Honor & Roses (17 page)

“I have a better idea,” he said.

He gathered her in his arms and lowered his lips to her own. At the first touch of his mouth on hers, Cecily seemed to melt, yielding to him, just as he dreamed she would.

He kissed her again, tasting how sweet she was. He hadn’t misremembered. But he was greedy and hungry for her, so he kept tasting, moving from her lips to her chin to her neck and downward to her throat and chest.

Cecily sighed, her heartbeat fluttering beneath her skin. His lips traced her pulse from her chest down her arm to her wrist. That rapid beat called to him. He wanted more. He wanted her nude, with no barriers between them. He’d make her his, and show her exactly how much he needed her. Skin to skin, he’d summon a longing in her that she’d never known. And he’d learn her body in a way no other man ever would.

When Alric thought to draw her down to the ground, he realized they already
were
on the ground, Cecily on her back, her long hair tousled and spread on the grass.

Something about this was wrong. Alric knew that. But then she smiled at him, and he forgot everything but Cecily. He loosened the lacing of her gown with one hand. She said nothing, bur never lost that strange, coy smile.

With the bodice of the outer gown loosened, it was easy to pull the fabric of her shift lower, exposing her breasts.

He touched one breast, heard Cecily’s soft moan, and then bent to take the nipple in his mouth. Her moan turned into a gasp. Cecily squirmed beneath him, her movements only serving to rouse him more.

He raised his head just long enough to ask, “You want more?”

“You know I do. Don’t stop.”

He caressed her left breast. When his tongue grazed the nipple, Cecily’s reaction was enough to inflame him further. He wanted her to beg him for more.

Her hands drifted over him. She skimmed his arms and his chest, her fingers moving as lightly as a butterfly uncertain where to land. Then she let her hands drop to his stomach, tracing the lines of muscles under his clothing.

He shifted so he could slip one hand under her skirts, running it up her leg and the inside of her thigh.

Cecily stilled, waiting wordlessly.

There was no barrier between his hand and her body now. He found the spot between her legs where she was warmest, and stroked her.

Cecily said nothing, but her eyes were so intent and her lips curved into such a pleased smile that he could barely stand it.

He kept touching her, learning how gloriously soft she was. Her very breathing was enough to drive him mad, especially the way she gave a little sigh whenever he covered her with his whole hand.

She stretched, arching her back, in a move as erotic as it was instinctive. He hadn’t felt so aroused in years. And all she had to do was look at him.

She murmured, “I know your plan now. If you lay with me, you can take me for your wife.”

“Yes,” he said.

“I’ll be ruined,” she said, in a tone that made ruin sound like her most closely held dream.

He could easily ruin her. He could make her his wife, to have forever. All he had to do was continue. Cecily wasn’t doing a thing to stop him. She was
begging
him to continue.

A strange confusion edged into his mind again. This was wrong. Cecily would never say such a thing.

She was still smiling up at him with the confidence of a succubus. “Alric. I need you. Why do you make me wait when all I want is your touch?”

Her eyelids fell so that she peeped out at him from under her lashes. She arched her back again, drawing her body closer to his. At the contact, he saw only flames. Cecily’s skin was as hot as his own. She did desire him. Her hands roamed his body, touching, grasping, eager for him.

She kept begging prettily, promising to become his forever if only he’d take her loathsome virginity away.

“I want to feel you,” she purred, her mouth at his throat now.

He felt her hand gripping him, guiding him to her entrance. She was feverishly hot, so ready for him. He would spill inside her and ruin her and she’d love him for it.

“See how easy?” she whispered. “Now I’m yours and always will be, even though you don’t deserve a lady like me. No matter that people will talk. They’ll shun you, and say you only wanted my lands, and to steal the title…”

“No.” For one moment, he tried to think clearly. This was wrong.

But then the fever returned, as he heard Cecily laugh seductively.

“Too late,” Cecily said, her voice cooler and somehow more distant. She was fading away, even as she tightened her grip on him. “You want me and you have me. Lust is reason for marriage all on its own, isn’t it?”

“So hot,” he gasped as he pushed into her. “So hot. I can’t breathe…”

He woke up in a sweat. The vision of Cecily evaporated into nothing as the intensity of his fever yanked him out of the tangled dream.

He was sitting outside, under the same trees. He was alone. What was wrong with him? His vision doubled, and he tried to focus on the cool running water of the brook.

“So hot…” he whispered, reaching for something, anything to help him cool down. Water. He needed water. He reached forward, and overbalanced, falling down near the edge of the stream, where he lost consciousness.

* * * *

Eventually, he came out of the blackness, aware of others near him. He didn’t register names or faces, but he was told over and over to be easy, to not strain himself. He realized he was lying down within walls, and the darkness returned.

Alric faded in and out of a rocky half-sleep, one where his dreams provided no rest or comfort.

He relived battles, fighting an army of Rafes.

He heard a hundred Cecilys laughing cruelly from behind the walls of a keep.

He lost his way in a forest he’d never seen before, where the trees seemed to shake and move about on their own.

Someone told him that he broke his promise. Alric protested—he tried, it wasn’t his fault.

Then he saw his sword, the one his own father gave to him, lying on a stone floor. A hooded figure reached for it.

Alric tried to stop the thief, but he was frozen, held fast by bonds he couldn’t see.

You are not worthy of this
, the figure told him. It faded away, taking his sword with it.

Alric moaned. “Bring it back.”

“Alric, you’re dreaming.”

That voice he knew.

“Cecily?”

“You have a fever,” she said, her voice low and close. “They found you well past the east meadow, almost to the woods. Where did you think you were going?”

“I don’t know.” He swallowed, finding his throat painfully dry.

“Here. Drink.” Cecily held something to his lips.

He drank. The warm liquid tasted of honey and mint. “Better,” he said at last.

“I made more if you need it.” Her fingers pressed against his cheek. “You’re still so warm,” she said worriedly.

“I had nightmares,” he said, suddenly remembering what he dreamed about Cecily. “Did I say anything?”

“Not that I could understand.”

Alric hoped that was true. If he so much as uttered her name while he was mad with fever, it could hurt her. What if someone assumed that he and she had lain together in fact…

He closed his eyes. He had to stop thinking of it. The images wouldn’t go away, and the torment was only growing worse.

“You should leave,” he said.

“When Pavia returns,” Cecily replied. “We’ve been watching over you.”

“It should not be you. I’m sick…”

Or worse. There was something wrong with him. Beyond whatever caused his fever. He couldn’t ever recall dreaming so vividly about a woman. And that his dream should be of Cecily… The real Cecily would never have said those things, or ever behaved like that. He must be going mad.

“You know me,” she said. “I would not leave you while I could help.”

“Are you betrothed?” he asked anxiously.

There was a moment of stillness.

“What?” Cecily asked.

“I had a dream that you were.” He opened his eyes again, and saw how nervous she was.  “I think it was a dream…”

“It must have been,” she said. “Or you overheard someone speak of it while you were sleeping. For I am betrothed, though I never got a chance to tell you before you took your fever.”

“How long has it been since…”

“Edmund found you yesterday afternoon. He shouted for help, and some men brought you back to the manor. You got wounded! You must have taken fever from that.”

“Just sparring…”

“Practice ought not kill you. Who cut you so?”

“Rafe.”

Her hand rested on his chest. “Did he mean to do it?”

Alric paused, then said, “I know not.” He was tired again, and he’d only been awake a few minutes.

He resisted sleep, because he feared he’d dream of the false Cecily again, and say something out loud that would inadvertently hurt them both.

“Leave me,” he said desperately. “You shouldn’t come near me again.”

Cecily only laughed softly, misunderstanding his concern. “But I know how best to care for you, Alric.” She kissed him, her lips cool on his forehead.

Strangely, her touch did calm him.

Then she raised her voice. “Ah, Pavia’s come to wait on you. I’ll be back tomorrow. Sleep well. I’ll pray to Saint Raphael to keep your nightmares away.”

Then she was gone.

* * * *

Once he was properly cared for, Alric recovered swiftly. Only two days later, he was on his feet again, and strong enough to refuse any more care from the ladies of the house. Soon after he was well enough to ride his horse around the manor grounds.

On a bright morning, Theobald summoned him to his study. For once, the clerk Laurence was not in attendance.

“You have recovered?” Theobald asked Alric, as if it were a mere matter of accounting and not a human life.

“Yes, my lord,” Alric answered, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “As if it never happened.”

“Good. I have a task for you.” Theobald said. “As you have doubtless heard, my niece has accepted an offer of marriage.”

Alric nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The rumors around the manor suggested that Cecily hadn’t
accepted
anything. She’d simply been told of the change in her situation.

“She will become the lady of Malvern Castle, wife to the lord Pierce. You are responsible for escorting Cecily, Pavia, the maids and servants, and all the goods she’ll be taking to her new home. You will see that all arrive safely. You will attend the wedding and confirm that the marriage is valid and in good order. Then you will return here with all but Cecily and the maid who will remain. You will bring along any private messages the lord Pierce sends with you.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I
can
trust you to carry this out. Correct?” Theobald’s eyes bored into Alric’s.

Alric knew how important it was to say exactly the right thing. If he said too much, he’d reveal his true thoughts and he’d never be allowed near Cecily again.

“The lady Cecily,” he said, “is the ward of my liege lord, and as such I am sworn to serve her as best I can. I’ll see her safely to her destination.”

Theobald nodded slowly. “Of course you will.” He added, more as a muttering note, “Laurence frets over nothing. He always thinks the worst.”

Alric refrained from adding anything to that.

He excused himself from Theobald’s presence, then sought the peace of the chapel, which stood on the far side of the open courtyard.

Alric paused on the threshold when he saw Rafe within, sitting on the front bench.

Rafe was hunched over, holding his sword so the pommel was at the top, the point touching the floor and the hilt at eye level. He stared at the hilt and crosspiece as though he saw something unusual there.

Taken aback, Alric waited a moment. Such stillness was unlike Rafe, who preferred action to meditation. But the black-haired knight didn’t move.

“Rafe?” Alric asked, taking a step into the chapel. “Is anything amiss?”

“What is not amiss in this world?” Rafe responded, almost as if he were talking to himself. “When cousin fights cousin for the throne of England, what does it matter that everyone else fights each other for the scraps? Are we any better than a pack of dogs?”

“What’s happened?” Alric asked. “Have you got bad tidings?”

There was silence, then Rafe looked back at Alric. “Bad tidings? Not yet. But the day is not over.” The sardonic man was back, whatever topic that caused him to contemplate his inverted sword now put away.

He stood up, sheathing the weapon in its scabbard. “What’s brought you here?”

Alric shrugged. “I felt a need to go to chapel.”

“Whatever for? You have no sins on your conscience.”

“I’m a mortal man, and therefore never without sin.” Alric couldn’t tell Rafe the real reason for his disquiet. He needed to ask for penance for the litany of sins he committed since he returned to Cleobury.

Just then, Father Anselm found them. “God keep you both,” he said amiably. “Have you come to see me?”

Alric said yes.

Rafe clapped Alric on the shoulder. “Then I’ll be gone, before my presence sets the church alight. Remember to pray for me!”

“Well, my son?” the priest asked after Rafe left. “I know you have suffered an illness. Did that make you think on your life?”

“It made me want to keep it,” Alric said bluntly. “Father, I must confess a sin.”

Anselm gestured to a bench close to the altar. “Let us sit, then.”

Alric took a moment to speak, trying to decide what to say.

The priest sat next to him, comfortable with the silence. Over the years, he had learned sinners weren’t eager to list their failings.

“I’ve been suffering strange dreams,” Alric began. He explained what had been torturing him, though he didn’t go into the details. The celibate priest would neither understand nor appreciate the vividness of his dreams.

“Who is the object of these fantasies?” Anselm asked, not sounding particularly shocked.

Alric would never shame Cecily by speaking her name out loud. “It matters not who the woman is. She is blameless. The fault is mine.”

“I see,” said Anselm. “Well, you repent of your sin and wish to be free of the torment, so I will make the penance light. But prayer and fasting will not be enough. You must remove yourself from temptation.”