“Since you have saved my life, I am willing to consider laying your plight before Guthrie, my overlord.”
“I shall go with you,” she said flatly, “and bring my son back with me.”
“I guarantee nothing,” Rory said. “Only that you will be given a fair hearing.”
“Fair! What do you call fair? You have stolen our children and raided our village and you dare speak of fairness?”
“If you can heal me and return me to my village in peace, you will be heard. My people did not steal your children out of spite or villainy. It was due to desperation, and no one would have been harmed had you not come after them.”
If Serine wanted to be with her son she would have to agree to stay in Ireland.
Rory watched as she moved around the room, and imagined her moving thusly through the streets of his village, through the halls of Guthrie’s fortress and, finally, through the rooms of Rory’s own home. He found the thoughts pleasant. Perhaps he would urge her to stay once she realized it would be impossible to obtain the release of her son.
For all that she had cut away his beard he found himself unable to maintain his initial anger. It seemed almost as though there was an unspoken duel between them, with rules yet unmade, and it challenged him to try to guess what she would do next as she strove to regain possession of her child, unaware that fate, and a woman’s tongue, would take the matter out of their hands.
* * *
“I tell you, our Lady Serine was brave as any man could have been,” Hildegard, the alewife, boasted to the knight and two foot soldiers who had come to partake of her wares. “Stole those children back and hoodwinked the Celts in the process. They never knew what hit them, they didn’t!”
“We heard your lady’s own son was stolen,” one of the men said as he quaffed his ale.
“That’s true,” Hildegard agreed. “So sad for the poor lady after risking her life and saving so many. But there’s rumors from the castle that she captured a Celt and hopes to learn from him where they’ve taken her son.”
The knight wiped his hand across his mouth. “Clever woman,” he remarked. “Old Sheffield was always the lucky one. He should be coming back any time now. I vow he’ll make short work of the Celt. The man will beg to tell Sheffield anything he wants to hear.” A toothy smile split his face. “A man learns many things on crusade. How to torture a man until he begs to talk. How to make love to a woman.” His eyes swept over Hildegard’s generous figure and his hand slipped around her in an intimate embrace.
“You tell me nothing I don’t already know,” she said as she extricated herself. “My man’s been on crusade before, and I find myself more pleased to see him each time he returns. However, should you decide to persist, Sir Knight, I’m sure he would be happy to take time from showing me his newly learned arts of love to showing you his well-earned reputation as a soldier to be reckoned with.” She smiled as she said the words, but the threat was there, loud and clear for all to hear.
They all laughed together, but the spurned knight’s eyes narrowed spitefully as he moved away with his companions. “Country wench,” he sneered. “She’ll wish she’d considered my proposition before I’m finished with her and her brave, Celt-loving lady.”
He motioned to his companions. “Come, lads! We have an appointment to meet with Lord Baneford. Unless I miss my guess, he’ll pay good coin to learn that there is a Celt lurking around his lands.”
The men swung off through the village, almost colliding with the one-eyed crone who stood at the side of the road.
* * *
To heal, one must spend a great deal of time abed, and, although Rory healed far more quickly than he was willing to let on, he whiled away his empty hours by watching Serine as she went about her duties.
It occurred to him that she was not a great beauty, and had no outstanding feature on which to base her attractiveness. Yet there was a graceful loveliness about the woman that would not be denied. The more he watched, the more he wanted. The stronger he became, the more the demands of the flesh tortured him until he reached the place where he actually welcomed the appearance of Old Ethyl.
In truth, Rory had not responded to a woman as he did to Serine since the plague had taken his wife from him, and had not thought to again. Still, the sound of Serine’s husky voice sent currents of pleasure through his body, and the touch of her hand was enough to send him into a fever.
She talked of little other than the return of her son, and he wondered how she would react if she suspected the plan he had devised to take her to his village and hold her there through her love for her child.
Surely once she became accustomed to Corvus Croft she would learn to love it. It was a beautiful place with lush green fields and sparkling blue streams. He doubted not that the children the Celts had spirited away had already fallen in love with their new home. It took very little time to change one’s allegiance, for in all honesty, Rory was more than a little in love with Serine. He watched her closely. Her movements were graceful but positive. There was no room for doubt within her. And he wondered, once again, what she felt when she thought of him.
He knew that there were times her heart quickened when she caught him watching her. He could see the color that tinted her cheeks and the pulse pounding in her throat. How he longed to press his lips to that pulsing point. To feel it pound beneath his lips as he drank in her scent, her warmth, her sweetness.
As if in answer to his silent supplication, she passed his cot, reaching out to touch his forehead in her journey. When she hesitated, as though reluctant to release the gentle contact with his face, Rory reached up and removed her hand. He inhaled the scent of marigolds that was uniquely her own and brushed her hand across his cheek. Without conscious volition, he pressed his lips against her palm and buried his mouth in the softness. Then, with a groan, he swept the salty moistness with his tongue.
His fingers held her wrist and he felt her pulse jump and quicken. She did care! She responded to him just as he did to her.
He felt her other hand move into his hair, and tensed himself should he have misread her and she decided to pull him away. Her hand clenched, then lost itself in his thick locks. He pulled her to him as he gave in to his desires and sought out the pulse beat hammering in her throat. With a deep moan he closed his mouth over it and felt it drum against his tongue. He knew his time was limited. Serine had given in to the madness of the moment and he had taken her completely off guard. It was only a matter of seconds before she would realize what was taking place and put up her defenses. But one moment of heaven was worth a lifetime of darkness.
Without giving propriety another thought, Rory cradled her in his arms and gently, gently covered her lips with his as he drew out her sweetness, inhaling her, tasting her, luxuriating in the touch of her body, warm and soft against his naked chest.
Then Serine’s hands drew him closer, demanding that he give all that his kisses promised. He felt her open to him and was lost in the depths of her mouth. He barely restrained himself from crying out at the overwhelming passion, so long denied, that surged forth and blossomed in all its frightening glory in the arms of this beautiful, determined woman, who could never belong to the likes of a Celt.
The world swam as Rory’s kiss demanded all that Serine could give and promised even more. It mattered not that this man was her avowed enemy. That he had stolen her child and would not tell where he had been taken. All that mattered was the touch of his lips, the caress of his hands and the burning heat of his body against hers. All that mattered was that she had waited for this moment, for this kiss throughout all the watchful days and sleepless nights. Longed for this moment throughout her life without knowing for what she longed. And now that it had come, she had not the strength, nor the will, to push either the man or the moment from her embrace. His kiss was all she had dreamed it would be and though she burned through eternity for this moment of weakness it was beyond her ability to care.
A soft cry escap
ed her lips as he buried his face in the soft fragrance of her breasts. A surge of desire shot through her body as swift and true as one of Old Ethyl’s arrows, and most likely as deadly. For Serine felt that she could not live without experiencing the wonder of Rory’s love, of his beautiful, masculine body, his sensual lips and his unquenchable passion.
Incapable of denying him or herself the love they so greatly desired, Serine was swept to the boundaries of surrender. Unknowing, uncaring of anything other than the man in whose arms she lay. She seemed to be spiraling upward toward the bright light of fulfillment when Rory withdrew his lips, holding her close for several minutes until their breathing assumed some semblance of normalcy before he let her go.
She moved from the haven of his arms and stood before him, slightly disheveled and very disappointed.
“Forgive me,” he said, unable to keep his eyes from the pleasures he had so briefly known. “I did not mean to force myself on you.”
Serine opened her mouth several times before she found her voice. “Then why did you do so?” And why did you not continue? she wanted to ask.
“I lost my head, and in the heat of the moment forgot that there are two situations that stand sentry between us.”
“Those are?” She knew, but she must hear him say the words. The words that would both damn and free her.
“You have a husband, and I have your son. As long as it remains so, there can be nothing but lust between us. And I want more than a fleeting moment of passion from you, Serine. I want your love, just as, I believe, you want mine. But love should give happiness, and between us we can offer each other naught but pain. For this ill-favored love we have found for each other is indeed a bitter brew.”
She turned away, unable to hold back a trite comment of her own. “Sometimes the more bitter the brew, the greater the benefit.”
Chapter Five
The kisses they had shared could not be forgotten. Each time their eyes met they both reacted as though struck a blow. No matter how hard either of them tried, it was impossible to pretend nothing had happened, any more than it was possible to allow another such encounter to happen again.
Serine was a woman wed. She had never so much as thought of betraying her husband’s trust by giving herself to another man. Nor had she ever met a man she would have considered interesting enough to be worth the anguish that would result in such a betrayal. Now her mind slipped a hundred times a day into thoughts of Rory’s strong young arms encircling her body. His lips searching out the sensitive places in her hands and neck. The heat that had filled her whole being when he had buried his face in her breasts. There were ever so many other places of interest throughout her body that had heretofore gone unexplored. He would know where to seek them out. He would find each one and with each discovery she would find deeper pleasure and more euphoric enjoyment.
And, oh, to be allowed to do the same to him. To touch him with her lips and hands as he had touched her. To run her tongue over his hand or taste the quickened pulse in his throat. How wonderful it would be to know that she could make his body respond to her, as she did to him. To give and take in the deepest passion of love until they were both too sated to move.
Tears filled her eyes and she stumbled, sloshing water over the side of the basin she carried. To her surprise, Rory was suddenly beside her, catching her before she could do more damage. He took the basin from her hands and placed it on the table.
“There now, it’s overworked you are,” he told her. “The crone is right. You should go into the village and get some fresh air. You’ve scarce left this room since I came here. It’s myself that is supposed to be the prisoner, not you!” He had fallen into the pattern of speech used in his homeland and laughed at his own words, but his face held true concern.
She was alternately flushed and pale and he had no way of knowing it was her thoughts, not her physical condition, that caused her such distress.
Rory wanted her to leave. He could not bear the close proximity any longer. He needed a respite from her presence. He needed a few minutes’ peace in which to be alone with thoughts that had nothing to do with this woman; with the scent of her, the touch of her hands, the sound of her voice. If she did not leave him to himself for a few hours he would die of desire, of wanting what he dared not take.
For he had already come to the realization that taking Serine once in the heat of passion would never be enough for him. It was not just sex he wanted from this woman. It was her love he hungered for above all else. And though there were moments when he believed to the very depths of his soul that her longings were the same as his, he dared not put them into words. For if she knew the same yearnings as did he, his heart would break to realize it could never come to pass.
There was but one way he could prove his love and give his soul some surcease, and that was by taking Serine to her child.
“In a few weeks I will be well enough to travel,” he said as he walked to the window and looked out over the countryside. “Are you prepared to go with me?”
Serine finished mopping up the last traces of water. “I am,” she told him without hesitation. “I will make the arrangements, and we will leave as soon as you are strong enough.”
Rory was stronger than he had led Serine to believe. It had been in his mind to escape, but he had come to realize that he would never be free of her if he did not take her with him. And as long as she was with him there was a chance that the gods would smile on them both and grant them the right to love each other.
He slammed his fist against the window casing. He could not bear to be with her, and he could not stand to go. He turned and saw her expression. He longed to take her into his arms and kiss the concern from her face. “As you will,” he said without moving. “You have brought me back from the jaws of death, and I will take you to your son.”
Serine barely contained the smile that pulled at the corners of her lips. This was the first time he had conceded that she had actually saved his life or that he would voluntarily take her with him. She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around his neck and thank him. She wanted to tell him that he would never be sorry for his compassion, and his recognition of the fairness of her request, just as she would never be sorry that she had saved his life.
It was the sight of his clenched fists that kept her frozen to the spot. It was the set of his jaw and the compression of his lips that made her keep her distance.
“We will surely go, and soon, but you are not yet strong. Come and lie down. Rest will restore your health.”
He wanted to shout at her that he could never be restored until she was his—irrevocably, undeniably his in body and soul. But he held his silence and complied with her suggestion. It was only after he had reached his cot that he again spoke. “Then it is agreed. Once I regain my strength we will go to my village and you will lay your petition before the elders.” He did not add that he gave her little hope of success. But by agreeing to her terms he paid her back for her care and insured that his life would not be forfeit before he could return to his home.
Serine’s face shone with happiness, and Rory was taken aback at the depth of her joy. Perhaps some compromise was possible over the return of her son, just to see her in this light again. He was silently musing over the thought when Old Ethyl banged her way into the room, almost upsetting Dame Margot, who had taken her place near the door.
“There be trouble afoot!” Old Ethyl announced. “The village is full of it. I told you it boded no good that you would not show yourself among your people.”
“What do you mean?” Serine tried to shove Old Ethyl back through the door, but the woman held her ground.
“There’s men coming!” Old Ethyl said ominously.
“Lord Baneford’s men have passed through before,” Serine reminded her. “Passed through and gone on their way, never the wiser.”
“They be wiser now,” Old Ethyl insisted, “and word is out they will soon be at the gates demanding an audience.”
>
“Perhaps he wants confirmation of our safety.” Serine brushed the woman’s concerns aside.
“And perhaps he wants your prisoner.”
“They need not know of Rory’s presence. It is nothing to them. And who is to tell them he is here?” Serine tossed her head, discounting the old woman’s concern.
“I’ll tell you who,” Old Ethyl answered. “The whole village is agog with the story of how you thwarted the Celts and took one prisoner. Unless you cut the tongues out of your serfs, the story will be spread from here to the Holy Land. Once Lord Baneford arrives it will take him but little time to get the information he wants from the Celt.”
Rory glared at the woman who thought him of an ilk that would betray his countrymen. From across the room he could catch only bits and pieces of the conversation, but heard enough to know that his presence was common knowledge, and the soldiers were coming to arrest him.
He had believed in Serine. He had even thought to aid her in her plight and add his request to hers. What a fool he had been when all the time she had only waited until he was strong enough to talk so that they could torture him into giving the location of the children. Anger bubbled in his throat as the words tumbled from his lips.
“Did I not heal quickly enough for you, m’lady? Or was it that the word of a Celt was not good enough for such as yourself? You could not wait. You could not believe in me. You could not even believe in yourself! You had to betray us both and lose any chance of seeing your son again in the bargain. Thanks to your duplicity, I will undoubtedly die, and the chance of finding your child will die with me.”
“Rory, I swear I did not tell. I did not betray you.”
Barbara Leigh Page 6
