Amongst Silk and Spice (17 page)

It was raining when Eloise arrived in Sherborne, sinking into mud up to her ankles in the center of the village where the empty wool cart let her off outside Madame Sommiers' cottage. Waving good-bye to the driver, she rearranged the dripping wool material she'd started using as a make-do shawl.

She rushed to the cottage and knocked on the heavy wooden door, hearing movement inside. The door creaked open slightly, but Eloise couldn't see the figure inside. "Eloise?" she heard.

"Madame Sommiers?"

"What are you doing here, child?" Madame Sommiers asked, swinging the door open.

Eloise hugged the woman who had been as much an influence on her childhood as her mother. "I've come to visit."

"You're soaked. Come in."

"It's just a little rain," Eloise said, stepping inside, looking around at the cottage with low ceilings where Madame Sommiers had retired to. The woman looked a bit older, but not much different from how Eloise remembered from her childhood.

"It's been years since I received a note from you. You can imagine my surprise when I received a summons from the king. Come warm yourself by the fire," Madame Sommiers said, walking ahead into the kitchen where another older woman Eloise didn't know sat on a rocking chair, sewing. "This is Mrs. March. She lives here as well, along with Martha." A servant woman along the wall curtseyed briefly.

"Hello," Eloise said with a smile.

"Now sit and tell me what has happened."

Eloise could hear deep concern in Madame Sommiers’ voice. "Nothing's happened as such. I am departing again. I live in Constantinople these days."

"You're not leaving, are you? We just got you back."

"I'm afraid I am.

"The reconciliation with your father did not go well then?"

"Not really," Eloise admitted, looking down at her lap. "I understand he had his reasons, but I'm not of mind to forgive him, and that is perhaps the price he needs to pay. I can't just overlook that he had my mother killed."

Madame Sommiers leaned back into her chair and rubbed one of her knees. Eloise could see signs of arthritis claiming her hands.

"But I had to come see you before I go," Eloise smiled. "You're more my family than anyone else."

Madame Sommiers smiled and stroked Eloise's upper arm. "I wish you would stay."

Eloise wove her fingers together, smiling tightly. "I miss the place I've found."

"But this is where you belong."

"I'm not sure I do anymore. I like having the freedom I've discovered. I like to learn things. There are no expectations on me. I can do as I wish."

Madame Sommiers tsked. "Don't let anyone chase you away. This is your home as much as it's anyone's. It doesn't matter what they think. You have as much right to be here as anyone else, even on your own terms if you wish. You can learn here as much as anywhere."

Eloise's thoughts traveled to Hugo. It was his expectations that were so hard to bear. The king had effectively given him to her. She could have accepted and been his bride. It sounded so simple, but it was his expectations that she ran from. He knew he couldn't give her what she wanted, and she couldn't give him the wife he needed. "I think it’s best that I go."

"Nonsense. I wish you'd see that. But you must stay and see my roses. It is too dark now, but in the morning, provided the rain stops. And you certainly can't travel when it rains."

Eloise smiled, knowing Madame Sommiers would find every excuse possible to keep her there. It was nice to see her again, and it brought back all the memories about how happy they had been in the house in Somerset. She'd been so blinded with the bad memories and the scars in her mind that she'd forgotten about their own roses, and how Madame Sommiers would chide her for getting her dress dirty—often Hugo's fault. Somehow, she didn't see the monster she had thought him of at the time, but the young, arrogant noble trying to gain the knowledge and skills to be a knight. She could not have foreseen how he'd need every bit of strength he had to live the brutal life he did, losing everyone around him.

"And that was Hugo Beauford I saw, wasn't it?" Madame Sommiers said, as if reading her thoughts. "I haven't seen him in years. Grew up strong, didn't he? What was he doing there?"

"He collected me. They needed someone who knew what I looked like."

"Yes, well, I suppose there are few people who would be able to confirm it was you. Even your father could not be sure, which isn't surprising considering how little time he spent in Somerset. Theirs was never a happy marriage. I don't mind telling you that now that you're older."

"He said she was spying for the French."

"Could be. She was very loyal to her family. I'm not sure Earl Chanderling ever managed to inspire such loyalty in her."

Eloise's eyebrows furrowed as she digested the state of her parents' marriage. She'd never questioned it at the time, thinking all couples acted that way.

"Now we must start dinner. Would you mind shelling some peas, dear?"

"Not at all," Eloise smiled, remembering hours spent in the kitchen shelling peas. She'd hated it at the time, preferring to be outside, but now they were treasured memories.

"Aren't they gorgeous?" Madame Sommiers said and cupped one of the white and pink roses as they stood in the garden surrounded by rose bushes. "It's called ‘Rosa Mundi’. It has a lovely scent. Descended from damasks, you know?"

"They are gorgeous. Aren't those damasks over there?"

"They are. We have Gallicas, Albas and Campanians, too. And this one," she said, moving to another bush with large pink flowers, "is called Sweetbrier and we didn't have them when you left. It smells faintly of apples." She snipped off a blemished bud and put it in the hamper Eloise was holding. "You can't leave the cuttings on the ground."

"I know. The other flowers don't like it."

"You remember," Madame Sommiers smiled. "You know, if you insist on leaving England, you could always seek your mother's family in France. They are a wealthy and powerful family. They will care for you."

"I'm not going to trade the restrictions here in England to just take up new ones in France."

"You were always such a headstrong girl," Madame Sommiers complained. "There's a world full of perils out there."

"I know. I've faced a few of them. Did I tell you that we ran into pirates?"

Madame Sommiers shivered. "I don't think I want to hear about it. It will make me worry too much."

"Well, don't worry. I have a close-knit group of friends and we all take care of each other."

"But you need to marry. You cannot run around like a girl forever. The partnership between a man and a woman is the most important relationship of your life."

"There are husbands to be had outside of England." Eloise felt heat flare up her cheeks, as she knew more of what that relationship entailed than Madame Sommiers assumed. It would break the elder woman's heart if she knew Eloise's virtue was no longer intact. Eloise looked away so to not reveal exactly where her thoughts were, as they had turned back to Hugo, making her stomach give in a rush of ache spreading through her body.

Although she had adored Malik and everything he had taught her, it hadn't been like it was with Hugo—biting deep into her consciousness. With Hugo she had given him her very soul. She hadn't intended on it, but when he touched her, she melted into a creature of pure want. A memory of the taste of his lips flashed through her, and the way his kisses completely undid her. What if she never felt that again?

Madame Sommiers snorted slightly, as if disbelieving her assertion that there were men outside England. Perhaps in Madame Sommiers eyes, they were just foreigners and had no other purpose than being strange. "I must rest, dear. Can you take some of the lesser buds off for me?"

"Of course," Eloise said, taking the shears. "I will only leave the healthier." She watched as Madame Sommiers returned to the cottage. Turning back, she looked up and let the sun warm her face. It was a lovely day. The sun warmed without the oppressive heat encountered in Persia or the Mediterranean.

It was a wonderful garden and Eloise imagined herself living in a small cottage like this, wondering if she would be happy, before her thoughts darkened wondering if Hugo would be, or whether he'd end up with a cold marriage like her parents’. His first marriage had been. He'd known little of his wife and married her for the benefit of the family. She knew he'd do so again—marry whom the king told him to, to ensure power, consolidate lands. Likely one of the annoying girls she'd met at the tournament—young and interested in admiration. Her heart ached for him, because there was a chance he might find little comfort in his marriage—and Hugo would bear and expect that in the name of duty.

Why couldn't he just drop his duty and walk away? She cut off the head of another bud, feeling the finality of it. Because he couldn't—his duty to his family and king was part of who he was, and he could no more abandon it than his own person. He would be a completely different person if he was capable of that, and because of it, he would continue to suffer—fighting an endless war, marrying a stranger. A king really should take better care of his knights, she accused, feeling anger rush through her on his behalf. Then again, the king had tried to secure a different type of marriage for Hugo, with someone he knew, with someone who melted with his touch. Heat and embarrassment crept up her cheeks. Maybe King Edward had tried to do well by Hugo—maybe the offer had been for Hugo's sake as much as her father’s, and she had been the one who hadn't come to the party.

She wasn't an appropriate wife—couldn't they see that? She wasn't demure and accepting so she wouldn't challenge anything. And Hugo didn't want her—he wanted a proper English wife. He'd begged her to stay away from him, Eloise thought, even as she knew that statement wasn't true in the context she'd applied it. He'd begged her because he couldn't help himself when she was there, fighting not to succumb to her because he didn't have the right. It was the one time when his staunch conformity with duty failed.

Something sounded through her mind saying this was important, but she couldn't put her finger on it. It was blatant as day, screaming through her head, but she still couldn't define it. It constricted her heart though—painfully. She knew she was the only one who broke through that solid wall of duty he buried himself behind. The only one that got through. She'd felt the urgency and the desperate need behind those walls.

She had to turn away, not wanting to think about this—about him. It hurt—more so the realization that he would suffer, stewing in that unaddressed need when she left. Groaning, she clenched her fists. She really didn't want to have that realization. Chances were that he would find communion with a wife. It could be that he'd be happy and find someone he could develop that intimacy and understanding with. But she also knew he fought against it and probably would forgo the opportunity unless it was forced on him, even if it happened to present itself. He could also end up with a wife he couldn't stand, stuck in France, fighting forever because he had nowhere else to go. "Damn it," she swore, wrapping her arms around her. Guilt assaulted her. She got through to him, was someone who could give him the deep intimacy he needed.

She may not feel an ounce of duty to her father, but it was harder to shrug off the duty she felt toward Hugo. If she knew he would be fine, she could leave England without a thought backward, but leaving him in such cold, dispassionate circumstances made it harder. She didn't owe him anything; he was just the man who collected her—abducted her, to be accurate. His adulthood had robbed him of the young, arrogant man who felt the world belonged to him, beaten it out of him until he knew the only thing for him was duty and suffering. How ironic that she would prefer to see him as that stupid young man than the quiet, sensible and reserved man he was now, understanding the process that turned the former into the latter.

Stomping her foot, she turned, then turned again. "Madame Sommiers," she called, heading toward the cottage, finding her in the kitchen. "I have to head north for a while."

"You're leaving? I thought we'd have more time together."

"I'm not leaving England just yet. I just have to go speak to someone."

Madame Sommiers looked uncertain. "I don't know. The roads are dangerous."

"I will be fine, Madame Sommiers. I know roads well enough and I know how to spot danger coming—even pirates."

"If you insist, I will pack you some food," Madame Sommiers stated, fussing around the kitchen. Eloise knew there was no arguing with her on this point.

It was unseasonably cold and a fire crackled in the heath. Hugo's evening meal had been set down on a small table by the fire. With only him eating, there was no point using the large dining table. He'd done so the first night he'd arrived, had dinner with the servants and field hands to welcome the master home, but it had been a more solidary activity since.

Tearing a piece of bread, he leant back, warming his feet by the fire. Summer wasn't quite here yet, at least not this week. He tried to relax, but the truth was that his manor wasn't relaxing these days. It no longer held the people and activity he remembered, when he and his brother would be upstairs, fighting, exploring and causing mischief.

Now, the house had an empty, neglected feeling, like it had grown used to the absence of a family. It didn't quite warm. But the fields were producing and the field serfs had been managing the land. His mother's garden had completely overgrown as the gardeners lost to the plague had never been replaced. The whole estate was still missing half its pre-plague populace, either through death or by being poached by other landowners, which he had not been here to prevent.

He hated being here, purposefully avoiding the family graveyard, preferring not to dwell on the past and the dark thoughts that went with it. He wasn't pining to be back in France, but it might be better than being here.

It was dark now and the servants had all retreated to their quarters. Hugo didn't want company and most of them preferred seeking their own beds as soon as dusk fell.

His thoughts were interrupted by a banging on the door, which was unusual this time of night, particularly in cold rain. Perhaps he was receiving a missive ordering him to France urgently. He half wouldn't mind if it was.

Getting up, he strode to the heavy wooden door, lifting the bar that kept it closed, pushing the door open. He had his sword if there was trouble.

A small, hooded figure stood outside, and he saw pale hands come up to move the hood back.

"Eloise?" he said as she smiled at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"You're soaked."

"It started raining."

"Have you ridden?" he said, looking behind her, but seeing no horse.

"I've walked this last bit."

"In the rain?"

"It's impossible to avoid," she said at his rather stupid question.

"Come in." A servant appeared, holding a reed candle. "Fetch some clothes," Hugo said to the confused man, who didn't argue. Hugo turned his attention back to Eloise, whose cheeks were rosy with the cold, and he couldn't quite believe that she'd just appeared at his door.

She chuckled. "It's been a long time since I've been in here. It hasn't changed much," she said, taking in the two story, wooden structure with white washed walls and rushes on the floor that should probably have been replaced.

"It is a little more empty." Her expression sobered and Hugo regretted pointing out the fact. "And why are you here? You shouldn't have come, traveling alone and unprotected."

"Pfft," Eloise said and untied the heavy, sodden cloak. "I've been alone for most of my life, and I don't have cause to have a knight to follow me around anymore."

"You needed one in the Black Sea."

"A knight who might have had his throat slit if I hadn't been watching over his unconscious form," she pointed out. He snorted. If he hadn't sent them off, she certainly wouldn't be darkening his door now.

She moved closer to the fire and his eyes followed her. There were water stains down the front and back of her dress. She must be freezing. Her hair was braided and she stood in front of the fire, holding her hands out.

"I would have thought you'd be long gone by now."

"I went to see Madame Sommiers in Dorset," Eloise said, turning back to speak to him, her eyes large and clear, her lips pink. Looking away, Hugo ignored the tightening seeing her caused in his body, knowing that dreams of her lips and body had plagued him. He couldn't quite believe she was here, having reconciled himself that he would never see her again—but here she was, alive and vital, her skin rosy.

The servant returned with a dress. He didn't know where it had come from or who had owned it previously, but Eloise graciously accepted it. "I'll change, if you don't mind," she said.

"Of course." He bowed slightly, suddenly feeling foolish being so formal, but there seemed no appropriate code of conduct with her—they fought like children, touched like lovers and owed each other deference. None of these things fit together.

Hugo sat down again as Eloise walked around the corner to change, trying not to think of the bare, cold skin she was revealing, which he could so easily warm with his hands. Closing his eyes, he tried to suppress his wayward thoughts, hearing her return before long.

The dress was a terracotta color and it suited her more than he would have expected. Did she so easily slip from one thing to another and fit perfectly? "What are you doing here?" he asked, taking a sip of his wine. The servant returned, offering her a glass as well. "You may retire, Stanner," Hugo said to the slightly surprised man.

It was completely inappropriate being alone with her, but he didn't want anyone else privy to this. It might make him seem uncouth in the eyes of his servants, but right now, he felt a little too raw to care.

The servant's shuffling steps retreated in the dark away from the fire. Eloise took a sip of her wine, then leaned back and considered him in turn. "You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice sounding lower and more gravelly than he intended it to. He closed his palms, trying to reveal the itch he felt. If he had been uncomfortable before, it had heightened a thousand times now. He could barely sit still.

"I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

She looked into the fire and its reflection danced in her eyes. "I wanted to know how you are?"

"Why would I be anything other than fine?"

"Are you?"

"Of course."

She smiled tightly. He couldn't figure out what she was thinking, unsure if she saw how badly he wanted her to not be there, but at the same time feeling pure elation. The problem was that he had feelings. Things were much easier when he didn't. "You shouldn't have come."

"I think I needed to."

"Why?" His mind honed in on the question, even if he didn't want to. Why would she need to be here? Thoughts raced through his mind, but none of them made sense.

"I just …" she started, uncomfortably shifting in her chair. He could see the outline of her thighs under the material of her dress and closed his eyes at a rush of heat flaring through him. Whatever her intent, she was effectively torturing him. "I just …" she repeated, rising from her seat. His heart sped and his mind filled with alarm as she stepped closer, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop her or himself as she placed her knee next to his thigh.

It felt as though a lump of coal was stuck in his throat. Every part of his body tightened painfully as she straddled him, placing her hand below his chin, gently lifting his mouth up to meet her lips. Involuntarily he closed his eyes, feeling the kiss contact. The softness of her lips and the undeniably sweet taste of her hit him, lighting every part of his body. There was nothing he could do to stop this, because he wanted it so much. Her lips pressed to him as her body pressed to his, her soft breasts conforming to his chest, and it felt like pure danger. He was enthralled and he had no will against her.

His cock strained against the heat of her apex as she straddled him and he couldn't breathe, sure he needed this friction more than he needed air. Grabbing her hips, he drew her to him. "Have you come to torture me?" he asked, breathy and strained.

Her eyes were dark and she ignored his question, slowly leaning in to kiss him again. Her tongue stroked lightly against his lower lip and his mouth parted, inviting her in. The world shifted as her warm, moist tongue carefully slipped into his mouth, seeking its counterpart. He couldn't bear the sweetness, feeling it rip through his body, every one of his defenses.

His hand sought under her skirt, moving up her bare thigh to the braises keeping them apart. Seeking the knot that held them in place, he pulled it, feeling his heart elate as the material released, wondering if he'd actually do himself damage if he couldn't find release in her right now. The material slipped away and his fingers traveled into her welcoming wet folds. She wanted him and groaned when he slipped a finger into her warm heat. It was the most delicious thing he knew of, feeling his consciousness threaten just from the joy of it. "Eloise," he said, sounding pained.

She ground down on his hand, forcing her hips to him. He couldn't take this anymore. He had to be inside her. Seeking his own ties, he desperately tried to free himself and his painful rigidity. Pressing back slightly, her hand came down to stroke his now-free cock and he choked on the intensity of sensations stealing through him as her gentle fingers teased him mercilessly. He would never get the chance to be inside her if she continued massaging him. Feeling her move, he looked into her eyes as she rose on her knees, positioning him at her entrance. He was a slave to her and served willingly.

Her velvet heat descended on him and he wondered if pleasure could kill him, the pleasure heightening with each inch of him she took. Her lips parted and pleasure shone in her eyes. He'd seen that look before and it was the best expression he knew on her face, or any face. Her face was the only one who mattered. She was the only one that mattered.

She sank down on him completely and he pressed his hips into her, wanting more. His throat constricted, going dry as she rose again, drawing out the exquisite pleasure. Sinking down, she was completely undoing him. He no longer had control of his thoughts or body, beholden entirely to the sensations coursing through him.

Watching her arch back, he wished the dress gone so he would see her nipples thrusting toward him, inviting him to taste, but he didn't have to fortitude to move, let alone do something so complex as to undress her. He felt her start to convulse around him, hear the moans of her release reverberating through his ears. The pleasure was culminating, overtaking him, and he felt his body prepare. Powerful pulses shook into him, his seed releasing, pumping deep into her body. Their joining was the only thing that existed in the whole world—it was the world.

Shudders of gripping sensation crashed through him in the aftermath. Her forehead was on his and he reached up to kiss her, snaking his hand around the back of her neck, feeling himself hardening inside her again. He refused to think about the consequences. Tonight he just wanted her. Rising, he lifted her with him, taking her upstairs to his bedroom. The devil would likely have to be paid for this, but he would pay.