,” she reminded him, “you told me that you agreed to it because you felt you owed me. Because Edward threatened to marry me to Sir Andreson. You said that our betrothal would protect me from other things the king might have in mind. And you gave me my freedom. If you now think to renege—”

  She broke off angrily, because he was laughing. “Ah, milady! I see why you haven’t been champing at the bit to break the betrothal now. You were convinced that Joanna’s death had stolen my senses, and that I would let this situation go on and on forever!”

  “You set no time limit!”

  “I offered you years of freedom. You have had them. And your freedom is now disturbing many good Englishmen and Gascons loyal to Edward, for there are constant disturbing rumors about a marriage between you and your noble Frenchman.”

  She was alarmed to feel a flush creeping to her cheeks. She had mused about Simon; she had cared for him. But she hadn’t been guilty of any misdeeds and she was furious to realize that her flush made her appear guilty as original sin.

  She inhaled and exhaled slowly, seeking patience so she could speak with dignity. “You must believe this, Adrien. You don’t want to marry me, because I cannot make all the promises you would want from a wife.”

  “Danielle, trust me. It’s amazing what one can do when necessary, I promise you.”

  “Right before my mother died, Laird MacLachlan, she begged me to love and honor her king. I gave my promise.”

  “Philip is dead,” Adrien said flatly, “and your mother was with the King of England when he stood godfather to you. She agreed that you were to become his ward—she entrusted your future to him. He has entrusted it to me.”

  “My mother was probably given no choice. Whatever, sir, I made my vows to her. I don’t wish to do any harm to Edward, and I have not done anything here that would hurt him or his cause, I swear it, but if you think that your words can make me despise my mother’s family, you are wrong! I made a vow, and I will not fight against the house of Valois. If you think I can change that for you, you are mistaken.”

  He sighed with great exasperation. “King Edward was Philip’s first cousin, and the English king still retains a closer familial relationship with Philip’s son than do you.”

  “Then Edward should respect King Jean’s position,” Danielle said.

  “And you should remember that these lands are not King Edward’s through any feat of conquest, but that they belong to him strictly by an inheritance brought to him nearly two centuries ago through Eleanor of Aquitaine. And Danielle, you have also made another vow. To me. To wed. Is your word honorably binding, or isn’t it? Do you seek to break one vow, and not the other?”

  “I am not seeking to break any vow!”

  “Then we will be married tonight.”

  “I am not ready to do so!”

  “Then become so, for it will happen.”

  “Adrien, damn you!” she cried. “You have become even more arrogant, if possible!” she charged him.

  “More determined, is all.”

  She cried out with aggravation, amazed and dismayed by the tears that sprang to her eyes. She turned her back on him, and was startled into a gasp when she felt his hands upon her shoulders, for she had not heard him cross the distance between them. She was further alarmed when he spoke, for his voice was husky and deep, and the warmth of his breath touched her ear with his words. “Danielle, I am sorry that this has taken you by such surprise. Surely you knew in your heart that this day must come, that I could not stay away forever.”

  “What a good pretense you were making of it then!” she charged in a whisper. She was trembling, and she tried to will herself to stop. Time seemed to wash away. She remembered their constant verbal battles, the death in his eyes when he had found Joanna. She even remembered the edge of tenderness he had offered her then, and she remembered touching him when he had come so close to perishing.

  She didn’t want to remember these things. She didn’t want the tumult of having him near, and she didn’t want to feel the frightening fire he could so easily create within her.

  “Damn it, Danielle,” he said, growing impatient. “I haven’t come with the intent to hurt you—”

  “Then delay the marriage! she pleaded, spinning around to face him. “Give me time!”

  He stared into her eyes for a long moment, and she barely dared breathe, hoping that he would agree. Then he shook his head slowly. “I can’t delay this, Danielle,” he said with finality, and she felt a chill, for she realized that no matter how she argued, the matter was closed.

  “Then—” she began, breaking off because she had to take a huge gulp of air.

  “Then what?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

  “I’ll agree, I’ll give you the vows. I’ll do so angelically, sir, without the least protest. If you just give me time … after.”

  “Time after?” he repeated, a brow arched high.

  She nodded, furious that she was finding it so difficult to speak, and that he was tormenting her into finding the right words when he must surely understand already!

  “I’ve never—” she began, then broke off again. She wanted to be dignified, but she couldn’t keep her eyes on his. She lowered her lashes and her head. “The concept of marriage …” She breathed deeply and tried again. “Of intimacy is not a familiar one for me. Do you—understand?”

  “Oh, indeed,” he said. She wanted to kick him. He sounded amused at her distress. He wasn’t going to give in to anything at all.

  “Damn you—” she began furiously, but his grip upon her shoulders tightened and he lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

  “Fine, Danielle. The marriage will take place tonight. I’ll give you time. I will not promise how much, for I’m not sure how much I have to give.”

  There was a warning in his voice; she didn’t care. She had bought a concession, and any time seemed precious now.

  It was true that Adrien knew the fortress of Aville from the inside out—though Danielle had made changes in it from the time he had last been here.

  Rem had shown him to a room upstairs that was big and spacious—and near the master’s quarters at the end of the hallway. It had been Danielle’s when she was a girl, he had been informed, but many other guests had stayed in it since then, he was certain. It was pleasantly appointed, but little that had been Danielle’s remained, other than an interesting collection of books that sat atop a small carved table by the bed
side. For the moment, it was his room; his trunks lined the wall, his mantle was hooked upon a peg, his armor was laid out on the table, gauntlets and bascinet at his side.

  He sat by the roaring fire, glad to sip more wine and ease his weary body. He had ridden so hard to come here, only to find himself in a constant sweat each time he realized just how timely his arrival had been. Losing Aville would have been a strategic and political disaster.

  And losing Danielle …

  He clenched and unclenched a fist, trying to ease some of the tension from his body. She had matured from a beautiful girl into a voluptuous and stunning woman. She was more fiercely independent than ever, as prickly as a wild rose, but in her he could still see the passion of the girl he had known with the healing hands, proud spirit, and undying courage.

  He lifted his wine glass and spoke softly and honestly to the fire. “Most tempting, I admit, is the urge to strip the lady naked and taste and touch and feel every lush inch of her being …”

  He’d been warned. He’d even known that she was becoming an uncanny beauty; he had felt her power to entice. He’d seen her flirt with other men, until they were ready to give their lives should she lift a finger. Somehow, he still hadn’t imagined that she could mature into a creature quite so stunning, both innocent in her beauty and somehow incredibly sensual as well. Her eyes were gemstones, her hair a sweep as sleek and shiny as a raven’s wing. In his life, he’d not seen a more seductive woman. Ever. She was like her mother, and even though he’d been very young when he’d been called upon to join in Lenore’s escort to London, he’d been impressed by both her beauty and elegance. Danielle was taller than Lenore, as slim, yet more voluptuous. She had a far wilder streak, too, and she lacked her mother’s elegance and dignity, though the seeds of it were sown within her. There was a subtle sensuality about Danielle that enhanced her perfection, something in her eyes, her voice, her movement—a passion that simmered beneath the surface, incredibly tantalizing.

  He leaned back, realizing he’d been an idiot, and thinking about Joanna. He had been her first lover, while she had been his first maiden. He had known it, and had been tender and careful. Their first time together had been fulfilling and sweet; she had wanted him, she had been determined to defy heaven and hell, her father and the king, to be with him. She had sworn she scarcely felt the pain, that she had been dying for him with such fever that the heat had swept away all pain. He had come to terms with her death, aware that his memory of her was sweet; it was the guilt he felt that hurt. If he had just loved her with the same passion and determination she had given him, they both might have been far away from the ravages of the plague. Then again, they had been in the king’s service, and there might not have been a way to change fate at all.

  Now Danielle wanted him to wait. Never.

  He realized that he had come here at first through sheer outrage—no one was going to take what was his, and certainly not the liege men of a foreign king. Now that he had come, he would ensure his holdings. Aville—and Danielle. It was almost frightening how passionately he wanted her.

  It was an ironic situation. He had spent his life attracted to women, and finding that they were equally attracted to him in turn. It was certainly a slap to his pride to realize that while he lusted after her, she wanted no part of him whatever.

  Then there was the matter of Simon …

  As he sat musing, there came a tapping at his door. He rose and opened it to find Daylin, Giles, and Richard Huntington waiting to speak with him, their eyes grave. He opened the door fully with no further word, bringing the trio into his chambers.

  “I found the man you wounded and left in the woods, Adrien,” Richard told him. “I brought him back.”

  “Discreetly?”

  “Aye, discreetly, and lodged him in the cellar room beneath the far tower.”

  “How bad are his injuries? Will he live?” Adrien asked.

  “Doctor Coutin tends to his wounds now. We promised him the best possible physician would try to save his life if he would speak frankly about the raid.”

  “Was he also promised asylum in England?” Adrien asked.

  Daylin nodded. “Aye, Adrien, as you instructed us, though it was scarcely necessary. He was afraid enough after he battled you this afternoon. He thought we had come to finish him off with all the methods of torture we could imagine.”

  “Was I right?” Adrien asked Daylin.

  Daylin nodded after a moment. “So says this fellow. They rode with the troops in rebellion against Edward, and were told not to harm Simon, Count Montjoie. They were told to take their orders from him once the Countess d’Aville had been taken. They were to take no other prisoners.”

  “Aye, milord!” old Giles said, shaking his head sadly. “I had a bad feeling about it all, I did, but not even I imagined that young Simon might be involved in a plot against the countess!”

  “Do we seize Simon now?” Daylin asked.

  Adrien shook his head. “He assumes that the raiders from his failed plot have either fled or died. He’ll not know that we suspect him, and he might try to get to Danielle once again. I’d like to know if King Jean is backing him or not, and that is something we might discover if we wait. Let him remain here as a guest—and witness the ceremony tonight. We do want all the witnesses we can have!” he added softly.

  “Aye, Laird Adrien!” Daylin said, the sound of his voice suddenly passionate. “It is good, sir, to serve you once again!”

  “Restored to good health in body and mind—passionate, cunning!” Richard added.

  Adrien arched a brow, and Richard backed away a step. “Forgive me. It’s been damned rough here at times, Adrien, what with the enemy all around, taking care at every word, watching the countess.”

  “Losing control of the countess,” Daylin admitted sheepishly.

  “Aye, we’ve needed you,” Giles said. “Well and strong in spirit again, and that’s what the lads mean.”

  Adrien smiled. “Thank you. I am here now, and my fellows, if passion and anger restore the spirit, then I am assuredly restored, and I thank you for your service and your great loyalty under the odds! Go now, to your leisure. You’ve nothing to do for the evening, other than to enjoy the meal—and the festivities.”

  “Shouldn’t we be watching for the countess, for Simon—?” Daylin began to ask worriedly.

  “Nay,” Adrien said. “Not tonight, lads.”

  “But—” Richard said.

  “I will be watching,” Adrien told them. “Aye, I will be watching!”

  By the late afternoon he had bathed and dressed for the evening, minus all armor and accoutrements of war other than his sword. He had been to see his prisoner himself, and to listen to the man’s confession. He had assured the terrified man once again that no harm would befall him if he had confessed truthfully. When he was finished, Adrien was convinced that Simon had been involved with the planning of the event, and that he had been determined to spirit Danielle far away. He had come chillingly close. Whether Danielle was completely innocent or not, he did not know. But that afternoon, she had fled like a demon to the cottage, and when she hadn’t known who he was, she had fought him desperately enough in the woods to convince any man that she faced an enemy. But then again, maybe she had known who he was; she had always considered him to be an enemy …

  How could she have known at this point? He had been gone too many years; she’d had her freedom far too long.

  He had arranged for the ceremony to take place in the chapel at the west wall at sunset. Father Josef, the plump priest here, was a Gascon brought in by Edward when Danielle had come to England years before. He was still very loyal to the English king, or so Giles had assured Adrien. Among his men was a young scholar who had studied for the priesthood before being drawn back to secular life at his older brother’s death, and Adrien was certain that Darin would warn him if anything was amiss in the ceremony. Despite his promise to give his bride time, he would be much happier when the night�
��s legalities at least were completed.

  With that thought in mind, he came to the keep, leaving the great hall to the bustle of servants who prepared for the wedding feast to follow the ceremony, and walked up the stairs. He stopped by his own room briefly for a package sent by Joan, Prince Edward’s wife, as a gift to his bride. He knew its contents—a sheer white nightdress of the softest spun silk. Hardly useful under the circumstances, but …

  He strode the distance to her door, the door to the master’s chambers, at the end of the hallway. Somewhat immersed in thought, he didn’t knock, but pressed open the door before calling her name. “Danielle—”

  He broke off. She was seated in a wooden hip tub, elegantly carved, secured with gold-plated steel bands. It stood close to her fire, and she had apparently been quite comfortable in it. Her hair had been washed, and she had combed it out wet, and it now lay with its great length damp and falling back over the rim of the tub and onto the white fur pelt that stretched out behind it.

  She was outraged to see him, hugging her knees quickly to her chest as her green eyes sizzled a gemlike stare upon him. “I had not thought Scotland to rival Gascony in many matters of courtesy, but I had believed that men all across the Christian world were chivalrous enough to knock before opening doors to the domains of others.”

  “The domain is mine,” he informed her curtly.

  “Mine—”

  “Mine. I am letting you borrow it—for the time being,” he reminded her.

  She was hugging her knees more tightly to her, but she couldn’t hide the long elegance of her legs, or the full swell of her breasts.

  He wished he’d knocked. His groin ached; he was rising like a banner.