Samantha James (18 page)

Alana smiled slightly. “They stole his mantle and tunic. I was greatly afraid he would sicken again.”

Genevieve nodded. “They prepare a celebration in the hall soon. I pray you, come join us.”

Alana could not help it. Her thoughts sped straight to Merrick. It spun through her mind that he had only to look at her to know…She chided herself for her foolishness. How could he possibly suspect, when she’d had no inkling herself until Genevieve suggested the possibility this very day?

Her hesitation was her undoing. Genevieve took her hands and gazed at her steadily. “You cannot avoid him, Alana. He expects you and—and I would have you share my joy.” She squeezed her fingers. “Twould please me greatly.”

Stupid, foolish tears burned the back of Alana’s throat. Yet again, it struck her how much closer she felt to this woman than her own sister. How could she refuse? She could not. She did not, though it took every shred of courage she possessed to take her place in the hall that night.

She had no further glimpse of Merrick till then, for he didn’t return to their chamber. Alana was secretly glad; for she dreaded seeing him again with all that she possessed.

He stood near the head of the table, dark and striking and so very handsome he stole the very breath from her lungs—a feeling that was utterly terrifying.

Some hours had passed before he made his way toward her.

His expression betrayed no hint of his thoughts. “You are quite recovered?” His tone was cool.

She nodded. Unbidden, her eyes flitted to
ward Genevieve, who quickly glanced away. Genevieve had kept her promise and said nothing, though many was the time when Alana saw her eyes travel again and again between herself and Merrick.

“The Saxons did you no harm?”

“Nay,” she said, her tone very low. “Simon told them you would pay no ransom if we were hurt. But the leader said he would kill us both once the ransom was in hand.” She shivered. “’Twas fortunate indeed that you were able to find him so quickly.”

“Indeed,” he echoed. “He tells me he might have perished from cold if not for you. It seems I owe you much, Saxon.”

Alana knew not what to say, and so she said nothing. But he stared at her so long and so hard, she grew uneasy.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. As the ringing silence grew ever stronger, so did her certainty.

She laced her hands before her and nervously moistened her lips. “What is it? Why do you look at me so?”

“I find it disturbing, Saxon, that you claim the Saxon Bramwell sent a man to demand a ransom of me. Yet no such demand was made—”

Alana’s chin came up. “You were not here!”

“Nonetheless, my soldiers were, along with my sister. No Saxon appeared to demand a ransom, and so I wonder what you have to say for yourself now.”

Alana clamped her jaw tight. “I cannot
pretend to know the reason why,” she told him curtly. “Mayhap the man lost his way. Mayhap your men are mistaken—”

“And mayhap you lie, Saxon. Indeed, you once said you would ally yourself with the devil in order to escape me. I merely find myself curious…did you ally yourself with your fellow Saxons instead? Did you seize opportunity by the throat and plot my demise?”

His tone was as cutting as his eyes. Alana’s mind blurred. For one heart-stopping moment she felt perilously near tears. Did he truly believe she sought to plot against him?

Bitterness blotted her soul. She had saved his nephew’s life twice now. Yet still he was always so quick to condemn her without reason or cause, to believe the very worst of her.

Temper flared, hot as fire. She could no more curb her tongue than she could the blaze of her anger.

“Your gratitude overwhelms me, my lord…ah, but I forget…my lord conqueror! You would thank me, then condemn me, and nearly all in the very same breath!” She glared her ire. “You may be certain I’ll not make the same mistake again!”

With that she whirled and ran, weaving and darting through the crowded hall. Behind her she heard a mighty crash and a vicious curse. Her steps quickened until she was running full tilt. Her breath came in panting spurts. Footsteps pounded behind her…or was it merely the thunder of her heart?

She had just cleared the top of the winding stair when he caught her. He whirled her around, the bite of his fingers in her arm like iron manacles.

“Damn you, Saxon! Do you run because you are guilty? Because you betrayed my generosity? Will you not even deny it?”

She wrenched herself from his hold, but the hold of his eyes was no less harsh. “Why do you ask?” she cried. “You will believe what you will and it matters little what I say or do not say! But I will tell you this. I’ve done nothing that you should so accuse me!”

Glittering light from the torch mounted on the wall cast flickering shadows across his face. “Then mayhap I was wrong. But I am not wrong about this,” he said fiercely. “I watched you tonight, Saxon. You were distraught. Your dismay at my presence was plain for all to see. So tell me, sweet. Did you not expect that I would return to Brynwald? Did you hope that I would not?”

Alana’s delicate jaw locked tight. Oh, that he could think so little of her! He knew naught of her—he cared naught
about
her. Her feelings. Her pride. Her soul cried out the injustice. He spoke of betrayal, yet whose was the greater betrayal? He did not trust her. To him she was naught but a possession.

Steeling herself against him, she pressed her lips together and matched his stare with her own.

His temper exploded. He seized her by the
shoulders. “Answer me, Saxon!”

Alana was suddenly so angry she was shaking with it. She flung back her head and met his demand with a fire equal to his.

“And what if I did? I despise you,” she hissed. “You put the torch to my home. You and your men killed my father and took him from me. You made me your slave and my sister as well! I weep for the day you and your vile Norman bastards stormed our shores, and I long for the day you will leave—or fall beneath a Saxon blade! Indeed, I will rejoice! You talk as if I owe you loyalty, but I owe you no allegiance. I owe you nothing!”

A blistering curse split the air. He shook her so that her head fell back like a fragile blossom. Shocked, she stared at him, dazed. “By God,” he said through his teeth, “you owe me your very life!”

Neither realized that Genevieve had given chase as well. She surged around the corner at that very instant. With a sharp cry she lunged forward, dragging at her brother’s arm.

“Merrick! My God, man, have a care! She is with child!”

I
n all truth, Merrick could not explain the dark shadow that slipped over him, the doubt eating away at his insides. She had cried for Simon, when she had feared for his life. Yet were her tears real or but a trick? Ah, but how easily she might have plotted with the Saxons to seize the boy, a plot to lure him from Brynwald and kill him.

He gritted his teeth. Not an hour passed that he did not think of her, whether he willed it or no! He thought of how she melted against him in the heat of passion, how her lips tasted, damp and bedewed with the moist heat of his, and how wildly her hips churned beneath his. And still he wondered…did he stir her desire as she stirred his? Did she give herself over to him merely to deceive him?

I weep for the day you and your vile Norman bastards stormed our shores, and I long for the day you will leave. Indeed, I will rejoice!

Her angry cry echoed in the chambers of his mind. Nay, he thought blackly. She would not put aside her hatred of the Normans so easily.
He would do well to be wary of her.

All this…all this and more ran through his mind in that mind-splitting instant. So it was that he raked her with a glance as searing as his tone.

“Is it mine, Saxon? Or will you boast an English sire?”

To Alana he might well have struck her. Her throat worked. For the space of a heartbeat, words eluded her. Then she flung at him all the seething emotion that burned in her soul.

“I hate you, Norman. God, but I hate you!”

She pushed her way past him and into their chamber, slamming the portal shut behind her. A curse on his lips, Merrick started after her, only to have Genevieve plant herself squarely in his path.

“You are a fool,” she said without preamble.

“And you are in my way,” he growled.

Her chin tipped mutinously. “Faith, but you are cruel.” Low as her tone was, it vibrated with her fury. “Cruel to accuse her of such a thing when you are well aware she’s known the touch of no man but you. Cruel to even
think
she sought to plot your demise with the Saxons. Her people condemn her for being a witch, while you condemn her for things that simply bear no truth!”

His features were a mask of stone. “Cruel, am I? She is not the innocent you believe, Genevieve. Once before she sought to escape me. And you were in the hall tonight. Her distress was vivid for all to see—she wanted no part of me!”

“She was scarcely anxious to see you again, aye, but not for the reason you think! She knew not how to tell you she was with child. And you, brute that you are, gave her the very reaction she feared!” She confronted him in righteous indignation. “You know the ways of the world far better than she, brother. If you had no wish to get her with child then you should never have taken her to your bed. So if you would blame her—”

“I blame no one!” he exploded. “’Tis just that I did not expect it!”

Slender brows arched high. “If you plow the field the seed will flourish, brother.”

Merrick glared at her, trying to thrust aside a twinge of guilt. But an inner voice inside would not be silenced.
She is right
, taunted the voice.
I should have suspected the possibility long since
.

“If you are wise you will let her be, brother. This is a trying time and—”

“And once again you interfere where you should not. It has become a most annoying habit of late, Genevieve. Now stand aside, if you please.”

Despite the pretense of manners it was nary a request and she knew it. His purpose was plainly writ in the intensity of his expression. Genevieve surrendered with a tiny nod. Her gaze was troubled as he swept by her. As the door swung closed, she directed a fervent prayer heavenward.

Alana’s shoulders went rigid as he stepped within the chamber. It took all the courage she
possessed to turn and face him.

Time stood still. The silence seemed to engulf them both. Then at last he spoke. “It seems we must talk, Saxon.”

Her chin climbed high. “I have naught to say to you, Norman.”

Merrick curbed the biting retort that rose to his lips. Behind her, the firelight bathed her form in golden silhouette. She stood before him, her eyes huge, so very pale but calm, small hands linked together before her. A rush of some nameless emotion struck him like a blow. Never had she been more desirable. Never more beautiful. And to his mounting irritation, never more unapproachable!

“I should not have spoken as I did. Of a certainty the child is mine.” His tone was curt. “I spoke rashly, though you have many times provoked me.”

“Provoked you? Why, I said nary a word!” To her horror, her voice wobbled traitorously. “And I do not understand why you are so angry. ’Tis hardly my fault!”

“I did not say that it was. But I am curious, Saxon. Does it please you that you carry my babe?”

His jaw was tense; it revealed the lie in his words. All at once the strain of the past days was too much to bear. Though she hated herself for such weakness, her gaze faltered beneath the unyielding demand in his.

A mask of icy coldness descended. The sound he made was one of disgust. “I should
have known you would scarcely be pleased.” He paused, then said harshly, “Go to bed. We will talk more on the morrow.” With that he presented his back to her.

Alana needed no further urging. She slipped out of her clothes and crawled into bed, clad only in her chemise. Drawing the furs around her, Alana’s eyes strayed to Merrick. He stood facing the hearth, his hands linked behind his back, his posture rigid.

Time marched onward. There was no sound but the crackling and hiss of the fire. Unable to stand the horrible silence, Alana shifted to her side, curling her knees to her chest. Never in all her days had she been so miserable.

In time, she heard the rustle of his clothing as it dropped to the floor. He blew out the candle and slipped in the bed beside her. She squeezed her eyes shut and feigned sleep.

But there would be no sleep for her this night. How long she lay there, in the dim light and silence, she knew not. Though surely no more than the span of a hand separated them, the distance seemed immense. He did not touch her, and oh! it made no sense, but all at once that was all she longed for. To feel his arms hard and tight around her back, the beat of his heart steady and strong beneath her ear.

Desperation filled her chest. What was wrong with her? Not an hour since, she’d sworn she hated him and meant it with all of her being. Now all she yearned for was to banish the hurtful words and pretend they
had never been. But such was not possible, and now there loomed before them an even greater hurdle.

His reaction was all that she had known it would be—feared it would be. He had been so—so coldly enraged and the knowledge was like a thorn in her heart. Despair seized her breast like a clamp, until she could hardly breathe. Her throat clogged with emotion as she fought to hold back tears. Thinking that Merrick now slept, she could no longer withhold a dry, choked sob.

Merrick’s head turned sharply. Beside her, he raised himself on an elbow to peer at her. She lay huddled in a tight little ball, a small, closed fist at her breast. Her head was bowed low. There was something very forlorn in her pose just then, a glimpse of hurt vulnerability he could scarcely ignore.

She jerked as his hand brushed her shoulder. Undaunted, he brushed her hair away that he might see her face, bathed in firelight.

“What is this, Saxon! Why do you cry? Are you ill?” he exclaimed impatiently.

Alana shook her head. But alas, now the tears began to flow in earnest.

Unswayed by nothing, he turned her so that he could see her. When she stringently sought to avoid his gaze by lowering her lashes, he caught her chin in hand.

“Tell me,” he demanded. “Why do you weep?”

A half-sob escaped and then everything was tumbling out in a rush. “You think that I
plotted with the Saxons, but I swear I did not…Then you asked if I was pleased. In all truth, I—I know not what I feel! But you, ’tis plain that you are the one who is displeased, you who are angry—”

“If I am angry, Saxon, ’tis because I learned from my sister the news that should have been mine to hear first—and, I might remind you, from your lips rather than hers. Why did you not tell me?”

Calm though he was, his voice still carried a hint of bite. Alana floundered, all at once feeling absurdly guilty. “I—I only just discovered it myself this morn. Indeed, ’twas Genevieve who guessed.” She hesitated, then continued in a tear-choked voice. “I—I understand that surely you no longer want me. That you do not want my babe…”

She was not allowed to finish. “You forget, this babe is mine as well. And you are wrong, for I do want you.”

Her lungs burned as she fought to hold back the tears. “You wanted a—a slave. A whore. Not a child.”

He clenched his jaw. His fingers dropped from her chin. He scowled blackly. “You are neither a slave nor a whore, Saxon.”

She trembled, for she could feel his piercing regard like the tip of a knife. “I—I will be a burden. A burden you will soon grow tired of.” She couldn’t stop the betraying catch in her voice. “My babe will be a burden.”

“A burden! By all that is holy…surely you did not think I would send you away?” Merrick
swore foully. “You did, didn’t you?”

She hung her head, for that very thought hung high aloft in her mind throughout the day.

“I cannot let you go, Saxon. I will not. Now come here.” Though his voice was harsh, his hand was not. Without a word, he rearranged her body so that the slender length of her back rested flush against his naked chest. A dark hand curled against the swell of her hip. Silence drifted between them, yet it was not an uncomfortable silence. She shivered a little, and he drew her closer still.

“Have you been ill?” he murmured.

“Some mornings,” she admitted. “’Twas foolish of me to have been so blind, yet I—I was.”

Mayhap ’twas not so much blindness as fear—fear of the truth. But this observation Merrick kept to himself. For a time they did not speak. He winced a little, caught in a haze of conflicting emotions. Her nearness tempted him, tempted him greatly! The part of him that desired her most lay cradled between the softness of her buttocks. He gritted his teeth with every slight movement she made, for he ached with the need to lay her back, strip away her shift and make her forget all else but the passion that raged between them. Yet he did not, for oddly, she seemed so very young just then, though she carried a child curled deep in her womb.

His
child, he thought with a swell of pride, and it was then that the full import of this revelation dawned full and rich.

He felt her tense as his hand first moved, gently exploring. With his palm he traced the thrusting fullness of her breasts, then ventured further downward in discovery. His fingers splayed wide against the slight roundness of her belly.

“I can feel the changes in you,” he said softly. “I should have known, too, Saxon.”

She flushed. Though he could no longer see her face, he could feel the heat flare beneath her skin. A surge of fierce possessiveness shot through him. God, but she was sweet!

He pressed his mouth to the delicate sweep of her shoulder, inhaling the soft, womanly scent of her. “When do you expect the child?”

His voice was a warm rush of air against her ear. Her pulse seemed to stumble. An odd pain knotted in her breast. She yearned to believe he spoke the truth—that he was not angry—for the thought he might not want his child was not to be endured. Yet she detected no hardness in him just then, and so she clung to a fragile tendril of hope.

Her mind traveled fleetingly back in time. It must have happened that very first time…“I am not certain,” she murmured. “But I think at summer’s end, shortly before Michaelmas.”

“Michaelmas.” A note of satisfaction echoed in his tone. “Brynwald will reap the fruits of harvest, while I will reap the fruits of a cold winter night’s pleasure.”

She gave a shocked gasp at his bluntness, and he gave a low, vibrating laugh, then drew her back against him more tightly. He weaved his fingers through hers, then let them rest snug against her belly.

Alana could not help it. Simple though the gesture was, tears stung her eyes anew. But this time they were tears of gladness. Oh, mayhap it made no sense, but there was comfort—a world of it—in his nearness. She did not mind the heaviness of his arm hard about her waist. Against her back she could feel the steady tattoo of his heart. Content despite the turmoil of the day, her lids began to droop. Gradually the tension seeped from her limbs. Soon she slept, deeply and dreamlessly.

By the next day, her condition was hardly a secret.

Someone—she knew not who—had apparently heard the exchange abovestairs that night. The news that she was with child spread like a blazing fire. Within but a few days, the whole of the keep knew she carried Merrick’s babe. And alas, with each passing day, the doubts that had plagued her that eve returned a hundredfold…

And never more so than the day she encountered Sybil alone in Genevieve’s chamber.

She had gone there to borrow some thread from Genevieve’s vast supply. Sybil glanced up from where she was straightening the bed.

“She has gone to see the village alewife, sister.” Alana murmured her thanks and began
to withdraw, but Sybil rounded the bed and called out, “Do not leave! I would have a word with you.”

Alana did not venture within, but remained there near the entrance.

Sybil presented herself before her, hands on her hips. She nodded toward Alana’s middle. “’Twas foolish of you to be so careless, sister.”

Alana was too taken aback to reply.

“How far gone are you?” she inquired.

“In a fortnight it will be some four months,” Alana said slowly.

“Four months. Why, soon you will be fat as a sow!”

Alana’s hand moved instinctively to her belly. In her bath this morn she had noticed how her waist had thickened, how her stomach had begun to swell and soften and grow. Even her breasts were heavy and tender.

Sybil went on boldly, “No doubt ’twill not be long before Merrick turns you out, you know.”