Twilight Magic (27 page)
Noblewomen did
not
marry commoners. Descendants of the legendary house of Pendragon did not bind themselves to Flemish peasants. So he would give Emma what she wanted and pray to God some Welsh prince made her happy.
Hoping his voice wouldn’t reveal his distress, Darian managed to say, “Then we should make for Canterbury.”
“Earl William will not mind?”
“He gives me leave to settle our affairs.”
“I suppose we should be grateful for his understanding.”
Darian decided Emma didn’t need to know everything that had happened at Wallingford, especially how harshly William had reacted to his disobedience.
“ ’Twill take some time for me to regain Earl William’s full respect and trust.”
And were he to be completely honest, his trust in his fellow mercenaries had been shaken, too. Even while they’d eaten together, gone out on patrol, shook dice, he’d wondered which one had taken his dagger out of his pack. All the while at Wallingford, he’d kept his boots on with the dagger securely tucked inside.
Had any of them noticed? He would wager they all did.
“Earl William will not take long to again give you his trust,” she stated with more confidence than he felt. “You are a man of your word, Darian. He knows this. He is also aware of your sense of honor and duty. I predict ’twill take little time for him to realize you are all that you were before I meddled in your life.”
Emma had no idea of what her meddling cost him. “You meddled me out of a noose. Have I thanked you for that yet?”
Emma smiled. “Not as yet. Oh, my, I expected the priest’s hut to be nice, but not
this
nice.”
The hut was actually a small manor built of stone nestled amidst a small copse of trees. Oak doors graced the entrance, and white shutters elegantly covered the windows.
Darian put key to lock and lifted the latch, opening the door to a graciously appointed room. A large table sat in the center of the plank floor, surrounded by four armed, beautifully carved chairs. Beside the stone hearth sat a full woodbox. Against the far wall was a large bed, the thick mattress covered in deep blue velvet to match the drapes on the rods supported by four thick corner posters.
“If this is the accommodation a priest enjoys, perhaps I should consider taking vows!”
Emma laughed as she looked around. “It is nice, is it not? Large but not grandiose, sizable but yet snug and inviting. You should be very comfortable here for the night.”
Snug cottages and welcoming smiles. Impossible yearnings.
Darian tossed the key on the table. “Better than a tent.” “I should think so,” she commented, then tilted her head. “You slept in a tent at Wallingford?”
“On a folded-up blanket, listening to Thomas snore. At least tonight I will have quiet—and heat.”
“But will you not miss the company? Having someone with whom to share your meals or... toss dice with?”
He’d prefer to share his meals with her. “Tossing dice helps pass the time on a rainy night. Not much else to do when trapped in a tent.”
“Do you often win?”
“Not against Thomas, which is why I rarely let him talk me into playing. Why?”
“Merely curious.”
Wondering why the devil she should be curious about his dicing habits, Darian scrunched down at the hearth and began to pull wood from the box, arranging it for a fire. Behind him, Emma pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Darian, when we apply for the annulment, if I must admit to lying about your being with me the night of de Salis’s murder, your neck might end up in that noose.”
“I think not,” he said, and finished building and lighting the fire while he told her of the conclusions he and William had reached.
With the tale over and the fire burning brightly, he dusted his hands and turned around to find her frowning deeply.
Hoping to reassure her, he said, “If William confirms his suspicion over who took my dagger, and we can prove Bishop Henry’s men killed de Salis, I need fear no noose.”
“That has been the key all along, has it not? To learn who took your dagger?”
“Aye, which means I should have focused on my fellow mercenaries instead of on de Salis. Problem was, I did not want one of them to be involved.”
“There is also the matter of the bishop’s dead soldiers. If any of the men we... disposed of in the clearing were returned to Winchester Palace, Bishop Henry may find a way to punish you for those deaths.”
“He is welcome to try, but for those deaths I have a trustworthy witness to what transpired. You. Now, if you are ready, I will walk you back to the abbey gate. The abbess expects you for supper.”
She glanced at the door. “I do not believe I am ready.” He’d seen that look in her eyes before, at Hadone, just before she’d begged him to take her with him to London, fearful he might leave her behind.
“I will be here on the morn, Emma. My horse is in the abbey’s stables. You can sleep in his stall, if you wish, to ensure I do not leave for Canterbury without you.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “That did not concern me. ’Tis just that I would rather spend the night here, with you.”
And there he went, flying up to heaven again. “Likely Mother Abbess would come marching out here herself to drag you back inside.”
“Well, we
are
married.” Emma got up and sauntered toward him. “Mother Abbess was also the one to point out to me that the Church does not approve of men who keep themselves from their wives, so she has no right to keep me from you.”
She moved with the grace of a swan, her hands clasped behind her back, her bosom firm and high and enticing.
He had no intention of resisting temptation if the woman persisted. Hellfire, if Emma had accepted his offer to remain married, he’d have had her in the bed and on her back by now. So why did he feel obligated to remind Emma she dallied with a man who couldn’t compare to a Welsh prince?
“We will not be husband and wife much longer. Canterbury is only four days away.”
Four days left to wish for that which he couldn’t have, to long for a life that couldn’t be.
She didn’t stop until she pressed up against him, her arms snaking around his waist, her eyes filled with desire.
“Then we have four days. You are still my husband in the eyes of the Church and king. I missed you, Darian. I missed you so very much.”
What could he do except enfold her, kiss a mouth ripe for his kiss. Over and over, he dipped into her sweet mouth, his passion rising, indulging in a fantasy he had no business entertaining.
She’d missed him, but not for the reason he might have hoped. She wanted him, not out of love but because she’d missed the pleasure he could give her.
And, damn, if that was all she wanted from him, then he’d make the coupling so memorable she would forever compare all other men to him and find them wanting.
Breathing raggedly, he removed her circlet and veil. “How much time have we before you must return for supper?”
She tugged the laces of his tunic. “Enough, if you hurry.”
He pulled off her bliaut and chemise as one. “I do not like hurrying with you. You are a morsel to be savored, not a quick tidbit.”
Her smile turned saucy. “I might like being a tidbit.” Darian toed off his boots; Emma eased her beautiful bare arse onto a chair to remove hers, then slowly, sensually, slid her fingers down her legs to remove her hose.
He couldn’t get out of his breeches fast enough to suit him, his male parts aching and his penis so hard it hurt.
Her approving inspection increased the pressure in his loins. Morsel to be savored or no, he wasn’t going to last long if he didn’t rein in his nigh out-of-control desire.
Darian had almost regained domination over his passion when Emma stood up, all creamy skin and luscious curves, all his for the next little while.
She stared at the male part he strove to restrain. “I was right when I informed Mother Abbess of your prowess.”
Though stunned, he inflated, just a bit. “You talked to Mother Abbess of our affair?”
She padded toward him, the fire’s light flickering over her skin in an alluring swirl of light and shadow.
“One of the grounds for annulment is male impotence.” She wrapped her warm, cunning hands around his penis. “ ’Twas necessary to assure her you suffered no physical impairments. Indeed, were I to describe to her how long, and thick, and firm your phallus is, she would likely envy me its use.”
He cupped her breasts, which fit his hands perfectly, so willing to answer her siren’s call he turned a deaf ear to all but the sound of her voice and the silkiness of her skin beneath his fingertips.
“Too bad for the abbess, then, because I want no one but you.” Then she squeezed him gently, the pressure sublime. “Have a care, Emma, or you will be a mere crumb instead of a tidbit.”
She whispered, “Missed me, did you?”
“Can you not feel how much?”
In answer she opened her hand and swirled a fingertip around the tip. “Not wholly as yet.”
“Then allow me to show you.”
He swept her up and crossed the floor to toss her onto the blue velvet coverlet. The woman slithered back to the middle of the bed, her smile seductive.
Emma had refused his offer to remain married, but for at least four more days, she was his wife. This woman he would love forever would share what days and nights were left to them. How did one crowd a lifetime of memories into a mere four days?
With enthusiasm. Without regrets.
“You are no tidbit, Emma. You are the whole damn banquet.”
“Then come feast.”
Darian accepted the invitation with a feral growl, making her giggle until he pounced onto the bed and smothered her amusement with consuming kisses.
Emma mewed her approval, the small sound increasing his appetite. But knowing the final course worth the wait, Darian hushed his cravings, refusing to gorge.
He took his time to sip at and savor her mouth, to enjoy the sweet taste and revel in how hungrily she kissed him back. Without need for words, with venerable caresses and reverent touches, he worshiped her body from breasts to calves, until the lady refused to any longer endure his homage.
Darian gave Emma what she loudly begged for, hoping none of the nuns lurked outside the hut. Then he feasted in powerful, lengthy strokes, making good her claim of his potency. Was there any grander sight than Emma reaching her bliss and coming apart? Nothing in his experience could compare.
Her pulses gave him permission to give in to his screaming need, and joined to the hilt, he surrendered.
Spent and replete, determined not to dwell on the morrow or the days to come, Darian drew Emma into his embrace and defied fate to tear her out of his arms.
Emma missed supper. Morning came too early.
And the most direct and safest route to Canterbury ran through the heart of Southwark. They would have to pass Bishop Henry’s palace to cross over the London Bridge.
L
ate in the afternoon on the second day of their journey, Darian pulled the horse over to the side of the road.
Surprised and wary, Emma asked, “Is aught amiss?” “Nay, just a last rest before we reach London.” Emma slid off Darian’s horse, doing her utmost to hide her nervousness.
She’d managed to part from Nicole without becoming overset. Passing by the spot on the road where they’d been attacked and buried the wolfhound, Emma had kept her ire under control.
Spending her days and nights with Darian had proven delightful until his offer to forgo the annulment drifted through her thoughts and she wondered if she’d been wrong to refuse him.
Sweet mercy, she would have agreed in a trice if he’d given any sign that he
wanted
to remain married, that he didn’t offer out of a sense of obligation or duty. She didn’t want to be the cause for which he sacrificed his freedom.
She might love him, but he apparently hadn’t fallen in love with her. The marriage wasn’t meant to be, and while the knowledge distressed her, she’d managed to hide her emotions.
But now, as they neared Southwark, she was having trouble keeping her hands from shaking and her heart from pounding.
Darian dropped lightly to the ground and looked her over, something he’d done several times before to her delight. This time, however, no enticement or appreciation sparked his inspection.
“I beg pardon, Emma, but only a blind man could mistake you for a peasant.”
She glanced down at the rough-weave gray gown she now wore.
They’d slept in yet another barn last night, and the farmer’s wife delightedly traded one of her old gowns and mantle for Emma’s topaz bliaut and gauzy veil. The new owner hadn’t minded the faint traces of blood the laundress at the abbey hadn’t been able to remove. The rough-weave gown was warm and comfortable as long as she wore it over her chemise to protect her skin.
Emma considered the trade a good one.
“Perhaps, but I should not draw undue attention. A pity we cannot make your horse less noticeable.”
“People are more accustomed to seeing horses on the streets of Southwark than a noblewoman, particularly at this time of day.”
Darian had timed their arrival, believing the safest time to pass through Southwark was just before nightfall, when the shops were closing and most everyone was more concerned in gaining a safe haven for the night than in other people’s business. When the bishop’s guards who patrolled the streets should be more interested in their supper and evening entertainments than closely inspecting whoever wished to cross London Bridge.
His plan sounded reasonable, and since she had no other plan to offer—other than abandoning the trip to Canterbury—she hadn’t voiced an objection.
He reached beneath her cloak’s hood and tugged forward the mantle that covered her hair. By the time he was done wrapping and tucking, she could barely see, much less breathe.
She grabbed his wrists to halt further arranging. “I cannot breathe.”
“What?”
Emma pulled the mantle away from her nose and mouth. “I need to breathe.”
“Oh. Beg pardon.”
“Pardon granted. I am not the one Bishop Henry is most anxious to dangle from a rope. You should hide
your
face.”