Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Her mind was working furiously. Miguel wanted her very badly, that much was obvious. Ryan wasn’t so naïve that she was oblivious to her feminine charms. Perhaps they would work on Miguel if she tried hard enough. Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way. But the plan forming in her cunning little mind was already nauseating her.

  “Perhaps you are right,” she said, trying not to sound too agreeable. “Perhaps I am being foolish.”

  Miguel wasn’t an idiot. Instant acquiescence more than likely had its price. “In what way?”

  Ryan turned away from him and went to the table that held the fine toiletries that Miguel had brought her. She picked up her brush and casually began to stroke her amber locks.

  “What I mean is that there is nothing I can do against you,” she said with quiet resignation. “All I have been thinking of is the wrong of this, when I should simply be grateful for my life.”

  Miguel walked up behind her, not too fast so he would not startle her. “It is only natural you would feel some resistance,” he said evenly. “I have, after all, taken you against your will. Your reluctance is justified.”

  Ryan’s heart was pounding in her ears and it was a struggle to maintain her courage. She knew, more strongly than she had ever known anything in her life, what she must do to save Dennis and herself; there was no question. You have been such an idiot all of this time, she silently scolded herself. Now is the time to be bold!

  “I have only known one man in my life,” she said, thinking her voice sounded queer and quivery. “My husband was the only man who… touched me. I do so fear the touch of another man.”

  Miguel could feel his loins grow hard at the mere thought of taking her. Timidly, he held out a hand, knowing that always before she had shunned him. But she sounded rather curious, and strangely receptive. He knew very well he should have been suspicious of her, but his lust had the better of him. His hand came down on her arm and he turned her around to face him.

  “Is that your only fear?” he asked softly. “Then it is no fear at all, truly. I will be a thousand times more gentle than d’Vant, I promise.”

  “Dennis!” her mind screamed, but she forced him from her thoughts. She could not accomplish this if his strong, beautiful face remained on her mind. Please understand that I am doing this to save you! Gazing into Miguel’s dark brown eyes, she had never felt so much fear or anticipation.

  “I know so little,” she murmured.

  “I would be more than happy to teach you.”

  “But I am afraid.”

  “Do not be.”

  She swallowed the bile in her throat. “Then… teach me,” she whispered.

  Miguel did not hesitate; it did not matter what her reasons were for her abrupt turn-about. He was confident he could handle anything her sly little mind might conjure up. All he knew was that he was finally touching her as he had dreamed of for weeks, and her young body was even more supple and delicious than he could have possibly imagined. More surprisingly, she seemed to be very aggressive and her hands moved over him, groping and feeling. Their lips were locked in a heated kiss, though he tried to press his tongue into her mouth and she refused. He thought it was perhaps because she was naïve about such kissing and did not push; it would come soon enough. But he found simply kissing her lips, closed mouth, to be somewhat unsatisfying and took to suckling her face and neck.

  “Mija,” he gasped. “Your skin is more intoxicating than the finest wine, more succulent than the sweetest fruits.”

  Ryan encouraged him, her hands moving to his hips and thighs. “Mmm,” was all she could manage to say, and even that had been an effort. What she really wanted to do was vomit.

  Miguel did not care that she would not, or could not, verbalize. He touched her breast and she yelped so he moved his hands around to her back and shoulders. It was the most respectful he had ever been to any woman and he almost laughed at himself for it. But Ryan was a tigress, squirming against him and raking him with her hands. Her small fingers were everywhere, almost touching his manhood but then dancing away again, or almost touching his buttocks but moving away at the last moment. She was crazy with her hand movements and it was literally driving him mad.

  “Ryan, Ryan, I must have more,” he said against her cheek. “Come, let us move to the bed.”

  She did not move, nor did she pull away. She was still ransacking him with her hands. Miguel allowed her to continue for a few moments longer before gently trying to direct her toward the bed. Suddenly, Ryan pulled away.

  “No, Miguel,” she said, her face flushed and her eyes bright. “Not until we are properly wed.”

  Miguel raised an eyebrow. “But…”

  She shook her head firmly and put some distance between them. “My husband did not bed me until after we were married. It is the proper thing to do, and I ask that you respect my wish… please.”

  He wanted to argue, but thought better of it. Engorged and disappointed, he sighed. “If that is your desire,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He did not want to send her into a frigid state again when he had only just thawed her out.

  Ryan was facing the wall again and he saw her amber head bob. “It is,” she said. “I… I am sorry for my display. It was inappropriate. I do not know what came over me.”

  He did not know what had come over her, either, but he truthfully did not care. “Apologies are not necessary,” he said. “It was but a foretaste of the delights to come.”

  She did not want to spoil the mood by telling him the entire event had disgusted her. “Would you please leave me now?” she asked. “I would like to be alone. I have a great deal to think about.”

  Miguel complied. The cell grate was slightly open and he pushed it wide, pausing a moment to gaze at her still, pensive figure. She was a lovely, unpredictable creature, and he looked forward to warming her to his touch. He was very thankful that he had managed to make it as far as he had this day.

  Ryan heard the cell grate close and the automatic lock fall back into place. Miguel himself had rigged an automatic locking device when Ryan had repeatedly made attempts to rush the unlocked grate. A key was needed to open it, but it could lock by itself when shut. Ryan stood still, listening to his footsteps fall away, her heart thumping loudly in her ears. She could hardly believe what she had done, and the excellent fortune it had netted her.

  There had been a reason to get her hands on Miguel, and passion had not been her motivation. She had needed to touch him to search for something, and with the probing movements disguised as lust, she had.

  Opening her palm, an iron key reflected dimly in the candlelight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Launceston

  She did not ever think she would see it again. The dark stone walls and tall motte of Launceston looked more foreboding than she could recall. She spent her childhood here with many happy memories, and it always seemed like a bright cheery place when it wasn’t being besieged by St. Austell. How horrible St. Austell had seemed when she was young, a place where a devil named Rodrick d’Vant spewed his wicked spells. Now Launceston was the place where the devil lived, and St. Austell was one step away from Heaven. It was so peculiar how things had changed.

  Lyla’s palfrey plodded along the road and the brisk winter breeze was steady in her face. Her mouth was dry and her heart, thumping steadily, created an odd rhythm in her ears. She could hardly believe she was returning to the scene of her most terrible crime. Around her, ten Launceston soldiers rode unhappily; they had come for Douglas de Lohr, but had received Lyla de Bretagne instead.

  It was by her own choice. Patrizia, still alive yet crippled on her right side, begged her not to go to Launceston when the soldiers appeared demanding de Lohr. They hovered in the ward of St. Austell, as an uncertain little group in the midst of the troops that were now comprised of St. Austell men and the king’s army. They refused to leave, stating that Douglas de Lohr had been summoned by the earl and they could not return to Launceston without hi
m. Lyla was practically the only one left at St. Austell who knew what had happened to Thomas and Douglas and the rest of them, and took it upon herself to return to Uncle Richard and explain everything. There was simply no choice in her opinion, so she told the soldiers that she must appear in de Lohr’s place. They refused, she insisted, and soon enough she was riding among them back to Launceston. She could hardly believe she had managed to convince them, but she had.

  She did not stop to think that she was confusing Dennis’ careful plans or putting her own life in jeopardy. Everything had gone so awry that she felt that she needed to make the attempt to reason with Richard. She thought that perhaps she could accomplish what Dennis, Rodrick and years of war had been unable to do. Perhaps she could achieve peace. It was a naïve, if not a noble dream.

  She was terrified and glad to be home once again. Launceston had a certain smell to it, one of dampness and burnt food, and it gave her a tremendous amount of comfort. As she dismounted her palfrey and went into the keep, everything was so familiar and soothing that she nearly forgot her fear. Servants greeted her, and the familiar stench of the keep was heavy in her nostrils. I am home, she thought, as she wandered about the familiar rooms, almost happy to be back. That was, until she saw the Earl of Cornwall’s surprised face.

  He wasn’t glad to see her, not in the least. In fact, he grabbed her by the arm and threw her unceremoniously into his solar.

  “Uncle Richard!” she cried. “I come bearing news. You must hear me!”

  Richard was beside himself; he ripped off the leather belt from his tunic and began haphazardly whipping Lyla with it as she cowered on the floor. “Evil… wench!” he gasped. “How dare you return here! How dare you speak to me as if nothing is awry!”

  He wasn’t really hurting her, but he had managed to get a couple of good licks in. “You sent for Douglas and Uncle Thomas,” she said, her hands up as she tried to defend herself. “They cannot come. No one can come!”

  He saw that he was inflicting little damage. Turning the belt around, he smacked her with the buckle and she screamed, darting away from him. “Why can’t Douglas come?” he skipped after her, swinging the belt. “What have you done with him?”

  Lyla dodged under his desk. “I have done nothing!” she cried. “He and Uncle Thomas are dead!”

  The earl’s belt stopped in midair. He froze, his dark eyes wide on Lyla as she cowered beneath his desk. “Dead?” he repeated, suddenly dazed. “What happened?”

  Lyla was absolutely terrified and the truth came spilling out. It never even occurred to her how much damage she was creating by gushing all that Dennis and Ryan had struggled to hide. “He attacked and killed Uncle Thomas and tried to kill Ryan, too,” she stammered. “Dennis killed him to protect Ryan.”

  The earl suddenly could not breathe. He groped at his desk for support and the belt fell to the floor. “He killed Thomas?” he echoed as if trying to force himself to believe. “And he tried to kill Ryan?”

  Lyla nodded shakily. “Dennis had to protect her!”

  Richard absorbed it all. Odd how he was still shocked at Thomas’ death, even though he had ordered it. In fact, he would have been angry if the man had still lived. But Ryan… he did not know why Douglas had attacked Ryan. That had never been a part of his mission. Of course Dennis had acted properly in protecting his wife. But it was too much, too fast, and the earl was having difficulty grasping everything.

  “Where is Dennis?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  Lyla did not want to answer. She’d already said too much and did not want to make matters worse. But her silence was met with a roar of frustration and in the next moment, the earl was grabbing the fireplace poker, dirty with soot, and thrusting it at her under the table. Lyla screamed.

  “Tell me where d’Vant is!” Richard howled. “Where is he?”

  Lyla’s hands were getting dirty as she dodged the dirty poker. “He’s…!”

  “Where?”

  He thrust particularly hard and gored her lightly in the arm, drawing bright red blood. Lyla screamed again, realizing how terribly determined he was to wring the information from her. Her terror spilled over and she heard herself telling him everything and more.

  “He’s in Wales fighting for Henry!” she sobbed. “He promised to fight in Wales in exchange for garrisoning St. Austell for the king. He said he needed protection against you and that you would not dare attack St. Austell again if it belonged to the king!”

  Richard’s momentary shock vanished. “So it belongs to my brother now, does it?” he seethed. He thrust the poker at her again and this time grazed her wrist. “What else do you know, you silly goat?”

  Lyla cried and struggled. “That you have tried to destroy Dennis’ peace alliance all along,” she wept. “Dennis knows about Miguel and the attack. He knows everything!”

  A cold, mean anger settled over the earl. He stood there a moment, poker still in hand, wondering how much his brother knew of his treachery. It was probably everything, if he had decided to put crown troops at St. Austell at d’Vant’s request. They did not trust the Earl of Cornwall one bit, but that was of little consequence. Trust did not matter any longer, only the wicked glitter of gold and currency, which Henry was in desperate need of.

  With a grunt of disgust, Richard tossed the poker aside and reached beneath the desk, pulling Lyla out by her curly hair. She screamed and fought, but he slapped her a couple of times and reduced her to a whimpering mass. Shoving her into a chair, he hovered over her.

  “Where is Ryan?”

  Lyla sniffled, oozing tears and saliva. “Miguel has her.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “Aye.”

  He did not ask her how she knew. So far, she knew everything perfectly and he wasn’t about to question her knowledge. So Miguel had Ryan, Dennis was fighting in Wales… things were not as bad as one would think. He had sent a missive to Henry a few days ago and knew, if he paid the man enough money, that he would withdraw his troops from St. Austell. Richard smiled to himself; no, things were not as bad as he might of thought. In fact, they were not bad at all. They weren’t exactly to plan, but apparently the end result would be the same.

  “Why, Uncle Richard?”

  Lyla’s soft voice broke into his train of thought and he looked at her. “Why what?”

  Her bright eyes were red, her cheeks flushed where he had slapped her. “Why did you do this?”

  Richard drew in a long breath. “You will not question my motives.”

  “Someone has to,” she said insolently, wondering if he was going to slap her again. “Why did you hire Miguel to attack St. Austell?”

  “That is none of your affair.”

  “But you did do it. Did you want so badly to destroy St. Austell, or did you hate Dennis that much?”

  “It is not a matter of dislike or destruction. It is business.”

  “Business?”

  “Money, Lyla, pure and simple.”

  “Then you really did do all of the terrible things they said.” She shook her head sadly. “How could you do this to Ryan? She loved you!”

  Richard felt his steely emotions waver. He turned away from Lyla and wandered toward the hearth, the contemplation on his face evident. “Ryan was a part of a grander scheme. I do not expect you to understand, but sometimes we must do things because of a greater good.”

  “Money is a greater good?”

  “Money is always a greater good.”

  Lyla was silent a moment. She could hardly believe the man she had known as Uncle Richard could be so cruel, but by his own admission, he was. “So you paid him to attack St. Austell and kidnap Ryan?”

  Richard cocked an eyebrow. “He was well paid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because with his help, I shall annex St. Austell, of course.”

  So the earl was determined to acquire the d’Vant ancestral home. Is that what he’s wanted all along, treaty be damned? “But what is Miguel going to do w
ith Ryan? Is he going to ransom her to Dennis?”

  “No,” the earl shook his head. “She belongs to him now.”

  Lyla blanched. “What?” she hissed. “But… she is married to Dennis!”

  “Dennis is fighting in Wales, a vicious and wild place. He will not survive.”

  Lyla felt sick. She could not do anything for Dennis, but she felt she could still help her cousin. “Where… where is Ryan?” she asked.

  “She is in no danger, I assure you.”

  “But she is my only family. I would like to join her, wherever she is.”

  The earl looked at her, wondering if he should divulge such information. But Lyla had never been particularly smart, as she was certainly more of a follower than a leader. Her entire world revolved around Ryan, and he felt himself relenting.

  “I shall not provide you with an escort,” he said shortly.

  “I shall not ask you to. Just tell me where she is so I can go to her.”

  He smiled, but without humor. “It would be my guess that Miguel took her to his new acquisition in Wales.”

  “New acquisition?”

  “Usk Castle. I gave it to him in exchange for services well-rendered,” he snorted. “If you make it there, you may tell him you have my permission to join your cousin; providing the wolves or thieves do not get you first.”

  It was apparent he did not believe she was capable of reaching Wales, much less Usk, on her own. But Lyla had no intention of going there on her own. Bolting up from the chair, she ran from the keep as fast as her trembling legs would carry her, half expecting that he would follow her and kill her.

  But the earl wasn’t interested in killing her; he had received what he had needed from her and for that, he would let her escape with her life. He had no way of knowing that Lyla was quite a bit smarter than he gave her credit for.