Rebellious Love

by Maura Seger

  The clergy, led by the revered Archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton, had made some discrete statements about the dignity of all men and their right to protection under the law. It was rumored that in private meetings with the nobility, the archbishop spoke out more firmly, going so far as to say that the power of the king needed limiting.

  At the lowest level, there were reports of tentative insurgencies among peasants on a few demesnes who sought to take advantage of the general climate of change to better their own poor lots. Though brutally crushed, such rebellion deeply concerned every man of property. Curran was no exception. Verony knew he had hurried their marriage in part out of determination to keep the peace among his own people.

  That he would succeed she did not doubt. Besides being a good and capable ruler, Curran had the advantage of replacing a brutal, callous lord who had done the serfs only harm. The comparison alone would make them cleave to the young earl, especially now that she was his lady. But as to what would happen in the kingdom as a whole, she could not begin to imagine. She was certain only of her wish to know more, and guessed there was but one place where such knowledge could be gained.

  Sipping her wine, Verony eyed her husband above the rim of the goblet. Softly she asked: "Will we go to London soon?"

  Luxuriating in the hot, foaming water, Curran did not respond immediately. When he did, it was with obvious regret. "We must go in a few months. Much as I would prefer to stay here, there are matters at court that cannot be ignored."

  "You will take me with you?" Verony demanded hastily. No sooner were the words out than she bit her lip, wishing she had been more diplomatic. There was still much she did not know about Curran. Perhaps he was one of those men who needed to be coaxed and cajoled into granting any favor. What if he took umbrage at her presumption and decided to leave her behind . . . ?

  Opening one eye, Curran regarded his wife bale-fully. "I'm not sure the court could cope with you just now, my lady."

  In the next instant, as the color fled from Verony's face, Curran realized she had taken his teasing to heart. Contritely he reached out to draw her into the circle of his arms. "You are so beautiful," he murmured, nuzzling her throat, "so radiant. You will dazzle all the lords. No one will be able to remember why he is there or what he meant to be doing. Only I, accustomed by then to your charms, will be immune and therefore able to carry the day."

  "Immune?" Verony squealed, her good humor swiftly restored. "If you expect to tire of me so quickly, my lord, perhaps I should just take myself off right now."

  "Try it," Curran growled, "and you will not get far." His hands slipped beneath the water, tantalizing the heated smoothness of her skin. "Particularly not in your present delightful state of undress."

  Remembering his determination to go slowly with her, Curran abruptly broke off his caress. But he did not remove his arm. Drawing her with him, they both reclined in the foaming water, feeding each other choice bits from the tray and talking softly.

  As Curran spooned the last morsel of spiced custard into Verony's mouth, she stirred against him enticingly. It was all well and good to feed one's stomach, but she was becoming impatient with his restraint. Small hands caressed the bunched muscles and flat planes of his hair-covered chest, finger tips just brushing the hard ridges of his hips. She was rewarded when Curran leaned forward to lick an imaginary crumb from the mole beside her mouth.

  "I am still hungry, my lord," Verony whispered huskily.

  "So am I, my sweet," he admitted, lifting the shining globes of her breasts to suckle her gently. A taut breath rippled from Verony, only to break off as he teased: "Would you have me go back to the keep for more food?"

  Sharp nails digging into his thigh, she countered: "Would you torment me, my lord? Deny me what we both so clearly want?" To prove her words, Verony allowed her hand to drift upward, cupping the heavy pouch of his manhood before instinctively skillful fingers stroked his arching tumescence.

  "I would deny you nothing," Curran groaned, recognizing that the time for teasing—and for restraint—was past. Grasping her narrow waist, he lifted her almost clear of the water before setting her on the very tip of what she desired.

  Verony gasped as his mouth closed over hers, his tongue probing the dark, moist recess with the same rhythm of his manhood pressing against her softness. Coming into her only the slightest way, Curran waited, patiently nourishing his young wife's passion until she could receive all of him.

  There in the ancient, hallowed spring, nestled in the arms of her husband, Verony learned more about the varied nature of love and the marvels of both her body and Curran's. Ecstasy exhausted, she drifted off to sleep, barely aware when he lifted her from the water, gently toweled her dry and snuggled them both into the fur-covered bed.

  They spent two days in the secluded bower, sleeping little, eating well thanks to the discrete servants who left ample trays just outside the door, and making love in joyful abandon.

  On the second night, they woke together to a world engulfed in stillness. Standing at the tiny window, wrapped in Curran's warm embrace, Verony stared out at the hushed landscape.

  A sense of foreboding rose within her as she considered how deceptive the look of peacefulness was in a land on the edge of turmoil. Regretting that they ever had to leave their lover's haven, she turned quickly to her husband, losing herself and all her fears in his tender care.

  CHAPTER 8

  "You said a 'house,' " Verony murmured Accusingly. "This is a fortress."

  Muffled in her sable-lined cloak, the hood pulled up against the biting winter cold, she peered out warily. Ahead loomed a massive pile of stone fronting on the ice-encrusted river and framed side and back by empty fields. Such flagrant use of space in crowded London spoke eloquently of the d'Arcys' immense wealth and power, as well as the family's deep distrust of the monarchy.

  Built by Curran's father, the Earl Garrett d'Arcy, the compound was strategically placed for maximum defense. Although the arches above the narrow windows and the tiled roof dotted by smoking chimneys hinted at homey comforts, it was impossible to mistake the chief purpose of a structure designed to protect those within.

  Curran studied her with concern, as he had frequently during the arduous trip to London.

  "Don't be misled by appearances. This is really four houses placed together. Common galleries run through them all to make passage easy, but there is still much privacy. My parents use the house in the back, overlooking a field on one side and the courtyard on the other. My eldest brother, Mark, and his wife, Arianna, have the house on the right. The one in front belongs to those of my brothers still unwed. The other is ours, or more correctly yours, since I deeded it to you in your bridal gift."

  His gaze ran over her worriedly, taking in the pallor of her skin and the slender back held rigidly straight despite the long hours in the saddle. He knew she dreaded this meeting with his family, despite all his assurances that they would welcome her wholeheartedly. Verony persisted in believing the earl and his lady would disapprove of the marriage.

  "I had no idea it was so grand," she admitted softly, reaching out a small, gloved hand to him.

  Across the distance separating their horses, Curran smiled. "According to my mother, it is not. She complains of the damp and drafts, the noise and dirt of London, the poor quality of the markets and the general sense of confinement. Yet whenever my father must be at court, she insists on accompanying him."

  A low laugh escaped Verony, bell-like on the frigid air. "I can sympathize with your mother, for I, too, dislike London."

  "Have you been here often?" Curran asked. He hoped to keep her distracted long enough for them to enter the compound and get through the initial meeting with his family.

  "Only once, more than a year ago." A hint of bitterness in her tone made Curran look at her quizzically. Reluctant to elaborate, Verony hesitated before explaining: "My father decided I should marry, so he brought me here to attract a wealthy, powerful husband. Someo
ne who would pay his debts and help fuel his grandiose schemes. Since that was a fate I did not relish, I made myself as unpleasant as possible. Father gave up after a few weeks and sent me back to Langford, with dire warnings about what he would do to me when he returned. But he never did."

  Curran frowned at the thought of his wife being spared from punishment only because of her father's death in a drunken brawl.

  He remembered the beautiful, proud girl who had flitted so briefly through the court. Some had called her sullen and spoiled. Those lords foolish enough to approach her quickly felt her sharp tongue and haughty stare. Few suspected her behavior sprang from determination not to be used in the way her father envisioned. But Curran could remember his mother commenting that it could not be easy to be de Langford's child.

  "This time it will be different," he promised, squeezing her hand. "There is much to enjoy in London, even now. We will go to the markets where mummers and magicians perform year-round. I'll take you hunting, with your falcon, if you promise not to ride too fast."

  He knew how fond she was of the fierce peregrine she had raised from a chick. Learning of the bird, Curran was pleased to return it to her shortly after their marriage. Brought along to London with his own larger gyrs, the perfectly trained hunter would need exercise.

  "And there is much to amuse you at court," he continued, "if you tread carefully."

  That earned him a frosty stare. Verony had no need of his warning. She was fully aware of the volatile political climate pitting an irate, unpredictable king against his nobles. Though some semblance of amicability was still maintained, she had no illusions what it would be like at court.

  " 'Amuse' is the wrong word, my lord. Interest, certainly, but there is far too much at risk to be amusing."

  Curran sighed. After four months of marriage, Verony still tended to ruffle her feathers when he did no more than exercise what he regarded as proper husbandly prudence.

  Her delectable, sensual body distracted him so easily that he had overlooked much. But on a number of occasions he felt driven to point out that she was no longer running wild in the forest or struggling to manage a manor around her father's brutality and sloth.

  Verony did not take such reminders well. Fiercely independent and accustomed to relying only on herself, she continued to take on tasks he felt were too tiring or dangerous for her, make decisions he believed should have been left to him and generally behave in a manner not in keeping with the way he expected his wife to act.

  This trip to London was a good example. Any sensible woman, burdened with child, would have stayed placidly at home, content with her needlework and simple tasks. But not Verony. When her reasoned efforts to convince him she should go along failed, she declared flatly that she would make the trip whether he wished it or not.

  Curran threatened to leave her locked up but finally relented. His reluctance to be parted from her—and her obvious good health—undermined his resolve. But even as he gave in, he vowed Verony had won her last battle. From now on, she was going to learn to obey as any proper wife should.

  Reining in before the gates of the d'Arcy compound, Curran called a greeting. A steely-eyed veteran peered from the narrow window of the guardhouse to confirm their identity before admitting them.

  The weary party dismounted in the entry passage. The men-at-arms went off hastily in search of food and sleep as the few servants they had brought with them lingered to begin unpacking the baggage carts. About to tell them that could wait, Verony was pleased when household retainers arrived quickly to take over the task. Such consideration touched her. She could only hope Lady Emelie would be as understanding of her new daughter-in-law.

  "You made better time than I expected," Sir Lyle said as he came forward to greet them. Having gone on ahead to London, he was able to inform them of recent events. After clapping Curran on the back

  and smiling at Verony, the old knight muttered: "And a good thing, too. The court is in worse turmoil than ever. Your father just got back from Canterbury, where he saw the archbishop again. He and your mother are in their chamber, but your brothers and the Lady Arianna are about somewhere."

  "You've been reprieved," Curran whispered wickedly in her ear as they accompanied Sir Lyle through the courtyard at the center of the compound. "I doubt my father has been gone more than a few days, but he and mother hate being separated. It will be a while before we see them."

  When the full meaning of his words reached her, Verony blushed. The Earl Garrett and his lady were such respected, even revered, figures that the image of them locked in sweet combat was unthinkable. Particularly when one considered that Lady Emelie was in her forties, well past the age most women felt they could do without the pleasures of lovemaking. Yet even as her pale skin darkened in embarrassment, Verony had to admit that, having tasted such delights herself, she would not be eager to give them up.

  Walking beside her tall, powerfully built husband, she savored the look of pleasure on his rugged face. Despite the strain of the journey and the dangers awaiting them at court, Curran was clearly delighted to be back amid his family. His smile widened even further as he spied a slender, feminine figure poised on the steps above them.

  "Arianna! More beautiful than ever. I trust my brother is taking proper care of you?"

  "If he isn't, I'm sure you'll quickly set him straight," the girl teased, embracing Curran warmly.

  Gazing at the exquisitely beautiful creature with hair like ripe wheat, sparkling hazel eyes and a perfect figure set off by an emerald silk tunic and mauve surcoat, Verony felt a stab of jealousy. Only the silent reminder that this was her sister-in-law, wife to the eldest d'Arcy son, kept her still.

  "How did you get here so quickly?" Arianna asked. "I thought you were bringing your wife. You didn't leave her at home, Curran? It would be just like a d'Arcy to do that, or at least try."

  "Hardly!" Curran laughed, drawing Verony out from where she stood behind Sir Lyle. "I can't bear to let her out of my sight for a moment, let alone put miles between us."

  Arianna smiled a welcome. But her eyes were cautious as she studied Verony. What she saw must have satisfied her, for the smile quickly became warm.

  "You are even lovelier than Sir Lyle told us," she said sincerely. "How do you manage to look so fresh after that horrible trip?"

  "I don't feel very fresh," Verony laughed, her tension easing as she recognized the offer of friendship. "In fact, I suspect a good part of England is stuck to me."

  "You'll want a bath," Arianna suggested. "The serving women are heating water." Linking an arm through Verony's, she drew her inside. "Your clothes will follow. Are you hungry? I could never get enough to eat when I was carrying."

  Taken aback by the other girl's swift perception of her condition, Verony did not know how to respond. So far as she could tell, her pregnancy showed very little. Certainly the all-enveloping folds of her cloak hid the slight swelling of her belly. Yet Arianna had known instantly.

  "How is my nephew?" Curran asked to cover her silence. "The last time I saw him he did little but sleep and eat."

  "He says several words now," Arianna informed him proudly, "and is beginning to walk. Mark, of course, thinks he's the most wonderful baby ever. He will surely bore you with all sorts of stories about his offspring's prowess." She gestured toward the Main Hall. "James and Kevin are in there along with my lord. Go and join them. Your arrival will be ample reason to celebrate."

  Satisfied that Verony was in good hands, and eager to see his brothers, Curran kissed her quickly and departed. Together, the two women followed the gallery leading from one house to the other. Along the way, Arianna gave a brief explanation of the domestic arrangements.

  "The kitchens and storerooms are downstairs in the undercroft. Most of the cooking and baking is done in the Lady Emelie's house, since we all gather there for supper. But I find it useful to keep a small kitchen staff for Mark and myself, because he sometimes gets home at odd hours and I never know when he w
ill want to be fed."

  Pausing to allow Verony to admire the unusually large amount of light and air admitted by the gallery windows, Arianna continued: "Each house has two storeys above ground, with room for men-at-arms on the first floor and a hall and family chambers above. Water is drawn from the well in the courtyard and collected in catch pans. The stables, poultry coops and pigsties are in the fields beyond, although they could be moved in here quickly should the need arise. I know most of the nobility depends on the markets while in London, but we try to be just as self-sufficient as we are at home. I don't imagine I have to explain why."

  Verony shook her head. "I knew something about the political situation before Curran and I married, and since then he has explained much more. I understand why he is here."

  "Good," Arianna said, stepping aside to allow Verony to precede her into what was to be her own home while in the capital.

  A quick glance around showed that the house was in excellent order. Fresh rushes lay over the floors, the walls were newly whitewashed, there was no sign of any litter or debris, and even the ceiling rafters looked recently scraped and sanded.

  "Lady Emelie wanted everything to be perfect for you," Arianna explained smilingly. "She's had the servants working nonstop for days to prepare the house, especially your chamber." Mounting the newel staircase nestled into the wide stone wall, she laughed: "I can't wait to show it to you. The furnishings are magnificent."

  They were indeed, Verony thought dazedly a few moments later as she stood in the center of the most luxurious room she had ever seen. Large and airy with a high, beamed ceiling, the chamber was warmed by fireplaces at either end. A raised bed ample enough for half a dozen adults held a down-filled mattress and pillow bolster. As further protection from the cold, a brocade canopy stretched over the bed, and matching curtains hung at the four corners. Two small tables stood at either side, holding candles and flint. A larger table occupied almost all of one wall beneath a window which, since it looked out over the courtyard, was far larger than those facing the street. Beautifully carved chairs and chests completed the furnishings.