Marriage Under Siege (21 page)

Francis saw her picking her
way through the debris, skirts held out of the worst of the dust.

In spite of the choking
atmosphere, he drew in a deep breath. What had he done? Why the hell had he
brought her here to this wilderness of his own creating? What had he expected
to gain from it?

Because he had wanted her
company, he admitted in a moment of honesty, to get to know her a little better
away from the enclosing confines of Brampton Percy, which she so clearly
disliked. And he had hoped she would understand a little and support him in an
undertaking that gave him no pleasure, seemed almost a betrayal.

Instead she had turned on
him with bitter accusations. Refused to listen to his plans. All for a property
that she had never visited before, which she did not know. So much for his
knowledge of women, for his judgement of their relationship!

And he had come to her last
night. This morning rather, after the decisions had been made, intent on
putting things right between them. Hoping that for her, freedom from the
constraints of Brampton Percy would allow her to forget Edward and respond
without reserve to the demands of his body. And her own. To prove to them both
that beneath her controlled facade there beat a passionate and loving spirit
that simply needed to be released, to soar and fly as the buzzard from the
rocky outcrops beyond the castle. But she had been asleep, curled into the
centre of the bed, the tangled clothes suggesting that she had not enjoyed a
restful night. He had not the heart to wake her. Or the energy to resurrect the
difficult subject once again. He had made all the excuses to himself and left
her. His lips curled in self-derision as he acknowledged it.

But he knew that he was
neglecting her. What did she think of him? Of the indisputable fact that he had
taken her to his bed as man and wife only once—and never again? Did she blame
herself? Knowing the situation of her previous marriage, of course she did. The
clarity of the rift between them, created by chance rather than deliberate
intent, struck him like a blow to the gut. He must do something to ease their
relationship, to melt the coolness between them.

An explosion to his right
took him by surprise, reminding him of the dangers of the exercise if he
allowed his concentration to wander. He flinched as shards of stone fell round
him. The gap in the wall next to the gatehouse was growing wider by the hour,
as men attacked the breach with crowbars, spades, anything to hand. Dismantling
was hardly a skilled job, but it was slow. He pushed his fingers through his
hair, dislodging flakes of stone, smearing more dust on his face, but oblivious
to it as he contemplated the enormity of the task before him.

'My lord...'

He turned at her voice.

'I came to say...'
Honoria's words were drowned out as another explosion sent clouds of dust into
the air to settle round them. She coughed, covering her face momentarily with
her hands, blinking against the discomfort. A stone struck her arm, thin shards
landed in her hair.

Francis reacted without
thought. He took her arm in forceful fingers, suddenly impatient with the whole
situation, afraid for her safety. It made his tone unnecessarily brusque as he
frowned down at her.

'This is no place for you,
lady. It is too dangerous.'

'But I wanted to say...'

'Later. Go back to the
living apartments. I will come later.'

He pushed her in the
direction, not waiting to see if she obeyed.

She went without another
word. So much for putting things right between them! She felt despair lodge in
her throat, coated with the dust. He did not want her here. This time she had
to fight hard against the tears that threatened and succeeded in tracking
through the fine film of dust on her cheeks.

Mansell arrived with a
heartfelt groan at the end of a very long day. Even so, with all their efforts,
the small garrison had barely made a start. The castle walls had been built to
last, to repel, to stand against time and the efforts of man. But the dust hung
heavily, like a thundercloud of depression, and the gaping breach in the wall
beside the gatehouse, a tooth torn from a rotting gum, was an affront. The Lord
of Wigmore turned his back against the painful destruction as he signalled to
the men to lay down their tools. His certainty over his decision had deserted
him utterly. What right had he to abandon, to wilfully destroy, his own
inheritance? It seemed, in the shades of evening, nothing short of a
desecration. Perhaps Honoria had been right. Perhaps he should have waited. And
yet instinct told him—and Priam had added his experience—that it had been the
right choice.

A latrine had been
installed from the stream above them, providing a constant source of fresh
water in stone troughs. Joining the men at arms of the garrison, he washed the
grime and sweat of the day from body and hair, enjoying the relief from grit
and dust in spite of the icy cold. But he could not cleanse the sour taste or
the nagging concern. He stretched aching muscles, rolling his shoulders and
ordered Master
Yatton
to break out a barrel of ale
for the weary men. It was tempting to stay, to join in the easy camaraderie, to
coat the slick of disillusion in his belly with a tankard of beer. But he would
have to face his wife at some stage. It might as well be now. He picked up his
shirt—too filthy to put on again—and went in search of a clean one.

The rooms of the living
quarters were shadowed and silent. Dusk was now falling fast, but he did not
stay for a candle. Instead he made his way through the shadows, up the stairs
to the upper floor. And opened the door to a fire and candlelight. And Honoria.

Their eyes met, held, both
going very still, remembering the tension of their earlier meeting, but
engulfed by the immediate impression in the shadowed room.

Honoria held her breath.
The flickering light from fire and candle spread over her lord's naked chest to
highlight muscle, casting interesting shadows, bronzing his smooth skin. Lithe
and smooth, so beautiful, she could not take her eyes away. His hair, still
damp, demanded that she run her fingers through it where it waved on to his
shoulders. She remembered to breathe again, but could not still her heart,
which leapt to her throat. He was magnificent. And angry. And exhausted. And
she must apologise.

He simply looked at her
standing before the window, the final light from the sun illuminating her with
a gilded outline. Like a holy icon, he thought, soft but with a jewelled glow.
He could not see her face clearly, but did not think that she was hostile. He
felt an urge to hold her close, to sink into her, to absorb her warmth, her
composure, to allow his tired mind to simply rest.

Francis was the first to
break the contact as he strode towards the chest, snatching at reality in place
of hopeless illusion. She had bitten his head off at their last meeting. She
would hardly welcome him as a lover.

'I have come for a shirt.'
Then his head snapped up as his naked flesh shivered in a cold draught. More
than a draught. 'Why the Devil is it so cold in here?' He turned towards the
source. 'What...?'

'I have had the glass
removed.' Honoria explained with calm precision. 'The quality is very fine
with some coloured panels in the leading.'

For a moment he was lost
for words.

'It would be foolish to
leave it to be broken—or stolen,' his wife continued in chatelaine mode.

'Glass! Yes.' He had not
thought of that—yet.

'We will take it back to
Brampton Percy with us. I have had it wrapped and packaged. It will be a simple
matter to replace it when the war has ended.'

'Of course.' What else
could he say? His mind was suddenly blank.

'It seemed the best thing
to do. I trust that you have no objection?'

'No. Of course not.' This
was not what he had expected. What had happened to his irate wife with flashing
eyes and bitter words? He snatched up a shirt to retrace his steps to the door.
'I need to—'

'I must talk with you, my
lord.' She still had not moved, merely stood, eyes wide, face dispassionate. So
unlike her furious attack. He would play the coward indeed until he had
strengthened his resolve with a tankard of ale!

'Priam wants to discuss—'

'Francis!'
The use of his name and the decided edge brought him to a halt. He turned,
uncertainty and discomfort, if Honoria had but seen it, flitting across his
features.

'I wanted to say that I was
sorry. For my unwarranted criticism yesterday... Don't scowl at me!'

'I did not realise that I
was.'

'Yes. You are. Let me say
it, Francis. I am sorry. I understand now. I was wrong. There. I have said it.'

He sighed, feeling the
tension that had built within him through the day dissipating, leaving him
tired, but more at ease. He had not realised how much her criticism had hurt,
had undermined his certainty.

'No matter. It is begun
now.' But he made no further move to leave, merely watched her as she
approached to stand before him, eyes serious, more bronze than gold as nerves
gripped her.

'I did not know why it
mattered so much. Why I reacted as I did. But I have had time to think and now
I know. I like it here, feel comfortable. Because it is free of Edward—which
Brampton Percy never is.' The words tumbled out. 'I feel as if a burden is
lifted here and I can breathe. So to destroy it seemed so... I still cannot
explain.'

'You have explained,
Honor.' He was touched more than he could say by her honesty. 'I should have
realised.'

'How could you, when I did
not.'

She raised her hand to
trace her fingers over the grazes and cuts on his shoulders and forearms. Down
his arms to his hands. 'You are hurt.'

'No.' The touch of her hand
on his skin made him shiver, nothing to do with the chill air. 'It is nothing.
I got in the way of some falling masonry.'

'And you are sad.'

'Yes to that.' His lips
curled a little at her accurate reading of his mood. 'It does not sit well with
me. One of the villagers who came up to see what was afoot accused me of
cowardice, a stain on the honour of my family—that I should have held the
castle as my ancestors had done.' The smile became twisted and bitter. 'Much
as you did.'

'No! Never a coward.' She
swallowed only the slightest twinge of guilt, aware of the colour in her
cheeks.

'No matter.' He shrugged.
'But, in God's name, I see no other way of doing it.'

'You are no coward.' Her
outrage pleased him enormously. 'It would be cowardice to close your mind to
the problem until it is too late. By this means, you will undoubtedly save
lives and will certainly not endanger the village!'

He had not realized, but
during the conversation she had led him to a settle before the fire and now
pushed him to sit down, taking the shirt from his unresisting fingers. He
stretched out his legs, and groaned as his muscles complained. Producing a
glass of wine, she offered it, which he took and drank absently, thoughts
elsewhere.

'It will take a week,
perhaps two. All the hard work of past lords undone in a blink of an eye.' He
rubbed his hand over his face, weary to the bone.

'Do you want food?'

He shook his head.

'To sleep?'

'No. I am tired, but my
mind is not at rest. I doubt I would sleep.'

'I would offer music, but
there are no instruments here.' She sat down beside him, her body turned
towards him.

'Lute? Harpsichord?' The
candles reflected in his eyes, turning them to glittering silver as he smiled
at her.

'Either. Both.'

'Of course. I had forgotten
your superior upbringing.' His smile was warm and genuine. Suddenly he focused
on her. 'You are being very wifely.'

'Why not?'

'Why not indeed.' He leaned
forward to touch his lips to hers, the merest brush of mouth against mouth. It
was so easy. And felt the warmth, the softness, surprised by the immediate
response in his tired body.

He looked over at the bed
in its austere hangings, speculation in his eyes. 'Do you suppose Edward ever
slept in that bed?'

'It is possible—but with me
he did not!'

Francis grinned. He had not
realised how much he had relaxed under her careful attention. Had she been
aware of what she was doing? Probably so. His lady, he had come to understand,
had a deft but subtle touch.

'Perhaps we should enjoy
the opportunity of no third presence.' He raised an eyebrow. 'And since you
have removed all protection against the elements, it would at least be warm.'
And, reading no dissent in her eyes, he bent to kiss her lips once more.

Her nerves had gone, as
mist is dispelled by the heat of morning sun. She still trembled when he
touched her, still turned her face from him when he exposed her body to his own
gaze, but the mind- numbing fear no longer reduced her to frozen agony. It was
so simple to allow him to unlace her bodice, to help her step out of the pool of
satin and petticoats. The firelight and shadows added glamour, letting her
pretend, if only for a little time, that his heart was as deeply engaged as
hers. She was now granted her wish, to allow the thick waves of hair to sift
through her fingers, to clench her fists in it. To absorb the sensation of
smooth, firm flesh through her fingertips as she placed her hands on his
shoulders for support. The shock when he unlaced her chemise and drew it down
to her ankles, before disposing of it altogether, caused only a little panic
to flutter in her breast. And when he lay beside her, all she could think of
was the pleasure that he had been able to give her on the previous occasion,
despite the terrible burden of her virginity.