Archangel (39 page)

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked gently.

Her smile faded completely. “I am not entirely sure,” she said honestly. “I know that Lord de Lara keeps the gates open and people come in and out of Trelystan all of the time. I suppose the escort entered just like any other party.  I truly do not know. All I know is that they were suddenly standing there as I crossed through the bailey.”

He pondered that explanation a moment. “How is it that only you and Romney managed to go with them?”

She shrugged. “As we ran for the keep, I was captured.  Orin and Brendt took Lacy up to our chamber and bolted the door, but Romney stayed behind to protect me. They captured him, too. The only reason they were able to take us from Trelystan was because they held a knife to my throat and threatened to kill me if Lord de Lara showed any resistance.”

It all made a great deal of sense to him now. He thought of Romney standing against armed knights, attempting to protect his mother, and it made him proud and sick at the same time. His jaw ticked as he dried off his chest and arms, looking between his task and Emberley’s rosy face.

“That is how you got that gash on your neck,” he rumbled.

She nodded, hearing the hazard in his tone. “Aye,” she admitted. “I tried to fight back and ended up goring myself on the tip of the knife.”

He sighed heavily. “But that is the only injury you received? You are well otherwise?”

“I am well.”

“And the baby is well?”

She rubbed her belly. “He is.”

He tossed the towel aside and went to the bed, yanking back the coverlet.  He didn’t want to talk about her abduction from Trelystan anymore because he could feel himself growing increasingly upset over it. He didn’t want to spend the first night with her in weeks upset over something that was a waste of effort.  Focusing on the comfortable mattress before him, he waved her over.

“Come to bed now,” he told her. “We will speak more of this tomorrow.”

She obediently rose from the stool, feeling that her hair was mostly dry and setting the comb down on the table as she moved to the bed.  In silence, she braided her hair into a thick single braid and removed the yellow robe, clad only in the lamb’s wool sheath. 

Emberley climbed onto the mattress and Gart climbed in after her. He pulled the coverlet up around them, enclosing her within his powerful arms.  The moment Emberley felt his flesh against hers, the safety of his embrace, the tears began to come.  

She snuggled up against him as close as she could go, settling in, feeling his body envelope her.  Gart’s hand was against her face, cradling the side of her head, and he could feel the warm tears drip onto his flesh.

“What is wrong, kitten?” he kissed the side of her head. “Why do you weep?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea why,” she whispered. “Only that I have missed you terribly and that I am frightened. Frightened that Julian will find where I am, frightened that your liege will arrest you for saving me from Julian’s escort, frightened that….”

He cut her off with gentle gruffness, rolling her on to her back and looming over her.  “The only thing you should be worrying about is bringing our son safely into the world,” he said softly. “You must trust me that everything else will work out. I am depending on that faith. It keeps me strong.”

She gazed up into his handsome face, a soft hand coming up to stroke his cheek and watching him kiss the palm of her hand.

“I do have faith,” she murmured. “I love you so much, Gart.  I dream of the day when you and I can live free from Julian and his terror.”

“As do I.”

Both hands came up as she gently touched his face. “Tell me where we will live when all of this madness is over.”

He kissed her hands when they came close to his mouth. “It seems that things have changed somewhat,” he admitted. “It seems that Albemarle has another heir, a young son I was unaware of, so the inheritance I was going to solicit from him is no longer mine. But there is still inheritance on my mother’s side.  I intend to go to France and seek that as soon as Julian divorces you.”

She looked surprised. “Julian divorces me?”

His green eyes twinkled. “It would seem that we have a powerful priest on our side that will help persuade him,” he kissed the tip of her nose. “He has heard Julian’s confession as well as the queen’s, as they attend him regularly. The priest has agreed to tell Julian and Isabella that the penance for their sin of adultery will require Julian to divorce his wife. If everything happens as it should, Julian will come to you very soon with a request for a divorce.  As soon as it is granted, you and I will be married.”

Emberley was shocked. “Is that why he sent an escort for me? To speak to me of divorce?”

Gart shook his head, feeling the familiar heat of desire fill his veins as he kissed her cheek, her forehead. “Nay,” he murmured. “He sent an escort for you because the queen has apparently focused her attention on another man and Julian wants to make her jealous by showing attention to you.”

Emberley lay there, struggling to absorb all he was telling her.  But then Gart’s lips drifted over hers and she responded hungrily, distracted from her thoughts, as his big hands snaked underneath her shift and lifted it over her head.  Their hot, nude flesh came together and Emberley wrapped her arms around his neck, giving herself over to him completely as his big body overwhelmed her. 

His mouth was on her neck, her breasts, carefully kneading her flesh and suckling her nipples.  He was everywhere, his hands and mouth, tasting her flesh, feeling her heated response against him.  As his mouth moved to the pink folds between her legs and he pushed her legs apart, he began to whisper to the child she carried, his mouth against her slightly rounded belly, telling the child how welcome he was.  His fingers were inside her, stroking her as if trying to touch the life they had created together. 

Emberley listened to his soft whispers, tears of tenderness filling her eyes, loving the man more than words could express.   When he finally lifted himself up and thrust into her eager body, the words he whispered in her ear were purely of his love for her.

It had been weeks since he had last felt her against him, around him, and Gart savored every movement, every stroke, listening to Emberley’s soft gasps of pleasure.  They were like music to his ears.  It wasn’t long before he felt her powerful release around his throbbing organ, driving him mad as she wept with pleasure. 

When he finally took his pleasure deep inside her body, he held her hips firmly, grinding his pelvis against hers and feeling her release around him again and again until she was absolutely exhausted. With one hand to her breast, gently fondling her, he kissed and nuzzled her until he grew hard again and then he resumed making love to her, feeling the wetness he put into her, feeling their bodies as they joined.

They were heavily into lovemaking when a knock on the door startled them both. 

Chapter Twenty Two

Jonas had been hearing confessions since noon.  Although he took his job seriously and always had, still, it was rather amusing when the nobility entered the church and made their way to the banks of confessionals against the north wall. 

They were dark little cells built from heavy oak, used mostly by the nobility, as the upper crust of England would not use cells patronized by the poor or lesser classes.   These confessionals were meant for high class confessions.

It was just after Lammas Day, a holy holiday celebrating the wheat harvest and usually a holiday where the nobles spent days celebrating with ale and rich foods. It was a festival ripe with debauchery and Jonas was anticipating a host of wild stories as the nobles began to infiltrate the church just after noon. For a man who lived cleanly, there were times when those stories would keep him up at night, wondering what it would be like, just once, to know a woman in the Biblical sense.

Sitting in the confessional bank, in the large confessional at the end where most of the upper crust attended, he could see the light flashing as the door to the church opened and closed.  The sunset was glowing, the day growing cool as night set in.  He knew it had been a balmy day because he had been outside earlier, enjoying the day and thinking on his conversation with David de Lohr. 

Twice, he almost wavered and went back on his word, but the more he thought on the situation, the more he understood that what was considered wrong was, in fact, right.  The Queen of England was a wreck of woman, vile and appalling, and any man who would openly cavort with her was surely the same.  Perhaps it was a matter of saving Lady de Moyon from her husband’s debaucherous soul.  Surely such a man was not a man of God.

That was how he reconciled it in his own mind, at any rate.  As he sat in the confessional, mulling over his thoughts, the door to the small booth suddenly opened and a woman slipped in. He could smell the very strong perfume, like cinnamon and cloves. Then a heavily accented voice spoke.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she asked softly. “It has been six days since my last confession.”

Jonas perked up; he knew that voice. He had heard it before, a few times. Peering through the slats in the confessional wall, he could see a richly robed woman and a flash of a profile.

It was Isabella. He had suspected she might come this day, directly after a holy day and wild feasting. That was usually her pattern, which was why he had taken confessional duty rotation from Father Constantine so the man could focus on other things. Jonas had sat through a morning of insipid confessions from an earl, three barons, and four noblewomen. Now his suspicions had paid off as the grandest lady of all joined him in private.

“Speak, my lady, of sins past and present,” he made the sign of the cross against the confessional partition.

Isabella of Angouleme was a mere sixteen years old, a woman who had lived much in her short life. Married to the king at twelve years of age, she appeared much older than her sixteen years. She had not aged well. A small woman with big brown eyes, she sniffled delicately into her fine silk kerchief.

“I… I have been wicked,” she pretended to sniffle but the truth was that it was all an act. “I have drank to excess and in my drunkenness have allowed men of less reputation to take advantage of me. I am innocent of desire, Your Grace, but my husband does not protect me from those who would prey upon me. I plead forgiveness for being too weak to fight them away.”

Jonas listened in silence, contemplating his next move. “These men you speak of,” he said softly. “What have they done?”

She pretended to weep, deeply disturbed by the nature of the sin. “They have preyed upon my flesh, taken advantage of….”

He cut her off. “Names, lady. I cannot help you unless I know who has done this to you.”

Isabella brought the kerchief to her eyes, wiping them daintily. “I…I  do not know their names. They are friends of my husband, men of the court.”

He remained steady even though, inside, he was disgusted with her lies. “They are men of the court yet you do not know their names?”

She hesitated. “Perhaps I do know one or two. Why does it matter who they are? It only matters that I be absolved of my sins, sins I did not want to commit.”

Jonas was struggling to keep his disgust at bay. So far, she was playing the victim, which enraged him. The woman was no more a victim than Caligula was at an orgy.  He tried another angle.

“Man is made fallible by God, my lady,” he said softly. “We are made to sin but we are also made to forgive.  If you have knowingly given in to temptation, all you need to is admit your trespasses and God will forgive you.  In order to name your penitence, I must know who you have sinned with.  I will give penitence to you both so that you may be absolved of your sins.”