The Bride Gift (19 page)

A soft snort of amusement vibrated through his chest.

She pressed her face into the warmth where his neck and shoulder met. The pungent tang of horse barely concealed the reek of his hauberk, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She tugged on it impatiently, needing the comfort of his skin on hers. “Let us get this off you.”

He obediently raised his arms to the side. “I did not choose Rosalind over you. You are my wife.”

“Not all men esteem their wives.” She stepped onto the dressing stool to remove his smelly chain mail.

“But I do,” he returned.

And her heart gave a queer, little thump of pleasure.

He turned, took the hauberk from her and dropped it onto the floor. She wavered slightly on her perch on the dressing stool and he steadied her by the hips. “The words,” he rumbled. With her height raised by the stool, their eyes were level. “I do not do well with words.”

“I know that much, Guy.” A bubble of laughter rose to the surface. Did he really think he was telling her something she didn’t know?

He gave her a tentative smile in return. “I do not like the locked door,” he continued. His eyes drifted down. They lingered over the swell of her breasts beneath the fine linen of her chainse. The firm lines of his mouth softened as his gaze stroked over her hips, the juncture of her thighs and the length of her legs.

“Clearly,” Helena retorted as she looked at the wreckage of the door. An answering flush of heat spread over her body where his eyes rested. Her nipples jutted out boldly, demanding his attention.

“There should be no more doors betwixt us.” He tugged her closer.

“There should be no more Rosalind betwixt us,” she groused as his hands slid around to cup her buttocks. He pressed his hard length to her and another sort of passion took control of her.

“There are only clothes betwixt us now.” He rocked his hips. Her body responded immediately to the primal demand of his. Her fingers crept over the broad planes of his chest and onto his shoulders. “There is no Rosalind here,” he rasped.

Helena let her head drop to the side. A guttural murmur of approval vibrated through him as his mouth roamed the column of her neck.

He hooked his hands beneath her thighs and urged her legs to curve about his waist. Her bottom rested in his big palms and he pulled her closer. Locking her ankles, she pressed into his hard heat.

Hunger rose swift and fierce within her. Here was healing. Helena bracketed the rugged planes of his face between her palms and brought her mouth down on his. Her tongue swept boldly into his mouth and tangled with his, aching for him to sink deep and hard inside her and take her away from the death and the ugliness surrounding them.

He lowered her onto the bed, coming down with his arms braced on either side of her shoulders. Impatient with his careful caresses, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rolled. He was forced to move with her until he lay beneath her with her legs straddling his hips. Uttering a purr of relief, Helena pressed against his shaft, rubbing her aching flesh over him, reaching blindly for her fulfilment.

His hands tightened on her hips, forcing her to stop. With a feral growl, Helena glared down at him.

“Gentle,” he panted, his teeth clenched, his jaw rigid as he battled for control. “Do not want to hurt you.”

“I will not break.” She knocked his hands away from her hips. In his eyes she perceived the moment he abandoned control, his hunger stark and plain.

Helena exulted in it.

His palms slid up her legs, bunching the fabric of her chainse to her waist. The cloth of his breeches abraded her sensitive flesh.

One of his hands dropped to free himself and then Helena could feel him full and smooth beneath her weeping core. She raised her body enough to sink onto him. He slid deep and she groaned. Guy’s expression held equal parts bliss and torture. He was iron-hard within her and Helena rocked with him.

“Sweet
Jesu
.” His head arched back, exposing the strong lines of his throat. Helena nipped on the column of flesh exposed to her.

He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. His tongue plunged swiftly between her lips, imitating the motion of their bodies in a feverish thrust and retreat that left her near mindless with the need to drive them both to completion.

Rising beneath her, Guy drove his shaft deeper. He caught her harsh cries between more kisses, giving and taking as he brought her closer to the precipice. His hands guided the motion of her hips, increasing the pace.

Helena shattered on a long, deep keen as she ground herself against him. Under her, he stiffened, thrust up once more and his entire body tensed as he poured into her. His hands tightened on her flesh as he reached completion.

“Oh, Lord.” With a sigh, she dropped forward onto his chest. “We have no door.”

His deep laugh rumbled through her chest. The skin of his throat was salty and damp beneath her lips and she flicked her tongue out to taste him. She was rewarded with another chuckle as his hands came up to stroke her back.

“Helena.” The seriousness of his tone held her still. His hands continued their long, leisurely strokes from her shoulder blades to the swell of her buttocks in a soothing motion. “Nobody can come betwixt us unless we allow them to do so.”

Within her, his flesh stirred and it sent an answering rise of heat through her body.

“I know that.” Her lips explored the sharp line of his jaw. Enough with Rosalind and her jealousy. Enough with talking altogether.

“And I may have chosen Rosalind for her healing abilities, but there is only you in this bed with me and only you beside me as we care for Lystanwold.”

A rush of sweetness filled her. “Those are good words.”

Chapter 21

King Stephen arrived, leading what appeared to be half of the south of England in his wake.

“So many,” Helena marvelled, as she stood in the bailey, ready to meet the retinue crawling over the drawbridge. The task of sheltering and feeding the long procession of people behind the king daunted her. They kept coming, the stragglers only just disappearing beneath the canopy of the forest.

“It is a show of power,” Guy said from beside her. “Stephen is reminding me who is king.”

“Subtle,” Helena agreed.

“As a trebuchet.”

The king dismounted and strode toward them. “Sir Guy.” The king hailed her husband. “Marriage agrees with you.”

“My liege.” Guy executed a flawless bow.

Helena stopped staring like a gap-toothed child and dropped into a curtsy. She’d never met Stephen before. Roger had adjudged it unwise to take her to court.

The king was a well-looking man just past his middle years, but the cares of war seemed to be etched in sharp lines around his eyes and mouth. “Lady Helena,” he said. Since the king wasn’t an overly large man, Guy towered above him like an oak above a sapling.

“My liege.” She kept her head bowed. The king made a waving motion and following Guy’s lead, Helena stood.

“Well.” He studied her intently. “You have certainly been much sought after, my lady. We nearly had to break up a scuffle for your hand.” He threw back his head and laughed uproariously. Behind him the courtiers close enough to hear the jest joined in.

Guy’s mouth tilted slightly at the corners as the king enjoyed himself. His composed and calm demeanour helped ease her nerves a little.

Then she started as the king touched her face and leaned in as if to conspire with her. “Your man charged the gates before we were obliged to deal with the matter. We were most displeased.” He cupped her chin in his hand as he spoke.

Helena suppressed the desire to jerk out of his grasp.

“We cannot say we blame him.” King Stephen’s long fingers stroked the skin of her cheek. Beside her Guy stirred restively.

“Oh, settle yourself, my mettlesome young buck.” The king released her to thump Guy across the shoulder, a blow that might have sent a lesser man flying across the bailey. “You cannot hide this pretty flower up here in the north.”

He turned to address the retinue crowded behind him. “Imagine what a battle we would have had on our hands if you swiving dogs had actually clapped eyes on the lady.” The king’s face creased into laughter again. He thumped Guy a few more times as he crumpled over in mirth.

The king’s manner grated like a rough file on Helena’s teeth. When Guy’s large hand firmly settled on the arch of her back and his fingers spread possessively, she drew comfort from their touch.

“It is their loss,” he said. “Lady Helena is now my lady and I will not give her up.”

The king stopped laughing.

Guy’s expression remained impassive, but the blatant message of his stance was unmistakeable.

“Mark you,” Stephen called over his shoulder to the gathering crowd. “Mark you how he cocks his leg like a wolf with his territory.” More laughter followed, with the court joining in heartily. Helena was mortified, yet Guy didn’t seem in the least bothered.

She cut across the hilarity gently. “I am sure you are thirsty after your journey. We would be honoured if you would enter our keep.”

“Hmm?” The king stared at her for a moment as if he had forgotten who she was. “Oh, aye, indeed.” He continued to chuckle as Helena led the way into the keep and up the stairway to the hall. “But we were forgetting something.” He stopped on his way to the keep.

Beside her, Guy stiffened.

“We have brought an old friend of yours with us,” the king added.

The smile slipped from Helena’s face as Ranulf swaggered toward them. Nay, he couldn’t be here. This must be some sick jest of King Stephen’s. Fear and rage tangled in her throat, trapping her hot words of denial.

Ranulf’s eyes swept over her boldly to fasten on Guy. Challenge glittered in their depths.

Guy’s hand firmed on her back, a gentle warning. She wiped all expression from her face.

“Sir Ranulf was most insistent on being allowed to join us.” The king’s eyes darted between the two men. He rubbed his palms together like a gleeful child. “We agreed, as we are all friends and allies. Is that not so, Sir Guy?”

A muscle worked in Guy’s jaw.

“Sir Guy?” The king’s silky purr was a warning, clear and simple.

“As you say, my liege.” Guy stepped closer to Helena and Ranulf’s grin widened.

“Aye, verily, we
do
say.” King Stephen’s gaze hardened on Guy. “We say that we shall have peace on our northern borders.”

“My liege.” Guy inclined his head, but the fingers at her back increased their pressure.

“Come, Ranulf.” The king motioned the knight forward. “As you are no stranger to this keep, you can show us where to find a cup of ale.”

“Sir Ranulf?”

Ranulf hid his repulsion as Colin slunk into his eyesight.

“You look well.” Colin sidled closer until they were nearly touching.

Ranulf eased away, battling the urge to strike out in distaste at the abomination. Colin’s large eyes were fixed on his face with the sort of fascination that Bess had once worn. It had been gratifying to see the look change from worship to confusion and, finally, a level of fear that rendered her passive in his power.

“Colin.” He offered a guarded smile. “It seems we are both out of luck.” Ranulf stepped closer to the other man. Colin’s eyes grew even larger as a flush spread across his pasty skin. He bridled like a mare before a stallion.

Ranulf’s lip curled in revulsion.

The king took the lord’s solar. The rest of the courtiers crowded into the upper reaches of the keep. Their numbers spilled over into the hall and the barracks beyond the bailey. On the clearing, a dizzying array of tents sprang up like brilliant toadstools to fill the space.

Rosalind had left the keep earlier in the day with all the pomp of an abdicating potentate. Guy had her and Geoffrey installed in a small cottage near the keep with Willie, subdued but eager, in attendance. As much as it irked Helena to admit, Rosalind was doing a marvellous job of nursing Geoffrey.

Helena saw the king settled before she returned to the kitchens. They would be stretched to the limit to feed this many mouths. Guy would have to put together a hunting party to supplement the table with venison.

She collided with a solid wall of muscle. Large hands wrapped around her waist to catch her as she stumbled back.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Helena.”

The skin at her nape crawled. Instinctively she recoiled, jumping back out of his reach.

The years had been ridiculously kind to Ranulf. He had the sort of male beauty that was mesmerizing in its perfection. Age had merely enhanced his looks, lines bracketing the fullness of his mouth and creating humour around the corners of his eyes. His dark honey coloured hair hung in long waves to his shoulders, not a skein of grey marring the silky sheen.

His eyes, so blue they were almost indigo, locked on her with an intensity that made her shudder. Bess had fallen in love with Ranulf the moment she had clapped eyes on his face. His very beauty only made Helena loathe him more. It was all a lie, hiding a core as ugly and rotten as the exterior was lovely.

“You must know you are not welcome here.”

“Ah, sweet Nell.” He took a step closer, crowding her to the wall at her back. He was as tall as Guy, although not quite as broad in the shoulder. “When will you get over this petulance of yours?”

“Let me pass.” Helena hid her fear as he loomed, pushing her to the hard stone. She wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing her fearful.

“I know it was you.” Helena refused to drop her eyes. “I know what you did to that man and his daughter.”

“How clever you are, Nell.” He reached for her face, but Helena jerked away. Her belly roiled with revulsion. “Not clever enough, though.” His laugh crept over her flesh and made her shiver.

“Leave.” She kept her reaction hidden. “I want you to leave Lystanwold.”

He shook his head. “The king, however, wants me to stay. I am going to have to disoblige you, Nell.”

Helena’s lips curled away from her teeth. She wanted to snarl at him like a cornered animal, slash at his beautiful face with her fingernails. Instead, she said coldly, “Get out of my way.”