Heart of Vengeance

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “What terms?”

  “I told him how useless revenge is, that it would be his undoing.”

  Helena gasped and Stephen nodded. “Yes, now you understand my anger when you revealed your ambitions to me.”

  “You told him the truth, you said once. That is why Richard disfavors you? For simply speaking out of turn?”

  “Richard presented me with an amount he said I owed him. It was my share of the ransom money that had been raised to free him from the Emperor’s grip. Even though he had been free for months, he wanted the money put into the crown coffers. Added to that was my scutage for not joining him in the war with the French.”

  “You did not want to fight?”

  “He did not ask me.”

  “Then what did you do that has angered him so much since then?”

  “I refused to give him the money he demanded.” Stephen shrugged. “I compounded my foolishness, Helena. I sought only to avoid assisting Richard in a quest I considered useless, a quest I still consider complete madness. But Richard saw it as an insult to the crown. I should have seen how important it was to him. I’d watched him burn with obsession over the crusade. Nothing could stand in his way. His obsession for revenge against Phillip was the same sort of fever but I did not see it, for in spirit I still walked that desert, where affairs of men are a dangerous indulgence.”

  “So, you did indeed tell him the truth as you saw it and he punished you for it.”

  “There you have it, Helena. A story no other man has ever heard told before this day. Even Richard does not speak of it.”

  Helena shivered. He saw the tremor even in the fading moonlight. Her next question surprised him. “Do you still walk the desert in spirit, Stephen?”

  He answered truthfully. “After Richard’s fury, I did not. Not for a long while. But with you…yes, I can reach it again.”

  Helena straightened and walked toward Stephen, hands reaching to remove her veil. The green fabric fluttered in her hand and she stopped in front of him. There was just enough moonlight left for Stephen to see the pulse in her throat, leaping. She was trembling. He saw her lick her lips. Slowly Helena turned her back to him and pulled her braids aside.

  “If you would loosen the ties?”

  Stephen’s breath stopped and his heart too, for a moment failed. The simple words slammed into him with the force of a warhorse in full gallop. In his mind he was dropped back into the day by the river. She had deliberately echoed the words spoken that day.

  Breath ragged, Stephen reached for the ends of the laces at the top of the dress. He, too, now trembled and the tension that curled at the base of his spine reached into his entire body with a ferocious grip.

  This time he could not avoid contact with her skin. He lacked the delicacy of movement he’d had that day. He spread the laces, loosening the gown, fingers sliding against the flesh beneath, feeling Helena’s heat and fascinating softness.

  Finally the gown was loosened enough for Helena to withdraw her arms, but Stephen could not let her go. He laid his hands carefully against her back, letting the fingers slide up over her shoulders and down the front. The gown slid from her as his hands moved beneath, baring her shoulders. Even in this poor light her flesh gleamed dully and Stephen could not resist the urge to drop his lips to those shoulders, kiss the skin. He moved his mouth to her throat, tasting her. He heard her gasp. The little sound reverberated through him, pushed him deeper into the maelstrom of need.

  Stephen’s hands smoothed their way lower, to cup Helena’s breasts and felt the hot, hard peaks catch against each finger. Helena arched sharply backward with a groan, her body swaying against him.

  It was a powerful goad. Stephen closed his eyes, beating back the urge he knew would consume all thought if he gave it free rein. “Not here, Elen,” he whispered, voice thick and rough.

  He felt her swallow and take a breath. “The cavern. My place there. It is private…”

  He needed no more encouragement. Stephen withdrew his hands, lifted her into his arms and strode to the cavern.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The cavern where Robert’s people lived during the winter was an oddly shaped affair, with offshoots and projections running back farther than anyone dared explore. The cold, unknown areas were hidden behind thick, draped cloth and tapestries. The occupied portion of the cavern was kept warm with constantly burning fires.

  Helena had long ago staked for herself an odd pocket in the wall, which she had made more private with a bolt of colorful cloth hung from the ceiling. The cloth was a by-product of one of Robert’s raids upon a passing wagon.

  The same cloth hid the rough stone walls inside her tent-like room. It was furnished with a pallet, a small chest containing her possessions and a candle and flint.

  One of the heating fires burned high and bright just outside her room and the warm air filtered through the cloth. The same fire afforded some distance between Helena and her closest neighbors.

  Helena brought Stephen to the cubicle, directing him with soft commands since he refused to let her walk. The inhabitants of the cavern who did not sit around the fires with Robert glanced at them as they moved through the greater part of the cave but they did not speak, or stare for long. These folk knew how to mind their own business.

  Helena held the curtaining fabric aside and Stephen ducked under the low ceiling sill and stepped into the room. He stopped just inside and slowly lowered Helena to her feet, looking around.

  “Such unexpected luxury,” he murmured.

  She smoothed the skirt of her gown, suddenly awkward and unsure. Would he understand how new to this she was? Her gown was still loose, the sleeves threatening to slip down her arms. Helena laid a hand against her chest to protect her modesty.

  “Elen…”

  Stephen’s hands rested on her bared shoulders and she lifted her gaze to look at him properly. His black clothing and cape turned him into a dark shadow. In his face she saw the same barely held emotions she had seen once before, by the river.

  A tremor shuddered through her. Helena’s fear was very great, for now she stepped into territory she had never trod before. She had to call on instincts and whispered hints to guide her.

  She rested her other hand over Stephen’s heart, feeling heat pulse against her skin. He covered her hand with his own, then picked it up and kissed the palm, hot breath warming the flesh. “Elen…”

  “No one but you,” she whispered.

  His gaze met hers and she stared into his eyes, seeing confirmation of her whispered promise. “I don’t even know you.” His words conflicted with the look in his eyes.

  “Yes, you do.” She slipped her arm out of the gown. She wore no kirtle beneath. Her arm was bare. Helena held it up so Stephen could see the pale pink scar that slashed the flesh. “I am the person whose arm you cared for in Oxford. I am the one you came for in York.”

  His fingers brushed over the healing scar. She saw him swallow convulsively. “Elen, I am the lost one now. We are both outside.”

  “It is a freedom you will come to enjoy,” she told him.

  Stephen’s eyes widened in surprise. “Freedom?”

  “Yes. Freedom. You can do what you want here, be what you want. You are accountable to no one.”

  “Freedom.” He rolled the word over as if he were tasting it, examining it. “Like the desert.”

  Helena grasped the comparison. “Yes, like the desert.” She cupped his cheek, letting her thumb brush over his cheekbone. “You are not lost while I am here.”

  Stephen caught Helena’s hand in his and kissed her palm and then leaned down to kiss the scar on her arm, his hair brushing across her shoulder, tickling and sending ripples of pleasure down her back. His mouth hovered over the skin revealed by her loosened gown. Helena felt his breath against the upper slope of her breast and closed her eyes, anticipating the touch of his lips there too. Her grip on the gown loosened and it slipped lower before she caught it to her once again.

&
nbsp; Stephen’s lips touched Helena’s, captured her mouth in a searing kiss. His body came up against hers and Helena let her grip on the gown go.

  Stephen’s lips laid a fiery blaze across her cheek to her jaw and down her throat. Helena’s head fell back, an involuntary gasp escaping.

  There was a flutter of material and something brushed her ankles. Stephen’s cloak.

  He pulled gently at her arm, the one that remained in the gown. Helena slid it out of the sleeve. He moved back and she clutched at the gown before it slid farther and revealed her completely, suddenly shy. The fear was back, large and looming.

  Stephen must have seen it in her face, for he touched her lips. “I will not hurt you,” he murmured. “Feel what I am doing to you, Elen. It is not pain I deliver.” He kissed her. “Is that pain?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  His head lowered to kiss her upper breasts and Helena felt little sparks and tremors spread as his tongue brushed the flesh. “Does that hurt?” he asked, voice a low growl.

  “No.”

  His lips trailed lower, following the slope. They came up against her arm and the edges of the gown. He licked the skin there, caressed it with his mouth, leaving moist, heated paths.

  Helena’s eyes closed. The sweet ache of need built in her. Her breasts had felt his touch only once and she wanted it again. She let the gown fall, exposing her breasts.

  “Ahh,” Stephen murmured, his voice thick, altered. He dropped his head lower and Helena felt his lips close about a nipple. Oh, the heat! The delicious little tugging.

  There seemed to be an internal path from Helena’s breasts to a point deep in her belly. While her body trembled with the surge of pleasure, that place seemed to throb with a heat of its own.

  Conscious thought faded.

  “Do you feel pain now, Helena?” Stephen’s whisper barely reached her.

  “Nooo…” she sighed.

  Even though she had never experienced it before, Helena knew she craved his touch on her body, in the most intimate places. She wanted him to do what he was doing now to all of her. She let her arm fall from the dress and it dropped around her feet with a muffled rustle, leaving her fully exposed to his gaze.

  Stephen exhaled heavily and the sound was more of a groan. “Elen, you are beautiful.”

  “You will not say that when you have seen my back.”

  He deliberately circled her and pushed her hair aside. There was a long silence. Helena knew he studied the fading bruises and healing cuts.

  “Why didn’t you just say you would marry him and save yourself this, Elen?”

  While he stood behind her, Helena had the courage to say, “Because we made a promise. I knew you would not fail to keep it, so I knew I must, too, no matter what. For I was right. You did not fail me.”

  Stephen’s hands settled on her waist from behind. There was another long silence. “Oh, Elen,” he whispered and his voice was tinged with regret. “If I had known—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “It is done now.” She moved his hands from her waist and slid them up to her breasts. Stephen cupped them and she heard him gasp in reaction. She leaned back against him as the delicious surge reawoke, her exposure forgotten.

  He caressed her, sliding from her breasts to the smooth plane of her stomach, across her hips and lower, over the tops of her thighs, where the merest touch made her legs tremble. Her knees weakened under the onslaught of sensations and Helena leaned against him in earnest.

  Then she was being lifted, an arm under her knees and against her back. The tiniest twinge of discomfort nipped at her and was gone. She looked at Stephen. His eyes seemed wide, huge. The haunted look had gone from his face. His expression was one she had seen before in diluted form, by the river, when she had thought he might kiss her.

  A shiver racked Helena as he laid her down on the pallet.

  “You are cold?”

  “No,” she murmured and reached for the fastenings of his jerkin. “Take these off.”

  Stephen kissed her briefly and then stood and removed his clothes, one piece at a time. All the while his gaze did not leave her face. Helena watched his body slowly revealed and when at last he stood naked, she marveled, for his body was as scarred as her own. Finally, she saw his strength with her own eyes. She saw the movement of muscles beneath his flesh, the ripple and swell as he moved. His was a warrior’s body, trained for fighting, conditioned through years of experience on the battlefield. Stephen lowered himself to the pallet next to her. The engorged flesh jutting from the junction of his thighs brushed against her.

  The touch sent a wild spasm of excitement through Helena. She reached for him. She did not know for certain the ultimate goal of this moment. She simply followed her urges and instincts. His touch made her want him closer to her.

  Stephen’s hands were on her breasts again, caressing the tips and Helena felt her hips arch in answer. They pushed against his body and he grasped them, encouraging her wordlessly.

  He was between her legs now and for a moment she felt exposed and vulnerable. Then Stephen dipped his head to kiss the skin by her hipbone, sliding his mouth across to the other, while his hands slid under her bottom, holding her steady. Helena felt the ripples and quivers his mouth created cascade through her body. The central core of her flexed with secret delight. His mouth moved slowly lower, his teeth and tongue orchestrating a maelstrom of delight and pleasure within her.

  Helena’s exposure, her vulnerability, was forgotten. The waves of pleasure turned her limbs to molten, useless appendages that moved restlessly. Her eyelids were heavy. Small murmurs and gasps escaped her and she arched again, anticipating the direction Stephen’s mouth was taking, wanting it, hungry for it.

  Then he was there. His kisses and caresses on that most private part of her forced a small cry as the world tilted and almost tangible sparks of fiery pleasure burst through her body. Her breath emerged in ragged gasps.

  Stephen lifted himself and Helena gave a swift murmur of protest. She did not know if she could withstand more pleasure but she did not want it to stop. He rested over her and kissed her cheek.

  “More,” she whispered.

  “Yes, there is more,” he assured her. His eyes seemed sleepy too. He settled his hips between her legs and she felt him touch the tender, throbbing flesh between her legs. The blunt probe pushed at her.

  At the same time Stephen caught Helena’s hand in one of his. “Relax and allow me entry, my sweet Elen. Then you will understand.”

  She tried to obey him, willing herself to let her body relax. He found the entrance he sought. She felt him against her there. Vague memories, whispered conversations among the women that she had heard prepared her, told her what he intended.

  A tiny spasm of fear touched Helena again but before she could deal with it, Stephen dropped his head to take her nipple into his mouth, nipping it, toying with it, sending pure pleasure bursting through her again. As she arched, he thrust into her and held her tightly, her flesh surrounding him.

  Helena gave another cry, eyes opening wide, as the sharp pain tore at her but it was quickly over. His tongue still played with her breast, his other hand stroked its mate and her body responded, dragged back to the plateau of excitement.

  Stephen kissed Helena’s mouth once more and she saw the heavy, pulsing drive in him mirrored in his eyes, felt it in the barely controlled movements of his hips. A pulse beat at his temple too, sharp and quick.

  He slid one hand down the length of Helena’s thigh and lifted her leg to rest over his hip. “It is easier for you, this way,” he murmured. His voice was thick, husky.

  “Why?” Helena whispered.

  “This is why.” She felt him withdraw from her, then thrust back in again. Slowly. Helena’s mouth opened in a surprised “o” and her eyes widened, as the movement sent ripples through her like waves on water, spreading from the center point. This was the core of her that had throbbed with a life of its own and she realized now that it had
called out for Stephen to join her, aching for what he did to her now.

  Helena clutched at him as he thrust again slowly, her breath halting as the ripples widened and became more intense. Her whole body seemed to tense around him. The tension built, higher and higher. Stephen’s thrusts merged into the tension. She became a single sensory creature, receptive only to pleasure.

  Finally, when Helena knew she could not withstand more, the wave peaked. With exquisite joy she arched and heard herself groan. A beat or two later, Stephen gave a low, deep growl that seemed to come from the depths of his soul and he stretched taut over her, body locking into stillness.

  The peak passed. They lay together, quivering, sensitized to the smallest movement.

  Stephen lifted his head and kissed Helena gently. “Thank you, Elen,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

  She was puzzled. “But why? It was I who received pleasure. I should thank you.”

  He smiled and it was a slow, languorous smile that spoke of deep satisfaction. “It wasn’t just you, my sweet one. I am pleased you felt that pleasure. Sometimes it does not happen, not for a woman.”

  “No? Can it…? Will I…?” Helena grimaced. “Can I feel that again, or is it just this once?”

  Stephen moved against her and she felt the movement deep inside her, where he touched her still. Her eyes widened again as her body responded, tender flesh returning to life. “Ohhh…”

  “Yes, I think you will feel it again, Elen. I will do all I can to ensure you do.” Stephen’s voice altered, became deeper. “For I would care to feel again your body around me, quivering and racked with pleasure as it was.” He looked into her eyes as he spoke and paused a moment to study them longer. “Ahh, your eyes are like the evening sky in the desert, sweet one.”

  * * * * *

  John’s cup hit the table with a sodden crash. “Sue for peace?” he repeated with growing fury.

  Savaric watched with detached curiosity as the messenger squirmed uncomfortably. John’s anger was always hard to miss because he never failed to express it in whatever way he wished. This would not be the first messenger to impart unwelcome news who would leave the room nursing an injury.