The Fire and the Sword (Men of Blood Book 2)

by Rosamund Winchester

  She would leave to stay at the convent as soon as it was deemed safe enough to travel outside the abbey walls and once the bishop was convinced her uncle had been dealt with sufficiently. Until then, she was cloistered. She bit back a smile at that; cloistered in an abbey like a proper novitiate. Perhaps, she would become a nun.

  She sighed. Even the thought of spending time on her knees in prayer, for hours, made her ache. Non, that wasn’t the life she wanted to live. She wanted to live free, know peace, and be happy.

  Happy without Elric?

  Merde! She did not need Elric to be happy! Though she’d known exquisite pleasure in his arms, there was more to life than that. She thought of her aunt, Nanette, her maman’s sister. Nanette hadn’t wanted the money or the power of being a nobleman’s wife. She’d chosen her own path, coming to England alone to start her own life. She wanted to be like Nanette, forging her own future with her own will. When Minnette had first come to England, she’d been agreeable to a match with a titled English lord, if only to make her maman happy. But when her uncle had ordered her to marry Glidden, it was as though the part of her that had been sleeping for twenty years finally awoke. It was the part of her that yearned for a life most abundant.

  But what did that mean? She hadn’t had much time over the last several weeks to think on it. But now that she had uncovered her uncle’s schemes, she refused to be beholden to his forced betrothal to Sir Merton Glidden. If that was even real. It very well could have been a lie perpetrated to get her out of the keep so she could be murdered and the blame could be placed on Elric and his men.

  She shuddered at the truly devious nature of her uncle’s plotting. How could he be blood relation to her darling, loving, truly devout papa? They were brothers but they were born on two sides of the Heavenly throne. Her uncle wanted to use her and destroy her for his own gain, but her papa had only ever wanted her to find joy and to be joy to others. He had not cared if she married, he only wanted his little girl to find love wherever it could be found.

  And I found it in the wrong place.

  A knock on the thick wooden door made her start.

  “Milady, the bishop wishes to meet with you in the rectory,” a smooth, quiet voice called out. She immediately recognized it as the voice of the monk who’d escorted her to her chamber.

  “Of course,” she called back, rising from the only chair in the room to walk to the door. She opened it and smiled at the short, portly, bald man. He wore brown robes with a simple rope cinched around his waist. He smiled back awkwardly.

  “Brother Marcus, is there anyone else there in the rectory with the bishop?” she asked, her chest tightening.

  Brother Marcus arched a shaggy brown brow before answering, “Aye. A knight. They are waiting for you.”

  She felt her legs wobble. She was going to see Elric again, and he would see her. Would he dismiss her again?

  You do not care. Once this is over, you can forget him like you planned.

  Sucking in a breath, she steeled herself for the coming emotional battle.

  “If you will come this way, milady,” the man, Brother Marcus, said, turning and walking down the corridor at a clip. She didn’t even have time to shut her chamber door before she gave chase, which is what she felt like she were doing. The man was moving quickly, as if being in her presence any longer than necessary added black marks to his soul.

  At the door of the rectory, Brother Marcus knocked. When a voice called out, “Enter”, Brother Marcus opened the door and announced, “Lady Minnette, Your Eminence.” He turned back to her, gave a sharp nod, and then took off down the corridor again.

  A blush warming her cheeks, she smoothed the coarse fabric of her borrowed robes under her sweaty palms, and stepped into the room.

  Her first sight was of the bishop hovering near a fireplace. Her next sight stole her breath. Elric was standing there, sans armor, staring at her as if she’d just risen from a bath in pure gold. His molten eyes scoured her, taking in everything, from her brown sandals to the brown robes to the rope double wrapped around her waist, and the wimple she wore over her hair.

  “Lady Minnette, please come in and be seated,” Bishop Norton intoned, pointing to a high-backed chair before him.

  Bowing her head in reverence, she did as commanded, not speaking a word to either man. There was a lump in her throat in the shape of her heart.

  “I see that you are faring better than when you first arrived on our doorstep,” the bishop observed before taking the chair opposite. Elric remained standing. And staring.

  “I am, Your Eminence. Thank you.” Her voice was tight, her breathing shallow, but at least she forced the appropriate words out. Having Elric’s unblinking regard on her was wearing on her quicker than she expected.

  “As you can see, Sir Elric has arrived.” She nodded without looking at Elric. “He was under the impression that he was to escort you here from Bridgerdon.” The bishop captured her gaze. “I can only assume that you were so burdened with the news you had to impart that you did not wait for the proper escort.”

  The searing heat of humiliation and anger rose into her face, but she refrained from telling them both to languish in Hell. Instead, she replied, “You are correct, Your Eminence.”

  A muttered curse from Elric made them both turn to look at him. She shouldn’t have. His golden eyes were spitting rage, his face contorted into a sharply handsome visage that made the next words tumble from her lips.

  “Have you something to impart, Sir Elric?”

  His eyes narrowed, their depths afire. Desire rose into her throat, forced up from the churning mess of longing in her belly.

  “I have much to impart, milady. But first we must discuss what is to be done regarding your uncle,” Elric intoned dryly.

  “Yes, there is much to discuss,” Bishop Norton remarked, his knowing gaze moving from Elric to Minnette. “You do not know this, my child, but I have been investigating your uncle for some time now. The information you provided was instrumental in obtaining the permissions required to file a formal inquest against the cardinal. Unfortunately, when my clerics were dispatched to inform Calleaux of the charges against him, he was gone.”

  Elric cursed. “Calleaux ran, like the coward he is.”

  The bishop inclined his regal head. “We believe so, yes. The keep itself was still in use, but the cardinal and his personal guards were gone. The cardinal’s acolyte, Martin Callet, had been left behind.”

  “Martin is Leon’s cousin. Leon will be pleased to hear his cousin is well,” Elric imparted. “Was Martin able to tell you anything?”

  The bishop shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. He was banished to his chambers the night the cardinal left, and so he does not know where they went or how many there were. He only knows that the treasury was emptied.”

  Elric cursed again, and the bishop eyed him sharply. Elric continued as though he hadn’t just been silently chastised.

  “The treasury? There had to be at least thousands of pounds of gold and jewels, most of which the Homme du Sang had confiscated for him.” He opened his mouth to curse again, but the bishop cleared his throat, and Elric shut his mouth.

  “That means he has enough money to keep running,” Minnette said, shock and disgust rolling through her. “How will we find him?” How would she ever live if her uncle was free to find her and hold her accountable for his loss of position?

  She was as good as dead. The blood in her head poured into her legs and then down into her feet. She swayed in her chair but two large hands took firm hold of her shoulders.

  “Minnette, Kitten, you are safe.” Elric’s voice came from afar off. “Do you hear me? You are safe, I will protect you.”

  She snapped from her stupor to glare up into his concerned gaze.

  “Do not worry over me, Sir Elric. I will be fine on my own. I do not need the services of the Homme du Sang,” she scoffed, twisting out of his hold. He dropped his hands to his sides and peered down at her, his expre
ssion shut tight against her.

  “Your Eminence.” Elric turned toward the bishop and inclined his head. “If you would give me a moment alone with my charge.”

  Minnette fully believed the bishop would reject such a request simply on principle. So when the bishop agreed and left the room, Minnette was at a loss for words.

  Once the door shut behind the retreating bishop, Elric crossed his arms over his broad chest, which only made Minnette’s gaze catch on the thick bulges of the muscles in his arms. She swallowed and dragged her attention away to settle on the row of books on the bishop’s elaborately carved desk.

  “What was it you wanted to say?” she asked in French, feeling that her native language allowed her to put distance between her and the English knight.

  Elric replied in English. “What happened, Minnette?”

  She held her breath, refusing to look in his direction again, for she knew that looking upon the man she wanted more than anything would only weaken her further. She wanted what she couldn’t have. But she would not let him see how much that hurt her.

  “You were supposed to wait for Glenn and me to escort you here,” Elric continued, his deep voice like daggers of want slicing away at her will.

  Sucking in a breath, she lifted her chin and turned to meet his gaze.

  “And where is Glenn?” she asked, completely ignoring his questions. What did it matter to him if she left without him? It wasn’t as though she had a choice. She was at Furness, where she was supposed to have gone in the first place. So why was he so upset about it? Perhaps, she’d injured his pride. He’d thought she’d left without permission, raking his authority over her across the coals. She covered a smug grin with her hand.

  “Glenn is in the stables. He cares not for men of the cloth,” Elric answered, his tone clipped.

  “Then why does he fight with the Homme du Sang?” she asked, truly curious. Glenn did not wear the armor or coat of arms of the Homme du Sang, but he seemed a vital part of the order all the same.

  Elric dropped his arms and strode to her until the tips of his boots met the tips of her sandals. She had to crane her neck to look up at him—tall and broad and much too handsome to be such an unfeeling bastard.

  “Why the sudden curiosity for the Scot? Did you tire of me already, milady? Have you had your fun and are now looking for another man’s bed to warm?”

  She gasped, sputtering. She pushed at him and shot to her feet. Planting her hands on her hips, she glowered at him.

  “How dare you? You act as though I make a habit of warming beds when it is you who would have any comely maiden who even smiles at you! And do not dare deny it, for you first began your seduction of me when you thought I was naught but a maid.”

  He let out a mirthless chuckle. “Oh, aye. I am guilty of tupping a comely wench, wetting my rod in common whores, riding them and then ridding myself of them.” He waited until she met his gaze again. “But that is not what this was—what was between us.” His voice dropped into a low whisper. “It meant more to me than that.”

  It meant more to her, too! But could she believe him? Dare she finally allow the hope for more with Elric soar into the sky where it longed to fly?

  She met his gaze again. His eyes were flickering between gold and burnished bronze.

  “At Bridgerdon,” she began, “you almost told me what it is you hoped for.”

  A pained look hardened his face.

  “Will you tell me know?” she rushed ahead, needing to know, finally, if they could have a future together.

  His shoulders stiff, his gaze sharp on hers, he intoned, “Now is not the time to speak of hopes, Minnette.”

  Shattered as if thrown against the ground, Minnette bit back a wail of sorrow.

  “Sir Elric, I believe that we have come to the end of our acquaintance.” Offering him a stiff curtsey, she turned to walk back to the door. She would leave the room, leave the man, and spend the rest of her life trying to leave the pain of his brutal rejection behind. It was obvious she had meant as much to him as any common whore. Sour sick rose up and she swallowed it down.

  “What will you do?” he asked. She could hear the frustration in his voice.

  “What I do is no concern of yours. Concern yourself with your men.”

  “I will always be concerned with you, Minnette. How do you not know that?” He thrust his fingers through his hair. “That is why your disappearance from Bridgerdon nearly gutted me.”

  Her hand on the latch, her heart racing, she was stopped short by an achingly soft question.

  “Will you never tell me?”

  Stunned and confused, she halted.

  “How did you leave Bridgerdon?”

  Minnette closed her eyes, memories of the night she was awoken with that monster’s hand over her mouth and his blade against her throat surging to flood her.

  She could hear Elric coming closer, the warmth of him radiating out to encompass her chilled form. Oh, how she longed to be wrapped up in him once again, to know what it felt like to be safe, cherished and loved.

  He does not love you! He cannot even speak to you of what is beyond today. For Elric, there was no “them”. No future between them. But what was it he hoped for?

  She would never know.

  “Au revoir, Sir Elric,” she murmured without looking back. She left his presence, running as if putting distance between her and the man she loved would lessen the agony eating at her.

  Minnette moaned as the man above her peered down at her, his golden eyes molten, searing her from the inside. He drove himself into her and she moaned again, the thickness of him both a pleasure and pain. She combed her trembling fingers through his hair where it brushed his broad shoulders. She dragged his face down, silently begging him to kiss her. He took her mouth as a man dying of thirst, controlling the kiss, mastering her mouth.

  He slid one hand under her hip, lifting her as he slammed into her again, grunting with each deep stroke. His other hand held her in place for his plundering. She tipped her head back as stars danced behind her eyes. She tried to catch her breath, to find purchase in the moment, but he continued to ravish her, thrusting into her harder, deeper, like a man possessed.

  She watched his face. It was beautiful. His succulent lips were drawn back into a pained sneer, and his nostrils flared as he drew in ragged breaths. His eyes were closed now, but Minnette knew they would be as dark as blackened gold and as fiery as a forge. The muscles in his neck strained, the sinew bunching and twitching as he moved.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, her heels thumping against his well-formed arse as he drove into her. Her thighs ached from the abuse, but it was a blissful ache, the kind one got after a long ride.

  The golden-eyed man bent down, taking one puckered nipple into his mouth, laving it with his hot tongue. She arched up, gasping as the sensations burst through her chest.

  “Oui!” she cried, unable to form any other words. She could only feel, her thoughts like chaff on the wind, blowing away as the storm arrived.

  Even as he moved against her, his body honed perfection, she couldn’t get enough. She needed more. She rocked her hips, countering his movements, and then pushing up her hips to meet his. The result was a deeper penetration.

  The pleasure began to build then, from a smoldering ember into an untamable blaze. Her breaths, like his, came in quick pants, his hot breath blasting against her face as he bent to take her other nipple into his mouth. He cupped her other breast, kneading it, pinching the lonely nipple between his thumb and forefinger, driving a sweet pleasure-pain ever deeper into her. It was Heaven.

  He was her Heaven.

  The width of his manhood was snug inside her, rubbing against the slickness of her channel. He was large, much larger than any man had the right to be, but he fit her perfectly, almost as though they were made for one another. He pulled out, just to the very tip of his length, before waiting a heartbeat to drive back into her warmth. He groaned again, the muscles in his tors
o rippling with his exertion.

  He was beautiful, perfection in flesh and blood.

  Pressure grew inside her and she dug her nails into his back. She arched into him, thrashing her head from side to side, her mind and body both lost to this feeling of impending chaotic climax.

  And then, they were together, their bodies tensing as the explosion of utter completion blasted through them. The man’s thickness pulsed, throbbing, just before a surge of hot seed filled her womb.

  The man stared down at her, his golden eyes twinkling. He smiled, one side of his kiss-swollen lips curling up in a grin that was wholly wicked. His deep voice rumbled from his chest, tickling the tips of her too-sensitive breasts. “Kitten—”

  She came awake on fire, every part of her burning from a dream that was far too real.

  Elric.

  He’d been bare, his muscular body on display, the heat of his taut flesh sliding against hers. He’d been strong yet gentle, incessant yet patient, and he had explored her every curve and dip with such utter reverence. The skill of his hands as he caressed her, the intensity in his eyes as he cherished her, the sensation of being filled with him and the pleasure of it. And now that she knew it hadn’t been real, she felt emptier than ever.

  One week had passed, though it felt like epochs. Though she had planned to make her way to Chatteris once Elric had departed, she realized that she really had no plan. She had no money to hire a carriage, she had only the clothing from the trunk Bear had delivered to her before heading off to be with his daughter, and she had no way of knowing if her aunt was still in Chatteris. Perhaps she’d moved on from there years ago. Perhaps she had died on the voyage. Perhaps she’d died in Chatteris.

  If she had a way to get word to her aunt, she would be able to plan better. As it was, she was spending her days and nights in quiet prayer and contemplation at St. Mary’s of Furness, a convent somewhat adjacent to the abbey, where the sisters dedicated each day to productive work and supplications.