Zared found all the questions annoying, but she answered them as best she could, for the answers seemed to put Margaret in a better mood.
At last all was ready. "Do I… do I look all right?" Zared asked, smoothing down the gold of the dress. The silk that had been used in the weaving of the gown was red, and the red-gold of the gown combined with Zared's fair skin, her reddish hair, and the glow of the fire to make her a breathtaking sight.
Margaret looked at her young mistress and smiled. She didn't know why she had gone to the old witch-woman's place, but she was convinced that it was not to rid herself of another man's child. (All the castlefolk and half the villagers knew that his lordship had not slept with his young wife since their marriage.)
"You are beautiful," Margaret said.
"I do not look like a boy?"
Margaret could only laugh at that. Zared's hair was pulled back and draped in a sheer white sheath, and there were rubies along her forehead. "You could not look less like a boy." On impulse, because she was so much older and because it was easy to tell that Zared had no idea what was wrong and what was right for servants to do, Margaret kissed her young charge's cheek, then smiled at her and left the room.
A few minutes later Tearle knocked and entered her room. She could instantly see that he was in a bad mood. "What has happened?" she asked, afraid that it had to do with her brothers.
He sat down heavily on a chair before the fire. "My horse stumbled and threw me in a bog. One of my men knocked me down in sword practice, and I seem to have a rash growing on the right side of my body. And when I came in I was told that I could not have supper at a table but must go to your room. What do you want from me, Zared? To tell me that your brothers have come for me? It would be a fitting end to an ugly day."
Her first impulse was to tell him what he could do with his dinner, but instead she smiled. "I am wearing your mother's gown."
He turned as though he were glancing over his shoulder, but he didn't really look at her. He gave an enormous yawn. "Yes, so you are." He looked at the table laden with food. "Call someone and tell them to serve me. I am hungry and I am tired."
"I will serve you," Zared said quickly. "We need no one with us."
She went to the table where the food was, lifted the silver covers, and began filling a silver plate for him. When it was heaping she handed it to him, then took a seat on a stool at his feet.
He used his spoon to shovel in a large mouthful of carrots and then talked to her, his mouth full. "What is it you want?" He pointed at her with his spoon.
"I want nothing. I am not used to all the servants, and I wanted to be away from them."
"You never could lie." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Have you had some message from your brothers? Is that why you went to the witch?"
Her eyes widened.
"You will find that my people are loyal to me. They will tell me all that you do."
"I have not had a message from my brothers. I did not invite you here for talk of war."
"Ah, but what else can you talk of? What other reason would you have for visiting the witch?" He put his plate in his lap, and his voice lowered. "She rids women of unwanted children."
Zared gave him a look of disgust. "It is not possible that I carry a man's child, if that is what is in your mind."
"Not even Colbrand's?"
"You are a hateful man," she said, rising from her stool.
"I am a Howard. How do I know what you have done with another man? You seemed to have found the man more than desirable. You thought him the strongest, bravest, most handsome knight in all of England."
"You downed him," she said, some exasperation in his voice. "You downed all the men at the Marshall tournament."
At that Tearle leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. "Are you saying that Colbrand is not the best knight in all of England?"
She realized then that he had been teasing her. "You are a dreadful man. Are you never serious?"
He held out his empty plate. "I am serious about needing my bed. I have never been so tired in my life." He stood up and gave a great stretch and another yawn. "There is nothing tonight that could keep me from my bed. Were the king himself to come to me, I would not tarry from it."
Zared did not want to have to use the witch's potion. She wanted to think that she herself had enticed her husband to her bed. "You did not say if you liked your mother's gown."
He was yawning again. "I have always liked it. She wore it in France. Even the king remarked on it."
"It is heavy. Feel the skirt."
He stretched some more. "I have felt cloth of gold often, as well as cloth of silver. I have even removed a few of those gowns from court women." He scratched at his side. "I must get to bed. I find that my clothes are beginning to itch. Perhaps it is just my great desire to get them off."
She didn't know what to do to get him to look at her. The hard corset inside the dress pushed her breasts so flat that they ached, but they swelled above the gown's neck as though they were overripe melons. As far as she could tell, he hadn't yet seen them.
"Your mother's corset hurts me," she said. "I do not think your mother had as much to fill the dress as I have." She held her breath to see what he would say to that remark.
"I do not remember looking at my mother in that way," he said stiffly, as though she had offended him.
"I did not mean—"
"Yes, yes, apology accepted. Now, are you sure that there was nothing that you had to say to me, other than telling me that my mother was an ugly creature?"
"I did not say—" She cut herself off and turned away from him. "Oh, go on, go to bed. It no longer matters what I wanted. You are tired, and you must have your rest."
She expected to hear the door open and close, but when it did not she turned to look at him. "Go on, I will keep you no longer."
He sat back down in the chair. "You are upset about something. Has the message from the king come so soon? Is that why you have dressed in my mother's best gown and planned this dinner? You want to celebrate the good news?"
"I have heard nothing from anyone. I have not heard from my brothers, or from the king, or from the Peregrine ghost, for that matter. No one has talked to me all day."
He smiled at her in a knowing way. "Ah, so that is it. You desire company. Come, then, talk. I will try to stay awake long enough to listen."
She turned away from him. "I had a purpose when you came, but now I do not know what it was," she muttered.
He was so silent from behind her that she turned to look at him. His head was back against the chair, and he was asleep. She felt anger when she looked at him, then she felt a bit like crying. Why were other women so able to entice men when she was not?
She walked to him and put her hand on his cheek. He was better-looking than her brothers, better-looking than Colbrand—in fact, better-looking than any man in the world.
He awoke with a start. "I was dreaming," he said.
She smiled at him. "What were you dreaming?"
"That I was at court and Lady Catherine was coming to my room. I think it must be the gown. She had a blue cloth-of-gold gown."
Zared stiffened and moved away from him. "I would like for you to leave now."
He stood and ran his hand over his eyes. "I must go to my room and finish this dream." But before he left he walked to the mantel and lifted a fine silver goblet. It was filled with ale, and there were herbs floating on top.
"I am dying of thirst," he said before he downed the entire drink.
"Do not drink that!" Zared shouted.
Tearle finished the drink, then looked at her in surprise. "You would deny me something to drink when I am so thirsty? Come now, I would have thought more of a Peregrine, not to mention a woman who is my wife." He paused. "Or, as you shouted at my men, one who is not my wife. Why are you looking at me so strangely?"
"I am not looking at you at all," she said softly, but she was looking at him so intently that she didn't even blin
k.
He gave another little stretch. "I must go now. It's time for bed for me." He suppressed a yawn, then leaned over and chastely kissed her forehead. "My mother's gown looks good on you. I daresay that she did not look any better in it than you. Now you really must excuse me."
He turned away toward the door, Zared's eyes following him. He had drunk the potion, yet nothing had happened! Tomorrow, she thought, she would go to the witch and demand her coin back. She would not pay for a useless spell.
It was as Tearle put his hand on the door latch that he paused. For a long moment he didn't move. Then slowly, very slowly, he turned to look at her. His eyes were wide, as though he'd had some great shock. For a moment he looked at her face, his eyes dropping to her lips, then his eyes fell to the floor, and he looked from her hidden feet up to her face, his eyes lingering a long time on her exposed bosom.
Out of instinct Zared put her hand to her bosom and took a step backward. Tearle stepped toward her, his eyes hot and full of longing.
Zared looked at him, and immediately her heart began pounding. That was how she'd wanted him to look at her. That was why she had bought the potion. But she began to feel afraid. He had always been kind and gentle with her, but would the potion turn him into a monster? Would it make him into someone that he was not?
She backed away from him until she was pressed against the bed. He was stalking her slowly, like a large animal going after its prey and knowing that the prey was cornered.
"I… I think that…"
She couldn't finish as he reached her and put his hand on the side of her face. "I have never seen you this beautiful," he whispered. "I have never seen any woman as desirable as you. Not in all the courts of France or Italy or England have I seen another woman to rival you. I desire you above all others."
She looked up at him and blinked. Those were the words she had wanted to hear, the words that she had purchased when she bought the love potion.
Very gently he kissed her lips, and Zared felt her knees weaken. He caught her about the waist and lifted her to the bed, where he lay her gently on the coverlet. He stretched out beside her and kissed her face and neck and then moved to her breasts, exposed above the gown. Zared closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation for a moment, then looked down at his hair. He had such thick, dark hair. She ran her fingers through it.
He leaned on his elbow and looked down at her, his hands running over the skin of her chest, playing along the swell of her breasts. "I do not seem able to help myself. It is as though some outside force has taken over my body. I must have you or I will die."
He pushed her to her stomach and began to unlace the back of her gown, his fingers slipping inside to touch her skin through her linen undergarment. Zared closed her eyes at the sensation. It was what she had wanted for so long. Too bad that she'd had to resort to using a love potion to make him desire her.
Easily and with more knowledge than Zared wanted to think that he had he unfastened her gown, then expertly slipped it off over her head. She was wearing only her undergarments, and he made quick work of relieving her of them.
It wasn't long before she was unclothed, wearing only her stockings, fastened at her knees with pretty ribbon garters. For a long moment Tearle lay beside her and looked at her, then he sat up and looked at her some more until she began to become anxious.
"I do not please you?"
"I have never seen a woman such as you," he said softly, and he meant it. He had seen many women unclothed before, but with the exception of a few peasant girls, they had lived soft lives. Zared's life had not been soft. From the time she could walk she had carried a sword and had been taught how to use it. She had worn demi-armor. She had learned to ride before she could walk. All her training had given her a body of firm, hard muscle. There was no fat on her body except for her soft, rather large breasts.
Zared was not experienced enough with men to know that the way he was staring at her was with lust. She started to roll away from him, but he caught her and pulled her back.
He looked at her as one might look at an unknown species of animal, and as he looked his eyes grew hotter and hotter.
"Zared," he whispered, and he moved his body on top of hers and began to kiss her with an ardor she had never felt before.
She was by nature an enthusiastic person, and she began to kiss him back with passion. He didn't so much as break the contact of their mouths as he began to fling his clothes off. She knew that he was a man who cared about his clothing, and she almost laughed when she heard a seam rip. But tearing cloth didn't slow him down in his urgency to get out of his clothes.
His mouth moved down to fasten onto her breast, and Zared stiffened in surprise, then seemed to melt in desire. It was better than she had imagined, and she buried her hands in his hair as she arched her back so that he could have better access to her body.
"You are the loveliest woman I have ever seen. Had I known what was under your clothes I would have torn them from you sooner," he said as his mouth moved down to her stomach.
It was those words that made Zared open her eyes. He would not have torn her clothes from her body because he had not drunk the potion. The potion was what was making him desire her. It was not Zared he wanted. His desire was caused by the spell of the witch.
She pushed at him. "Let me up! Release me!"
She pushed and pushed at him, but he did not move. He kept kissing and nibbling at her hips, moving down to her legs. Zared lifted her leg, put her foot on his shoulder, and gave him as hard a shove as she could manage.
Dazed, befuddled, Tearle looked at her as she moved to the far corner of the bed. "I have hurt you?"
"You do not want me."
Tearle was too stupefied to understand her words. He could not take his eyes off her body: those legs, that stomach with the two muscles running down the sides of it. She looked like a woman, but she also looked like the sleekest racing animal in the world. He reached for her.
Zared eluded his hands. "It is not me you desire. You are under the spell of a witch."
"Aye, that I am," he said, leering at her. His palms were beginning to itch from wanting to touch her. In another moment of looking at her he would not be able to control himself; the man in him would flee, and he would become the animal that he felt like.
When he lunged at her again Zared left the bed and went to stand behind the post at the corner of the bed. "You do not want me. You have never wanted me. It is a trick. Go to your Lady Catherine."
Now that her body was hidden behind the curtains of the bed his mind cleared a bit, at least enough to begin to understand her. "I do not desire you?" He reached out a hand to touch her. "I will show you how much I desire you."
"No!" She moved out of his reach and grabbed a pillow from the window seat, making an attempt to hide her nudity. But the pillow only tantalized him more, leaving her legs bare as well as the swell of her breasts at the sides.
Tearle knew enough about women to know that words were going to be needed before he could get what he wanted. "Do you wish me to tell you that I love you?" he asked. "Do you wish me to make up a poem to your beauty?" At that point he would have done anything to get her to come back to the bed. His voice lowered. "Do you wish me to swear to give my brother's estates to your brother?"
At that Zared sat down on the window seat, her face a study in dejection. The potion was indeed a powerful one if it would make him agree to such a thing. "I have done a dishonorable thing," she said.
Tearle sat up straight on the bed. "If it is another man, I will kill him. No man will have what is mine."
"Will you stop talking?" she half shouted. "Do you not understand that what you are saying is not what you mean? It is the witch's brew that is talking."
Tearle's concentration was on her body, so he had difficulty understanding what she was saying. "You are a witch," he murmured, and he got off the bed to go to her.
Zared jumped off the window seat and ran to the other side of the room. On
the floor in an untidy heap were his clothes, and on top was his thin-bladed, jeweled-handled knife. She picked it up and held it as though to protect herself. "Do not come closer to me," she said.
There were times when a man could cry, he thought. Her red hair was hanging down her back and falling across one shoulder. The knife somehow added to her beauty. "Zared, I will give you anything. Tell me what it is you desire. Jewels? Estates? What do you want?"
Zared looked at him. He wore not a stitch, and he looked even better without clothes than in them. She wanted him to hold her, to touch her, but she did not want him to do so only under a spell. She tossed the knife on top of his clothes. Even when he was driven by the uncontrollable lust of a witch's spell he was not a violent man. He still was not forcing her to lie with him.
Going to the witch had not been an honorable action on her part, but she would save her honor by fulfilling her part of the spell. She walked past him, not touching him, and climbed onto the bed. She lay rigid, her hands at her side, her legs held closely together. She looked up at the underside of the canopy. "I am yours to do with as you will," she said regally.
Tearle wouldn't have thought that his passion could have been killed, but it was. Some men found unwilling women desirable, but he did not. He stood by the side of the bed and glared down at her. "You are the most infuriating woman. You desire me so much that you are willing to risk poisoning me with some filthy witch's potion, yet when I touch you you draw a knife on me. How am I to understand this?" He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Would that someone would explain women to me. Or is it just my wife I am unable to understand?"
Zared turned to look at him. "You know of the potion?"
He grimaced, then bent and fumbled among his clothes and withdrew a small bag, which he tossed on the bed. "There is your potion."
Zared turned on her side and picked up the bag. "I put the potion in the mug of ale. This cannot be it."
"I was not going to drink that filth. For all I knew it contained roasted frogs' eyes. Or worse."
Zared opened the little bag, looked inside, and sniffed. The contents smelled as awful as she remembered. She looked back up at Tearle. "If this is the potion I paid the witch for, then what did you drink?"
The Conquest Page 20
