Yearning Heart (24 page)
“Lady Rebecca will remain with us, Malvina. Be good enough to show her to the orchid bedroom and provide for a bath forthwith. We will dine within the hour in the great hall.”
Interested, Rebecca looked over New Sarum. They had entered on the first level, but from the shape and size, she guessed at four floors when complete. Malvina led her across the stone floor to a stairway that curved upward to another hall with two large windows at the end. They entered a great hall with two long tables and benches to one side, a fireplace gracing the far end.
By the fireplace was a doorway, and Malvina went through to lead Rebecca into a narrow hall to a closed door. The maidservant pushed the door open and stepped aside for Rebecca to enter.
She moved through the doorway and into a wide and deep bedroom, its high bed covered with orchid lace, matched at the high window with linen curtains. A soft furry rug lay on the floor by the bed. It, too, was orchid.
Rebecca bent to remove her soft boots and walked barefoot across the cold floor. When she stood on the rug, her toes curled into the fur, and she stooped to put her hand on it as well. How warm. A shame the owner did not have that warmth.
“ ‘Tis truly a lovely room, is it not, my lady?”
Rebecca arose and turned. She had forgotten Malvina. Odd, that for a moment she could forget her husband's lover stood within arm's reach.
“Indeed, it is lovely,” she said. “Is it for royal guests?”
“Why say you that, my lady?” Malvina frowned at her. “'Tis yours.”
“Why would it be mine, Malvina? Sir Stephen did not look for me to return, did he? Especially did he not expect me at New Sarum.”
“Sir Stephen looked for you everywhere, my lady. Do not think because he says naught that he did not miss you sorely.”
Rebecca sat on the bed and sank into it. So soft. Nothing like the rattling shucks she was accustomed to at Grinwold and at Glastonbury. Soft—for yielding bodies. Mayhap that was why Stephen sent her here—she would be nigh to hold when he needed her body again.
She looked up at Malvina.
“Yes, I can see that he missed me, truly I can.” She laughed and lay back on the lace coverlet. “Tell me, Malvina. How long hast thou lived at New Sarum? And where is your bedroom?”
Or do you share his? She didn't really want to know.
“My room is on a higher floor, my lady, near the guardrooms and an oven. There is much to New Sarum that you have not seen. Mayhap when you have rested, I could show you how well Sir Stephen has built the house. It is said he is near genius to design such a building within protective walls and to have many vaulted rooms each with one for bathing. There is an oven on the top floor and...”
A knock interrupted Malvina, and Stephen came into the room. He met Rebecca's angry look with surprise.
“Didst increase taxes accordingly to pay for a rich man's lodgings?”
Stephen's mouth hardened. “Leave us, Malvina,” he commanded without looking at her. His anger-brightened eyes fastened on Rebecca as the door closed behind the maid. “Can you not say any words that do not criticize, Rebecca?”
“Yea, my lord,” she said and slid from the bed, curtsying deep, not paying attention to the fact she was barefooted and her appearance was not formal. “I can say thou hast done thyself proud with your wages from the king. It pays well for thee to run to London when there is a royal summons.” She stood straight. “Those are not critical words, my lord, but truth. Do you not agree?”
“The time you have been gone has not improved your tongue, Rebecca.” He locked his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out.
Rebecca struck back without thinking. “And my body, my lord? Has improved also?”
His jaw tightened, and his throat moved as he swallowed hard. “Yes, for truth, it has. Mayhap from more experience?”
Furious, Rebecca went at him, fists raised to strike.
“How dare you say such to me? How dare you say of me the things you do? Have I not the same right? Do I not deserve someone to love, someone to hold me, the same as you?”
She choked over the hurt in her chest, over the thought that Stephen would accuse her of being with another man, of letting someone else use her body for pleasure.
He caught her hands easily, lifting her against him with the same movement.
“Dost hunger for more, Little One? I sorely need thee again.”
Her body was brought up and forward, crushed to his chest, his pelvic region grinding into hers, the hard uncoiled muscle thrust into her flat stomach. There was no tenderness in his mouth or in his hands searching beneath the silk of her traveling dress. She heard the pull of loops as buttons tore through, felt the sweep of his wide hand down her body, taking layers of garments with it. His mouth took hers furiously, forcing her lips apart, his tongue thrusting fully inside. They fell together across the soft mattress. In moments she lay naked beneath him. He disposed of his clothing, and his knees forced her legs apart. His breath came harshly as he mounted her, and she felt the force of his strength as he impaled her with his rock hard organ. He lay still, but he covered her face with kisses, roughly spoken words lost their meaning as his hands stroked down her hips, shifted them so that they fit him better. He found her breasts, sucked one fully into his mouth, groaning his pleasure.
Rebecca closed her eyes and let herself go, giving him what he demanded, murmuring words she knew he didn't hear, wouldn't want to hear. Her feelings soared way above ordinary feelings, and she abandoned any pretense that it was Stephen, alone, who enjoyed their fierce mating.
Stephen released her breast, threw his head back as his vigorous thrusts drove her into the warm folds of the soft mattress. He shouted her name, plunged deep, and held her tightly as he emptied himself into her.
When it was over, she lay there, stunned and ashamed. Stunned at the heights Stephen had taken her. Ashamed of herself for she had provoked Stephen. Like a naughty child denied a request.
Stephen rolled off to lie beside her, his breath harsh and gasping.
How she would have loved for him to hold her close for a few minutes as he used to do when they finished loving. She longed for the impossible.
“I am truly sorry, Rebecca. It is not your fault I have turned into a lusting animal.”
The bed moved, and she heard the rustle of clothing, then Stephen's steps, and the door closed.
Would it always be thus? She would drive Stephen to anger, and then he would punish her by possessing her. How could she live with the knowledge she was useful only for release of his male desires?
She couldn't. There would, one day, be a chance to escape again. And this time, this time when she left, Stephen would not find her.
Chapter Seventeen
Her face was too pale. Rebecca knew this from the beveled mirror mounted above the carved stand in her private bathing room. Candles glowing in amber glass rested on shelves or tables placed throughout the room, giving off enough light that she could see her reflection and past that reflection, the bedroom beyond, which had even more candles.
It was a lovely room, something she had never dreamed of having for her on those long-ago days in Gloucester. Once it would have made her happy to live in such luxury. Once she would have thought herself lucky to have such to call her own. It didn't mean much when there was no one to care whether she enjoyed it or not.
Stephen sent word by Malvina that he expected her to join him within the half hour.
“Tell Sir Stephen I must needs dress before dining,” she said.
“Very well, m'lady. I will help.”
“No, Malvina. I do not need help. My thanks, but I will be along directly.”
The maid hesitated, appeared about to speak, but withdrew and closed the door.
Rebecca stared at the door and resentment stirred her into a temper. Whirling, she walked to the clothing closet, a spacious area that Stephen had filled with garments of all colors. Dresses, gowns, slippers, blouses, skirts—whatever a woman could wish to wear hung in that spacious closet.
Why? Did he think she'd return one day? Did he expect her to just come back and pretend nothing had changed? Sleep with him on demand, yea, he came, he saw, he took what he wanted. No matter that she had wishes of her own. No matter that she coveted his love above all else. No matter. Nothing mattered except what he, Sir Stephen Lambert, wanted.
Defiant, she stood looking at the dresses. She reached and withdrew a pale blue silk dress, high at the neck, long fitted sleeves with colorful embroidery on the cuffs and around the bottom of the flowing skirt. It felt wickedly exciting as it slithered down her body. She walked to the mirror, stared at the slender figure adorned with the elegant gown, purchased by whom? Stephen? Malvina?
Her lips twisted. She preferred to think Stephen had selected the garments, but she did not trust herself to ask the question—uncertain of the answer. Better left unknown.
Anyway, she approved of her reflection whether Stephen did or not. She found slippers to match, fitted them onto her slender foot, stood to twirl around and let the skirt settle over her slender hips.
With a lift of her chin, she opened the bedroom door and made her way towards the stairs. Stephen stood waiting for her, his eyes going over her figure as she neared him. She wasn't certain it was approval in his eyes. He merely nodded, offered his arm, and moved with her down the steps. Her fingers on his arm were stiff, and she dared hope he couldn't feel her trembling.
The furnishings in the great hall were heavy wood, inlaid tables and leather-backed chairs. They smelled new, unused. Servants moved around the room, candles were lit, sparkling dishes were set for guests who might come by and need food and warmth ere they finished their journeys.
She touched one of the chairs and thought of the royal bedroom where she and Stephen once stayed at the palace in London. Withdrawing her hand, she walked on behind Stephen. He stood beside her until she was seated, then took his place at the table head.
The eating area of New Sarum was different than the familiar small warmth Rebecca remembered at Glastonbury. New faces appeared performing new tasks, eyes meeting Rebecca's curious ones, then glancing away. Gossip about the Lady Rebecca had been whispered about the empty rooms of New Sarum, but they knew not how to greet her other than a brief curtsy or bow and a murmured, “My lady.”
Rebecca glanced around, curious about her surroundings.
At the next table, there were three men, one with a sheepherder's coat, the other two dressed in black waistcoats and linen shirts. They talked and laughed, making comments about the young women who served them roast meat and hot, thick loaves of bread.
One of the young women rounded the table and served Stephen, then moved to Rebecca's place.
“I do not wish meat, thank you,” Rebecca said.
“Beg pardon, my lady?”
Rebecca smiled at the puzzled look on the girl's face.
“I do not wish meat. If cook has greens, I will have a serving. If that is not possible, I will have bread and honey with an apple.”
“Rebecca.” Stephen's voice rang sharply through the room, causing the men to turn towards them. “You will take meat to eat with the bread. It is for your health.”
“I do not wish meat, my lord. Please do not offer it.”
Stephen laid down his fork.
“Do not argue, Rebecca. Have you not learned it is folly to do so?” He spoke with a cold arrogance, reminding her he was too powerful to resist.
She said nothing more but leaned against the leather chair back to watch the servant place a slice of meat on her plate, a piece of bread beside a small pitcher of honey, and the greens she had requested. She lifted her head when Stephen's knife and fork clanged against his plate.
“Is my lady ill?” he said.
“Mayhap,” Rebecca said.
Stephen arose, walked to her side, and offered his arm. She stood up and placed her hand on the extended arm, lifted her skirts and waited until he moved then matched her steps to his.
They did not speak as he led her up the stairs, past the open gallery of the main hall and into a room twice the size of the orchid room. A wide bench with fat pillows scattered over it and two straight-backed velvet chairs were arranged in front of the stone fireplace where a fire roared. It seemed to argue with the winds outside.
“You have returned home after a long absence, Rebecca. It is a time for celebrations. Do me the courtesy not to become ill this close to the yuletide season.”
She stood with hands clasped behind the back of the blue silk dress.
Christmas.
Recent events, coming face to face with Stephen, saying goodbye to Hugo and Margaret and Gerald, the trip over rough seas, all had driven the calendar season from her mind. Stephen was right. She should not become ill at this time.
“Yes, my lord.”
Stephen frowned, turned on his heel and went to lean against the mantle. He did not speak but continued to glare.
“Will you journey to London for the royal services, my lord?”
“Nay. That is why I stopped to see the king as we passed through London. I did not wish to return so soon.”
“But you always go for the yuletide festivities. Does not King Henry demand your noble presence there?”
“Watch your words, Rebecca.”
“You were there the year last, were you not? And certainly the year before that. I faintly recall the Christmas season that year.”
“Yes,” Stephen said. “So do I remember.”
He came towards her but stopped short of touching.
“Why? Why did you leave me, Rebecca? Some other man offered more? I did not give you enough money for expenses? For frivolity? I did not feed thee well enough? Why?”
The last was a demand, fury growing with each word.
“If I must explain, my lord, you would not then understand, so do not waste time. You have much business to accomplish for your king.”
“Art jealous of my king, Rebecca? Of the time I must work for him? Dost wish I were but a field hand, a peasant with naught but bread to eat?”
“Nay, Stephen,” she said, using his name for the first time since he'd taken her away from Hugo's troupe. “I do not wish that of thee. I am glad you are the king's favored nobleman or manor officer or reeve or warrior or whatever he chooses to name you. It is just that—that—you understand everything save what I try to tell you. You owe first allegiance to King Henry and Queen Eleanor, for truth, but as your wife, do I not deserve something?”
