Carolyne Cathey (12 page)

Jerrod's feet
scraped against the hearthstones.  "Kyle, why is this lass
different?"

Kyle shifted his
gaze to his fellow knight.  "I know not, Jerrod.  I only know I must have
her."

"Because
she's a challenge?"

Kyle nodded. 
"Perhaps so.  Aye.  'Tis the challenge, that is all."

"I pray so. 
She's not worth your life . . . or your other precious parts.  Remember Prince
Davydd."

Cold perspiration
beaded on Kyle's brow.

Brigham's silhouette
approached.  "She's naught but a whore.  Bed her, then send her
away."

Kyle whirled to
face his pest of a brother.  "If she was a whore, Brigham, I wouldn't be
in this predicament!  She was, and is a virgin until I convince her to be
otherwise.  Now, leave me be!"

"'Tis
another puzzle, Kyle."

He caught
Jerrod's gaze.

"You swore
you'd never force a virgin."

Kyle turned his
back on his friend's unbidden reminder and strode to the staircase, his mind
engrossed by the woman in wait for him.  His ache between his legs drew him
toward her.  He wanted her.  In spite of his vow, he would have her.

Eleanor burned
passion, he knew as much.  But each time, her fear of the unknown caused her to
retreat.  He must take her to such a fever that her passion carried her beyond
fear, to submission.  He only needed to persuade her once, then she would be
his for always.  When she became his leman, he could then consider a proper
marriage and save his neck as well, or as Jerrod intimated, his other important
parts.  Kyle could almost feel the heated dagger against his manhood.

He heard the
dragon's laughter.

Kyle ignored the
sound and took the steps two at a time.

What about his
word to Eleanor?  Nay, he'd worry about the wager another time. 
Might
she
be the dragon?  Had she ensnared him with his own lust?  His muddled mind
refused to function.  Besides, if he succeeded in his seduction, the wager
would be a moot point, thus, King Edward's anger. 

Would Eleanor be
curled naked on his bed?  Too great to hope for.  Cowered in a dark corner? 
His stomach cramped.

Would he find her
as he had left her---defiant?  Acceptable.

Kyle hurried
through the doorway, then paused.  He scanned his chamber of light and shadow.

The bed stood as
before, the indentation a reminder of past arousal and future bliss. 

"Eleanor?" 
No scuffled footstep.  No whimper.  And even worse, no gasp of delight.  He
took a step into the room, then another.  "Eleanor?  Where are you,
lass?"

White light
flashed through the window to touch the blackish corners.  Thunder vibrated the
air.

Kyle moved to the
table.  "Eleanor, I promise I won't force you.  I merely want to
talk."  He waited, but he only heard the rain and the wind.  "I know
my promise means naught to you at this time, but---"

Lightning cracked. 
White lit black.  White.  Black.

The chessboard.

Kyle stared at
the black and white figures placed in the same position as before Brigham had
swept them to the floor.  Except one seemed different.  Kyle reached out his
hand to the piece that seemed of both colors.  He held the unusual form to
catch the fire's light.  The queen.  Blackened on one side.  She had pulled the
piece from the fire and reset the players.  A message?  Guilt stirred his
insides.  Kyle replaced the queen on the board and studied the positions. 
Aye.  She had won.  But he had known as much before he had left his chamber.

Thunder shook
Kyle's mind alert.  Where was she?  "Eleanor?  Answer me.  I am your lord
and master."  He flinched.  The wrong approach for such as her.  For Beth,
perhaps, but not for Eleanor.  Kyle grabbed a torch from a holder on the wall,
thrust the end into the fire until it blazed, then held the light high.  She
must be in the chamber. 

Shutters banged
against the wall and drew his attention to the window.  The unshuttered
window.  Kyle rushed to where the rain blew through the opening and had left a
puddle amongst the rushes.  Surely she wouldn't have attempted an escape. 
'Twas a straight drop!  Kyle shook his head in denial.  Even a firebrand like
Eleanor wouldn't risk certain death.  And he would have noticed if she had left
through the solar, the only way out, except for . . .

Alarmed, Kyle
stormed to the garderobe, yanked the drape from the door and flung the fabric
to the floor.  The wall tapestry billowed from a draft.  "Nay!  She
didn't!"  He ripped the cloth from the wall.  The hidden door swung loose
in the gusty air as if it breathed.

"Satan's
curse!"  Kyle slammed wood against stone and lunged down the spiraled
steps, torch held forward to light his way.  He spied the spent candle beside
the outer door.

Kyle shoved. 
Cold rain washed his face, his body.  Surely she hadn't gone out into the
tempest.  Yet, her absence told him she had.  He peered into the shrubbery that
hid the entrance but saw only sodden leaves, gnarled branches and rivers of
rain that carved trenches in the mud.  His torch sputtered, then went out as if
to signify the darkness in his life.  Agony slashed his insides.

"Eleanor!" 
His cry of anguish died at his feet.  She had left him.  Nay.  He would bring
her back.  And this time, she would not leave his bed a virgin.

B
etween the storm and her own
aching body, Eleanor doubted she would see the morn.  Nay, she dare not think
about her illness.  She must concentrate on the next step.

Hah.  The next
step.  She had waded through muck and swirling water, for . . . hours?  Could
not be, for she had yet to reach the village.  Her anger at Lord Kyle fueled
renewed effort.  If she could just release her foot from the---

"Are you dense,
woman?"

Lord Kyle's voice
struck Eleanor's chest like a thrown rock.  If she hadn't happened to be stuck
in the mud at that moment she would have kicked the arrogant knight, as well as
his horse.

"Eleanor."

Ignore the
conceited specimen.  She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as she leaned
forward in the deluge and worked to free her left foot from the ooze.  Her body
hurt so much she wished it belonged to someone else, a selfish thought she
knew, but still---

"Satan's
curse, but you're a stubborn woman.  Did you think to run away from me?"

Squinting her
eyes in the downpour, Eleanor tilted her face up to the blurred image of darker
black against black.  Fury shoved aside her shaky control.  "Run is hardly
the correct word, my dishonorable knave.  But nay, I only go to my
sister's."  She had yelled above the sound of raindrops that beat the
earth and now her raw throat burned even more. 

The insufferable
man had the audacity to chuckle, or had the thunder laughed, instead?  The
elements did seem determined to ridicule her.

Lightning
streaked jagged fingers across the black as if to grip the sky. 
White,
against black
.  Eleanor shuddered.

"Come,
Eleanor, let me lift you up on my horse."

"Nay, my
lord!"  She swiped at her eyes in the cloud's overflow, her anger washing
over her with the same intensity as the storm.  "I had intended to stay
the night with my sister, then return in the early morn to ask Nurse Kincaid
what duties I might perform to repay the accursed debt--other than be an
amusing object for your warped lust.  But now I've decided to remain stuck in
this mucky road forever as a signpost of stupidity to all mankind.  Travelers
will have to move around me, or over me for that matter, at this point, I care
not!"  Merciful heavens, she screamed and railed at him like the shrew he
had named her.

His laughter
rumbled with the thunder.  His teeth gleamed white in the flash of light. 
White,
against black.

She thought she
might retch.

"Lift up
your arms, Eleanor, and I'll pull you out."

"Are you
certain you don't mean lift up my skirts?"

Defiant, she
lowered her head, clenched her hands and jaw, then yanked her foot loose.  Her
body flew forward with the sudden release; her palms struck watery mud and
splattered her already wet face.  Well, curse.  She pushed to her feet, wiped
her hands on the drenched silk and took another mucky step.

"You will
come with me, woman."

"Nay, I will
not!"

"Aye, you
will."

"Do you not
hear well?  Must I shriek my answer?  I . . . will . . . not!"  She grasped
her neck.  The effort had almost destroyed her throat.

"Stop this
nonsense, wench.  We'll discuss this in a drier place."

"Drier, as
in your bed?  Do you not understand my hint?  Is my reaction to your seduction,
your betrayal, too subtle?  Then let me clear the fog from your mind.  Lord
Kyle of Trystonwood, I would rather take up residence in this sea that was once
a road than be in your insufferable presence.  Do you begin to grasp my
sentiment?  Or should I express my wish in your own language?  Burn in hell,
Kyle!  Hah.  A grand thought, that one."

"Such
blasphemy.  Besides, I don't believe you.  This anger will pass and you will
remember my kisses."

Eleanor jammed
her fists on her hips.  "Satan's curse, man!  Are you dense?"

"My word,
woman.  You sound like me."

Eleanor paused,
struck speechless by his observation.

She sneezed, then
shivered.  The heat from Lord Kyle's fire would be as heaven at that
uncomfortable moment.  And her wet gown clung as if never again to be separate
from her chilled flesh.

Valiant's hooves
thucked toward her, and Eleanor felt gratitude that a goodly amount of wet
earth protected her other now-stuck foot from the beast’s errant misstep.

"What about
your dream, Eleanor?"

She jerked her
gaze to Lord Kyle, her painful chest even tighter with anger and humiliation. 
"My dream?  My dream mocks me, o' dolt of a knight."  She waved her
hands in the wet wind, exasperated. 

The black beast
of a horse sidestepped as if spooked by her wild gestures. 

"The dream
is but a jest!  'Tis my punishment for breaking my promise to the sisters at
the convent.  When they burned the soles of my feet and put me in the black pit
I vowed I would never again speak of dreams.  But then I convinced myself that
I must reveal the message.  Hah!  Look at me!  Most likely I'll be stuck in
this road until I die, a skeleton with her foot baked in the dried earth, that
is, if this storm doesn't happen to be the start of another Great Flood.  All
thoughts of noble sacrifice to better mankind have washed away down this rutted
creek of a road."

"Eleanor---"

"I'll tell
you my new interpretation of the dream, my lusty knight.  The black sky is this
horrid storm.  The white cross that you grasped is the whipping post for you to
hang me upon as a witch, or shrew, or whore, whichever suits you at the time,
after you've finished with me, of course.  And this rain, this waterfall from
the sky that threatens to drown me with every breath I take, is naught but
peasants' tears of laughter because I'm so dense as to have believed I could
make a difference.  Dream?  Don't speak to me of dreams, Sire!"

The sky
crackled. 

"Even the
thunder laughs at me!  I am naught but a fool!  Just as in the chess game, I'm
the fool in Fool's Mate."

"Come on,
lass."  He reached out his hand.

Cold water
swirled around her ankles.  Shivers chattered her teeth.  "I'm amazed you
don't fall off your steed and roll around in uncontrolled mirth.  But I warn
you, 'tis naught but primal clay down here, although you can most likely trod a
foot above the soil you are so righteous."

He gripped her
wrist and pulled her toward him.  "Eleanor, you've become distraught. 
Now, help me lift you."

She shoved at
Valiant's side with her other hand and the beast flung his head at her, teeth
bared.

"Eleanor,
cease!  Valiant will bite you."

"Then, I'll
bite back!  You tell him that.  And if he doesn't believe you, then show him
your finger."  He tugged and she heard an oozy slurp as her feet left the
ground against her will.  She beat out with her other fist, but his fingers
trapped her wrist as she pummeled his thigh.  She kicked against horse, and
boot, and stirrup and only stung her icy toes.  "I'll roast him for
supper!  I'll cut him into bite size pieces.  I'll serve him---"

"Cease this
raillery!"  He dragged her up into the saddle even though she fought. 
Valiant whinnied and danced as if to thwart Lord Kyle's purpose.

"Hah!  Even
Valiant does his best to throw me where you believe I belong---at your
feet."  Why did her head spin?  Why did her thoughts seem distorted?  She
lurched against his body.  "Oh, dear heavens.  The earth moved."

"Eleanor,
you don't make sense.  Now, be still.  'Tis only Valiant.  He takes us
home."  Lord Kyle wrapped his cloak around her and pulled her to his warm
body.

"Aah." 
She rested her head against his steel-like chest.  "True, I don't make
sense.  'Tis because I'm dense."

Eleanor giggled. 
Giggled?  Had she lost her sanity?  Sense.  Dense.  She giggled again.  "I
rhymed, Sire.  "I should put the words to music."  She thrust her arm
past the opening of his mantle and waved in rhythm with her song.  "I
don't make sense because I'm dense.  I don't make sense because I'm---"

"Cease,
woman.  And don't call yourself dense."  He tucked her wayward arm beneath
his wool mantle.

Eleanor laughed. 
And laughed.  And laughed.  She wondered if her mirth sounded out of control,
but Lord Kyle had uttered the most humorous comment she had ever heard. 
"I'm not to call myself dense, when you have made the word part of my
name?"  She shook her head and the blackness spun.  Should I be Dense
Eleanor?  Or Eleanor, the Dense?"  Heavenly saints, she had said something
even more hilarious.  She lolled her head back and laughed, then choked.  The
rain had tried to drown her again.

"Hush,
Eleanor.  No one can call you dense but me.  Not even you."

Eleanor wondered
if that sounded ludicrous as well, but the world wouldn't stay still.  Her mind
swirled inside her head.

"Eleanor? 
Are you soused?"

Now
that
was funny.  Cackles gurgled out of her hot throat, a horrid sound, like a
witch's.  Yet 'twas all the sound she could seem to make.  She struggled to
shake her head in answer, but the heavy thing fell against his chest.

"Nay, my
lord.  'Tis only that my brain is so full of rain my head swims to stay
afloat."  Whenever had she been so droll?  Never before.  She possessed
great wit and had only that night discovered her gift.  "'Twill replace my
lost gift of prophetic dreams, my handsome, handsome lord."

"Eleanor." 
He had breathed her name in her ear, an unfair tactic.  "You think me
handsome?"

She pulled his
cloak up over her head and peered into the black.  Nay, the copper-haired
creature wasn't there.  Mayhaps the trollop hid behind his back.  Eleanor ducked
her head under his arm.

"Woman, what
in creation are you doing?"

"I search
for Beth.  I thought she might be behind you, or under you.  Lift up your leg
and let me look."

His laughter hurt
her ears.  "Beth isn't here, lass.  Only you and I.  Do you realize you
called me handsome?"

She rested her
head against his chest and pressed her finger to her lips.  "Shhh.  I
don't want Beth to hear.  And aye, you're a vision, for certain.  I seem to
lose control when you're near, although I don't understand why, for you're so
arrogant."

His wet cloak he
had wrapped around her chilled body protected her against the rain, but still
she snuggled against his heat.  Why did she feel so cold?  And a limp rag must
have taken possession of her body.  Eleanor slipped her arms around his waist
and sighed at the pleasant sensation that overrode her discomfort.

"This loss
of control you have, lass, 'tis lust."

She struggled to
focus her blurred gaze on his downturned shadow of a face.  "Do my eyes
seem as yours then?  Do they seem both hard and soft at the same time?  Do they
change from the blue of a summer sky to that same deep twilight that bids the
evening welcome just before the first star appears?"

"Nay." 

Eleanor strained
to hear above the storm, he spoke so soft, his voice, husky. 

"Your eyes
show wonder, lass, a mixture of both desire and fear of the unknown."

"Aye." 
She thought to nod, but her head weighed like a boulder.  "'Tis a true
assessment.  And inside you, do you sometimes feel a mysterious sensation that
is all warm and wonderful and tingly?  Does your heart get all fluttery when I
look at you?  And does your flesh burn when you feel my touch?"

He shuddered.

She tightened her
grasp.  "Are you cold, my lord?"

"Eleanor,
because of you I'm as hot as glowing embers.  I must have you.  I want
you."

"'Tis
frightening, what you want, my beauteous knight.  Yet, my body melts into a
fever when you touch me.  Or kiss me.  Ah, now that is a most pleasant
sensation.  Aye.  Most wondrous."  She could not help but sigh with the
memory.  "I once ached only for you.  But now I only ache.  I fear
something is amiss, for surely your ache is more enjoyable so should not be
overpowered by this malaise.  Or did I say that right?  'Tisn't your ache, 'tis
mine.  I'm confused."

A growl in his
chest rumbled in her ear.  Or did the thunder rumble?  "Would you do that
again so that I can tell which, knight of most wondrous kisses?  I can't
decide."

"Ah, lass. 
Even though you make no sense, you heat me to the center of my desire." 

"'Tis your
chest.  I heard the sound distinctly that time."  She swayed against his
body.  "Would you please tell Valiant to be still, my lord?  My head
throbs."

"'Tis the
ale, lass.  And Valiant takes us home."

Tears burned
Eleanor's eyes, then blended with the rain.  A sob wrenched from her breast. 
"You might look for my bandage as we pass, my lord.  A wretched hole
pulled it from my foot.  The other bandage trails me like an unforgiven
sin."  She lifted her leg and waggled her foot to show him the dangled
strip.

"Hush,
lass.  Don't cry."

Her tears rushed
to escape her eyes at the sweet sound of his voice, and she caught at another
sob.  "I've ruined your wife's gown, my lord.  'Twas beauteous and I've
treated the gift most shamefully.  Do you think she will forgive me?"

"Hush, now. 
Don't cry, love.  You're too tall for the robe, anyway."

'Twas the saddest
cut of all.  "I'm sorry, my lord.  I didn't mean to be too tall."

"My word,
Eleanor.  Cease those tears.  'Twill be all right.  Ah, love.  Don't cry.  Hush,
now.  Hush."

She settled into
the cradle of his arms and sniffed.  "When I left the convent life held
such promise.  Why is the world so cruel, my knight?"

His chest heaved
a sigh beneath her hot-cold cheek, but he didn't speak.

"'Tis an
impossible question, my lovely lord, so would require an impossible
answer."  Eleanor wiped her runny nose on his wet cloak.  "Yet, you
are an impossible man, so you should know the answer."