Lord of Secrets

by Gillgannon, Mary

  He told himself he was being foolish. Rhosyn had never shown any interest in any man… except him. The thought made him self-conscious. “I’m sorry I intruded. But I wanted to speak to you alone and there are few opportunities.”

  She said nothing, merely regarded him with a closed, distant expression. Although he had been determined to confront her, he found it difficult to choose the right words. She was already upset with him. If he accused her of betraying him to her countrymen, she might become even angrier and refuse to answer. Or she could lie to him and say she had done nothing, and he would never know the truth.

  “Milord, what is it? I’m certain the holy brothers have no wish for us to be alone together. Indeed, they have gone to great efforts to make certain I am hidden away, lest I corrupt any of them with my feminine wickedness.” Her tone was arch.

  “I’m surprised they assigned young Cadoc to be your guide. He seems of an age to be easily corrupted.”

  “He has not taken vows yet, so perhaps they don’t fear for his soul as keenly.”

  “Or, perhaps this is a test for him. To see if he truly wishes to renounce the world and take vows of celibacy.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “There is naught between us. He was merely being kind.”

  Now she was furious with him. Why did he continue to say things that increased the tension between them? He’d wanted to have a calm conversation with her. Instead, he had made her as angry as he’d ever seen her. If only he could start again. Find a way to keep his witless jealousy from taking charge of his tongue.

  He looked away, feeling like a helpless lackwit. His gaze alighted on some herbs hanging on the wall. Compared to Rhosyn’s cottage, here there were far fewer plants hung for drying. Yet, based on the size of the herb garden, they must process many plants into medicine. “Where do they keep the other drying plants?”

  “Milord?” She was clearly startled by the change in conversation.

  He motioned. “In your cottage, there are many herbs hung for drying. Yet here they obviously grow many plants for medicinal uses. Where do they keep them?”

  “There is a storeroom.” She gestured. “Come with me and I will show you.”

  He followed her through an open doorway to a long, narrow room. She went to the window on the end and opened the shutters. As light streamed in, he could see that on one side there was a large wooden frame from which bunches of herbs were hung. On the other side were shelves from the floor to the ceiling. In the middle was a small table. On the shelves were dozens of jars and pots. Rhosyn pulled one out and brought it over. If was shaped like a beehive, with a pattern of decreasing coils to form a narrow opening at the top.

  “They use different sizes and shapes of jars for different things. There are two people who work here, the infirmarian and the brother who assists him. The containers are all in order by the ailment they treat, so it is very easy to find what they need. This is something I can do with my own medicines. I intend to ask Wulfric the potter to make me storage vessels of different sizes and shapes. Although I won’t have the benefit of a book to record the way I organize things. They have such a book here, kept locked away. Cadoc says it has pictures of different herbs, along with descriptions of how they are used. It also lists what shape of bottle a tincture or decoction should be stored in.”

  As she described these things that clearly fascinated her, Rhosyn was relaxing and her anger with him was easing. But that did not mean it could not return in a heartbeat.

  “A book sounds like an excellent idea. But of course, here they have monks who can make such a thing.”

  She nodded. “That is what Cadoc hopes to do. For now, he is only allowed to prepare the parchment and ink. But eventually he will be trained to copy documents and create manuscripts.”

  William’s jealousy resurfaced. She had obviously talked at length with Cadoe. In the short time they were together they had shared their interests and developed a bond. Rhosyn and he had never been that comfortable with each other.

  But Cadoc was Welsh, and they shared the same language. Mayhaps he needed to learn Welsh. Then he would not be so baffled when Rhosyn had conversations in her mother tongue. And he would not always be completely at the mercy of an interpreter.

  “If I wished to learn Welsh, would you teach me?”

  Her eyes widened. “Why would you want to do such a thing?”

  “To better converse with you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And to know what I say to my countrymen? Mayhaps then you would not doubt me and think I have betrayed you.”

  Her accusation stung, and yet she was right. That is what he had thought. Put so baldly, he could see how it must make her feel. As if everything that had passed between them was a lie. The deep kisses. The tender caresses. The way their bodies seemed made for each other.

  Those experiences were real for him. How could he think they were anything different for her? If he thought that, he was implying she was a cold, heartless Jezebel. ’Twas not flattering, and he could not blame her for being angry with him.

  His sense of self-righteous resentment faded away. That was his father’s voice in his head, urging him to think the worst of people, to be critical and wary. But in this situation, his father’s admonishments were wrong. No matter what his brain argued, in his heart he knew he could trust Rhosyn.

  She had many secrets. But he did not believe she had ever lied to him. When she was terrified of him, she had revealed her fear. When she was angry, she had not attempted to hide her annoyance. And when she had melted in his arms and eagerly responded to his kisses and caresses, that had been real as well.

  The memory aroused him. In seconds the atmosphere between them altered. Gone was any plan to confront her. What he wanted to do was make use of this moment they had alone together.

  *

  She could not say when exactly things between her and Fitzhugh shifted. When the cold look in his eyes warmed and the stern set of his jaw relaxed. But one moment the encounter was tense and fraught. A heartbeat later the air between them was charged with irresistible desire. He whispered her name and pulled her into his arms. All her bitter hostility melted away and she forgot this man didn’t trust her. That he was the enemy. That they were in an abbey of holy brothers and what they were doing forbidden and sinful. There was only his skin against her skin. His mouth against hers. Their hands stroking.

  She slid her hands under his tunic, reveling in the feel of his bare chest, warm and firm and enticing. He gave a smothered moan and kissed her more fervently. Hot flesh, alive and supple. Burning need. His mouth a shimmering pool of hunger.

  His eager hands pulled up her skirts and caressed her buttocks. His fingers slid beneath her loincloth and his tender stroking moved near to the wet aching center of her. She gasped, weak with longing. With need.

  She clung to him as he lifted her onto the table and raised her skirts to her waist. He drew back to look at her, his face transformed by passion. Flushed and wild. Desperate. She met his gaze, willing him to love her. To be joined with her.

  His expression changed, became agonized. “Rhosyn, by the saints, we should not do this!”

  She pleaded with him with her eyes, trying to make him understand how much she wanted him. She reached a trembling hand to touch his face, tracing the hard line of his jaw, stroking the fine stubble. Remembering the feel of that rough flesh against her intimate parts as he pleasured her. He must remember, too, for he made a sound in his throat and closed his eyes, his expression ravaged.

  She moved her hands to his chest, and then lower. He stood as still as a statue as her fingers grazed his erection, exploring the heat and size of him beneath his braies. He gave another anguished moan and grasped her hand. His vivid blue gaze pierced her. “Rhosyn? Are you certain? Are you very certain?”

  She nodded, her fingers still touching him.

  He drew her hand up to his chest, then reached to untie his braies. She watched. As he freed his phallus, she knew a moment of
fear. But she returned her gaze to his face, reminding herself how much she wanted this. He pushed her skirts up even more, so he could fondle her. She closed her eyes and gave in to the pleasure.

  His touch both enflamed and satisfied her. She braced herself against the table, dissolving as he eased one of his fingers inside her. Pressure, almost pain. And his finger was so much smaller than his phallus. But then he used his thumb to touch another part of her, a bit of flesh at the top of her cleft. It had been a secret until the day in the loft, when he found the little nub with his lips and tongue and showed her the splendorous, shimmering ecstasy it could arouse.

  Now he worked his magic again. She was lost for long seconds as stars whirled in her brain and her body clenched in the grip of a fierce storm of feeling. Then it passed and she was left weak and quivering. But not altogether satisfied. She wanted something else. It was partly the deep, primal yearning to mate. But she also desired a connection to this man. A linking of their bodies.

  And she wanted to satisfy him. To give him pleasure as he had her. Without that, she would be left bereft and wanting.

  She reached out and touched his phallus, this time with no clothing between her fingers and the delightful feel of warm, silken skin and firm flesh. His proud shaft shifted slightly, responding to her caresses with faint movements. As if it had a life of its own. A tame, tender creature, and yet she could feel its power.

  She teased the soft, lush tip as he gritted his teeth and stood rigid, eyes closed. ’Twas clear she was tormenting him. Yet she could not stop. Would not stop. This was the only way to get him to give her what she wished. To break past his doubts and fears, whatever it was that haunted him and held him back.

  And her vague plan worked. He pushed her hand away and moved her legs farther apart so he could press his phallus against her. But that was not enough. Not what either of them wanted. They struggled, until somehow, with her lifting her hips and him guiding his shaft, he was inside her.

  She closed her eyes, gasping at the sensation. He had barely penetrated her and she felt she was being split apart. He stroked her flesh where they were joined, arousing her until her body yielded. Another inch and another. Then he was deeper and thrusting and she did not care that it hurt, but grabbed his arms and held on as the fierce storm rolled over them, consuming them both. Violent. Intense. Transforming.

  She came to awareness, feeling sweetly, keenly, satisfied. Her face was pressed against his chest and she reveled in the rhythm of his pounding heart and the soft rise and fall of his chest. She could die here. Content. Complete.

  “Rhosyn.” He murmured her name. Touched her face tenderly.

  Slowly, the spell faded. They drew apart. Separate beings once again. And yet, not the same. They would never be the same. They had shared something beautiful and magical.

  At least it was that way for her. He was a man, and everyone knew they did not feel as deeply as women did. They were harsh and hard. At least, Saesneg were like that. She should not expect anything to change between them. She’d gotten what she wished and she should be pleased with that. But of course, she was not. She wanted more.

  *

  He’d done exactly what he’d vowed never to do. He should feel guilty and angry with himself. But he didn’t. He felt triumphant. Happy. Near bursting with delight.

  He’d done something appalling. Sinful. Bedded a woman not his wife. An innocent virgin. And he’d done it in a house of holy brothers. A place that was sacred, set apart from crude urges and base behavior.

  But he did not regret it. Not a bit. It had not felt wrong at all. In fact, nothing in his life had ever felt so right. Although it wasn’t the way he’d imagined it would be when he thought about loving Rhosyn. No bed. In a cramped room used for preparing herbs.

  She was struggling to clean herself using her loincloth. He saw a smear of blood. “Rhosyn, are you… does it hurt?”

  She looked up, her expression serene. “I am a bit tender, but I have no regrets.”

  Never had she appeared so beautiful. No woman had. There was a glow to her skin. A light in her eyes. Her lips were flushed a delicious strawberry hue. He wanted to love her all over again. But nay, next time there must be a bed. Some comforts. Next time he did not want it to be rushed and frantic. Next time. ’Twas all he could think about.

  Yet he must not forget his responsibilities. His duties as lord of Higham. Of course, he already had. They were guests at Llanternam and they’d behaved with shocking disregard for the rules. The holy brothers had insisted on separating them, a man and a woman not his wife or relative. The idea that they’d not only been alone together but actually had sexual congress would horrify them.

  He did not feel guilt over that, but he did over the possibility that she might conceive.

  “I don’t want to leave you. To be parted. But we must.”

  Rhosyn nodded.

  “Can I walk you to… wherever you are staying?”

  “Nay. ’Tis better we go our separate ways. Indeed, ’twould be better if we did not leave together.”

  She was right. But that did not stop the terrible sense of loss that rose up inside him. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a tender kiss. “Rhosyn, my love,” he breathed into her hair. Then they disengaged and she left. William waited a few moments, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest at the loss of her company. He sought out his own accommodations.

  *

  “I thank you for your hospitality.” William inclined his head to the monk who bid them farewell at the gate. The man nodded, his serene expression suggesting all had gone as expected during their visit. Or, perhaps the coin William paid them was enough to cause the holy brothers to turn the other way to whatever their guests did.

  Either way, it was a relief. Although he tried to feel at least a smidgen of guilt about his behavior, he could not. Making love with Rhosyn had been wonderful. The most satisfying thing he had ever done.

  He told himself to stop daydreaming and concentrate on his duties. They still had a long ride ahead. He must be prepared for whatever they encountered.

  He motioned to Rhosyn to bring her horse up next to his, aware of Baldwin watching. There had been no chance to tell the knight he no longer had any doubts about Rhosyn’s loyalty. Although what could he say, how could he explain it? Rhosyn and I are now lovers, so there is naught to worry about? At some point he would have to say something to that effect. Or maybe Baldwin would figure it out. William knew the manner in which he dealt with Rhosyn would be different from now on. Certainly, things between them felt different. As if invisible, silken ropes connected them, and no matter how hard he sought to focus on the things around him, a part of him could think of nothing but her.

  She seemed to have returned to normal. Gone was the warm glow of satisfaction that had suffused her countenance. She was back to being Rhosyn the healer, her face impassive and serious. “Lord Fitzhugh, I think we should take the coastal road to Cardiff. We are less likely to encounter anyone who would question the purpose of our visit. Traders are always traveling along that route.”

  “A sound idea.” They turned their horses to follow the trackway going south.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The scenery changed, the terrain becoming less hilly as they neared the coast. The lands were richer, and as Rhosyn said, more welcoming. The farmers and people in the fishing villages they encountered did not seem distressed to have a party of English knights pass through their lands. Traveling was easier, too, the trackway wider and obviously well-used. And they could smell, and sometimes see, the ocean, which seemed to lighten everyone’s spirits.

  Although William suspected his mood would be buoyant no matter where they were. His mind told him he should feel guilty about making love with Rhosyn, the delight they shared overwhelmed any worries or regrets. It had been nothing like sex with other women. When he bedded them, a part of him had held back and remained wary and detached. With Rhosyn, every aspect of him was engaged: body, heart,
mind and soul.

  He could not tell if she felt the same. Her expression remained serious and impassive, her normal demeanor. He hoped he was maintaining the same control. Even if he did not show it on his face, he felt certain Baldwin knew something important had passed between Rhosyn and him. It must be obvious he had gone from doubting Rhosyn and worrying she had betrayed him, to being very comfortable with her. William suspected Baldwin thought he was a fool. The knight probably believed, like most men, that life was too harsh and dangerous to ever trust your heart.

  But William knew he did trust Rhosyn. He had connected with her in some deep, profound way. He could not go back to treating her like a potential spy and enemy.

  If they had not had the cart with them, they would have reached Cardiff relatively quickly. But the cart continued to slow them down and it was very late when they reached the docks and warehouses of the settlement. Because it was an important trading port, there were accommodations for travelers. William was able to find stabling for the horses and an inn where there were two rooms available.

  He gave Rhosyn the smaller room while he took the larger one to share with the two knights who won the toss of the die. Although he hoped to visit her for lovemaking, her manner was still distant. He told himself she was nervous and unsettled about coming Cardiff. Why would she not be, when something awful had clearly happened to her with Randolph Bellame, the man who held the castle on the hill above the settlement?

  He was a bit uneasy himself about being in Cardiff. But it wasn’t Bellame who worried him but the fact that this was a trading center, with people coming and going, buying goods brought in by sea from all over. Seaport towns were usually rough and potentially violent places. Wanting to protect Rhosyn from possible harassment in the tavern, he suggested she wait in the room and he would bring her food. Then he eagerly joined his men downstairs. He doubted the food in a place like this would be very good, but it would be hot and filling, and that was what he needed.