by North, Evie
“What does Stephen intend to do with Henry Plantagenet,” she said to distract him, and herself.
“Capture him. Stephen has a son and heir too. He wants Eustace to be the king of England after him, not Henry.”
In Annalise’s opinion Eustace was hardly kingly material, but she let the curl of her lip speak for her.
Fitzallen stepped closer, crowding her, his eyes boring into hers. “Where is he, lady? I need to know.”
Annalise turned away, drawing her sword at the same time. It was smaller than a man’s, delicately made, and frighteningly sharp. She held it before her, tip pointed in the direction of Fitzallen’s throat. “I think you should go now. You have stayed long enough.”
“Oh I don’t think so.” Slowly, eyes on hers, he drew his own weapon from its scabbard, the sword enormous in comparison to hers. But Annalise refused to be intimidated. She knew she was a good fighter, she had worked hard with the captain of her guard, and he had shown her that skill and speed were more important than size. She was confident she could defeat Fitzallen.
They moved about each other, cautious as cats, and then Annalise darted toward him, her sword swishing through the air. Fitzallen held up his arm and the chain mail repelled the blow. He feted with his own sword, but Annalise moved nimbly aside. She waited a moment, and then ducked in under his arm, aiming at his belly.
Did she mean to hurt him? No. She merely wanted to show him she was able to best him in a fight, to gain his respect.
But a moment later she found herself a captive, his arm tight about her waist as he held her against his big body, his other hand twisting her wrist painfully until her sword clattered to the floor.
“Let me go,” she hissed furiously, struggling, but he was too strong.
“Why, when you feel so very nice?” he mocked, bending to kiss the arch of her neck.
“Because you are bruising me!”
She expected him to mock her further, squeeze her tighter, what she didn’t expect was for him to release her instantly. She spun about, not trusting him without her eyes firmly on him, and found him frowning. His gaze swept over her, as if searching for injury, and then he bowed his head in a gesture that was almost humble.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Annalise.”
She reached down for her sword, slipping it back into its scabbard, just as the servants arrived with food and wine. He looked to her over their heads, raising his eyebrows questioning. She understood he was wondering whether he was still leaving or whether he could stay.
Annalise sighed. “You may refresh yourself, Lord Fitzallen. I will arrange for a bath and a room for you, as well as accommodation for your men. But in the morning you will leave.”
“Will I see you again?” he asked softly.
Annalise lifted her head proudly. “No. And I do not know where Henry is, my lord. I spoke truthfully there.”
But as she turned away a treacherous voice was whispering in her head: He will be here tonight. Long enough for you to go to his bed and sate your senses.
All the same, Annalise remained firm in her resolve until she heard the rooster crowing at dawn. And then suddenly she was panicking, thinking it was too late, and on swift feet she ran to his room.
He was already up, seated on the bed, yawning and stretching. He jumped up in surprise at her hasty entrance, and then smiled when she slid the bolt across the door.
“You did not bring your sword this time, lady.”
“I do not want to fight you, Fitzallen.”
A moment later she was in his arms, their mouths fused, hands hurrying to remove clothing.
He lifted her against the wall, and she clung to him, thighs about his waist, her arms entwined about his neck. She was so wet he slid inside her easily, her own weight bringing her down on his cock so that he was deep inside her, almost painfully deep.
Annalise revelled in it. Her hips moved with his, her body pressing closer and closer, until it was as if their skin melded together. Never had a man made her feel like this, never had she met a man who could be her match in this carnal sport.
Why, oh why, did he have to be Stephen’s man?
He clasped her buttocks, lifting and lowering her, his mouth wet and hot on her breast, his tongue teasing her nipple. She reached down to pull at the other nipple, arching her back, before lowering her own mouth to his shoulder, her tongue tasting the skin of his throat and then his jaw.
He groaned as her lips finally found his, and then they were both caught up in the tide of their climax.
For a time they could do nothing but lean against the wall, panting, too weak to move, and then he carried her, stumbling, to the bed and collapsed upon it.
Annalise stretched like a cat, then wound her leg about his, her hands linked about his neck. She opened her mouth to say: Don’t go. And then froze. He was her enemy. She could not ask him to stay with her, and even if she did he would not.
Fitzallen was watching her, and then he smiled, and she knew he’d read her mind.
“Will you be at court again soon, lady?”
Annalise swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”
“Then I will not say goodbye, not this time.”
“No, not this time,” she whispered, and stretched up to kiss him again.
***
Everyone knew that Henry had come to see Stephen. The court was abuzz, and Annalise peered over the shoulders of those in front of her, hoping for a glimpse of Matilda’s son. He was supposed to be handsome. And clever. He had come to make a treaty with Stephen, to put a stop to the constant fighting. He wanted Stephen to make him heir.
And the king had agreed!
She felt light-headed with relief. The wars were over, and finally they would have peace. No more taking sides, no more plotting, no more spying. Fitzallen must be present. He could not be anywhere else on such an auspicious day. But she was yet to see him, and she was beginning to worry that after all he must not be here.
She missed him. He was the only man who would not leave her in peace, and at night she dreamt of him constantly, waking with an aching, unsatisfied body and a longing that would not go away. She longed for him with an anguish that was all consuming.
Could she have fallen in love with him?
But there was something disturbing she had learned since she arrived. Fitzallen, so rumour would have it, was to be betrothed. A young woman who was Stephen’s ward, who would bring him wealth and power. She could hardly believe it, she did not want to believe it, but if he was to be married then it was even more important that she find him. One more night together, one more passionate night in her bed. She would still miss him and long for him, but perhaps if she lay with him often enough on that one night then she could finally get him out of her blood.
Annalise heard herself give a little sob, and put a hand to her lips, angry with herself for showing her emotions. Fitzallen clearly did not care for her, not if he would go off and marry another woman. Hadn’t he said he would never marry because he had never found the woman who matched him perfectly?
The awful, terrifying thing was that she now knew she was the woman for him. She wanted him in her bed always, and because she had not told him—was unable to tell him—they were enemies after all—it was too late.
Someone was standing behind her.
She could feel the heat of his big body, and she could smell his clean male scent.
Fitzallen.
Annalise made her face indifferent, and planted a smile on her lips before she turned to face him. She almost made a misstep when she saw how finely he was dressed with jewels gleaming on his tunic and the belt that held his scabbard. “You are very elegant, Lord Fitzallen,” she said, finding her voice, mocking him gently.
“It is an important occasion,” he reminded her softly. His eyes ate her up, and she felt herself growing warm and languid, wanting him.
“We will be ruled by one king,” she agreed. “Peace at last, my lord.”
> Fitzallen gave her a sombre look. “No more wars, my lady. No more taking sides. We can be united.”
Annalise tried to read the expression in his eyes but gave up. If she didn’t have him soon she would scream, and when she had him she would scream too. The thought made her smile widen.
“Perhaps we should discuss these matters in private, my lord,” she suggested, dropping her voice, resting her fingers on his arm.
He sighed.
She looked up at him, suddenly anxious.
“I am to be betrothed, Annalise.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What does that matter? I have been so looking forward to . . . that is, I need to speak to you. Urgently.”
“I thought you would care, a little.”
He looked at her slyly, as if he knew how shocked and upset she would be, and that alone made her swallow her grief and play at disinterest.
She shrugged a shoulder. “Why should I care? We are enemies, or were. You have your life and I have mine. I wish you well, you and your wife, Fitzallen.”
Her pride would have made her walk away then, but he went after her and caught her arm, tugging her along until they could slip through a door behind the arras. The alcove was empty.
“I don’t think you wish me well at all,” he said, crowding her into the corner until his body was almost pressing to hers.
Annalise clenched her fists at her sides to stop herself from striking him, or throwing herself into his arms. “Very well then, I don’t wish you well. I hope you both die a dreadful death, preferably on your wedding night.”
He laughed softly, and reached to grasp her waist, pulling her hard against him. She leaned back, pushing her flattened palms against his chest, but it was useless. It was always useless to resist Fitzallen, mainly because she did not want to.
“I have thought of you often,” he admitted, and for once the confidence left him and he seemed almost vulnerable before her. His eyes searched hers. “You are a woman like no other, Annalise.”
“You should have thought of that before you agreed to this betrothal,” she retorted.
“I did think of it.”
He bent his head to kiss her, his mouth warm and almost tender on hers. She promptly bit his lip, making him curse. He kissed her harder, clasping her wrists in one of his big hands and lifting them above her head, pinioning her against the wall. She groaned, writhing against him, wanting him so much.
Loving him so much.
With his other hand he was caressing her breasts through her fine silk gown, while his thigh pressed between hers, opening her legs to him. A moment later he was hitching up her skirts, and his fingers were finding the hot, damp heat of her.
“We cannot. Here.” She gasped, moving against his touch.
“But I can give you the pleasure you want,” he murmured against her mouth. A moment later he was finding that place inside her, his fingers circling it, making her body jerk with mindless bliss.
When she was limp and compliant he swept her into his arms, and sat down upon a stone bench, setting her onto his lap. She rested, her head against his shoulder, content to breathe in his scent and feel his strength about her.
“I could marry you, Annalise,” he said in a cool, emotionless voice.
A tingle went through her.
“We are no longer enemies. The king would grant my request; he is no monster, and he is fond of me. I thought to become betrothed to his ward to please him, but I find I would much rather please myself.”
Annalise looked up at him through her lashes.
“Do you mean what you say? I will not be tricked or lied to, Fitzallen.”
“And I will not be played false, if your Matilda suddenly decides she needs your services again,” he said, his eyes narrowing in anger.
He was jealous.
She reached to stroke his cheek. “There has been no one since you, my lord. I could not bear the thought of it. And yes,” her mouth curving in a smile, “I will marry you.”
He was kissing her thoroughly when suddenly the arras was pulled back. Fitzallen jumped up, putting Annalise behind him, but the next moment he was laughing and slapping the backs of several men just as big and powerful as he.
Peeping around his shoulder, Annalise stared at them. Fitzallen spoke their names to her—there was the one they called Wolf, then Alric, Grendell and Roget.
“What are you doing hiding in here?” Roget asked. “As if we don’t know. You will be a married man soon enough.”
Fitzallen grimaced. “As to that, I will need to see the king. I have a request of him.”
Taking Annalise’s hand in his, he pulled her through the towering group, out into the noisy crowd. There was a cluster of four women, and the four men who followed claimed one of them each. Annalise could see from their faces that they were all in love, and all happy.
Was this what she could look forward to? A life forever in Fitzallen’s arms? A life truly loved and loving?
But Annalise knew that wasn’t entirely possible. There would still be battles needing to be fought, to keep the peace, and there would be long weeks without Fitzallen while he rode to the far corners of the kingdom, but he would come back to her. He would always come back.
“Hurry up,” he was calling over his shoulder to his friends, “I need your support!”
They strode after him, their wives by their sides, to find King Stephen.
The king looked ill and tired. These years of war had not been kind to him, and seeing the young and fit Henry Plantagenet across the room, Annalise thought it wouldn’t be long until it was he who was ruling the kingdom.
“Fitzallen!” the king smiled warmly. His faded blue eyes slid to the big men standing behind her. “And my boys, how marvellous it is to see you all here together, and taking up your rightful places. Grendell has his land back in his hands again as well as the Lady Melina, and Alric has Lady Isabella, his one and only love. Wolf has Kendall Castle from his treacherous uncle, and Juliet to share it with him, and Roget has the love of the Lady Rowena, and the safe care of her lands. I am truly glad for all of you.”
His gaze slid back to Fitzallen. “And you, my friend. Soon you will marry my ward. Will that make you content?”
The knowing look in the king’s eyes took Annalise by surprise, and when he smiled at her, she understood he already knew why they were here before him.
“Lady Annalise is the one I want to marry, Sir,” Fitzallen said. “I cannot marry another. I was a fool to think I could. Please, give us your blessing. As you and your cousin are now united, then let us be the symbol of that unity.”
Stephen searched his face, and then he nodded. “So be it.”
There was more back slapping, and hugs and kisses by the women, and it seemed an eternity before Annalise could escape with her future husband to the privacy of her room. Breathlessly, she went into his arms.
“This seems to have happened very suddenly,” she said, caught in a moment of doubt. Was this what she wanted? What he wanted? “Marriage?” she said aloud. “I have been a widow so long, and you have been a bachelor so long. What if we fight all day long?”
“Then we will make love all night long,” he retorted. “The kingdom is at peace, and so are we, Annalise. We should thank God on our bended knees that we have this chance to be together with everyone’s blessing.”
He was right, of course he was. She took his hand in hers, leading him toward the bed. “We should celebrate,” she said, with a catlike smile.
He wrapped her in his arms. “I have finally found the perfect woman,” he murmured, nuzzling her throat, which she arched back to give him better access.
“And I the perfect man,” she whispered.
He was peeling off her rich court clothing, revealing the woman beneath. His woman. Annalise gasped as he knelt before her, his mouth finding her secret places, his tongue delving deep into her pussy. The heat was building, the passion was rising, and when he pulled away just before she came, she whimpered i
n dismay.
“Fitzallen, I’ve waited so long . . .”
“I know,” he groaned, “but I want you to come with me inside you. I want to look into your eyes, Annalise.”
And that was exactly what he did.
