“And that is?”
“There will be no physicality involved. I will not conduct a physical relationship with you while you are married to another man. I do not share, and I do not take another’s leavings. I either have all of you or none of you. This I must do for my own sake as well as my own moral convictions. Is that clear?”
Surprisingly, she did not flare. She continued to gaze up at him, the deep green eyes red from so much weeping. Then she sighed softly.
“It is,” she whispered. “As painful as it is for me to say, it is abundantly clear. My position will be precarious enough without the added complication of a lover. It would be used against me and you would be pulled into something as dark and deep as you can imagine. But it does not mean that I will not love you with all of my heart until the day I die, Rhys. Nothing will ever change that.”
“You may very well grow to like your husband, you know. You may even grow to love him.”
“And you may fall in love with another woman and leave me altogether.”
He conceded the fact. “Anything is possible. But at the moment, I am only thinking of you. If I cannot have you, then at least I can serve you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Never more strongly about anything.”
She felt strangely happy and strangely crushed all at the same time. Her hands began to move over his head, his scratchy cheeks. Without another word, she lifted herself up and kissed him fully on the lips. It was a sensual kiss, one that sent bolts of excitement through his big body. He pulled her into a crushing embrace and slanted his mouth over hers, suckling her sweet lips for a moment until his tongue demanded entry. Elizabeau’s mouth instinctively opened for him, the new sensations of his wicked kiss filling her brain with a new kind of madness.
It was the second time that their passion came in the grass. Rhys rolled over on his back, taking her off of the damp earth so that she would be spared. His hands were in her hair, moving down the small of her back and feeling her sweet body against him. His hands, as large as trenchers, were moving by pure instinct; as his mouth ravaged her neck, his fingers found their way onto her buttocks and he gripped her tightly, holding her pelvis against his.
Rhys’ thighs were apart and Elizabeau’s legs between them. Though she was a maiden, she knew enough about the ways of men and women to know that Rhys had a very hard arousal that was pressed against her Venus mound. His enormous hands were covering her buttocks, holding her against him as his lips and tongue sucked every last thought from her head. She should have been shocked, embarrassed at his blatant physical reaction to her, but she found that she was not in the least. His excitement fed her, causing her head to swim and her breathing to come in strange gasps. All she knew was that she very much wanted to explore whatever they were feeling between them. She was positive she would never experience such passion, or joy, again.
“Rhys,” she murmured as his lips suckled hers. “Show me how a man and woman respond to each other. Show me everything.”
He growled deep in his throat, his furious kisses easing. “I cannot and you know it,” he said hoarsely. “You cannot go to your prince compromised.”
“But you love me.”
“Aye, I do. I love you enough not to compromise you in that way.”
She suddenly sat up, pushing herself awkwardly off of us chest. Rhys watched her curiously as she settled back on her knees, still between his legs, and looked at him.
“Then show me everything to that point,” she begged softly. “Show me all you know until the point where men and women couple. Please, Rhys. If nothing else, give me that to remember of you. Give me warm memories of a most miraculous moment to keep against my heart in times when I need such comfort.”
Rhys was a strong man, but he wasn’t made of stone. His emotions and lust had the better of him and he knew it. He propped himself up on his elbows.
“Angel, I cannot,” he said sincerely. “God help me, nothing would please me more. You cannot know how much I want to grant your request, truly. In fact, you do not even have to beg; if there were no consequences, I would have already done it. But I do not believe I am strong enough to stop once we got started. You overwhelm me, lady. I am a weak man in your arms.”
Elizabeau stared at him, her heart pounding loudly against her ribs. Without another word, she stood up and yanked her surcoat off. It went flying, followed almost instantaneously by her shift. Before Rhys could get to his feet, she was standing naked in front of him from the waist up. Startled, and struggling not to let himself be devoured by her alluring nakedness, he went to pick up her shift. The moment he retrieved it, however, she was on him.
“Please,” her hot mouth was against his ear, her luscious body against him. “Please touch me, Rhys. Let me feel your touch once and I shall never ask again. Please.”
He was off-balance and fading fast. “ ’Tis too cold out here,” he admonished, trying to get the shift up to cover her nude upper body. “Get dressed, angel. It is not the time or place out here in the wild.”
Her arms remained around his neck and she gazed up at him with a wide-eyed look that was both disappointed and suddenly embarrassed. He waited for her to beg him, as it was not in her nature to immediately concede, but she made no such move to plea. In fact, she folded rather easily. He watched her as she lowered her gaze and put an arm across her full breasts, taking the shift from him all in the same movement.
As she fumbled with the shift, he allowed himself a view of her body. An involuntary shudder rolled through him as his eyes devoured her slender torso and full breasts. Her skin was incredibly flawless and he literally had to clasp his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out to grab her.
When her arms went up to pull the shift over her head, he was confronted by a full frontal view of her sensuous figure. He gradually began to lose all sense of control, especially when the shift got stuck on her head and she was forced to wrangle with it. Suddenly, he couldn’t think any longer. All he could see were her rounded breasts and puckered nipples. They were calling to him, taunting him into madness. His hands were moving towards her before he could stop himself.
Enormous hands encircled her rib cage and suddenly, something hot and wet had clamped down on a distended nipple. The shift was still up around her head and Elizabeau yelped in surprise as Rhys virtually swallowed her up in his massive embrace. But her moment of surprise was quickly replaced by a feeling so powerful, so hot, that it fired through her slender body and caused her knees to give way. By then, Rhys had her pulled up against his torso as his lips suckled her nipple furiously. The shift came away from her head and she gasped with the newness of her passion, her arms going about his head to hold him close against her breast.
She couldn’t even speak; she just held him fast against her breast, feeling his lips upon her and weeping softly with joy. His tongue lapped her sweetness, moving from one breast to the other, clutching her so tightly that he was in danger of crushing her. Elizabeau did nothing more than hold him tightly as he ravaged her. It was all she had ever wanted from him and more than she could have possibly imagined. It was magic.
When his head finally did come up, his expression was glazed with passion. They simply stared at one another, afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell.
“Was that what you had in mind?” he breathed.
She blinked. “I… I do not know what I had in mind. I have never… that is, no one has even come close to….”
She trailed off, unable to finish. She was still panting, her deep green eyes watching his mouth rather than staring into his eyes. He bent over and kissed her, so sweetly that she very nearly swooned. When he pulled back, it was to brush a stray lock of hair from her face and study her intently.
“Now get dressed,” he said quietly. “We must return before someone comes looking for us.”
She nodded unsteadily, pulling her shift back over her head without his assistance. In fact, Rhys simply stood there, watching her hands
shake as she tried to dress herself, knowing that if he were to assist her, she more than likely would end up with less clothing on than before. It was safer for him to keep his hands to himself. But she had trouble cinching up the surcoat and he took pity on her, gently spinning her about to tie the fastens on each side of the garment that secured it to her figure.
When she was dressed, they just looked at each other. Her breathing had resumed its normal rhythm but her eyes held tremendous softness upon him. Rhys didn’t know what to say; he wasn’t thinking straight and he didn’t trust his tongue. After a moment, he smiled weakly for lack of a better response and extended his hand to her. She placed her small, cold hand in the palm and he squeezed it tightly.
They walked in silence the entire way back to Whitebrook.
CHAPTER NINE
Rod de Titouan was the type of man that women went mad for. He had black hair like his older brother and eyes that were the color of the sky. His eyes did not have the intensity of Rhys’ brilliant blue, but they were nonetheless captivating and intelligent. He was tall with a muscular build that was both lean and powerful, and he had a smile that positively lit up the heavens; it was the first thing Elizabeau noticed when she saw a strange, handsome knight standing in the courtyard of Whitebrook. He smiled and all she could see was teeth.
Rod was smiling broadly at his older brother, who walked up to him, grabbed him in a bear hug, and promptly threw him to the ground. Elizabeau gasped as the two of them began to wrestle in the dirt, but it was clear that their antics were not the result of animosity. It was widely apparent that the brothers adored each other as they rolled around, mock-punching and trying to rub each other’s face into the dust.
“You little whelp,” Rhys had his brother by the shoulder, good-naturedly pounding him in the chest. “I should have smothered you while I had the chance.”
Rod was not as strong as his brother but he held his own quite well. In a slick move, he swept his legs sideways and took Rhys’ feet out from underneath him. Rhys landed heavily, with a grunt of pain, and Rod rolled on top of him.
“You’re as big and unwieldy as an ox,” he shot back. “What in the hell are you eating that you would get so big?”
Rhys took him around the neck and flipped him onto his back. Rod groaned as his brother’s substantial weight came down on him.
“Do not make light of my size,” he growled, his hand around Rod’s neck. “I could squash you like a bug and not raise a sweat.”
In spite of herself, knowing full well what Rod’s appearance meant, Elizabeau smiled at the tussling brothers.
“Rhys,” she said softly. “Is this the brother with the extra set of teeth?”
Both brothers looked up at her; Rhys grinned, hearing his words from the story he had told the merchant at the Blond Gazelle.
“I told you he would punch me in the nose if he knew I told such tales about him.”
Before Elizabeau could reply, Rod propped himself up on an elbow. “Extra set of teeth? What nonsense is this?”
Rhys just laughed. Then he stood up and shoved his brother back to the ground when the man tried to rise. Rod tackled his brother’s legs and sent him to the ground and they started wrestling again.
“This,” Rhys grunted as Rod’s foot found its way into a soft spot against his abdomen, “is my brother, Rod, who does not happen to have an extra set of teeth. Rod, this is…,” he grunted again as Rod shoved him in the face to keep him down when he tried to lift his head, “is the Lady Julianna. My wife.”
Rod suddenly stopped struggling with his brother and his eyes flew open wide. Shocked, he looked to the lady, back to his brother, and promptly wrapped his hands around his brother’s neck.
“You married and you did not think to tell me?” he demanded.
Rhys coughed, swept a big fist at his brother’s head, and sent the man crashing to the ground. He stood up, rubbing his neck as his brother shook the stars from his eyes.
“It only just happened,” he said.
Rod blinked several times and slowly pushed himself up from the ground. His blue eyes were focused on Elizabeau.
“Lady du Bois,” he greeted formally, though there was a twinkle in his eye. “Welcome to the family. But you picked the wrong brother to marry.”
“Oh?” Elizabeau lifted an eyebrow. “But Dylan is far too young.”
Rhys snorted; so did Rod. “I did not mean Dylan,” he looked at his snickering brother. “But I can see that my brother has you bewitched. There was never a chance for the rest of us.”
Elizabeau’s smile was fading as she looked at Rhys, wishing at that moment that this ruse was the truth. She wished it with all her heart.
“Nay,” she said softly, her eyes on Rhys. “There never was.”
Rhys caught the tone, the look, and his joviality faded. All he could see was how much she meant what she said. It thrilled him and broke his heart at the same time. Not wanting a recurrence of the earlier tears, he went to take her by the elbow and changed the subject.
“We need to find Uncle Rhett,” he said, leading Elizabeau and his brother towards the house. “He is the one who sent for you.”
Rod brushed the dust off his mail, watching it billow up in clouds. “So he did. Do you know why? All he said was that it was of great importance.”
“You’ll have to ask him,” Rhys said casually. Then he changed the subject. “How is grandfather, by the way?”
“As cantankerous as ever.”
Rhys didn’t reply; they were at the door and he opened it for Elizabeau, shoving Rod out of the way when his brother tried to enter after her. Rod just grinned and followed his brother’s enormous form into the warm, dark hall.
Rhett was sitting in his familiar spot at the table near the hearth. He always sat there to warm his old bones. After Rod was hugged by his mother, his sister and younger brother, he moved to his uncle and received a strong handshake and a clap on the back. Elizabeau stood next to Rhys, watching Rod work the room; he was very congenial, his smile very easy and his laugh quick. He had an outgoing personality and a very charming way about him. Elizabeau could see that the man probably had more than his share of admirers, for he was quite charismatic to accompany his stunning good looks.
As Rod conversed with Rhett, Elizabeau’s gaze moved up to Rhys. He was listening to the conversation between his brother and his uncle, absorbing every word that was said. Elizabeau studied his strong profile; whereas Rod was a strikingly handsome man, Rhys had that and more. The added element with Rhys was a smoldering sensuality just below the surface that lingered in those brilliant blue eyes. He could turn knees to mush with just a glance or set hearts to fluttering with a look. It occurred to Elizabeau that she probably wasn’t the only lady who had succumbed to Rhys’ charms; she could, in fact, hardly blame them. But she had been the lucky one. He returned the favor.
Over at the table, Rhett was demanding that his nephew help him to stand. Elizabeau and Rhys followed as Rhett took Rod’s arm and walked the man back out into the courtyard. He kept up a running conversation, chatting about the weather, some mischief he and his brother, Berwyn, got into when they were young, and anything else that came to mind. Only when the door to the manse closed and they were well out into the courtyard did he stop chattering. Now they could speak in private.
He faced his younger nephew. “Now,” he said, his voice low. “You are surely wondering why I sent for you. Let me assure you that this is nothing to be trifled with. It is a matter of the greatest importance.”
Rhys knew what his uncle was going to say and, until a few minutes ago, had been in full agreement. Now he was not.
“Rod,” he went to stand next to Rhett, fixing his brother in the eye. “Lady Julianna is not my wife. And her name is not Julianna.”
Rod’s dark eyebrows lifted; he folded his arms over his chest, an interested and bemused look on his face. “Is that so?” he looked at Elizabeau and winked. “So there is hope for me after all.”
&
nbsp; Rhett rolled his eyes and growled but Rhys did not react. He continued. “This is the Lady Elizabeau Treveighan. Her father is Geoffrey of Brittany. Her half-brother is Arthur of Brittany. Arthur was murdered in Paris two weeks ago. The Lady Elizabeau is his successor. We must keep her alive until she can marry a Teutonic prince for the purpose of wresting the throne away from John.”
Rod just looked at him. Then he burst out laughing. “A good story, brother. You almost had me believing it.”
Rhett shook his head before Rhys could reply. “Idiot,” the old man snapped softly. “He is telling the truth. This woman is the next queen of England.”
Rod snorted a moment or two longer, but the expression on both Rhys’ and Rhett’s face slowed his humor. Then he looked at Elizabeau, who gazed back at him quite seriously. It began to occur to him that they were not fooling him. Astonishment overtook his manner.
“Are you serious?” he hissed, uncrossing his arms. “If that is true, then what in the world is she doing here?”
“I am her escort,” Rhys said quietly. “We’ve spent the better part of the last two weeks dodging assassins. De Lohr ordered me to take her to Whitebrook, the least obvious place any of the king’s murderers would look. I am to escort her to Ogmore Castle by the end of the week so that she may rendezvous with her prince.”
Rod stared at Elizabeau as if just seeing her for the first time. He was, for a moment, speechless.
“So why did you send for me?” he turned back to his brother. “What would you have me do?”
Rhett opened his mouth but Rhys stopped him. “You and I will escort the lady to Ogmore,” he said quietly. “I fear that I cannot do this alone. I need help. This is a job for an entire army or a pair of men, but it is too overwhelming for just one. I need your sword, Rod.”
Rhett looked at his nephew with shock but said nothing; this was Rhys’ mission and if he had changed his mind and decided to escort the lady on to Ogmore, then he would not dispute him no matter how bad the decision appeared to him. Knowing what he knew, seeing all he had over the past several days, told him that Rhys needed to let Rod take the lady on alone. But Rhys wasn’t thinking with his head; he was thinking with his heart, a sometimes deadly mistake.
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