Her Dark Baron

by Nadja Notariani

  The weight of his hands on her waist stilled her.

  “I may devour you, my lady,” he husked near her earlobe.

  Every nerve in her body hummed, joyfully in tune with the silky voice so near her. She ached to hear more, but he retreated, lifting the bread and tearing off a large chunk. An odd sensation passed through her, the sight of him sprawled on the ground in easy relaxation directly opposing years of indoctrination concerning the Baron of Ayleshind. His open shirt collar flapped in the gentle breeze, offering slight glimpses of what lay beneath, and Mariel grew dizzy with her imaginations.

  Two weeks had elapsed since his attempted seduction. She might have thought him angry or upset but for his regular afternoon appearances. During the nights, however, she remained alone. Easy companionship grew between them daily, and this both settled and troubled her. Questions plagued at every turn, and Mariel could not help but to wonder if she accepted her Baron more with each passing day because of the man she was discovering - or in spite of him. Indeed, there were many unanswered questions. But this afternoon, she simply indulged in appreciation of his masculine form.

  Long, muscled legs stretched out in classical beauty, the black breeches covering them only partially disguising their definition. Propped on one arm, the other strewn across his thigh, he resembled something out of the Greek fables her father had read to her as a child, and she barely resisted the urge to reach out and smooth her hands across his chest in discovery.

  “Will you be away again this night?” she asked innocently.

  “Swanson and I must attend to business near New Castle. I will return tomorrow before nightfall.”

  “Oh..., I see.”

  Disappointment carried in her voice.

  “Ah, sweetling,” Gervase chuckled huskily, “if I didn't know better, I'd swear you were sorry to hear that.”

  Brushing off his hands and standing, he helped her to her feet. She said nothing more, only smiled in return at his teasing and packed up the picnic basket. Gervase held out his arm for her after taking the loaded picnic, and they strolled back toward the outer wall of Ayleshind, both in quiet contemplation.

  * * *

  Three weeks later, in the privacy of his meeting chambers, Gervase studied the message in his hand, determining the means by which he would execute its request.

  Damned marauding Scots!

  Their religious zeal found no sympathy in his soul, for in the name of their God – and in defiance against the King of England – they plundered the lands and property of common English folk, leaving death and destruction in their wake. No, he would have no qualms about ridding the world of yet another vile bandit. This was not for any loyalty to the Crown, but for the cries of the destitute left with nothing but smoldering ash where a peaceable, if poor, life had once existed, and for the fatherless children left to break their backs in labor meant for a man.

  For daughters like his Mariel.

  Yes. Did not his thoughts find their way back to her increasingly in the weeks since their marriage. Therein lie his folly. But he could no more banish her from his mind than will the tide from its march toward the rocky shore. He had not anticipated this, but then, how could he have? He had wholly expected a marriage in name only, one where his wife avoided him outside the imposed duty to him in the act of producing an heir, not the cheerful smiles that greeted him at the end of his days, nor the eagerness with which she assumed her role as the Lady of Ayleshind. These unexpected pleasures intrigued him, yet the very thing he had expected, the consummation of the marriage, had yet to occur. A faint curving of his lips was all the smile he allowed himself, for each day brought that event closer.

  “My lord,” Robert announced in his starched manner, “your brother approaches on horseback.”

  As Ayleshind's steward, Robert performed his duties stoically, carrying on as he had done since being promoted to the position when Gervase had reached majority and assumed full control of his lands.

  Gervase frowned.

  What would his brother want now?

  Edmond rarely made an appearance without an outstretched hand. Anyone besides his younger brother would gain nothing more than contempt for his spend thrift ways, but Gervase did not often deny Edmond what he asked.

  Branded a devil since the day he had vowed to end their father's life and scorned by polite society, Gervase Daltrey swore an oath that his brother would never suffer his fate. So, he filled Edmond's purse to ensure that his land holdings remained prosperous and stayed in the shadows to prevent his taint from marring his sibling's good name. They had both endured far too much cruelty at the hand of their father.

  Gervase, little more than a lad when he uttered the angry words at their sire, had not carried out the threat in deed; that had been the hand of the Almighty, if such a being existed. But superstitions ran deep, and none believed him innocent when Raymond Daltrey's lifeless body was discovered the next morning.

  May God strike you dead! And if he will not, may the Devil take up my cause! And if not even he, then I will surely kill you myself before the morrow!

  The words lingered, ever on the edges of his consciousness, words spoken by a boy who had watched his father brutalize his mother and brother – a boy who had himself often felt the heavy hands of the old Baron. Raymond Daltrey's cruelty was no secret among his peers, but after his plea for help, even if it were to come from the devil himself, none would admit to the justice of the tyrant's smiting.

  “Send him to me when he arrives,” Gervase uttered, the frown deepening.

  “Very well, Master Daltrey.”

  The scurrying of footsteps over the stone distracted Gervase from his brooding as his wife entered.

  Gervase leveled her with an unreadable gaze, halting her in her tracks, and he regretted the sliver of uncertainty that clouded her blue eyes.

  Did she fear him? Was her gentleness and cheerful acceptance of him – or of their life – only a treacherous mask?

  “Are you in need of something?”

  His tone was more imperious than he intended.

  “I came but to see you, my lord. For I heard that a rider approaches and thought you may remain occupied at length.”

  The hint of a smile played on her lips, not yet unleashed, stayed by the question in her eyes.

  “Oh, Lady! It is not fitting that you barge in on the Baron,” Edith fussed, huffing in her belated arrival and casting an imploring glance toward him. “Forgive her, Baron Daltrey. I warned her from this foolishness.”

  Edith, he knew, had yet to warm to him. He felt her wary gaze upon him, and it almost amused him. The old nurse doted on Mariel, which pleased him, but he did not want her poisoning the ease that was developing between him and his new wife.

  “It is forgiven, Edith,” he declared, hiding any hint of emotion. “Now leave us.”

  The plump woman hesitated, shooting a worried look at Mariel before hurrying from the meeting chamber. Gervase barred the door behind her retreat and turned to face his wife. He was not upset, but pleased that she sought his company. But his indulgence of her remained something he held as a very private matter.

  “Is my wife so eager for my attentions, then?”

  Mariel blushed profusely.

  “I have not seen you all day, my lord. I...I missed your company at the table this morning.”

  She wrung her gown's skirt in her delicate hands.

  “And at the mid-day meal also,” she added quickly.

  His gaze held hers in curious study before she lowered her dark lashes shyly.

  “I should leave you to your work. I'll not disturb you again. I thank you kindly for not reprimanding me in front of...,”

  “Mariel,” he said thickly, “you do not disturb me. Come to me whenever you will.”

  The smile that broke across her mouth, he feared, would one day be his undoing.

  “Master Gervase,” Robert's voice carried through the door, “your brother, Edmond is outside. I believe you will want to c
ome quickly, sir.”

  The lingering gaze upon his wife ended with his words.

  “Ah, sweetling. I am afraid I will have to wait until later to enjoy your company.”

  Unbarring the door, he advanced toward the front courtyard. Mariel followed behind him at a distance, coming alongside Edith, who had been awaiting her re-emergence anxiously.

  “My lady, is everything well?” the maid worried.

  “Yes, Edith,” Mariel smiled her answer.

  Patting Edith's arm, which she rested hers on, Mariel led them to the main door.

  Chapter 5

  “Brother,” Edmond greeted seriously, “I caught this thief in the act of plundering Ayleshind stock.”

  He shoved the bound and bloodied captive forward, revealing none other than Baron Flanders' man, George Rowland. Having assumed the mask he wore for the world, Gervase Daltrey circled his new prisoner, determining how best to deal with the situation while speculating on the possible motives behind such a blatant act.

  “You apprehended him yourself, Edmond?”

  “I did,” Edmond gushed. “He was so intent in his slaughter that he did not hear my horse approach until I was nearly upon him, and I clubbed him down before he had chance to gain his mount.”

  Gervase studied his sibling closely. Edmond was no match for a man such as George Rowland, and it was strange that the man would not have heard a rider approaching from a distance. The hair on the back of Gervase's neck prickled as he weighed the facts before him.

  There will be time for contemplating later.

  “Well done, brother,” Gervase accentuated the last word. “Get this man a drink,” he issued to his gathered men.

  Swanson, his most trusted man – the only man who had accompanied him on his many acts of service for the Crown - shot him a wondering look, but carried out his order. St. John and Drakes stood by, awaiting their own orders. These had been with him for many years, but even they knew not of Gervase's true business.

  “To hell with you!” Rowland spat the garbled curse from swollen jaw.

  This was personal, Gervase divined at once. If the man were doing Flanders' bidding, he would likely be less belligerent. On top of that, he certainly hadn't uttered curses in the direction of his brother, Edmond. No doubt, Flanders' hand was involved. But why risk his top man? Why not send an unknown to hide his involvement? Gervase mused his knowing answer.

  Because he knows I would have the answer soon enough. But then, why do it?

  He considered a moment.

  “Carve the thief's mark upon his forehead and soak up his blood with his tunic. Drakes, St. John, you will carry my message to Harold Flanders along with the stained garment. Tell Baron Flanders that his man will live only until the sun sets unless restitution is made.”

  Rowland cringed at the pronouncement.

  Gervase peered into his prisoner's eyes.

  “Welcome to Ayleshind.”

  Mariel shuddered at the cold, cunning man her husband had transformed into before her eyes. While she could not deny her growing regard for him, neither could she allow herself to forget who or what he was.

  But who was he, really?

  More pressing, was she prepared to know?

  Edith's gasps at the sounds of George Rowland's pained howls evoked the reaction that answered her own questions.

  “Pity not the man who disrespects Baron Daltrey, Edith.”

  She covered her dear nurse's hand with hers.

  “Remember his deeds in our home as well. My husband acts justly in punishing him.”

  Edith clasped her hand tightly.

  “Oh, Lady! I know not what to think. I will do as you wish, but I fear for you!”

  “There is nothing to fear, Edith. I have done no wrong.”

  “Do you not fear him?” her maid questioned in awe. “Do you not quake at his deeds?”

  “I do not, Edith. He is my husband, and it is for me to be his wife, not to judge him. Whatever he does in the world is his concern, but he has shown us naught but kindness in his home.”

  “My lady, you are a fine woman,” Edith admired.

  But Mariel ignored the compliment, wondering if she deserved it.

  “I would like to rest, Edith. Why don't you see if Maude needs assistance in the kitchen?”

  Settled in the solar, Mariel willed her body to cease its trembling. Lying to her nurse was one thing – necessary even – for Edith was clearly frightened. Lying to herself was quite another matter. George Rowland's wretched cry rang in her ears, and the calculated detachment of her husband's eyes stole a shudder from the depths of her being. She chastised herself for dwelling on matters outside of her control. But dwell she did, for the truth was that she cared for him. She desired him. She could not change who he was, nor did she truly wish to. She was falling in love with Hell's Hound.

  When at last she could bear her own company no longer, Mariel descended the staircase in search of Edith. The icy edge in Gervase's voice halted Mariel in her tracks just outside his meeting chamber.

  “Do you think to steal from me and yet deny your guilt?”

  “It was you who stole the Hayes wench from me! What sort of deceit do you practice on me, Daltrey?” Flanders sharply questioned.

  “Yet I have Rowland in my possession,” Gervase calmly reminded. “And the slaughtered stock with his dagger still imbedded. Do you abandon your man so easily?”

  “By some trick of the devil you have Rowland!” Flanders spat. “Here now! I've brought you your restitution – extortion is more like it! Now hand over my man!”

  “Rowland will be handed over to you. This time.”

  Gervase leveled his gaze on Baron Flanders.

  “If George is ever discovered on Ayleshind land again, I will personally see to it that he regrets such foolery. Then I will come in search of you, Harold.”

  “I ordered no such thievery, yet you level this accusation?” Flanders blustered indignantly. “I'd not have anything your hellish hands had soiled. But you, Daltrey,” he lowered his voice pointedly, “Are you certain you can make that claim?”

  The slur against his wife ignited a burning rage in Gervase's chest. Grabbing Flanders by the throat, he backed the gasping man against the castle wall. Eyes glinting with blood lust, Gervase spoke in a tone that allowed no doubt as to his words' truth.

  “Thank your God that I can make that claim, else I would be compelled to cut the offending organ from your body and watch as you choked to death on it. Do you remember my promise? That the day you ever again laid eyes upon my bride would be the day you would surely die? I have not forgotten, Harold. Shall I call for her now?”

  Mariel hurried from the vicinity, her heart pounding frantically as she fled. Her husband had just declared he would kill to defend her honor.

  Or would it be for his own?

  Either way Mariel believed him, and she wanted to be away when the men exited the room. Around the corner, she ran right into Edmond.

  “Oh! Excuse me,” she startled.

  “Lady Mariel! You're running as if the devil himself were after you.”

  Edmond's laughter did not set her at ease.

  “I was in search of my maid, Edith,” Mariel lied quickly.

  “Is that so?” Edmond remarked accusingly. “My guess would have been that you were listening at the door.”

  He chuckled as Mariel reddened.

  “It is what I would have done in all honesty. Now let us locate your missing maid.”

  Edmond led her toward the great hall, a knowing smile on his lips. Mariel wondered if, in his discovery, she had made a friend or an enemy.

  * * *

  Edmond remained the night with them, sending for his wife, Elizabeth, and their son to follow. To Mariel's surprise this was at the insistence of her husband. The late hour of their arrival postponed visiting between the ladies until morning beyond the pleasantries of greeting, but Gervase and Edmond closeted themselves away late into the night.

 
; The day's events refused to leave her in peace, and alone in the bedchamber, Mariel tossed and turned until at last she heard the door of the solar barred for the night. Conflicting emotions warred within her. Her head argued that she remain wary of this dangerous man who acted kindly toward her yet was underneath a brutal barbarian - while her heart begged leave to surrender to his touch, his kiss, his body. He had not lain with her in six weeks of marriage, and she wondered if tonight he would finally come to her, knowing that if he did, she would become his willingly. Waiting in the darkness, she felt the bed sag beneath his weight. His touch was light upon her hair, but welcome, and she turned to him.

  “You are still awake?” he asked.

  “I could not sleep,” she answered.

  The tinge of worry in her voice – worry that Edmond had informed her husband of her eavesdropping – was mistaken by the Baron of Ayleshind to be there out of fear.

  Of him.

  For the first time in his life he wished he could entrust his secrets with another. But that was impossible, not only because that kind of confidence required more trust than he was capable of, but also because if he ever offered his sweet wife that trust, he would be endangering her.

  His sweet wife.

  The words echoed in his mind, for as each day passed that he was with her, their truth infected him, combating his cynicism, beating it back, and his cynicism lost ground. Wanting to soothe her, to banish her fear like the unwanted intruder it was, he offered comfort the only way he knew and drew her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead. When she molded against him, relaxed and compliant, Gervase was encouraged that he did, in fact, soothe her – that she did not merely tolerate his presence but desired it.

  His hands, pressed to her back, slid slowly down her flesh, pulling her closer as his mouth trailed to hers. He captured her lips, igniting the hunger that had been buried for weeks, and Gervase struggled to restrain his desire. Passionately claiming her mouth, his hands stroked her through the gown as he eased her back upon the feather filled mattress. Small sighs of pleasure escaped her throat, encouraging him on and enhancing his arousal until at last, he could hold back his want no more. Cupping her breast, he caressed the sensitive tip while feasting on her neck and shoulders, drawing a gasp from Mariel. Her surprise fueled him on.