Samantha James (42 page)

Her lips parted. Ashbury! Why, she could think of no one except. . .

"Roderick!" she cried out in surprise as he limped through the entrance, supported on each side by two men she recognized as Richard's former men-at-arms.

She rushed forward. The men lowered him slowly onto one of the benches stacked against the far wall. He favored his left leg, grimacing as he eased it ahead of him. She gasped when she saw that his chausses was soaked through with blood.

"My God, Roderick! What has happened?"

"Ah, Kathryn! I and my friends were on our way to a tournament in Warwickshire when we were attacked by a band of cutthroats less than a day's ride from here. We managed to defeat the rogues, but I was not so lucky as my comrades." He managed a sickly smile. "I fear I must humbly ask you and your lord's generosity in seeking shelter for the night."

"Guy is in London," she said. "And of course you may stay. Indeed, you are welcome to remain until your leg is healed and you are able to ride again." She turned and briskly asked Meg to fetch bandages and hot water.

"You are truly too kind, Kathryn." His eyes roved over her lovely features. Kathryn flushed, for she did not miss the intensity of his gaze.

She summoned Gerda to tend to his wound, relieved to see that it was not so bad as she'd first believed. Though the slash had bled profusely, it showed no signs of infection. Gerda sprinkled a healing powder on it, then deftly bound it tightly with strips of clean linen.

Kathryn was anxious for news of Elizabeth, so she plied him eagerly during the evening meal. "How is Elizabeth? Oh, I miss her so! And the wedding—were you there?"

Roderick laughed. "Aye, I was there. And Elizabeth was truly radiant. Marriage seems to agree with her, for I've never seen her look better."

Kathryn breathed a sigh of relief. "If Sir Hugh makes her happy, then I can ask no more."

"Enough of Elizabeth," he said lightly. "What of you, Kathryn?" His voice lowered; his tawny head dipped nearer. "Does the earl make you happy?"

Kathryn inhaled sharply, caught off guard by the hungry look in his eyes.

He mistook her silence. Emboldened, he reached out and caught her hand where it lay on her knee. "Kathryn, you have only to say the word. If he has mistreated you—" His fingers tightened around hers.

Kathryn rose, tugging in earnest on her hand. He merely pulled her closer, refusing to free her. She made a sound of distress, uncomfortable with his familiarity, mindful of what the servants might think. Lord, ah she needed was for someone to carry tales to Guy... Guy! Too late she wondered what Guy might think were he to return home and find Roderick here.

She turned wide pleading eyes his way. "Roderick!" she whispered, "you must not touch me so! Do you forget that I am a married woman now?"

He released her so abruptly she stumbled and nearly lost her balance. "You are right, milady. 'Tis not my place to interfere." His gaze flickered past her shoulder at the same instant a trickle of foreboding raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

She didn't need to turn to know her husband had finally arrived. But turn she did, as if commanded from afar.

He was coming toward her, she noted with a pang in her heart. He was travel-stained and dusty, and lines of weariness scored his cheeks, but he was as wickedly handsome as ever.

Fear and yearning and an agony of longing swept through her. Her nails dug into her palms so hard they were sure to leave marks. The need to touch and be touched was overwhelming—she ached with the need to run to him, to cling to his shoulders and lift her mouth to his. But no hint of a smile softened the grim line of his lips, and the wistful throb of her heartbeat faltered. By the look of him, naught had changed since the day he'd left. Nay, she'd not play the eager wife while he was so obviously the reluctant husband!

Her delicate chin tilted. "My lord," she greeted him coolly. "We did not expect you home so soon."

His smile was frigid. "So I see." A lean hand dropped heavily on her shoulder; he drew her to his side. Kathryn's color mounted, along with her temper, for there was naught of affection in his touch—it was more a show of possessiveness.

His icy gray eyes were pinned on Roderick, who had risen to his feet and stood a bit stiffly. "I wonder that you dare to show your face at Sedgewick." Though Guy's tone was easy, there was a note of danger that did not go unnoticed by either his wife or the other man.

"A case of needs must, my lord. I and the rest of my party were on our way to a joust in Warwickshire when we met up with a band of cutthroats late last eve." Roderick touched his injured leg lightly. "I fear I did not fare so well. We stopped here for assistance and Lady Kathryn was gracious enough to bid us stay until my injury heals."

"Motherhood has made my lady generous indeed." Guy's lips still smiled; his eyes did not. His fingers tightened on Kathryn's waist. He started to turn away, but the other man's voice halted him.

"My lord?"

A dark brow arched in silent inquiry.

"My lord, I see that you look upon me with disfavor. This I understand. Truly I do. But I would remind you that I swore my loyalty to you at Ashbury, and I would ask that you hold no malice toward me, for in truth, I bear you no grudge."

Ah, but he was so glib, so facile, always ready with a winsome smile! Was that how he had won Kathryn? Mayhap he spoke the truth. Mayhap he did not. Either way, Guy was not prepared to let down his guard.

"Then I would remind you of this, Sir Roderick. You were invited to stay at my wife's pleasure. . . but you remain at mine."

He walked away, making certain Kathryn was firmly anchored to his side. But once they were in the passage at the top of the stairs, she twisted away from him. He made no move to reclaim her but instead followed in her wake.

Brenna was fussing as Kathryn walked through the door. Norah was bent over her cradle, preparing to pick her up. She straightened at Kathryn's entrance. "Milady! I was just about to fetch you." She chuckled. "It seems the babe has decided she's waited long enough for her supper."

Kathryn smiled. 'Thank you, Norah. I won't be needing you any more tonight, but would you check on Peter for me, please?"

The girl dropped a curtsy to her lord and lady. Kathryn's smile vanished when she saw Guy had followed her inside. She whirled and reached for the babe, but strong dark hands peremptorily pushed hers aside.

He raised Brenna high, letting the swaddling drop to the floor. The babe had quieted the instant she was picked up. Her legs kicking idly, she crammed a tiny fist in her mouth and gazed curiously at her father. Guy's eyes swept the length of that small naked body. "Lord." He gave an incredulous laugh, his expression incredibly tender. "I cannot believe how she's grown!"

Seeing the pair thus, Kathryn felt a painful tug on her heart. Guy's attachment to his daughter was unquestionable... would that she could command the same warmth and devotion!

He replaced Brenna's swaddling and cradled her in the crook of his elbow. He laughed softly when she instinctively began to root against his tunic, her little mouth open, avidly searching.

He glanced at Kathryn. "She's hungry." He said it as if he were less than pleased.

Whatever softness had dwelled in his expression had vanished. He was once again stark and remote. Her heart twisted in mute despair... Was it because of Roderick? Or because he did not care? Inside she was shattered, but by God, she'd not let him know it!

She took Brenna from his arms and settled herself on the bench beneath the window. Guy stood his ground, making no move to grant her privacy though she knew by the glint in his eyes that he knew she wished it.

Pride alone dictated her objection. She raised her chin and matched his bold stare. "Must you watch?" Her tone was curt.

Something flickered in his eyes—anger? It was gone so quickly she couldn't be certain. "She's my daughter, too, I would remind you. And this is hardly the first time I've watched you nurse her."

True, Kathryn admitted silently. All at once she felt chastened and subdued, perilously close to tears and hating both herself and Guy for it. She clutched the babe tighter, for this was somehow different from all those other times, because he was angry . .. and she was resentful. . . and oh, why must they act as if they were strangers!

But Brenna was squalling in earnest now, squirming and questing frantically, her wrenching cries spiraling in frustration. Unable to stand it any longer, Kathryn fumbled with her gown and bared her breast.

The babe's wails ceased abruptly, but the tension in the room grew ever more strident.

Brenna suckled noisily, making tiny sounds of contented gratification, unaware of the tumult raging in the heart and minds of both her mother and father.

Guy moved to stand directly above his wife. Her head was bowed low, her attention confined to their daughter. His gaze journeyed slowly over the curve of her cheek, down the slender grace of her neck to linger on the swelling mound of her exposed breast.

Desire knotted his gut. He longed to clamp his strong brown fingers across the milky whiteness of her breasts and stare his fill, knowing he would find the contrast riveting and mesmerizing; he could almost feel the velvety smoothness of her skin, the supple weight of her flesh filling his palms. He nearly groaned when she switched the babe to the other breast—her nipple was ripe and glistening, bedewed with milk. Blood pooled thickly in his loins, hot and potent.

The child slept far sooner than Kathryn would have wished. Guy bent, sliding his hands beneath the infant, his knuckles grazing her belly. Kathryn stiffened, scarcely daring to breathe. But she instinctively started to protest as he began to lift the child away. One glance from searing gray eyes crammed the impulse back in her throat. Kathryn, primly covered once again, looked on as he laid Brenna in her cradle, wary of his next move. To her horror, her pulse was thudding wildly. Would he leave her now? Or would he stay? And what did she want? When the babe was covered to his satisfaction, he straightened and turned.

For a frozen moment in time, neither one moved— neither one spoke. Gray eyes clashed fiercely with green.

Once again, the battle raged anew.

Guy smiled at her suspicious regard. "What!" he mocked. "Have you no proper greeting now that we are finally alone?" He went on coolly, "Indeed, I wonder at your attitude, mistress. I had thought you would miss me after my absence." His smile turned ugly. "Or could it be that the welcome which should have gone to your husband has gone to another?"

"I suppose you mean Roderick," she snapped.

"Roderick! Well, now that you mention it, sweet, I must confess I was hardly prepared to find him so snugly ensconced in my home—and with my wife hovering over him to attend his every need!"

"He only just arrived, for heaven's sake!" she replied heatedly. "I merely offered the same hospitality and consideration I'd have offered to any wounded man."

So fiery. So righteous and indignant. So very convincing. But was her outrage real or feigned? Now there was a question indeed.

"And what solace do you offer your husband, whose heart is wounded that you ignore him for another?"

"Ignore you... Wounded!... Why, your heart wears a shield of iron!" she challenged. "Need I remind you that 'twas you who took yourself from this chamber, milord. It was you who chose not to return!"

"And need I remind you that you are my wife? I have every right to claim what is mine—and I would do so now."

Anger brought her surging to her feet. He had not changed. He was still as arrogant as ever! She tried to march past him but he seized her by the waist and brought her up hard against him so their hips were bound together, and then all she could feel was the turgid strength of his manhood rigid and taut against her belly.

A shiver of longing raced through her, even as everything within her decried her body's traitorous response. It seemed so long since she had seen him, so long since he had held her thus! But she yearned for the warmth she knew he was capable of, some sign that he cared, even a little. But there was no tenderness in his eyes, nothing but the brilliant hard sheen of passion.

'Take your lust elsewhere, my lord earl, mayhap back to London and the last bed you lay in. I daresay there's a woman in court who is not so discerning as I am!"

His grip on her arms tightened. He stared down at her. For the space of a heartbeat, it was as if she saw clear inside him, and his soul was as tortured and anguished as her own.

"I've lain with no other since I first laid eyes on you that long-ago day at Ashbury," he said harshly. "Does that please you, sweet?"

Kathryn could not answer. Stunned by the revelation, she could only gape at him.

"You are the one who haunts my dreams, who lights the fire in my loins, who creates a passion in me that knows no bounds—you, Kathryn, who are forever on my mind, whether I will it or no. And aye, it seems that you are the only one who can ease this burning hunger in my soul, for no one can satisfy me as you do, sweet witch."

His admission swept her from the heights of heaven... to the dregs of hell. . . in but the blink of an eye. He spoke of passion and fire and hunger, but not love. Nay, never love.

And yet a treacherous warmth seeped through her limbs, for his nearness rocked her senses.
Where is your pride?
A voice within her berated her furiously. He had only to touch her and she would melt in his arms, yield him anything—everything—he wished! She wanted more than just some small scrap of affection.