For Love And Honor (20 page)

“What you call cold feels like spring to me,”
he said.

“Will you talk to me of nothing but the
weather?” she cried, her nerves on edge over what she planned to
do. “Or the battles you have fought, or the battles to come, or
Theo Georgios’s ships, or Roger’s generosity? Piers, have you no
feeling for me at all?”

He drew up his legs, wrapped his arms around
his knees, and sat staring into the distance until she thought she
would scream with irritation and nervousness and a breathless
anticipation. He had to want her just a little. He had to!

“I am ambitious,” he said at last.

“I’m glad to hear it.” She bit off the words,
wishing he would say something about the two of them. But any
conversation was better than none at all. She seized the opening he
had given her. “I can help you advance yourself.”

“That’s just the problem.” He looked at her,
his dark eyes moving from her gleaming red-brown hair to her
beautiful face, to the soft swell of her bosom revealed by the
thrown-back cloak, to her fine, pale hands. “Is it right for me to
take advantage of you for the sake of my ambition? I think not,
Yolande.”

“Last spring I asked you to kiss me,” she
said, shaken by fear that he would rise and remount his horse and
leave her sitting there alone. “Now I tell you that if you do not
kiss me, I will kiss you.”

“Another man would not hesitate,” Piers
murmured, almost to himself. “Why do I?”

“Yes, why?” she demanded, praying her words
would not make him too angry for tenderness. “Why do you fight so
against the thing you want to do when you know it is what I want
too?”

“Because I have a habit of considering the
consequences before I act.” Consequences or no, he caught her chin,
tilting her face toward his. “You are remarkably lovely.”

“Will you force me to ask again?” she
whispered. “Or will you kiss me?”

A faint smile lit his eyes.

“Having come this far, how could I not?” he
asked, and put his mouth on hers.

After all
his hesitation she did not know what to expect from his kiss.
Certainly she had never imagined anything like the fire that
blossomed and grew between them. She knew her arms were around his
neck, her fingers winding through his black hair. She knew his arms
were clasping her ever more tightly against him, knew she was on
her back with Piers’s muscular thighs stradd
ling
hers. She was aware of the sudden
delicious hardness and heat of his desire. But all of her being,
every tumultuous thought, was centered upon her mouth, and his
mouth, and his tongue, seeking entrance, touching her tongue,
stroking, stroking, until t
hought ended in the sweet delight
of Piers
devouring her,
branding her, making her his. The kiss left her gasping for air,
whimpering with a new, unexplained need. She could not get close
enough to him; she wanted to be part of him.

He was
kissing her t
hroat, his hands were on
her breasts, and she was moaning with every
breath.

“Piers,” she cried, pulling him back to her
mouth, “I’ve waited so long, so long for you. Oh, Piers, touch me,
touch me.”

She hardly knew what she meant by that cry,
but Piers knew. He did not think she had ever been kissed by a man
before, and now he watched the first bloom of desire grow in her
with remarkable swiftness, saw her eyes large and unfocused while
her cheeks blushed rosy red each time he stroked his hand across
her breasts. Through the wool of her gown he could feel her nipples
rise when his fingers brushed against them. Eagerly she pressed her
breasts against his searching hands and pushed her hips toward his
hardness.

He could have her. She would open herself to
him and offer her sweetest, most priceless gift. Even now she lay
quivering beneath him, her body ripe and ready for the taking.

“
Piers.”
Never had his name sounded so lovely. Her voice trembled on a quick
intake of breath. “Piers, I ache. I burn. I don’t know what
– help me. Oh, Piers, please,
please, help me.”

Aching himself, he understood what she
wanted. He lifted her heavy woolen skirts, his hand skimming along
sleek legs encased in fine stockings topped by ribbon garters. He
moved his hand upward to soft, warm thighs, to a dark tangle of
hair. He touched her where she was moist and hot and she cried out
and pushed herself against his fingers. Probing deeper, he found
the tight barrier of her maidenhood. Her legs falling apart, she
offered herself to him in wild, innocent abandon.

He could
not do it. He could not harm her, not when she trusted him so
completely. He was experienced enough with women to know there was
a way to relieve her need without taking what was not rightfully
his. Movin
g his fingers, he found
what he sought and rubbed gently. She rose to meet
his hand, growing rigid and then suddenly erupting into a series of
violent pulsations.

Watching her, Piers nearly went mad from the
pressure of containing his own desire. It was all he could do to
keep from tearing away his hose to free himself so he could plunge
into her. He did not think of consequences then, not when Yolande
was experiencing her first joy as a woman, not when he wanted to be
inside her at that instant, riding the crest of passion with her,
sharing it with her, letting her know what tenderness and true
affection could mean.

But he denied himself, trying to think of
Yolande and what she needed, using his fingers gently and carefully
until she was no longer soaring among the stars but lying on a
rocky hillside, in his arms, with her head upon his shoulder.

“
Oh,
Piers, how lovely, how exquisitely beautiful. I never
dreamed
– no one told
me. But you, do you not wish to -?” She stopped, blushing
furiously, then went on in a determined way. “My nurse Lesia did
explain to me what it is that men need to do at such moments, and
you have not done it. Piers, if you wish, I have no objection. In
fact, I think I would like it, but only if you do it. I don’t think
I could bear to let another man touch me in that place.”

“
Stop
it!” He gritted his teeth, fighting the almost unstoppable urge to
roll on top of her and take what she offered. He knew he ought to
stand up, to put distance between them until his racing pulse had
slowed. But she was clinging to him and he did not want to let her
go. She was so soft and delicate in his arms. Another man, touching
her, putting his hands where Piers’s hands had just been? No,
never!
Never!
He
shook her, attempting to silence her tumbling words and make her
stop trying to explain that she had wanted him to do what he had
just done to her, that he need not feel embarrassed by what had
passed between them. “Yolande, stop it. I cannot defile you by
using you in such a way when we are not wed. You are no serving
girl, no tavern wench to be taken lightly on a hillside where
anyone passing could see us. What I have already done to you is bad
enough, for though you are still a virgin, you are no longer an
innocent girl. I
am
embarrassed, and ashamed of myself, too, and rightly so.
This should not have happened.”

Disengaging himself from her arms he sat up,
and she rose too, leaving her skirts crumpled around her thighs so
he could see the soft white flesh he had stroked. Still dazed and
awed by what she had experienced, she gazed into his eyes for a
long, silent time until Piers spoke again.

“
When I
take you for the first time,” he told her, “we will be in our
marriage bed, after we have been blessed by Father Ambrose, after
G
eorge
and Roger and all
the other nobles and ladies of Palermo have acknowledged that we
are man and wife.”

“Are we to wed then?” Her voice broke. Now
that she had the promise of what she most wanted, she felt as
frightened as he looked.

“I will speak to George this afternoon,” he
said.

“
Are you
sure you want to?” she asked, mindful of the fact that he did not
love her. The knowledge gave her pain, but because she loved him
she said what she thought was right. “If I am still a virgin, then
you are not
obligated to marry me. I do not
want you to be unhappy, Piers.”

“If I do not marry you soon,” he said with
wry humor, “I will indeed begin to treat you like a tavern wench,
and then I will hate myself. That would truly make me unhappy.”
Standing, he held out a hand to her, to help her to her feet. Once
she was standing he let go of her hand, touching her again only
long enough to lift her into the saddle.

“
Piers,”
she said when they were mounted and the flushed look had left his
face,
“do
you lie
with every tavern wench you meet?” She tried to sound indifferent.
After all, the gossip she heard from young women she knew who were
already married suggested that many men were habitually unfaithful,
and the wives had nothing to say about it. She did not think she
could bear it if Piers found pleasure elsewhere than in her bed.
But she thought he must have understood what was in her heart, that
she would never be silent about any affair he might
have.

“Why, no,” he said, giving her a searching
look. “No tavern wenches for me. I only choose the best.”

And she knew, without needing to ask or to
hear him say the words aloud, that once they were wed he would be
faithful to her. She thanked him for his silent pledge in the only
way she could.

“After you have most properly taken me in our
marriage bed,” she told him, “one sunny day we will ride this way
again. And when I once more lie upon the ground with my skirts
around my waist, and you touch me until I cry out in joy, then you
will not have to stop until you, too, are filled with the same joy.
Then I will give you in return all that you have given me
today.”

*
* * * *

Piers found George of Antioch surprisingly
amenable to the idea of his niece marrying a relatively
unimportant, newly made baron. George was also disconcertingly
honest.

“
Roger
and I have discussed your future, which is assured so long as you
remain loyal to him,” George said. “I have no fear that your wife
will live in poverty. However, I am concerned about Yolande’s
happiness. Though several other men with high titles and greater
wealth than yours have asked for her, because you are the man she
wants and because I love her too much
to forbid
her what she most desires, I will allow
your marriage. Thus far I have given you great freedom with Yolande
because I believe you are an honorable man who would not use her
badly. Let me warn you now: Do not betray my trust in you once you
are wed. If ever you mistreat Yolande, you will answer to
me.”

“I assure you, I have nothing but respect and
admiration for her,” Piers responded.

“You do not speak of love.” When Piers would
have answered the accusation George raised a hand to silence him.
“I have too often seen wise men made fools by love. I have watched
some men led into paths of corruption they otherwise would not have
taken, then heard them excuse their villainies by claiming it was
all for the sake of love. The happiest and most fortunate men I
have known were not passionately enamored of their wives, but held
them in the same respect you appear to have for Yolande. Allow me
one word of advice: Do not stifle or destroy Yolande’s love for
you. Let it enrich both your lives. That will make her happy and
give me no cause for complaint against you.”

“I want her happiness, too,” Piers said, “for
I regard her as a dear friend.”

“
Then I
have no objection to your marriage. In fact,” George said, a
twinkle coming into his eyes, “I think it is past time for me to
change the ordering of my household. Since my wife died some years
ago I have kept a rather strict decorum for Yolande’s sake. But
there are certain adjustments that would make my life
… more interesting, shall we
say?

“
First,
there is the matter of Yolande’s nurse,
whom you will certainly not
want in your household. Lesia is a good and honest woman, but she
would interfere between you and Yolande. There is a cottage on the
far side of the gardens surrounding this house. I’ll send Lesia
there with a servant or two to help her. She and Yolande can see
each other when they wish, but it would be better if you begin your
new marriage with new servants.”

“Thank you,” Piers said fervently, eliciting
a smile from George.

“
Now, as
to where you will live,” George went on, “I have a property
– a small but charming house
not far from here. I will give it to you and Yolande as a wedding
gift. Decorating and furnishing it should keep her well occupied
this summer, while you are in Italy with Roger. Emperor Lothair is
most inconsiderate; his invasion will shorten your marital idyll.
There is fighting to be done once more, and Roger will be glad of
your sword arm in his defense.”

The news
from Normandy arrived with unus
ual speed, for it was
scarcely two months old
when it
reached Palermo, but its importance lent it wings. King Henry I of
England had died at Rouen and his nephew Stephen had at once
crossed the Narrow Sea to England and there had himself proclaimed
king. N
obles once
sworn
to support Henry’s daughter Matilda as ruler had broken their
sacred oaths and gone over to Stephen.

“There will be war in England now,” Alain
said when he heard of it. “Matilda will not give up the throne
without a fight, not after her father promised it to her, not when
she has a son to whom to bequeath it after she’s gone. I should be
there, at Woodward, with my father. Piers, we both should be
there.”