Lord of My Heart (29 page)

He sought reasons to be alone with her. He was aware of her all day long. Despite tiredness, he had hardly slept last night as his body demanded hers and his mind insisted on control. He wasn’t sure what would happen tonight.

If he once lost himself in love with Madeleine, he would be lost forever. Sweet Savior, the quickness and courage of her. The wit, the beauty, the strength . . .

She put it aside for the moment, but since he wished it, she would wear it on her girdle. So far, she thought ruefully, she had received bracelets and a knife from her husband. He seemed well on the way to turning her into a warrior, but if that was what he wanted she would do her best to please him.

Then Dorothy was there, fussing and muttering about brutes and tyrants. Dorothy did not think much of Aimery these days, but Madeleine had decided not to tell her the truth about the beating. If the story got out, it would raise his reputation in the eyes of the women, but it might lower it in the eyes of the men. Now Dorothy thought he’d brutalized her again.

The maid prepared a soothing compress under Madeleine’s direction and tucked her into bed. The wrist still ached and screamed whenever she moved. After a while, Madeleine knew she would never sleep.

“I think I had best have a little of the poppy, Dorothy.”

Madeleine drank it, and soon drifted into a deep sleep so that Aimery had little choice as to his actions that night. His mind told him it was just as well. His body ardently disagreed.

Madeleine released her frustration on a clumsy maidservant and then regretted it. Her head throbbed, and she decided she deserved a day of rest. Since she couldn’t even sew properly, she indulged in reading. Aimery came in at midday, clearly concerned. She reassured him that her wrist was not badly hurt.

To prove it to him, she went out to check on the work around the manor and found the open air did her good. Her head cleared, and her wrist didn’t pain her unless she tried to do heavy work. She also noticed yet more sympathetic looks from the women and used this to gain their confidence.

By the time of the evening meal, Madeleine was in good spirits. She deliberately left her bandage off, so as not to remind Aimery of the problem. What, she wondered optimistically, would this evening bring?

She listened impatiently to a boring discussion about fighting formations. Then the meal was over, and she and Aimery were alone. She smiled at him. “I think everyone is seeing my wrist injury as evidence of further cruelty. May I tell them the truth?”

“That I’ve been teaching you knife fighting? I think not. Most men would think me mad.”

“In case I decided to try out the weapon on you?”

He was cool. “You have seen what the consequence would be.”

Consequence or not, Madeleine would use a blade to try to cut through his forbidding manner if she could. It was as if the last few days had never been. “So,” she said purposefully, “what do I learn tonight?”

“I think you should give your wrist time to heal,” he said, and went off to join Hugh and Geoffrey.

Madeleine sighed and moved over to sit with the sisters until it was time for bed. She harbored faint hopes that something would change there, and even toyed with ways to use her body to entice him, but when she made her way to the solar he joined her. “One of the mares is about to foal. I’ll spend tonight in the stables.”

Madeleine found she didn’t sleep at all well without him beside her in the bed.

The next day she took advantage of the new sympathy among the women and gathered a group of them to go into the woods with her in search of wild herbs and fruits. It was a hot day, and they all wore just their shifts and kirtles. As Madeleine always dressed simply for work, she appeared to be one of them except that she alone wore her hair uncovered. No one—such as Aimery—objected to this practice, and she found a veil or wimple got in the way, but now she wished she had worn a head-rail. She felt set apart.

The women were all married and kept their hair covered. She had a thick, uncovered braid like a maid.

They all had at least one child with them, either trotting alongside or carried in a sling on the back. Madeleine’s womb was empty. She had had her courses since her wedding.

They all had men who mated with them often, sometimes—to Madeleine’s surprise—more often than they’d like. Listening to their frank, salty gossip, Madeleine was filled with an aching longing to be a true wife. She’d love to be pestered after a hard day.

As usual she smothered her pain in work. She taught the women about plants which were new to them, and she listened carefully as they explained their own traditions.

She was returning to the castle with her basket full of herbs when she saw Aimery talking to one of the peasants near the cornfields. Unable to resist, she sent the women on ahead and walked over to speak to her husband.

His companion looked up and saw her, said something to Aimery, and was dismissed, but not before Madeleine had recognized him. It was the other Saxon from that day when Odo had attacked her.

Her mouth dried, and a chill touched her as if clouds had blotted out the sun. She had convinced herself his treason was over, but perhaps it was not so.

She stopped, unsure what to do or say.

Aimery came over. Like her, he dressed simply for work. Today he wore a tawny linen tunic girdled with a plain leather belt. His only weapon was a long scramasax, and his only noble ornaments were his two rings and the bracelet on his right wrist.

“We need more hands here if anything is to be improved,” he said in a businesslike tone. “Now that the defenses are adequate, I’ll visit our other properties, and Rolleston. I’ll find some more cottars and arrange for supplies.”

“And leave me here?” she asked.

“You’ll be safe with Hugh and the two sisters.”

The place would be an empty shell if she didn’t have the comfort of knowing he was about, and she’d live in fear that he was being entangled again in matters that could destroy him. “I think I should travel with you,” she said. “I’ve never seen the other manors which make up the barony. And I would like to visit Rolleston.”

There was a flash of irritation in his expression. “If it hasn’t escaped your notice, woman, half the country is up in arms. William may have taken Warwick and put down unrest there, but Gospatric has raised Northumbria, Edwin and Morcar are still making trouble not far from here, and the Welsh and Scots are on the move. It’s hardly the time for a pleasure trip.”

“Then why are you going?” she demanded, half expecting a slap for her impudence.

“I’ve told you why,” he said curtly and walked away.

Fear-sparked fury burned in her. “I won’t be left here!” she shouted at his back.

He swung round and strode back. “You will do as you’re told, as a good wife should.”

“Wife!” she scoffed. “I’m hardly wife to you, Aimery de Gaillard.”

He grabbed her by her thick plait. “Miss the bedding, do you? I suppose you do. You were quick enough to learn the business.” With a leg behind her knees and a tug on her hair, she was flat on her back on the long grass with him on top of her.

“You don’t always have to throw me down, you know,” she said, daring to tease.

A flash of amusement lit his eyes before it was shielded. Emboldened, Madeleine raised a tentative hand to brush his damp hair off his cheek. Her body was humming with delicious expectations.

He shook her hand off. “A man needs to vent his seed from time to time. That’s what a wife’s for.” But his eyes betrayed him. At this moment he desired, and he desired her.

“I’m willing to be used that way,” she said softly. “I would like a child. I’ve had my courses since the last time.” She could see the battle waging in him and didn’t know which way it would go; she feared cruelty and hungered for tenderness.

Aimery looked down on Madeleine beneath him, and impossibly wild desire surged in him. She was nut-brown from the summer sun, but her soft lips were deep rose and open to him, smiling. Her warm brown eyes spoke of desire. Her body beneath him was firm and round and willing. He imagined it rounder, rounded with his child. He eased to one side and ran his hand over her flat abdomen.

She trembled under his touch. His hand was none too steady. His desire of her was a weakness, and one he had resolved to fight, but he already knew he had lost the battle.

It was hard to remember what the battle was.

He had taken no other woman, for he would not do that in his wife’s house, and his desire for her had been, at times, an agony. And here she was beneath him, weakening him with her dark eyes and soft lips, with the tentative movements of her hips.

She was willing? He’d take his pleasure then, but with no thought for hers.

He pulled up her skirt. Her legs fell open at a touch. He adjusted her body and entered, swift and smooth. The first sheathing was so exquisite he stopped with a groan to savor it. How slick she was, how ready. He looked at her and saw no resentment of his treatment of her, only the flushed cheeks of wanton rapture.

It fired his blood beyond all control.

She gasped, and her body shuddered and tightened around him, drawing him higher. As he pulled back, the tightness of her slid along him, stirring him into a half-crazed mist of agonized delight.

To which he totally surrendered.

When he slid into her, as hard as iron, Madeleine gasped with perfect relief to have him where he belonged at last. A shudder passed through her, and she felt her muscles tighten, heard him groan.

She stared up at him. Against the high, burning sun he was all golden—bright golden hair, duller gold on the skin, and tawny in his linen shirt. He shuddered as he drew out of her body slowly and then slid in again. His eyes were closed, and this time she kept hers open, watching this thing she could do to him.

She saw color flush his cheeks and sweat leap to his brow. She could almost see the gasping breaths pass over his lips. Gasping breaths which matched her own, heat and sweat that surely marked her, too, and the movement of him . . .

The sun beat down. The sky above was infinite, a perfect blue. Somewhere a skylark trilled and trilled as if rejoicing in their soaring passion.

An ember roared into flame.

He threw back his head and gave a choked cry as rippling tension passed from his body to hers. A cry of her own escaped as his seed burst into her. She wrapped her legs and arms around him as shudders shook them both.

His eyes opened, more black than green. His mouth came down on hers, hot and hungry, devouring her, and she sought to be devoured. They lost themselves in this new union.

His mouth slipped off hers to her ear. Her hand cherished his smooth neck, his sweat-slicked, scarred shoulder beneath thin, damp cloth. Her fingers found the valley of his spine and wandered down it to his hard buttocks.

She wished he were naked.

His lips trailed gently down her neck, gathering her sweat as she wanted to do to him, causing her to shiver, heat on heat, wet on wet Then his mouth went further, to her breast to nuzzle softly at her sensitive nipples through the cloth. At the first touch there she shuddered, and when his teeth closed gently on her, she tensed.

He was still inside her, and hard.

“Sweet Jesu!” she gasped, and was not sure herself whether it was delight or trepidation. “Again?”

“Again,” he said, looking up at her with hooded eyes. “Chastity does strange things to a man.”

Madeleine lost her doubts. Delight, definitely delight. She wrapped her legs back around him possessively. “It does strange things to a woman, too.”

“What sort of things?” he asked lazily as his clever hand wandered up and down her body and his hips made small, tantalizing movements against her.

“Oh, things,” said Madeleine shyly, looking away.

“Tell me, Madeleine,” he coaxed. “A man likes to know how a woman feels. Sometimes,” he added dryly.

Her head was spinning, her body aching. “It feels wonderful. I like it.” After a moment she admitted, “I thought we’d be doing it every night.”

He choked on a laugh. “Perhaps we will. It seems a terrible shame not to. Who knows how long we have?”

A chill drove away some of the fever. His words echoed all too closely her own fears. Madeleine tightened her legs on him protectively. “What do you mean?”

He looked up. “Life’s a chancy thing at best, that’s all. I could be called upon to fight at any time.” He lowered his head to drop kisses along the line of her jaw. Then his mouth lowered slowly to her breast again.

There was more to his words than that. Madeleine took a grip on his hair and pulled. He tightened his teeth and resisted. She felt herself stretch to the point of pain, gave a little cry, and let go. He looked up, laughing. “You wanted something?”

How strange that the small pain could bring back the fever so strongly. Madeleine certainly wanted something. She wriggled her hips against him, encouraging him to feed the hungry ache, but he went still. Hard inside her, but still.

“What did you want?” he insisted.

“Later. I can’t think now!”

“Yes, you can,” he said. His fingers began to torment her nipples again, causing her to whimper.

He grinned. “I’m not going to pleasure you until you tell me.”

Then what did he think he was doing?

But she knew what he meant.

She struggled to organize her dizzy mind, even as her body shuddered and her breath wavered. “Who?” she gasped at last. “Who will call you to fight? The rebels?”

His fingers pressed painfully on her, then left her. He pulled out of her and out of the bondage of her legs.

“No!” she wailed, scrambling to her knees and reaching for him. How could she feel so icy-cold on a hot summer’s day?

He knelt before her. “You think me a traitor? Then you surely don’t want to give your body to such as I.”

Madeleine ached and throbbed with a need she could never have imagined. It left no dignity. She begged. “Please!”

He was half gone in passion, she could tell, but far more in control of himself than she. He gripped her wrist. “Am I a traitor?” he demanded fiercely.

Madeleine wanted to say no, but honesty is a hard habit to break. “I don’t care,” she whispered, tears falling down her hot cheeks. In the face of his implacable silence she added, “I don’t know.”

He gave a sigh and released her. “Nor do I,” he said. “But I won’t fight for the rebels. You have my word on that.”

He pushed her gently back down and moved above her, holding himself high on strong arms. Madeleine’s entrance felt like a hungry mouth, aching to devour him, yet he paused there against her. She could feel him at the opening and raised her hips, but he moved back a little.

“Please,” she begged. “I need you.”

“Remember me,” he said softly and eased down into her, filling tight the aching void. Madeleine gave a great, shaking shudder of relief and closed her eyes. Nothing existed in the world for her except him in her. She worked with him fiercely, matching thrust for thrust until she succeeded in obliterating the feverish pain and replacing it with shattering, fear-devouring delight.

She lay limp and exhausted, felt him leave her, rearrange her skirt, felt the sun bake her. Through her closed lids she saw endless red.

A fly landed on her nose. She brushed it away. It returned. She opened her eyes to see him, sitting cross-legged beside her, tickling her with a scarlet poppy. “You’ll burn,” he said lazily, “and there’s work to be done.”

There was none of the cold indifference that had followed their last mating. She felt joined to him as never before. And he’d given her a promise. He wouldn’t fight for the rebels. She took his hand and kissed it.

She smiled and received a smile back. It wasn’t full and open, but it was far better than cold indifference.

She remembered that moment when it had all been threatened, but then smiled again. He’d given her a promise. He wouldn’t fight for the rebels.

He rose smoothly to his feet, extended a hand, and pulled her up, then picked bits of grass from her hair and gown. He put a finger beneath her chin. “Feel more like a wife?”

She tilted her head. “I thought wives were for bed. What does a whore feel like?”

He grinned. “They’re all different. Some hard, some soft . . .”

She playfully slapped his hand away, then turned to pick up her basket.

She gave a tut of annoyance when she found all her herbs scattered. He moved to help her. “Do you need more herbs? We should be able to buy some in Lincoln or London.”

“Can we afford it?”

“No, but it’s doubtless a necessity.”

They began to amble toward the castle, savoring a sweet moment and each other.

Madeleine hated to disturb this time together, but she wanted to be rid of all the doubts that hovered between them. “What did he want?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Golden Hart’s friend.”

He gave her a considering look. “It was just a message. Nothing to bother you.”

He drew her into his arms. “I gave up Golden Hart some time ago. There could be trouble if that all comes out, but it’s unlikely now. After all,” he said with a smile, “you were always the one most likely to expose me.”

An answering smile tugged her lips and turned into a grin. “Mmm,” she murmured, looking him over. “Speaking of exposure ... I want to see you naked again.”

“I’ve never seen you naked,” he said. “Will you stand in the sunlight in just the glory of your hair and let me worship you?”

Madeleine blushed. “If you want,” she said shyly.

He grinned. “If you’d understood English that day in the woods, you’d know what I want.”

“What did you say then?”

He swung her around so that her back was against him and held her as he had then. There was no cloak to confine her, but Madeleine had to give a little thought to her poor herbs.

“I told you how beautiful your curves felt,” he said in English, running his hands over her. “How sweetly heavy your breasts. How I wanted to lick their fullness all over and tease your nipples to aching, then suck them soft, suck them hard until you were wild for me.”

Madeleine’s body leaped within his confining arms. “You didn’t do that then,” he said. “That’s how I knew you didn’t understand.”

“My body didn’t understand then,” she said.

“I confess, I thought you knew the language of love.”

“What else did you say?” she asked breathlessly.

He laughed and slid his hand down to her thighs. “I told you how warm and moist you were, just waiting for me. I promised to be slow in loving you, to stroke you softly to your pleasure, then when you couldn’t bear it anymore, I’d take you hard and strong.”

Madeleine pressed back against him. “I can’t bear it anymore . . .”

He laughed against her neck, kissed her nape. “Insatiable wanton. Have pity on the poor male.”

She could feel the bulge of his desire and shifted her bottom against it, heard his breathing falter. He turned her slowly. Madeleine heard the herbs fall but didn’t care.