Her excitement flushed her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled in the roaring fire freshly built in the hearth. Eurice hummed and chuckled, but Alayna refused to be embarrassed. It was only her old nurse’s teasing, and she could think of nothing but the thrill of her husband’s imminent arrival. Dismissing Eurice, she settled comfortably into the great chair to await him.
Hours passed. The embers merely glowed and Alayna sat despondently staring into the dead fire. Eurice carefully opened the portal and crept into the room, coming to stand by Alayna. “The baron stays with his men,” she murmured.
“’Tis war,” Alayna said dully, her voice showing no conviction in her words. “I cannot expect him to linger with me when such vital matters are afoot. Of course, he is very busy with this nasty business with Lord Garrick.”
“You speak the words, child, but your heart does not believe.”
Alayna closed her eyes. With her excitement gone, she was bone weary. “Is it the battle? If not for that, would he be here with me?” She looked at her nurse. “Does he want me, truly, do you think?”
“Surely he has demonstrated that he does,” Eurice assured her. Alayna blushed a little at her meaning.
“But he is my lord and husband,” she protested stubbornly. “’Tis his duty.”
“Duty! Is that how he did it?” the nurse exclaimed.
“Nay,” Alayna admitted, coloring with memory. “Still, how do I know that ’twas not part of that terrible game we played? How can I know the gentleness ’twas real, or that what I felt was matched by him?”
“Surely, child, you do not still linger upon those doubts.”
“He has never declared his heart, never told me of his feeling for me. He is a man who is beset by demons. Perhaps they are stronger than any caring for me. Aye, I do doubt a great deal. I am never sure when it comes to my husband, for there is so much I do not know.”
There was a long silence before Eurice replied. “You do not know, of course, my dearling. No one ever knows for sure what lies in another’s heart. You must believe.”
Alayna sighed. “I do not know what to believe.”
Smiling into the dim room, Eurice said, “Nay, child. ’Tis that you are afraid to believe.” Brushing a shining lock from Alayna’s forehead, she bent to kiss her goodnight.
Alayna did not understand her nurse’s words but was too tired to dwell on them. She closed her eyes, wishing for the healing oblivion of sleep.
Before it came, Eurice’s words echoed in her brain. Believe.
If she did dare to believe, then where was he tonight?
Lucien dozed in a corner of the stable while waiting for his horse to be reshod. He dreamed of soft chestnut curls swirling seductively in loose tendrils. He dreamed of pink lips, soft and lush, slightly parted and ready for his kiss. In sleep, he saw her emerge naked from a sparkling pool of water that was as clear and as emerald green as her eyes. She was lithe and lean, moving with the provocative gracefulness that was purely her own. Her arms reached out to him, and he stood on the bank of the lake, anxious to go to her, but he could not move. He could only watch her, Alayna, his wife, beckoning him.
He came awake at Agravar’s voice calling for him. Croaking out an answer in a voice ragged with sleep, he winced at the aches his cramped quarters had caused. His mind flashed on the comfortable bed waiting close by with Alayna, ever soft and warm, curled up nicely in it. It deepened his already sour mood to think on it.
“Good, you are awake. Not a terribly restful sleep, eh? By the look of you, there must be spiny quills in that hay.”
“Where is Will?” Lucien growled, running his hand through his hair.
“He and Pelly rode out to scout the road to Thalsbury. He should be returning sometime this afternoon.”
Lucien nodded. He could not help but register relief that Will was away from the castle. And Alayna. He must be careful to always know the knight’s whereabouts.
Shaking off his preoccupation, he stood. “Very well. Then let us see to the supplies. I want the armory opened and the weapons dispensed to the foot soldiers. Have the mounted men make the last minute preparations for their own horses and their armor, then we will be ready. When Will returns with Pelly, send one or the other of them to me with their report, and then we will meet to put the final touches on our plan. If all goes well, we will be ready to ride on the morrow.”
“What of the machines, do we bring them?” Agravar asked.
Lucien considered this for a moment. “Nay. The north road is still too treacherous with mire, and their heavy weights would get bogged down. Besides, we shall not need them.”
At Agravar’s raised brow, Lucien explained. “Garrick would expect us to attack the weakest side, and he is aware that I know the location of the secret gate near the cliffs, by the river. Yet, on the east side of the rampart wall there is a tower. The forest butts right up against it. ’Tis a spot I knew well as a boy. I would sneak in and out of the castle at night until my father discovered it and had the forest cut back. But the tree line is still close enough that we can send some men up into the branches and construct a walkway to the tower.”
A slow smile spread over Agravar’s face. “Send them over the wall and launch our attack from within? ’Tis lucky you were an incorrigible boy.”
“It worked only for a while,” Lucien said, remembering his final sojourn, when he had returned in the wee hours of the morning to find his father waiting for him. Raoul had never had to inspire fear in his son; Lucien’s great respect for his father had been sufficient to insure his obedience. That night was the only time his father had laid a hand to him, and then only halfheartedly. As Lucien recalled the memory, he felt a warmth suffuse his heart. Strange that the pain was no more, though he still missed his father keenly.
He continued, “I’ll lead the party up there. Will and Pelly shall stay on the ground to give them some problems in case we are foiled. Meanwhile, you wait with most of the army by the very gate at which they will be expecting us. When we have arrived inside the walls of Thalsbury, I will lead the men there and we will attack their assembled forces from both sides.”
Agravar threw back his head in a hearty laugh. “A very fine plan, by far your best. I will gather the men, and we will lay it out to them.”
“Call me when Will and Pelly are back. We can work out the details then.”
The two men looked at each other, one fair, one dark. Both large, though the blonde hulked over his companion. They had been here before, caught in the excitement of impending battle. Lucien could feel the rush coming over him, his blood pulsing at the challenge. It was different than it had been before, for this time he looked forward not to the venting of his hate, but in the swift dispatching of his enemy. He had other things on his mind.
“A-Viking.” Agravar smiled. It was a jest between them, the old Norse cry that their Danish comrades had used to whip themselves into fury for battle. For the two men, it was a reminder of the warrior in themselves, a call to bring the savage forward to serve the man in battle.
“A-Viking,” Lucien agreed.
They parted. It was just before dawn. Lucien headed for his chamber.
Like many concerns after the space of a night, Lucien’s jealousy had receded. He would see Alayna once more before he left.
He climbed the stairs silently, creeping carefully past the servants wrapped tightly in blankets on the floor. The guard he had posted outside the chamber door was awake, Lucien was pleased to see, and Lucien gave the man a nod. There would be no chances taken since Alayna’s near-abduction. He eased the door open quietly.
He found her curled by the fire, in the great chair he favored. He paused a moment to study her face in repose. She was so incredibly beautiful that his heart faltered crazily at the sight of her. Heavy lashes fanning against the fair flush of her cheeks and her hair tumbled over her, covering her like a shawl of sable.
Coming closer, his shadow fell across her face. Her eyes fluttered open, resting on him
and rounding slightly.
Neither one moved for a moment. Then he slowly bent down so that his lips were only inches from hers. Her eyes swept shut and she turned her face up for his kiss. Savoring the sight of that vision, he paused.
A racket behind him caused him to straighten bolt upright, his tortured back protesting the action after the abuses of the night spent on the stable floor.
The servant cried, “Oh, my lord, I—I did not know…’Tis morn, I thought…”
Behind him, Alayna stood, unmindful of her provocative attire. The sheer shift strained against her breasts, revealing generous curves and taut pink tips that pressed against the fabric. Lucien’s pulse thudded dully in his forehead.
“’Tis all right, Leda. My lord just arrived,” she said smoothly. She turned to Lucien, the picture of a solicitous wife. “Do you require a bath, husband? I could have one fetched for you.”
He grunted his assent and turned away, all too aware that the evidence of his wife’s heady effect on him was apparent to the casual glance.
Alayna hurriedly donned her dressing gown, sending Leda to fetch his bath. She watched him shyly from beneath her lashes as he stripped himself of his dusty garments, his body slowly revealed to her inquisitive eyes. She felt a heat spread like slow fire throughout her body, warming her and quickening her pulse. When he glanced over at her and caught her studying him, she looked away, blushing.
The men came in with the tub, then filled it with steaming buckets of water. Leda waved them out before closing the door behind her.
“Are you hungry, my lord?” Alayna asked. He had removed all of his clothing except the thick woolen hose. She was too aware of his near nakedness to think clearly.
“Aye,” he rumbled, his eyes burning her. “Send one of the servants to fetch me a tray to be brought in here. I require you to attend me in my bath.”
Her insides lurched at this, both with excitement and a twinge of resentment. Always the master.
“Aye,” she answered, turning to carry out his instructions. She found a young boy in the hall and relayed Lucien’s orders. When she returned to the room, he had eased himself into the bath, reclining with his head back, eyes closed. He made no move when she entered. She felt her heart sink, thinking he was asleep.
Opening one eye, he peered at her. “I am waiting, wife.”
Coming to the side of the tub, she sank to her knees and took the soap in her hand. She sensed that he was aware of every move, like a cat who looks at ease except for the excited twitching of its tail.
Rubbing her hands together, she lathered them well and placed them on his breast. Slowly sliding across the broad expanse of his shoulders, her slick, exploring fingers moved down over the bulging muscles of his arms, then the flatness of his belly above the water line. Distractedly she returned her soapy caress to his chest, savoring the feel of the hardness under the warm flesh.
“I believe that area is quite clean, madam,” he drawled softly. She blushed, glancing at his face to see both eyes open now, watching her from under heavy lids.
She rinsed her hands then splashed warm water on him. This done, she said, “If you will sit up, I can scrub your back.”
A large hand emerged from the water, lifting to touch her cheek. Caught by his dark gaze, she froze as he slowly moved toward her, his grip tightening to hold her face in his hand. She closed her eyes in anticipation, feeling his breath against her lips just when a loud noise behind her made her jump back.
The portal swung open to admit several pages carrying freshly heated water. Leda was behind them. “Excuse me, my lord baron, but I thought perhaps your bathwater had cooled.”
“Not likely,” Lucien muttered, easing back in the water.
A bit wary of what her husband might do to the innocent intruder, Alayna hurried to thank her maid and usher her out the door with assurances of their comfort. Determined to do a good job, the young servant made her mistress promise that should she or the master need anything, she would call immediately. Alayna uttered the pledge, then shut the door with a sigh of relief.
“Enough!” Lucien exclaimed, rising out of the tub. Water sloughed off his magnificent body in sheets, leaving his skin glistening in the morning light. Alayna made to grab a linen towel, but he shot out an arm, and she found herself swept back against him. His mouth was next to her ear.
“Bolt that door, wife.”
He released her abruptly, and she hurried to do as he bid. With the plank in place, she turned again to face him. He had fetched his towel and was hurriedly getting off the worst of the wetness. His eyes stayed on hers. A sensation leaped in her belly, alive and ravenous all of a sudden.
“Come,” he commanded gruffly.
With a small cry, she ran to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her lips found his, and she was not shy in opening her mouth to his plundering tongue. She was afire, in a state of near desperate yearning, heedless of propriety or the nagging questions of his devotions. He wanted her. The hardness of his hunger pressed hotly against her hip, his mouth seeking hers with an urgent haste while his arms trapped her blissfully against him.
His hands tangled in her hair, holding her head as he rained kisses over her mouth, her eyes, then her ear, nipping the lobe with strong teeth. She shivered violently at the pleasure that tore through her, whispering his name and he answered with hers. Then he said it again, repeating it over and over like a prayer as he slid to one knee in front of her, impatiently unwrapping her gown and lifting her shift to bare her velvet skin until she stood as naked as he.
Lucien gazed at the perfect mound of her breast before him, reverently cupping his hand around it in gentle possession. It was so perfectly formed, tipped with a tight, raspberry-colored nipple that hardened under his gaze. With a growl, he lifted her with one motion and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he paused a moment to gaze at her, his wife, his prize, yet more than any of that she was simply Alayna and he wanted her with a fierceness that could not be stemmed.
A loud knock sounded at the door, cutting through his drugged senses. Lucien’s head snapped up. “Who is it?” he snarled.
“Lucien, ’tis Agravar.”
Alayna moved as if to rise. Lucien dragged her back with a yank on her arm. “Go away,” he shouted gruffly. He sank his mouth onto her neck, nibbling and nipping the tender flesh. Alayna squeaked nervously, only relaxing again when no more was heard from the Viking.
“And now, my lady wife, there is no one to save you,” Lucien growled.
Alayna sighed, curling her arms about his neck. “What if I do not wish to be saved?” she whispered breathlessly as his mouth closed over a taut nipple. Groaning, she caught her hands up in his hair and squirmed. He played until her breath came in ragged gasps.
Once more, Lucien moved over her, slipping inside her in one easy motion. She mewled softly as she matched the rhythm of his deep thrusts. He ground himself into her over and over again, a primitive, guttural sound tearing involuntarily from his throat at the sheer physical ecstasy of their joining. Sensation swept them toward its inevitable, mind-shattering conclusion, exploding into a brilliant, shimmering climax that left her trembling, weak, depleted, yet not at all sated.
Restlessly Lucien’s hands slid over her flesh. If he had time, he would explore, build the tension until he was ready to take her again. He wanted to touch every inch of her, taste her, feel the texture of different parts of her body.
But he remembered the duties awaiting him and knew there would be no such dallying today.
“I must go,” he murmured. He turned his head to look at her. Alayna kept her face averted, her hair shielding her features from view. Gently he nudged her chin up. Her lashes fluttered until he was confronted by that glorious emerald gaze. “I have a siege to see to.” He tried a wry smile, but it did not alter her frown.
After a space, she nodded. Reluctantly he rolled away from her and started to dress.
Chapter Twenty-One
The bailey was
teeming with horses and armored knights and servants running swiftly on last-minute errands. Lucien prowled through the throng, impatient with every small delay. He was in a black mood. He had no idea why. Alayna was not giving him any trouble, for a change. Quite the contrary. This morning in their chamber still burned in his memory. He was off to battle, an undertaking which had been his chief occupation for most of his life. One in which he excelled, and in which he had found no small amount of relief for the hate that raged within him.
Today, however, he wanted none of it.
“Mount up!” he yelled. At his soldiers’ lack of immediate response, he roared, “Did you not hear me then, or must I shout it louder for your deaf ears!”
His men obeyed as their squires scrambled to see to their provisions. Lucien caught sight of Alayna, stumbling toward him as she struggled under the weight of several well-stuffed panniers. He dismounted, rushing to her side to take them from her.
“Some food, my lord,” she explained breathlessly.
He smiled. “Alayna, I am perfectly capable of providing my own meals.”
Although he had meant no reprimand, she frowned. “I thought it might help.”
“It does,” he reassured her, and strapped them to his mount. “My thanks, wife.”
Agravar rode up. “All is ready, Lucien. We await your order.” Lucien gave his friend a curt nod. Agravar rode away, leaving them once again to themselves.
Touching her cheek with his fingertips, he murmured, “When I return, my lady wife…”
“I will await you, my lord husband,” she answered softly. “And may God be with you and bring you back safely.”
Something pitched in his heart at such earnest sentiments. He nodded and swung onto his destrier. Waving his hand for the gates to be opened, he shouted out the order to proceed. The army surged forward, and Lucien waited until they were almost completely out of the lower bailey before kicking his steed into action. At full gallop, he followed his men out of the gatehouse archway, rode to the fore and led them onto the road due north.
The Maiden and the Warrior Page 19
