by Rizzo Rosko
She blushed harder. "I thought ye meant to deceive the castle into thinking I was a kept whore. Only because ye were so adamant about avoiding me, and demanded everyone acknowledge that ye were not betrothed, then ye kissed me so suddenly," she said quickly at his shocked glance.
“But, as I am one of the nobility ye thought were so honourable, what made ye think me capable of such acts?”
She could hardly bring herself to open her mouth, but after what he had done for her, he deserved a little of the truth, even if she herself was not certain of it. “I am not certain how I justified it, but it thought ye were the exception to that rule.”
"Is that was ye thought?"
She expected him to be angry, but his face remained calm. "Ye do not like me in yer home. What was I to think?"
He adjusted her so that she leaned against his chest once more. "I shall tell ye what to think. I will go to every man I have spoken to of our betrothal and tell them that 'twas I who jested. I will say that yer claim of our marriage was a valid one because I want ye for my wife."
Elizabeth tensed. She didn't believe it. Her earlier doubts against him plagued her once more and she did not know what to trust. "Do ye play with my emotions? Are ye being truthful?"
He took her hand into his larger one. "I am being truthful, aye." He released her hand and cupped her cheek. "Eliza, there are cruel men in the world who wish to harm anyone weaker than themselves no matter what their lot in life is, and for some reason or another ye seem to think that good can only be found in the hands of the rich.”
“Do ye not believe in good people at all?” She asked, wishing to defend herself.
He shook his head. “Not the way ye seem to. I know ye have yer secrets, and I no longer care what they might be, ye can have them.” He paused. “I promise ye I am not a man like Sir Ian, or any other man who has caused ye to cry." His thumb brushed a dangling tear from her cheek. "Be my wife?"
Elizabeth's bottom lip trembled. She did not know how 'twas possible. Perhaps it had already been there, since the moment he awoke in her hut and spoke to her, and had been slowly growing since then. Like a seed she had dropped by mistake, it had grown into a blooming flower without her knowledge. Then his kiss, followed by his rescue and kind words were what caused her to finally see it.
She loved him. Not for his wealth, or the comforts he could give to her.
She simply loved him.
She threw her arms around his neck. "Aye! I will!"
***
"Mine? Are ye certain of this? How can I have a child?"
“Aye, we are certain. I told ye of the mark of the blade.” William said, ignoring the last question as he handed Nicholas Godwyn a filled goblet. Though the man took it, he stared straight ahead with eyes rounded into perfect circles.
William could not blame him. ‘Twas not every day a man discovered he was a father, nor that the child in question had grown well passed womanhood.
Finally Nicholas looked down at the cup in his hands. He lifted the goblet and downed the warm ale as though it had been days since he last drank. William refilled his drink, but Nicholas did not lift the liquid to his lips this time. He held the goblet between his trembling hands and seemed to stare right through the wall.
"And...ye are quite certain of this?” He blinked, control returning to him. “Where is she? I wish to see this mark upon her neck."
William looked to Marianne, and she gave the answer. "Blaise volunteered some days ago to reveal to her our suspicion, though he has managed to put off the task," she muttered. "I did see him leave the Great Hall, following at her heels along with some other knight. I imagine he should be telling her now since there can be no putting it off any longer."
Nicholas put down his goblet and rubbed his face before pacing in the spot that William occupied whenever something was amiss.
To William 'twas odd seeing his normally so cheerful friend in such a state of unease. "What troubles ye? That she is yer daughter with a prostitute? Or that ye had yer only child out of wedlock?" He asked, though not unkindly.
Marianne clenched her hands together, as though fretting over his possible answers to both questions.
Nicholas stopped, his mouth dropped, and he shook his head. "Ye have me wrong, old friend. 'Tis not my methods of conceiving her, nor with whom, that have me shaking like a frightened woman. Truly I am glad for this blessing."
William stepped back, having not expected the answer. "Glad?
Marianne clapped her hands together and squealed. "'Tis wonderful news! Wait until ye meet the girl, ye shall adore her!"
Nicholas addressed William as though he had not heard the outburst of Marianne. "I have no children. Not for lack of trying but for all my conquests and two dead wives, none came to me. Now, ye suddenly claim that after giving up hope, I may just have been a father all along. I do wish to meet this girl, as soon as possible, and if the mark on her neck is a match to the one on my arm, I shall question this no further and take her back to my home tonight."
Marianne's smile melted from her face like ice at the end of a long winter. William expected as much.
She stepped forward, her face pleading. "Nicholas, I know that ‘twould be an odd request, especially after being told that she is yer blood, but I beg that ye consider allowing Eliza to stay. I believe she and Blaise may have formed an attachment to one another."
Nicholas fell back a step. "Attachment? Are they to wed?"
Marianne looked to William. He could only shrug his shoulders, for he truly did not know the answer. Blaise either spoke of the girl without pause for hours on end, sometimes without realizing he'd done so until William begged for silence, and other times he brooded alone in a corner, arms folded and refusing to take part in any conversation regarding her.
William was certain his son was infatuated. Though, being stubborn as per usual he refused to admit to it, even to himself.
As for the girl, when William took Blaise's position as Eliza's instructor on the constant insistence of his wife, Eliza could not seem to keep her mouth closed without mentioning Blaise. She spoke of the horrendous color of his hair, his nerve for no longer teaching her, his kindness for introducing her to his family and falcons, usually without pause.
Surely they held some attachment to one another, but neither seemed to have made any promises to the other.
"Nicholas, while we are certain that they will court one another, as of yet there is no engagement."
"Then 'tis settled." Nicholas picked his goblet back up and drank the contents in one gulp like before, finishing with a satisfied sigh. "I shall see the girl, and if she is the fruit of my loins, she leaves with me this night."
"Now, Nicholas ye cannot simply take her." Marianne complained, her eyes darting about the room as though she would find the proper words hidden among the furniture. "I too have grown fond of her, and 'twould only upset her should ye take her from Blaise so soon in their romance."
"We are not even certain there is a romance.” Nicholas argued. Then his entire face dropped with shock. “Good God, did the both of ye think to tell me that I had a child living like a peasant, and expect me to want to do nothing of it? Not take her so that I might know her? Make amends for my crime of not having provided for her?"
William was struck dumb by Nicholas's words, as was Marianne it seemed for she said nothing at all to his claim. William opened his mouth to make the denial, to insist there had been a mistake, but not a word left him.
Nicholas shook his head and took a step towards the door. "I apologise if my reaction is not to yer expectations, but if she is indeed mine I shall take her to the home she should have known.
“I'm not denying the chance that she may be courted by yer son, simply not here. Again, my apologies, but I shall not be moved, and I pray ye are correct that she is mine, for now that the possibility has arisen and my hopes with it, I shall not know what to do with myself should I be childless once more." With that, Nicholas departed the room to find t
he woman who might be his heir.
***
Blaise lifted Eliza into his arms as though she weighed less than a small bird, and took her away from the bedchamber where she nearly lost a part of herself to that son of a pig.
He would see to it the man was punished further, yet ‘twould likely not be enough.
William would surely demand the harshest penalty possible for what Ian had attempted, but Blaise was perfectly aware that to rape a peasant was no crime, let alone attempting to rape one. Ian would escape with only the injuries Blaise had put on him.
No matter, if Blaise ever saw him again he would kill him.
He allowed his bloody thoughts to slip from his mind as his sweet Eliza suckled along the ridge of his jaw. His heart thumped like a mad man against his cage, attempting to break free. He swam in delighted pleasure that his exploring hand did not cause Eliza to move away from him, fearful of touch. If anything, she could not seem to get enough of the contact between their hot flesh. 'Twas a good sign for what he wished to do to her.
"Ye’re a vixen." He groaned as her mouth travelled up to the shell of his ear. She ruined his concentration with her wicked ways, making it impossible for him to navigate the familiar halls of his own castle with the need she caused in him.
"I cannot help myself." She moaned against his ear. “I want ye, but I'm not sure why."
The Devil in Hell. The woman was an innocent. Blaise would be her first...and her last. The thought forced a quickening into his feet and a sharpness of mind that allowed him to locate his bedchamber at last.
He kicked the door shut behind him, crossed the space and dropped her on the bed without grace. She bounced and laughed the same laugh she'd given him the day he’d danced with her.
With an eager smile he lowered himself and captured her mouth, lightly tugging against her lower lip with his teeth before releasing her. "I shall have ye remember this night for the rest of our lives."
Her fingers combed through his hair. "If that is yer wish." Her eyes unexpectedly came together in a frown.
Concern peaked inside him. "What is it?"
"Yer hair. 'Tis not as awful as I once thought, especially in the dim light. The color…’tis darker."
Blaise's eyes flew wide. All thoughts of romance blew away in the night breeze as he laughed heartily. "What a thing to speak of at a time like this!" he said before his mouth returned to hers.
Her hands fumbled with his tunic, searching for a way to get her fingers under and meet the flesh of his chest. She finally gained access and slid her nails across his firm stomach.
He delighted in the little moan she released before she pulled away from him. "Yer skin, 'tis hot."
"Aye, and if yers is not 'twill soon be as well."
He couldn't wait, could not for the life of him take the time to remove her gown. That would wait for the next time. Now, he had to have her. His hands slid lower, lifting the fabric.
"Nay! Do not!"
Blaise's hands stilled. "What is it?"
Her face heated, as though shamed. "'Tis what he tried to do. If ye should take me then do not do it like that."
Seconds ago he could not hold himself back, now, taking his time seemed like the better course of action. He could not fight the lustful smirk that pulled one side of his mouth. "Ye would prefer yerself to be naked?"
Her neck and face coloured in that familiar way he adored. "Aye, but, ye shall be as well?"
Blaise lifted himself up to his knees and made a mock bow. "Of course, my lady." He lifted his loose tunic off and threw it to the other side of the chamber where it disappeared in the darkness.
She lifted herself up to join him, her mouth touching his chest while her hands smoothed along his ribs and waist, as though mapping him. Never had a woman he'd taken to his bed shown such an...interest. 'Twas usually a game of sheer pleasure, ignoring all sensuality and intimacy until the deed was done.
Blaise found the pink laces to her corset and pulled them loose so that he might return the favour. "Ye are so beautiful," he said, flinging the thing away to disappear like his tunic.
Eliza pulled his face to hers and fell back to the bed, towing him along with her so that his naked chest rubbed against her. Her nipples peaked through her chemise, tickling him.
He lifted the garment without removing it, stopping at her neck so that he might touch the sensitive nubs and put them at ease. Eliza arched into his hand, her breath heavy as his thumb flicked over the dark pink peak.
Her hard breathing turned into a long moan when he lowered his head to take it into his mouth. So lovely the way she arched to him…
The chamber door behind them burst open, filling their dark paradise with light from the torches outside.
Eliza shrieked and pulled her chemise down with both hands. Blaise spun to glare at the intruder before his angered sneer turned to shock.
"Nich—"
The older man's fist connected with his jaw. The blow launched Blaise from the bed and to the floor with a hard thud.
Eliza screamed again and scrambled to rush down to him. Nicholas captured her arm and forced her to remain still on the bed.
"Blaise!"
He rubbed his jaw, glaring at the older man. "Ye’re safe Eliza, he shall not harm ye." His eyes connected with Nicholas's. "Will ye?"
'Twas not a question, but a threat. The older man seemed to recognise this, but did not release Eliza. Nicholas’s gentle voice did naught to calm her quaking shoulders. "Yer name, girl, is it Elizabeth Godwyn?"
She shook her head, her eyes darting from Nicholas, to Blaise who stood to dust himself off. "Nay, 'Tis Elizabeth Hollow."
"Hollow?"
"Aye." She yanked her arms out of Nicholas's grip and rushed off the bed to stand with Blaise, allowing him to put his arms about her and sinking into his warm embrace.
"Ye took the name of yer mother? The prostitute?"
Her face heated. Blaise tightened his grip on her and glared once more at his friend.
"Speak louder, Sir Nicholas, someone on the other side of the castle may not have heard ye."
Nicholas's face was the one to flood with color. "Aye, I apologise, 'tis not what I meant to say..." He seemed for a loss of words. "Ye look so much like yer mother."
The flush of humiliation turned to an angry red. "I see. Ye are a customer. I must apologise, milord, but I am not in the same profession as my mother and ye shall have to look elsewhere for yer pleasure."
Nicholas rocked on his feet and clutched his heart as though he couldn’t believe the accusation. "Nay, ye have me wrong. I merely wish to see yer neck."
Eliza's hand flew to her throat. "Ye shall not come near me!"
"‘Tis not for any foul intent. I wish to see the birthmark ye have there."
Blaise could have kicked himself. All this time, avoiding Eliza and his conflicting attraction and suspicion towards her, he'd been constantly putting off the task that he himself volunteered to perform.
"My—?"
Blaise took her hand and removed it from its protective spot over her birthmark. "Eliza, this man is Sir Nicholas Godwyn. He has a mark similar to the one ye bare on yer neck."
Eliza looked to him, her eyes wide. Nicholas raised his sleeve, allowing her to see the reddish sword-shaped mark that lay on his forearm.
Eliza's fingers tickled along the spot just under her jaw where her own mark awaited patiently to be viewed. "What does this mean?"
Blaise swallowed. He should have been wearing his tunic, sitting with her somewhere privately, days ago to allow her to take in the news he was about to reveal. Thrusting this upon her so suddenly while both of their clothes were in tatters would not help.
"Eliza, I know ye believe that Sir Ferdinand was yer father, but because of the similarities in yer birthmarks, my father and I suspect that Sir Nicholas is yer true sire."
Eliza sputtered, then her eyes turned up in a faint. She would have gone into the fire had Blaise not caught her.
Chapt
er Eight
James all but devoured the lips that pressed against his own with the eagerness of a starved animal. Be damned anyone who might be staring, he didn’t care, and damn the hurt in his chest that pierced like stabbing knife. He didn’t care about that either.
When his eyes found her, walking towards him in that gown, he thought his mind played a foul trick on him, or perhaps a lady walked to him who happened to look like her.
But nay, ‘twas Olma, and whatever magic of bravery it was that caused her to dress in such a fashion had dressed her very well. She had been lovely before in naught else but servants garments, but as she was, in a lady’s gown, she glowed like a winter faerie.
He pulled his mouth away with the hesitation of a parched man leaving water. He had to know, had to ask her. “Why do ye do this? This ache I have is nearly too much bear without seein’ ye like this,” he pulled her closer. “Havin’ ye stand so close.”
Her pale skin around bright eyes made them glow as she stared up at him. Her pink mouth opened and closed, as though searching for a proper answer and finding none.
She put her ear to his chest. Whether to hide her face, rest, or listen to his heart beat, he did not know. “I only wished to dance wi’ ye before ye found someone to marry.”
The stabbing returned. James felt as though he were being hacked at by a madman, and he hissed.
He wrapped his arms around her and locked them tight like chains. “‘Tis going to be difficult now that I have had the pleasure of dancing with ye, being as lovely as ye are now.”
She turned her face up, pale cheeks reddening with delight. She lifted herself onto her toes to reach for another kiss. James bent his head to comply.
“And who is this pretty—”
They turned their heads in a panic at the voice. Lady Seacliffe and her daughter stared with an open mouth at Olma. “Aren’t ye a sewing maid here? Yes, yes ye are, I recognise ye.”
Lady Claire’s mouth dropped like her mother’s. “A sewing maid? What’s she dressed like that for?”
