Dance of Desire (59 page)

Darwell grinned like a delighted child, and a shiver tore through Rexana. It seemed he did not know of Garmonn's arrest.

What had him so excited?

"Milord," he whispered, "that crown secret that you — that I promised to —" With a gasp, he covered his mouth. "I know I vowed not to speak of it, but this eve, a messenger for the king's minister rode through my gates."

Rexana froze, even as Fane said, "Messenger?"

Darwell nodded. "He said to tell you the king's minister received the documents you sent. He and his army will arrive at Tangston on the morrow." Tugging on his beard, Darwell beamed. "The poor messenger looked exhausted from his long ride, so I promised to bring word straight to you."

"I see," Fane said.

Darwell's fingers wiggled like fat worms. "Milord, I must know. The visit concerns the crown secret, does it not?"

A faint flush colored Fane's cheekbones. "I fear, my friend, there is no crown secret. Never was. The king's minister has come for
Warringham's
traitors. And for Garmonn."

"No seer — Garmonn?" The glee drained from Darwell's face. "My son is in trouble?"

Rexana fought a stab of pity.

"Aye." Fane clapped him on the shoulder. "I will tell you all. I am afraid I must also investigate your involvement in the matter. But first, is there any other news from the messenger?"

Darwell's bewildered gaze slid to Rexana. Closing his eyes, he shook his head, and her broken heart clamped into a brutal knot.

"I am sorry, milady," he said. "I believe the king's minister intends to charge your brother with treason."

 
Leaning out of the
solar's
window
, Rexana stared up at the night sky. Stars, bright as tears, glittered against the inky swath. A breeze whispered up from the bailey, bringing with it music, chatter, and the smells of cooking food. A reminder that down in the great hall, the castle celebrated the visit from the king's minister.

She fingered windblown hair from her lips. Part of her celebrated too, rejoicing in the traitors' capture and her brother's exoneration. Yet, her wounded soul wept that she had lost Fane's trust and love, mayhap forever.

That afternoon, looking tired yet determined, Rudd had presented his box of documents to the king's men and explained his actions. Fane had also asked Thomas and Lord Darwell to attend. Dressed in his finest clothes, battling an unsteady voice, Thomas had given his account. Afterward, the king's minister praised his bravery, and awarded him a plot of prime land, at which Thomas flushed with pride.

Darwell seemed shocked to learn the extent of Garmonn's treachery. Blubbering into his sleeve, he had disowned Garmonn, affirmed his family's loyalty to the crown, and offered Thomas a rich payment in compensation for Garmonn's cruelty.

Closing her stinging eyes against the breeze, Rexana remembered Fane lauding her brother's actions. Pride throbbed inside her. Fane had called Rudd a hero. The king's minister had agreed, absolving Rudd of all suspicion of treason. Rudd was a free man.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She had tried to thank Fane, to tell him how she appreciated his words, but he had looked at her with such regret and longing, her words had jammed in her mouth. He seemed determined to keep the emotional barricade between them, for she had seen little of him since Darwell's arrival yesterday. Fane had not come to bed last eve until very late, as though he had waited until he believed she was asleep.

Oh, how she loved him! How could she have possibly known that on a night similar to this, when the castle celebrated and she danced for Fane, her life would change forever?

The doors to the solar clicked open. Drying her face, she turned. Fane entered the chamber, closed the doors, and stared at her. "You are not joining in the celebrations, love."

Had he missed her? Her pulse kicked into a foolish patter. "I grew weary, so I decided to retire early. I thought you would be entertaining the king's minister until dawn's first blush."

"He understood that the past days have been busy for us. Your brother offered to stay and drink with him."

"Oh."

"In truth, I, too, am weary." Fane's tormented voice tugged at her bruised emotions, coaxed her to go to him, to plead with him to give their love another try. Yet, before she had taken two awkward steps, he crossed to her. His thumb traced the damp path of her tears, and he shook his head. "Ah, Rexana."

Her lips quivered. "Fane."

His grave gaze held hers. "I have thought much about our talk yesterday. I once vowed never to let you go. Yet, with the king's minister here, if you wish to ask for an annulment —"

"Never!" The refusal flew from her without the slightest hesitation. "I will not forsake you, Fane. I love you."

His expression softened. "Are you certain you want our marriage?"

Smiling through her tears, she nodded. "There is no other man for me. Only you."

Relief and pride lit his eyes. "I am glad, wife. For I have come to realize I cannot live without you."

Her hands flew to her mouth, and she smothered a gasp.

"From this day forth, we begin a new round of our dance together — one spun from trust and love. Aye?"

"Aye!" she cried. "Oh, Fane. How I have missed you."

His arms slid around her, drawing her to his broad chest. She inhaled his spicy essence. His potent, male aura surrounded her, filled her, courted the very essence of her being. Joy flared, along with the urge to dance, wild and fast.

As the music drifting into the chamber quickened, she swayed from side to side.

"Rexana?"

She pulled free of his arms. A bemused frown darkened his face. Laughing, she circled him, her strides long and loose, her hips swaying in invitation.

"You tempt me, little fig?"

"I do, husband."

A growl rumbled in his throat. He reached for her. She twirled out of his grasp. Darted around to stand in front of him. With a gentle shove, she propelled him backward.

He resisted. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. With a tortured groan, he obeyed. She pushed him to the edge of the bed, then to sitting. The bed ropes creaked.

As she whirled away, her skirts flaring, his gaze sharpened. "Come here, little dancer."

"Not yet."

His eyes blazed. "You forget, wife, I was celibate for days. I am starved for you." He licked his lips. "Ravenous."

A wicked thrill ran through her. Spinning in a circle, she reached her hands up to the shadowed ceiling. The familiar cry swirled inside her. Brilliant. Beautiful.

Dance, Rexana!

She sucked in a breath, turned, and dipped. She peeked at Fane through her fingers. He watched like a man who could not look away. Like a man seduced.

Step. Whirl. Step. Sway.

She spun faster. Faster. Her skirts rustled like dry grass. Yearning, longing, and need spiraled up inside her.

And then he was there. Catching her in his arms.

Kissing her with heart-pounding passion.

Breathless, grinning, she leaned back in his embrace.

He dropped a final heated kiss on her lips, then lifted her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her on the lion skin spread atop the coverlet. "I love
you, Rexana."

"I love you." Her eyes wet with tears, she drew him down beside her. "Let us make a child tonight. A son."

"Or a daughter." He winked. "A wild little hellion like her mother."

She giggled and, with a calculated shove, rolled him onto his back. Straddling him, she stared down into his mischievous brown eyes. As she arched her body against him in a teasing, sensual rhythm, he inhaled sharply.

His hands slid to her gown's ties.

"Aye, husband," she purred. "Let us dance."

THE END