Samantha James (20 page)

He was standing at the bedside before he knew it. Desire tightened his expression as he stared down at her with undisguised yearning. The blood pooled thickly in his loins, swelling him until he was rigid as stone. As he'd longed to do almost from the instant they'd entered this chamber, he bent and pushed aside that vexing swath of cloth from her shoulder, exposing one perfect breast to his avid gaze.

Her chest rose and fell with every breath, offering up the exquisitely rounded flesh like a tempting sacrifice, causing his own breath to dam in his throat. That swelling mound was softened now, but still enticingly full and sweetly curved. Her skin was pale and finely textured, almost translucent, that single breast tipped by a delicate rosebud nipple the color of coral. Guy swallowed, beating down the rush of desire that threatened to overcome his good judgment. But he could not help himself. He knew he had to touch her or die...

With lean, tapering fingers he staked his claim. For an instant he stared at his outspread hand, the contrast between his bronzed fingers and her pale flesh striking. He filled his palm with her softness, caressing ever so slightly, gently kneading, seeking—sweet Jesus, she felt like velvet and silk! Clamping his jaw tight, he fought a violent battle with white-hot desire. The urge to bend over, to close his lips around that tantalizing pink nipple and feel it quiver to erectness against his tongue, was almost overpowering. But he knew that if she woke, words would fly like clanging swords. And so instead, he raked his thumb across the crest, the merest butterfly caress, while Kathryn slept on, as trusting and innocent as a child.

But a child she was not, and the ripeness of the flesh beneath his hand was a silent testimony. Nor was she innocent, and well he knew. He went very still inside, aware of some inexplicably dark emotion slipping over him, like a murky veil. The heat within him began to cool.

Unbidden, unwanted, an image in his mind began to swirl, slowly taking shape. He saw Kathryn and Roderick as they had been that first night at Ashbury, his hands twisted in her luscious black mane, their lips fused in fevered splendor, their bodies clinging recklessly in the wanton way of lovers.

His lips grew ominously thin. His face settled into a cold hard mask. Disgusted with himself, Guy snatched his hand away, scorning the passion he felt for this tempting little sorceress. It was lust, he told himself, purely carnal, purely erotic. He dismissed her scathingly. Kathryn meant nothing to him—nothing at all.

And because he willed it, it would be so.

Matters were just a little different with Sir Hugh. While his dilemma, too, concerned the fairer sex, his problem was that his chosen lady scarcely knew he existed.

He likened her to a tiny, rare flower, the kind that appeared only once in a lifetime, so breath-takingly lovely one could not look upon her without coveting such beauty for his own, yet so fragile and frail that but a single fleeting touch would make her vanish and disappear, forever beyond his reach.

He knew she feared him. He knew because Kathryn had told him why. But he hadn't realized how very delicate she really was. This he had learned in a way that was no less than painful.

Their walks around the grounds had become a habit. Her sweet shyness tugged at his heart. It was eminently clear that the only person Elizabeth truly trusted was Kathryn. She trembled when he touched her, even the most casual touch. But, miracle of miracles, he felt he'd finally begun to draw her out.

Twilight veiled the land one evening as they left the keep behind. Hugh's aimless steps soon carried them to the crest of a craggy bluff. High above, gulls soared against the wind-whipped current, while far below, a huge pile of granite seemed to have tumbled into the churning waters of the sea. He filled his vision with the wild and rugged landscape before returning his attention to Elizabeth.

He knew instantly that something was wrong. He could see the way she huddled beneath her cloak. She clutched her hands about her body as if she were frozen to the bone.

"Elizabeth?" He touched her shoulder, a silent gesture of reassurance. She made no sign she heard him. Her eyes were dilated and glassy, fixed on a point just beyond his shoulder. Seeing her thus, Hugh felt a curious chill run up his spine. It was as if she had retreated to another place, another time.

"Elizabeth." His tone was sharp. "What is it? Tell me what's wrong."

She stood frozen. "This place," she said jerkily. He saw the tremendous effort it took for her to swallow and focus on him. "Why?" she whispered. "Why did you bring me here? What have I done that—that you would hurt me so!"

"Elizabeth, how can you say that?" Hugh was utterly perplexed. "I have no wish to hurt you. Tell me what I have done that distresses you so—"

He broke off as she suddenly whitened, every vestige of color stripped from her face. Her eyes swept frantically all around then, as if she sought to find something elusive and hidden, something beyond this world. "I cannot stay here," she cried, panting raggedly. "Oh, God, I. . . I cannot!" With a panicked cry she whirled, running as fast as her legs would carry her. Hugh attempted to follow, only to wrench his knee as he stepped on a rock. He shouted after her, but she refused to stop.

After that she neither spoke nor looked at him. It didn't take Hugh long before he realized he must have led her very near the spot where her mother was raped. He knew he had made a mistake... one that would cost him dearly.

For the third night in a row, Hugh's mind refused the balm of sleep. In abject frustration, he moved to his chamber window, watching as the moon traversed the leaden sky. Hours passed before he finally stepped toward his bed. He had just stripped off his tunic when the sound of a muffled cry reached his ears... Elizabeth! He tore down the passage and burst into her chamber. Hand on his dagger, legs spread apart, he strained to see, searching the shadows for a hidden assailant. It took but an instant to realize there was none. Elizabeth was tossing and turning on the bed, moaning and sobbing, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. All at once she bolted upright, her breathing jagged and rasping.

Hurriedly he lit the taper in the wall sconce, then dropped down beside her. Her eyes were open, filled with terror as if she confronted all the demons in hell. Then something inside seemed to collapse. "Mama," she whispered brokenly. "They're gone now... I'll not let them touch you or—or hurt you anymore." She whimpered. "Oh, God, you're all bloody. . . Mama, please, get up... Mama!"

Her shrill, desperate scream rent the air. There was such anguish in the sound that his throat closed with a hot, unfamiliar ache. Compassion and rage warred within him, compassion because the terror of her mother's death had remained locked in her mind throughout the years—rage because he knew instinctively that Elizabeth relived the heartbreak of that loss in each and every nightmare.

He shook her, not ungently. "Elizabeth!" he said harshly. "Wake up. Wake up, love, please!"

Her eyes were still half-wild, but he knew the instant awareness returned. Her gaze dropped to his naked chest and she stared as if in shock. Until that moment Hugh had completely forgotten his state of undress. "It's all right," he said before she could say anything. "I heard you screaming, Elizabeth. But it's just a dream, love, just a dream."

"Just a dream," she repeated, and then her face seemed to crumple. "Oh, God—" She gave a half- sob. "—why isn't Kathryn here? It never seemed so awful when I woke up and she was here. Lord, I'm afraid to close my eyes again..."

Hugh didn't give her time to reject him. He simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "There's no need to be afraid," he whispered, lips against her temple. "Kathryn's not here, love, but I am. And I'll hold you the night through if it will make you feel safe."

Safe, Elizabeth echoed silently with a little shiver. Hugh was so tall and lean. Sometimes just looking at him made her stomach knot with a feeling that she had always assumed was fear. For so long now she had associated male brawn and strength and muscle with hurt and fear and pain; she had never once dreamed of associating the latent power of a man with shelter and security and safety.

She did so now. And it was with a dawning wonder that Elizabeth realized that was exactly how she felt—safe and warm, as if she'd crawled deep into a haven where nothing or no one could hurt her. She let her fingers slowly uncurl against his muscular bare chest. It was strange to feel his hard arms about her back, almost as strange as the firm resilience of his flesh beneath her fingertips . .. strange, but wonderful.

'This dream, Elizabeth... it comes to you often?"

Her head tucked beneath his chin, she paused. "Sometimes," she whispered hesitantly.

'Tell me about it."

She stiffened and would have pushed away, but he wouldn't let her. His arms tightened. 'This dream," he whispered. "It has to do with your mother, does it not? I know you were there when she was attacked, Elizabeth, that you hid so the men would not find you. Is that why you ran from me that day on the bluff—is that where it happened, love?"

Shock held her motionless, but only for an instant. She twisted around to stare at him numbly. "How can you know this?"

Hugh prayed he hadn't made another fatal blunder. "Kathryn told me the day she and Guy left for Sedgewick."

"Kathryn," she moaned, her expression stricken. "Oh, how could she do this to me?”

"She told me because she trusted me to look after you." With his fingers he tipped her chin to his, searching her face. "Can't you do the same?" he asked gently. "I know the memory still haunts you. But sometimes the pain and fear are not so great when shared with another."

She closed her eyes in shame. "You want me to tell you what—what I saw," she stammered.

"Aye, love, I think 'tis just the medicine you need."

Her eyes opened, huge and pleading. "I cannot," she choked out miserably. "Sir Hugh, what I saw... why, I've not told even Kathryn."

"Then tell me as little or as much as you want. Elizabeth, if it proves too painful, you can stop whenever you want, I promise I'll not press you. But I honestly think 'twill do you good."

As he spoke, with his hand he brushed wisps of hair from her temple. How, Elizabeth wondered was it possible that a man's hands could be so achingly gentle? She didn't know why, but she sensed that this moment was of grave importance to both herself and Hugh. She bit her lip, searching her heart and mind, praying that she made the right choice.

Her voice, when at last she began to speak, was very low. Hugh listened quietly, sick at heart as she related the atrocities done to her mother. Christ, it was no wonder Elizabeth was so frightened of men—any man! When she had finished, a convulsive shudder shook her body. Hugh pulled her down beside him on the bed, arranging her body against his, tucking her hand in his, feeling her heart beating like a trapped bird. Shiver after shiver shook her body, but surprisingly, there were no tears. After a long while, he felt her body melt into his and knew she slept.

Instead it was Hugh who lay awake until dawn streaked the eastern sky. His eyes were bleak, his chest hollow, his mind filled with but one thought. . . He would gladly lay down his life before he'd let any harm befall this beautiful creature in his arms.

He would protect her from anything .. . even himself.

Amidst the dark, tangled woodland, streamers of sunshine flitted through the treetops, lighting the clearing a glorious shade of sun-dappled gold. The gurgling rush of the stream blended with the sound of high-pitched giggles and soft, husky laughter.

"More!" came the childish demand.

"All right, my little lord," a feminine voice replied with a chuckle. "But once more and that is all. I am so dizzy I can hardly stand!"

Just beyond the glade, a dark figure sat upon his horse. For the fourth day in a row, Guy surveyed the scene played out before him, his features drawn into sharp lines.

He watched broodingly as Kathryn bent with grace, leaning and then straightening to swing his son in a wide circle, around and around. He had yet to tear his gaze from the enchanting picture she presented. She wore no wimple. Her hair was loose, tumbling over her shoulders and down her back in an artless profusion of silken waves well past her hips. The old and worn material of her gown did little to detract from her appeal. Indeed, it only emphasized her enticing slenderness, the supple fullness of breasts and hips.