English, Elizabeth (27 page)

Somewhere
a voice whispered that this was wrong, it was foolish and dangerous to forget
herself this way. I'll stop it in just a moment, she thought as he bent to her,
his mouth coming down hard on hers. She meant to pull away but instead found
herself winding her arms around his neck and returning his kiss with desperate
need.

His
hand brushed her breast, sending such a sharp spear of desire running through
her that she gave a startled cry of pleasure. He undid the laces of her gown
with hands made clumsy by haste, then pulled the fabric from her shoulder and
bent his head, his lips burning against her icy skin, moving with exquisite
delicacy until his tongue touched the peak of her breast. She wound her hands
in his hair and pulled him closer with a wordless cry.

And
then they were lying in a mound of fragrant straw, and he was helping her pull
off her sodden gown, struggling with the clinging fabric. At last she was free
of it and felt no shame, only relief as he pulled her against him again, his
mouth closing over hers. Shyly at first, but with increasing need, she ran her
hands over his body, feeling the hard muscle of his back, his arms, pulling the
leather tie from his hair and twining her fingers in his damp curls.

With
shaking hands she removed his gambeson, shivering with delight at the touch of
his bare skin against hers. There was no fear in this place, no worry over what
tomorrow would bring. There was only this moment, the touch of his hand and the
feel of his lips, and an aching emptiness that she didn't understand and didn't
want to, for her body moved with a knowledge beyond understanding. His hand
moved lightly from knee to ankle, then up again, higher now, and she arched
against his palm, the sweet scent of fresh-mown hay filling her senses as the rain
pounded on the roof.

There
was a brief, sharp pain when he entered her and she cried out, even as she drew
him closer—and all at once they were moving together in a way she'd never
imagined possible. They were one, one body and one flesh, words that had been
meaningless until this moment. As one they moved inexorably toward something
barely glimpsed— until it broke over her in shimmering waves of ecstasy as he
tensed beneath her hands. She called his name—or was it he who called to her?
She didn't know, it didn't matter, for in this place they were one.

Alyson
gradually became aware of herself again, the hay tickling her skin, the rapid
beating of his heart beneath her cheek as they lay entwined, their breaths
growing slower. Through her joy she felt an emptiness, a sorrow to be even this
much separated from him.

Now
that the urgency had passed they explored one another with gentle hands and
lingering kisses. His hair smelled of rainwater and wild herbs, and his skin
tasted faintly of salt. The feel of him beneath her hands was something to be
savored, each contour a new mystery to be explored. At last she lay looking
into his eyes, lost in their dark depths, and she was not even aware that she
was weeping until he kissed the tears from her cheeks.

"Did
I hurt you?" he asked. "I'm sorry, the first time can be painful—but
you'll see, it will be better now."

"Better,
my lord?" She laughed through her tears. "I can't imagine..."

He
smiled and her heart twisted in her breast. "You needn't say 'my lord.'
Not now."

"Jemmy,"
she whispered, tracing the dark wings of his brows, the sharp curve of his
cheekbone, the roughness of his beard beneath her fingertips.
"Jemmy," she repeated softly. Oh, she could say his name a thousand
times and never grow tired of the sound of it.

The
door opened and a young man walked into the stable. Jemmy pulled a horse
blanket from the hook and covered them as Alyson buried her face in his
shoulder.

"My
lord," the boy said, confused. "I'm sorry to disturb ye. I was just
going out to look for ye."

"You've
found me."

"Aye.
Well, your father sent me. He's worried for your lady, she's still not come
back from her ride."

"Tell
him not to worry," Jemmy said, tightening his arms about Alyson.

"But,
my lord, her horse came back an hour ago and there's been no sign—"

"She's
here, Alec."

"Here?"

Alyson
raised her head and the boy stepped back a pace, nearly stumbling over his own
feet. "I'm sorry, my lady— my lord—please forgive me—"

He
turned and fled.

Jemmy's
and Alyson's eyes met, and they both began to laugh. "Well, that will give
them something to talk about!" Jemmy said, then sighed, looking toward the
door.

"No,
sir, you can't go in there now," Alec was saying outside the stable door.

"What
do ye mean, I can't go in? Damn you, boy, I need my horse!" replied a
familiar voice.

"We'd
best get up," Jemmy said, searching through the straw for their clothing.

Alyson
dressed silently. She had to tell him, right now, quickly, before she lost her
courage. God alone knew what would happen after that, but of one thing she was
certain: she would never see him again.

But
even as she put a hand on his arm, a voice spoke clearly in her mind. Shouldn't
I be allowed one night of happiness? it said. Just one? No, she argued with
herself, that would be wicked. It would be a lie. Tell him. Tell him right now.

"What
is it?" Jemmy said, looking down at her so tenderly that her throat ached
with sudden pain. "What's wrong? Whatever it is, I'll make it right, I
swear it."

The
door burst open and several men walked in, Alistair among them. He stopped and
stared, his lip curling in a scornful smile as he took in the crumpled, muddy
clothing of the pair before him, the hay covering them both.

"Pardon
me," Jemmy said, pushing him aside.

"Of
course, my lord. My lady."

Alistair
made one of his mocking bows, waving them past, as the men with him broke into
derisive laughter.

The
rain had stopped, and as they stepped outside the sun burst forth, sparkling on
the wet paving stones. "Now," Jemmy said, drawing her aside.
"What were you going to say?"

Alyson
shook her head and tightened her grip on his arm.

"Nothing,
Jemmy," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "It can
wait."

They
dined alone that night in Alyson's chamber, served
only by old Maggie,
who beamed with pleasure as she set the food before them. Later she laughed to
herself as she removed it all untouched, then threw fresh logs upon the fire
and left them there alone. Certain it was that they'd never even noticed her,
for they sat together in a large chair talking in soft voices and laughing.
Thanks be to God, Maggie thought. It had pained her to see her young master so
unhappy since his return. Perhaps now he'd settle down and find some pleasure
in his new life. She'd had her doubts about this marriage—well, who hadn't?—but
it seemed Lady Maude had undergone a strange and puzzling change. Or maybe not
so puzzling as all of that, she reflected with a smile, maybe the most natural
thing in the world.

When
she backed into the hallway, the tray held carefully before her, she found
Celia waiting outside the door. "They won't be wanting ye tonight,"
Maggie said.

The
girl frowned. "But I have to ready my lady for bed," she said,
reaching for the latch.

"I
wouldna do that," Maggie said sharply. Celia only tossed her head and
opened the door.

Alyson
sighed and nestled closer in Jemmy's arms, drifting in a golden haze of
pleasure. Right or wrong she would have this night; this one night she wished
would never end. That it would end was something she knew all too well, but for
as long as she could make it last she would savor every moment.

His
chamber robe was soft against her cheek. It was crimson velvet, tied loosely
round the waist, and smelled deliciously of Jemmy's own distinctive scent.
Sharp with spices, it conjured images of the strange, exotic lands he must have
visited in his travels. She touched the gold ring in his ear as she had often
longed to do, smoothing the thick dark hair back from his face. She meant to
explore every inch of him tonight with a thoroughness that would have to last a
lifetime.

Bending,
she laid her lips against his chest where the robe fell open, just above his
heart, and boldly slipped her hand inside. The hard muscle of his belly
contracted beneath her fingertips as he drew a sharp breath of pleasure.

She
glanced up beneath her lashes and found him looking down at her with the smile
she had hoped to win. This is how she would remember him, just so—his face soft
and young and happy, his dark eyes all aglow.

The
door opened and Alyson leaned back against him, lost entirely in the feeling of
his lips upon her hair, trusting him to send whoever it might be away. But at
the first sound of Celia's sharp voice Alyson tensed, reality returning with a
rush.

"D'ye
have need of me, my lady?" the serving girl asked, bobbing the obligatory
curtsey. Alyson didn't want to look into her face and yet she did, finding
Celia's eyes, cold as chips of blue ice, fastened on her own. But there was
nothing Celia could do, not now, not without giving her own treachery away.

"Not
tonight, lass," Jemmy answered easily. "Go along and find your
bed."

But
Celia didn't leave, nor did she take her eyes from Alyson's. Her glance held
warning now, as did her voice when she said, "If you're quite sure, my
lady."

Alyson
knew that Jemmy wouldn't mark the slight emphasis on the last word, but she
did, and it chilled her to the heart.

"Quite,"
she answered, fear sharpening her voice. "You heard my lord, Celia. You
may go."

"Very
well."

When
they were alone again Alyson tried to recapture her feeling of contentment, but
it had vanished beyond recall. Whatever was she doing? she wondered in sudden
terror. How could she be so wicked as to go on deceiving Jemmy this way, taking
what he would never give if he only knew the truth? And yet... surely tomorrow
would be time enough to tell him. Would one night really matter so very much?

"What
is it?" Jemmy asked, catching her change of mood with a perception that
warmed and frightened her at the same time. "What troubles you?"

"I
don't like her," Alyson said in a low voice, staring at the fire.

"Then
we'll send her home again," he said reasonably, broad shoulders moving in
a shrug.

"Aye,
we will. We'll do just that."

If
only it could be so simple! By morning Celia would be gone, running off to Sir
Robert with all that she had learned, including what she'd seen tonight. But
no, Alyson comforted herself, Celia would never get the chance. Because by
morning Jemmy would know the truth and he would stop her. What he would do to
Alyson was another matter, but that was for tomorrow. She could still have this
one night, and she would, no matter what might come of it. And at the first red
streak of dawn she would confess the whole sorry tale.

Oh,
but he would be so angry, she reflected, trying to ignore the feeling of his
hand upon her shoulder. Best to tell him now before this goes any further. His
hand moved gently against her neck, traced the line of her jaw, and finally
touched her lips. She opened her mouth to tell him, but instead found herself
catching his finger between her teeth and stroking it lightly with her tongue.
He made a sound, halfway between laughter and a groan, and stood, lifting her
easily and walking toward the bed.

Just
one night, Alyson pleaded with her conscience, burying her face against his
chest. That wasn't much to ask, not really, not when set against a lifetime
spent without him. But, oh, it was so wrong to lie to him like this, the
wickedest lie she could imagine. She might be neck deep in deception as it was,
but in that she'd had no choice. This lie was different, for she told it of her
own accord. Could she really do this? She, who had always prided herself on her
honesty?

The
bed was so soft, so welcoming, and when Jemmy shrugged off his robe the
firelight played upon the sun-browned muscles of his body. If I'm to burn in
Hell, so be it, Alyson thought, holding out her arms. Then her thoughts
dissolved into a shattering wave of pleasure as he bent over her, his dark hair
falling like a curtain round her face.

***

The
night was halfway done when Jemmy woke to find himself alone. Raising himself
on one elbow, he saw Maude standing before the window, the shutters flung wide
and the moonlight streaming into the room. She was clad only in the mantle of
hair rippling halfway to her knees, and between the strands her skin glowed
like marble in the pale light. Jemmy rose and took the blanket from the bed,
moving to stand behind her and enfolding them both within its warmth.

"You
daft lass, you'll catch your death," he scolded, drawing her against him.
"Why aren't you in bed?"

"Oh,
I couldn't sleep. Not tonight."

She
turned and slid her arms about his waist, leaning her cheek in the hollow of
his shoulder. And there it was again, that strange feeling of completion. It
was like one of the ornaments he'd seen in Eastern markets years before, a ring
made of separate bands. If one didn't know the trick they were just two bits of
twisted metal, joined yet with no real connection to each other. But a
practiced hand could fit them neatly as a puzzle, the result far more intricate
and beautiful than either was alone.