To the Lady Born (26 page)

“Where did you see him?” he demanded.

Sutton knew that tone. He shook his head. “Over on the other side of the field,” he said, putting his hands on Weston’s chest. “He is surrounded by Billingham knights.  I did not tell you that he was here so you could charge over there and get yourself killed; I told you so that you would not be surprised when you saw him. I told you so you could prepare your wife.”

He was absolutely right. Weston’s jaw was ticking and his hands began to work.  He clenched and unclenched his fists and began pacing around as if he needed to go somewhere but couldn’t decide which direction to go.  He ended up walking in circles, jaw flexing and hands clenching, the low growl of frustration finally erupting into a yell of fury.

The shout was so loud that Amalie popped from the tent with Colton and Aubria in each hand. Her green eyes were wide on her husband as he paced around like a caged animal.

“Weston?” she began to move towards him. “Was that you?”

Weston stopped pacing, looking at his wife as she approached with the children.  All he could feel when he looked at her was anguish.  Colton broke loose and ran to him; mechanically, Weston bent down to pick the boy up, his gaze still on Amalie.

Staring at her, he knew he had to tell her. He couldn’t keep the information secret and chance her seeing Sorrell or, worse, running in to the man somehow. It wasn’t fair to her not to tell her.  He handed Colton over to Sutton.

“I must speak with you,” he said softly. “Sutton will tend the children.”

Aubria and Colton had no problem being handed over to their uncle. They wanted to see the horses and Sutton took them both over to where the horses were being tended. Already, they were screaming to pet the animals. Amalie watched them go before returning her attention to her husband.

“What is it, sweetheart?” she asked, winding her hands into one of his huge gloves.   “Why do you look so?”

He took her soft, warm hands and brought them to his lips.  The dark blue eyes were intense; he wanted to deliver the news as without gloom or doom or fanfare. He didn’t want to upset her any more than he had to because he knew, for a fact, that she was going to be devastated.  He was devastated, too.  He kissed her hands gently.

“I wanted to tell you what Sutton has told me,” he said softly. “As you have seen, there are many knights here today.  Not all of those men are reputable; in fact, there are several I would classify as unscrupulous and dangerous.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “What is wrong?” she wanted to know, growing outraged. “Is there a knight who has made threats against you?”

He grinned. “Nay, my angel,” he kissed her hands again. “At least, there is no one who has been brave enough to threaten me to my face.”

“If there was, you would surely tell me so that I might have a word with this man.”

He broke down into soft laughter. “You would defend me?”

“I would kill him.”

“I believe you.”

She laughed softly, watching him kiss her hands. “If that is not the case, then what is it?”

His smile faded once more as the dark blue eyes grew sorrowful yet furious at the same time. It was a strange combination.

“Sutton saw Sorrell with the group of knights with Billingham,” he said quietly. “I wanted you to know so that you were not surprised.  I want you to be prepared.”

Amalie stared at him, absorbing his words.  At first, they didn’t quite register, words she understood but held without impact; then, the reality of what he was telling her began to sink in and Weston could literally see the transformation come over her.

Weston watched her eyes widen, her face pale, and then her body tense to dramatic proportions.  Amalie tried to yank her hands away and he could see the look in her eyes, like a panicked animal.  He wouldn’t let her pull away - instead, he threw his arms around her and kept her pinned in a crushing embrace.  As the panicked gasps began to come, he whispered firmly in her ear.

“He cannot harm you, my angel,” he insisted. “The man cannot get near you. I swear upon my oath as your husband that I will kill him before I let him frighten or upset you in any way. Do you believe me?”

She gazed up at him with a terrorized expression, struggling to pull away but realizing his iron grip was unbreakable.  Swarmed with fear, she broke down into hot, frightened tears.

“Aye,” she wept. “I know… you will not let him harm me, but….”

She trailed off, unable to continue. He re-adjusted his hold on her to get a better grip and pulled her against his enormous torso.  His dark blue eyes blazed at her.

“Easy, lady, easy,” he soothed, trying desperately to calm her before she exploded out of control. “I know you are frightened but you must be strong. He cannot hurt you, I swear it.”

She began wiping furiously at her face, struggling to stop the tears. “Oh… Weston,” she breathed. “Why is he here?”

He held her as she labored to control her fear. “He came to compete just like any other knight,” he said honestly. “He is entitled to compete just as I am.”

She shook her head, so hard that her careful hairstyle began to unravel. “Please,” she begged. “I want to go. Please; let us go home.”

He could only think to pull her into his embrace once more to soothe her hysteria. “Nay,” he murmured. “We will not go. There is nothing to fear, for I can tell you for a fact that I intend to kill the man before this day is out.”

Her panicked gasps turned into something more, even more horrifying, and she pulled away from him, her hands to his face.

“I did not ask this of you,” she sobbed. “I never asked this of you. Why do you say such things?”

He gazed into her frightened face. “For this very reason,” he whispered. “I look at you and see the thing most precious in the world to me. I see blind fear on your face and it enrages me like nothing else. The cause of that fear must be eliminated; as a husband, it is my pleasure and my duty. It is the greatest single goal of my life. Do you believe me?”

Wide-eyed, cheeks damp with tears, Amalie nodded slowly but he could tell that she was unbalanced.  She had a wild-eyed look about her in spite of the fact that she was calming.

“Good,” he kissed her forehead, her wet cheek.  Putting his arm around her shoulders, he began to lead her towards the large tent. “Now, I want you to lie down and rest for awhile. Esma and my mother can tend the children while you sleep.”

Amalie clutched his hands. “Where are you going?” she half-demanded, half-begged. “Please do not leave me. I do not want you to leave me.”

He gave her a squeeze as they entered the tent. “There is a meeting at sundown for all competitors,” he told her. “I must attend the meeting so….”

“Nay!” she threw her arms around his waist, her face pressed against his cold metal breastplate. “Do not leave me. Please!”

He sighed faintly, very quickly realizing that there would be no way he could argue or compromise his way out of this.  She was shaken and terrified, rightfully so, and those emotions were only compounded by the misery of the early pregnancy.   He had no choice but to stay; if he were to leave her, she would panic and he had no way of knowing what she would do. He didn’t even want to think about it. 

He put his arms around her and took her into the tent, leading her over to the bed that had been fashioned out of a traveling mattress stuffed with grass and straw, heavy furs, pillows and linens.   It was big and comfortable.

“Lie down, my angel,” he said, gently guiding her onto the bed. “I will not leave your side, I promise.”

She still clutched his hands even as he sat her on the bed. “Do you swear it?”

“I do.”

Amalie obediently lay down, but her big green eyes were fixed on him as if afraid he was going to go back on his word and run from the tent. She still hadn’t let go of his hands.  As she lay her head down on the fluffy silk pillow, she suddenly burst into fresh tears.

“I am sorry, West,” she sobbed. “I am ridiculous, I know it. But I cannot help it.”

He leaned over her, kissing her head as he managed to remove one hand from her grasp and began to unfasten his plate armor.

“You are nothing of the kind,” he murmured. “You have been dealing with a miserable pregnancy, two very small children, and a husband who sorely taxes your patience. I do not know how you find the strength to put up with me.”

Her tears were fading as she gazed up at him. “Surely you jest,” she sniffled, a smile coming to her pale lips as her hand went to his cheek. “You are my angel. I do not know what I would do without you.”

He returned her smile, removing the breastplate and casting it onto the grassy floor as he leaned down and kissed her again.  Since she wouldn’t let go of his hand, he brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them as he sat down on the bed beside her. 

Very shortly, he was lying beside her, his lips feasting on her soft mouth, his hands moving to intimate places.  She was dressed in a brilliant green surcoat but he wedged his hands in behind her and unfastened the back of the gown, eventually rolling her over onto her stomach and kissing her exposed skin as he removed the coat.

As he hoped, she began to calm as his gentle hands and tender mouth worked their magic. She was tense, trembling with fear, and his enormous hands massaged her naked shoulders and back. Having been married to the woman for four years, he knew her fairly well and was usually able to relax her this way. She was a slave to a back massage. But this time, it was different; she was terrified and panicked, and he didn’t blame her. As he straddled her slender body and rubbed her shoulders, his mind began to wander to Sorrell.

He would see the man at some point, of that he had no doubt.  It was going to be a struggle not to rush at him and snap his neck. Murder would not be condoned but in this lawless land, vengeance was commonplace. No one would deny a husband his retribution against a man who assaulted his wife.  Moreover, he was the Constable of the Northern Dales. He
was
the law.

Sorrell, as far as he knew, had no idea that de Royans had married Lady Amalie, which was the first thing Weston intended to tell the man when he saw him.  He wanted to see the fear in the man’s eyes and take great pleasure in it. After that, Sorrell would know that his hours on this earth were numbered.  Weston de Royans was out for blood and no man would survive his wrath. Weston wasn’t sure how or when he would accomplish his vengeance yet, but it would happen. At a time of his choosing, Sorrell would pay for every horrible thing he did to Amalie.

As Weston thought on the pain and agony he would bring about, his hands must have tightened on Amalie. She was able to feel his tension and she turned her head slightly to look up at him.

“West?” she murmured, relaxed and limp after her bout with panic. “What is wrong, sweetheart?”

He forced a smile. “Nothing,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Everything is fine.”

Before she could press him, he began to kiss her sensually, his mouth moving along her cheek to her ear and onto her naked shoulders.  Even though her surcoat was unfastened to the waist, she was still clothed in it and he lay on top of her, his big hands reaching under her skirts to pull her legs apart so he could settle his bulk down between them.  

As Amalie groaned softly, his hands snaked up the skirt, finding her pantalets and pulling them down to her knees.  Then he tossed her skirts up, nearly covering her head, as he began to nibble on her smooth, round buttocks. 

Amalie gasped as he put his hands underneath her pelvis and lifted her up, shoving his face into the junction between her legs.  He listened to her pant as he licked her mercilessly, knowing exactly how much she could take before she was ready to climax.  He played with her, his fingers in the private grooves of her body as he released his breeches and his great organ burst forth, hard and heated. Pulling her up by the pelvis, he eased into her slick and waiting body from behind.

Amalie groaned at his entry, burying her face in the pillow as he thrust into her. As the gentle afternoon waned outside, Weston made love to his wife, thinking only of the great love he felt for her.  He refused to let anything else enter his mind.  After they climaxed together, he kissed her and hugged her until she drifted off to sleep.

When Weston heard her deep, heavy breathing, he knew she was not likely to wake up easily, so he carefully climbed from the bed and refastened his breeches.  Collecting his breastplate and other pieces of mail that had come off in the heat of passion, he quietly moved out of the tent.

It was quiet and relatively sunny outside with the huge oak tree creating lovely and muted shade across the tents. Weston looked around for his brother; Sutton was nowhere to be found but his spied his children by the base of another oak tree several dozen yards away with his mother and Esma watching over them.  He made his way over to them, his armor slung up over one enormous shoulder.

“Do you know where Sutton has gone?” he asked his mother.

Elizabeth looked up from Colton and the small sword he was swinging around. “Nay, Weston,” she said. “He left the children with me and said he had business to attend to.”

Weston nodded faintly, looking around over the huge field where the competitors were encamped, attempting to locate his brother in the sea of people and tents.  As he was looking off to the west, he noticed the standards of Billingham blowing in the breeze about a quarter of a mile away and he could feel himself tense. At least he knew where Sorrell was camped now, which made it easier for him to keep track of the man.