Spectre of the Sword (24 page)

Elizabeau’s face was
dark with disappointment and fear.  “De Lohr would execute you?”

He shrugged faintly. “My
marriage to you would be considered a very serious crime.”

Her gaze lingered on him
a moment before turning away. Something in his argument sounded so depressing
and final.  Deep down, perhaps she knew he was right.  It was the first time
she had entertained such thoughts.  But so much of her wanted to deny the
verity of his words.

“It does not have to be
that way,” she said softly. “We love each other, Rhys. There is nothing more
important than that. Where there is a will, there is a way.  We can find our
own lives together and be happy. We do not need de Lohr or Navarre or even
England to accomplish this. We simply need each other.”

She wasn’t looking at
him as she spoke, giving him his first clue that perhaps she was viewing a
future with him in a less than romantic light. It was painful for him to think
that something in what he had said had somehow planted a seed of reason.  As
much as that had been his goal, he was sorry he had apparently achieved it.

“I wish that were true,”
he murmured. “God knows, I wish it were the complete truth.  We would spend the
rest of our lives as fugitives, or in hiding.  I suppose it could be done, but
how much happiness would we really have knowing the history and turmoil we had
left behind in our selfish desires? At what point would you grow to resent me
and at what point would I grow to regret my lack of honor?”

She did look at him,
then. “You are the most honorable man I know,” she whispered, her dark green
eyes boring into him. “It has never been my intention to strip you of that, not
ever. But I cannot help what I feel.”

His expression
softened.  “Nor can I,” he said. “But it is something we cannot give in to. I
have been struggling for the better part of a week to convince you of this.”

She closed her eyes
briefly, tightly, before turning away once more.  She simply stared at the
floor and he watched her lovely profile, never more pained by anything in his
life.  He wanted to comfort her so badly but knew that would be a mistake. He
couldn’t touch her; they had to work their way through this and it was not
going to happen if he could not control his urge to feel her.

Slowly, he stood up and
went to the fire again, pretending to stoke it when it was already a roaring
blaze.  It was safer if he stayed away from her at the moment, at least until
he got himself under control.  As he poked at the fire, he began to hear the
soft strain of painful sobs.

“You are right,” she
whispered, followed by a huge guffaw of agony. “God help me, you are right. I
do not want you to be right but I know that you are.”

He turned to look at her
as she folded forward on the bed, her head buried in the dirty pillow.  His
heart shattered as he watched her sob, her slender body heaving with sorrow. 
His hand tightened on the poker and he turned back to the fire, shoving at the
wood with increasingly harsh mannerisms. The more she wept, the sharper his
movements became.   He knew that if he let go of that poker, all would be
lost.  He would go to her and take her in his arms to soothe her and then he
would not be able to control himself.

“I am sorry, Rhys,” she
was speaking to him as he struggled. “I am sorry I have asked you to compromise
your honor. I am sorry I have pressured you and pushed you to accept something
that you know is not right. Truly, I am sorry. You must think me a horrid woman.”

He was gripping the
poker so tightly that he was shaking. But he turned to look at her, a risky
move. “I do not think you horrid,” he said softly. “You are brave in that you
seek what you want. You do not surrender easily and that is a noble quality.”

He was making her sound
far more honorable than she knew she was. He was making excuses for her behavior
and it made her love him all the more.

“Nay,” she shook her
head, looking away from him. “I am like Eve in the Garden of Eden.  I have
tried to tempt you into doing something wrong.  Only there is no serpent
involved.  I am the serpent as well, evil and unkind. Forgive me.”

His mounting resolve
against her was weakening again. “There is nothing to forgive.  You have done
nothing wrong except follow your heart.”

She turned to look at
him again, studying the powerful lines of his face.  It occurred to her that
all of this truly had to end. After what he had just told her, the threat that
would follow them the rest of their lives should they give in to temptation,
she knew that she could no longer entertain any hope.  And suddenly, it was if
a flame just blew out.  The light went out of her.

“But to do so would
condemn us both,” she murmured, wiping at the remaining tears on her face. “I
could not do that to you.  I do not, in fact, care what happens to me, but I
could not do that to you.  I could not destroy who you are.  Please forgive me
for unreasonably tempting you.  I had no right.”

He saw something die in
her eyes as she said it and something went out of him, too. But he realized
that he did not want it to die, this powerful emotion that had consumed him. 
He had spent the better part of a week trying to reason his way out of it,
discouraging her from feeling the same. Now that it was leaving, he didn’t want
it to go.  He was not sure what, exactly, he wanted, or where this could
truthfully end up, but he did not want it to die.  It was far too precious.

“You did not
unreasonably tempt me,” he stood up, poker still in hand. “For everything you
are feeling, you must realize that I am feeling it too.”

She nodded her head
slightly, then shrugged. It was a weary gesture. “Let us speak no more of it. 
If we are ever to forget this, then we must ignore it.”

He sighed heavily and
leaned the poker against the wall. Before he could reply, there was a knock at
the door and he opened it. The serving wench entered with a tray of food; brown
bread, crumbly white cheese, cheap wine and some kind of cold meat. She set it
all on the small table and left the room with another seductive glance at Rhys;
he wasn’t even looking at her.  He shut the door so fast that he smacked her in
the bottom with it.  Then he threw the bolt.

“I am sure I cannot
vouch for the quality of this food, but at least it is something,” he said,
going to the table and pouring two cups of wine.  He extended one to her.
“Here.”

She shook her head and
lay down, rolling onto her side so that she was facing away from him. “Thank
you, I am not hungry.”

He watched her cozy up
against the far wall, rolling into a ball. “You have not eaten since this
morning,” he said. “You must have something.”

“I am not hungry,” she
repeated. “But please do not beg off.  You must eat.”

He gazed at her a moment
before reluctantly lowering the cup. After a moment of debate whether or not he
should force her, he finally lifted the cup to his own lips and drained the
contents.  He poured himself two more cups and drained them also before he
devoured most of the bread, half the cheese, and all of the meat.  Then he
drained the rest of the wine.

Rhys could drink ale
from sundown to sunrise and hardly feel a thing, but wine affected him
strangely.  It made him giddy, which is why he rarely drank it.  But he drank
it this night, wondering if it would ease the ache in his heart somehow.  For a
man perpetually in control of his emotions, he was ashamed that he needed
something more to help him contain himself this night. Perhaps the wine would
do it. Or perhaps it would just make things worse.

Elizabeau remained
silent and still as she lay on the edge of the bed against the wall.  Long
after the wine was drained, Rhys sat and stared at her for the longest time. 
Though she was wrapped in Gwyneth’s old cloak, he stared at her as if he could
see right through the fabric.  He found himself remembering her tender white
skin, the taste of her breasts against his tongue. The woman was sweet, humorous
and intelligent, something he found more attractive almost than her beauty.  He
found himself wishing fervently he had met her under different circumstances,
perhaps just a woman of nobility, a daughter of a friend, and he realized he
would have wasted no time in marrying her.  A wife such as her would have made
him feel complete and he would have experienced good fortune as few men do.  He
would have experienced love.

The wine was magnifying
his exhaustion and he realized how sleepy he was. Pulling off his boots, he
moved across the small room and very carefully, quietly, lowered himself onto
the dirty mattress. He made great effort not to jostle Elizabeau but the bed
was barely big enough for a man his size much less two people.  He should have
slept on the floor but he did not want to.  He wanted to feel her warm body
next to him. But the very moment he stretched out next to her, Elizabeau rolled
over and snuggled into him.

His left arm went around
her instinctively, holding her into the curve of his torso.   Waves of
satisfaction and warmth rolled over him as he clutched her against him, feeling
the rhythmic rise and fall of slumber.  When she twitched in her sleep, he put
his massive hand over her head, gently soothing her until she quieted. It was
an amazingly wonderful and amazingly painful predicament, and he could feel
himself warming to it.  His common sense was dissolving.  Rolling onto his left
side, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her fiercely against him.

Elizabeau was not asleep
but she wanted Rhys to believe that she was.  She was too depressed to sleep
even though she was exhausted.  As the night trickled on and she lay awake, she
could hear every move that Rhys made. She heard him drink, and eat, and when he
finally lay upon the bed, she had not been able to contain herself and she
rolled into him.  He had responded as she had hoped, with his arm around her
and gentle touches. She had been content with that. But when he had rolled over
and pulled her against his firm, warm body, it had been more than expected. His
right leg wrapped around her legs, pulling her closer still.

She could feel his lips
against her forehead, kissing her in the darkness because he thought she was
asleep. They were gentle kisses, now and again, as if reminding himself that he
could kiss her now that she was asleep.  There would be no response from her
and therefore no further temptation.  But she was awake and after several such
kisses, she suddenly snaked her arms up between them, put her hands on his face,
and lifted her lips to meet his warm, gentle ones.

Rhys knew he was lost
the moment she latched on to him with her soft mouth.  He didn’t even try to
pull away; he lost himself in her honeyed lips, his enormous hands entangled in
her hair, her body, savoring every sound, every taste, every movement she
made.  He couldn’t even think, knowing he was a slave to her desires. He could
not have resisted her in any case.  Emotion finally overwhelmed him and he was
lost.

He was more forceful in
his kisses than ever before; perhaps it was the wine or perhaps it was simply
because he could resist no longer.  In any case, he rolled her onto her back
and quickly removed the cloak. She was wearing the soft blue Perse fabric
surcoat he had purchased for her at the Blond Gazelle and that, too, came off
under his eager hands.   Somehow his lips never left her mouth and before she
realized it, Rhys had stripped her.  Hot kisses rained down on her mouth, face
and neck as he removed his own clothing and suddenly, they were both naked.

Rhys’ enormous body came
down on her soft, slender one, enveloping her in power and heat. His mouth left
her lips, devouring her neck as he moved down her body.  He tasted every inch
of flesh on her shoulders and arms, moving to her chest and depositing lustful
kisses on her swell of her bosom. A big hand kneaded her breasts as his lips
finally found her nipples, moving from one to the other hungrily.  Beneath him,
Elizabeau squirmed and gasped.

His weight on her was
significant and she instinctively parted her thighs.  His lower body slipped
through, finding rest upon the mattress as his upper body smothered her torso. 
He was such a big man that he nearly swallowed her up with flesh and heat,
though his touch and kisses were infinitely gentle and passionate.  She was
delectable and nubile in every way and as one hand slipped beneath her to grasp
her tender buttocks, the other slipped down her flat belly as his mouth began
to move along her abdomen.

Elizabeau was in a haze
of delight. It was her first experience with a man at this level and she was
only thinking of how deeply she loved him rather than of the consequences they
had so recently discussed.  She knew, beneath the haze, how horrifically
dangerous this was but she was selfish in that she didn’t care.  All she could
feel was the love and need for him. When he moved lower, grasped her buttocks
with both hands, and brought her private core to his mouth, she was propelled
onto an entirely different plane of existence.

The protests of embarrassment
and surprise died in her throat as his mouth began to work her virginal
center.  He worked her mercilessly with his tongue, ignoring the fact that she
was a maiden and determined to sate his passion with her essence. Somewhere in
the back of his mind he knew that he could not, should not take her in the
literal sense and he was hoping that this would satisfy him enough.  He hoped
it would slake his thirst for the woman enough to allow him to gain some
semblance of control.