by Ciar Cullen
“You are the one who dragged me away from the party to abuse me!”
“You have not begun to take the abuse you will receive, Gwyneth, if you do not attend to me. I am angry at myself as well as at you. If you would be quiet for one moment, you would understand!”
Simon watched as Gwyneth’s tears welled up and flowed over her cheeks, wetting her black lashes. I would sell my soul to kiss you now.
“I did not kill your brother!”
“I know. Did you hear me, Gwyneth? I know now you did not kill Lester. I know not who did. Perhaps you keep that secret. But I no longer believe you had a hand in his murder.”
“Why?” Her voice was a whisper. “Why, Simon?”
“It does not matter why. I was wrong, and I wronged you. I will see that you regain your reputation and hope that, in time, you will learn to forgive, perhaps to forget.”
“I do not understand.”
Simon sat on a low bench and covered his face with his hands.
Gwyneth sighed. “Ah, you have suffered grievously since you were but a lad. Beloved parents taken by the Black Death, beloved brother taken by a murderer, raising a young girl alone, no wife to…”
Simon looked up and she recoiled in horror at his angry expression. “I hated Lester, and was glad to see his blood on your bedroom floor. I am happy my parents did not live to see the kind of man he became. He intended to drive the Brothers from Cloores, to turn our keep into a brothel, to…”
“Go on.”
He shook his head and looked up at her.
“Do you feel guilty, Simon? For wanting to rid the world of a demon? Someone did the deed for you, but it was not I.”
“Aye. This brings me to the point of this conversation.” He stood again and approached her. “I am concerned for Cecelia. She is sixteen, and yet, she does not have the maturity she should. I am responsible for seeing her married, but I fear she is not ready to manage the affairs of a household. I also believe her to be a maiden still, at least that is her claim. Would you agree?”
“Aye, sir. I love your sister, but she is young for her years. No doubt, the death of your mother…”
He nodded. “I trust no woman with her. Because…”
“Because all the women want to wed you. Why not simply choose a wife, Simon? It is long past time, and a wife could help to educate Cec.”
“I have not yet found the suitable girl.”
Her heart dropped at his words. “Girl.” Yes, he wants a lovely young lady to bear him many sons, not a mature widow.
“Indeed? No doubt in time you will. Now, Simon, I should return to Cecelia and you should attend to your guests.”
“Ah, and now you give the orders?” He arched a dark brow and his green eyes came to life in amusement.
Gwyneth smiled and he returned the expression.
She tilted her head. “We were friends, once, brother.”
“No, Gwyn. We were never friends. We pretended to be, though, did we not? It does not matter. All that matters is that you will move into the keep and be mother to my sister. Prepare her for the marriage bed, for life in a way I cannot. I will send the carriage tomorrow. Ready your belongings.”
He strode out of the room.
Gwyneth dropped to the bench and stared at the open door.
“No, I cannot,” she whispered aloud. Torture. It would be torture under his roof. We would share meals, exchange stories, pass one another in the gardens, perhaps go riding. Torture. And ultimately, she knew, she would throw herself at Simon, begging him, just once, to quench the thirst of years before he married another. No, I won’t do it.
She hurried into the main hall and scanned the crowd for Simon. Cecelia scampered up to her and took her hand.
“Sister! How exciting! I am beside myself with joy. Think of the time we will spend together—like the old days, only…”
“Only Lester is dead, Cec. And I do not belong here.”
Cecelia squinted and tilted her head. “What did the brute say to you? You are family! It was his idea.”
“Aye. But perhaps his idea is a bad one, Cec. Try to understand.” Gwyneth pulled her friend into a corner and spoke in a low tone. “I will tell you something now and you must swear on your future husband’s life that you will never repeat my words.”
“Oh, Gwyn, I swear. On the True Cross, I swear.”
“Tsk. You are not to swear on the Cross, Cec! In any case, the problem is not Simon’s, it is mine.”
“Is there a man, then, you have not discussed? Oooh, tell me, tell me now! Is he, do you…”
“Oh, there is someone, but he is not the problem. The issue is Simon. I am not…comfortable…around him. Do you understand?”
“No. He has wronged you, I understand you have forgiven him, and there can be no problems between you.”
“I do not belong here, Cec. I am not the mistress of Carnoor. There will be another, and soon, I believe. I will not stay to watch that. Do you take my meaning?”
Gwyneth watched understanding slowly fill Cecelia’s young mind.
“Oh. Oh, my. Simon? You care for him!”
“Shush.”
“Then who is this other man?”
“That was a very brief encounter.” Gwyneth’s sly smile brought a gasp and a giggle to the younger woman. “Tell me where I can find your brother. I will tell him tonight that I will not be reinstated in Carnoor Manor House.”
“He has retired. You will go to his room again?” Cecelia’s blue eyes widened and she burst into full laughter. “You will not emerge ’til morning then!”
“Oh, you have grown a bit in the last year after all!” Gwyneth laughed with her. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.” Cecelia kissed her on the cheek.
Gwyneth took in a deep breath and moved up the wide staircase to the room she had shared with Lester. Her heart lurched at the thought of the last time she had been in this room as the mistress of the keep, watching Lester, knife plunged deep into his back, life flowing onto the floor, his murderer hovering over him. Courage, she thought. Nothing could be worse than that night.
She tapped lightly at the door.
“Enter.” Simon’s voice was dark. She opened the door carefully. He sat, shirtless, in a chair near the newly lit fire, goblet of blood-red wine glowing in the reflection. He rose and widened his eyes.
“Gwyneth? This is unexpected.”
She could barely take her eyes off his chest and stomach and trail of dark hair leading to his pants. She forced herself to look into his deep green eyes. Her speech froze in her throat and she felt foolish beyond belief.
Simon reached to a table for a second goblet and poured wine for Gwyneth. He approached her and handed it to her. Her hand shook as she took it.
“I am sorry, Simon. I will leave you. I have made a mistake…”
“Why are you here?” He moved in closer and she watched as his gaze swept across her breasts and back up to her face, resting on her lips. She thought her knees would buckle. No! He is simply drunk. He does not want me.
“I came to tell you that I cannot live here. I am…pleased…that you now believe in my innocence, but I cannot stay. I would, however, like to visit Cecelia more regularly, with your permission.”
“As you wish.” He turned his back on her and stared into the fire.
“Oh, Simon, why are you angry with me? Please, this should not go on, for Cec’s sake if nothing else.”
He turned slowly.
“Dear sister-in-law, you will not forgive my error?”
“It is forgiven. Simon…” She set her goblet on a table and reached out to draw him in.
“What? Tell me, Gwyn. Is there a man, is that the reason you will not move back in? You have a lover and will not leave him?” His eyes burned into her.
“Yes, that is it. There has been one since Lester’s death.”
He threw his glass into the fireplace with a curse and Gwyneth backed up, reaching behind her for the door handle.
> “Leave. And never come back.”
He cares? “One thing, Simon, I beg of you. Please do not reveal that I have a lover. The man in question must keep his identity secret.”
“I will keep your secret if you reveal the man.” He pointed one finger at her in a threatening gesture.
“That is a poor bargain. All right, he is one of the Grey Cloaks. An Italian Brother, from Florence.” Gwyneth bit her lip, hoping the half-lie was not etched across her face.
Simon first looked shocked, then burst into loud laughter and moved towards her. He pushed Gwyneth against the door and grabbed her bare shoulders with his warm hands. He is going to kiss me!
“Simon?”
He laced his fingers in her hair and pressed his lips to hers as he crushed her against the door, setting all of her nerve endings on fire with the contact of his bare chest, his groin, his legs, and muscled arms.
Gwyneth finally allowed herself to believe it was happening, allowed herself to feel his tongue press between her lips, feel his hot breath on her skin, his hardness pushing into her belly. She moaned and he joined her as he deepened the kiss, bit her lips and neck, groaned and nipped at her earlobes.
And then she kissed him back. Years of longing for this one moment flooded through her. She clutched his thick hair in her fist and pulled him deeper into her mouth. She drank him in until they were both breathless.
Then he spoke in a harsh whisper, hot breath stirring her soul. “Does your monk kiss you like that, sister?”
“No,” she stuttered, reaching up to bring him back to her mouth. But he pushed her away. His bare chest was heaving and she could see his huge erection pushing against his thin pants. He stared at her from beneath a dark lock of hair that had fallen into his face. A lock of hair just as she had seen fall forward a few nights earlier, in the monastery garden… A feeling of dread crept into her heart. She took in the full measure of the man—his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the rich color of his hair. And the size of the enormous shaft straining to break free from his leggings. She pushed Simon further away. He arched a brow and fury came back to his eyes.
“My kiss does not satisfy you? Go to your Brother Gabriel, then, and taste his seed, if that is what you crave. Choose wisely, Gwyneth. I offer you this one chance.”
He may as well have slapped her. Gwyneth nearly fell, her knees giving out. Her voice was a mere whisper. “I did not tell you his name, Simon.”
Gwyneth staggered to a chair and slid into it, covering her face with her hands.
Simon? Her Grey Cloak! She peered at him from between her fingers, trying desperately to sort through the revelation.
He sat again, tilted his head forward, and regarded Gwyneth from beneath his brows, dark strands of hair slipping into his green eyes. He did not speak, but stared in arrogant challenge.
What was she to say? What was she to feel? A dozen shocking questions rolled through her brain in waves. Another sensation crept through her entire being—excitement.
Why, what’s wrong with you? He spied on you, repeatedly, pleasured himself at the sight of you. And…he had you… The rush of excitement spread further as she remembered the night, the quick coupling, the sight of his manhood, the feel of the man, pulsing and pushing, pleasuring her to senselessness…
“Simon?” Gwyneth sat up straight and folded her hands on her lap. He arched one brow, picked up the jug of wine, and took a hefty swig. The light from the fireplace made shadows dance across his chest, brought a glow to his bare skin.
Simon shrugged, but Gwyneth thought she saw a quick hint of embarrassment cross his face. Why, he waits for you to lash out at him. Gwyneth smiled inwardly, wondering if she had the upper hand with the Master of Carnoor for the first time in her life.
“I believe you owe me an explanation.” She rose and walked to him slowly, taking the jug from his hand and drinking from it herself. He snickered in surprise at the gesture and stared carefully at her.
“I owe you nothing.” His voice was dark, guttural, and dismissive.
“I beg to differ.”
“You may beg all you like, milady. In fact, I quite like the sound of it.”
Gwyneth had to suppress the smile that threatened to betray her. The excitement of the memory, his nearness, his arrogant flirtation made Gwyneth’s heart race…could he truly want her?
“At least an explanation of that horrendous Italian accent is in order.”
Amusement crossed his face and his eyes lit up. He let out a huge sigh and laced his hands behind his neck, leaning back in his chair.
“I have yet to visit Italy for the proper training.”
“You spied on me, to try to catch me with a man, is that it?” Simon did not reply and she nodded, affirming she was correct. “And when you caught me not, you continued your charade. You are a bit of a voyeur, are you not, my Lord?”
A sharp intake of breath and a flush of quick color betrayed him.
“Aye, you answered my question with that look. I wonder how far that appetite extends. You will not answer, then? Perhaps you are the ogre your brother was.” Gwyneth shuddered at the thought that Simon could be as brutal as Lester.
“No!” He stood suddenly, horror replacing amusement on his face. “I would not hurt you…that is, a woman. I have no need to inflict pain.”
“There are many kinds of pain, Simon. Some are not of the body.”
“I am no child, Gwyn, and no stranger to the human heart simply because I am a man. I know Lester wounded you with his whoring.”
“He made me watch,” she whispered and, without warning, an ache wrapped around her heart and squeezed tightly until tears flowed.
Simon was at her side in a few strides, pulling her into his arms. He held her firmly and caressed her hair, whispering as if to a child.
“I am not Lester. I am only interested in your… in a woman’s pleasure. I…I,” he stammered and backed away. “My only sin is my desire to watch that pleasure unfold. Do you understand? To see you…to see a woman pleasure herself, without knowing I watch…or for her to be pleasured by another, without knowing…” He shook his head in frustration. “I am vile.”
Gwyneth brushed away her tears and laughed very lightly. “Sir, you may be many things, but you are not vile. You are far too compelling to be vile. And your…interests, shall we call them?”
Simon groaned.
“Your interests do not strike me as vile. In fact, sir, I did not think it possible to desire you more than I have since you were but a very young man. But now I find that desire paling rather quickly against what I feel for you this night.”
“Gwyn? Speak again!”
She shook her head and backed up towards the door, still wiping tears.
“I demand it! My ears were not wrong! Oh, tell me again…” He looked anguished.
“I will not be your whore, Simon. At one time that would have been enough. But I realize now the depth…” She shook her head. “It matters not. I cannot bear you a child. That is one reason Lester was brutal to me. I am barren. I know you do not want me as a wife, but I will love you for the rest of my life.”
Gwyneth turned on her heels and ran down the hallway, holding her skirts up so as not to trip. Cecelia called out to her and the guests turned and chattered as she ran towards the door. The coachman offered his arm and she pushed it away and hurried down the huge stone steps into the courtyard. She had almost reached the outer gate when a strong hand clutched at her shoulder.
She struggled as Simon tore the fabric of her dress in an effort to control her. He grabbed both of her hands with one of his and crushed them together. With the other arm, he picked her up and threw her over his bare shoulder, like a sack of grain.
“Cease struggling and this will be much more enjoyable for the both of us,” he muttered as he walked into the great hall.
“This is humiliating. You are an animal,” she hissed as he pushed through the crowd. Cecelia ran after the couple but stopped in mid-stride wh
en her brother turned and pointed a finger at her.
“Child, pick out a husband, and do it quickly. You are to bear the heir to Carnoor.” He looked around at the stunned guests and announced loudly with a smile, “My sister’s party is now over. Thank you very much for attending.”
Gradually, the men laughed and clapped and the women chuckled and clucked in whispers. With a final smile, Simon turned and strode down the hallway, kicking open the door to his bedroom and kicking it closed again behind him. He threw Gwyneth face down onto the bed, and returned to the door, locking it. Simon turned to her and smirked.
“Now. Try that again, and it will be less pleasant, I promise you. Where did we leave off? Oh yes, you were telling me of your undying love for me, your passion…”
“Go to the devil!”
“That is most likely. But in the meantime, you will make it worth my while.”
He pulled off his boots and, in an instant, ripped through the lacings of his leggings and pulled them off.
For a moment, Gwyneth closed her eyes against the wonderful sight of him.
“Oh, Brother Gabriel, how I delight at seeing you again.”
Simon grinned happily, a rare sight. He strode to the bed and pulled Gwyneth to her feet. Grabbing her by the hair with one hand, he ripped the fabric of her dress away from her breasts. He stood back for a moment and stared at her. Then he moved to her again and ripped the rest of the fabric away from her body, shredding her dress, tearing away her undergarments, leaving her completely bare.
“Shall I teach you some Italian, my dear?”
“Teach me anything, Simon, anything at all. I fear, brother-in-law, I am completely at your mercy, in every way imaginable.”
“Raven, come here.” Simon’s eyes burned and he moved his hand slowly down his flat belly to grasp his enormous erection.
“Raven? What odd name is that?” Gwyneth could barely hear her own voice. All these years, this one man had dominated all of her fantasies, all of her longing, all of her passion. She feared she would wake up from the dream before she could touch him again.
“Your black hair and mysterious ways remind me of the foreboding birds.”
