She shook her head at him. ‘I do not understand. How does my staying help you at all?’
‘I need to be able to concentrate on training and deploying my men and those who will arrive from Giles’s and Brice’s forces to help me. With the reports of rebels moving into and through this area, I must strengthen the defences of the manor and the keep and cut them off from their allies. With the harvest coming soon, I need someone who will work with Guermont and his men to oversee it all. Someone with experience, someone who knows the fields, the crops and the people here. You, Sybilla, I need your help.’
‘I cannot oversee anything, my lord. I cannot see.’
The bitter words hung out there between them for several moments before he sweetened the offer.
‘I will keep your people safe, Sybilla. Once the area is settled and the rebels scattered—no more than a six-month—I will honour your request to leave. Blind or sighted, you will be free to go as you please. Whether you choose the convent or another place, I will see to it.’
‘A temporary marriage? An annulment even if I can see?’ Sybilla wanted to be certain she understood this unusual bargain he sought with her.
‘Aye. And if you decide you wish not to retire to the convent, I will make arrangements for you elsewhere. It will be as if this marriage never occurred.’
For some reason, the kiss they’d shared came to mind and Sybilla touched her lips, remembering the passion in such an innocent touch of mouths. ‘Consummation? Will you seek to consummate this marriage?’ She hesitated bringing the matter up if he’d not thought about it, but…
‘Aye,’ he said, his voice now husky and deep as he interrupted her. ‘I will seek your bed.’
’Twas more a promise than an answer, she could feel it in his voice. Her body understood it as well and she felt a wave of heat rush through her veins as it responded to that promise. Still, she must be careful in this, for it was worse than facing the blackness of the stairs and waiting to fall down them. This was the chance to choose that which had never been hers before. There were enemies surrounding Alston, surrounding her, and she might be asked to help these invaders against her neighbours or other Saxons who had been loyal to their king.
But his last words, this promise of intimacy unlike anything she’d ever known, both tempted and terrified her. The results of joining with him could also cause more problems. Something he’d not mentioned yet…
‘Children?’ she blurted out. ‘What if a child is created?’ Though she might be willing to give up all interest in Alston—and she was losing her certainty in that more with each passing minute—was it fair to also do that for a child who should inherit it? If there was one?
‘There will be no child, Sybilla. I will make certain of that,’ he promised.
Men spilled their seed, children resulted. As a man of illegitimate birth, surely he knew that. How could he promise such a thing to her? Gytha’s words came back to her about his past and his many lovers. Had no child resulted from such promiscuity?
‘How can you be sure?’ she asked. There were herbs rumoured to cause miscarriages and some to prevent conception, she knew of these from overheard conversations, but would they work?
She felt the heat of him as he stepped closer to her.
‘There are ways, Sybilla,’ he whispered into her ear, startling her and sending a wave of shivers along her spine. ‘I know them.’
The touch of his mouth on her neck made her realise that he knew so much more than she about these matters of the flesh. As her resolve began to waver, as more questions raced through her mind in a now-haphazard manner, she voiced the one concern bred into her by generations before.
‘Lord Soren, I will not betray my people. Even if I must give them up to you, I will not betray them.’
He did not reply, but she heard him there, still standing close, able to touch her wherever he would. She understood that he meant to consummate their agreement and their marriage as soon as she gave the word. Should she do this?
Doubt niggled at her in that last moment—she had nothing to prove this agreement existed. As the priest told her, at any time during their marriage he could call for an annulment, leaving her with no legal rights to her land or her people, with no income, nothing but her blindness. He’d sworn to destroy everything she had in order to complete his vengeance against her father. Might this not be part of it—to gain her co-operation, to use her skills and her body and then simply toss her aside when he had finished using her?
His hand sliding across her breasts nearly made her forget all of her doubts. His fingers played over them, caressing the tips of them until Sybilla felt them tighten. He kissed her neck then, moving along the skin, licking and then biting it until she gasped. All the time, his hand never paused its attention to her breasts. He cupped one, rubbing his thumb over the tip again and again, and, in spite of layers of syrce and cyrtel, she felt each movement as though it was skin against naked skin.
When she opened her mouth to voice her concerns, he covered it with his, tasting her and letting her taste him. His other hand crept up onto her head, sliding his fingers into her hair and loosening her braid. He held her to him, plundering her mouth as he caressed her breasts. She ached for something else, for something more, and she found her body arching against him.
His mouth never left hers, and Sybilla tasted more of him when he slipped his tongue inside to caress hers. He moved his hand and his tongue in the same motions at the same time and she was ready to surrender to him and agree to his devil’s bargain if it meant more of this. Then he let his hand glide down, across her chest and on to her belly…and lower. It was a scandalous thing to be touched like this, but her body reacted despite her innocence. The place between her legs now tingled and grew wet as he placed his hand there and pressed. His long fingers sought the spot between her thighs and even with the layers of cloth, she could feel his intimate touch.
Sybilla lost the ability to think then. When he reached down, grasped the edge of her garments and began to slide them up, tickling and touching her legs, which were naked above her stockings, she gasped in shock and pleasure. She reached down and placed her hand on his arm, not sure if she should stop him or urge him on.
‘Are you afraid, Sybilla?’
‘Aye,’ she whispered. In truth, she was terrified by the step they were about to take and the claim he would make on her body and her life.
‘Trust me,’ he urged in a compelling and sensuous voice. ‘I will have a care for you,’ he promised. ‘I can teach you how to survive the injuries you have.’
For some unknown reason, his words were like a bucket of water tossed on an overheated horse. Mayhap the suggestion that she would never see and needed his help did it, she knew not. However, his words stopped her from going any further on this journey into passion.
‘I cannot,’ she said, pushing on his hand. ‘I do not know you enough to trust you.’
His hand stilled, he stilled, and Sybilla waited for him to release her. Her body rebelled against this interruption and pulsed with heat in spite of her decision.
‘I cannot,’ she repeated.
He lifted his hand from her legs, allowing her garments to slide back down in place and helped her to stand on her own before letting go of her. Her legs shook and she held on to the table until she felt the chair being moved behind her. If she dropped a bit too hard into it, he did not speak of it.
‘I bid you a good evening then, Lady Sybilla,’ he said.
She heard him moving around the room, gathering things and then he paused at the door. Sybilla thought he would speak again, but the latch of the door lifted and he was gone. She remained seated, trying to recover her breath and expecting to hear the chattering of Gytha and Aldys as they approached, but only silence reigned.
As his wife, she had no right to refuse him her bed or her body, so Sybilla wondered why he’d given up on what was clearly his intent all along—to claim his marital rights to her. The bargain he offered, if indeed it was
done in good faith, would never stand, for his rights as husband would never be questioned in matters such as these. Lord Soren could have taken her virginity right then, whether she willed it or not, and no one could have questioned his right to do so.
So, if he wanted her and he wanted to take her, why had he stopped? Why did he want her consent when he needed it not?
Her breathing had almost returned to normal when she heard voices coming down the corridor towards her chambers. The heat crept back into her cheeks as she thought of how she would explain what had happened when Gytha and Aldys asked her of it. And they would. She’d not yet thought of what words to say when they entered the room.
Though they stopped and must have been staring at the sight before them—the table, the meal consumed, two cups of wine, their dishevelled mistress… Oh! She’d forgotten her appearance! He’d pulled her hair free of the braid and it must be obvious what they were about from that and the veil that he’d tossed aside. They never spoke of it, only asked how she’d enjoyed her food.
Unable to talk about what had happened, she complained of pains in her head and found herself under the bedcovers shortly thereafter. Aldys sat with her for a short while, but left when Sybilla gave her leave to.
Exhausted from the events of the day and confused by the events of the evening, Sybilla expected to fall asleep instantly.
Hours later, long after the keep and manor had quieted for the night, she lay tossing and turning in her bed—her body pulsing with the strange excitement he’d caused deep within her and her mind trying to sort through the possible reasons for his bewildering offer.
If he desired her and intended to keep Alston, why did he offer her freedom from him?
Chapter Fifteen
Too restless to sleep and too aroused to even rest, Soren walked. A difficult thing to do at night, for the vision of just one eye limited how well he could see things in the dark. The moon lit his way and he was tempted to seek out the cold comfort offered by the stream, but decided to just walk.
He’d not planned to bed her this night, but when the opportunity presented itself and she seemed willing, he’d had to touch her. It was his undoing, for one touch, one taste of her skin, was not enough and drove him to seek more and more. Sybilla probably did not even realise how aroused she became in his arms. Her body answered his every touch, arching and heating, swelling and tightening…
He untied the leather hood and pulled it off. Ah, much cooler without it. Then he wiped the sweat from his forehead again. Reliving her reactions even in his thoughts was far too arousing.
And it brought back many memories about the man he used to be and the ease with which he could and did seduce women.
Before.
He stumbled then over a rock in his path that he did not see in the dim light thrown by the moon. Served him right to be trying this when so distracted by his innocent siren of a wife who had held back at the last possible moment from giving herself to him.
Though he could completely understand her lack of trust—after all, he had just threatened to destroy everything she had—he wanted it. He could not restore her sight, just as no one could restore his body to what it had been, but he thought that giving her back her usefulness would be a good thing.
Soren understood that she believed she had nothing to offer to her people now. He knew that she felt unable to do any task she’d done before in service to Alston and her father. She did not realise, as he had not at first, that her mind was the most important part of her and that her experience and knowledge was valuable, more so than whether she could sew or weave.
He rounded the south-west corner of the wall and stopped.
Weaving.
He remembered old, nearly blind women in the village where he grew up weaving almost without seeing the work before them, once someone had set up the warp threads in the colours needed. They had guided the weft threads with a shuttle back and forth, weaving cloth. Sybilla would never be able to weave large, intricately patterned tapestries, but she could work on cloth or simple designs. Smiling, he wondered where his men had discarded the broken loom when they took it from her chambers.
Would God further damn him for lying to the priest? For Soren had no intention of putting Sybilla aside if she remained blind. It was an answer to a prayer for him and he cared not if the Church or others considered it an impediment. He considered it a godsend, a blessing, in his otherwise cursed existence and he offered up a prayer nightly for it to continue.
Soren had not told her the whole truth of the matter between them and she might have sensed that withholding. He knew, though he would never admit it to anyone, that if her sight returned, she would never be able to look at him as anything other than the demonic-looking monster he resembled—torn skin stretched over badly healed bones, scars running across his head and down the length of his back and worse. He knew she would never want to remain married to him and he would never be able to tolerate the sight of horror in her gaze, so he would free her either way.
He had not lied to her about needing her help in Alston. What he truly offered her in return was not of necessity her freedom, but a chance to gain some confidence and experience at living blind in a place she knew before leaving here to live elsewhere. Just as he had had to relearn how to walk and see and fight and ride, she would need to do the same. What better place than Alston, where she probably knew every path and corner? But Soren held back from mentioning that because Sybilla was nearing the time when pity would break her spirit.
Soren knew it was coming because he’d lived it.
Taking responsibility for his actions meant he would give her the best chance at surviving the dark night that was coming ever closer for her.
He dearly wanted to talk his plan over with someone and wished Brice would arrive with the men who would serve under him and so he could talk with a friend. As much as he hated to think of it, he needed help in this endeavour. He needed someone he could trust.
Soren reached the gate for the fourth time and decided he had walked enough. He would check for the remnants of the loom in the donjon of the keep and then retire for the night. He had much to do in the morning.
Finding the broken frame, with its threads yet hanging with their small clay weights in place, pleased him. With no experience in working with wood or weaving, he could not tell if the loom could be repaired or if a new one must be built, but there were men here familiar with both and he would seek them out for their advice in the morning.
As he walked back to the kitchen, he noticed a couple talking in the shadows near the doorway to the yard. He recognised both of them immediately—Larenz and that she-dragon Aldys who served Sybilla.
Interesting…
Soren had not taken note with whom the old man kept company of the feminine kind; however, this would work out well for his plan. He needed someone he could trust and someone Sybilla would as well. He would speak to Larenz in the morn and gain his co-operation.
When he reached the small chamber he’d claimed as his own, Soren believed things might work out between him and Sybilla—he would gain a wife, at least a temporary one, and she would gain the chance to build her confidence before leaving Alston for a new life.
Or before accepting her blindness and staying with him.
After Sybilla’s disturbed night, the rains and wind outside made her want to stay curled up in her bed for the day. The storms forced most to seek shelter inside, but she could hear the sound of men fighting in the yard in spite of the conditions. Every so often, Lord Soren’s voice could be heard above the others, calling out commands or instructions to his men. When Gytha and Aldys arrived, she dismissed them and remained in bed, pleading the same head pains of last evening. Aldys returned every short while to make certain she was well, but even knowing she would do that did not spur Sybilla to get out of bed.
The men finished training and just in time, for the clouds began to pour unrelenting rain down by mid-morn and the thunder and lightning
made outside a dangerous place to be. She had dragged herself out of bed and had managed to find the garments she needed to wear. The syrce was easy enough to get into, but the laces of the cyrtel would be impossible without help. Sybilla hoped Aldys would come back soon, for she was forced to sit with her outer gown open down her back until she did. She pulled a blanket from the bed and draped it over her shoulders to keep the chill away. As soon as she heard the door open and Aldys come in, Sybilla jumped up and turned her back to the door.
‘Aldys, my laces, pray thee to hasten and tie them,’ she said, shivering as she dropped the blanket to expose the laces.
The hands that took the laces were not her maid’s.
She began to pull away, but he grabbed her and steadied her on her feet in front of him. Lord Soren, she could tell now when he chuckled.
‘Not Aldys, but I think I can conquer the laces of your…what do you call it, lady? Ah, oui, your cyrtel, as it is called here?’ His hands took hold of the laces and began tightening them along their length. She could feel the heat in them and he touched her back more than once when he slipped his fingers under the gown to smooth the syrce under it.
Her traitorous body remembered his touch and she fought the rising heat in her blood as he worked behind her. How would it feel if he untied the laces and slid his hands inside and around to touch her breasts as he had last evening? If he pushed the cyrtel off her shoulders and pulled her against the hardness of his chest? If he—
‘There, Sybilla. You are tied,’ he reported as he stepped away.
Her cheeks must be flushed red and the tips of her breasts pushed against her clothing. Would he notice such things? Certainly he would! A man of his experience with women would know the signs of arousal and know success and seduction were at hand. No doubt he watched for them in every encounter when he had identified his prey. She took a breath and released it, trying to regain some control over her wayward reaction to even the nearness of him.
His Enemy's Daughter Page 13
