Dryden's Bride (21 page)

S
iân felt that she would faint. She was at the end of her endurance. After an entire day fraught with challenge and danger, she had reached the top of the ledge, only to have a sword thrust in her face. And then she heard Hugh’s incredulous voice.

“Douglas Henley?” he asked in astonishment. “Alfred Dunning?”

“Aye,” one of the men replied. “We’re here to help ye, lad. Claude Montrose is here, as are Ranulf Bele and Egbert Gunne and a whole host of Windermere knights.”

This time, Siân thought she might faint with the reprieve. She recognized those names. She had heard about Hugh’s exploits with Wolf Colston and these knights. She might have realized that they would show up here, as a fighting unit. Naturally, these men would not allow Hugh to face Wrexton alone.

Hugh helped Siân up over the edge of the ridge, then got a couple of the Windermere men to help with Marcus. “He seems badly hurt, Hugh,” Ranulf said, frowning. “How did you manage to get him all the way up here?”

“The climb looks worse than it is,” he replied glibly.

“The climb is
much worse
than it looks!” Siân contradicted, nearly giddy with relief.

“Oh!” the men exclaimed, taken aback at the sound of a woman’s voice. “M’lady!” Her appearance was anything but that of a lady, and they’d mistaken her for the boy she’d been all day.

“You rescued her!” Claude exclaimed.

Hugh laughed out loud, causing a stir among the men who hadn’t seen even a smile from their old cohort since he’d lost his eye. “Not exactly,” he said with humor, and a full measure of pride in his lady’s ingenuity. “’Twas
Lady Siân
who got
us
out of Wrexton.”

“God’s Cross!” Henley muttered, astonished. “It’ll be a tale for later, if you’ve a mind.”

“Douglas, how did you manage to—”

“Now, ye know better than to ask that, Dryden,” Henley said. “We were just ponderin’ whether to storm the castle or wait for an opening.”

“When we saw patrols come out of the gates,” Alfred said, “we knew something was amiss. We held our position until we could determine what mischief you’d caused.”

“Now you’ve got Wrexton’s knights right on your tail,” Claude remarked quietly as he walked to the ridge and looked down at the shadows of the mounted knights below. “And a fine lot they are, all rested and ready for a skirmish.”

“Wolf will surely be sorry to have missed this,” Henley muttered as he drew his sword again. “They’ll be comin’ over the ridge in a few minutes.”

“Hugh,” Claude said, “you’d better take your lady and head for cover.”

Marcus had already limped out of the way, anticipating the battle that was to come, and knowing full well he would be more a hindrance than a help to the Windermere swordsmen. Hugh and Siân withdrew as the Windermere knights arranged themselves in a formation that would allow them to take the offensive as soon as the Wrexton men came over the precipice.

Wrexton’s knights reached the precipice only to be met by a surprise attack. Hugh’s hands itched to get involved in the fray, but he would not leave Siân’s side for any reason. Nor did he wish to test his endurance any further. Though he felt better now than he had hours ago, the beating he’d sustained, and the wounds it had caused, gave him pause. He had no wish to die now that he had Siân by his side.

So far, the only action was at the precipice of the bluff they’d just climbed, where the knights were engaged in fierce battle. Hugh felt secure for the moment, away from the fighting.

Siân felt ready to collapse. If she’d had any right to do so, she’d have thrown herself into Hugh’s arms and begged him to take her away somewhere. Someplace where she would not have to worry about the earl of Wrexton and his loathsome soldiers. A place where she could indulge in Hugh’s strength, and not worry about having to swim, or steal a boat, or overpower any guards.

She only wanted to be free to love him now, while there was still time.

She and Hugh were essentially alone, with soldiers fighting on the westernmost edge of the ridge, and Marcus lying on the ground at the edge of the forest. When
Hugh turned to face her, all rational thought fled her mind. It was too dark to see clearly, but she sensed an intensity in him that had nothing to do with the battle being waged nearby. He closed the space between them and took hold of her upper arms, then drew her close to him.

“Siân,” he said, “It’s been forever since I touched you like this…” And then his lips were on hers, searing her with his heat, drawing her into him, making her part of him.

Her lips parted and he invaded her mouth with an intimate caress that promised more. His hands left her arms, only to traverse the length of her back, pulling her body into close contact with his own. Trembling, Siân moved against him, torturing herself with wanting what she could not have.

Her eyes drifted open as Hugh pressed smoldering kisses to her jaw, and her neck, and she saw a threat looming behind him.

“Hugh!”
Siân cried. “Behind you!”

Hugh pushed her away as he turned and pulled the sword from his belt. He stood firm against the earl of Wrexton, a coward who would attack from behind.

“Alldale,” Wrexton said menacingly. His own sword was drawn, and if it annoyed him to be discovered before he could get in the first blow, he did not show it.

Siân could see that Wrexton was in better form than Hugh, having been well fed and rested these last few days, while Hugh had not. Her alarm increasing with every moment that passed she knew the fight would be grossly unfair.

“You would sacrifice your
life
,” Wrexton said,
punctuating the last word with the first strike of his sword, “for this bit of Welsh offal?”

Hugh met Wrexton’s thrust with surprising strength and struck back, ignoring the inflammatory jab at Siân’s worth.

One glance toward the hardwood forest told Siân that Marcus was unconscious, incapacitated, and of no help to Hugh. The soldiers were heavily engaged in fighting near the ridge. Siân stood away from Hugh, her body fraught with tension, but as she watched the two earls battle it out, Siân realized that Hugh was holding his own against Wrexton. She took heart as she watched him parry and thrust with the skill of a master swordsman, in spite of his wounds and weakened condition.

She should have known! Wrexton was not nearly the seasoned soldier that Hugh was, but he seemed to have counted on Hugh’s wounds inhibiting him.

It was not to be. Hugh defeated Wrexton conclusively, and when he had disarmed the winded and wounded earl, Hugh pushed him toward his men, who were still fighting desperately. “Tell them to halt,” Hugh ordered Wrexton.

“Nay, Alldale,” Wrexton replied. “You will have to kill me first.”

“Do not doubt that I will kill you, Wrexton,” Hugh said, “and our men will destroy yours. But you might spare some of their lives if you order them to halt.”

“I will not.”

Hugh shoved him to the edge of the battlefield. “Your last chance, Wrexton,” Hugh said. “Say it—”

But before the earl made his response to Hugh’s demand, one of Wrexton’s knights turned and charged,
his deadly sword pointed directly at Hugh’s unprotected chest.

Siân screamed, but Hugh saw it coming and lunged aside, at the same time shoving Wrexton into the arc of the lethal sword. The blade ran him through, and Wrexton fell heavily to the ground.

Silence and stillness swept over the men on the ridge until it reached the soldiers engaged at the farthest edge. None spoke as swords were resheathed and men split apart to walk away. The knight who killed Wrexton stood motionless over his lord, in shock over his misdeed.

Shaken by what had just transpired, Siân went to Hugh’s side and linked her fingers with his.

“We’ll raise camp here,” Douglas Henley said, directing men to set up tents high on the escarpment overlooking the river in the distance. “You’ll have your own, m’lady,” he added.

Though she was beyond exhaustion, Siân did not want her own tent. She did not care to spend the remainder of the night alone. Not this night. In the morning, she would return to Pwll, and Hugh would begin his journey back to Clairmont.

This would be their last night together, Siân thought, girding herself against the moment she would be compelled to part with the man who held her heart.

She looked around the camp. Hugh had been taken away to have his wounds tended, as had Marcus, and Siân had not seen either man since then. She had wandered aimlessly around the camp, dazed and exhausted, wondering what to do, when finally she found herself retreating into her tent to clean herself up. After the
ordeals of the day—especially after that final climb up the escarpment—she was grimy with dirt and sweat.

Siân was able to stand inside the tent, but the space just barely accommodated her meager height. A mat of furs covered the ground, and a coarse, woolen blanket was folded at one end of it. One lonely bowl of wax with a lighted wick flickered, warding off total darkness. A bowl of water, along with several clean cloths lay on the ground in one corner.

Siân wasted no time as she removed her clothes and washed. Someone had heated the water, so it helped to combat the chill that had sunk into her bones.

“Siân.”

She whirled instinctively at the deep, masculine voice that spoke her name, and tried, inadequately, to cover her nakedness with her hands. “Hugh…” she whispered, her eyes glistening.

He ducked and took the two steps necessary to close the distance between them. “You are so beautiful,” he said, taking a lock of her hair and letting it run through his fingers. Her hands fell to her sides and he gazed hungrily at her in the glowing candlelight.

Against all reason, she spoke her wish. “Kiss me, Hugh.”

His mouth descended on hers and all the days and hours spent apart fell away. They were one again, and Siân intended to savor every moment. She ran her hands through his hair, teased the overlong mane at his nape with her fingers, pressed her bare body against his fully clothed one.

Hugh groaned and lowered her to the fur-covered ground. His touch was untamed and possessive, and there was nothing reminiscent of the gentle lover who’d taken such care with her in the quiet, secluded
chapel at Windermere. His mouth ravaged hers as his hands crushed her to him. She arched against him, her response eager, willing, and just as turbulent as his own.

He filled his hands with her breasts, then moved his head down to lavish desperate attention on them with his lips, his tongue. Siân reveled in the scrape of his whiskers against her sensitive skin, writhed against his strong, hard body, flexed with tension. A knot of savage pleasure unfurled deep within her, and Siân responded with all the passion and vigor of her being.

Hugh’s wounds did not impede him. He moved over her, using hands and mouth, teeth and tongue, to brand her as his own. Small fires erupted all through Siân as Hugh made love to her, fires that he stoked with every movement, every intimate touch, brought her ever closer to the pinnacle of sensation.

He tore away his clothes and met her naked, skin to skin, claiming her with his first deep thrust. Braced above her, she saw fierce possession in his expression, and she cherished it, knowing that for this moment, they belonged only to each other.

“Yes!” was her whisper.

“Mmm,” was his moan. “Siân!”

“Again,” she demanded.

They were one as she gave him everything, and took all he could give. He moved with an urgency that grew with every second, every nuance of touch, every whispered word. They melded their bodies and souls together, and suddenly flared with impossible heat, until they caught fire and burned wildly over the precipice of ultimate sensation.

She had never experienced anything so fierce, so profound.

Hugh pulled her body close to his under the blanket. He wrapped himself around her, his chest and thighs to her back and buttocks, his warm breath stirring the hair near her ear. “Come to Alldale with me,” he said quietly, his voice thick and harsh.

Siân did not answer. She had already decided to return to Pwll. There could only be heartache for Siân if she went to Alldale with him. She knew she could not bear to be near him after he made Marguerite his wife.

“Do you hesitate, Siân?” Hugh asked.

She swallowed loud enough for him to hear.

“What’s this?” he asked. “Tears?”

“W-when you wed Marguerite and—”

“Cease right there, Siân,” he said, turning her so that she faced him. “I will wed no woman but you.”

“M-me?” she sniffled. “But you and Mar—”

“You thought I would take you to Alldale as my leman?”

She gave a slight nod. “You are betrothed, Hugh,” she said quietly. “It will not be easy to—”

He hugged her to him and kissed her forehead. “Siân, I am
not
betrothed. The question was merely put to Marguerite, and she was none too anxious to accept. Before I left Windermere to come after you, I sent a missive to Clairmont, withdrawing my proposal. Siân, my love…no banns were to be posted until my return. Nothing’s been done that’s irreversible.”

Siân still had difficulty accepting that what he said was true. The laws of betrothal were very clear, but yet…if he were not truly pledged…if he
were
free…Faint inklings of hope began to rise in Siân’s breast.

“I care deeply for you, Siân,” Hugh said, his mien serious, intense. “No other woman could touch my
heart as you have. Come with me to Alldale and be my countess. Bear my children and comfort my soul.”

“Oh, Hugh!” Siân said, throwing her arms around him. “I’ve loved you for so very long. My heart ached to think of you with Marguerite. Yes, I’ll go to Alldale with you. I’ll be your wife.”

After returning to Pwll, Hugh’s wounds healed quickly under Nesta’s competent care. Marcus’s took longer, as his injuries were deeper and more severe. He was tended with great care by Nesta and Siân, and as his condition improved, it was learned that Marcus’s father, Eldred, was Wrexton’s only living relative. The elder de Grant was now the earl of Wrexton, and Marcus, his heir.