Warrior's Deception (18 page)

L
enora struggled to open her sleep-heavy eyes. Her mind registered several conflicting sensations. Gooseflesh prickled along her arm and neck, yet parts of her body glowed with warm, almost uncomfortable heat. She lifted her head to survey the problem and became disoriented. The furniture belonged in her father’s room, but the objects were all rearranged. The explanation for her fuzziness became apparent when she craned her neck for a look around the room.

She lay intertwined with Roen’s body. Her head rested on his shoulder, his arm under her head and across her chest. His large hand entrapped her breast possessively. Except for his muscular thigh draped across her hips, she wore no covering. Every blanket, pillow and coverlet had been stripped from the bed during the night of lovemaking. Their heads were at the foot of the bed, which explained her feeling of misplacement. She was out of place, not the furniture.

Her eyes closed. She prayed that the scene was just a horrible dream. Memories of the intimate touches of her husband played across her mind’s stage. Tentatively, she peered at Roen through heavy lids. His eyes were closed, his breathing natural.

Asleep, minus the hardened sneer and granite eyes, he looked younger. Lenora wondered what had turned him into such a heartless individual. Years of battles and wars, no doubt. His hair fell over his eyes, and she moved to brush it away, stopped, then gave in to her fancy. The white blond strands felt silky and soft, like Silver’s mane. She placed her hand on his chest and felt the light sprinkle of crisp curls that covered his chest.

His lips twitched as her finger meandered down the line of curls. Her breath stopped, her finger ceased its motion The steady up-and-down pattern of his chest resumed. He did not awaken. An alarm blared in her head, warning her to quit her exploration, but curiosity consumed her. Twice she had been with him and never able to really see what a naked man looked like. She would remain ignorant no longer.

Easing away from the tangle of their limbs, she tried to get a full look. Old scars crisscrossed his arms and torso. His legs and knees showed signs of battles, old and new. The object of her quest remained hidden from her view. Still too close, she scooted farther away. His arm released her and he rolled over to his stomach.

“Drat,” she whispered loudly. Her fingernail tapped impatiently on his back. He shrugged it off and readjusted himself on the bumps in the mattress. An inspired plan caused her to smile. She scratched her fingernails lightly down his back toward his buttocks. Roen squirmed and began to turn over. Lenora waited, her eyes riveted to his lower abdomen. He scrunched up his knees in a fetal position, obscuring her vision once more.

“Damn.” Her hand clapped over her mouth so tight she could barely breathe. This whim did not constitute a wish to spend the rest of her immortal life suffering in Hades. A hasty sign of the cross and a fervent prayer of penance absolved her of the small sin. Bending her elbow, she propped her head up with her hand. Sunlight flooded the room, the beams straining to reach every corner. “By the Blessed Virgin!” Lenora hopped up, vaulted over Roen’s sleeping form and ran to the window.

Sounds from the bailey floated up to her through the arched opening. She could make out the tiny dots of sheep in the far meadow, the serfs working in the fields. The steady blow of the blacksmith’s hammer clanged in her head. Mortified, she rested her head against the rough stone arch.

“Are you always so energetic in the morning?”

She turned back toward the bed. Roen’s eyes rested on her and lingered down her body. The heat of his gaze made her aware of her naked state.

Lenora grabbed one of the discarded sheets from the floor and wrapped it around her. “Do you have any idea of the hour?
The sun is high in the sky. Everyone is already up and about. We’ve missed the morning meal and the nooning break must be soon.” She stooped and began to pick up the pillows and blankets from the floor.

“So? Come back to bed, or did you get a chance to see everything you wanted?”

“You were awake! Oh, you are the most devious man alive.” She flung a pillow at him.

He caught it and pitched the cushion back in one smooth swing. It hit Lenora on the top of the head. In retaliation, she threw a pillow back and wadded the blankets up to toss at him, also. Laughing, Roen spilled from the bed and pounded her with one of the down-filled bolsters. She pelted him across the side and face with another. The sound of tearing cloth came from both cushions, and feathers exploded, covering the floor, Lenora and Roen.

Weak from laughter, she sank to the floor with a hand clutching the bed sheet to her chest. Roen stood above her, naked except for the coating of goose feathers. She paused when she saw his organ. The length of his manhood terrified and thrilled her. She tore her gaze away and met her husband’s dark aquamarine eyes. Passion flared in the depth of his gaze.

“Nay, we cannot. ‘Tis the middle of the day.”

His answer was to drop to her side and tear the sheet from her bosom. The torridness of his gaze caused her breasts to tighten, and her body rejoiced at the anticipated pleasure. A blush covered her face and traveled down her chest.

They lay amidst the rumpled coverings and the soft, snowlike down. He blew gently on her face and brushed away a feather caught on her lashes.

“Roen, to satisfy one’s lust in the middle of the day is not proper.”

“I know.” His lips began to nibble her ear.

“Then I will probably like this very much.” Lenora sighed and succumbed to her body’s and her husband’s desires.

Roen heard the commotion outside the door. He had expected this moment since early morn. His hand pulled a velvet cover across Lenora’s nakedness. She frowned in her sleep when
he moved from her embrace. He tucked the cover around her and gave her a light kiss.

Her hair tumbled about her head, a delightful tangle of curls and feathers. Her skin glowed from his lovemaking like a golden statue come to life. Last night had been magnificent; they had coupled three fiery times. ‘Twould be enough for any man, yet this morning when she touched him, the fire of his lust rekindled. His arousal was just as strong the last time as it had been the first. The heady night of passion made what must come even more difficult.

He rose from the floor and pulled on his tunic and hose. Heedless of the haste required, Roen etched the image of his sleeping wife in his mind. This picture and the memories of last night would have to satisfy him for the rest of the lonely nights ahead. From his pocket he pulled a scrap of stained white cloth. With reverence he placed it among the coverlets on the bed.

Roen opened the door to his bedchamber and gentled the sound of the closing door. His wife needed her rest to face the sorrow that would soon come her way.

“Get your hands off of me. I am a noble-born lady. I’ll have you flogged for this,” Matilda screeched at the man stationed outside the newlyweds’ door. She turned her wrath on Roen as he stepped into the hall. “You murdered my brother-in-law.”

Roen gripped the hysterical woman’s upper arm and propelled her down the stairs, away from Lenora’s hearing. He motioned for his man to remain on guard. “Tell me when my wife wakes. Bring her straight to me.”

“Aye, bring her to him so he can fill her ears with lies. Don’t think you’ll get away with this. The king will hear of this atrocity.” Matilda continued to rant, her voice rising and falling in pitch.

“Tell him what you want, but leave this castle now.” They reached the bottom step and found Beatrice and Hamlin waiting by the hearth. His men stood uneasily around them. The knights of Sir Hywel mingled about the room. They eyed him and his guardsmen with suspicion.

“Hamlin, were my orders carried out?”

“Aye, Roen, to the letter. Sir Edmund’s stallion returned a few minutes ago.” Hamlin hesitated, then added, “The horse was riderless. I’ve sent no men to look for him as you directed.”
Hamlin lowered his voice. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Roen shook his head, “’Twas never a question of my wants, but of Sir Edmund’s. I promised the old man he would die in the saddle, not wasting away as an invalid.”

“Do you see? He admits his treachery! Sir Hywel, I command you to slay this man and avenge your lord.” Matilda swept her arm out and pointed her long bony finger at Roen.

Sir Hywel instead looked at the stairs behind her. The room hushed. Roen knew without turning who stood upon the steps. His guard rushed ahead, an apologetic look on his face. “My lord, your lady.”

“What goes on here?” Lenora demanded. Roen turned to answer. He could see the confusion in her eyes and hear the fear in her voice. She tied and retied the belt of her robe.

“You’ve been fornicating with your father’s murderer.” Matilda’s shrill voice caused Roen to squint his eyes. “He kept you entertained on your back while he arranged to rid himself of Sir Edmund.” His wife’s eyes widened.

“What has happened to my father?” She raced down the steps and stood in front of him. He wanted to lie and tell her everything was fine. To sweep her up in his arms and return to the sanctuary of their bedroom. Instead, he answered, “He’s dead.”

Roen caught her in his arms as her knees gave way. Tears streamed from her grief-filled eyes.

“Nay, how could this be?”

“Because your husband had him murdered,” Matilda proclaimed. Her obvious joy at Lenora’s pain bordered on obscene. For the first time in his life, Roen seriously considered striking a woman.

“Lenora, sit down. I’ll explain.” He settled her on a bench and held her hands in his. “Your father begged me to allow him to die with dignity. He wanted you to remember him as a strong, healthy man, not an invalid. The night you agreed to marry me, he told me of his plans. He rode out on Jupiter early this morning and died like a warrior.”

Lenora stared at him in shock. She recoiled from the touch of his hands. “You agreed to this? Why didn’t you tell me? Sir Hywel, order a search party.”

“Nay.” Roen spoke with a gentle but firm tone. “Your father rode deep into the wood and requested his death be a private affair. I gave him my word his last orders would be fulfilled.

“But I could have stopped him!”

“Perhaps this time, but what of the next, or the time after? The man had pride—you yourself told me. Do you think he really wanted to waste away in front of your eyes? To have you see him die a little every day?”

“Pretty lies. I tell you he planned it,” Matilda screeched at her niece and the knights. “Now there is no question as to who is lord here. Everything has fallen into his lap quite well, even the daughter of the keep.”

She grabbed Beatrice’s hand and pulled her to stand in front of Lenora. “Why do you think he insists on keeping my daughter here? To be your lady-in-waiting? Aye, he has her waiting, to fill his bed when you’re swollen with child. Look at her and tell me he would want you when Beatrice is around. If she had been next in line to inherit, suffer no doubt, ‘twould be Beatrice he kept in bed till the noon sun rose, not you.”

Lenora didn’t answer. The hall waited in silence, even Matilda. A childhood memory flashed. She had climbed the big oak, dared by her brother. Determined to reach the top, she ventured out onto a weak branch. The sharp crack of it breaking, the vision of the fast-approaching ground, her scream all resounded in her mind. Then her father’s arms caught her, saved her. He simultaneously scolded her and hugged her, meted out a punishment for her foolish act and thanked God for sparing her. Last night, she could have repaid the debt to her father, saved him from an unwise decision.

Her eyes met Roen’s. He had promised to be like the lifesaving arms of her father; instead he proved to be the weak branch, catapulting her into misery.

“Lady Lenora?” Sir Hywel stood near her. Sharp, focused eyes asked a silent question. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword. In unison, all her knights assembled widened their stances in preparation for battle.

Neither Roen nor his men moved. Weaponless, her husband waited. Hamlin gently pushed Beatrice toward the stairs. Matilda scurried away from her position near Roen and Lenora.

Lenora wanted to scream, to cry, to strike the giant in front of her hard enough to bring him to his knees. He stood there, impassive, uncaring that he had just helped to deprive her of her father. Yet she must put aside her wants. Woodshadow must come first. Destroy Roen now, and she left the keep vulnerable to a takeover by another, perhaps worse tyrant. Nor could she doubt his orders. Either action would put Woodshadow in a vulnerable position.

“Roen de Galliard is my husband, Lord of Woodshadow.” The statement answered her seneschal’s question. Still, he kept his hand on the pommel of his weapon. “All his orders are to be carried out as directed. Now leave us.” Lenora’s voice echoed in the silence.

“My lady, I do not think that is wise,” Sir Hywel cautioned.

“Leave us.”

The elder knight gave her a curt nod and marched from the hall, followed by his men. Roen’s guard stood their ground. Their leader did not remove his gaze from his wife’s face but waved them off with his hand. The knights retreated, escorting Beatrice and Matilda from the hall. The servants melted from the room like a morning fog, disappearing into the recesses of the castle.

Lenora could not remember the room ever being so empty, so devoid of life. No dogs searched for scraps, Tyrus did not try to hide under a table or behind a pillar to catch a nap. Even the hearth fire burned silently. The great hall echoed with the absence of life, but overflowed with betrayal.

She rose and sought to find the man of last night. No laugh wrinkles creased his eyes, he made no movement to touch or to comfort her. Worse, he showed no remorse.

The grief in her heart made her speak plainly. “If I had the strength I would call you out myself and thrust a sword through your heartless chest. Alas, I do not possess it and your death would only lead to more suffering for my people.”

“’Tis not as she says.” Roen’s quiet voice cut through her threat. “Matilda is wrong.”