Truly

by Mary Balogh

  Two things happened simultaneously. His breath hissed in through his teeth. And her right hand encountered something warm and wet and sticky.

  She did not move. She was afraid to move a muscle. "You have been shot," she said against his dark gown.

  "It is nothing," he said, though the sound of his voice gave the lie to his words. "I will have you home and safe in no time, Ceris. Just hold tight."

  She moaned. "No. Stop, Aled," she said. "You have been shot. You are bleeding."

  "I'll get you home," he said. "There is pursuit. Idris brought word. You were bringing the same message?"

  "No!" Her voice was agonized. "We have passed them already. They are far behind and on foot. There were three of them. I led them to you."

  "You?" His breathing was labored.

  "They followed me." She could hear that she was wailing and could not stop herself. "Aled, you have been shot. Because of me."

  "Hush," he said. "Hush. I am going to take you home."

  "No," she said. She turned her head again to see that they were not far from home. "No, I am coming home with you. You are going to need me. You have been hit."

  He did not argue. He rode incautiously into Glynderi and around to the back of the smithy, where his horse was stabled and where the door into his living quarters was situated. Ceris jumped down as soon as the horse came to a halt, and reached up her arms to assist Aled. He looked so strange in his women's clothes and with his face blackened, a part of her mind thought. He slid down awkwardly from the saddle, his left arm curled against his chest, while she tried to steady him and break his fall if his legs did not support him. But he stayed on his feet and even managed to see to his horse, with Ceris's help, before they went into the house.

  The bullet had gone through his shoulder. They discovered that after Ceris had somehow got him out of the dark robe and had peeled back his blood-soaked shirt and dabbed away some of the dried blood with a dampened cloth.

  "There is a hole at the front," he said faintly. "There must be one at the back too, Ceris. They shot at me from behind."

  "Yes, there is," she said. Now that she was doing something she felt calm again, though she knew that reaction would set in later. A few inches lower…

  "The bullet is out, then," he said. "But do you realize, Ceris, that it must have just about gone through your head?"

  Her stomach did a strange flip-flop, but her hand was steady with the cloth. "But it did not," she said.

  Before she had finished cleaning the wound and somehow bandaging pads over both bullet holes to stanch any further bleeding, he had his eyes closed and she could see even beneath the blackening on his face that he was as pale as parchment.

  Her mind had become even calmer. "There may be a search," she said. "We must get your face cleaned up, Aled, and we must hide or get rid of these clothes. We must get your shoulder covered up. Where will I find a nightshirt?"

  He looked at her with pain-heavy eyes.

  It took her half an hour to accomplish everything. All the time she listened for any telltale noises from the street. Perhaps they would do a house-to-house search, especially if they suspected that they had wounded one of Rebecca's daughters. But there was nothing. She had made Aled lie down in bed, though he had watched everything she did. She looked around her at last. It looked like a normal bachelor's home.

  "What were you doing on that road, Ceris?" he asked.

  "Betraying you," she said.

  He looked steadily at her and she looked back from across the room.

  "And yet," he said, "you have patched me up and hidden all the evidence for me. Tell me the truth now."

  And so she told the truth, standing quietly, her arms at her sides. All the truth, including the fact that she had become engaged to Matthew Harley during the afternoon.

  "Don't blame yourself," Aled said when she had finished. "It was not your fault, Ceris. You are a gentle woman. It is not fair that you have got caught up in all this violence. I'll get up and take you home."

  "You will not," she said, rallying. "You will not move from that bed tonight, Aled Rhoslyn."

  "I can't let you walk home alone," he said. "There could be danger out there."

  "I am not going home," she said. "I am staying here."

  "No," he said. "Your reputation, Ceris. And your parents will be worried."

  "I told them 1 was going up to spend the night with Mrs. Evans and her mother," she said, "since Marged would be going with Rebecca. And I don't care about that other, Aled. I am not leaving you. Not tonight."

  He set the back of his good hand over his eyes and was quiet for a few moments. But he did not argue with her. "I'll get up and let you have the bed, then," he said. "I'll sleep on the settle."

  "You are going to stay where you are,'' she said. "I'll sleep beside you. The bed is wide enough."

  His hand stayed over his eyes. She was not sure whether the sound she heard was a sigh or a laugh. She unbuttoned her dress and took it off so that it would not get more creased than it already was from the night's activities. She blew out the lamp and climbed carefully over Aled to the inside of the bed. She scrambled beneath the bedclothes.

  The worst of the pain had receded. Now it was rather like a persistent and gnawing toothache. He knew he was going to be stiff and sore tomorrow. And yet he would have to be at his anvil and busy at it too if there was anyone snooping around, asking questions, as there was bound to be. He just hoped the bleeding would be under control by then.

  She was beside him in bed. He could already feel the warmth of her, though she was not touching him. He slid his arm across and took her hand in his.

  "When a man and a woman are in bed together, it is no simple matter to fall asleep," he said.

  ''I know." Incredibly, he felt her cheek come to rest against his shoulder. He understood then that she had not stayed just to tend to his wounds. She had not climbed into bed with him from any naive assumption that they could sleep peacefully side by side. She was offering herself to him.

  It increased his pain to move, but he managed to get his good arm beneath her head, and she came across him of her own volition, careful not to touch his left arm or shoulder, and gave him her mouth, soft and pouted and trembling in the darkness.

  "Cariad," he said softly after he had kissed her, "it is my seed I will be putting in your womb if we do not stop right now."

  "Yes." There was a sob in her voice.

  "Will you take it into you, then?" he asked.

  "Yes." He could feel her tears on his face. "But I do not want you to move, Aled. I do not want you to hurt yourself."

  "Lie over on your back," he said, "and I will manage."

  It was not easy. And certainly not painless. He had to put all his weight on her after she had lifted her shift and removed her underthings for him. And he could not be as careful or as gentle as he would have liked. But they both wanted it, and wanted it badly. Somehow she knew how to lift her legs to twine about his and raise her hips from the bed, and somehow he positioned himself and pushed into the tight, wet little passage.

  He heard himself sob when she flinched and made a guttural sound in her throat, but she spread her hands over his buttocks and pulled tightly when he would have withdrawn. He pushed the rest of the way in.

  He made it last for several minutes, feeling her first relax and then rock her hips to his thrusts and withdrawals, and then tighten inside. She was hot and wet and indescribably wonderful. He wanted to burst into her at every inward stroke, but it was an act of love and he desperately wanted it to be as wonderful for her.

  "Aled!" she cried suddenly in a strange, lost, surprised voice, and he felt her body jerk out of control beneath him. He surged into her over and over again, excited by her climax, until his seed came spilling deep and he released all his energy, all his love into his woman.

  His first woman.

  His only woman. Ever.

  It took him a long while after he was lying on his back again and Ceri
s was curled up against his good side, his arm beneath her head, to bring the pain under control. But it was a physical thing and would pass off. He focused his mind on what had just happened and on the feel of her, relaxed after love. With his seed in her.

  "Aled," she said, "can I bring you anything? 1 can tell by your breathing that you are in pain."

  "Stay where you are," he said. "You are the only medicine 1 need, cariad."

  "Aled," she said after a short silence, "I meant it. I will not wake up tomorrow to be horrified at what I have done. I meant it. And I loved it—far more than I ever expected."

  He surprised himself by chuckling. "'We were not bad for a pair of novices, were we?" he said.

  "Have you never—" she began.

  "No, never," he said. "It was always you or no one, cariad. A pair of virgins we were. Past tense, 1 am glad to say."

  "Aled." She kissed his shoulder. "I love you."

  "Yes, cariad," he said softly. "Sleep now, is it? Sleep now after the exertions of love."

  "Yes, Aled," she said.

  Geraint's valet woke him with the announcement that Sir Hector Webb had called and was waiting for him in the visitors' salon downstairs. Geraint turned his head with a frown to look at the clock. It was still early, but it was long past his usual time of rising. He had lain down when he returned home sometime before dawn, not expecting to sleep. Apparently he had.

  Sir Hector was pacing the floor of the salon and made no attempt to hide his impatience or his contempt for a nobleman who slept the morning away. There were three other men standing silently side by side inside the door. Two of them—Geraint recognized them as special constables who had been billeted at Pantnewydd—stood motionless. The other was fidgety and ill at ease. Geraint recognized him too.

  "Precious time has been wasted this morning, Wyvern," Sir Hector said, frowning in irritation. "This man"—he indicated the one who was not a constable—"called here earlier this morning with important information for you. Harley was forced to tell him that you were abed and had left word that you were not to be disturbed. Of all the nonsense!"

  Geraint raised his eyebrows. Had he left any such word?

  "There were two gates pulled down last night," Sir Hector said. "One not three miles from here. I suppose you have not even heard?"

  "One tends not to," Geraint said coldly, "when one is asleep, Hector."

  "This man had to come all the way to Pantnewydd with his information," Sir Hector said.

  Geraint fixed his eyes on the gatekeeper who had had the company of two constables in his tollhouse the night before. "Well?" he said with haughty impatience. "Out with it, man. What can you tell us beyond the fact that Rebecca and her so-called children wrecked your gate? Is it too much to hope that you recognized someone?"

  "That is it exactly, my lord," the man said, bobbing his head nervously. "I did too."

  The air Geraint breathed into his nostrils suddenly felt icy. "Well?" He raised his eyebrows, all impatience.

  "It was a woman, my lord," the man said. "After all those ruffians had left, I came back down to the road to see what the damages were. And she was down there. She was not disguised like the ones who ran away. And this one was a real woman."

  Ceris Williams. "And you had a good look at her?" Geraint asked.

  "Oh, yes, my lord," the gatekeeper said. "The moon came out at that very moment, just before one of the riders came galloping down and carried her off. I used to live in Glynderi, you see, and I knew her. She was Ninian Williams's daughter. Ceris Williams."

  "I have brought two men with me," Sir Hector said, "just in case the four you have here are about some other business, Wyvern. I would have sent them to arrest her, but it seemed a courtesy to you to come here first."

  "Yes, indeed," Geraint said, clasping his hands behind his back. He looked at the two constables. "Off you go, then. Get someone to give you directions. Bring her in. Without force, if you please."

  "If she offers any resistance—" Sir Hector began.

  "Without force," Geraint said, not forgetting that his uncle was a magistrate while he was not. But this was his land. And what the devil had Ceris Williams been doing down on that road? She was not a follower of Rebecca. Had she come on the same errand as Idris? But how had she heard what the child had heard? And who exactly were the pursuers the boy had warned of? What would Ceris say under interrogation? Aled had rescued her. Would she have recognized him? And would she betray him if she had? Marged had said the two of them had almost married. Would Ceris betray anyone else? And if she would not speak, how was he to save her from imprisonment?

  The thoughts teemed around in his brain while he strolled to the window and stood looking out, his hands still behind his back, his whole stance discouraging conversation.

  "We have them this time," Sir Hector said anyway. "All it takes is one captive. And a woman at that. She will talk if she knows what is good for her."

  "Yes," Geraint said. "It would seem that we have the break we have been looking for." Ceris Williams was the sweet little girl who had used to hide behind her mother's skirt and smile at him. She was the equally sweet little lady who had brought him food at Mrs. Howell's birthday party and had stayed to talk with him, though he had recognized the shyness that made it very difficult for her to do so. Ceris Williams had a tender heart. He did not believe she would hold up well under interrogation.

  She was at home milking the cows for her mother. She was trying not to think of the tumult of events that had happened the day before. She was trying, for the moment at least, to focus all her thoughts on last night's final event. It was not difficult. There were the physical aftereffects—the tenderness in her breasts, the slight soreness inside between her legs, where he had loved her and given her his seed. And there were the memories of what he had felt like. And the certainty that there had been a Tightness about it all.

  She wanted to dream. She wanted the milking to last as long as possible so that she could be alone with her thoughts. She knew there were other thoughts awaiting their turn, far less comfortable thoughts. But not yet.

  It was at her milking that they found her. One of them pointed a gun at her. The other pulled her arms roughly behind her and bound them so tightly that she soon lost feeling in her hands. The one with a gun turned to point it at Dada when he came running from the field and then at Mam when she came out of the house. Ceris Williams was under arrest for taking part in a Rebecca Riot, the one who had bound her said. They were taking her to Tegfan.

  They marched her quickly along, one holding to each of her arms. Deliberately quickly, she thought, so that she would trip and they could haul her up again. If only she could have held up her skirt at the front, it would not have happened at all. But she went down on one knee once and all the way down another time. She kept her head down, though she knew that they passed a few people. She prayed fervently and constantly to the God in whom she believed passionately. She prayed that she would have the strength not to betray Aled. Or Marged or Waldo Parry or any of the others she knew.

  She had never been inside Tegfan. It was huge and intimidating. They took her inside one of the rooms that led off the spacious hall. There were three men in there—the Earl of Wy vern, Sir Hector Webb, and the keeper of the gate that had been destroyed by the time she reached it. They all turned to look at her as she came in. It was of the earl she felt most frightened. His face was hard and his eyes were cold. The obvious anger of Sir Hector seemed preferable.

  "Well, Miss Williams," the earl said, "we have been hearing some stories about you."

  She looked at him mutely. She found herself wondering how Marged would behave in such a situation. Marged was wonderfully courageous. Marged would not look away or tremble—or crack under pressure.

  He strolled toward her across the room until he was no more than three feet in front of her. He stood very tall and straight. His hands were at his back. She had the sudden and terrifying impression that he held a whip in them.

/>   "We have been told," he said, glancing briefly to his left at the gatekeeper, "that you were at the scene of a gate breaking last night, Miss Williams. Is this true?"

  She stared at him. Very deliberately in her mind she was reciting the Lord's Prayer.

  "Perhaps there was an explanation for your being there," he said, "if so, you must say so and you will be allowed to return home. Why were you there?"

  Give us this day our daily bread.

  "You were taken up by one of the men known as Rebecca's daughters," he said. "Did you know him? Or did he merely kidnap you and set you down somewhere else?"

  Aled. Oh, Aled, oh, Aled, oh, Aled. As we forgive those who trespass against us.

  He asked her numerous questions. She lost count of the number of times she recited the same prayer. Stupidly, she could not remember any others to recite. And her mind was not lucid enough to pray spontaneously.

  And then Sir Hector started on her. He was much louder, much angrier. He shouted at her until he lifted one hand and would have brought the back of it across her face if the earl had not grabbed him by the wrist.

  "I don't think violence is going to get anything out of her," he said. "I will try other methods, Hector, but I would prefer to be alone when I try them, if you get my meaning. Leave her with me. She will not escape me and I will get the truth out of her, never fear."

  Sir Hector gave a short bark of laughter as Ceris's blood froze. What did he mean? But there was no doubt in her mind what he meant. There was a half smile on his lips, an expression at horrible variance with his cold, cold eyes.

  She was on the verge of breaking her silence and begging Sir Hector Webb not to leave her alone with the Earl of Wyvern. But a brisk knock on the door was preceded by its opening. It was behind Ceris. She did not turn her head to look.

  "I beg your pardon, sir," Matthew Harley said, his voice breathless. Ceris closed her eyes briefly. "I have just heard. Has she said anything?"

  "I believe," the Earl of Wyvern said coldly, "that the cat has got her tongue, Harley, or whatever it is that takes maidens' tongues in Wales."