LordoftheKeep (11 page)

Slowly, she turned hers, covering his in turn, and traced
the scar across his fingers. She visited the pads of calluses on him palms from
years of wielding a sword. He lifted her hands and placed them on the edges of
his robe. He felt the heat of her fingertips as she discovered the intricate
stitches that edged the silk. His heart pounded like a warhorse’s racing to
battle. He drew the edges open wider, bared his chest, placed her hands on his
skin. When her fingers moved to explore the shape of him just as she had traced
the embroidery, the pleasure of simple arousal gave way to a fiery need. A look
of innocent wonder crossed her face.

His eyes never left her as he watched her expressive face—so
sweet, so gentle. Her hands spread over the shape of him, sought and found his
tight nipples in the hair on his chest. A groan escaped him when she used the
pads of her thumbs to stroke him in gentle circles.

His nipples were on fire, the pleasure bordering on pain. He
encircled her wrists, held her loosely, and guided her hands downward, then abruptly
released her before he made a mistake and took her beyond where she wished to
go on her own.

Emma could barely breathe. She raised her eyes to his black
ones, the same black ones that had beguiled and taken possession of her
soul—drawn her to him with an inevitability she could no longer fight. She read
the need in his eyes.

The wind blew his hair and hers, mixing the gold with the
black, entwining the strands like lovers embracing. Her hands, with a will of
their own, went to the belt of his robe, the one she had made in the colors of
the sea.

“I could not let another have it,” he said as she touched
the design on the belt with her fingertips.

He guided her hands to the knot. Together, her fingers
trembling beneath his, they loosed the knot. He let her hands go.

“I made it for you,” she whispered.

She set him free.

The wind took the edges of the fine silk and blew it back
from his body like the huge wings of a hawk.

Stunned at the madness that suddenly swept through her, she
gripped the belt to anchor herself. He was naked to her eyes. Her first glimpse
of a man fully naked. She drank in the look of him, like a pagan god, strongly
muscled, black hair dark on his chest and thighs. His legs were spread and he
stood braced against the elements, exposed to whatever would come.

She could have stared at him forever. Despite the chill
wind, her cheeks burned at the thoughts and desires that swirled through her.
She wanted to lay her hands to him, lay her mouth to him, tell him every
thought that was within her. She stood in silence, clutched the belt.

Gilles had never felt so naked—or so gloriously alive and
free. He relished the feel of the mist beading on the hair of his body,
relished the way she stroked and caressed him with her eyes. ‘Twas a powerful
thing, her looking—a looking that touched him everywhere as tangibly as the
silk swept and flew about his sides.

Every fiber of his body had strung itself taut from the
first moment when he’d held her in his arms. She was the weaver that could make
whole cloth of his desires. He wanted her to touch him and somehow make real
what had hitherto been but a wild wish in his imagination.

He took her hand and pulled the belt from her fist. He
pressed her hand to his lips, then with jerky motions, clumsy in his need, he
pressed her hand to his chest. “You are mine,” he whispered, his voice hoarse
on his words.

“Aye.” Her hand spread to cover his heart.

How his heart pounded against her palm. How her own heart’s
beat rose to meet his. Soon their hearts beat as one rhythm, hard and fast,
inflamed and urgent.

He could not bear it, closed his eyes, and lifted his
arms—braced his hands between the stone walls to his right and left. He could
not look at her…not when she used the misty beads of moisture gathered on his
skin to slick her way along the ridges and valleys of his chest…not when she
pushed the silk from his shoulders to savor the warrior strength that lay in
wait in the stretched muscles and taut tendons…not when she swept her wet
fingers over his nipples to tease his heart’s beat from rapid to racing.

Nay. He could not look at her. He would ravish her, he was
sure, if he saw his own stark passion mirrored in her eyes.

Her heartbeat became frantic with his. A quick, intense
twist of sensation pounded in her loins. An answering quiver passed along the
muscles of his belly. Her hands sought lower and closer to intimacy.

Her journey of exploration visited every ridge, every
hollow, every hard surface of him. She learned him from shoulder to thigh,
finally spreading her hands on his hips, so close to his manhood, which thrust
like forged steel from the black hair of his groin. He groaned and she looked
at his face. His head was thrown back, the tendons of his throat stretched.

Then his robe lifted and wrapped about her legs and his,
caressed her thighs and calves like a hand, invited her to come closer.

And she did.

She used her fingers to explore the length of him, explore
the hard heat of him. He clasped his hands over hers and thrust in their
warmth. He was on the edge of madness.

“Your skin is like precious silk, my lord, silk over fire.”
As she spoke, she learned every heated inch of him.

He felt like a green squire with his first maid. Out of
control, frantic. He finally opened his eyes, met hers, and saw what he wanted
and needed desperately to see. He breathed slowly, deeply, trying to regain his
wits.

“Emma.” His voice was rough on her name. The wind whipped
his hair and his robe until they stung—a counterpoint to the pleasure of her
hands.

“Gilles,” she answered him. Then there were no words. Their
mouths touched in a wet whisper of warmth. She tasted him—a first taste of
restraint breaking from its reins.

She tasted him and wanted more.

He tasted innocence—sweet, untried innocence.

Their joy in each other tangled their tongues and captured
their breath. His hands snatched hers from his manhood as his every desire
poured from him like a molten, burning stream of liquid pearls, poured out in
pulses that tore at his insides.

She moaned and shuddered in response to his release. Her
nails dug into his palms. He reveled in his release, her response, their heated
passion.

He wrapped his arms about her and embraced the feel of her
body pressed to his. He took her lips more forcefully, claiming ownership. When
they pulled apart, their breathing was ragged and frantic. He had never before
been so spellbound, so enthralled by the caress of a hand or the touch of a
woman.

“You will be with no other.
Ever
.” He said the words.
He still stood exposed and naked, the wind still blowing his hair and robe
wildly about him. His words were a command.

She wanted no other.

“And you—you will be with no other—
ever
.” It was
audacious, a woman commanding a man, a man answerable only to the king.

“So be it,” he said.

“So be it, my lord,” she returned.

Chapter Nine

When he extended his arms, she fairly leapt into them. He
wrapped his robe about them both and hugged her to his heart.

Had he ever felt a joy such as he felt at that moment?
Never
.

He whispered against her temple. “Forgive me. I took all
tonight, gave nothing.”

“You gave me yourself, my lord. What more could I desire?”
She locked her arms around his waist and clung to him.

Large, cold drops of rain struck his shoulders, but he was
loath to relinquish his hold on her. When she laughed up at him, pulling on
him, he grinned back and let himself be drawn through the stone arch to the
shelter of the staircase.

Together, arms about each other’s waists, they stumbled to
his chamber. He felt drunk, drunk on her scent and the feel of her body pressed
to his. Laughing, they fell side by side on his bed. Then a laden silence fell
over them. When she bit her lip and looked away, Gilles leaned over her.

With a gentleness he rarely showed anyone, he grasped her
chin and turned her face to his. “I will not hurt you.”

Her eyes widened. “I do not fear you,” she said softly and
touched his hand; the touch became a caress.

“Then what is it?” he asked.

“My heart says to yield you everything; my mind tells me I
will be forever labeled…fallen.”

Blood throbbed in a vein in his temple. “You are mine.
Should any man or woman speak one word against you, I shall flay the skin from
their back! Do you understand? You are mine.” His fingers gripped her chin
fiercely.

For a wild moment, she thought to protest. He didn’t understand.
Unacknowledged though they might be, she was breaking her vows, denying the
promises she’d made.

Her eyes searched his face. The shape of his bones, his long
nose, his fine straight brows told her he had generations of ancestors of
quality behind him. He had not one coarse feature, one flaw. Even his teeth
were straight and white. Her gaze flickered away. One did not propose vows to a
lord when his ancestors had come with Duke William and conquered hers. She
swallowed hard.

He pulled her tightly against him. “You are mine.” He kissed
her gently. The taste of him, the press of his body on hers shredded her
thoughts. Her utter fascination with him allowed her fears to scatter like
chaff on the wind.

He did not do as William had, toss up her skirt and shove
her thighs apart. No, he skimmed his fingers along her throat, gentling her,
soothing her agitation, murmuring reassurances. He made no move to bare her
skin. As their mouths feasted on each other, his hand journeyed over her as
calming as if he were settling a skittish mare.

They lay side by side for what seemed hours to Emma, slowly
bringing their bodies together until every inch of them touched the other—and
every fear dissolved to nothing.

Soon, she could not bear even the separation of their clothing.
Her hips arched against him, her arms locked urgently about his neck. His robe
lay open between them. Everywhere his hands or mouth touched, she burned with a
frenzied need.

Finally, he rose on one elbow and lifted a heavy curl of her
hair to his lips. “I wish to touch you as you touched me.”

Although the many beeswax candles in the chamber would
expose her to him, Emma slipped from the bed and dropped her clothing in a pool
at her feet. The chill in the air tightened her nipples and for a moment she
felt exposed and frightened.

She hesitated. To touch was to go forward, not to be able to
return to what was before. Nothing would be the same. Ever.

She had already touched.

When her hands crept to cover herself, Gilles came off the
bed and wrapped his arms around her, drawing the edges of his robe about them
until they were both enclosed in the soft silk. He held her still against him,
let her feel his desire. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered against her brow.

He felt her body slowly relax. He sheltered her, tried to
calm her fears. Her hands fell away. With words congealed in his throat at the
wonder of her, he lifted her into his arms and placed her on the bed. He
discarded his robe and came over her. Every inch of her skin glowed in the
candlelight. He ached to be in her immediately, but did not want the moment to
end. Never had he wished to linger—until now, until this woman.

Never had he been with a woman who was so innocent. Her
kisses were unschooled and despite the way she had touched him, he knew instinctively
that she had been exploring a man for the first time.

He wondered if she’d woven her tale of wedding vows to spare
her child bastardy and herself the need to admit to abuse. The thought made him
even more gentle. He whispered the warmth of his breath on her shoulder,
skimmed his fingertips along her soft skin for many long moments.

Her skin flushed at his touch, her breath quickened against
his throat. Slowly, he ran his hand over her until he came to where he wanted
to be. When he touched her, she moaned and arched to him. The way was well
prepared; she was soft and ready. Her hands urged him on; wordless sounds came
from her throat. He joined his mouth to hers as he joined his body.

All doubts fled Emma’s mind. The touch of him, his scent, the
feel of him filling her made her embrace him fiercely, her arms locked about
his neck. She gave herself to his movement, met his rhythm. Sensations swirled
madly through her. His movements escalated, swept her along. Beneath her
fingers, the muscles of his back and buttocks tensed, bunched, arched. A final
time he thrust into her, gave himself to her.

Every touch of his skin to hers, every sweep of his tongue
in her mouth made her wish to scream. In an explosion of undiluted sensation
her body shuddered fast upon his release. Her thighs trembled. In frantic
motion, she heaved against him again and again and again. She moaned his name,
her fingers scraped helplessly along his back as she collapsed.

They panted in each other’s arms. Emma’s shock held her immobile
beneath his body. This joining had been as different from her one time with
William Belfour as silk thread from coarse wool. Her legs trembled from her
release. Her mind trembled from the knowledge of how this man had cherished
her.

Gilles gathered her even closer and used his palm to soothe
the jumping muscles in her thighs. He whispered a kiss on her brow. “Stay with
me the night. Lie here by my side.”

“Nay.” She struggled from his embrace. Thoughts of where she
should be, what others might think, flooded in. She snatched a pillow and held
it tightly before her breasts. “I must return to my pallet. I have Angelique to
see to.” She evaded his hand and leapt from the bed. Her hands shook as she
hastily dressed. She felt his seed on her thighs.

Gilles sat up in the pillows at the head of the bed. His
body ached to have her back in his arms, but the hectic flush on her face told
him he needed to move slowly with her. “I want you by my side. I will have
Sarah find a nurse for Angelique, so you may attend me without fear for her.”

“My lord…please. Wh-what will Sarah think—” Emma stumbled
over her words. She wrung her hands.

She touched his heart. “Aye. I understand.” He thought a
moment. “Seek a nurse yourself. Come when you are able. But please…come.” She smiled
and a shaft of pure desire plunged through his body. “I want you,” he said,
“but willingly, not in shame for what we will do here.”

Emma approached him warily and put out a hand to him. “I
have but one experience with a man to judge what happened here, my lord. I
found ecstasy with you. I cannot find shame in what we did.” She bit her lip.
“Others, my lord, they may gossip—”

He entwined his fingers in hers. “I want only your comfort.
Do nothing that makes you uneasy.”

Her fingers gripped his. “I will come as soon as possible.”

Relief broke on the hard edge of his desire.

“I just do not know the way of it,” she swept a look about
the curtained bed, “the way of lovers.”

He kissed her fingers. “Emma. I must have you near.”

And that was that. It took but a sennight for her desire for
him to outweigh the nagging doubts about becoming his lover.

Emma’s meager belongings were moved to a brass-strapped
chest beside the bed with the sky-blue draperies two rounds up the keep’s tower
from Gilles. At the very bottom of the chest she hid her precious leather
pouch. Straightening her two gowns and her one shift, Emma marveled that her
life should be so changed. Carefully, she lifted Angelique from where she slept
on the linen-draped bed, cradled her in her arms, and mused on her good
fortune.

The warming fire was a luxury she’d thought to never have
again. For the last two years, she’d had naught to warm her child but coals in
a brazier or wood scraps. Truly, the only roaring fires she’d encountered at
Hawkwatch were in Lord Gilles’ hall, and craftsmen and women certainly did not
sit so high at the table as to feel its heat. Granted the hall was quite
comfortable, but Emma liked knowing there was no end to warmth and its
accompanying luxuries for her child.

Her fingers stroked gently through the silk of Angelique’s
hair. “You’ll not have chilblains this winter, nor cracked lips,” she
whispered. “I’ll not need to use precious fuel to thaw rainwater to make the
thinnest of pottage. In fact,” she smiled, “we’ve no need to dine on pottage
ever again.” Angelique stretched and yawned, opened her eyes and thrust her
thumb into her mouth.

Emma tickled her stomach. “Good heaven, this belly’s quite
full, my little lady.” Then she frowned.
Heaven
. She’d made vows to
heaven—vows scorned by William. Would she roast in hell for putting them aside
and seeking Lord Gilles’ bed?

She shook her head and hugged her child close. Tears pricked
her eyes.

How could such ecstasy be sinful? How could such caring
in a man’s eyes be wrong?

Her own hands caught her eye. Weaver’s hands. Calloused,
nails worn low. Not the soft hands of a lady. How long would she have with Lord
Gilles before a woman more gently reared caught his fancy?

She had become Lord Gilles’ leman. The word frightened her,
but having known his touch, been enfolded in his embrace, she feared the loss
of him more.

She could be nothing more to him than a mistress. Her life
was bound to William—unto death. To declaim their vows would make her child a
bastard. To say aloud what she had done would be to shame her mother’s memory.
Had not her mother walked into the North Sea rather than become Simon’s leman?
She soothed her conscience with the fact that if she pleased Lord Gilles,
Angelique would live past three summers. She touched her fingers to her breast,
a breast that no longer yielded milk. There was healthful food and goat’s milk
to take its place here in his keep. Better Angelique’s mother be called wanton
than the child starve.

She would not regret her decision. In truth, how could she
have resisted him? Her head bowed. Tears welled. Mayhap he would love her
enough to keep her by his side—at least until Angelique grew straight and
strong.

“I must do this. It is best for you, my child. You are all I
care about. I will stay here as long as you are cared for.”

Gilles stepped quickly from the doorway. He’d come in a rush
when Sarah had informed him Emma no longer slept with the spinners. But her
words cut through him like the icy wind that harrowed the land.

She came to him for the child.

* * * * *

Rain splashed and streamed against the stones of her narrow
windows. The shutters rattled and banged loosely in their frames.

Sighing, Emma rose and drew a soft blanket from her bed and
went to the warm pallet that had been placed by the wall. She settled the
blanket about May’s shoulders and kissed Angelique good night. May had little
liking or talent for spinning and a great affection for small children.
Smiling, Emma realized that attending Lord Gilles had benefited more than just
Angelique.

As she rose, she smoothed her hair with nervous fingers. Her
mouth dried. Despite a day in her new surroundings, Emma still marveled at one
inescapable fact of her dwelling in this chamber here at Hawkwatch Keep. She
could touch Gilles whenever she wanted, could taste his mouth, hear his heart
beat.

Silently, cloaked in her mantle, Emma waited in the shadows
for a sentry to make his rounds, then descended the several steps of the spiral
stairs to his chamber. Not a sound did she make as she lifted the latch. The
scent of wet, mossy stone filled her nostrils.

Disappointed, she saw that his chamber was empty, the bed
deep in shadows. Crossing rapidly to the bed, she dropped her mantle and outer
clothing, then, clad only in her shift, climbed into the center and knelt there
in nervous anticipation. Would he still want her? William had not wanted her
after just one time.

Was she too bold to be here? She certainly did not want Lord
Gilles to come to her chamber with May there—and Angelique.

His bed was piled high with furs and fine linens. She made a
nest in the center with her knees. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she
closed her eyes to conjure him in her mind. She breathed deeply and slowly as
she let the image of him, naked to the night, rise in her imagination. She
breathed in the scent of his chamber, the scent of fine beeswax candles,
applewood, warming wine—and him. She would forever remember him as she’d seen
him—standing in the dark night, black hair blowing—waiting for just her. She
would forever remember the taste of his mouth and the scent of his skin. She
would forever remember the liquid rush in her loins as she thought of what this
night would bring.

* * * * *

“Gilles,” Roland said and snapped his fingers.

“Hmm?” Gilles idly traced a design on the tabletop with the
point of his dagger.

“You have heard naught that I’ve said these last few
moments. Be gone.” Roland rose from the chessboard. He clapped Gilles on the
shoulder, and then strode off in the direction of his wife.