Carolyne Cathey (14 page)

Twist the
common into something special.
  And yet, nothing common existed in
Eleanor.  "Do you think we should let her rest now, Nurse?"

"I'll stay
with her whilst ye sleep, milord."

"Nay.  You
sleep.  I'll pay heed and give her some of your spelt broth when the candle has
burned down a notch."

"Aye,
milord.  Perhaps, 'tis best I rest now."

"Cold . . .
so cold."

Eleanor's
whispers sounded as screams of accusations to his conscience.

"We'll get
her well, milord.  Don't fret."  She moved with her basket of jars toward
the door.

Jerrod stepped
inside, then stopped.  "What goes on here?  With all the traffic through
the solar, a man can't even rut a wench in private.  Do you hold court up
here?"

Kyle dragged a
chair over beside the bed.  "Bring over the other chair and sit with me a
moment, Jerrod."

Kyle sat and took
Eleanor's hand in his.  Her fingers looked frail when not balled into a fist. 
"The lass is ill, Jerrod.  She has a most horrid fever."  Kyle heard
the scrape of wood against wood, then Jerrod sat beside him. 

"You don't
respond, Jerrod.  Do you wish her to die?  Do you think 'twould solve my
dilemma?"

"The thought
crossed my mind."

"Well,
uncross your thought.  I will not let her die, no matter what evolves.  Look at
her.  She can't be the dragon."

Jerrod jerked his
attention to Kyle.  "What do you mean?"

Kyle sat back,
eyes closed, regretful of his wayward tongue. 

"Kyle?"

He sighed and
looked again at Eleanor.  "In the solar flames I saw the beast from my
nightmares, then Eleanor.  I wondered if . . . "  Kyle shook his head.

Jerrod's face
paled.  "Of course.  This weirdness all makes sense now.  She seduces you
to the grave, Kyle.  You must rescind the wager."

"I'm drawn
to her, Jerrod.  I'm possessed."  Kyle stared at Eleanor's fragile form as
she tossed on his bed.  "And whether dragon or not, I gave a knight's
vow.  'Tis unbreakable."

"I'll stop
you if I can.  I like the lass, Kyle, but I like you more.  Naught is worth
your life."

"Don't
interfere, Jerrod.  'Tis difficult enough to tolerate the king's
meddling."

Jerrod sighed as
if with temporary resignation.  "I doubt you'll be the first man dragged
to his death by a woman with her hand upon his cock."

Kyle flinched. 
"I don't wish to speak of this anymore.  Besides, since you bring up the
subject, why are you not with Beth?  You seemed in active passion when I
passed."

"You and the
rest of the world.  I put my pallet in your solar in hopes for a little
privacy.  I thought 'twould be better than the great hall, and I didn't think
you'd mind since you'd suggested the same to me in times past.  But when a
parade formed at my bare backside, 'twas too late; I couldn't cease."

Kyle straightened
Eleanor's covers from her thrashes.  "Be still, love."  He brushed a
strand of wet hair from her cheek.  "She's so pale, Jerrod."  The
back of her hand felt like silk.  Hot silk.  "I repeat.  Why are you not
still there?"

Jerrod laughed. 
"Your bastard brother tossed his pallet beside mine then dragged the lass
over to join him.  He pounds the wench so hard she's probably halfway through
the stone wall by now."

"I wonder
why Brigham set his pallet beside yours?"

"Well, for
one, he'd not have far to drag Beth before he took her.  And for another, you
have his bed.  At least, Eleanor does."

Kyle straightened
and faced his friend.  "His bed?"

"From what I
hear, when you're not at Trystonwood, he stays in your chamber.  I also hear he
travels more than one might expect of a steward, and his destinations are
secret."

"The devil,
you say.  Hmm.  About Beth.  She was such a timid lass.  I'm surprised by her
wantonness."

Jerrod propped
his feet on the edge of the mattress.  "Twas Brigham's doing.  She told me
he cornered her when she was but ten and three."

Kyle stiffened. 
Another knot formed in his stomach.  "He raped her?"

"Aye.  He
used her most brutally.  Then matters took their own wayward course after
that."

"Bastard. 
While I'm away, he rapes the servants."

"Nay. 
Not fire.  Please, not fire."

"Hush,
lass.  Don't throw off your covers."  Kyle re-positioned the fur to hide
her loveliness from Jerrod's curious eyes.  Kyle ached to lie beside Eleanor,
to give her his comfort, his heat.  "Why don't you seek your rest,
Jerrod?  'Tis late."

"I'll be
glad to stay."

"Nay.  'Tis
kind of you.  But I'd rather be alone right now."

"Aye.  I
understand.  And I'll close the door on my way out."

Kyle heard Jerrod's
footsteps as he scuffed across the rush-covered floor, then his steps paused as
if Jerrod had halted.

"Kyle?"

He turned to his
long-time friend.  "Aye?"

"I empathize
with how you feel about Eleanor, for 'twould be pleasant to have a woman all of
my own that I don't have to share."

"This from
you, Jerrod?  This from the man who drifts along life’s path much like the sun
that skims across the sky --- a bright light with no thought of responsibility
for the darkness that follows?  You want naught to stay your wanderings."

"You know me
well, friend.  But when Brigham stole Beth from my pallet, I wanted to slam him
against the wall.  As I said, I understand how you feel now.  But I'm a second
son.  I have no property, no responsibilities.  I'm a lot like Brigham in that
respect.  What can I offer a woman?"

Kyle grinned at
his friend's open question.

"Other than
that, Kyle.  I'm serious."

"You're
welcome to make your home here, Jerrod.  In fact, I would consider your
presence an honor."

Jerrod shook his
head.  "You're a generous soul, Kyle.  You tempt me.  But I think I'll
return to see what stirs on the home hearth.  Then I'll decide."  He
turned and moved toward the door.  "Good night, friend.  I'll see you on
the morrow, which, now that I think on it, is only a few nods away."  He
hesitated.  "Take care, Kyle.  Temptation is sometimes garbed in enticing
softness."  Without a backward glance he closed the door.

A desperate sob
jerked Kyle's attention back to Eleanor.  Aye, she had bewitched him.

"Nay,
sister, not the pit."

Captured by her
fear, he grasped her shoulders to pull her against his chest.  She twisted
against his grip.  "Hold still, Eleanor.  You're safe, now.  Nay, don't
fight me.  Be still.  You'll throw off your covers and become even more chilled." 
Kyle slipped off his wet cloak and let it drop to the floor.

"'Tis cold
in here.  Dark.  I'm frightened."  Her released sob wrenched his gut. 
"You've forgotten me.  I'll die in here.  I promise not to speak of the
dream."  Terror marred her face, her voice.  "Nay, not the
pit."  Tears streamed from the corners of her squinched eyes as she
thrashed amongst the linens.

Kyle hurt because
she hurt.  They had burned her feet.  Unforgivable.  And how could the sisters
have put a girl such as Eleanor down in a horrid hole in the ground without
light, without warmth?  Curse them.  How long did they leave her?  Until they
thought to have broken her spirit?  Until she thought they had left her to die,
forgotten?

"I'm so
cold.  So cold."  She arched her back.  "Kyle!  Save me!"

The last agonized
cry slashed open his heart.  Kyle stripped.  He pulled back the covers and slid
in beside her hot body.  "Hush, lass.  I'm here now.  I'll protect
you."

"Cold . . .
dark."

"Nay,
love."  He surrounded her with his body, with his arms and legs.  He
rocked her against his chest.  "Nay, lass.  Be still, now.  That's
better.  Aye.  Be still.  Ah, love.  I won't let you die. 
'Tis a
promise."

Heaven.  Warm heaven.  Languor drifted through Eleanor's
body.  She seemed all entangled with smoothness and texture and curves molded
to hers.  Her leg lay draped over the delicious warmth; something wide and firm
pressed against her womanhood, as if she lay astride something exotic, less
broad than Valiant's back, but as hard. A most wondrous sensation.  A yawn
encouraged her to stretch, then she wrapped around the bulk of heaven again. 
Sweet bliss.

Eleanor nuzzled against the firm heat; something tickled
her face.  She twitched her nose, reached up her hand to brush away the webs,
and touched . . . What in creation?

Her mind stirred.  She willed open her eyes.  Bare flesh
sprinkled with gold wiry hairs filled her sight.  Another dream?  A vision of
what will be?  She leaned back and lowered her gaze.

A naked thigh rested between her sleep-tossed legs.  Two
bodies pressed flesh-to-flesh, and one she could, without doubt, call hers. 
She jerked her attention up to see who shared her wanton fantasy.

Lord Kyle
.

Heaven have mercy.

He stretched.

No dream, this.  'Twas real! 

He had taken her against her will!  The knave!  A scream
rolled from her throat.  She kicked against muscle and bone.  She beat against
shoulders and chest, and mayhaps, a nose.

"Satan's curse, woman.  Ow!  I'm not grain to flail,
I'm a man to hold.  Nay.  Cease that infernal screeching.  Eleanor.  Be
still."

She struggled even though he had pinned her body to the
bed.  Then all fight left her spirit.  Her defiance had rallied too late to her
defense.  He had won after all.

His eyes widened, then he sat upright, revealing more of
his nakedness as well as hers.  "You're awake."  Joy flashed in his
blue depths.  He ran his callused hands over her face, her arms.  "You're
cool."  Then he laughed.  "We did it, lass.  We did it."

She glanced down at her bared body to detect any difference
from her loss, but all looked the same.  And what the coolness of her skin had
to do with the catastrophe, she couldn't imagine.

He appeared as surprised and as amazed as she, which seemed
odd.  He acted as if he had accomplished some great feat, which perhaps he had,
the way she had sought to deter him.  But why could she not remember?

He swooped down on her with a lusty kiss that scorched her
mouth, then he leapt from the bed, as naked as the day of his birth.  He strode
to the window and threw open the shutters.  Sun streamed upon him and bathed
the gold of his hair until the strands shimmered like the strings of an angel's
harp.  She had never seen him exposed in the light of day before.

He stood, surrounded by the yellow glow, a bronzed
warrior.  Eleanor swallowed around the huge lump that had lodged in her throat
as she stared at the taut curves and shapes of his nude form.  Wide shoulders. 
Narrow waist.  Firm buttocks that slimmed to long, sinewy legs.

"'Tis a glorious morn, lass.  Most glorious."  He
stretched, and muscles bunched and moved along his back.  His buttocks
tightened like two water-smoothed stones. 

Had she enjoyed his body?  Surely she had, for the mere
sight of him softened her depths to quivery mush.  She wished she could
remember.

He spun to face her, legs apart, hands on hips, like a
Greek god with no shame or shyness. 

Eleanor inhaled a tight breath.  Saint's forgive her.  She
had broken his male part.  The thing hung loose, and limp, and smaller than
before.  She searched his eyes for signs of pain or accusation but only saw
amusement.

"Close your mouth, love."

He had called her love as if 'twas the easiest of
endearments, as if she belonged to him in every way.  Why couldn't even a
sliver of memory slip into her mind?   Eleanor longed to run and hide, but
nothing covered her nudity, so she collapsed back into the bedding and hid her
body beneath the covers. 

Mesmerized, she watched as Lord Kyle bent over a wooden
chest, pulled out various garments, and strew them about his feet in wild
abandon.  "Ah.  Here's the one."  He turned to face her, folded cloth
the color of poppies in his hand, a smile of exuberance on his face, his eyes
all twinkly with excitement.  He gloated victory. 

Well, curse. 

"Sire?"

"Aye, lass."

"This weakness I feel.  'Tis to be expected?"

"Of course."  He moved a step toward her, then
halted, his magnificent physique revealed beyond the wad of clothes he held in
front of his now-broken manhood.

"Will I feel this way each time?"

"I should think so.  The siege lasted for three days. 
'Twould wear any body out."

"Three days?"  Her voice betrayed her shock.  She
placed her palms over her temples to encourage the blood to stir in her brain,
but no memory came forth.  Merciful heaven.  She clasped her fingers in front
of her trembly mouth.  "But, why can't I remember what happened?"

He flashed a supercilious smile.  "You were irrational
most of the time."

"Irrational?  Is that to be expected as well?" 
She brushed her tangled hair back from her eyes.

"It often happens."

Curse his nonchalance.  "I never would have guessed. 
I mean, unlike me, you seem so . . . refreshed . . . so strong."

He cocked his head.  "Of course, Eleanor.  Although I
labored with you day and night, with hardly any sleep I might add, your open
green eyes revive me.  Besides, I'm a man, and a knight, at that."  Lord
Kyle set his folded clothes on the table beside the laver and leaned over. 
Water that he splashed on his face trickled glisteny trails over his shoulders
and down his sculpted back.  He whisked at them with a wash cloth.

What did he think of her?  He had fought like the devil to
take her.  Was he disappointed?  Ecstatic?  She had to know.

"Sire?"

He wiped his face and tilted his head toward her. 
"Aye."

"The three days . . . and nights . . . were they, I
mean, was I---"

"You frightened me, 'twas so terrible.  And you almost
left me, but I snatched you back."  He faced her, naked and cruel. 
"'Twas horrid, Eleanor."

"Horrid?  You thought the whole thing horrid?"

"Aye.  And I never hope to experience such a thing
again."

"You what?"  Her wildly gestured hand struck a
clay cup.  Humiliated, she curled her fingers around the cup and heaved at his
arrogant nudity.

Lord Kyle sidestepped her thrown weapon, amazement on his
face.  He glanced down at the broken pottery and liquid mess, then back at her,
his mouth agape.  "What?  Now that you're awake you destroy my possessions
again?  Do you have no gratitude?"

"Gratitude?"  Hysteria colored her tone. 
"You take my only thing of value, then toss me aside, as if the entire
episode was something of disgust?  Is it because I broke your male part?  'Twas
an accident, I swear.  I never meant . . . I mean I don't even remember what I
did to break your . . . your . . ." His look of puzzlement stopped her
tirade.  She bit her lip to stop her words.

Confusion clouded his eyes, then the cloud cleared and
revealed blue sunshine.  He glanced down at his maleness, then back at her. 
And as she watched, the limp thing grew, and grew, until it stood as before,
healed.

"Lest we stray too far on our separate conversations,
lass, let me see if I understand your thought.  Is this about the loss of your
precious virginity?"

All she could do was nod.  Her teeth still clenched her lip
and prevented her speech.

The blonde god sauntered toward her across the rushes,
mischievous passion in his eyes.  The long line of his sinewy muscles flowed
with each step he took, like a sleek animal on the prowl, hungry, for her.

"Let's assess this situation, Eleanor."

Her head thunked the wall as she shoved with her heels to
keep her distance.  She clutched the covers to her chin, but still he stalked.

"Weakness.  Irrationality.  Aye.  Might apply." 
He neared the bed, dangerous, feral.  "But horrid?  Toss you aside in
disgust?  Nay, lass.  And you feared you had damaged my manhood?"  He
shook his head and laughed a rumbly, throaty kind of laugh . . . a threatening
kind of laugh.  "My male part has throbbed more from the moment I first
saw you, than since its creation.  'Tis far from dead."

Her gaze flew to the part in question; the rigid thing did
seem to possess a life of its own, for 'twas swollen now, and pointed in her
direction.  His bare knee pressed down on the mattress and she felt his heat,
saw the determination in his eyes.

Eleanor jerked upright and scrambled backward.  Trapped
against the wall, she clutched at the linens for protection.

Lord Kyle ripped the covers from her grasp, then grabbed her
ankles and jerked her flat on her back.  He loomed above her, all power and
muscle.  "As you can see, my manhood is not damaged.  Shall we test my
dagger in your softness?"

Well, curse.  He had already taken her, she knew as much,
yet still she shook her head, almost afraid to open her mouth.  "Nay, my
lord.  But I don't seem to remember..."

The mattress sank as his body stretched, lean and hard,
next to hers.  He seemed as a confident beast about to devour his next meal. 

"You don't remember my hands upon your flesh?" 
One callused palm seared up the inside curve of her thigh, then he entangled
his fingers in her nest of curls, and paused, and burned.  Her loins heated in
response.  Dear heaven, give her strength.

Eleanor moaned and shoved at his hand, but he only
chuckled, low and rumbly, and pressed his fingers harder against her mound.

"You don't remember my mouth upon your breast?"

"My lord, don't . . ."

His head lowered until she could only see his tousled curls
of sunlight that brushed against her chest.  His warm breath caressed her skin,
then his mouth covered her naked peak.  His tongue swirled and teased, hot and
wet; fiery sensations writhed until she felt certain her breast swelled from
the rapture.

Then he suckled.  And he drew her will right out of her
body.  She arched to force her breast further into his magnificent mouth.

Lord Kyle halted; he swirled his tongue once again, then
pulled back and lifted his gaze that shone of surprise as well as tenderness. 
Coolness tightened her nipple.  Wetness glimmered on his lips.  One corner of
his mouth lifted in a sensual grin, his eyes lusty seas of passion.  "So
you enjoy my unholy ways?"  He lowered his face to hers until she saw only
his sapphire depths surrounded by his amber lashes.  His breath fanned her
mouth. 

"Do you remember my kisses, love?  You told me you
thought them most wondrous."  His lips, still wet, claimed her mouth,
branded her, enslaved her, and stole her heart.  She opened her mouth to
receive him, to taste the sweet elixir of his own.  His tongue probed, teased,
stroked, until her inflamed body yearned to draw him into her, become a part of
her, so that she would languish in splendor for eternity.  How could she not
remember such ecstasy?

A growl rumbled low in his throat.  He pulled back, his
expression sultry desperation.  Red tinged his cheeks.  His breath wafted warm
against her face.  Lord Kyle opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed his
eyes and his throat rippled in a swallow.  Then he opened his eyes to narrowed slits
and perused her.  "I only thought to tease you, lass, but I fear I'm the
one caught in the jest.  Satan's curse, but I ache to bury myself in your warm
depths."

He
ached?  Sweet
bliss.  A craving within encouraged her to let him do his will.  Encouraged? 
Nay, begged.  Curiosity to feel the illusive conclusion overwhelmed her fear. 
"I see no reason to deny you, my lord, since you've already taken
me."

'Twas a weak excuse, she knew, but her body screamed for  .
. . for what?  More of the same, for certain.  And more, still.

He closed his eyes again and groaned.  The shudder of his
body quivered her steamy core.  "Ah, lass.  If you but knew . . . "   His
mouth came down on hers, urgent, insistent.  He slid one hand down to her hip,
rolling with her to one side until his fingers possessed her buttocks; he
stroked and kneaded her roundness, the small of her back, then down to the back
of her thigh.  An intense heat melted her womanhood.  Did he have no mercy? 
The incredible sensation forced a moan from her throat.  A tremor washed
through her body . . . whether his, or hers, she knew not, nor did she care.

Lord Kyle swept feverish kisses to her ear; his hot breath
aroused flames of desire that . . . ahh, his tongue . . . sweet torture.

"Aye."  His whisper echoed in her heart.

Had she breathed aloud her response? 

"Shall I cease?"

"Nay."  She clutched at his shoulders.

A groan rolled from his throat.  He singed his lips down
her neck, her chest, to her breast again.  She laced her fingers in his hair
and drew his mouth to her nipple.  She had enjoyed that sensation, for certain,
and longed for more.  His tongue taunted her beaded peak until she whimpered in
submission.