by Julia Latham
“Bannaster—” she said on a gasp.
She didn’t know what she meant to say, but nothing else emerged, for he took her nipple deep into his mouth and suckled her. She moaned and shuddered and was lost.
Chapter 10
She tasted like heaven, smelled like rose petals from the soap she must have used. Tom’s need for her burned in him, making him forget everything but the feel of her in his arms, the way she shuddered as he held her off the ground and pleasured her breast. She no longer fought him, so he released her arms so that he could take her hips and press himself between her thighs. At last he felt her arms enclose his shoulders, her hands slide into his hair. With incredible strength, her legs wrapped around his hips, and she surged against him now, reaching for the pleasure he could give her. He groaned against her, slid his lips across to her other breast, using his teeth to pull the cloth away. He worshiped her with his mouth, tongued the hard points of her nipples. Her soft cries were almost his undoing. His palms cupped her bare ass, his fingers so close to the hot, moist center of her. He wanted to rip the clothes from his body, leaving nothing between them.
“Is this how it will be?” she suddenly gasped.
When she pulled herself upright, her legs still clasped about his waist, he lifted his head, met the wild storm in her eyes, let his open mouth brush hers.
“This passion?” he said hoarsely. “Aye, do not deny that you have felt it from the beginning.”
When he kissed her, she spoke against his lips. “But is this true passion, when you have to force it from me, when I am not granting you the gift of my willingness?”
He lifted his head and looked down at her, feeling anger mix with desire. “Regardless of how this started, you are clutching me now.”
He didn’t like the thread of insistence in his own voice, as if he had to convince himself. This was not how he wanted things between them. When she unclasped her legs, he let them slide down his, knowing she felt the shudder he could not control. She turned away from him, and he had the brief, intoxicating glimpse of her bare back, so strong and lean, before she pulled the linen cloth higher and secured it about herself.
“You know this will go on between us,” he said in a low voice. “I gave the morning to Cicely. After dinner, it will be your turn to spend time with me.”
Her eyes took on a furious glint.
“Your people will want to know that I took turns courting both sisters, especially you, their favorite.”
“I am not their favorite. They have only known me a few years, but I treat them with respect. Are you capable of such a thing? Or will it be Cicely’s turn next to feel the pressure as you attempt to seduce her?”
“I will not—”
“Let me give you fair warning. Where she is concerned, your clumsy intentions will be met with enthusiasm regardless.”
“Clumsy!” He knew she only provoked him, yet he seemed to have no control over any of his emotions when he was with her.
“What you start with Cicely, she will insist you finish. You know that she desperately wants a husband and will take any man.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “I will not attempt to seduce your sister, never fear. You alone hold that place for me. She I am thinking about marrying, so I will court her as a tender maiden should be courted.”
He saw the way she winced, and even now, knowing he might be hurting her, he could not relent.
“But you don’t want what a normal woman wants, do you, Diana?”
“Leave here at once.”
Her low voice was full of such fury, that he felt himself tense, waiting for an attack.
The door suddenly opened and a red-haired woman entered, closing the door behind her and then freezing with her mouth agape. Tom paid no heed to how they looked: Diana’s spare covering, his own rumpled garments. He had recognized the maidservant immediately.
“So you are your mistress’s loyal servant,” he said with sarcasm, “the one who will offer herself to unsuspecting men and drug them if her mistress decrees it.”
The girl pressed herself against the wall as if he would attack her, and Tom finally understood that he was losing control. He turned from them both and ran a hand through his hair, not recognizing himself. It was as if he was that pathetic boy again, the one who wanted more than he knew he could ever have.
“Mary only obeyed me,” Diana said, each word spoken with emphasis. “Do not punish her.”
He turned back to them. “Mary, my argument is not with you. You have nothing to fear from me—but your mistress, ah, that is another matter.”
He gave Diana a last, knowing look and walked from the chamber.
Diana barely felt Mary’s trembling arms as they closed about her.
“Oh, mistress, what did he do to you? How will we ever sort this out?”
Diana patted the woman’s back and then stepped away, hugging herself against the cold that she’d forgotten to feel when she was held in Bannaster’s arms. She was unsteady, full of a yearning she’d never felt before, as if she wanted something that only he could give her.
“It is all my fault for not knocking,” Mary continued, as she moved about the chamber, hanging a small cauldron over the fire to reheat water, then folding the bathing linen with trembling hands. “Ye could have sent me away, and he never would have seen me. But then you—then he—oh, mistress, what if he remembers me from Castle Bannaster? He’ll realize ye were there, that ye’re connected to his past.”
“I saw his expression, Mary,” Diana said soothingly. “He only remembers you from the tavern. Did you not say that he was seldom at Castle Bannaster, that he spent most of his time studying with the priest?”
Mary nodded, her gaze unfocused, as if she saw the past. “I well remember what his brother liked to do to women. Did Lord Bannaster…” Her voice trailed off as her tears started.
Immediately, Diana put an arm around her, knowing that although Mary had rebuilt her life after the late viscount’s abuse of her, in some ways she would always remember. “Nay, Mary, you mustn’t remember those dreadful times. This Lord Bannaster is not like his brother. But he yet fears his nature, and I can use that to control him.”
“Control him?”
“I must, surely you see that? At any moment he could reveal what I did to him, and yet he’s decided to find a different punishment for me.”
Mary glanced too quickly at the cloth covering Diana’s body. “Punishment? But I thought ye said—I mean, the way he looks at you when he thinks no one can see him—”
With a last pat of her shoulder, Diana turned away so that Mary couldn’t see her confusion. Stepping back into the basin, she used the cold facecloth to scrub the mud at her ankles. “I do not think he intends to punish me in the way his brother would have. He hasn’t decided what he means to do. He’s trying to discover why I imprisoned him. Now that he’s living among us, it is too easy for him to see my relationship with Cicely. He now knows that safeguarding her could not be my only motivation. I have to be so careful, Mary.”
“Aye, ye do, mistress,” Mary said soberly, bringing her the hot water. “For I think ye might be feelin’ things for him, though ye do not want to.”
Diana rinsed the cloth, grateful for the heat. “Oh, Mary, I do not know what is the matter with me.”
“Ye can resist him, mistress, though it won’t be easy. He is a handsome man, but ye’ll get over his looks in the end.”
As if his looks even seemed to matter, Diana thought despondently. Nay, everything about him called to her, but she could not tell that to Mary. She only heaved a sigh and nodded, trying to take her maid’s kindness to heart.
“You need not fear him, Mary,” Diana said a little while later, as the maid was helping her dress. “’Tis me he rightly blames for his imprisonment.”
“I can see that, mistress, and I thank you for your kindness. But I do not want to leave you to fend him off alone.”
“I am strong enough for it,” Diana said, tighten
ing the girdle at her waist. She slid her dagger home, out of sight, but where she could feel the reassurance of it. “And I will feel better knowing that I don’t have to worry for you.”
“Very well, mistress,” Mary said.
Diana could see the doubt in her eyes, but there was nothing else to be done. Thomas Bannaster was her problem, and no one else’s.
She wondered what he had planned for the afternoon, and how she might be able to thwart him.
Yet…she could not ignore him, could she? Not with the promise of shelter within the League if she succeeded in her mission. Mayhap she already knew enough to send them the first news of him. She would begin composing a missive that night.
But what would she tell them? That even though Bannaster stalked her, determined to discover her secrets and punish her, she could not stop thinking about his body, his mouth on her breasts, the way her pleasure had risen higher and higher with his hips between hers? Now she was left aching and angry and bleak, worried how she’d respond the next time they were alone.
But she would find something to write about.
Late that morning, Tom was welcomed to the tiltyard enthusiastically by his three men-at-arms, and cautiously by the Winslow soldiers. But Tom had spent his adulthood proving himself, and he knew he was capable of it. He had changed into rough clothing—still stained with the dirt of the dungeon—and they found him a hauberk to protect his torso. With a sword in his hand, he felt better, more in control of himself. And what helped his eventual acceptance was that the Kirkby soldiers didn’t know him as a former novice priest, only as a nobleman.
After an hour of using his muscles, proving to himself that he was still the man he’d fought so hard to be, he recognized that he was trying to forget some of what had happened in Diana’s bedchamber.
He had gone there with the intention of keeping her off balance, so she’d always wonder what he was doing, when he might appear. After all, she was his link to uncovering if the League’s presence could be found at Kirkby Keep.
But Diana the warrior had been transformed into Diana the woman, with alluring curves and smooth, damp skin beneath only the thinnest cloth.
Yet he’d seen the scars and bruises of training.
As Tom faced Talbot on foot, swords clashing, his mind was foolishly too far away.
Why did she train with the men? What purpose could it serve? It would not help her find a husband. His own training helped him lead his men and prepared him to defend what was his, whether it be country or castle. But Diana had soldiers to serve her. And although she was the mistress of Kirkby Keep, military skills were not necessary.
He’d gone to her bedchamber with questions, with a purpose—and that had all fallen apart. He’d been unable to control his need to touch her, to provoke her. And when she’d tried to defend herself, he’d used force to have what he wanted, the taste of her on his lips, her body in his arms, her surrender. It made him feel ill. He took out his frustration on Talbot, swinging and slashing with his dulled sword, driving the man back until Talbot stumbled and fell.
Tom reached down and Talbot clasped his hand, coming to his feet.
Talbot shook his head, pointing his sword into the ground and leaning on it. “Your illness has not weakened you, my lord,” he said, his breath coming hard.
Tom thought of the hours in the dungeon spent exercising to keep up his strength. “Glad I am to hear it.”
And thoughts of the dungeon took him back to his concerns about Diana. He could not behave in such a way again. He would learn nothing if she were constantly wary of him. Oh, he still planned to seduce her, since he already knew she had a weakness for him. She would fall under his spell without force, and he would discover the truth about her connection to a Bladesman.
Her cloak pulled tight around her against the cold breeze, Diana watched Bannaster sword fight from behind a corner of the stables. The first time she’d ever seen him, he’d been a pale, quiet boy with the higher calling to God that had set him apart from his own people. Now with a sword he fought with an intelligence and skill that allowed him to defeat larger, heavier opponents.
Leading men in battle was what he’d been meant to do, she realized. He was able to outthink an opponent, anticipate the next move, and counter its effectiveness. And he had learned to do all of this in only a few years, instead of the lifetime it had taken most men.
She could not help but admire him, she reluctantly admitted to herself. He’d accomplished his transformation from novice priest to viscount, all while under suspicion of being a murderer. Nothing had been able to stop him.
That was something she could tell the League, that he had perseverance and dedication. But of course, he’d displayed that quite recently, when he’d chosen to marry a woman who didn’t want him. What good was perseverance if he used it for the wrong purpose?
As the midday meal approached, they finished their training, and in the usual custom of filthy men, they began to remove their outer garments to wash. They stripped to their breeches, and if it were summer, they would have doused themselves with buckets of water. But in winter, they only hastily scrubbed themselves of sweat and dirt. Diana told herself to leave, but she could not stop watching Bannaster. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen his nearly nude body before. He’d made sure to display it to her when he’d washed in the dungeon. And only just this morn, she could have sworn he would have removed all his garments if she had asked him to.
She’d been held in those well-muscled arms, had wrapped herself about him with desperation, and had rubbed herself against him with no shame.
God above, she thought, briefly closing her eyes in pain. Give her strength to finish this assignment without doing something foolish.
She opened her eyes again, and experienced a sudden chill. Bannaster had turned his back, revealing a mass of old scars, ruthless lash marks that had her own men glancing at his healed wounds in surprise before quickly looking away.
Who had dared to so viciously punish the son of a viscount? The blood loss must have been staggering, and men often died before recovering from such trauma. But Bannaster still had an easy grin for any man he talked to, as if his past no longer had any affect on him.
At dinner, Bannaster once again maneuvered to sit between Diana and Cicely. Diana decided to speak to her sister later, using his behavior as proof that he was not serious about Cicely, that he would not make a good husband. For after all, why would he sit beside Diana except to cause trouble?
But of course, Cicely wouldn’t take it that way. She’d simply think she had to try even harder to win the viscount, setting herself up against Diana any way she could. Diana would have to think of other ways to prove that Bannaster was unworthy.
But it was hard to at dinner, where he regaled them with tales of life at court and had Cicely giggling or gasping with delight. Even Diana had to fight to remain impassive rather than smile.
How could she want to smile at him, when she still could not forget what he’d deliberately made her feel just that morn? And did he do that to any woman he fancied? She did not like to think about that, for jealousy was not something she’d ever attributed to herself.
“Lord Bannaster,” Cicely finally said, “have you given thought to your plans for the afternoon? Tomorrow morn I imagine you’ll want to accompany the men on the hunt for our Christmas feast, but today…” She trailed off, batting her eyelashes at him, obviously hoping for an invitation to share his company.
“I do have something in mind, Mistress Cicely,” he said, sliding his chair back a bit to include both women.
Diana stiffened with wariness.
To Cicely, he said, “I feel it is only fair that since I spent the morn in your company”—he turned to Diana—“that now I should spend equal time with your sister.”
Diana saw Cicely’s eyes widen, then narrow into angry slits behind Bannaster’s back.
“That is not necessary, my lord,” Diana said, imagining the next step in his puni
shment of her. “I have much to do in anticipation of Christmas.”
Cicely opened her mouth, but Bannaster spoke first.
“Which is why you need time away to relax. Remember, the king asked me to get to know you both.”
“I would not want you to do something only because you’ve been pressured to,” Diana said between gritted teeth.
Cicely’s gave a smile, as if she thought their disagreement could only work in her favor.
“Nonsense. Mistress Cicely has done an excellent job of showing me the keep. You could guide me through the surrounding grounds. And if you feel the need to work,” he added when she started to respond, “we can search for holly and mistletoe to decorate the great hall.”
At the word “mistletoe,” Diana thought Cicely’s red face would explode.
“The huntsman has asked me to look at the tree he’s chosen for the Yule log,” Diana quickly said. “You could accompany me there if you wish.” He would have no chance to be alone with her, something that would satisfy both her—and her sister.
He grinned. “A perfect solution.” Then he turned back to Cicely and soothed her ruffled feathers by giving her all of his attention.
Hunting for mistletoe indeed, Diana thought, trying to hide her scowl.
Chapter 11
Tom would have preferred to have Diana all to himself, but he knew that their afternoon together was partly for the benefit of her people, who thought he was courting both sisters. So they set off accompanied by the huntsman and his apprentice, who rode before them on the path into the woodland that rose upward on a long slow slope toward the distant heights of the moors.
Diana remained silent, riding astride on her gelding as a man would. Her skirts slid high enough to reveal almost the top of her boots, but she seemed unconcerned. And Tom found himself looking at her legs far too often, hoping to see more.
