Samantha James (39 page)

"Please, Guy," she whispered huskily. "Please. . ." She turned her head so that then- lips just barely met.

He was lost. With a groan he pressed her back into the softness of the bed. His fingers wound into her hair. He took her mouth in a soul-blistering kiss, sliding his palms beneath her hips, lifting... lowering. . . plunging into the hot velvet of her sheath, stroking and seeking, harder and faster...

Ah, such sweet, piercing pleasure! Kathryn cried out softly. His stretching fullness inside her unleashed a storm of passion and splendor. She clung to his muscled shoulders. His skin was hot and sleek like sun-warmed satin. Again and again he bound their hips together, a ritual dance of pagan glory, the muscles of his buttocks churning and flexing. A tempest brewed inside her, whipping into a frenzy of pure sensation. Her blood pounded in a scalding rush along her veins. Release came in a blinding explosion of thunder and lightning, so torrid and tempestuous she was left quaking in the aftermath.

A long time later she felt the rigidness slowly seep from his body. He eased slightly away, relieving her of the pressure of his weight. His lips feathered over her neck, the fragile line of her jaw, the delicate sweep of her cheeks in an unhurried quest for her mouth. And it was there he tasted the salty warmth of a tear trapped between their lips.

A low exclamation broke from him. "Kathryn!" He raised his head to stare at her in stunned confusion. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"

She pressed her hot face into the pillow. "Nay,"

she said on a strangled breath. "You did not hurt me."

He cursed softly, slipping his knuckles beneath her chin and lifting her face to his, refusing to let her hide. "Kathryn, tell me! What is wrong?"

Kathryn swallowed. Through sheer effort of will she offered a tremulous smile. " 'Tis nothing," she managed. "I just. . . oh, Guy, I just need you to .. . to hold me."

Powerful arms wrapped her close and tight. The flutter of whispered words grazed her temple. He held her tenderly. Sweetly. With such gentle concern that she clung to him all the harder.

Her hair was a wild tangle spread across the breadth of his chest. His fingers combed idly through the silken strands, sifting lightly, letting errant tendrils trail over his hand until at last he twined it over and over around his palm. Through the silvered darkness, she thought she detected a smile.

All at once Kathryn could no longer control the dictates of her mind—it wandered where it would and she could not stop it.

That smile... Did Guy pretend the hair wrapped so possessively round his fist was as pale and gold as summer wheat? Did he even now compare dark to fair, past wife to present? The pain that ripped through her was agony. It was like a knife slicing into her, plunging deeper and deeper. She wished she could forget the anguish this night had wrought. If only she could! She knew she had pleased him . .. but had Elaine pleased him more?

She drew a sharp, painful breath. It was her own name she wanted on his lips, his mind so filled with her that thoughts of no other dared intrude. But Kathryn was suddenly terrified, for although she was the one he held and touched and caressed...

Did his heart still dwell with another?

Chapter 18

Several days later a missive arrived from Elizabeth. Kathryn was resting when a page delivered it to her chamber. She quickly hurried to the bench below the window and broke the seal eagerly. She had just finished skimming the contents when Guy entered.

"I hear you've a letter from Elizabeth."

Kathryn nodded, her eyes shining. "She and Hugh are going to be married!"

Guy smiled indulgently, but his casual air was deceiving. Inwardly his nerves were humming. He crossed to her, his keen, watchful gaze roving her delicate features. Fingers beneath her chin, he brought her eyes to his. "And this pleases you?"

"Aye," Kathryn admitted, then smiled. "Elizabeth is ecstatic about the wedding. She loves Hugh and Hugh loves her. How could I begrudge my sister her happiness?"

Perhaps a better question was whether she begrudged Hugh his possession of Ashbury . .. Guy curbed the thought. He did not know. He had no desire to know. The subject of Ashbury was one both he and Kathryn mentioned but seldom.

He was quick to note the faint shadow which crept into her eyes. Tenderly imprisoning both her hands in his, he pulled her to her feet. "What fickleness is this that you frown so already?" he teased. "As Elizabeth's elder sister, have you decided that Hugh is not good enough for her after all?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. Hugh is an honorable and worthy man," she said quietly, startling Guy just a little with such a ready admission. She hesitated. "In her letter Elizabeth said she would understand if we could not attend, but.. . oh, Guy, I do so wish that I could be there!" Her tone was imploring.

Guy went very still inside. "When is the wedding to be?"

She did not notice his sudden tension. "Several days before Epiphany."

"Epiphany! Kathryn, the babe is due not long after that. You cannot travel then!"

"The babe is not due until the end of January," she pointed out. "I should not think that I would deliver much before then."

"You have no way of knowing for certain. I'm sorry, Kathryn, but we cannot attend Elizabeth's wedding."

His thin-lipped stare caught her off guard. "You refuse to even consider it?"

Guy's jaw clamped shut. He dropped her hands, his expression as black as a thundercloud. He could not control the bitterness that abruptly seeped inside him. The darker side of reason made him wonder. Did Kathryn truly care so little about her life and the life of their child? His mind raced on. Mayhap she didn't care if the babe died—mayhap she did not want his child.

"Aye," he said, an edge of steel in his tone. "I'll not consider it, for I'll not have you delivering my child on some rutted, frozen road between here and Ashbury."

His sharpness stabbed at her, but she tipped her chin, determined not to show her hurt. Even as a part of her acknowledged he was right, something deep within her would not let her give in so easily. "I'd not be alone," she was compelled to argue. "Guy, please! Elizabeth is my only sister! I would be with her on the day of her wedding if only I could!"

"You plead so prettily, sweet. But I wonder—why are you so determined?" Some devil inside took him in thrall and refused to release him. His lip curled. "Mayhap it's not Elizabeth you wish to be with at all, milady. Mayhap you cannot wait to see your Roderick!"

Kathryn did not stop to think. She simply reacted with all the rebellious fury that leaped within her, drawing back her hand and dealing a stinging, open-handed slap to the bronzed hardness of his cheek.

His response was instantaneous and relentless. His hands closed about her wrists like iron manacles. Anger kindled in his eyes. They blazed like molten silver. "By God," he bit out from between clenched teeth, "I'll allow you that once, but do not think to ever—ever!—strike me again."

'Then do not insult me so!" she cried. She twisted against him but his grip was merciless.

"I see no insult here, milady." Soft though his tone was, the words were fairly flung at her. "Indeed, I see naught but truth. You cannot deny it was Roderick you sought to marry—nay, not once, but twice!"

His pitiless condemnation tore her to shreds. "Guy," she choked out. "You forget that—"

"I forget nothing, Kathryn, nothing! Not once have you run to me. Nay, you must always run from me. Ah, and we both know who you seek as your savior!"

A flicker of fear ran through her when he dragged her as close as her swollen belly would allow. Her heart thudding wildly, she strained against his hold, stunned at the barely restrained violence that seethed within him.

He lowered his head so that his hot breath rushed past her cheek. "I may have been the first to lay with you," he said tightly. "But tell me this, milady. That night at the monastery .. . did I find you and Roderick too early—" His lips twisted. "—or too late?"

He did not wait for an answer, merely thrust her away and spun about as if he could no longer stand the sight of her. He strode from the room, slamming the door so hard the rafters shook. Kathryn gave an impotent little cry of rage, but imbedded in her fury was anguish, a world of it. What he accused her of was unspeakable. Unforgivable! Did he truly believe she had lain with Roderick?

Her lungs burned from the effort it took not to cry. Raw pain spilled through her, and she stumbled to the bed numbly. And then the tears began to come, slow and scalding. She had fought long and hard against Guy—and against herself. But in that mind-splitting instant, Kathryn could no longer hide from her feelings any more than she could hide the torment in her soul.

She loved him. She loved him.

Helplessly.

Hopelessly.

Endlessly.

Her stormy heart knew no peace.

There was no comfort in the truth, no sweet joy of fulfillment to be gained from loving Guy. He had touched her and held her, while the winds of passion blew fierce and tempestuous. And he had held her close, his sinewed arms a sheltering haven of comfort and strength .. .

Never had he claimed to love her.

It pained her greatly to admit that she was afraid. Afraid of the future. Afraid Guy would never grow to love her...

Yield to me, Kathryn. Yield
...

Time and again she remembered his fervent demand that long-ago night. She had yielded, body and soul.

But she dared not let him know it.

Never would she willingly confess her love to him, not when he neither wanted or needed it. Indeed, he had enough power over her already! Even in this mockery they called a marriage, he snatched her will from her. He'd not even asked if she would marry him—he had simply gone ahead and done the deed. And she had let him! Didn't that make her a fool? A pawn?

Nay, she decided over and over again, she did not love Guy. She would not love him. She must not weaken, for then he would truly be master of her heart.

And her heart was the one thing he could never force her to surrender, the one thing she could bestow freely, the one thing that was truly her own.

Yet despite all her resolve, all her determination, Kathryn sorely missed all that had gone before.

For a time, a curious kind of peace had existed between her and Guy. She had come to know him as the man she had refused to see before. A man who was fair and principled and honest, unwavering in his beliefs. Aye, he was fierce and warlike when provoked to anger, yet he was also sensitive and caring and so very, very gentle. He was a man greatly respected and admired, and the people of Sedgewick loved him dearly.

Kathryn did not broach the subject of attending Elizabeth's wedding again. She was convinced their argument that day had little to do with whether or not she should travel—she would not soon forget Guy's veiled accusation that she lay with Roderick. Not for an instant did she consider he might be jealous. He did not care enough to be jealous. Guy was a man who guarded his own closely. His arrogant high-handedness was spawned of possessiveness, no more, no less.

Their bitter exchange that fateful day had changed everything. The measure of closeness that reigned so briefly had been shattered by all they dared to speak... by all they dared not speak.

And so they shared their meals together, shared the warmth of their bodies in the chill of long winter nights. But there were no tender kisses, no heated caresses, no passionate joinings that left them weak and gasping for breath.

They were strangers, strangers who were together, yet ever distant.

Kathryn did not delude herself. In all this time, they had done naught but come full circle.

One evening she crooned softly to Peter, who was so tired he was about to drop on his feet, yet still fought sleep. She lay down beside him in his bed and let him press his chubby hand against the life in her womb. He was intensely curious, and she spoke to him often about his soon-to-be brother or sister, so that he would be prepared when the babe finally came.

After a while his lashes began to flutter. Soon he slept. But Kathryn remained where she was, content to feel his warmth curled close to her side.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead and hugged him tight, for she had come to love Peter even before she had loved his father. As if not to be outdone, the babe thumped and moved within her, a great rolling motion that made her stomach ripple.

A smile curved her lips. Would she bear a lad or a lass? She trailed a fingertip along the downy curve of Peter's cheek, her eyes tracing the miniature features so like his father's. If the babe were a boy, would he look like Peter? He was a beautiful child, tall for his age, his build sturdy, his shoulders wide despite his youth. Peter would grow to be strong and handsome, every bit as handsome as Guy. Nay, she'd not mind at all if their child resembled Peter.

One morning in mid-January she woke with a dull ache in the small of her back. She eased to her side and lay for a while, but the nagging ache persisted no matter what her position. At last she rose with a grimace twisting her lovely features. But her bare feet had no sooner touched the cold floor than a torrent of liquid gushed down her legs.