She pulled away from him and looked up into his face, wondering how to tell him about Ulric. But she knew by the way he was staring at John, that he had already recognized him as such. His body tensed and his face tightened. "Ulric! What dost thou do here?"
John pulled Arabella away from her father and looked down into her face, tilting her chin, so she had to look at him. He darted a glance at Lord Dufour. "Thee banished me once, unjustly and now I return…as thy son-in-law!"
"My son-in-law! What nonsense dost thou speak?" Her father looked at her. "Arabella?"
Arabella sighed heavily. "He speaks the truth, father. He disguised himself as Lord John of Terryn and took me to wife under false pretences. He wished to seek his revenge."
"Revenge? For what, may I ask?" Her father's voice shook with anger. "What gave thee the right to lie to me? My daughter is the most precious thing in my life. I would never hath allowed a marriage betwixt thee!"
John's face was impassive as he replied, "When thou banished me from thy lands, 'twas unjust. Arabella told thee a lie, and I vowed revenge upon her. 'Tis why I changed my name, for I knew thee wouldst never hath allowed a marriage betwixt her and I."
"Nay, I would never hath. But 'tis no matter. I will apply to the King for the marriage to be annulled forthwith." He turned to her. "Daughter, go to thy chambers. Ulric, thee will leave my castle. Thou art not welcome here."
John folded his arms. "Arabella will stay by my side, for she is due to have my child in the spring."
Arabella closed her eyes, but opened them again, when she felt her father's hand on her sleeve. "Doth he speak the truth, daughter?"
She nodded and watched her father's expression turn, from anger, to resignation. He stared down at her. "What dost thou wish to do? Dost thou desire to remain with Ulric?"
Arabella glanced at him, unsure of her feelings. She would love to resume her previous life. But if their marriage was annulled, she would be bringing a bastard into the world. She would not wish such a burden on the new life growing within her. She stared at John. Would she miss him if they were to part? Aye, she reasoned she would. For all his faults, she still knew that she would, one day, find the youth he had once been. He had been hurt beyond reason. Mayhap in time, she could heal that hurt and build a future for them and their child.
"I wouldst remain married for the child's sake, father."
Her father ran a hand over his beard. "Very well. Come inside the great hall and I will order some refreshments."
"I would rather go to my chamber, father. The ride has left me weary."
"Of course, dear child. Mary will bring thee something to eat and drink when thou hath rested." He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It will also give Ulric and me time to talk."
* * *
Once settled by the warming fire, Lord Dufour settled back in his chair and stared hard at John. "Thou hath become hardened, Ulric."
"Aye. When a youth is thrown into the wilderness he hath two choices: to be eaten up by the wolves of society or fight back and bare his own teeth. I chose the latter."
"I had good reason to oust thee from my castle, Ulric. I regret it not."
John's jaw tightened. "Thee arranged a sham of a marriage betwixt Mirabelle and Merek, when she truly loved me. Thou broke her heart, and mine."
Lord Dufour raised an eyebrow. "I cannot believe, that after all these years, thou still thinketh I wronged thee. Mirabelle didst not love thee. She only had eyes for Merek. Any love thou thought betwixt thee was just a figment of thy imagination." He shook his head. "I pity thee, Ulric. Thou dost harbour a love unrequited."
"Thou misunderstand me. I hath no love for Mirabelle now. I am hardened against ever loving anyone again."
"What of my daughter? Dost thou not love her?"
"Arabella hath been given what she deserved—a loveless marriage. As she denied me, I will deny her." He stood up, his face dark. He had wanted to hurt Lord Dufour, but the revenge he had waited so long for did not give him the satisfaction he had thought. Instead, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Sitting at the hearth had brought back many pleasant memories, but that one dark day overshadowed all of them. Yet even so, he was overcome with feelings of sadness more than hatred.
His look dark, he bit out, "My name is now Lord John of Terryn. Ulric is no more. Prithee respect that."
He strode to the door just as one of the maids came in, carrying a tray of food and drink. Grabbing a flagon of wine off the tray, he made his up to the chamber without saying another word.
* * *
Arabella was sitting by the fire in the bed chamber, a blanket over her lap, delicately eating a slice of bread and honey when John strode in. She eyed him cautiously. Taking the opposite seat, he threw himself down and took a deep draught from the flagon of wine.
Arabella picked up a goblet and handed it to him. "Would this not be better, milord?"
He raised an eyebrow and gave her a wry smile. "Art thou implying I am uncouth?"
She shrugged delicately. "I am merely offering thee a more suitable drinking vessel, milord. I would not for one moment imply thou art uncouth." He seemed out of sorts. One minute he looked angry, the next resigned. "What did my father hath to say?"
"I do not wish to speak of it." He gazed into the fire, his expression brooding.
She chewed silently on the rest of her bread, studying him from beneath her lashes. He was so handsome; she could look at him all day. His shoulder length hair and traces of stubble accentuated his chiseled face reflecting in the firelight. What had her father said to him that caused the furrow on his brow?
Once again, she ventured to ask. He swung his gaze onto her, his eyes dark. "Dost thou wish to vex me, wife?"
She paled. "Nay! I just wanted to know…"
"Enough!"
Her mouth snapped shut. He was angry, and obviously, he had no intention of discussing his conversation with her. She would wait until the morrow and speak with her father. Perhaps he could tell her what had passed betwixt them.
Finishing her bread, she sipped on some mead. The warmth soon filled her belly, and she threw off the blanket. "I am to bed, milord. The journey has left me weary."
He didn't answer her, just sat staring at the flames. She walked over to the table and washed her face and hands with water from the jug. She ran a cloth over her teeth, using a small amount of burnt rosemary to clean them. Unlacing her bodice, she slipped out of her dress and petticoats and put on her long nightgown before padding barefoot to her bed. The bed was cold, and she shivered beneath the coverlet, burrowing down to create some warmth. Suddenly, she was enveloped by two large muscular arms. John pulled her against him. He was naked. "Thou dost shiver, milady. I wouldst keep thee warm."
Without hesitation, she snuggled against his broad chest. He was warm as toast, and she soon found herself warmed through. She changed position, so she was on her side, and they were spooning. His huge arm wrapped snugly around her waist making her feel safe and secure. His hand moved to her abdomen, and he splayed his fingers over her rounded belly. She felt his breath fan her face as he spoke softly, "I can feel thy babe within."
"Aye, milord. 'Tis showing already."
The intimate contact made her breathing grow shallow and her nether regions ache with longing. She wanted his hand to move lower, to show her the affection she craved from him. As though he could read her thoughts, she felt his hand run down the length of her thigh, before he gathered up the hem of her nightgown and slowly drew it up her body. She closed her eyes, as a wave of desire washed over her. God's bones, she wanted him inside her. His hand stroked her bottom, slipping between her thighs to seek out her hidden warmth. She gasped softly, when his fingers located her soft womanly folds and gently rubbed to and fro, until she was almost delirious with want. He moved his hand back and lifted her thigh, moving his hips forward, until she felt his stiff member seeking entrance. She shifted to give him easier access, gasping softly when he pushed himself inside her.
He paused to give her time to adjust to his body. "Am I hurting thee? I do not wish to harm the babe."
"Nay." she whispered. "It will do no harm."
Slowly he began to move, building up the pressure inside her, stroke by stroke, until she thought she would surely die. She arched her back against him wanting more. He responded instinctively, his thrusts becoming more powerful, until a few moments later, the world exploded around her–a thousand stars shooting through her mind. She let the waves of ecstasy wash over her, relishing the intimate contact. With a deep groan he climaxed shortly afterwards, spilling his seed inside her with one final thrust.
Arabella panted softly, regaining her composure. John didn't attempt to withdraw; instead he seemed to hold her closer. She didn't bother making small talk. There was no need. Contented, she fell asleep in his arms.
* * *
When she awoke in the morning, she was alone, the only sign that John had been with her, an indent in the pillow. She stretched and immediately stiffened. Something had fluttered in her stomach, she was certain of it. Laying flat on her back, she placed her hand on her abdomen and was rewarded with the faintest of movements. She gasped. This was the first time she had felt any movement, and as slight as it had been, it filled her with joy. Smiling happily, she slid out of bed and started her morning ablutions.
Mary popped her head around the door. "Lord John asked me to see if thee were awake, milady."
"Aye, come in Mary. Thou can help me dress."
Mary walked over to the large trunk that Arabella had brought with her and opened the lid. "What dress will thee choose? The blue or the green?"
"Green, me thinks."
Several minutes later, she was dressed, her hair braided and tied with a ribbon. She slipped her feet into small slippers and made her way down to the great hall. She was intrigued to hear what her father had to say, but was disappointed to find neither her husband or father present. Mary informed her they had already broken their fast and were riding out together.
"Together?" she queried.
"Aye, milady. They left no more than half an hour ago."
Was it a good thing they were riding out or not? She couldn't decide. Mayhap they had put aside their differences. She sat down at the dais and helped herself to some bread and honey, chewing the meal slowly, whilst digesting this new found knowledge. Would her father regret throwing John out all those years ago and mayhap, now accept him back into the fold? Her father was a stubborn man. It could take years for him to truly accept John. Mayhap when the babe was born, everything would fall into place. She could only hope so.
* * *
Lord Dufour held his arm out, and his peregrine falcon landed smoothly on his leather gauntlet, pecking away at the meat treat he handed him. He glanced at John. "Dost thou hunt on thy land, John?"
"Aye. The land is good. We hath both deer and boar."
"What of crops?"
"Several acres are given over to arable farming. My serfs are hardworking, and we mutually benefit from the harvest." John frowned. "Thou knowest this from whence I first asked for Arabella's hand in marriage. Wherefore dost thou wish to know all this again?"
"For my daughter's benefit. I wouldst ascertain that what thee told me then corresponds to what thee says now. I hath a marvelous memory. Thee have informed me that thee dost not love my daughter, which dost not bother me. Many marriages are thus. But what would bother me is if I find out she has been mistreated, or that I hath been mislead as to thy holdings. I gave my daughter to thee in the knowledge that she will hath a secure future—if I find out otherwise, then thee will pay dearly."
"I can assure thee, the only thing I lied about was my true identity. All else is true."
Lord Dufour's look had been fierce, but upon hearing John defend himself, he seemed to relax somewhat. He tethered his falcon to the rear of his saddle and instructed his knights that they would be returning to the castle.
On the ride back, he spoke again about Arabella. "I do not know wherefore Arabella chooses to remain with thee. I can only assume she is looking to the future of her child. Whatever the case, I will not interfere unless she asks me to. But understand this; if I hear thou hath harmed her, thee will rue the day!"
"I will not harm her, but I will love her neither." When he spoke the words, he knew he was lying. He was already in love with her. It was too late. He clenched his jaw. This fact he would keep to himself. Never would she know how she affected him. Never!
* * *
A week later, Arabella found herself back at Terryn. It had been wonderful to see her father and reassure him all was well within her marriage. He had taken her to one side, before she departed, telling her that Arnscroft would always be waiting should she find living with John unbearable. He had the King's ear and could always find a way to annul the marriage.
He had promised to come and visit her when the babe was born, something she truly looked forward to.
Winter was approaching, and the weather was growing chillier by the day. She wiggled her slippered feet in front of the fire, relishing the warmth emanating into the bed chamber. Her babe was due in the spring, and she was glad for it. Spring always marked the beginning of life with newborn animals, making their appearance and the crops beginning their yearly cycle. It seemed fitting that her babe would arrive at the same time, God willing.
John had been his usual domineering self since their return, and she was getting near the end of her tether. He barked out orders left, right and centre, expecting immediate obedience, something she wasn't used to. She had come near to a spanking on several occasions, but just acquiesced in time.
She jumped when the door suddenly banged open, and talk of the devil, John entered the chamber. He strode over to her and placed his surcoat on her lap.
"This needs sewing. There are several rips."
She pulled a face. "Milord, thou knowest I abhor needlework. Where is Maisie, our seamstress?"
"Taken ill, worse luck. I need this for the tourney tomorrow." His look spoke volumes. He was testing her, waiting for her to disobey him.
She narrowed her eyes. Wherefore should she darn holes on his surcoat? "Can thee not go into the village and find another seamstress?"
"Nay, I want thee to do it."
"I do not want to do it!" This was just another way for him to throw his weight around and try and get her to do something she abhorred. She had never been brilliant at sewing. Aye, she could do the basics, but only when there was no other option, and what she did manage to sew usually had to be unpicked and re-sewn at a later date.
He leaned over her. "Thee will do it!" he commanded.
"Nay, I will not!"
His hand reached out and gripped her wrist. "Art thou disobeying me, milady?"
"Aye, and if thou thinketh to threaten me with a spanking, then thee can…ah!"
With lightning speed he had her over one raised knee. She pushed against him to try and break free, but he held her firm. He raised her skirts and administered a stinging smack to both cheeks at once. She gasped, but before she had time to recover, another one landed in the same spot.
"Aouw!" she shrieked.
"I ask thee to do one simple thing that any wife should do with a willing heart for their husband, yet thee balk at it."
"A willing heart…aow…wherefore should I do as thee bid, when thee hath no heart at all?"
He landed three swats in quick succession, and she howled loudly.
"Thou will do as I say. I am master of this castle, and I expect full obedience from all the inhabitants, and that, my sweet Arabella, includes thee!"
His hands felt as hard as iron. Thankfully, he only delivered ten swats before hauling her back up. She grimaced and placed a hand on her bottom beneath her skirts. It felt hot. She rubbed the surface whilst glaring at him.
"Take that look off thy face! Thee will do as I bid. By the end of the day I want my surcoat repaired, do I make myself clear?"
"Aye!"
/> He stared hard at her to see if she was sincere. "Very well. I am off on a hunt, but I will be back in time to change for luncheon."
He left the chamber without another word, and Arabella looked down at the surcoat. She kicked it across the floor in a fit of pique. Arrogant bastard!
* * *
Later that afternoon…
Arabella sat sewing John's surcoat with a smile on her face. So far, she had sewn two small tears in the fabric. She still had another two to do. She pulled a face when she looked at the uneven, poorly sewn stitches. Well, it would serve him right, when he saw how badly repaired it was.
He may think to make her life hell, but she could make his just as bad. Only she would have to be cunning, something she was good at.
She smiled whilst staring into the flames. Yes, about now he should be really suffering.
Chapter Seven
John's back was itchy. Not a mild itch that a quick scratch could get rid of. Nay, this was a deep rooted itch, starting from his shoulders, all the way down to the small of his back. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it, but it was no use. He reached around and scratched, a blissful look of relief appearing on his face.
Fendrel, riding alongside him, asked. "Is something amiss, milord? I cannot help but notice that thee hast been scratching thy back rather a lot this morn."
"Aye, Fendrel. I hath worn this shirt oft and never been bothered by the fabric, yet today it irks me beyond reason."
"Art thou certain 'tis the fabric, mayhap thee brushed past a plant thou art allergic to, milord?" he offered.
John thought hard. He hadn't touched any plant or undergrowth since leaving the bailey. "Nay, it cannot be." He scratched once more. "This will not do. We must return to the castle, and I will change my clothing. Mayhap this incessant itch will then cease."
Lost Love Page 8
