Dryden's Bride (8 page)

“You hit the Scot?” Hugh repeated as he helped her to stand. She was shaky, but he resisted a foolish urge to hug her close to him, to share his heat and security. More appropriately for a betrothed man, he put a supportive arm around her waist and walked her to his horse. He gave her a boost onto the mare, then mounted behind her. Daring to hold Siân just enough to keep her steady, they rode slowly through the woods, toward town.

Her impulsiveness and audacity should not have surprised him. She was a brave and spirited lass with a great deal of heart, and he admired that in her. Not many women of his acquaintance would have gone off single-handedly to rescue the child.

“The boy got away?” he finally asked.

Siân nodded and fitted her body to his chest, relishing the warmth of his body, the security of his arms around her waist. A shiver went through her. “Aye,” she said, a little breathlessly. “But the man managed to grab me. And then his cohort arrived on horseback. I—I thought I’d never…I mean, I didn’t know if anyone would c-come in time.”

“
Were
we on time, Siân?” Hugh asked. “You are truly unharmed?”

She nodded, and felt the air go out of him, and wondered if it was relief she felt in his body. The thought warmed her, though she knew better than to give too much importance to it. Still, she allowed herself to relish
the heat of his breath on her cheek, the sense of his strong thighs next to hers, even if it was just for this moment. “When the Scots heard riders, they released me and ran.”

“On one horse?”

“No,” Siân replied. “The man on horseback brought a second mount with him.”

He still hadn’t berated her for running after the lad, and Siân wondered when he would get around to it. Instead, he held her close as they rode, steadied her as she told her tale. She turned to look at him. His nose was a mere inch from hers, his lips a breath away. A slight sway of the horse could cause their lips to meet, though he looked as if he might actually
want
to kiss her.

“Do you hear riders?” Hugh asked softly, interrupting the thoughts and feelings coursing through her.

Siân realized then that she
did
hear them, although she’d thought the sound was the pounding of her heart.

“There,” he said, dragging his gaze away from her soft mouth, “in the clearing up ahead.”

“It’s Owen!” she said, and Hugh felt her body stiffen against his.

Owen Tudor, with a small group of knights, met them halfway. “Greetings, Lord Alldale,” Owen said, frowning. If he had any concern about the well-being of his sister, he did not show it. His expression merely reflected disapproval of the condition of her clothes and hair. “The queen and Lady Marguerite are anxious to know the cause of that infernal bell-clanging.”

“The Scots who were lurking in the woods came out of hiding,” Hugh explained. “Lady Siân rescued a child from being taken by the men and was nearly—”

“God’s blood, Siân!” Owen groaned. “What in the name of—”

“Tudor,” Hugh said calmly, but with a clear warning in his voice. “Your sister has just been through a difficult ordeal. I suggest you withhold your criticism for now, at least until she is safely returned to Clairmont.”

The man’s jaw clenched. He looked at his sister. “Dismount, Siân,” he said, “and
I
will carry you back to Clairmont.”

Hugh tightened his hold on Siân. “She is secure here, Tudor. We will ride as we are to the castle.”

Owen’s features darkened, but his tone remained polite and controlled. “My lord, as Siân is my sister and my responsibility, I must insist. It is unseemly for a maiden destined for the cloister to ride in this manner with a man who is of no relation.”

“Cloister?” Hugh choked, unable to believe his own ears. “Siân is…she is to join a cloister?”

Owen gave a curt nod. “My sister is promised to the Abbey of St. Ann at Tyndale.”

Siân seemed to sink in front of him.

“’Twas my intention to depart Clairmont in the morning, and begin our journey to the abbey,” Owen continued. “But plans have changed.”

Hugh’s thoughts reeled. He was appalled.
A nunnery!
How could Owen Tudor have such little understanding of his sister? How could he sentence this vibrant, passionate creature to a life of silent penance behind cloistered walls?

If ever there was any woman unsuited to a life of quiet prayer, it was Siân. She, of all people, should wed a man who would appreciate her vibrancy, and be surrounded by laughing children. She should wear bright
colors, run with the wind, sing and dance the caroles, the farandole….

Swallowing his ire, Hugh dismounted and assisted Siân to do the same.

“We’ve just received word,” Owen said, “that the bishop of Winchester, Henry Beaufort, is due to arrive at Castle Clairmont either tonight or sometime on the morrow.”

The news penetrated Hugh’s dark thoughts. Bishop Beaufort was a cunning ecclesiastic, greedy for political power. His presence at Clairmont did not bode well for Queen Catherine.

Owen lifted Siân onto his horse, then mounted behind her. As Hugh stood aside and watched, part of a conversation he’d had with Queen Catherine niggled at the back of his mind. It had something to do with freedom…Lady Marguerite’s freedom to choose her own fate.

It was a luxury Siân Tudor did not have.

H
ugh stood before the fireplace in a small room off the great hall of the castle, and assumed that Siân had been asleep for hours. His thoughts returned repeatedly to the spirited young woman as the others in the room discussed Bishop Henry Beaufort’s reasons for broaching Castle Clairmont, uninvited.

Still unable to adjust to the idea of Siân in a cloister, Hugh spent the evening in a dark and distracted mood, racking his brain to think of a reasonable option for her, an option that he might propose for Owen’s consideration. The best alternative was marriage. Surely there was someone who matched Siân’s noble rank, a man who had enough wealth that he would not require a substantial dowry as a prerequisite to marriage.

But who?

Hugh thought of several men, but dismissed each one as they came to mind. Only a particular sort of man could partner Siân Tudor. Her husband would have to be tolerant of noise and disorder, and be willing to sire a houseful of children. The man would need a lust for life, as well as a passion for his wife.

He would also have to be gentle with her, for Hugh
sensed a softness in Siân that she strove to keep hidden. The man would need to be patient, for Siân was not a particularly biddable woman. A sense of humor would be essential, as well as a strong physical constitution, for Hugh knew with a certainty that Lady Siân Tudor would likely try any man’s endurance over time.

“…but you can rest assured he’s not coming merely for a friendly visit to the farthest reaches of the kingdom,” Owen said, breaking into Hugh’s thoughts.

“My husband’s uncle craves power,” Catherine said. “It is what he lives to attain, nothing more, nothing less. But he is…” she searched for the word “…
malin
.”

“Devious,” Nicholas said, and the queen assented.

“His aim is to control little Henry,” Owen said.

“To what purpose?” Marguerite asked, her pretty brow furrowed in puzzlement. “The Parliamentary Council rules all England until Henri reaches his majority. What can Bishop Beaufort possibly hope—”

“The nobleman who weds Her Majesty will likely gain control over Henry,” Owen said. “It is important that no man be given such power to wield…”

“But what nobleman would…? I am afraid I am lost,” Marguerite said. “How does Bishop Beaufort’s visit win Her Majesty’s favor? She has left London on more than one occasion to escape his influence, and he knows it!”

Hugh knew the answer. “The bishop has chosen a husband for Her Majesty,” he said, certain of his statement. After all, he’d just spent the better part of an hour ruminating on a suitable spouse for Siân Tudor. The idea was not at all foreign to him. “And Beaufort intends to see the marriage carried out before Council can object.”

Everyone remained silent, as if in shock.

“I fear you are correct, Lord Alldale,” Tudor finally remarked, clasping his hands behind his back in agitation.

“Well,” Queen Catherine said. “He has never tried
that
before.”

“I wonder who it will be,” Marguerite pondered quietly, almost to herself.

“And whether His Eminence has brought the bridegroom along,” Nicholas said.

The night was too cool to extinguish the fire completely, but Siân let it die down in the grate so there was less light in the chamber. Less light to see by. She didn’t burn any candles, either, afraid of displaying her plainness and her ineptitude too clearly. For while she was determined in this endeavor, she was nervous.

Uncertain exactly how to proceed, Siân loosened her hair, allowing it to cascade freely down her back. It was clean now, and she’d rubbed it with some of the flower-water she made, so it smelled fresh, like summer. She sat down and removed her shoes, then un-buttoned the bodice of her gown, letting it drop into a dark heap on the floor. Then she stood near the fire in her fine linen under-kirtle.

And tried to keep from shaking.

Should she remove her underclothes and climb onto the bed fully naked, she wondered, or remain standing near the fire in her linens?

Perhaps she should stand near the fire
without
her linens.

Either way, she was determined to seduce Hugh Dryden, here. In his chamber.

Standing, as she was, on the threshold of an interminably
solitary existence in the convent, Siân had decided to experience one night of passion. One night to experience the forbidden. She would ask for nothing more before she departed the secular world to enter the cloister of St. Ann’s.

Only one night. With Hugh.

Hugh had decided that Nicholas Becker would be Siân’s husband. Nick just didn’t know it yet.

Becker was exceptionally good-looking, as well as patient and tolerant, and usually in good humor. Besides, as Viscount Thornton, he had no need of more land or possessions, so no dowry was necessary. He was a lusty fellow, too, so there was no doubt he’d beget children enough for her.

But that was the trouble. Hugh didn’t care for the thought of any man—even Nicholas Becker—touching Siân. His harebrained idea of marrying her off settled about as well as sending her to St. Ann’s. Hugh climbed the stairs and walked toward his chamber, and felt like punching something. A wall, mayhap. Why in kingdom come had she burst in on his life, with her reckless, frivolous ways? How had those damnable eyes of hers, with their mischievous glances and haunted looks, hooked him so?

And why did he feel so driven to set her future to rights?

If Bishop Beaufort hadn’t been expected in the next day or so, Hugh vowed he’d have left Clairmont; left all and sundry to their own devices. What business did he have, anyway, thinking to meddle in the plans Owen had made for Siân? Owen was her brother, after all, the
only
man responsible for her. By all means, let her
go to the nunnery! Let her live a long and pious life behind the—

A startled gasp and the crash of a shattered clay pitcher greeted Hugh Dryden as he thrust open the door to his chamber.

Hugh had his sword out and was on the attack before he realized that the intruder was none other than the woman who haunted his thoughts. Luckily, he halted before harming her as she stood half naked before him, in a puddle of spilled water and broken clay.

Standing a mere foot away from her, Hugh’s physical reaction was instantaneous. Every thought and question drifted away as he gaped at Siân—her blushing cheeks and downcast eyes, her crown of defiantly unruly hair, lips that were full and soft, doubtlessly capable of giving endless pleasure. The hardened peaks of her lush breasts were clearly visible through the thin cloth of her shift.

Unable to resist her, Hugh groaned and took one step toward her.

Looking up, Siân’s deep, sensual eyes met his hot, pale blue gaze. The muscles of her throat tightened as she swallowed nervously. Her hands knotted in the fabric of her under-kirtle and she took a deep breath, causing her breasts to move tantalizingly against the thin cloth that covered them.

Her lips parted.

Drawn, like a starving man to a feast, Hugh took another step.

Broken clay crunched under his feet.

“What are you doing here, Siân?” asked Hugh. With common sense dawning, his voice was quiet and dangerous; his visage dark.

Siân let out the breath she’d been holding and looked
away from him. What now? She hadn’t planned on having to explain her naked presence in his chamber. She’d thought she was obvious. Hoped he’d understand what she had in mind without having to define her intent.

Embarrassment replaced nervousness and she started to step away, only to be stopped by Hugh’s firm hand on her arm. “Don’t move,” he said. “You’ll cut your feet.”

Siân was quickly swept up into his arms. Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck as he walked her away from the broken pottery.

“I thought you’d know…you’d understand…why I was here,” she whispered haltingly, her breath stirring the hair near his ear.

A muscle clenched tightly near Hugh’s jaw, but he remained silent.

“Don’t be angry with me,” Siân said, discouraged by his ominous silence. Her spirits sank. She should have known she was not comely enough to attract this man. That his heart would only be won by the fairest, the most beautiful lady of the realm. And that his integrity would not allow him to dally with a young, virginal maiden. “I only hoped…”

Hugh put her back on her feet near the chair where she’d draped her gown. “What did you hope, Siân?” he asked gently as he stood facing her.

Near tears with the painful reality of his rejection, Siân composed herself before she spoke. “I’d hoped,” she said in a defeated tone, “that we…th-that…”

His face was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her face, smell the sweet wine he’d drunk earlier.

Should she stand on tiptoe and touch his lips with
her own? Press her body against his? How was a woman supposed to show a man that she wanted…more than polite conversation with him?

“Must I say it, my lord?” she breathed, rising up on her toes and leaning toward him as if he were a magnet and she were made of iron. At least he didn’t appear to be entirely repulsed, Siân thought, though he did seem somewhat torn.

A momentous interval passed, then she felt his hands at her waist, and gave in to the slight pressure he put on her.

“Siân,” he said quietly, hesitantly, just before his lips touched hers.

It was not at all what she expected. The lightest feathering of touches, the faintest sensation of his mouth meeting hers caused thunder to roar in her ears and lightning to crackle behind her eyes. It was as if her soul and his had been seared by some passionate force that melded them together. She would never feel alone again. Never wonder what it was to hold someone in her heart, to be a true half of the whole.

She made a small, strange sound of yearning in the back of her throat, and Hugh increased the pressure, joining their lips together in an all-consuming kiss, drawing her body ever closer. One hand cradled the back of her head, but the other remained at her waist, and he spread his legs, in order to better fit her body to his.

Nothing else mattered. Every harsh word she’d ever received, every terrible day she’d ever lived, every excruciating moment of loneliness, melted away as Hugh’s lips possessed hers.

His hand moved lower, and pressed them more closely together. His tongue invaded her mouth and
Siân shivered with the sensations caused by their intimate contact. She moved against him and heard his moan this time, while threads of pleasure unwound inside her and around her, binding them together in an ephemeral haze of arousal.

Siân felt his hands move again, then the ties that held her shift in place were gone. His hands were on her bare skin now, moving down, cupping her breasts, sending spears of pleasure through her.

All at once, she was on his bed, with Hugh poised over her. As his hands moved down her body, his mouth traveled to the sensitive skin below one ear, then down her throat while Siân trembled with the intensity of the sensations caused by his touch. His breath was hot as he circled one receptive nipple with his tongue.

“Hugh…” Her voice was a feather on the air, a gossamer plea for him to take her beyond anything she’d ever known. Beyond the realities of her life, her fate. All she knew, everything she was…was here and now.

Siân wanted to feel him against her, skin to skin. She pulled at his tunic, then he moved away for an instant, wrenching it over his head. When he came back to her, the crisp dark hairs of his chest brushed against her breasts, increasing her shivers of arousal. Siân touched his nipples and found, to her surprise, that they were beaded like hers, and craving her touch.

He groaned as she put her mouth to one. And pulled away from her. “Siân,” he rasped.

Loud voices and a pounding at his chamber door brought Hugh to his senses.

“Dryden!” Nicholas’s voice penetrated his haze. “Beaufort’s arrived! You’re needed in the hall!”

Beaufort. The power-hungry bishop from London had arrived.

What of Siân? He could not leave her this way. Bewilderment was clear in her eyes, those beautiful eyes so full of trust, full of…

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn’t stay. He had to be deranged to have allowed this encounter in the first place. What had she been thinking…coming to his room, undressing before him? He gritted his teeth and struggled for control.

God’s Cross, he wanted her. Unlike he’d ever wanted anyone before. And she, apparently, wanted him. Flaws and all. She hadn’t shrunk from the touch of his mangled hand, nor was she repulsed by his scars. She was truly a wonder.

And her intensity, her passion, would burn him to the core.

“Siân,” he said, taking her hands in his, and drawing her up off the bed. His mouth went dry all over again as he viewed her innocent nakedness. “I must go.”

A troubled crease appeared between her brows.

“It’s not just Beaufort…” he began. She stood unmoving as Hugh pulled her thin linen shift down over her, covering her, and tied it in place. Then he picked up her gown and fumbled with it, unsure how to proceed. “We cannot do this. You’re promised to the abbey.”

“No,” she whispered, her agony in her eyes, her voice. This couldn’t be happening. A lump formed in her throat as reality dawned. He’d been making love to her only moments ago. Now he was turning her over to the nunnery.

“Siân,” he said as he reached for his tunic. He held
it in one hand, and looked at her pensively, remembering how dejected she’d looked before, when Owen had spoken of taking her to the abbey.

She couldn’t speak. She stepped down from the bed and moved away from him, hastily tying laces and fastening buttons, blinking away the tears that had begun to form. She’d been stupid and foolish again, hadn’t
thought
before she’d acted.

“Siân,” Hugh repeated.

“I apologize, my lor—”

“What if you were to marry?” he asked impulsively. “If a man offered for your hand, would your brother allow you to wed instead of going to the abbey?”

“I—I don’t know…” she said dubiously. “My dowry is s-small. No one—”