The Crimson Lady (21 page)

His hand was shaking as he lifted it to her face, cupping her cheek, and their breath rose and fell in tandem as he spoke. “You are a miracle to me, Fiona…a precious, unexpected miracle, and I want nothing more right now than to make love to you, in the way a man is meant to love a woman.”

He stroked her cheek again with his fingers, letting his hand slip into her hair to brush over her ear and down to the side of her throat, shifting his hips to ease her body astride him. She moved into that position with effortless grace, perching herself just above the aching part of him she had loved with her mouth just moments past; he could feel the creamy warmth of her against his abdomen, and he reveled in it, groaning with her at the sensation that resulted when she shifted a little more to let the swollen wetness of her sex brush against him.

Leaning forward, Fiona lifted her hips, kissing him tenderly as she murmured, “Ah, Braedan, you feel so wonderful…” She rocked back just a little, allowing the tip of his erection to slip into her silky heat. He sucked in his breath, his stomach tightening and his fingers threading with hers; she pressed her weight down on their joined hands to lift her hips again, teasing, sliding just a fraction more onto him with each tender stroke.

“I want to feel every bit of you filling me…loving me…” she gasped quietly as she began to rock back
onto him, her body sinuous and graceful. He watched her move on him, lost in the abandon of her feeling, moaning his name and tipping her head back to expose the long, smooth column of her throat and the glorious curve of her breasts; the ends of her hair brushed his thighs in an erotic caress as she rocked onto him a little more deeply…a little more…and then a little more…

Stars blinded Braedan’s vision at the sweep of incredible pleasure when she finally impaled herself fully on him, and a sound that was half growl and half groan erupted from his throat in time with her gasping cry. Murmuring her name, he gripped her hips and rose into her, meeting her downward thrusts with powerful strokes of his own, carrying her together with him into that wonderful and ancient cadence of passion.

After a few moments her fingers tightened on his, their hands locked in a kind of intimate embrace of their own as she began to tense; her movements slowed just a little, her strokes against him coming shorter and her breaths reduced to shallow gasps as the incredible feeling between them swelled to an overwhelming tide….

Suddenly, she cried out his name; shudders of fulfillment wracked her body, rippling with rhythmic strokes over him and driving him off the edge into his own magnificent completion. He sat up with the force of his orgasm, losing himself in the sweet-hot rapture of her embrace and spilling into her with a power that sent numbing tingles down his legs.

When it was over she fell against him, gasping and spent, and he held her cradled to his chest, as overwhelmed as she seemed to be by the rush of feeling.
“Hush now, Fiona,” he murmured, still holding her close and stroking her hair as he rocked her slowly, tenderly. “I am here. I won’t let you go.”

After a few moments, when they had both quieted a little, he guided her down to the soft pallet again, stretching out behind her and pulling her back into him so that they were nestled together along the complete length of their bodies.

“Braedan…” Fiona exhaled his name on a sigh, and he brushed her hair from her face, seeing her flushed complexion along with her smile, so tremulous and beautiful, illuminating her expression of utter contentment. “Oh, God, I never knew it was possible to feel so…so…”

“Happy?” he offered, in a husky murmur.

“Aye, happy,” she echoed, nodding and nuzzling closer to him. “And content, and so…at ease, I suppose—with myself, with you. With us.” She twisted her head up to look at him, then, and he pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I have never felt so complete in all of my life, Braedan de Cantor. I want you to know that.”

“Nor have I, Fiona,” he said softly, pulling her more snugly against him and brushing his lips over the delicate curve of her cheek before resting his head on his arm. “Nor have I.”

Fiona lay in the stillness of early morning, that darkest moment of the night just before dawn would light the new day, listening to the steady, even sound of Braedan’s breathing. He’d fallen asleep at last, and, though she’d dozed, she hadn’t been able to follow him into actual slumber. Her body felt pleasantly drained, the tender
place at the juncture of her thighs aching sweetly from their frequent lovemaking this night. But that wasn’t what had kept her from her rest. Nay, it was just that so much had happened and been discussed between them tonight—most of it wonderful, some that had given her pause—but her mind was too full with it all at the moment to sleep.

She traced her fingertip along the strong, graceful contour of Braedan’s hand where it rested on her, his arm having been flung over her when he’d turned in sleep. The memory of those beautiful hands stroking her face, her hair…strumming her body to a fever pitch again and again sent a pleasurable shiver through her. She knew, somehow, that she would never tire of looking at Braedan, of touching him and loving him.

The realization of it swept through her like a gentle tide, lapping at the edges of her senses, as natural as if that feeling for him had been there all along. She blinked away the stinging heat that welled then, knowing that it couldn’t last forever and yet wanting it more than anything she’d ever known. She turned her head to gaze at him in the darkness, committing every line and shadow to memory…the shape of his jaw, his sensuous mouth and deep-set eyes, admitting to herself openly for the first time just how deeply she cared for him. When she’d given herself to him so completely she didn’t know, and yet it was there, as real as the heart beating within her—the one Draven had claimed she didn’t possess.

But it had only been waiting for Braedan to awaken it.

Draven still had some power remaining in him, though, she thought, shifting a little on the pallet; so
long as he was free to impose his brand of justice on the people of the shires he governed, none of them was truly safe. Braedan, Will, and the others knew it, too—which was why they’d devised a plan, Braedan had told her just before settling into slumber. They were going to organize an attack on Draven’s estate at Chepston, taking him captive and holding him, not for ransom, as was usually the case with outlaws in possession of a nobleman, but for a hearing from the king’s representative.

Pray God that it would work, and that the man sent by the sovereign would be impartial, unlike the beholden men with whom Draven chose to people his juries.

Before any of that happened, Braedan had told her, he planned to ferret out the information he needed concerning Elizabeth’s whereabouts. Then they would be able to bring her back home, perhaps not completely unscathed, but at least to a place where she could be given the kind of care that would help her to heal from the trauma she was sure to have endured. And if they managed to stop Draven, then Braedan’s brother, Richard, could be freed as well and returned to the comfort of the home he’d known before Draven had arranged to have himself appointed the lad’s guardian.

The Folvilles were considering joining with Will and his men when the time came, and they’d discussed the possibility that the Coterel gang could be enticed to participate as well, based upon the severity of punishments Draven had imposed upon them in the past. It was a bold plan and a dangerous one, but it stood the best chance of success in stopping Draven’s evil for good. Preparations were to begin on the morrow, with the Folvilles’ departure; anyone wishing to take part was to
meet just outside of London in a week’s time, with Draven’s capture and the demand for hearing to take place before the fortnight had passed.

Fiona sighed and snuggled more deeply into the crook of Braedan’s arm, deciding that perhaps she’d better try to get some sleep. Only another hour or so remained until daybreak, and she knew that with such plans under way, it would be a busy morning. It couldn’t come soon enough, she thought, lack of sleep or nay; Draven’s dark reign had to end—yet she couldn’t help feeling a kind of dread that went beyond the danger of what they were about to attempt…a trepidation that had far more to do with her intimate knowledge of Draven than anything else.

For she couldn’t help wondering just what else Draven had planned in his certain plot to seek his revenge on Braedan and reclaim her as his own. She knew how much he liked to be in control; his studied ambush at the roadside had made that perfectly clear. He rarely allowed himself to be taken by surprise. After the violence that had taken place yesterday, he would surely be expecting some kind of retaliation attempt from Braedan and Will. Suppressing a shudder, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of other things. But the shadows remained, throbbing in the back of her thoughts as dark and relentless as Draven himself.

He had warned her of his intent toward her just before he’d driven off in his coach, and as much as she wanted to believe that her newly formed bond with Braedan might somehow protect her from Draven’s possession again, she found that she couldn’t completely stifle her apprehension. Because she of all people knew too well that he never failed to get exactly what he wanted,
no matter how difficult it was or how long it took to achieve.

And the terrifying truth of it was that Kendrick de Lacy, Lord Draven wanted
her
—back in his life, in his bed, in his control…and she feared he’d stop at nothing and for no one to get her.

“I
am not staying behind when you go to London, Braedan, and that’s all there is to it.”

Braedan looked at Fiona where they sat near the morning fire, breaking their fast, noting the stubborn line of her mouth, the heat in her eyes, and the way she held her jaw at a mutinous angle. It wasn’t good. Nay, not at all. Several of the women stared as they moved past, and Will whistled through his teeth, shaking his head and clearly struggling not to grimace at the pounding ache that must have commenced from the motion. Clinton just ripped off another hunk of bread and popped it in his mouth, grinning.

After he’d chewed and swallowed, he said, “Your sister’s still as malleable as ever I see, Will old man.” He shook his head, too, now, casting a look of masculine sympathy in Braedan’s direction, adding, “But I have to
say, I am glad it is no longer me bearing the brunt of that renowned obstinacy.”

“I’ve never been obstinate a day in my life, Clinton Folville,” Fiona said with an air of disdain. She pushed herself to her feet and moved away from the fire, adding under her breath, “I just speak my mind when faced with stone-headed men.”

Braedan glowered at Clinton as he followed Fiona away from the fire, none too pleased at the turn this morn was taking. The sweet pleasure of the night had given way, first to the sorrow of the burial ceremony, then to this squabble with Fiona. But she was being difficult, he thought, stalking into their tree shelter behind her and letting the flap swing down to give them some privacy. If she actually believed he would let her come within a league of Draven again without—

“Why didn’t you tell me last night of this—this…
need
you have to go off to search for Elizabeth in London on your own?” she muttered, turning to face him, her hands planted on her hips.

“Because I never thought you’d disagree with it, that’s why. You were the one who insisted from the start that Will be kept in the dark about our plans to search the
stewes
together. Now there’s no reason to hide it from him, because things have changed. It is too dangerous for you to come with me.” He jabbed his hand through his hair, letting his breath out in an exasperated rush. “Christ, Fiona, I thought you’d agree it was best for you to remain here, away from Draven and his threats.”

“Do you honestly think that it matters to Draven where I am?” she asked, raising her brow. “Yesterday made that more than apparent; if he wants to find me, he
will. What’s to stop him from coming here again, only this time with an entire regiment, and you hours away from me in London?”

“He won’t come again so quickly,” Braedan rejoined. “He’ll be expecting us to retaliate in some way. You know Draven, Fiona…and he knows me. Elizabeth is still out there somewhere, as is my brother, rotting away slowly at Chepston under the weight of Draven’s fist. He knows I will come after them. I want you nowhere near the bastard when I do—or at any other time, for that matter. I won’t have you exposed to him like that again.”

She paused for a moment, considering what he’d said. But he could see that she wasn’t ready to give in just yet. Something more was at work in her and would need to come out before she’d agree to what he’d proposed, if she would consider it at all.

She fixed him with an even look. “And what of the agreement you coerced from me when you found me in Hampshire, Braedan, so that you could gain my help in navigating the
stewes
? Can you pretend now that you need me any less if you truly hope to find Elizabeth?”

“Damn it, Fiona, I was acting out of desperation then, as well you know. It was before I even knew about your connection to Draven or what he had done to you. I will not risk your being harmed again by him or anyone else.”

“The worst harm would come in being separated from you.” She twisted in his arms to look into his face, her gaze as troubled and as earnest as he’d ever seen it. “Don’t you see, Braedan? If you are there and I am here, neither of us can help each other if the need arises.”

“Nay, Fiona, you have to understand. Yesterday, when Draven’s man held that blade to your throat…
when Draven himself had you in his grip, I—” Breaking off into a curse at the bitter memory, he took her chin in his palm, turning her all the way around in his arms to face him completely. “I could have killed him for it, Fiona. I almost did—and I almost lost you because of it. I will not have you facing that kind of danger again for my sake.”

“And I won’t have you facing it without me.”

He gazed at her, frustration filling him. Part of him could understand her need. It was the same as his, he supposed; a desire to be near her combined with the fierce need to protect. Yet another part of him felt naught but ungovernable fear at the idea of Draven finding her again, of trying to bring her under his control…

“You will not be able to find Elizabeth on your own, you know,” she said, still clearly bent on convincing him. “Any more than you could before you sought me out weeks ago.”

“I will make do. You can give me information that will guide me through the
stewes
without having to be there to do it.”

“It is not so simple as that. You would need to talk with bawds, procurers, and the sort in order to gain information on Elizabeth’s whereabouts, and they are not likely to tell you anything. Most will be suspicious of a well-spoken man who comes round asking questions. Usually, such men are attached to Church or civil authorities, who are trying to close down the houses whose keepers fail to comply with all the laws regulating them. Whoring may be legal in Southwark, but there are many restrictions and rules to be followed nonetheless. The questions you would be asking about Elizabeth would be sure to make many of those in the life apprehensive,
since it is against the law to aid in the forced seduction of an innocent; they will fear to reveal anything that might bring them before the courts.”

“Coin goes a long way to loosen tongues, Fiona, no matter what the level of fear involved.”

She made a sound of exasperation. “It will take far more coin than what we’ve been able to gather these weeks, I think, to make them risk time on the pillory or worse. Most of the
stewe
-houses are in the Bishop of Winchester’s liberty; any case involving a bawd from one of those brothels would be brought before his ecclesiastic court, with punishment to take place in the Clink. I know of no one willing to risk the hell of that fate, even for a short time.”

“I’ll just be sure to tell them I am
not
there on behalf of the authorities, then.”

“You will still arouse suspicion, and if enough of them become wary about you, you’ll risk having someone learn that you’re an outlaw, wanted by Draven, which is exactly what we’re trying to avoid.” She shook her head, her mouth tight. “Besides, even if by some good fortune you were able to garner a clue or two about Elizabeth without being discovered for who you are, there is still the difficulty of finding specific houses without possessing a working knowledge of Southwark. You’d need to know the layout of the Borough, not to mention finding any of the houses that may have sprung up outside of the established areas.”

“How many of them could be connected with Draven?” Braedan asked, just as determined to make her see that he could do this himself, without risking her. “He supplies women only to the authorized brothels, does he not?”

“He used to confine his interests to the sanctioned establishments, aye, but it is a large area nonetheless; some of those houses are in the bishop’s liberty, but some are beyond that jurisdiction in the other wards. Draven had his fingers in many pots, even those years ago when he kept me. He has undoubtedly expanded his holdings since then, perhaps even into London proper. You will need specific information to find those places most likely to be housing Elizabeth, knowledge you cannot hope to obtain on your own.”

“Damn it, Fiona, I will not let you go in there as we’d agreed when I sought you out,” Braedan said more forcefully. “Some of those who knew of the Crimson Lady those years ago may be more likely to answer my questions for her than for me alone, but it would be deadly folly to attempt it. If Draven’s holdings in the
stewes
are as pervasive as you claim, then news of your return would reach him in less than a day! He needs no more encouragement in his obsessive pursuit of you, by God.”

She remained silent at that, and after a moment he took her hand, his touch playing over the elegant length of it before pressing his palm to hers and threading their fingers together in a warm clasp. Still she didn’t speak, though her expression looked troubled.

He felt his heart thudding with slow, even beats, knowing that he would do anything he could to remove that look of worry…anything but bring her to Southwark and Draven’s attention again. “You know, it will not be easy for me, either, being away from you,” he added softly, hoping that she was coming to see his way of thinking on this. “But I could not live with myself if in trying to save Elizabeth I risked you. I could not do it,
Fiona, no matter how much more difficult it will make searching for her because of it.”

She nodded, but after another moment’s silence, she turned that studied gaze on him again. “What if I were able to go to London and help you
without
a great deal of risk, Braedan—with no more risk, in truth, than if I remained right here at the settlement?”

“How? We’ve already discussed it, and it isn’t possible. Having the Crimson Lady make her appearance in the
stewes
would be the same as dangling a challenge before Draven’s nose.”

“But what if I didn’t go there as the Crimson Lady, but rather as someone entirely different?” she said, sitting up, her body taut with enthusiasm as the idea appeared to take hold in her. She fixed her gaze on him where he’d sat up as well, her eyes alight with it. “Aye—what if I could go to Southwark with you, and meet with those who could most help our cause—only garbed in the padded costume of the embroidress I was in Hampshire? I could say I was come in search of my apprentice, Elizabeth, who shamefully left my service to pursue a livelihood in the
stewes
. That way none with whom we spoke would fear reprisal, since I would make it seem as if I was placing the blame on her, rather than seeking to accuse any of them of wrongdoing.”

She looked at him hopefully. “It could work, Braedan! No one would recognize me as Giselle de Coeur in such a disguise and after all these years. I could still use my knowledge of the
stewes
to search for Elizabeth freely, but it would be as if I wasn’t there, as far as Draven was concerned.”

Braedan paused at her suggestion, his instincts telling him to deny it even as logic couldn’t help but admit that
it was an idea. What she was suggesting just might work. He leveled his gaze at her, his jaw tight. He wanted to believe that they could do it. In truth he would be secretly relieved not to be so far separated from her, but he hated the risk of it nonetheless. He exhaled in a sigh of defeat. “If I was to consider such a thing, would you agree to let me remain with you at all times while you questioned these…bawds and the like? You would never think to go alone?”

“We could go together, and if we dressed you in something more common, we could tell any who happened to question it that you’re my servant, accompanying me in the rougher areas of Southwark for my own safety.” She shrugged and gave him the hint of a smile. “It wouldn’t be a complete lie, anyway.”

“What, the part about my serving you, or my worry over your safety?” he asked, allowing himself a bit of a smile in return. “I think both are quite apt for how I feel, lady.”

Acceptance of the plan began to seep into him, washing away any remaining arguments he might have posed against her going with him. With a sigh, he gathered her to him and held her close, breathing in the delicate scent of her hair and cradling her head in his palm as he pressed a kiss to the top of it. “Ah, Fiona, I do not know what enchantment you hold over me, but you have managed to talk me into something I swore I’d not entertain, not even for an instant.”

“It will be for the best, Braedan,” she murmured against his chest. “You’ll see. We will find Elizabeth before the others are supposed to meet us a sennight from now; then your brother can be freed and Draven can be stopped for good. We’ll have to set off soon, though, if
we’re to reach the gates of London proper before nightfall. It would not serve to be locked outside once it is dark, as much for your safety as for mine.”

“Aye, I suppose you’re right,” he said, savoring the feel of her in his arms for a long moment more. Releasing her at last, and with great reluctance, he turned to begin packing up his portion of the belongings they’d need to take on their journey. “Come, then,” he murmured, glancing at her and trying to keep his still unshakable worry to himself. “If we’re to do this, we’d better get started.”

The trip to London had been uneventful—far less tumultuous than Will’s reaction when he’d learned that she was accompanying Braedan there. He’d only relented when she’d given him her word to keep to her padded garments anytime she was visible in public, whether they were searching the
stewes
or not. He hadn’t been happy about her decision to go, but he’d understood her need to stay with the man he believed to be her husband, receiving ample assurance from Braedan that he would watch over her with care. Finally, hugging her tightly and gruffly mumbling good-bye, Will had seen them off, with promises to meet them at the Bull in Southwark a sennight hence.

The road into the city had gotten progressively more congested as they neared the gates, and so it had been near dusk when they’d finally entered London and made their way to an inn, to purchase the use of a small but clean room for the night. The first full day had been spent getting their bearings and gathering what they would need; the search would begin in earnest today.

Reaching behind her to fasten the topmost laces,
Fiona yawned and paused to stretch a bit. She felt well rested this morn and ready to begin their task, though she’d been experiencing a vague sense of unease ever since they’d entered the city gates. The true trial would come in a few hours, she knew, when they crossed the Thames to enter Southwark and the
stewes
. For now, simply accustoming herself again to the old embroidress’s costume was keeping her busy enough not to dwell on how it might affect her.