Chelynne (47 page)

She watched him cautiously but he just stood, looking at her, his anger building. When his mouth opened he shouted with such thunder she jumped in surprise. “What in Satan’s Hell were you doing?”

She gulped and stammered and attempted some words in her defense but he was beyond control now, moving toward her quickly. He pulled her sharply to her feet and clutched her to him. She expected him to strike, but he gave her an angry shake and only held her fast again. In his embrace was anger, frustrated anger.

“By my oath, Chelynne, I’ll do whatever I must to keep you from your own foolishness!” He held her away from him and looked into her eyes. There was discomfort and confusion in that stormy gray that she had never seen before. “How many times is it now? How many times have you been returned to me on the heels of some threat to your life? Good God, madam! What causes you to be so reckless?”

“But as you can see...I’ve returned safely,” she replied shakily. “Surely the story you heard was greatly exaggerated.”

“No!” he shouted. “The story was accurate, I would stake my life on it! Will you tell me why in God’s name you were traveling thus?”

With a sigh she said simply, “To arrive in Welbering ahead of my aunt and cousin. So I might search the house for something of my parents.”

“Why didn’t you simply explain that? I could have accompanied you.”

“It was my concern,” she answered.

“Your life is my concern!” he bellowed. “And since you have such little regard for it, I shall have to make your safety my primary concern! You will not leave this house without permission. Is that understood?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was so important to you, my lord.”

He looked at her carefully. She struck a dignified pose. Proud. Detached. Unattainable. He bristled slightly at her sarcasm and opened his arms in a bemused fashion.

“So, you’ve not had much passion in your marriage, but you have little else to complain about. Is it your sensual yearnings that drive you to such carelessness? Can you blame my lack of attention for taking such little heed of danger?”

She simply stared at him coolly, answering his question with her lack of response. A hollow laugh escaped him.

“So I don’t keep you well enough, eh, wife? You came to me a child and grew into a witless vixen. It’s by the grace of God and some strange miracle that you’re alive at all.” He shrugged out of his coat, tossing it aside. “I can well understand your lack of concern for my welfare, that much I have earned, but this disregard for your own life...by damn! Wandering the streets at night and traveling country roads where thieves and rapists run wild...” He was striding toward her again, angry and insulted.

“Nay, Chad! Do not beat me! I will take care!”

He stopped abruptly and stared at her in wonder. “Beat you?” he asked softly, stunned by her fear. He approached her slowly, taking her hand carefully and drawing her closer. “Have I ever given you cause to think I would hurt you? Not beat you, Chelynne. Bind you, once and for all.”

She was pulled into his embrace as his lips searched out hers. She could feel the anger drain from him, yielding to another emotion. His lips were warm and light, but she could feel passion growing there, building and spreading from him, through her. Her mind reeled and her knees weakened. The bold hardness of his lean body against hers, the masculine scent of him and the sureness of his muscled arms around her all played against her. A pain grew within her as she realized that in spite of everything that had passed between them, she wanted him desperately.

“How much reason must I give you to take care with your life?” he whispered hoarsely against her ear. “Must I hold you ever at my side? Must you know passion every hour of the day to see my intent?”

Chelynne couldn’t silence the screaming in her mind. What game did he play now? Claiming such concern, indeed desire, after these many months? Anger because she might be lost to him? To him; the same one who could not be bothered? She saw a vision of herself falling into bed with him and then watching as he left her to go and seek out another. Someone else who waited patiently for him, always there and devoted.

“No,” she murmured, pulling away. Then more desperately she cried, “Nay!” She pushed at him angrily.

He was shocked, cooled by her fierce and sudden denial. She clenched her eyes against her tears, shaking her head furiously. “Never,” she ground out.

“What madness seizes you, wench?” he asked angrily.

“Leave me be!”

“You have no right to refuse me—”

“Then you will take me by force! No other way!”

He saw the anger but did not reckon her reasons. He paused, digested her refusal, and then slowly he caressed her cheek. “Do you deny me? Or yourself?”

“How long have you played this waiting game, my lord? How long has my very presence in this house been ignored? Would you have me wait at your call? Am I the whore to be taken on a whim? And what of your problems? Are they finally solved?”

He groaned in some discomfort for he had set his mind to fleshly business now quickly halted. “I must live with mine. What of yours?”

Her mouth took a rigid set. “I must be allowed some time,” she said flatly.

The dawning came to him. “So that is how it will be. I’ve not been an eager groom. You’ll turn that back on me now? That is your game?”

“No game,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“Come, Chelynne,” he said softly. “I regret my reluctance. Let us have done with this hostility.”

“Oh, Chad,” she sighed bitterly. “Just set aside the months of torment now that you are ready? Perhaps, but not without doubt. And probably regret.”

He touched her arm, caressing, sending shivers through her. He was not done seducing her. He was slow, easy and persuasive. “This touch does not burn,” he murmured. “It heals. And you’ve wanted this, I know.”

“Will you taunt me now with the months I have wanted you? Perhaps you can laugh at the tears I shed foolishly while I waited so patiently for you to discover me. Or at least gain some mirth from the words your mistress speared me with; they still ring in my ears. I have blood on my hands, Chadwick, for accepting kindness from a man I turned to in desperation. Now that you are ready, am I truly to set it all aside and come to you in passion? My God, you think I am inhuman!”

“I am your husband! You are mine!”

“Not until I yield my heart,” she whispered. “Whatever you take by force you can lay claim to, but you’ll never truly own any but what I yield of my own free will.”

Chad felt aggravation more intense than he had in years. It came to mind to tell her that Bollering lived, to woo her with the truth to his problems, but he checked himself. That was the merest part of the difficulty. He had cultivated this coolness in her over a period of months. It would take time to warm her. He believed himself capable of succeeding. In fact he would succeed if he wooed her now, have her willingly with but a few more gentle touches and tender words. He was sorely pressed not to, his need had grown so intense. Moments, his mind kept urging him, only moments and she would yield. But he knew better of it. She had already decided doubt and regret would be her reward for submission. He could not hold her when it was done and have the moment spoiled by anger and tears.

“So be it,” he said in resignation. “Your servant, madam.” He bowed. He took up his coat and made to leave, turning back to her when he reached the door. “Tender or cold, you are my wife, Chelynne, and you will do as I command. I will not force you, but neither are you free to run wild. You will stay in this house unless you have my permission to leave or my escort.”

“And now I am prisoner?”

He smiled tolerantly and decided to let it go. “I’ll leave you now and seek your company when both our moods have settled somewhat.” He closed the door behind him and was done with her.

Fists clenched and teeth gnashing, her unwanted tears streamed down her cheeks in spite of her efforts to feel nothing.

The sun had disappeared and Bratonshire was coming to rest. The people were closing shutters against the night and praying for a peaceful rest. Knights in full dress commanded the streets now and took lodgings in stables, spare rooms and in the main hall of the manor house. They bore the crest of the Hawthornes on their shields. The effect was frightening for the simple people, for they could not remember times this harsh since the wars. It was as if an invisible army closed in on their shire. The attackers seemed to sense the short time when the guards would be resting, changing position, or out patrolling the roads.

There were piles of ashes where houses once stood and the graves of those slain were mounting in numbers. It had the look of a ravaged town at the peak of a gruesome war.

In the house of Talbot Rath there was more trouble than just that of thieves. Most thorough in the deception, the earl of Bryant had delivered word through a page, informing Rath that John Bollering was dead. Plans would go on as determined, but another would take that seat in lieu of the avenging knight. Rath had no doubt that there would be careful selection and that the lord would be better than what they had. He trusted Bryant for that. And he was convinced that should the devil himself gain that shire, the people would suffer less than they had with Shayburn. Rath mourned the life of the knight because he had respected him and held his friendship dear.

It was not strange, then, that when there was a knock at the door and Rath opened it to see Bollering in the flesh, his heart nearly stopped. Silently he reached out and pulled the man in, breathing his words in low measured tones. “My God, is it truly yourself?”

John nodded but did not smile. “I should like to have stayed away longer, but I’m here about the trouble in your house. Your family is distressed, I’ve heard.”

Rath looked away in shame and anger. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Come now, Rath. We both know it is. Why was no word sent to me?”

Rath faced the younger man proudly. “I wouldn’t bring that shame on your house and mine. The wench acted out of my authority and refuses her father’s commands.”

“The truth, Rath. You thought I wouldn’t want to know?”

“Aye. That, too.”

“And now she thinks me dead?”

“As we all have.”

“Did she tell you it was me?”

“She would not say, but I knew the truth. I knew because she’s not the whore she seems. She’s not been with another man since that night and she went to you then against my orders. She threw herself upon you when there was to be no such plan. She shamed our—”

“Fetch her to me.”

“Nay! She took the part of a trollop and I’ll not allow her to follow this course! I know what she’s done. She lied to you. She misled you to satisfy her own lust. Ah, I could forgive the lass for that, I knew she loved you. But when I sought to ease our shame, she would not take her betrothed!”

“I threatened her. I commanded her to refuse him.”

“What’re you saying, lad?”

“Fetch her to me. Now.”

Rath stared at John in wonder, finally shaking his head wearily and moving across the room to open the door to the only additional room. He beckoned his daughter out.

Tess had heard the voices but no words. There had been months of quiet murmurings in the other room and more often than not she had sought out the bedroom where the other children slept so that she would not be badgered by her angry father.

She appeared at the door and looked across the dimly lit room to see John. She wore a tattered cover held together by a single string over her full breasts, parting to expose her frayed nightdress bulging with the rounding of her belly. She stared at him in wonder. He seemed to fill the room. Tall of stature and broad shouldered, he was a most imposing figure. He was garbed just as she most often pictured him in her mind, breeches of leather fitting him so snugly that his muscled thighs bulged, a white linen shirt hiding the muscled chest and a leather jerkin accentuating his broadness. He might resemble any townsman but for the sword that was strapped to his waist and the dagger in his belt. He was dressed more for war than for tending crops.

Thinking herself in another dream, her hand rose shakily to her mouth to stifle a cry and she shook her head in confusion. Tears wet her cheeks and a faint smile grew on John’s lips as he held his arms open to her. No more invitation was needed. She flew to him and he held her clear of the ground while she threatened to choke off his very life’s breath in her embrace.

He set her on her feet and let her study him closely with her eyes and fingers, reassuring herself that he was real. Then he kissed her and she melted to him, her tears moistening his face and salting their kiss. He was most reluctant to release her but there was business to be done with this maid’s father. He let her go, but held her close at his side. Before turning to Rath he placed a trusting hand on the small obtrusion in her middle and quietly asked why she had not attempted to reach him with the news.

“I did not know what your manner would be,” she replied quietly.

“You worry me, Tess. I had thought to keep the number of heirs under a dozen. What shall we do?” She shook her head slightly and love and relief shone in her eyes. “The child is mine, as you suspect, Mr. Rath. I will take Tess with me now and we will be wed.”