Carolyne Cathey (16 page)

"But if we stay in my chamber, love, I'll not be able
to refrain.  So, for now, I'll dress us both then carry you to sit in the
garden.  The sun will help build your strength."  One corner of his mouth
lifted into a sensuous grin.  "And you'll need your strength, lass. 
'Tis a promise." 
Then he cringed as if from a bad memory.

"Are you sorry, my lord?"

Happiness overshadowed the distress in his eyes. 
"Nay, lass.  You'll bless this life of mine.  And I'll treat you well for
your sacrifice."  He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose.  

 Eleanor held the sheet over her nudity while Kyle strolled
in glorious nakedness across the rushes to the pile of clothes he had dropped
on the floor.  Enraptured, she studied the magnificence of him as he shook the
straw from the fabrics, pulled his chausses up over his muscled legs, then
covered his manhood with his braies.  But she saw him harden before he could
hide the evidence.  He flashed her a glare. 

"Eleanor.  If you watch me with that intense scrutiny,
I'll not be able to take you from this chamber."  He slipped on his white
linen chemise that hid his strong chest, then his cote the color of poppies
finished the shameful coverage.  She sighed at the loss.  But the red was a
marvelous color with the blue of his eyes and with his sun-touched locks.

"You make me wonder why I should care whether you can
walk."  He mumbled through the matching red surcote that he pulled over
his head and shoulders.  "If you can't walk, then you can't leave my bed. 
A grand thought, that one."  He tugged the surcote into place.

Eleanor covered her laughter with her hands.

He cocked an eyebrow.  "You think that humorous, do
you?"

After he pulled on his boots he moved to the carved wooden
chest beside the hearth.  "I'll find you a gown to don.  You're as fatal
on clothes as you are on pottery."  He leaned over and drew out a gown the
color of shaded moss.  "'Twill match your eyes, love."  Kyle turned
and ambled across the rushes, all confident masculinity, then stopped beside
the bed and flung the covers from her hands to the floor, leaving her exposed.

Kyle singed her with a studied gaze of restrained lust, and
groaned.  "Although you tempt me otherwise, I must dress you now or you'll
never see the sun this day."  He took hold of her wrist and pulled her
across the rumpled linen.  "Out of my bed, love." 

He threw back his head and laughed.  "Who would have
thought I'd say those words?  For certain, not I."

She stood in compliance while he slipped the silk over her
head.

"I have no shoes to fit you, Eleanor, but since I will
carry you, you have no need."

"I should walk, my lord."

He knelt before her.  "Hold up your foot."

She obeyed, as she would always obey him forever more.

"'Tis good.  The sores have scabbed.  But we still
must take care."  He stood, then scooped her into his strong arms.

She clasped her fingers in his golden hair behind his neck
and rested her head against the linen that covered his hard chest.  She loved
him.  She loved her savior, her knight, her master, her lord, her future
husband.  Should she tell him?  Nay.  Not yet.  Not until she lay buried
beneath him again while he writhed in sweaty passion and sent her to splendid
rapture.

Kyle strode from the chamber and spiraled down the steps.

A strange sensation filled her now that he carried her in
the opposite direction of her first arrival.  He had said he would have her and
that she belonged to him; both were now true.

She glanced up at his face and saw that he grinned at her.

"Kiss me, wench."

Eleanor laughed.  "I shall have to break you of that
horrid name,
Kyle
."  She yanked his hair.

"Ow!  And I shall have to break you of your defiance,
woman."  He tickled her side as he held her to his body, and she wriggled.

"Nay!  Cease!"  Her squeal of laughter echoed
against the stone walls of the solar.  "I can't bear it.  Cease." 
She laughed and wriggled as he carried her through the doorway.

"Wait until I have you naked again, Kyle, and then see
what revenge I shall take upon that stiff thing of yours.  I may bite you after
all."

Kyle rounded the end of the screen onto the dais. 
"And miss all the pleasure my stiff thing . . ." He scraped to a
halt.

Eleanor glanced up at Kyle and saw his frozen expression. 
She followed his gaze, then chilled to ice.

A furious Brigham faced them.  A man of noble bearing stood
by his side, revulsion in his eyes.  They were accompanied by a pale moonbeam
shaped into a woman, shock on her perfect face.

Lady Mellisande.

R
ealization slammed into Eleanor's
mind.  How in all the world's creation had she forgotten about Kyle's
betrothal?  The truth churned her stomach.  Bile burned her throat.

Brigham gestured
toward her in anger.  "Kyle, must you expose us to your harlot's bawdy
tongue?"

A further humiliation. 
The three who faced her, as well as the now motionless servants, had most
likely heard her wanton jest about biting Kyle's stiff manhood.  Shock numbed
her body, except for where her heart still pulsed between her legs, a damning
reminder of her sin.  Each throb screamed out "Whore.  Whore. 
Whore." 

Kyle tightened
his grip on her legs and waist as he held her in his arms.  "Brigham, I
forbid you to speak of Eleanor in that way."

His response
surprised her.  Why should he care?  He’d already had his way with her.

"I only
speak the truth, Kyle.  Lady Mellisande is too delicate for such
crudeness."

Eleanor glanced
at Lady Mellisande's bloodless face of porcelain perfection.  Her own face
burned like the flames of hell. 

Well, curse and
double curse. 

She squirmed for
Kyle to set her on her scabbed feet but he tightened his grasp even more.

"I didn't
know we had . . . visitors."  Kyle's tone sounded of controlled fury.

Eleanor's gaze
flew up to his taut face.  Heaven's mercy.  She had embarrassed him in front of
his betrothed.  He would never forgive her.  Then her stupidity jolted her
memory.  He had lied to her about his betrothal.  Then he had taken her
virginity when he knew she would not be his lady.  In truth, she should never
forgive him.  His face blurred in her tears as her trust shattered into a
thousand pieces of regret.  She shifted her watery focus to the stone wall. 
The sharp edges of her broken trust slashed at her foolish heart.

"Lady
Mellisande.  Lord Hanley."  She felt Kyle's shoulders sag with a slight
bow.  His body trembled against hers.

The blurred
gentleman who stood beside the too-perfect woman, responded with a nod of his
head.  "Lord Kyle, I know we have surprised you with our visit, but if we
may speak with you?"  The gray-haired man glared disgust in her
direction.  "In private?"

"Your visit
is for naught, Lord Hanley.  But, aye, we will discuss the matter."

Eleanor prayed
she would disappear, or better yet, die.  Instead, she drowned in humiliation. 
She remained the object of every one's disgust---her punishment for her
sins---as she hung stiff in Kyle's arms like a thing too long dead.  But inside
her heart she buried her face against his chest and wept for what would never
be.  She felt a harlot.  And even if she screamed out that she had believed she
would be Kyle's lady, what good would such an announcement make?  The world
would only laugh at her incredible stupidity.

Kyle shifted his
stance.  "If you will excuse me, I will take Eleanor to sit in the sun and
then return.  Brigham, escort them to the solar." 

Eleanor tightened
her clasped fingers behind his neck as Kyle strode through a doorway to an
outside garden.  Fresh air gusted against her face.  Tears puddled in her
eyes. 

Don't you dare
weep.  Don't you dare
.

Kyle lowered her
to a shaded stone bench beneath a large oak.  Her bare feet touched leaf-strewn
earth. 

"Wait here,
Eleanor.  I'll return for you."  His voice sounded strained, but then, how
could he sound otherwise?

She reached out
and grasped his arm, then flinched with surprise.  She hadn't meant to detain
her lying knight.  She should encourage him to leave her and never return, but
again her body seemed determined to act on its own without her mind's
guidance. 

"You've made
two promises, my lord.  To me with the wager, and to Lady Mellisande with the
betrothal.  Only one can you honor."  Her voice shook with her betrayed
horror.  "I know who will lose." 

He flashed her a
pained look.  Did he suffer because he had planned to enjoy her body while he
hoped she would forget his deceit? 

"An ugly
memory stabs my brain, Sire."  She struggled to hide the rage that
trembled her voice.  She knew Kyle could hear the unsteadiness, but her mind
rushed on.  "After I surrendered to your passion, you asked me if I
regretted my sacrifice.  Sacrifice?  I should have understood the clue, but
nay.  I was too enraptured with the belief I'd be your lady."  She closed
her eyes to hide her tears but succeeded in pushing the wetness down her
cheeks.

"Ah,
Eleanor---"

"Oh, dear
God.  I've been a fool!  A fool!"

"Don't,
lass."

She shook her
head and swiped at unwanted tears of pain and anger.  "When you . . . I
mean, the wager---"

"Before I
took you, I told you 'twas a mutual decision."  Even though his voice
sounded with remorse, he remained only a figure of blurred red in her tears, so
she couldn't see his eyes for verification.

Eleanor ran her
sleeve over her runny nose.  "Aye.  But I misunderstood what you expected
from me.  Not that my answer would have been any different.  I could never have
said nay, not at that moment, as well you knew."

Kyle turned his
back, his head of flaxen curls tilted downward in the dappled light. 
"Aye.  I knew.  'Twould have taken a saint to have refused."

Eleanor let out a
hoarse laugh.  "For certain I'm not a saint.  I had barely left the
convent before I fell into temptation like a hog falls into mud.  And then I
wallowed in the sin, even begged for more.  Dear agony!  How you must laugh at
me!"  Tears streamed down her cheeks and left trickly trails on her neck.

He spun to face
her again, guilt on his face.  "Nay, don't, love, I---"

Eleanor
stiffened, enraged with his betrayal, her stupidity.  "I'm not your love! 
And I'm not your whore, although the throb between my legs claims otherwise!  I
admit I was your harlot for this day, but no more."

"Hush,
love."  Kyle knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. 

His touch surged
desire past her anger.  She gritted her teeth and jerked from his grip. 
"Call me wench, or woman, or anything but love.  'Tis a rude reminder of
what I'm not and never shall be."

Kyle sighed and
stood, but tilted his head downward.  "Eleanor---"

"I realize
you are my lord and master until the debt is paid, Sire."  She dare not
look at his eyes for they confused her determination, so she stared at the
withered leaves, withered like her hopes that lay scattered beside his booted
feet.  "But I request a time limitation so that I'll know how long you
expect me to labor for you.  A week?  A month?  What do you say is fair, my
lord?"

"Don't do
this, Eleanor.  I need you."

He hovered too
near.  A sob caught in her cramped throat.  "I'll scrub your floors and
tend your garden, Sire, but I'll not share your bed.  At least, no
longer."

Kyle shifted his
feet and Eleanor glanced up to his closed eyes.  He leaned back his head and
ran his fingers through his thick hair of pale honey.  Then he stared at her, a
mixture of pain and frustration in his expression.  "I won't give you up,
Eleanor.  You are mine."

"Nay.  I'm
not yours.  Lady Mellisande is yours.  And I suggest you go to her, my
lord."

"Mellisande
is not . . . " He paused and released a ragged breath.

Her gaze jerked
to his.  Her heart ceased to beat.

"You don't
understand, Eleanor.  Trust me in this."

Eleanor couldn't
help but let her mouth drop open in amazement.  "Trust you?"  Her
voice sounded thin and forced.  "Trust you?  As in, you always keep your
promises kind of trust?  You always tell the truth kind of trust?  If my heart
weren't lying in a clot at my feet, I'd laugh at such a statement."

Kyle opened his
mouth as if to protest, then he turned his back, strode across the garden to
the keep, abandoning her with her misery.

***

Kyle slammed the
door.  Overlapped slams reverberated within the solar walls, taunting reminders
of his entanglement. 

Lord Hanley
turned from where he stood at the window that overlooked the rose garden, his
face mottled like an angry sunset before a storm. 

Kyle scanned the
solar.  No sign of Brigham and Lady Mellisande.  At least he and Hanley had
privacy.  Satan's curse.  How to delay the unspeakable?  Kyle drew in a tight
breath and strode to the short-statured man who had been like a poison thorn in
Kyle's foot---small, but deadly.

Hanley sneered
his contempt.  "That whore holds you by your balls, Kyle."

"At least I
have some, Hanley."  Kyle cocked a brow.  "Jealous?"  

Hanley sputtered
unintelligibles like a boiling pot.  He had always reminded Kyle of a grotesque
gargoyle with his pointed nose complete with wart, his pale gray eyes and
fleshy lips.

"And,
Hanley, in the future, be careful with your language in conjunction with
Eleanor.  'Twill be difficult for you to utter obscenities if you lose your
tongue." 

Hanley's color
deepened.  "You dare to threaten me when I come in peace?"

Kyle laughed. 
"Peace?  I didn't realize you knew the word.  Now, if you only understood
the meaning we might cease to be enemies.  But then, whatever would we do for
entertainment?"

"Obnoxious
bastard!"

Kyle nodded, then
smiled.  "True.  You are.  But I never thought I'd hear you admit
it."

Hanley reached
out to clutch Kyle's surcote.  Kyle grabbed his wrist.  "Now, now,
Hanley.  Like Trystonwood, these clothes are mine.  They wouldn't fit you
anyway.  You'd look like an ancient gnome pretending you're human."

Hanley jerked his
hand free.  "Listen, you swaggering cock.  Trystonwood is mine and you
know it.  I married your mother, which gives me the right to---"

"You
kidnapped my mother and forced a mockery of a marriage hoping you could control
Trystonwood.  Much to your disappointment, I came of age before I fell under
the blade of one of your murderers.  Yet you still try, don't you?"

Hanley stiffened.

"Ah.  You
think I don't know?  The first attack came when I was but a squire in the Holy
Lands during the Crusades.  'Twas my first kill.  As for the most recent of
your failures, three attacks in Wales were too personal to be war related.  My
squire died on the last attempt.  He took the blade meant for me."  Kyle
swallowed the painful memory and glared his hatred.

Hanley struggled
to control an explosion.  His eyes bulged, his lips so tightly clamped they
appeared as a white slash against the red of his face.  "Heed me, Kyle. 
Your mother---"

"Died trying
to escape your brutality.  And my father.  His supposed accidental death on the
battlefield reeked of treachery."  Kyle clenched his fists to keep from
squeezing Hanley's throat.  "Someday, Hanley, you will pay."

"And what
about Cathryn?  You kidnapped her from Hanley Hall!"

"You mean, I
saved her from you.  She was promised to me, but while I was away on crusade,
you bribed her father for her hand, guaranteeing yourself the land to your
north.  And then you abused her until you decided to wed another, again to
expand your territory.  You announced your intention to send Cathryn to a
convent as a prisoner, but I doubt she would have survived the trip.  Why pay
the price to have her admitted when an unmarked grave will suffice?"  Kyle
shook his head.  "Nay, she deserved some kindness in her lifetime.  Even
if I hadn't cared for her, I would have done it as repayment for my
mother."

Hanley curved a
sardonic grin.  "Like for like, Kyle?  Your mother died under my roof, so
Cathryn died under yours?"

Guilt stabbed
home.  "Death from childbirth is not the same as a fall down the stairs. 
Or a shove.  Your second wife died of similar means if I recall.  Who knows
what horrid fate befell the one after Cathryn?  Four wealthy wives, all
miserable, all dead.  And yet, someday I'll take my revenge upon what you did
to Cathryn.  And mother.  And father.  And my squire." 

Hanley smirked. 
"Ah, but not so, Kyle.  'Tis time to beat our swords into plowshares. 
I've come about the betrothal."

"Betrothal?" 

"Aye.  Between
you and Mellisande."

"King Edward
suggested the arrangement, but I never agreed."

Hanley released a
brittle laugh.  "The king gave you a year to overcome your grief for your
dear, departed Cathryn.  But now, Edward is soon to arrive to hear your acceptance. 
How fortunate for me your lust encouraged your tongue to slit your own throat. 
You've vowed to wed a peasant.  The king will not be amused."

Kyle shrugged. 
"And then again, he might."

Hanley shook his
head, his expression a silent scoff.  "Need I remind you that Mellisande
is Edward's cousin?  He expects this merger, as do I."  His pale eyes
glimmered like a fox that had cornered his prey.  "You dare not refuse
your king."

Aye.  Edward
expected Kyle's surrender.  Kyle hid his turmoil behind a facade of
indulgence.  "The discussion is between King Edward and me.  He will
notify you of my decision."

Hanley had the
audacity to chuckle, his hands spread wide.  "Trystonwood is as good as
mine, Kyle.  If you refuse the betrothal, then I'll take the lands by force. 
You have too few knights.  Your allies are scattered because of the truce
between England and Wales.  'Twill be an easy win."

Rage burned
Kyle's face.  "You have waged war on Trystonwood in the past, and lost. 
Your greed has cost you a son.  What else are you willing to sacrifice to
satisfy your rapacious appetite?"

"Ah, but
this time I'll not lose, Kyle.  This time the king will be on my side.  If you
refuse Edward, he'll shout treason."  Hanley clasped his hands behind his
back and rocked up on his toes, then settled on his heels again.  "You're
trapped."