Dorvis’s face creased as he looked at her in utter disbelief. “You are not thinking of harming Lord Rogan?”
“No, no, of course not,” Catherine said smoothly. She shot Phillippe a warning look, and the swarthy Frenchman retreated. “Go back to Kensmouth. Relay anything of import. Come only when I summon you. Tell our new friend we wish but to make mischief.”
“Yes,” Phillippe agreed, his eyes locked on hers.
The man was obviously relieved the plan was no more sinister than this. He bowed and took his leave.
“He will not forgive her, chérie,” Phillippe said. “Rogan shall never be reconciled with Lily.”
“No, Phillippe, he shall not. We will make very certain of it.”
Riding his lands was a duty Rogan usually enjoyed. Today, however, he was restless, impatient with delays and longing for home. But once inside the castle gates, the familiar diffidence took over. It was typical of late: he longed for his wife, but when he was with her he was at a complete loss, inventing reasons to take him away again.
He did not tarry with his men, but made his way to his chamber. The torches in the hallways burned softly and he began to strip off his scabbard before he reached the door. He exhaled a long breath as he entered the room, deciding that it was good Lily was probably asleep. He did not know what to say to her anymore. Where he had once been so sure, now he questioned everything.
As he stepped inside, he stopped, gaping at the scene laid out before him.
Lily stood in the middle of the chamber. Like a Greek statue, she was draped loosely in a soft linen towel that left her sleek shoulders and an alluring glimpse of leg bared to his view. Beside her was a large tub with steam rising out of it.
Dully he was aware he should shut the door behind him but he couldn’t seem to move.
Seeing him, his wife appeared startled. “Rogan, I did not hear you.” The play of the torchlight on her naked skin made a tantalizing display. “I was just going to bathe. I did not know you would return so early. Would you like me to fetch you something from the kitchens? I can do this later.”
“No,” he answered quickly, his voice almost a croak. “No need. Go…go on.”
He should leave. Not for the sake of her privacy, but for his own sanity. Instead, he swiped the portal shut with the heel of his boot.
She let the soft linen float to the ground and stepped daintily into the tub. The glimpse of rounded breast, gently curving hip and flat, narrow waist was not nearly long enough for Rogan’s liking. She settled into the water and leaned her head back gracefully with a sigh.
Good God! Her swift effect on his body made him grit his teeth. A cautioning voice in his head urged him once again to retreat.
“How was your ride?” she asked. Taking up the soap, she began to lather her arm.
“Fine,” Rogan muttered. She spread the foam over her shoulders and neck, tilting her chin back. He moved to a stool and sat.
“Were there any problems?”
“Nothing of importance.”
“Did Alyce enjoy her day out?”
“Alyce was not with us.”
“Oh, I thought she had gone, too.”
Rogan swallowed convulsively as she sat up a bit so that her breasts were clear of the water and in full view. He could not tear his gaze from them, wet and shining in the soft light. He let out a soft growl, almost a groan, when she smoothed the lather over each perfectly formed mound, the chill from the air on the moist flesh tightening each pink tip to excruciating tautness.
“I suppose you know Andrew has left?”
“He told me.” His voice was barely a whisper.
This was torture! He almost breathed an audible sigh of relief when she settled back, the temptation of her breasts safely out of sight, but then she immediately drew a leg up and began on it, starting with her toes and progressing in slow, agonizing circles upward to each lithe thigh.
“Oliver is upset at having to sleep with his sisters—he wants to bunk with the other boys. I told him this was impossible since we are only guests. ’Tis regrettable he cannot be fostered, he would put the other pages to shame.”
He could follow nothing of her conversation. When she was done with one leg, she started on the other.
With an effort, he rose and turned his back, trying to find something on which to concentrate. He took off his padded tunic and untied his undershirt. Pulling off his boots, he stood and stretched, trying to ease the tension from his muscles. His leggings, he left on. He didn’t dare remove them and make so obvious to Lily what effect she was having on him.
His mistake was glancing up when he heard her rising from the water. She stood in full view, her face turned away as if completely unaware of his presence, and began rubbing the linen in unconsciously sensuous movements over her skin.
That was it. It was all Rogan could bear. He was upon her in three long strides before she could even get out of the tub.
“Oh, thank you,” she said simply, and laid her hand on his shoulder for balance as she stepped over the rim. A quick smile she shot over her shoulder as she wrapped the damp cloth around her again.
“Oh, no,” he growled, grabbing her arm to bring her back. “What game are you playing now, Lily?”
“Game?” She was all wide-eyed innocence, but he could sense her tension.
“You are an accomplished seductress, I will admit. So tell me why you wish to lure me to bed. Do you think it will win you a permanent place here in my household?”
Her eyes clouded, becoming a deep aquamarine. “You always look for the evil motive from me. Do you not remember, it was you who came upon me at my bath, husband?”
“Oh, aye. But this—” he waved his hand at the tub “—was quite a display.”
Something came into her expression just then, a deflated look. To his amazement, the corners of her mouth trembled as if she were fighting to keep them from turning down. “I am sorry if I disgusted you.”
Damn! “Did I say I was disgusted, you little vixen? Quite the opposite. And do not look so surprised. You are quite tempting, I assure you.”
“Oh? I am glad to see that you are not too exhausted from your tryst with Alyce to notice,” she flung back.
“Alyce? What the devil are you talking about?”
“Today. Every day. I see her with you, riding, walking in the woods.”
“I did not walk in the woods with Alyce!”
“I saw you! The day you came to the stream with the children and I. You were with her!”
“Is that what this is about?” he said with a laugh. “You think I am bedding her?”
“She is beautiful, and she wants you! And you never touch me—”
She broke off, and with a stamp of her bare foot, turned away in a huff.
He was mad to do it, but the impulse came over him, tearing away all reason, all pride. With a jerk on her arm, he spun her around and pulled her up against him in one motion. “If I take Alyce, if I take a hundred women, it is only of concern to me. You…” The words drifted away, for she looked at him with such blatant longing that the need to hurt her died in his breast. He knew what she felt, for he felt it inside, too. A need was what it was, a need to let go and crush her to him and kiss her.
The linen came loose and dropped to the floor. Neither one of them made a move to retrieve it. They just stood, caught, until Lily whispered, “Rogan,” and all but leaped into his arms.
With a low growl, Rogan enveloped her. His lips descended on hers in a rough kiss. He splayed his hands across her back, roughly running them down over her buttocks to cup the smooth, naked flesh and pull her full up against him. He was aroused, inflamed beyond imagining, making the contact a heady, dizzying maelstrom of sensation, but it wasn’t enough. Suddenly nothing was enough. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Together they toppled onto the lush pile of furs. His hands could not stop, questing, teasing, touching her everywhere, exploring her secrets, and it still was not enough. It was unbe
arable to break away in order to strip off his leggings, but when he came over her again, there was no gentleness, only a mad abandon.
And when he entered her, plunging deep inside in one thrust, it was not enough even then. It would never be enough, for the wanting of her body, to touch and hold her and go with her to the brink of sanity and beyond, was not what he yearned for. The fears of being destroyed were there, but they no longer mattered, for the great need had taken him over. The need for Lily, all of her, not just her body but her soul, as well. Until then, even the ultimate explosion of unimaginable pleasure was not nearly enough.
Exhausted, Rogan rolled away, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling as his breathing returned to normal and his heart calmed. A thick dread saturated his limbs as he thought, Dear God, what have I done? He made to sit up, but was prevented from doing so when Lily flung herself on him. He could have easily pushed her away, but her words made him pause. “Do not leave!”
She was crying, he saw, a fact that took him completely by surprise. Confused, he struggled to concentrate on her distress, for the acute awareness of the pointed tips of her breasts pressing against his naked chest was disconcerting.
“Do not leave me,” she whispered again. “Whatever you believe of me, I pray you will listen to me now.”
She adjusted a fur to shield her nudity. It was a good thing, he supposed sullenly, for he could hardly have paid much attention to what she was saying with so much of her naked flesh in full view.
The tears had subsided. Now her eyes were a cool aquamarine as she spoke, voice steady and calm. “I did a terrible thing to you. I stood against you, I condemned without hearing you, but I never conspired. It is the truth, whether you believe me or not. But what I did…I let them hurt you. I ask you—I beg you to forgive me.”
Her eyelids fluttered as she lowered her gaze, speaking in a voice so soft that he could barely hear it. But he had no trouble understanding her words. “I still love you. I have never stopped.”
Rogan closed his eyes, feeling the weight of her, so light, as she lay against him.
In his mind’s eye, he saw her. Laughing with the children, scolding Oliver in a gentle, loving voice. Standing up to him, a passionate spitfire with flashing eyes and stubborn chin. In his arms, melted against him, head thrown back, mouth slightly open as her teeth sank into the fullness of the bottom lip.
This was what he had feared. His bitterness had run out. God help him, if she were the very Medusa, he could not push her away from him now.
Neither could he speak the words that burned in his soul. It was as if a part of him were frozen, refusing to be thawed in the warmth of this tenderness. He stared for a long while at the exposed timbers overhead. What now? He could not hate her. But could he forgive? And how could he ever forget?
And love. She had spoken of love.
He had no answers. Really, he never had. He eased her head against his shoulder, liking the warmth of her pressed against him. After a while, the soft sound of her even breathing told him she slept.
The night was old when he finally closed his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alexander St. Cyr, fourth Duke of Windemere, arrived with all due splendor on the appointed day.
Lily stood with Rogan on the massive outside steps of the hall, feeling a bit awed by the elegant retinue that filed through the gate. The knights were gathered in straight lines, their armor well polished. Behind, a train of wagons loaded with goods lumbered, attended by a large number of courtiers and servants, all outfitted with the livery of the duke: bright red for courage, green for peace and purple for nobility.
Last in line came a covered carriage draped with satin curtains, which were pulled back to allow a glimpse of a petite woman seated on a cushioned seat. She peered.out, looking a bit round eyed and apprehensive even with the presence of the imposing man riding beside her.
He could be none other than the duke. Alexander, at first glance, was a giant of a man. He was broader than Rogan, barrel-chested where Rogan was lean. His coloring and features put Lily to mind of Andrew, but with an unmistakable arrogance. He looked about him as his men halted their procession and dismounted as close to unison as could be managed.
“You forgot no one, did you?” Rogan called. “Is there a servant or knight left behind to watch your gate?”
“I shall send for them if your staff here is lacking,” came the response. “Where is Andrew?”
“You shall have to make do with the friar saying mass. Andrew has gone on some mysterious mission, one he has not seen fit to confide in me.”
Alexander frowned. He swung his leg over the rear of the horse and leaped to the ground in a move surprisingly agile for one so large.
He came over to Rogan. The brothers grasped each other’s arms in greeting, then embraced. Lily winced at the rib-crushing force of it. “You look well,” Alexander commented, examining Rogan critically. “You have gained your strength back. I shall look forward to a challenge, and we shall see how strong you are.”
“Why do you constantly seek to humiliate yourself?” Rogan asked dryly. Alexander chuckled, then turned to hold out his hand to the woman in the carriage.
“Carina, come, my love.”
The lovely woman rose and extended her hand to her husband. Alexander rushed to perform the duty of handing her safely to the ground. His solicitude was all the more striking considering his bullish form, but the reason became evident when Carina’s slightly swollen belly came into view.
“My wife is tired. We were delayed at the river.”
Rogan’s upper lip curled. “I am surprised the very waters did not part for you.”
Alexander smiled. “Ah, water has no wisdom, else it would have.”
“Hello, Rogan,” Carina said. Her voice was like a song, lilting with a musical accent. Lily saw the wariness in her, not sure of her reception. The family must have been upset indeed when their eldest sibling wed a merchant’s daughter, and a foreign one at that. By the inflection of her words, Lily would guess Italy was her native country.
“It is an honor to see you again, sister,” Rogan said pleasantly. “May I present my wife, Lily.”
Alexander looked at Lily, giving her the full brunt of his perusal, his dark eyes burning in their assessing sweep from her head to her toe, touching every inch. Lily felt as if she had been scalded.
“Your grace,” Lily said, sinking into a deep curtsy.
Alexander peered down his nose at her. “There is much I wish to say to you.”
Lily rose on trembling legs. There was a slight pressure at her hip and she realized that Rogan had slipped his hand about her waist. Her heart swelled at this small sign of caring.
It was Carina who broke the tension. “The sun is hot, Alex. Should we not go inside?”
Immediately alerted to his wife’s discomfort, Alexander broke off his glare. “Certainly, let us go in.”
Rogan kept Lily close to his side as they entered the hall. She felt as if a surge of invigorating power flowed through that touch, bracing her against the threat of his elder brother.
Inside, they assembled around the head table. Lily was subdued as the family fell into easy conversation. Lily was fascinated by the duke and his wife, who made no secret of their deep devotion to each other. Carina was just the type of woman one would expect to dote on a husband, but Alexander resembled an ox. The look of affection on his large-featured face was…well, rather touching. But even Alexander’s dotage did not detect the lines of fatigue in Carina’s features, for he was too distracted with the reverie of being reunited with his brother.
“Perhaps the duchess would prefer to rest,” Lily interrupted. The St. Cyrs turned toward her. To Carina, Lily said, “You must be tired, your grace.”
Carina smiled. “It seems I always am these days.”
“You are a brute to bring her on this journey when she is so advanced with child,” Rogan said.
“Oh, I would not let him leave me,�
� Carina defended. “Since he was insistent on coming, I made him take me with him.” With a sideways pout at Alexander, she added, “But I did not know he would force me into that ridiculous…conveyance.”
“She wanted to ride!” Alexander boomed.
Lily went to Carina’s side. “Perhaps some refreshment sent up to your chamber would be more in order,” Lily suggested as she led the way.
Carina laughed. “Yes, that would be wise. That is another state that seems to constantly afflict me as well—hunger!”
* * *
“I ask you again, brother, what the devil it is you have in mind?” Alexander took a pull from his flask then slapped it down on the table. Across from him, Rogan heaved a sigh, weary of the argument.
“I told you of my plans,” he said.
“Plans? What plans? Is this Linden Wood? Is she suffering? No! In fact, she looks quite content.”
“She is hardly that.”
“And neither are you.”
“Now you sound like Andrew,” Rogan groaned. Coming to his feet, he began to pace, sweeping his hands in the air to illustrate his words. “He besets me that my vengeance is too much. You are not satisfied it is enough.”
Alexander followed Rogan to his feet. “Good God, man, have you forgotten so quickly the stripes on your back? I, for one, am not so anxious to forgive the sight of you lying two breaths away from death, your flesh such a bloody mess it horrified even me. How can you forgive that?”
Rogan whirled. “I have not forgiven,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Then where is the payment you swore you would exact? In the pretty clothes—”
“They are castoffs, for God’s sake.”
“They should be rags!” Alexander thundered.
Rogan squared off across from him. Though the elder brother was taller and had more bulk, Rogan was the recognized champion of their rivalry. It went back as far as they could remember. Alexander’s blustering way of taking control of everything and everyone and Rogan’s quiet refusal to capitulate clashed. There was, however, genuine love and concern between the brothers, and knowing it was for this reason Alexander was challenging him, helped Rogan keep his temper.
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