Keeper of the Dream (31 page)

His name echoed in the stable rafters as he waited for the space of a heartbeat, his mouth pressed still between her legs. He reared up and drove into her. She cried out again because, though she was wet and hungry for him, he was huge and he had driven deep.

He leaned back so they could see where they connected, man to woman, man in woman. “You are mine, Arianna,” he said, as he pressed more deeply still within her, until she thought he must surely be touching her heart. “Mine …”

But you’re inside of me, Raine. And when you’re inside of me like this, you’re a part of me, you are mine.

His hand splayed her stomach, middle finger inching down and she arched upward on a gasp. He began to move within her, pulling out until only the tip of him remained, then plunging his length in again and again, harder and faster, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting while his finger stroked and stroked and stroked and the tension within her built until she couldn’t bear it anymore and she broke apart inside, broke all apart into thousands of little pieces, until she saw herself in little pieces, floating like stars in a black heaven, and she felt his seed spewing deep inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. The rain pattered on the thatch above cheir heads and cool air blew through the cracks in the
walls. A horse nickered softly. After a while, a long, long while, she could feel her wildly thumping heart begin to slow, to quiet.

He eased his weight off her chest, bracing himself on his forearms. His sex was still inside her.

“You shouted my name,” he said.

“I did not.”

“You bellowed, little wife. Like a fishmonger touting her wares. And you came, hot and wet against my mouth And then you came again when I was inside you. I felt you, gripping me.”

She could feel the heat flooding her face. “It was a accident.”

He grinned. “I know.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“It will,” he said.

He was growing hard inside of her again, already, moving inside of her again, already. And she wanted him again. Already. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning he head aside. But he cradled her cheeks between his hand and forced her around to face him.

“Look at me,” he said.

She couldn’t look at him. He would be able to see what she was feeling, all that she was feeling reflected in her eyes.

“Look at me, damn you.”

She opened her eyes. His own eyes were hot and glittering. “It’s not enough, Arianna,” he said. “You’ve give me your body, but it’s still not enough. I want more from you. I want more.” He buried his face in her neck, archin his back, pushing, plunging, filling her. “I want all of you….”

They didn’t hear the stable door creak open, or see slight figure enter. He smiled when he heard the sounds of sex, the sighs and moans and sucking kisses. And pause to watch the shadows that undulated and danced on the
wall—a man’s arched back, shapely legs wrapped around pumping hips.

When he left, he was whistling softly to himself. Outside the rain had stopped. The moon broke through the scudding clouds. For a moment silvery light bathed the deserted bailey, glinting off long, coppery curls. Black eyes glowed, moonstruck, and old. So very, very old.

It was the sort of day the poets spoke about, a day meant for love.

The rising sun flooded the sky with a blaze of gold. Thrushes, nesting in the sycamores by the river, burst into song. A pair of milk cows, grazing on the grassy banks, added their bells to the chorus, tinkling in merry harmony.

Beggars and pilgrims had gathered for alms outside the gatehouse as they did every morning. But on this day, the lady of the castle was herself administering to the poor. The almoner, with his iron scuttle full of pennies, stood to one side of her. On the other was a servant bearing a flat basket tray piled high with loaves of bread. It wasn’t day-old bread, as was given out at most castles, but baked fresh just that morning. Its warm, yeasty aroma mingled with the scent of heliotropes and violets floating over the wall from the castle gardens.

The pilgrims, blessed by God, came first. They had all taken a vow not to bathe or cut their hair while on their travels. In their robes of shaggy wool and scraggly felt hats they reeked of leek soup and human sweat. Arianna dispensed the alms holding her breath.

A man with a withered arm shoved the pilgrims aside, followed by an old crone with a goiter, round and purple like a plum, protruding from her neck. A skinny girl in a tattered tunic and bare legs approached next, leading an old blind woman. Arianna folded the woman’s knobbed and crooked fingers around a breadloaf and pressed coins into the thin outstretched hand of the child.

The girl looked up at Arianna with peat-brown eyes sunk into the fleshless bones of her face. “May sweet Mary’s grace be upon you, my lady.”

“Go with God, child,” Arianna said, but her attention was focused across the river, on the hills of Rhos, where a haze hovered like a pall over the balded slopes. The hills of Rhos, where for three days Raine had been hunting her cousin.

She thought of that night in the stable, of the violence of their passion and the feelings he had unleashed inside of her. But she could not change what she was, whom she loved. Kilydd had fostered with her family when they were children; he was as much of a brother to her as Rhodri. She could not deny her family and her land, any more than she could deny herself. Her flesh, her blood were Cymry, and so was her heart.

Within the bailey the chapel bell rang, calling the faithful to midmorning mass. As the peels floated away on the heavy summer air, Arianna heard the warning rattle of a leper’s bone clappers. At its dreaded sound the few pilgrims and beggars who were left quickly shuffled off.

The leper, abandoned by God, walked up the road from town. She wore the long gray robe and scarlet hood to mark her as one afflicted by the dread disease. A thin veil swathed her from head to knees so that none might have to look upon her ravaged face. The almoner and the servant were already backing toward the gate, for the leper was almost upon them now, her bone-rattle clacking. Arianna approached the poor woman alone.

“May your soul repose with God,” she said, pressing a
handful of pennies into the leper’s bandaged hands just as a group of horsemen burst out of the forest, galloping across the tilting fields. The leper, hampered by her trailing robe and veil, took off in a stumbling gait. Arianna stood frozen a moment. Then she picked up her skirts and ran to intercept the band of men.

Raine vaulted from the saddle before the charger had come to a complete stop. “What in God’s wounds are you doing?”

“Giving alms to the … poor.” Her voice trailed away as her gaze riveted on the man hog-tied to a cob, his arms chained behind his back. Raine was shouting at her, saying, “Christ Jesus save us. That woman was a leper!” But she barely heard him, for her thoughts were filled with the horror that her cousin Kilydd had been captured and that now he would die. Her husband would kill him.

Kilydd cocked his head up, shaking sweat-damp hair out of his face. Dirt caked the seams of his brow and cheeks, but his mouth bore a surly smile. One eye was swollen shut, but the other met her gaze, golden like summer honey, and she saw within it a questioning look, and a plea that she would save him.

She had taken an unconscious step toward the prisoner, when her path was blocked by a chest covered in black chain mail. Slowly, she lifted her head.

She had known his eyes to turn dark like that, dark like smoke and smoldering with hunger and passion. But what burned in his eyes this time was rage—hard and hot, and unforgiving.

She flinched at a sudden movement of his hand. But he was only pulling something out from beneath his
broigne.
He dangled it before her face and it caught the sunlight, blazing like a torch. His voice whipped her like a lash. “Is this familiar to you, sweet wife?”

She could not prevent her hand from shaking as she reached up to take the circlet of twisting snakes. Her fingers brushed his …
and the sky above them exploded
into flames. Fires crackled, spewing oily smoke. War cries and screams of death. And then he was there, her beloved, standing tall and strong before her, and he touched the torque around her neck and he kissed her mouth and spoke to her of forever. But she knew, because she had seen, that this kiss would be their last. Tears blurred her eyes, washing the world in a sea of blood, and above her the sky burned and burned.

In the next instant it was all gone, and forgotten by her next breath. The metal collar was warm in her hand, but she thought it was from having been carried against her husband’s body.

“He was going to use it to buy an army to take Rhuddlan with,” Raine said, his eyes boring into her, his voice cold, so very, very cold. “An army recruited from the stews of Ireland. Did you know that, Arianna? But of course you knew it, that is why you gave it to him.”

Her gaze flashed to Kilydd, but he had his head bowed, studying the ground. She had a vivid memory of him running down the stairs into the yard of the drapery, tucking a leather bag of jangling coins into his belt. She knew she could never explain how he came by the torque, not without implicating Christina in her lover’s treachery.

But nor could she bear to have Raine think she’d so deceived him. She laid a hand on his mailed arm. “I did not give it to him, my lord. As God is my witness, I did not.”

Every muscle in his body grew taut, hardening against her. He removed her hand as if her touch disgusted him. “Don’t lie to me, Arianna,” he said, and for a moment she thought pain flared in his eyes, before they turned hard again. “At least don’t lie to me.”

She could only shake her head, as a sadness closed her throat, a regret for something gone that had never been. He did not believe her, would never believe her, nor could she blame him that this was so.

When he turned away, as if he could no longer bear the sight of her, she cried his name.

A shudder rippled across his back. But he didn’t look at her again.

“What will you do to him?”

He didn’t answer her. He sat in a faldstool before the brazier and followed her every movement with narrowed, hooded eyes.

An immense sorrow swelled in Arianna’s throat. She went around the bedchamber lighting more candles, trying to banish the sorrow with a blaze of light. The pungent smoke from the burning tallow made her sneeze, but her husband did not call on God to bless her.

His face was all sharp bones, impenetrable as a stone cliff. Even the flickering shadows cast by the candles gave no illusion of softness. His long fingers toyed with the filigreed stem of a wine chalice as he watched her, but he had yet to drink.

She tried to will him to raise the cup to his lips, but at the same time she knew that if he did drink she was doomed. She had laced his wine with henbane, just as she had drugged the ale that would be given to the men who guarded the keep. Later, deep in the night, when all were asleep, she would descend into the cellars and free her cousin. Raine would never forgive her for it.

But she could not watch Kilydd die. He was the son of her mother’s brother, her blood, and she could not watch him die.

She drained her own cup, hoping it would inspire Raine to thirst. But all she succeeded in doing was making herself dizzy.

Suddenly she could bear the silence no longer. She knelt at his feet, her hands on his thighs. She felt a shudder pass through him before his muscles tensed. She looked up into his hard, implacable face.

“Can we not at least talk about it, my lord?”

The vertical lines that framed his mouth deepened. “What would you have me say, Arianna?”

“That you believe I had no part in this. That you don’t hate me.”

His lips curled slightly and he looked away from her.

She leaned forward, her breasts pressing into his knees. “Spare him, my lord, I beg of you. Imprison him if you must, or exile him. But spare his life. If not for my sake, then for us, for our marriage. For how can we ever grow to love one another if—”

She cut herself off, appalled at the words that had slipped from her mouth. He would laugh at her now, or sneer. She would deserve it for being such a fool.

But he did not laugh or sneer. His eyes, pale and blank as a pool on a still and moonlit night, impaled her so that she could not move. He stood abruptly, tangling his fingers in her hair and hauling her up with him.

He jerked her hard against his chest. Their faces were now so close she could see herself reflected in his eyes.

He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, catching a tear that had somehow escaped without her knowing it. “Don’t expect love from me, Arianna.”

Her chest burned with humiliation, and she felt as if she were choking. She tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip.

She pushed against him, desperate now for she was about to cry, and she wouldn’t be able to bear the shame of that. “Let me go.”

“No,” he said. “I will never let you go.” He slammed his mouth down over hers in a brutal and punishing kiss.