Yearning Heart (9 page)

It is sad we cannot have the ones we love
, Rebecca thought.
Malvina loves Sir Stephen, but if he loved the tall, auburn-haired woman, why did they not marry? He does not care that I do not say I love him, and he never tells me he loves me.

She sighed.

At least, we do not lie to each other. But she wondered at the odd emptiness inside her just the same.

* * * *

The weather improved and Rebecca worked with Aubin in the garden, cutting away dead brambles and dragging the summer's trash into neat piles to be hauled behind the outbuildings. Dead rosebushes along the tope of the stone fence needed to be removed to allow for new spring vines, and she had climbed on a box to pull them away.

“Rebecca! What the devil are you doing up there?” The boom of Sir Stephen's voice was unexpected.

Surprised, she whirled and her foot slid over the edge of the box. She tried to catch the top of the wall but succeeded only in grabbing the bush she was clipping. She gave a cry as dry thorns ripped the palm of her hand as she tumbled into Stephen's arms.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, holding her close.

She whimpered.

“My hand.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she stared into his face so close to hers. “Oh, Stephen, I am happy to see you.” Her arms went around his neck, and she snuffled into his collar before giving him a teary smile.

He stared for an instant into tear-brightened blue eyes, and then kissed her hard on the mouth.

“Let me see your hand.” He stood her down and examined her palm. He picked several thorns from the soft skin, and then kissed it. Blood stained his lips. “Come, Rebecca, let us attend this.”

Inside the great hall, Malvina hurried to meet them.

“Sir Stephen, no message came you were to arrive. Your room...”

“ ‘Tis not important, Malvina. Bring ointment for Lady Rebecca's hand.”

Malvina hesitated, and then turned away. Stephen had barely smiled at Malvina after all his time away from home.

“Come, Rebecca.” Stephen led her toward the front parlor. Once inside the room, he turned to her.

His mouth was bloodstained where he had kissed her hand. The sight of her own blood on Stephen's mouth sent a tremor of something akin to pain into her small breasts, and she felt them swell. They ached. She wanted to touch Stephen's mouth. Even more, she wanted his mouth on her aching breasts. Her eyes widened as she stared at him.

What's the matter with me? Without any effort at all she remembered the last time Stephen made love to her the morning before he left for London. Her body had ...

“Stephen?”

“The poultice, my lord,” Malvina said, handing him a soft cloth laden with thick ointment.

Without a word, Stephen placed the cloth over Rebecca's palm, rubbing gently to remove blood and any stray thorns remaining there.

“I will have food, Malvina,” he said, finally giving the maid a smile. He looked back at his wife. “Have you dined, Rebecca?”

“I am not hungry, but I will sit with you.” She smiled at Malvina and saw her blush before turning away. “You did not answer my question, Stephen,” she went on as he bound her hand.

“And what question is that, Rebecca?”

“Did you solve the royal problems?”

“I think not. Both are right and both are wrong. One mere man cannot hope to reconcile them.”

“But you are not a mere man, my lord, you...”

“Rebecca,” he said, “have you forgotten my name again so soon?”

“Forgive me, Stephen.” She half-curtsied and smiled. “You were gone so long I remember you only as ‘my lord.’ I will do better.”

“See that you do. Meanwhile, I will refresh your memory in other things.”

At his words, the heat returned to her body. She moistened her lips and wondered how to tell Stephen her feelings.

He had been looking at her hand, now he raised his head to meet a hot, liquid blue gaze from his wife. His body hardened instantly. Rebecca had never looked at him that way. He hadn't known she could. It was definitely the expression of a woman who wanted the man who held her.

He rose slowly, pulling her with him. “My lady.”

He'd never spoken to her in that tone of voice. It set her heart to pounding, her pulse to fluttering. Her body turned to liquid, hot liquid, and melted against him. He wrapped his arms around her, nudged her head back and stared into her half-closed eyes.

“You're mine, and I want you. Right now. I can't wait. I want inside of you, Rebecca, want to be wrapped around you, all of you.”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” Her arms were around his neck, her mouth seeking his.

When his lips crushed hers, hers parted, and his tongue darted inside, boldly in and out, touching off flames in secret parts of her that she didn't know could burn. She wanted his hands and mouth on every part of her. The bed rustled as they fell across it, Stephen holding her on top of him.

“Stephen, Malvina. Your food.”

“Can wait.” He pulled her blouse open. “I can't.” His mouth closed over her nipple. She shivered and began moving over him, her heated center rubbing against his thick arousal. His mouth moved to the other breast, and he sucked hard, drawing the small swollen flesh as far inside as he could get it. He slid his tongue over and around the nipple, strewed kisses across to the other side, sucked and pulled, kissed and sucked again.

“Stephen.”

He muttered something she didn't understand, and then he rolled over so that he was on top of her.

“Help me get you out of these clothes.” He struggled with hooks and buttons, and finally ripped her blouse away, yanking off the skirt and her underclothes. Then he sat back on his haunches and looked at her. His eyes started at her head, the rumpled hair, swollen lips, unfocused gaze. He bent to kiss her forehead, her nose, her mouth, trailed kisses down her throat, hesitated at her breasts. He couldn't resist them and ran his tongue across them again and again.

She shivered and felt hot between her legs. What was happening to her?

Stephen's caresses moved down across her flat stomach, kissing, licking, and torturing her. She moaned and reached down to tangle her hands in his thick hair. She didn't want him to stop, but was it right for him to kiss her thighs?

His mouth moved away from her, and she sucked in her breath, relieved that he'd stopped, but somehow disappointed.

It was then he put his mouth to her heated center and his tongue slid inside her.

She couldn't breathe. Her heart actually stopped, she knew it did. Then as he kissed and sucked and caressed with his tongue, she felt as though she were being lifted on a cloud, her body completely melted. Tremors shook her. She screamed and held his head tightly to her until she simply flew apart.

Then he was inside her, plunging in and out. A hand on each hip, he hung on as he drove into her. She had no strength to move, but he moved for them both. Even as she knew he was about to collapse on her, her own body reared up and demanded another release. She brought her legs around, locked them over his pumping hips.

“Now,” he said and plunged.

It was Stephen who shouted as he poured his seed into her, and she would have cried out if she'd had the strength as they catapulted off the earth and into a shattering unknown.

He lay on top of her, unable to move. She became aware of his weight, knew that he was still inside of her, and she wanted to keep him there.

She kissed his throat, running her tongue alongside his ear. He shivered and groaned.

“Will you do this to me again sometime?” she said.

He raised his head to stare at her.

“Rebecca.” He couldn't think of anything to say. He'd made love to her as he would to a more experienced woman—and she wanted it again.

He laughed and kissed her.

“Yes, my lady. Anytime you like.”

“Are you still hungry?”

“You satisfied my most ravenous appetite, but yes, I still need food.” He sat up. “I imagine Malvina is keeping the food warm.”

Rebecca blushed. It didn't seem right that Malvina should know when Stephen made love to her. But then, she was his wife. It was his right to make love to her anytime, anywhere, wasn't it?

Stephen made few demands on her as the months passed. Often, he was gone, acting as emissary for the king or in his position as the king's reeve, taking care of the vast kingdom. On his return journey, he stopped in Salisbury to go over progress on the new manor house being constructed there. When it was finished, he could then spend part of his time nearer to London and not have so far to travel when on his king's business.

When he came home to Glastonbury, he was preoccupied with things other than his wife and spent hours behind the closed doors of the large room at the front of the hall, working on books and papers. Rebecca didn't bother him, neither did she return to the locked bedroom. She went willingly into his arms now and looked forward to the times he made love to her, sometimes gently, sometimes as though he lost control as he had that one time when he'd bound her bloody hand. But he didn't mention it again.

* * * *

Spring and summer passed swiftly, and Rebecca spent her time riding Tor or in the garden with Aubin. She reveled in the giant-sized horse's acceptance of her, in his obvious enjoyment of their outings. In truth, she knew he endured her because of the choice morsels she brought him, but she preferred to deceive herself just as she did when Stephen came to her bed. As though it were for her alone, rather than satisfying a demanding male need. Then there was no further use of her. She did not know why this knowledge caused a small sadness in her, but it did.

Aubin had become as her shadow. Simple and kind, the big man watched after Rebecca as though she were a child rather than the lady of Sir Stephen's manor. She loved the outdoors, as did Aubin who cared naught to be inside thick walls whether the sun shone or cold mist swept in from the cliffs. He and Rebecca wandered the lonely, forbidding shores, and often their voices were raised in spirited ballads, off-key and raucous, startling the gulls and wild geese along the rocky span, their laughter free and uncaring.

* * * *

Stephen swung from atop Tor, ran his hand along the strong neck, talking to the big horse. They had galloped for miles, enjoying the brisk air of late fall, the misty smell of the water coming over Moon Cliffs. He had few chances to ride his favorite steed and had been afraid the horse would grow lazy and fat without exercise. But Tor seemed fit, seldom breathing hard unless they climbed many of the hills on his vast land holdings.

“Good boy,” he murmured as he brushed the sleek muscled body. He looked up as Bundy came in sight.

“I will brush Tor, my lord,” the boy said.

“I like brushing Tor, Bundy. You take care of him all the time and it does not bother me to work a bit.”

“Yes, my lord.” Bundy thought better of telling him he seldom brushed Tor. Rebecca performed that chore just as Sir Stephen was doing now. She took much care of the big stallion she loved to ride.

Stephen finished his task and gave Tor a pat on his rump, sending him into his stable. As he turned, he saw Rebecca walking towards him.

A year has changed the child, he thought. The clothing purchased that first week in Glastonbury was much tighter, hugging a still-small waist, but one at least an inch larger than a year ago.

Seventeen.

Was that her age now? He did not know her birth date. He frowned. He knew little about his wife. He knew her body, it was young and tender, and he still winced away from remembering when he took her that first time. It had to be. He had been long without a woman and was not interested in having a wife. But when Lord Oliver bargained for the return of his lands with a sixteen-year-old daughter, Stephen had suddenly become insane and agreed. Since they were married, it was senseless to not satisfy his natural needs with his own wife.

It was actually a big advantage having a wife at home. When he traveled to the courts in London or Troyes, he no longer had to give reasons for not wanting to sleep with willing ladies. He merely kept his hand with the wide gold band in evidence. It did not hinder all the invitations, but he claimed a deep love for his wife and his wish to remain faithful. Few believed him, but he cared not. He had no desire to play stud to their sexual desires.

He watched Rebecca now and recalled their lovemaking weeks ago when she'd surprised him with her wild response. Her body had been hot and wet and ready for him, and his complete satisfaction afterwards still brought a contented feeling inside.

Rebecca waved to him and started on a run down the hill. Her hair, loose and far below her shoulders, blew back from her thin face. The full skirt fit against her body as she ran into the wind. She was laughing, reaching out to him.

A strange tightness filled his throat, and before he realized it, his loins filled with hot desire for her. She flung herself into his arms, and he brought her tightly against him, pushing his hardness into her. He looked down into the bright blue eyes and saw them change. Her lips were parted and very pink over the edge of her teeth.

“Stephen?”

He bent to place his mouth over hers. He picked her up and carried her around to the back stall where fresh hay had been piled to feed the stock. He put her down and lay lightly on top of her, his body barely touching hers. She was pink and white, fresh and clean, like a just-bathed baby. Her mouth was warm and wet, her arms tight around him, eyes wide and expectant.

“Say you want me.”

Rebecca stared into the deep blue eyes so close to hers. Was this, then, what wanting was? This tightly urgent feeling in the bottom of her stomach, this coiling inside, ready to spring loose at Stephen's touch? At the entrance of his hard arousal into her body? Just like the other time when his mouth had touched her all over. Just like ...

“I w-want you, m-my lord,” she whispered. “Please do not be angry, my lord. I do not know how...”

Her voice drifted away as his mouth found hers and his hands moved with surety. He did not undress them but shoved clothing aside enough to allow his body to touch hers.