Desire's Prize

by M. S. Laurens (Stephanie Laurens)

  Suspicion replaced her smile so quickly he was hard-pressed to keep a straight face.

  Eyes narrowed, Eloise considered him. “What boon?”

  “In a moment.”

  She turned as Bilder and Jenni came in to clear the board. She sat with scant patience until they withdrew, dropping the tent flap behind them. Outside, it was already dark, the wind howling mournfully through the trees. It was a night for retiring early, to the warmth of the covers and the comfort of sleep.

  Meeting Montisfryn’s eyes, she arched a brow. “Your boon, lord?”

  He smiled slowly, sleepily. “I would have you let out your hair for me.”

  She blinked. Women of her age and station did not wear their hair down, not even for sleep; long tresses were the mark of a maiden. Still, it would hardly harm her to acquiesce. “If you wish, lord. I will summon Jenni—”

  “Nay, Eloise. You need not your maid when I am with you.”

  She watched as he rose and came to stand beside her. Gently, he lifted the fillet from her head, freeing her twin braids from the confining crespines; they fell, heavy and darkly lustrous, one on each shoulder.

  Laying the fillet aside, he moved his chair closer; taking her hands, he drew her to face him with no table between. She watched as he picked up the end of one long braid; his fingers loosened the tie, then started to unravel the tresses. The moment was hypnotic, relaxing.

  Alaun also found it so, the silky strands sliding easily between his fingers, softly shushing as he drew them apart. As he progressed up the braid, the night closed around them, the camp settling, the calls of the sentries distant and faint on the wind. The candle flickered, casting a soft glow, a circle of light enclosing them, private and alone.

  He was halfway up the second braid when, fascinated by his intent expression, Eloise asked, “Of what are you thinking, lord?”

  He did not look up, his attention on his fingers. “Of how beautiful you will look when you stand before me clothed only in this silken shawl.”

  Her breath caught; her eyes widened as he raised his head and she saw the flames in his. He smiled, plainly satisfied with what he saw in her face, then looked down at her braid once more.

  Holding back a shiver—of anticipation, she knew—she closed her eyes.

  When her braids were all undone and her tresses rippled over her shoulders and arms, he rose and fetched her ivory comb. For the next ten minutes, he combed the long strands, teasing out the tangles, smoothing and laying the tresses to form the silken shawl he’d envisaged. She closed her eyes, savoring the rhythmic tug on her scalp, the relaxing effect of the exercise.

  His eyes occasionally lifting to her face, gauging her state, Alaun, too, was very conscious of the moment. Her hair was warm, alive, sheened by the candle’s glow; with the tresses down, her face appeared younger, more vulnerable. The knowledge of what he was doing, and why, was strong in his mind, making him tread warily, sensitive to her needs even more than his own.

  When the last shining strand was in place, he laid the comb aside and took her hands. “Come, lady.”

  Eloise lifted her heavy lids only enough to see where they were going. He led her to the side of the bed and turned her to face him. The green cote she had on laced up the front. He parted the shimmering veil of her hair and, unhurriedly, efficiently, undid the laces. Without disturbing her mood, nor the fine veil he’d laid over her shoulders to hang in a dark curtain to her hips, he eased cote, stockings, and chemise from her, laying them neatly on her chest.

  When he turned back, she tensed, instinctively straightening her spine. His eyes glowed golden, the flames banked, controlled.

  Alaun hesitated. When de Cannar had done this, he’d remained fully clothed. It was more intimidating that way, reinforcing the image of master and slave.

  With a fleeting, slightly strained smile, he touched his fingers to his lips, then to hers. “Wait, lady-witch.”

  Held, quivering, in the web of heightened anticipation he’d induced, Eloise watched as he rapidly undressed, flinging his clothes on his chest, his jerky movements in stark contrast to the smooth deliberation with which he’d undressed her.

  Flickering candlelight gilded his back, all smooth muscles and golden skin. Naked, he turned. He glanced at the candle, close to guttering, then, fully aroused, he returned to her, his stride swift and sure. He slowed as he closed the last yard between them, coming to stand by her side.

  Moving with deliberate slowness, Alaun slipped one hand behind her, under the lower edge of her silk veil. Gliding his palm over the satin skin at the small of her back, he curved his hand possessively about her hip, drawing her close, locking her nearer hip against his thigh.

  She looked up at him; there was no trace of fear in her eyes. She was awaiting his pleasure and hers, a small, utterly feminine smile curving her lips.

  The temptation to taste those lips was strong, yet if he gave into it, they would end very quickly in a wild tangle on the bed. Dragging in a deep breath, he girded his loins, then threaded his other hand through the front of her silk mantle and closed it possessively about one firm breast.

  Warmth rushed through Eloise. Her breast swelled at his touch, the nipple puckering as his fingers found it, then teased it to aching hardness. Her lids fell; resisting the impulse to soften against him, she concentrated on holding herself erect.

  He continued to touch her unhurriedly, savoring her curves, his hand roaming at will, from one breast to the other, splaying over her taut belly, trailing tantalizingly over her hips and thighs, exploring the contours of her waist while the hand at her back glided over the hemispheres of her bottom. Again and again he returned to her breasts, keeping them swollen and peaked. Then, with the same purposeful deliberation, he parted the curtain of her hair, pushing it over her shoulders to fully reveal her charms.

  Eyes still shut, she heard his breath catch. She wasn’t cold, could not be cold, not with him so close beside her. His warmth enfolded her, keeping the chill of the night, and of long forgotten fears, at bay.

  “Lady-witch, you are beauty personified.”

  The low, fervent words deepened her smile. She lifted her lids and raised her free arm, needing to turn into him, to press herself against him. But she halted as he bent his head to her breast. His lips found her nipple; he drew it deep.

  A low moan filled the tent. She laced her fingers into his hair, holding him to her. The sound came again as he suckled harder; she wondered if it was the wind. Only when he transferred his attentions to her other breast, and she heard the sound again, did she realize from where it came. And by then she was too deeply in thrall to care.

  Alaun was hungry, ravenous; she turned and stretched against him, arms twining around his neck. Wantonly, she pressed herself to him. Their lips met, held, tongues telling of their need. His hands on her hips, he urged her to move against him; she gave herself up to the exercise, swiftly reducing him to a quivering state even more urgent than her own.

  He lifted his head and gazed down at her, at the dark, mysterious eyes that gave him back his own flame, not reflecting it but taking it in, the dark drinking the gold until it glowed with a bewitching light. A light he longed to lose himself in.

  Pressing a hand between them, he reached for the curls at the apex of her thighs. Gently, he caressed, then eased one finger into the soft hollow beyond. “Are you ready for me, lady-witch?”

  She smiled. Her hand slipped down to lingeringly caress the throbbing rod of his erection. “Aye, lord. I would take you now.” She drew back.

  In a state bordering on pain, he let her go. She knelt on the bed, her eyes glowing as she turned to him, her smile filled with a thousand promises.

  Holding one of his hands, she pushed back the covers, then sat, tugging him to her. He placed one knee on the pallet’s edge and she lay back, spreading her bent legs wide. “Come to me, lord.”

  He groaned, and did, wondering who was tampering with whose mind now. She had possessed his, just as she
possessed his body, her own arching as he pushed slowly, deeply, inside her.

  His arms extended and braced, he held himself high above her, and let his hips meet hers fully. She writhed as he rode her, faster and deeper, taking them quickly toward the paradise that beckoned.

  Eloise raised her legs and locked them about his hips, wanting to lock him to her forever. She reached a peak; with a cry, she tumbled over, only to discover another rising before her. And then there was nothing but suns and stars, and heat and warmth, and a thousand slivers of pleasure shattering her. And him. He collapsed on top of her; she held him, cradled him.

  Later, he rolled, taking her with him to their sides.

  They fell asleep, locked in each other’s embrace, the beat of their hearts united, their bodies still joined.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rising excitement pervaded the long column as it got underway the next morn. As they marched through the day, the spires of Gloucester materialized through the haze.

  Leaving Montisfryn to his lieutenants, Eloise spent the hours ambling along the column, scanning the wagons, noting the children, some ragged, others less so. Their mothers looked harried, tired; even the craftsmen looked worn down. As Montisfryn had said, the train was composed not just of fighting men able to take care of themselves; it was a community very like that of a castle.

  The midday meal was a scrambled affair taken while the train slowly forded the river Frome. On the far bank, Eloise sat her mare and watched, increasingly critical. Time and again, she opened her mouth, sage advice on her tongue; time and again, she closed her lips, the words unsaid. She had no right to order, to interfere. Yet the temptation positively itched. Finally reformed, the column lumbered on toward the commons east of the town.

  Excusing herself, she rode back to check on her patients. She’d already spoken with Sir Eward; the commissary had blinked, twice, but when she’d asked if anything was amiss, he had quickly denied it and had agreed to find her a milch-cow, cereal, and turnips when he went to market the next morn.

  Reining in by the first of the four wagons carrying the unwed women and their offspring, Eloise was pleased to see the sick girl, Jill, upright, with a little healthy color in her cheeks.

  “Thanks be to you, lady, I do feel much better today.”

  Checking her forehead, Eloise nodded. “You should be free of it by tomorrow. How is the babe?”

  The little boy was handed over; gently, she cradled him. His eyes were wide; he batted playfully at her fingers when she touched his cheek.

  Her expression blank, she carefully handed him back. “He’ll grow well once you have milk and mash to feed him. Sir Eward has promised to get all necessary, and will give the milk and allot the provisions to each babe from tomorrow night. You and the others should go and see him then.”

  They all stared at her.

  “You have done that, lady?” Even Old Meg seemed taken aback.

  Eloise frowned. “I did naught but ask Montisfryn to provide what was needed. Tis his service you are in, after all.”

  Slowly, Meg digested that. “Aye. You’re right.” Then she grinned. “You’ll have to excuse our surprise, lady—tis a long while since we’ve had any to take an interest. Her as is at the castle now is good-hearted, but she’s sickly and comes not down from her tower, nor has done for years. And the lord might be as fair and as generous as any knight born, but yet he’s a man.” Her shrug was eloquent. “No more, n’less.”

  Meg’s gaze sharpened. “I saw him standing by that great tent of his, a-watching us last night. Did he get at ye afterward?”

  Eloise raised a brow. “He mentioned the matter, but when I pointed out the facts, he gave permission to have the necessary items bought.”

  “Didn’t like you talking to us, did he?”

  “He now knows tis not a point that should concern him.” Eloise hoped her chilly accents were hint enough.

  “Stood up to him, did ye?”

  Eloise drew in a breath and fixed Meg with a strait look. “I have been my father’s chatelaine for five years, as my mother was before me. I know well what duties you and your girls perform in a castle, as you do in this train. You have your duties; I have mine. Both are necessary to ensure a castle runs smoothly—or so I have always believed.”

  Stunned silence greeted her pronouncement, then Meg cackled richly; her girls grinned. “Heh, lady-mine—I’ve never heard it put so, but to my mind, you’ve the right of it. You take on him at the head of the column, while the rest of us takes care of those behind.”

  Eloise colored; she stopped herself from nodding and drew Jacquenta back. “Don’t forget to look to Sir Eward tomorrow.”

  A chorus of ‘ayes’ answered her.

  “A moment, lady.” Meg leaned over the side of the wagon and lowered her voice. “As I said, I know something of herbs, though my lore is not the same as yours. If there comes a time when you need the sort of help I can give, or if there’s aught else in which we can aid you, you have only to ask. We remember our debts, we do.”

  Eloise held the old woman’s gaze. “Nay, Meg. You owe me no debt. Twas my duty to help.”

  She was about to wheel Jacquenta away when Jill, the babe at her breast, leaned to the wagonside to say, “You’re a saint, lady. Twould have been on my conscience for the rest of my days had my littley died.” Smiling, she looked down, smoothing the soft puffs of brown hair as the babe suckled steadily. “Purgatory shouldn’t be for such little ones.”

  “Purgatory?” Eloise froze. “Do you mean to tell me that child is unbaptized?”

  Even Meg sat up at her tone. “Twould have been done, lady, but there is no priest.”

  “No priest?” A column of this size marching with no priest? What was Montisfryn thinking of?

  “There was a priest as left England with us, lady,” Meg hurriedly explained. “But he was a right sickly little stick, and died of fever just after Caen. As I heard it, the lord decided the knights could use the king’s chaplains until we were back to Montisfryn. Our old priest will doubtless still be there.”

  As she took this in, and all the reasons it should not be rose in her mind, Eloise knew she couldn’t let the matter rest. “Tis not right or proper. I will see to it.”

  She nodded curtly and wheeled Jacquenta.

  As Eloise galloped up the column, Meg and her girls exchanged glances, then Meg shrugged. “You never do know—miracles sometimes do happen. And there’s no denying she’s a powerful one with her tongue.”

  That was, no more and no less, precisely what Alaun was thinking when, some fifteen minutes later, having successfully commandeered his attention, Eloise poured her feelings, complaints, and instructions, in that order, into his unwilling ear.

  She’d found him deep in discussion with his lieutenants over how best to quarter his force. Instead of dropping back and leaving him to the difficult business, she’d brought her mare alongside his stallion and, without the least effort, simply by riding along with her spine stiff and her nose in the air, had intimidated his most senior knights until they couldn’t keep their minds on his words. Concerned, they’d constantly stolen wary glances at her, until, thoroughly disgusted by their susceptibility, he’d dismissed them to consider their suggestions. While he dealt with their distraction.

  When she finally reached the end of her eloquence, he looked at her sternly. “Lady, this matter is not urgent.”

  “Not urgent?” She stared at him. “A babe might have died unbaptized, and you say the matter is not urgent? There are thirty-three such babes, I believe, lord, and each should weigh heavily on your conscience!”

  Outrage poured from her, investing her gestures with sufficient force to be clearly comprehended by all watching them. Exasperated, he growled, “Lady, I have six hundred men under my command. Gloucester is the first town of note we have camped this close to since landing in England. If they run amok through the streets this night, I will have the burghesses down on Edward’s head by the drove. Deciding
how to apportion the watch while allowing time for all to visit the town is no easy task. I need not further distractions at this moment.”

  Their gazes locked; Eloise noted that his eyes were not bright but cloudy, agatelike, aswirl with irritation. She narrowed her gaze; he remained impassive, his jaw squared. She felt his will lock with hers, two very tangible forces…

  Abruptly letting her features ease, she sat back in her saddle. “My pardon, lord. I had not realized you were so beset.”

  She gave him time to deny it, but he was too wily to fall into that hole. There was, however, more than one way to skin a cat—presumably, the same held true for lions. “Nevertheless,” she smoothly went on, “the situation with these children, as you must acknowledge, cannot be allowed to continue.” He shifted; she quickly added, “However, as you are so hard-pressed, and tis not until tomorrow that we pass through Gloucester, perhaps we can postpone discussing the details of the baptisms until this eve?”

  The look he gave her warned her that her plot was transparent.

  Slowly, he exhaled through clenched teeth. “Can it not wait until Montisfryn, lady?”

  She shook her head decisively. “Nay, lord.” She paused, then added, “But we can discuss the details anon.”

  His gaze trapped hers; what emotions now clouded the depths she could not guess. But he nodded. “Aye. Twill be as well if we do.”

  Magnanimous in triumph, she reined Jacquenta back. “I will leave you to your affairs, lord.”

  With a sound very close to a grunt, Alaun let her go.

  Only when he was sure she was safely to his rear did he allow his lips to curve.

  The dispositions that evening were complex in the extreme; by the time he approached his pavilion, night had started to fall. He was famished. And his witch had had time to polish her arguments, and her solution to what she quickly informed him was a grave stain on his religious conscience.

  Relieved that she had, at least, waited until Bilder and the robin had withdrawn before opening fire on him, he allowed her to rattle on, grunting noncommittally every time she paused for a response, but otherwise applying himself to his plate.