Margo Maguire (11 page)

“No, my lord,” Kathryn replied, much too aware of his male scent and the heat of his body. She wanted to forget what had transpired between them, not relive it every time he was near. Truly.

Kathryn lifted a small sherte by the shoulders and held it up for him to see. “I cannot believe you were ever small enough to wear this,” she said, then regretted her words, for they called to mind the size of his shaft and the smooth hardness she’d felt as she’d wrapped her fingers ’round it.

A muscle in Edric’s cheek flexed once and Kathryn knew he was remembering the same moment. The activity in the hall seemed distant as Edric dropped to one knee beside her. “I have never been…small.”

Kathryn’s hands trembled slightly, so she put them to good use once again, sorting through the
items in the trunk. ’Twas far better to ignore his seductive words, but when he lifted her plait of hair and pulled it carefully from her shoulder where it rested, her body quaked with awareness. She closed her eyes and swallowed, aware that encouraging any further congress between them would be a mistake. The heat that passed between them would burn her up if she let it, and leave her with naught.

“L-lord Bryce was asking for you.” ’Twas the only ploy she could think of to make him go. And it wasn’t exactly untrue. When she and Lora had returned to the keep a while ago and visited Bryce, the young man had asked if they’d seen his brother.

Edric’s hand stilled. “All is not finished between us, wench. We will continue what we started.”

“No, my lord. We cannot. I am a chaste maid and soon I will enter the nunnery.”

His eyes bored into hers. “’Tis a mistake, as well you know. You were made for my touch.”

Jesu,
what had he been using for brains? Certainly not the contents of his head.

In the quiet of the bedchamber that Edric had hardly visited during the past year, he removed his wet clothes. Standing naked beside the bed, he was still partially aroused. ’Twas no difficult feat
to imagine Kate lying upon the mattress, her eyes darkened with passion. He muttered a curse for engaging in such senseless whimsy, and forced her from his mind.

He drew on clean, dry clothes and quit the room, anxious to find something else to occupy his attention. ’Twas but a short walk to Bryce’s chamber, and he found the guard outside and Father Algar within. The room smelled of incense and was cloudy with smoke. The priest knelt beside the bed, muttering Latin prayers, even though Bryce was asleep. At least, his eyes were closed.

“Father Algar, ’tis time you gave your knees a rest.” ’Twas an irreverent suggestion, but the less Edric saw of Algar, the better. Besides, the man had fouled the air with his cloying smoke. Edric did not know how Bryce could breathe.

The priest pushed himself up to his feet and pierced Edric with an accusing glare. “You will pay for your sins, lad. Cast out the Norman and repent your unholy alliance.”

Edric put his hand upon the priest’s shoulder and ushered him to the door. “Will my repentance put food on our tables, old man? Will it replace our trees and repair our fields?”

He did not wait to hear the priest’s reply, but closed the door behind the man and opened the shutters, letting the sweet smoke drift outside.

“God’s eyebrows, I thought he would never leave,” said Bryce, opening one eye a crack.

“I didn’t think you were asleep.” Edric took a seat beside his brother. “How do you fare?”

“If Lora would stop putting this putrid slop on the wound and allow me out of bed, I would be fine.”

“I trust Lora.”

“What of the other one? Kate?”

Edric ran the palms of his hands down his thighs. “She is a Norman. We’d be fools to trust her.”

Bryce furrowed his brow. “I like her.”

“’Tis all right to like her. Just don’t trust her.”

“Come now, Edric. You trust your son with her.”

Edric stood and went to the window. “She is more a mother than Cecily would have been, I’ll give you that.”

“’Tis more than that.”

“No it isn’t. She is only enjoying her time with a bairn who needs her before she goes to Evesham Bridge.”

“Ah. The nunnery. Is she a nun?” Bryce asked.

“No.” He could not imagine a nun alive who would react to his touch the way Kate had done.

“Then I don’t understand.”

Of course Bryce didn’t understand. He hadn’t
spent enough time with her to know the inconsistencies she presented. And if Edric sorted out her true story, he feared he might be compelled to act on it, mayhap even depriving his son of the one woman who had succeeded in nurturing him. “She is Norman, and that is all we need to know.”

“No need to get into a temper over it. I’ve just never before heard of a serving maid gaining entrance to Evesham Bridge. Won’t she need a dowry?”

Edric nodded slowly. Yet another unanswered question.

“She’ll stay here as long as Aidan needs her, won’t she?”

“Aye,” said Edric. “She’ll stay.”

“Did you teach her to protect herself once she leaves here?”

Edric gave a slight shake of his head. He did not want to speak of what had transpired in the solar—not with Bryce, not with anyone. ’Twas obvious his passionate encounter with Kate had merely been the result of his long abstinence. It meant naught. He sat down once again and spoke with Bryce of his plans to raid the Fergusons. Bryce would not be well enough to go, for Edric intended to attack soon, but ’twas best to include his brother in the planning. The younger man had a keen
mind for strategy, and Edric intended to make use of it.

“Robert Ferguson keeps a mistress in a cottage west of his father’s keep,” said Bryce. “’Tis outside the village at the base of a small fell near the river.”

“How do you know this?”

Bryce smiled. “’Tis called knowing your enemy. I thought we would be raiding Léod’s holding weeks ago.”

“Now that Léod is dead, Robert’s arrangement with his whore may have changed. Mayhap he brings her into his house.”

“Mayhap, but ’tis best to anticipate all the possibilities. When do you plan to go?”

“I’d intended to go right away, but Oswin advised waiting until the moon is full.”

“He thinks the Fergusons will be occupied with mourning Léod?”

Edric nodded. “I’m not so sure—”

“He’s known the Fergusons far longer than you, Edric.”

“Aye. So we follow his advice and leave two days hence, our best time for traveling at night.”

“If the weather holds,” Bryce remarked.

“We’ll go regardless. Even waiting these two days grates on my nerves.”

When he left Bryce to his rest, Edric concentrated
on their discussion of battle plans, glad to have something that fully occupied his attention. He was distracted, however, by the pleasant smell of lavender.

Following his nose, he went to the stairs and looked down, only to spy Kate dropping small twigs of the aromatic plant over the rushes in the hall. He watched her move all alone about the room, happily chatting in French. Edric wondered who her audience was, since she appeared to be alone, then he noticed the old cradle from his father’s keep. Aidan lay within it, aimlessly kicking his tiny hands and feet at the air.

Edric’s knowledge of French was rudimentary. He’d managed to communicate with Cecily only because she took great pains to make her demands understood, and Berta was somewhat fluent in English. So he did not know exactly what Kate was saying to Aidan, only that his son seemed to enjoy the sound of her voice.

As did Edric. It was soft and melodic, and sounded almost like a language entirely different from that which Cecily had used. ’Twas arousing to see her in this unguarded moment, and when he closed his eyes and let the sweet sounds wash over him, he found himself growing painfully erect. The dunk in the river had done naught to ease his arousal.

Kate gave out a startled gasp when she saw him.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

She hesitated at first. “Your hall is cold and unhealthy, my lord. Some changes were necessary.”

Edric went down the stairs and met her in front of the fireplace where Aidan cooed contentedly. He could not deny the hall was a more pleasant place with the alterations Kate had wrought, although ’twas not her place to cause such changes.

“To my recollection, you are a servant here, Kate of Rushton.” His cold words were tossed out like a challenge, but she did not deny them.

“’Twas not done for my own comfort, my lord.”

He loomed over her, tall and dark, with his powerful arms folded across his chest. “How do you know I have no other plans for my hall?”

Kathryn gritted her teeth and decided she could be just as unpleasant as the Saxon lord. “I beg your pardon, my lord. ’Tis my understanding that your hall has been barely habitable since its completion.”

“I suppose Lora told you that.”

“Oh, think you that only Lora has noticed the state of your residence?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched at her brazen reply, and he lowered his arms and came closer.
Kathryn stood her ground, even though she knew he could order her whipped for her insolence. He took her shoulders in his hands and she waited for him to shake her.

She felt his breath upon her forehead, and when she looked up, she saw that his expression was not one of anger. His eyes had darkened to a much deeper blue, and his chest seemed to grow immeasurably with each of his breaths, touching the peaks of her breasts, and rendering them exquisitely sensitive.

She should step away and put some distance between them, but she could not.

“I need no Norman wench telling me how to arrange my hall.” His voice was low and threatening, but Kathryn felt no fear, only a shuddering awareness of his body.

“Mayhap it takes a Norman to carry out the task.” Her words came out in barely a whisper as she felt the same kind of melting heat that she’d experienced with him in the solar. She should run, should escape as fast as her legs would carry her, yet when he increased the pressure of his hands upon her shoulders and pulled her toward him, she was immobilized.

“Since this is a Norman keep,” Edric said as he lowered his head, “you may be right.”

Kathryn gazed up at him as he touched his
mouth to hers, brushing his lips gently across her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed and he drew her even closer, pressing her breasts against his chest. Kathryn forgot where they were standing and returned his kiss with all the ardor of their earlier encounter.

Edric sucked her tongue into his mouth as he tipped his head and deepened his kiss. Kathryn slipped her arms ’round his waist and felt his hands slide down her back. She trembled when he cupped her buttocks and pulled her against the solid ridge between his legs.

Kathryn felt a raw yearning for what he’d done to her earlier, yet she wanted more. She wanted to feel him inside her, to know she could give him the same pulsing pleasure that she’d felt earlier.

’Twas sinful, but she could not deny him, or the potent feelings he aroused in her. She moved against him, brushing her breasts against his chest, cradling his hard arousal against her pelvis.

When she felt the vibration of a low sound he made in the back of his throat, Kathryn pushed back slightly. He slipped his hands up her sides until they reached her breasts. Somehow, they were even more sensitive than before, and when he cupped them fully, then toyed with her nipples, her knees buckled.

Edric managed to keep her from falling, but he
broke the kiss, growling, pressing his forehead against hers. He took her hand and started to lead her away, but at that moment, Aidan started to cry.

Kathryn felt momentarily disoriented, but regained her senses when Edric spoke. “I must be insane,” he muttered.

Taking note of the savage heat in his gaze, Kathryn thought he might truly be mad.

But the madness was not only his.

Edric stalked out of the hall. He walked across the courtyard to his stable, dismissed the groom who offered to assist him, and saddled his own horse. A few minutes later, he was riding through the cobbled lanes of the village toward the Silver Dragon.

The tavern was in the farthest corner of the village, a prosperous building with two stories—a public room and kitchen on the main floor, and guest bedrooms abovestairs. Many a time had he taken his pleasure in one of those rooms on a soft feather bed, with the lusty Saxon wench who lived and worked there. Edric intended to finish his day in one of those rooms, with that same Saxon female riding him until he could no longer think.

The aroma of onions, beans, and cabbage assailed him as he entered the public room. He had
not expected the place to be so crowded, but it was dark and noisy, with every table filled. The evenings were cold now, so there was a fire in the grate, and smoke hovered near the ceiling.

Wilfred the tavernkeeper shoved some men aside to make room for Edric, but Edric spied Drogan sitting with his hands cupped ’round a tankard, looking dejected. He picked his way through the crowd toward the huscarl, and sat down across from him.

“What ails you?” he asked, feeling as miserable as Drogan looked.

When Wilfred brought the mug of ale and set it before him, Edric wondered where Felicia was. She usually took pains to greet him and find him the best place in the house. And she’d said all had been quiet here recently.

“Lora,” Drogan said.

“What?” Edric had already forgotten what he’d asked. He searched the crowd and saw Felicia enter from the kitchen, carrying a large tray laden with a platter of food, mugs, and a pitcher. She’d tied up her golden hair, but limp strands had escaped their bindings and hung down her back.

“The woman will not consider my suit.”

“The wom—? Ah, Lora. Well, consider yourself
fortunate,” Edric groused. “Respectable women are not for the likes of us.”

Drogan growled and did not reply, preferring to swill his beer instead. Edric watched Felicia move among the crowd, her raucous laughter sounding quite harsh to his ears. Had she always been so strident?

She set down her tray and distributed meat and ale among the men before returning to the kitchen. Edric did not mind that she didn’t notice him right away. He had all night, and he intended to take his pleasure slowly, starting now, by anticipating the carnal amusements he would soon enjoy in one of Wilfred’s soft beds upstairs.