Wessex Weddings 05 - Her Banished Lord

by Carol Townend

  Through the ruined rafters a slight bright ness in an otherwise black sky told him the moon had risen.

  ‘Gil is sleeping, thank the Lord,’ Aude murmured, returning to sit at his side. She wound her arms round her knees.

  Light from the fire was playing over the curve of her cheek, emphasising a slight pout to her mouth that made him want to kiss her again. Hugh loved Aude’s mouth, he could look at it till the end of time. He curled his fingers into his palms. Aude had grown into a beautiful, tempting woman.

  Despite the fact that he had dragged her from her bed in the dead of night and brought her to this ruin in the wilds, she remained composed. A strand of auburn hair fell forwards, one glossy russet curl among many. Reaching out, he tucked it behind her ear.

  She smiled. It was a gentle smile, the sort of smile she had given him many times in the years he had known her. Loving. Understanding. Accepting. A stab of longing shot through him. He frowned.

  ‘Hugh? What’s the matter? I am sure Gil will be well.’ Her hand had come up to cover his, so it was an easy thing to wind his fingers—still lingering on her hair—with hers.

  ‘I certainly pray so.’ Hugh leaned towards her and brought her close. Carefully, he inhaled. Summer flowers, musk. Aude. Her eyes were wide, full of trust and…affection…yes, he was sure it was affection. He swallowed hard. ‘I find I want to kiss you again.’

  She made a humming sound in the back of her throat and went very still save that her eye lashes lowered. He had the impression that she was looking at his mouth. He was certainly fascinated with hers. Her tongue peeped out and moistened her lips. Long lashes lifted and bright colour washed through her cheeks. She made no other movement. Their fingers were still entwined, half-tangled in the luxuriant softness of her hair. The ruined villa was very quiet, there was just the reassuring crackle of the fire, the sigh of their breathing…

  Closer, he thought. And then with a murmur—Hugh had no idea what he actually said—he moved to her and cupped her head with both hands, ready to turn her face to his. But it wasn’t necessary. She had shifted and was already facing him and then they were kissing again. Small tiny kisses. Chaste kisses, as before. Hugh found her mouth, kissed it softly and drew back to observe her reaction. She leaned closer and, because he had moved back, her next kiss landed on his chin. Helpfully, not wishing to waste another should she offer it, he eased in again.

  Immediately he was rewarded with another kiss, rather shy and all too brief, but this time it landed on his mouth. Hugh groaned at the catch in his gut. Holding her in place, he in creased the pressure, pausing only to drop kisses on her fingers before they made their way round the back of his neck.

  She twisted her body and clung, fingers tugging on his hair, the other hand at his waist. And her breasts, the mind-emptying reality of her breasts, was pressing into his chest, weakening his limbs.

  ‘Aude.’ Hugh dragged in a breath, he could barely speak.

  ‘Hugh.’ She drew back, smiled into his eyes, and brought his head down for a searing kiss that had lost all traces of shyness.

  He held her to him, tracing the line of her lips with his tongue, wanting, no, needing to take this deeper. But she was running ahead of him; she nipped his lower lip and opened her mouth. The tentative touch of her tongue on his was headier than the strongest wine. Heat was building in his loins. When she moaned, Hugh was slightly surprised to discover that his hands were exploring the shape of her buttocks, and he was turning his head this way and that to grant access to his chin, his throat, his ear…

  He cupped her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

  ‘Hugh.’

  The throaty murmur encouraged him. Gripping her skirts, he tugged, but she was kneeling on them and he could get no purchase. He pulled back, throbbing painfully, all urgent need. Long lashes lifted, amber eyes gazed trust fully into his.

  It was the trust that did it.

  It was like falling into an icy stream. What was he doing? He had been about to tumble Edouard’s sister in an out-of-the-way Roman ruin on the edge of her land. And his squire was asleep barely three yards away.

  Framing her cheek with his hand, he smiled. ‘Aude.’ It was some thing of a shock to find that his voice was not entirely under his control. Shakily, he leaned his forehead against hers and tried to smooth some sort of order back into her hair.

  She released a shuddering breath. Thank God, he was not the only one here who needed a few moments to find calm. Aude’s cheeks were a delightful pink and her eyes were shining. She looked so adorable and so beddable, it hurt.

  But he must be realistic. A man on the run should not be thinking of tumbling his best friend’s sister, however much she tempted him. Aude was innocent and must remain so. He had nothing to offer her.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Lord, this will not do, we should sleep while we can. In the morning we shall decide what to do with Gil.’

  Her hands fell from his waist. ‘Yes, of course.’ She glanced at Gil, a slight crease between her brows, as though she had for a moment for got ten his existence. ‘It really would be best not to move him for a few days.’

  ‘In the morning, Aude, we can discuss it in the morning.’

  Putting space between them, Hugh tossed her a blanket and set about using his cloak to make his bed. She watched him, biting her lips, but said nothing until he had stretched out full length on his make shift bed on the floor.

  ‘Hugh?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I would like to be close.’

  Hell. One look at her, tentatively stretching a slender hand towards him, and Hugh changed his mind about sleeping apart. Closing his fingers on hers, he opened his cloak. In moments that disturbing body of hers was settling against him. That innocent body, he reminded himself. And she fitted so neatly. Even the hard mosaic floor could not disguise the fact that it felt right to have Aude lying next to him. It flashed in on him that they might have been made for each other.

  Merde. The aching and throbbing went on, most painfully. But the knowledge that Aude trusted him enough to lie so close invested him with the strength to resist her.

  Odd that… Hugh’s thoughts began to drift as exhaustion drew him towards the edge of sleep. Her trust in me helps keep her chaste. How utterly ridiculous.

  Ridiculous or not, minutes later, he slid into sleep.

  Well! Aude thought, smiling into the flickering gloom. She wriggled into a more com fort able position against him. Finally, she had kissed him! Twice in a day.

  With a dreamy sigh she cuddled closer. Kissing Hugh had been some thing of an eye-opener. Hugh’s kisses were a world away from the cool formality of Martin’s kisses; they were a thing apart from Richard of Beaumont’s rather abstracted salutes and Olivier de Fougères’s too-eager ones. Hugh’s kisses were…perfect. If perfection was indeed the correct word for kisses that made her burn to do all manner of unseemly, un lady like things…

  She had wanted to kiss Hugh for years. Perhaps not quite years; it was true that she had idolised him when she had had to play at being her father’s squire, but in those years she had never thought of kissing him. She had idolised Hugh all her life, but the desire to kiss him had come later.

  Turning her face into his broad chest, she pressed one last kiss into his tunic and let her limbs go lax. Shockingly, the first time she had thought seriously about kissing Hugh had been shortly after Richard of Beaumont had married his mistress. It had been an impulse that had taken her by surprise. What kind of a woman was she, to have had such thoughts when she should have been grieving for Martin?

  It had been just over a year ago, in the spring of 1070. Before Hugh’s banishment. With Count Richard married, Aude had realised that two ladies at Beaumont was one lady too many. She had returned to her brother’s holding at Crèvecoeur.

  Crèvecoeur couldn’t have been more different from Beaumont. Beaumont Castle was a vast stone city, perched on a rocky outcrop over looking the valley. It had a large bailey an
d thick turreted walls that contained stables and out buildings by the dozen. Crèvecoeur, on the other hand, was little more than a wooden tower built on top of a man-made mound. The bailey at Crèvecoeur was so small most of the space was occupied by an ancient stable, a tiny wooden chapel and some tottering out buildings which looked as though a stray puff of wind would complete their demolition.

  On the day that Aude had returned to Crèvecoeur, matters there had reached a low point.

  A herd of goats had been running wild in the bailey. As Aude fought her way through them, it was apparent that her brother had more need of her in Crèvecoeur than Martin or Richard had ever done in Beaumont.

  The state of neglect in Crèvecoeur had nothing to do with Edouard, the blame for that could be laid squarely at the steward’s door. For the duration of her grandfather’s disgrace, right up until the moment the family lands were returned to Edouard as a reward for his service in England in 1066, Thierri Pointel had acted as steward. No less a person than Duke William had appointed Pointel, but his steward ship had been disastrous—he had milked the estate dry.

  Undaunted, Aude had set to work with a will.

  By late morning, the goats had been securely penned, several cart loads of seasoned oak had been ordered, and some major rebuilding work had begun.

  Noon found her stationed outside at one of the southern watch points up on the wooden palisade. She was overseeing the dredging of the moat and because of the breeze, she had twisted her veil back over her shoulders to keep it from blowing in her eyes. The sun was warm on her head. Below in the village, white butterflies were dancing over the cabbages in one of the field strips.

  The sound of hoof beats rose over the hammering in the bailey, pulling her gaze in an easterly direction, to the wooden draw bridge. She leaned out to look. A group of horsemen had reined in at the gate house. One glance at the lead rider knocked the afternoon’s work from her mind.

  ‘Hugh!’ Setting her hand to the ladder, she hurried down as quickly as her long skirts would allow. By the time she was back in the bailey, the Count of Freyncourt and his party were clattering through the gate.

  Grinning, Hugh swung himself from the saddle. Aude had the impression that he was about to fling his arms about her when he checked himself and bowed, most formally, over her hand.

  ‘Lady Aude, I trust that you are well?’ He tossed his reins to his squire.

  ‘Very well, indeed, Lord Hugh,’ she said. Though she had replied with equal formality, she could not resist adding, ‘It is so good to see you!’

  Hugh offered her his arm, the light in his eyes warming her to her toes. As he covered her fingers with his, a blue gem on the pommel of his sword winked in the sunlight. He lifted a brow at the men wading about in the moat. ‘Upsetting the ducks, are we, Brat?’

  Briefly, she had scowled at him, the only sign that she had noticed his use of the hated name from her disreputable child hood. She had been so happy to see him.

  ‘Hugh, the state of it! So much rubbish has been thrown in you could practically walk across. My knowledge of military matters leaves much to be desired, but even I can see that as defences go, it is pretty poor!’

  He had escorted her to the bottom of the tower stairs, where he paused for a moment, smiling down at her. His eyes had been very blue. Sometimes Hugh’s eyes were the colour of storm clouds, but that day they had been as blue as corn flowers.

  ‘I am glad my worries were ground less,’ he said, resting a boot on the first stair.

  Her heart had given a small lurch and she had blinked up at him. ‘You were worried about me?’

  ‘I heard Richard of Beaumont had married that Saxon woman—’

  ‘Emma, her name is Lady Emma of Fulford.’

  ‘I was concerned when I heard. I care about you, Aude, always have.’

  The sincerity in his voice made her eyes sting. Count Hugh de Freyncourt was concerned for her well-being. Aude knew she ought not set much store by such a light remark, but never the less for a moment his face was lost behind a mist of tears. When her eyes cleared she saw that his mouth had gone up at the corner. He reached out and briefly—too briefly—ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. She had stopped breathing.

  Hugh turned away and started up the stairs. Hastily, Aude gathered up her skirts to keep pace with him. That was the moment her feelings for him had begun to shift. Her fingers had tightened on his sleeve. A silk sleeve, the hem of which was embroidered most artfully in gold thread.

  ‘Do you have business with Edouard today, Hugh?’

  ‘Yes, but I also wanted to make certain he was not about to bully you into making an un suitable alliance.’

  Aude’s heart squeezed; her thoughts had become tangled up one with another, but one strand had stood out from the rest. Hugh cared.

  ‘Edouard is not about to force me into anything, he knows I am grieving for Martin.’

  Hugh shot her an impenetrable look. ‘Really?’

  ‘Hugh, you know this. I only agreed to marry Richard because Edouard asked it of me and I felt duty-bound to do so. But Richard has married Emma of Fulford and I have had enough of duty.’

  ‘So, no more betrothals?’

  ‘Not for me. Edouard has promised to give me time and then—who knows?’ They had reached the top of the stairs and Aude paused with her hand on the door. Keeping her face straight, she added, ‘I may even become a nun.’

  ‘A nun? You?’

  Taken aback by the shock on his face—it was not entirely flattering—she had hastened to reassure him. ‘You must know I am teasing! I do not think the cloisters are for me.’

  Smiling, he had expelled a breath. ‘I should think not! Lord, I actually believed you for a moment.’

  Laughing, Aude let him hold open the door for her and stepped over the thresh old.

  That had been the first time Aude had wanted Hugh to kiss her. In point of fact, she had wanted to kiss him. But Hugh had simply looked at her, nothing on his face save amusement at the thought of the appalling nun she would make.

  Grimly aware that no unmarried lady had any business yearning for kisses from Count Hugh de Freyncourt unless she were betrothed to him, Aude had tried to dismiss the thought. It had been far too unsettling. She had failed miserably, because last spring when she had ostensibly been grieving for Martin, she had found herself longing for Hugh. If she were honest with herself, she had wanted to cuddle him as she was now cuddling him; she had wanted the right to stroke that large body, so dear, so familiar and yet at the same time so utterly unknown. It had been most confusing.

  How could she have had such thoughts so soon after Martin’s death?

  She had longed to run her fingers through Hugh’s gold-tipped hair, to test its softness. She had been curious as to how it would feel to have the hardness of his thighs pressing against hers…but most of all she had wondered what it might be like to hear him say her name in that breathy, startled way such as he had done in this villa, only a few short minutes ago.

  Yes, even a year ago, when there had been nothing to suggest there could ever be anything between them but friend ship, she had longed for Hugh’s kisses.

  And now they were lying together on an antique mosaic floor in a Roman villa. Hugh has been stripped of his title and lands. Everything has changed. But not quite everything, Aude thought, hugging Hugh’s large body to her. She still craved his kisses, she still craved…him.

  The fire hissed, drawing Aude out of her abstraction. Gil was muttering and shifting in his sleep. And fast in her arms, Hugh slept the sleep of the exhausted.

  Sweet Mother, but she was angry on Hugh’s behalf. Angry that he had lost his county and was forced to hided out in Crabbe Wood, worrying whether his squire would survive a life on the run. At least she could offer him some comfort.

  For as long as he needed her. Her stomach gave a hollow lurch. For as long as he needed her. It was good to be needed, but it might not be for long. The howls of those hounds echoed through her
mind. Would the manhunt return?

  And if Hugh were re in stated? He would certainly not need her then. Hugh Duclair, Count de Freyncourt, was the most self-sufficient man in the Duchy. He never needed anyone.

  Whatever the future held, tonight was likely to be their only night together.

  Chapter Ten

  Aude was drowsy when she woke. Birdsong. She lay there, half in a dream world, reluctant even to open her eyes. A wood pigeon was murmuring, a wood pecker drumming and…she smiled, sleepily content. The dawn chorus in Alfold sounded much the same as it did in Crèvecoeur.

  Saints, it is hot this morning, this box-bed really keeps the heat in.

  Next to her, someone stirred.

  Next to her? Her eyes snapped open.

  Hugh!

  The events of yesterday rushed back to her. She was not safely ensconced in the box-bed at Alfold, she and Hugh had passed the night in Crabbe Wood! His long body lay close to hers, so close that their legs were en tangled. Hugh’s arm was warm and heavy on her waist. His head lay beside hers in the nest he had made for them on the mosaic floor. It had been the heat from his body that had woken her.

  So much for Aude coming to England to escape her un lady like past! This made her past life seem tame indeed. In Normandy, she had been but a child when she had acted as her father’s squire, but if word got about that she had slept like a wild woman in an English forest with a banished man…

  She was scowling at Hugh, on the verge of jumping up before he woke and said some thing to embarrass her, when some thing extraordinary happened. She felt her face soften.

  It was such a novelty to see Hugh in repose like this, never before had she been able to study him without having to face those teasing eyes. She had always liked the way his hair sprang back from his brow, thick and springy and gilded at the tips. Carefully, she slid her fingers into it. Soft. Warm. Inhaling, she drew in the scent of him. Man and Hugh. A male scent that could have been alarming, but for some unfathomable reason eased a tension in her, body and mind. The urge to cuddle into him was over whelming.