The Maiden and Her Knight (20 page)

Looking into her beloved face, he lifted his hips, thrusting deeper within her. Her eyes flew open. “Does it hurt?” he asked gently.

“No, it feels…it feels so…” She squirmed a little, wriggling in a way that inflamed him even more. “Good.”

At that, he could no longer restrain himself. He pulled her down and claimed her mouth as he began to buck his hips.

Breaking their kiss, Allis moaned and put her hands beside his head. The muscles of her body squeezed him as her pelvis rose and fell with his movements, matching his rhythm. He had never known a woman to respond with such wild, unbridled abandon, who loved with all her body and vitality, holding back nothing. Unrestrained. Free.

He wanted this to last forever—or at least until she
knew the joy of release first, but…he…could…not…wait.

Her name burst from his lips as he climaxed and wave after wave of euphoria washed over him. As she slowly collapsed against him, he could scarcely draw breath, and it was only moments later, as she lay nestled against him while he was still inside her, that he felt her body pulsating.

Slowly, slowly the world around him calmed. Everything returned to what it had been before—or nearly. The world became a blissful paradise in a shepherd's hut.

She shivered against him and he reached for her cloak. He tenderly tucked it around her, and kissed her forehead lightly. “I don't know what I have done to earn this reward.”

“You understand me, and so much,” she replied softly as she snuggled closer. “The loneliness I've felt, the weight of my duty and responsibility.” He felt her mouth form a smile. “And you are very handsome.”

“So you want me only for my looks? Oh, I am wounded to the quick!” he cried in mock despair, but really delighted by her drowsy merriment.

She laughed, the sound warm and domestic and altogether wonderful. “I'm sure you're very well aware of how good-looking you are. And if you were not before you came to Montclair, I daresay Merva told you.”

“I paid no attention to Merva,” he replied with feigned indignation.

“None at all?”

“No, not a whit.” A slow ache began in his shoulder, but he didn't want to move. Holding her close in such wonderful intimacy was worth a little pain.

She twisted a lock of his hair about her finger. “I
knew you were different the first time I laid eyes on you, but I fear even then, I underestimated you.”

He took her hand and brushed his lips over her soft palm. “What, because I can ignore a brazen serving wench?”

“That one, yes.” The rosy blush on her cheeks deepened. “You have been with so many women…”

He put his knuckle under her chin and raised her head, so that she had to look at him. “Allis, I have coupled with other women, yes. But I have never made
love
to any of them, not as I have with you.” His lips curved up into the sort of roguish grin he used to make in his carefree youth. “And not as I hope to keep making love with you for a very long time.”

She gave him a gloriously happy smile. “Well, sir knight, that is my intention, too.”

He chuckled softly. “Kiss me again, my love, and you will see how much I pay heed to any other woman at Montclair.”

She gladly did as he suggested. Passion stirred and infused the warmth surrounding them. Lazily he traced the edges of her lips with his fingertip, enjoying the euphoria and slowly building tension.

“Connor?”

“Yes,” he murmured as the pad of his finger slipped over her cheek and he studied the curves of her ear, which reminded him of other curves.

She shifted, catching his hand as she looked up at him, the regret on her face belying the desire burning in her eyes. “The rain has stopped.”

The quiet confirmed it, and he sighed with regret. “We must go, then.”

“Yes.” She eased herself away from him and pulled
her bodice back into place and retied the laces. “My gown is a wrinkled mess, but I can blame that on the weather.”

As he reached for his tunic, he surveyed the hut. “Alas, no featherbed for my first time with the woman I adore. I hope you are not disappointed.”

“Not at all, but I would have been had you made me wait any longer.” She shyly looked away, reminding him of the vulnerable woman beneath her strength. “Do you adore me, Connor?”

“Adore does not begin to describe how I feel about you,” he assured her as he dressed. “Worship?” He mused a moment as he put on his belt. “No, for I confess that my feelings for you are not strictly holy. To even imagine making love to an angel is blasphemous, and I assure you, Allis, I want to do more than imagine.”

“I would not want to be worshipped anyway. Even telling me you adore me makes me nervous,” she said as she picked up her scarf. “I am only mortal, after all, and far from perfect.”

“So am I—but then, I gather you don't adore me.”

She attached her barbette beneath her chin, drawing his attention to her beautiful blushing face. “If adoration means I don't expect you to have faults, you're right. I don't adore you. I love you, faults and all.”

“Faults? You've just made passionate love with me, and now you tell me I have faults?” he teased, tucking in a stray lock of hair for her, an excuse to let his fingertips caress her cheek again.

“You yourself keep telling me how unworthy you are, so surely you will not now expect me to believe you have none.”

He waggled his finger at her. “I begin to think you are too clever, my lady.”

She grabbed his finger and brought it to her lips. “Clever enough not to have forgotten that you like this.”

“Have a care, my lady,” he muttered as she once more sucked his finger into her mouth, sending a surge of hot desire through him. His body responded instantly, and with surprising strength, given that he had loved her only a short time ago. “Unless you want me to make love with you again.”

Her eyes gleamed with yearning, but she frowned. “I think the sun is coming out.”

“I think you're right again,” he acknowledged as he hoisted himself to his feet. He didn't need to look outside, for the sun shone through the wide crack in the door.

He picked up her cloak and put it over her shoulders, then he held out his hand to her. “Come, my love, we must leave our little palace.”

“Palace?” she asked as she took his hand. “I fear something has affected your eyesight.”

“Palace,” he confirmed as he pushed open the door and led her outside. “Because wherever you are is a palace to me.”

She laughed and leaned into him, an action as intimate as a kiss, as they picked their way across the wet grass to the horses.

“You can use that stump to get on Demetrius,” she noted, pointing.

“So may you to mount your horse, since I cannot assist you.” He smiled down at her with lascivious merriment. “But when my arm is healed, my dearest lady, I intend to use any excuse I can to touch you.”

“And I, you,” she vowed, her eyes aglow.

They mounted their horses and rode home in silence, needing no words. The branches and leaves dripped from the rain, but the sun shone through, dappling the path. The shadows shifted and danced, as if they were as happy as he.

Soon enough they reached the village. Allis straightened, obviously expecting the people out and about to greet the lady of Montclair.

They didn't. They didn't even look at them.

“I'm not liking the looks of this,” Connor muttered, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.

“Nor I.”

“What do you think it means?”

She didn't answer. She didn't have to, as he felt the stirring of his guilty conscience for another hasty act, and knew by her reddening cheeks that she was also reconsidering what they had done, if she was not actually ashamed. Although they were in love and secretly pledged to one another, what they had done was a sin.

Yet that was not the worst of it. The worst came when they entered the hall and found Lord Oswald, Auberan, Edmond and Isabelle waiting for them on the dais.

Along with Rennick DeFrouchette.

A
trickle of dread went down Allis's spine at the way everyone stood on the dais behind the scowling baron, as if arrayed against them—or held captive by him. Servants clustered in small groups around the hall and, like the villagers, they avoided meeting her gaze.

This was Montclair, not the baron's fortress, and he had no right to stand there like he was her sovereign.

She straightened her shoulders and walked regally toward him. Connor followed, and she was pleased he did not hang back, as if they need be ashamed. By rights, they should have waited for the marriage vows before making love, but they had not, and she was not sorry. She was glad—delighted, thrilled, ecstatic—that they had, and she would not regret it. She loved Con
nor, and he loved her. They would be married, and Rennick would not stop them. “Baron DeFrouchette, you have returned.”

“Obviously,” Rennick replied, running a scornful gaze over them. “Where have you been with this man?”

He tossed his wet hair off his high brow. He must have ridden through the rain, and had probably just arrived. His long, damp, black tunic was muddy at the hem, and he looked as bedraggled as Auberan in the river. And he could glower all he liked, but he couldn't frighten her anymore, especially when Connor came to stand beside her. “I was riding and happened to meet Sir Connor in the meadow by the river. It began to rain. We took shelter until the storm ceased. I didn't want to get wet through and fall ill, and it would have been dangerous for me by myself. Didn't the soldiers return and tell you where I was?”

“Yes, they did and—” Edmond fell silent at Rennick's sharp and censorious glance.

As if the baron were the master here. Her temper surged, full of fierce vitality, and her hands balled into fists. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Connor's angry expression. He said nothing, though, and that was the wisest thing to do. For now, he was still but a guest at Montclair.

With arrogant confidence, Rennick sauntered toward them. “The storm did not come up suddenly. I wonder, my lady, why you felt compelled to ride out when the weather was not promising.”

She spoke slowly and deliberately, glaring at him, letting him see her anger. She was the head of the family in fact, if not in law, and she would have him understand that. “Because I wished to.”

“Baron, my lady,” Lord Oswald began placatingly, “this discussion would be better conducted in private.”

“I see no need for discussion, unless the baron has a charge to make against me.”

Lord Oswald hurried down from the dais. “My lady, let us retire before things are said in haste that may be regretted.”

She glanced at Connor and he made a slight nod of agreement. Rennick saw their silent communication, and his scowl deepened.

Let him scowl. Soon he would have little power over them, once she asked Lord Oswald to be Edmond's guardian.

The small fear that had gnawed at the edges of her mind for the past few days crept out of the cage she had kept it in. What if Lord Oswald refused, and another man was chosen in his place? What if this other man favored Rennick? This was the barrier that had kept her from asking Lord Oswald to become Edmond's guardian the day after her father had died. With that dread haunting her, no matter how sure she felt that he would agree, she had avoided the question.

“I don't think Edmond and Isabelle need come, or Sir Connor, either,” Rennick said coldly.

She hesitated. He was right that Edmond and Isabelle should not hear this discussion, but Connor…Despite her yearning to have him with her, it would probably be better if he were not party to this conversation. Nobody yet knew the extent of their relationship, and although they might suspect, she didn't want to give them confirmation until things with Rennick were settled and done with. “Very well. Please stay here, Sir Connor.”

He looked about to protest, then nodded his agreement.

She headed for the solar and the other two men followed. As she climbed the steps, she began to marshal her arguments, for although she was absolutely determined to break the betrothal, Rennick was not going to be easy to persuade.

She entered the solar. The sight of her father's table, bare of parchments or candles unlike when he was well, made her throat tighten.
Marry a man who brings you laughter
. So he had said, and so she was going to do. Energized, she wheeled around and watched Rennick and Lord Oswald enter the chamber. As Lord Oswald closed the door, Rennick strode around the table and stood behind it as if it were his.

“What the devil were you thinking, Allis?” he charged as he splayed his hands on the table and glared at her. “You shouldn't have allowed yourself to be alone with him.”

She was the mistress here; he was not the master. She would be calm, serene—and immovable as a mountain. “I do not recall asking your opinion, Rennick.”

“Since I am betrothed to you, you will listen to it.”

“My father agreed to our marriage, Rennick, and now my beloved father is dead. There is a new head of the family of Montclair, and
you are not it
.”

Rennick slowly and scornfully smiled as he straightened. “I'm not?”

Fear slammed into her at his confident retort. Her stomach twisted and her knees trembled, but she would betray nothing of her dread. “No.”

“Who is?”

“Edmond, of course.”

“He is a boy and not of legal age. He requires a guardian.”

Rennick was so confident, so sure of himself! What did he know that she did not? A horrible trepidation that she had left this matter unsettled too long filled her as she turned toward Lord Oswald, who had stayed by the door. “I would ask Lord Oswald to be his guardian.”

“In his will your father named the baron to that position,” Lord Oswald replied.

Oh, dear God, not him! Not Rennick! Any man but Rennick!

“Oh, you didn't know?” Rennick taunted.

No, she had not known her father had made a will. He had never spoken of it. Yet how often had he voiced his wish for death? He was not simple in the head, only torn apart by grief, so she should have realized he would plan for that eventuality.

But
Rennick
…Suddenly she knew how it must have been. Rennick had suggested that himself. She could see him in her mind, looming over her father at that very table like an evil spirit, pouring his poisonous proposals in his ear.

And her father agreed because he had not known how cunning and ruthless Rennick DeFrouchette was. Because she, who prided herself on protecting her family, had kept too much from him.

Grasping at one hope, she couldn't keep the desperation from her voice as she addressed Lord Oswald. “He did so only because the baron had so much influence over him. You are well known at court. I'm sure the king would approve you and override the terms of my father's will.”

“Even Richard realizes there are some limitations on the king's power, my lady.” Lord Oswald replied so
calmly, it was as if he could not hear her need. Or as if he did not care.

“I have already been to Westminster.”

Dismayed, distressed, she faced Rennick again, to see the cold gleam of heartless triumph in his pale blue eyes.

He patted the purse hanging from his belt. “I have the confirmation of my guardianship of not only your brother, but you and your sister as well, in my possession. Did you not wonder why I was so long coming back to my
beloved?
” He infused that word with contempt. “I had important business to attend to while you were entertaining yourself with Sir Connor of Llanstephan.”

“I perceive this is becoming a lovers' quarrel, so I shall take my leave,” Lord Oswald murmured as he opened the door.

“No, my lord, please stay.” She hurried toward him, determined to detain him. His hand was on the latch, and she covered it with hers. She would not be alone with Rennick and his coldly exultant eyes. “It is not a lovers' quarrel. It is a legal one. My father was in no fit state to make a will or name a guardian. You saw him—you cannot deny that it was so.”

“I am no man of law, my lady, to answer that charge. Besides, has Baron DeFrouchette not assisted your father these many years? Does he not know the state of affairs in this castle and on this estate better than anyone else? I confess, my lady, I do not see why you are so upset. He is your betrothed. I should think it would be only natural for him to be named the guardian of you, your sister and your brother.”

Where had the kind, friendly Lord Oswald gone? Was he not her father's friend, and hers, too?

Then he looked down at her hand as if her fingers were leeches and she had her answer.

She snatched her hand away. This man was not her friend, but Rennick's. This man cared nothing for her, or her family. He had been a snake in their midst, worse even than Rennick, because she had trusted him.

“What has Rennick promised you?” she demanded.

Oswald's small, dark eyes glittered like obsidian jewels. “Why, nothing, my lady. It is the king who confirmed him, not I. Indeed, if I were to speak against the confirmation, perhaps I would be branded a dishonorable traitor.” Another look came into Oswald's eyes as he touched her cheek with his plump hand, a look even more disgustingly lascivious than Rennick's lust. “But then, such men seem to hold an appeal for you, my lady, so maybe it would be worth the risk, eh?”

Anger flared, hot and strong, and she slapped his hand away.

Oswald grabbed her by the shoulders. “Have a care, my lady, how you presume to treat me, and your betrothed. Every noble in England will agree that Rennick is the injured party here, given what you have done this afternoon.”

They could not know all that she had done. “Do you think the honor of the lady of Montclair is so easily stained?”

Oswald's gaze flicked to Rennick, who stood as silent and still as an effigy. “Does it matter exactly what went on? You have been alone for a considerable length of time with a man who is not your husband, or even your betrothed. Everyone in Montclair knows it. They saw you ride out and they saw the foot soldiers come back without you. They know you returned with the Welshman much later. However, this is none of my
province. This is for the bride and groom to discuss.” He shoved her back, then as calmly as if he was off to play chess, he strolled from the room.

“You see what you have done?” Rennick asked as the door banged shut. “You have brought shame upon your family.”

Rennick's taunting words revitalized her. She glared at him as she marched toward him. “You have what you wanted, control of Montclair. If you think I have behaved improperly with Sir Connor, break our betrothal.”

He shook his head.

Resolute and determined, she straightened her shoulders. “I
have
behaved improperly with Sir Connor—very much so. He is my lover.
Now
will you break the betrothal?”

She had always believed Rennick DeFrouchette to be a cold, unfeeling, greedy man without a heart to break. That he did not care for her except as the means to Montclair. But as she stood defiantly before him and watched his pale eyes glitter with warring emotions, she suddenly realized she might be wrong, and if he did possess a heart to break, she had just shattered it.

She felt a moment of genuine remorse, until he came from behind the table to circle her like a great beast of prey, his eyes cold and cruel.

“You are just like Richard, do you know that?” he demanded. “He, too, led me on, treating me as a friend and ally only to tell me when he was preparing for the Crusade that I had better stay at home. That I was not good enough to be in his retinue—me, Rennick DeFrouchette! And now you would pass me over for some disgraced, impoverished Welshman?” He halted in front of her and his gaze hardened. “Richard is very
impressed that I have earned the respect of the late earl of Montclair. At last he begins to see that he made a mistake passing me over. I will not have that altered, not after waiting all this time.” He grabbed her, pulling her inexorably closer. “I will have you for my wife and in my bed, Allis. There will be no more refusals, of anything I demand of you. With or without your love, which must be a worthless thing if you can give it to that Welshman, you will welcome me into our bed and do whatever I tell you. You will be my chatelaine and a credit to me—or all you do care about will suffer.

“And not just those you love, Allis,” he continued in a fierce growl full of rage and wounded vanity. “Connor has a brother and sister, too, does he not? Wales is not so very far away that I couldn't make my vengeance felt there, too.”

Oh, dear God. He meant it. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. She wanted to throw back her head and howl in agony, for Rennick would take out his heartbreak not in mournful sorrow or self-recriminations, but in vengeance. Her pride and confidence fractured, for she had made her family more vulnerable than her father ever had.

His hot, wet mouth slid along her cheek. “But all is not bleak and desperate, my beloved. I am a forgiving man, you see. We will still marry, and everyone will be safe.”

She shoved hard against his chest and stumbled back as every instinct, every impulse rebelled again that fate.

Nor would she leave her brother and sister in Rennick DeFrouchette's greedy grasp. Titles and riches were not worth such a life. “We will leave Montclair,
Rennick. Edmond and Isabelle and Connor and me. You may have it.”

He smiled with mocking scorn as he slowly, deliberately, crossed his arms. “What will Edmond think of this plan, Allis? Do you think he will agree to give away his inheritance? And pretty young Isabelle—do you think she will relish going off to the wilds of Wales and existing in poverty?”

“They will understand,” she declared, desperately hoping it would be so.

Rennick shook his head. “No, they will not. They will hate you and your Welsh lover for your selfishness.”