by Ann Lawrence
Nay. He could not look at her. He would ravish her, he was sure, if he saw his own stark passion mirrored in her eyes.
Her heartbeat became frantic with his. A quick, intense twist of sensation pounded in her loins. An answering quiver passed along the muscles of his belly. Her hands sought lower and closer to intimacy.
Her journey of exploration visited every ridge, every hollow, every hard surface of him. She learned him from shoulder to thigh, finally spreading her hands on his hips, so close to his manhood, which thrust like forged steel from the black hair of his groin. He groaned and she looked at his face. His head was thrown back, the tendons of his throat stretched.
Then his robe lifted and wrapped about her legs and his, caressed her thighs and calves like a hand, invited her to come closer.
And she did.
She used her fingers to explore the length of him, explore the hard heat of him. He clasped his hands over hers and thrust in their warmth. He was on the edge of madness.
“Your skin is like precious silk, my lord, silk over fire.” As she spoke, she learned every heated inch of him.
He felt like a green squire with his first maid. Out of control, frantic. He finally opened his eyes, met hers, and saw what he wanted and needed desperately to see. He breathed slowly, deeply, trying to regain his wits.
“Emma.” His voice was rough on her name. The wind whipped his hair and his robe until they stung—a counterpoint to the pleasure of her hands.
“Gilles,” she answered him. Then there were no words. Their mouths touched in a wet whisper of warmth. She tasted him—a first taste of restraint breaking from its reins.
She tasted him and wanted more.
He tasted innocence—sweet, untried innocence.
Their joy in each other tangled their tongues and captured their breath. His hands snatched hers from his manhood as his every desire poured from him like a molten, burning stream of liquid pearls, poured out in pulses that tore at his insides.
She moaned and shuddered in response to his release. Her nails dug into his palms. He reveled in his release, her response, their heated passion.
He wrapped his arms about her and embraced the feel of her body pressed to his. He took her lips more forcefully, claiming ownership. When they pulled apart, their breathing was ragged and frantic. He had never before been so spellbound, so enthralled by the caress of a hand or the touch of a woman.
“You will be with no other. Ever.” He said the words. He still stood exposed and naked, the wind still blowing his hair and robe wildly about him. His words were a command.
She wanted no other.
“And you—you will be with no other—ever.” It was audacious, a woman commanding a man, a man answerable only to the king.
“So be it,” he said.
“So be it, my lord,” she returned.
Chapter Nine
When he extended his arms, she fairly leapt into them. He wrapped his robe about them both and hugged her to his heart.
Had he ever felt a joy such as he felt at that moment? Never.
He whispered against her temple. “Forgive me. I took all tonight, gave nothing.”
“You gave me yourself, my lord. What more could I desire?” She locked her arms around his waist and clung to him.
Large, cold drops of rain struck his shoulders, but he was loath to relinquish his hold on her. When she laughed up at him, pulling on him, he grinned back and let himself be drawn through the stone arch to the shelter of the staircase.
Together, arms about each other’s waists, they stumbled to his chamber. He felt drunk, drunk on her scent and the feel of her body pressed to his. Laughing, they fell side by side on his bed. Then a laden silence fell over them. When she bit her lip and looked away, Gilles leaned over her.
With a gentleness he rarely showed anyone, he grasped her chin and turned her face to his. “I will not hurt you.”
Her eyes widened. “I do not fear you,” she said softly and touched his hand; the touch became a caress.
“Then what is it?” he asked.
“My heart says to yield you everything; my mind tells me I will be forever labeled…fallen.”
Blood throbbed in a vein in his temple. “You are mine. Should any man or woman speak one word against you, I shall flay the skin from their back! Do you understand? You are mine.” His fingers gripped her chin fiercely.
For a wild moment, she thought to protest. He didn’t understand. Unacknowledged though they might be, she was breaking her vows, denying the promises she’d made.
Her eyes searched his face. The shape of his bones, his long nose, his fine straight brows told her he had generations of ancestors of quality behind him. He had not one coarse feature, one flaw. Even his teeth were straight and white. Her gaze flickered away. One did not propose vows to a lord when his ancestors had come with Duke William and conquered hers. She swallowed hard.
He pulled her tightly against him. “You are mine.” He kissed her gently. The taste of him, the press of his body on hers shredded her thoughts. Her utter fascination with him allowed her fears to scatter like chaff on the wind.
He did not do as William had, toss up her skirt and shove her thighs apart. No, he skimmed his fingers along her throat, gentling her, soothing her agitation, murmuring reassurances. He made no move to bare her skin. As their mouths feasted on each other, his hand journeyed over her as calming as if he were settling a skittish mare.
They lay side by side for what seemed hours to Emma, slowly bringing their bodies together until every inch of them touched the other—and every fear dissolved to nothing.
Soon, she could not bear even the separation of their clothing. Her hips arched against him, her arms locked urgently about his neck. His robe lay open between them. Everywhere his hands or mouth touched, she burned with a frenzied need.
Finally, he rose on one elbow and lifted a heavy curl of her hair to his lips. “I wish to touch you as you touched me.”
Although the many beeswax candles in the chamber would expose her to him, Emma slipped from the bed and dropped her clothing in a pool at her feet. The chill in the air tightened her nipples and for a moment she felt exposed and frightened.
She hesitated. To touch was to go forward, not to be able to return to what was before. Nothing would be the same. Ever.
She had already touched.
When her hands crept to cover herself, Gilles came off the bed and wrapped his arms around her, drawing the edges of his robe about them until they were both enclosed in the soft silk. He held her still against him, let her feel his desire. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered against her brow.
He felt her body slowly relax. He sheltered her, tried to calm her fears. Her hands fell away. With words congealed in his throat at the wonder of her, he lifted her into his arms and placed her on the bed. He discarded his robe and came over her. Every inch of her skin glowed in the candlelight. He ached to be in her immediately, but did not want the moment to end. Never had he wished to linger—until now, until this woman.
Never had he been with a woman who was so innocent. Her kisses were unschooled and despite the way she had touched him, he knew instinctively that she had been exploring a man for the first time.
He wondered if she’d woven her tale of wedding vows to spare her child bastardy and herself the need to admit to abuse. The thought made him even more gentle. He whispered the warmth of his breath on her shoulder, skimmed his fingertips along her soft skin for many long moments.
Her skin flushed at his touch, her breath quickened against his throat. Slowly, he ran his hand over her until he came to where he wanted to be. When he touched her, she moaned and arched to him. The way was well prepared; she was soft and ready. Her hands urged him on; wordless sounds came from her throat. He joined his mouth to hers as he joined his body.
All doubts fled Emma’s mind. The touch of him, his scent, the feel of him filling her made her embrace him fiercely, her arms locked about his neck. She g
ave herself to his movement, met his rhythm. Sensations swirled madly through her. His movements escalated, swept her along. Beneath her fingers, the muscles of his back and buttocks tensed, bunched, arched. A final time he thrust into her, gave himself to her.
Every touch of his skin to hers, every sweep of his tongue in her mouth made her wish to scream. In an explosion of undiluted sensation her body shuddered fast upon his release. Her thighs trembled. In frantic motion, she heaved against him again and again and again. She moaned his name, her fingers scraped helplessly along his back as she collapsed.
They panted in each other’s arms. Emma’s shock held her immobile beneath his body. This joining had been as different from her one time with William Belfour as silk thread from coarse wool. Her legs trembled from her release. Her mind trembled from the knowledge of how this man had cherished her.
Gilles gathered her even closer and used his palm to soothe the jumping muscles in her thighs. He whispered a kiss on her brow. “Stay with me the night. Lie here by my side.”
“Nay.” She struggled from his embrace. Thoughts of where she should be, what others might think, flooded in. She snatched a pillow and held it tightly before her breasts. “I must return to my pallet. I have Angelique to see to.” She evaded his hand and leapt from the bed. Her hands shook as she hastily dressed. She felt his seed on her thighs.
Gilles sat up in the pillows at the head of the bed. His body ached to have her back in his arms, but the hectic flush on her face told him he needed to move slowly with her. “I want you by my side. I will have Sarah find a nurse for Angelique, so you may attend me without fear for her.”
“My lord…please. Wh-what will Sarah think—” Emma stumbled over her words. She wrung her hands.
She touched his heart. “Aye. I understand.” He thought a moment. “Seek a nurse yourself. Come when you are able. But please…come.” She smiled and a shaft of pure desire plunged through his body. “I want you,” he said, “but willingly, not in shame for what we will do here.”
Emma approached him warily and put out a hand to him. “I have but one experience with a man to judge what happened here, my lord. I found ecstasy with you. I cannot find shame in what we did.” She bit her lip. “Others, my lord, they may gossip—”
He entwined his fingers in hers. “I want only your comfort. Do nothing that makes you uneasy.”
Her fingers gripped his. “I will come as soon as possible.”
Relief broke on the hard edge of his desire.
“I just do not know the way of it,” she swept a look about the curtained bed, “the way of lovers.”
He kissed her fingers. “Emma. I must have you near.”
And that was that. It took but a sennight for her desire for him to outweigh the nagging doubts about becoming his lover.
Emma’s meager belongings were moved to a brass-strapped chest beside the bed with the sky-blue draperies two rounds up the keep’s tower from Gilles. At the very bottom of the chest she hid her precious leather pouch. Straightening her two gowns and her one shift, Emma marveled that her life should be so changed. Carefully, she lifted Angelique from where she slept on the linen-draped bed, cradled her in her arms, and mused on her good fortune.
The warming fire was a luxury she’d thought to never have again. For the last two years, she’d had naught to warm her child but coals in a brazier or wood scraps. Truly, the only roaring fires she’d encountered at Hawkwatch were in Lord Gilles’ hall, and craftsmen and women certainly did not sit so high at the table as to feel its heat. Granted the hall was quite comfortable, but Emma liked knowing there was no end to warmth and its accompanying luxuries for her child.
Her fingers stroked gently through the silk of Angelique’s hair. “You’ll not have chilblains this winter, nor cracked lips,” she whispered. “I’ll not need to use precious fuel to thaw rainwater to make the thinnest of pottage. In fact,” she smiled, “we’ve no need to dine on pottage ever again.” Angelique stretched and yawned, opened her eyes and thrust her thumb into her mouth.
Emma tickled her stomach. “Good heaven, this belly’s quite full, my little lady.” Then she frowned. Heaven. She’d made vows to heaven—vows scorned by William. Would she roast in hell for putting them aside and seeking Lord Gilles’ bed?
She shook her head and hugged her child close. Tears pricked her eyes.
How could such ecstasy be sinful? How could such caring in a man’s eyes be wrong?
Her own hands caught her eye. Weaver’s hands. Calloused, nails worn low. Not the soft hands of a lady. How long would she have with Lord Gilles before a woman more gently reared caught his fancy?
She had become Lord Gilles’ leman. The word frightened her, but having known his touch, been enfolded in his embrace, she feared the loss of him more.
She could be nothing more to him than a mistress. Her life was bound to William—unto death. To declaim their vows would make her child a bastard. To say aloud what she had done would be to shame her mother’s memory. Had not her mother walked into the North Sea rather than become Simon’s leman? She soothed her conscience with the fact that if she pleased Lord Gilles, Angelique would live past three summers. She touched her fingers to her breast, a breast that no longer yielded milk. There was healthful food and goat’s milk to take its place here in his keep. Better Angelique’s mother be called wanton than the child starve.
She would not regret her decision. In truth, how could she have resisted him? Her head bowed. Tears welled. Mayhap he would love her enough to keep her by his side—at least until Angelique grew straight and strong.
“I must do this. It is best for you, my child. You are all I care about. I will stay here as long as you are cared for.”
Gilles stepped quickly from the doorway. He’d come in a rush when Sarah had informed him Emma no longer slept with the spinners. But her words cut through him like the icy wind that harrowed the land.
She came to him for the child.
* * * * *
Rain splashed and streamed against the stones of her narrow windows. The shutters rattled and banged loosely in their frames.
Sighing, Emma rose and drew a soft blanket from her bed and went to the warm pallet that had been placed by the wall. She settled the blanket about May’s shoulders and kissed Angelique good night. May had little liking or talent for spinning and a great affection for small children. Smiling, Emma realized that attending Lord Gilles had benefited more than just Angelique.
As she rose, she smoothed her hair with nervous fingers. Her mouth dried. Despite a day in her new surroundings, Emma still marveled at one inescapable fact of her dwelling in this chamber here at Hawkwatch Keep. She could touch Gilles whenever she wanted, could taste his mouth, hear his heart beat.
Silently, cloaked in her mantle, Emma waited in the shadows for a sentry to make his rounds, then descended the several steps of the spiral stairs to his chamber. Not a sound did she make as she lifted the latch. The scent of wet, mossy stone filled her nostrils.
Disappointed, she saw that his chamber was empty, the bed deep in shadows. Crossing rapidly to the bed, she dropped her mantle and outer clothing, then, clad only in her shift, climbed into the center and knelt there in nervous anticipation. Would he still want her? William had not wanted her after just one time.
Was she too bold to be here? She certainly did not want Lord Gilles to come to her chamber with May there—and Angelique.
His bed was piled high with furs and fine linens. She made a nest in the center with her knees. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she closed her eyes to conjure him in her mind. She breathed deeply and slowly as she let the image of him, naked to the night, rise in her imagination. She breathed in the scent of his chamber, the scent of fine beeswax candles, applewood, warming wine—and him. She would forever remember him as she’d seen him—standing in the dark night, black hair blowing—waiting for just her. She would forever remember the taste of his mouth and the scent of his skin. She would forever remember the
liquid rush in her loins as she thought of what this night would bring.
* * * * *
“Gilles,” Roland said and snapped his fingers.
“Hmm?” Gilles idly traced a design on the tabletop with the point of his dagger.
“You have heard naught that I’ve said these last few moments. Be gone.” Roland rose from the chessboard. He clapped Gilles on the shoulder, and then strode off in the direction of his wife.
Gilles watched Roland hug his wife in a warm embrace. He felt quite warm himself. Heeding some silent call and a tangible need, he headed for the tower steps. With his hand on the latch to his chamber, he hesitated. Something made him pause and look up the winding staircase in the direction of her chamber, then back down to his hand. How he wished he’d not heard her words to her child.
He lifted the latch slowly and silently. She knelt in the center of his bed clad only in her shift. Her hair was unbound and the small residual light of the guttering candles turned the honey to gold, cast her face in deep shadow. The dusky hint of her taut nipples dried his throat. The deep contrast of shadow and golden skin brought a sweat out. As he stood and silently watched her, she raised her arms over her head in a stretch, lifting her breasts. Her eyes were closed. He watched her luxuriate in his bed, her arms descending, her hands stroking the linens and furs. She shifted her hips to settle more deeply into her nest.
He craved the caress of her strong fingertips on his skin, craved her innocent explorations of his body. Watching her, aroused by her, he could forget why she came to him.
With a sense of being in a dream, he approached the bed to stand at the foot, so close he had only to bend slightly at the waist, stretch out his hand, and touch her. Her every movement was a silent invitation for him to take what was offered.
Emma opened her eyes. Obsidian ones met gentian, like night possessing a spring flower.
Their hands met midway between their bodies. She clasped his long fingers in hers and directed them to the crest of her breast which strained against the soft linen of her shift. A tiny sound escaped her throat, and her eyes squeezed closed as he fondled her.
