by Alexa Aston
Jessimond pushed against him. “I cannot breathe,” she managed to get out.
Quickly, he rolled to his side and caught her against him. She rested her cheek against his chest. Her fingers lightly moved along the scar on his chest, now fading from the angry red it had been.
Marcus kissed the top of her head. “Do you see why I could not wait another moment?” His fingertip traced the outline of her lips.
“I hope I pleased you,” she said. “I know you have lain with many women.”
He caught her hand and pressed a hot kiss into the palm. “I have forgotten all of those women, Jess. That’s how much I care for you.”
She noticed he didn’t say he loved her. It disappointed her, but Jessimond believed he truly did love her. With every stroke, his body told her so, whether he knew it or not. Once they wed, mayhap he wouldn’t be so afraid to say the words she longed to hear.
His fingers entwined with hers and he brought their joined hands to rest between them. “I have never felt this way before,” he shared. “Love play has never been more satisfying than with you. I pledge I will never lie with another woman. Only you, sweetheart. Only you.”
For now, it would be enough.
“You know how to please me,” she began. “I hope you’ll show me how I can please you.”
Marcus smiled. “Oh, you already do.” Then he grinned. “But I can think of a few things to teach you in the years to come.”
“Why not start now?” she countered.
Laughing, he did just that.
Chapter 18
Marcus led Jess back to the mummers’ camp. Everything had gone exactly as he’d wished. He would complete his obligation to the Vawdrys and then return to Hartefield with his bride-to-be. He wondered in what condition he would find his father. It had surprised him how the baron had aged while Marcus had been off fighting in the wars with the king.
He’d actually liked his stepmother. He wondered how she’d felt, being meant for one man and then being coerced to marry another more than twice her age. He hoped Lady Ailith and Jess would get along well. He saw no reason why they wouldn’t even though Jess wasn’t of the nobility. She was beautiful and well-spoken and would make a good future baroness for Hartefield. Once she arrived, Marcus knew what Jess would be drawn to—the newest members of the de Harte family. Already, Marcus could see her with a babe in her arms. His babe.
They leaped over the narrow portion of the brook again. He decided this would be a place to bring his sons in the future. He could teach them to fish. Knowing Jess, she’d want their daughters brought along to learn, as well. He still was uncertain if she’d told him the entire truth about how she’d learned to swing a sword so well but it was definitely something he hoped she kept up. It would be interesting to teach their children to defend themselves with the weapon, especially if they did so side-by-side.
Whatever happened, Marcus knew he would lead a fascinating life with Jess by his side.
Seeing the tents, he steered them in that direction. As he did, Rand hurried toward them.
“Marcus, we must speak.” He glanced at Jess. “Alone.”
“It’s all right. Jess knows who I am. Speak freely.”
She squeezed his hand and released it. “Go ahead. I’ll give you some privacy.”
Marcus watched her move away, the gentle sway of her hips enticing him. He wondered if he could wait a week before engaging her in love play again.
When she was out of hearing distance, Rand said, “Your father is very ill.”
“Did you see him?”
“Nay. I spoke at length to Thomas, though. You know he’s not one to exaggerate.”
Sir Thomas had been the captain of Hartefield’s guard for over half a score and was a man Marcus trusted implicitly.
“When I told Thomas that you were nearby, he implored me to bring you home for good. In truth, Marcus, he made it sound as if Lord Charles is near death.”
“Then I’ll leave at once for Hartefield.”
“I’ll go with you,” Rand volunteered.
“Nay. You should be here for the sword exhibitions. Peter can step in for me as he did before.”
“Then I’ll tell the Vawdrys on your behalf.”
“I’ll go speak to Jess and let her know why I’m leaving.”
Rand placed a hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “Go with God.”
Marcus went to Jess’ tent. The flap was propped open so he poked his head inside and saw she sat on her pallet talking with Agatha.
“May I see you a moment?”
Jess excused herself and joined him. Marcus led them around to the back of the tents so they would be out of sight.
“I must go to Harte Castle now. My father is gravely ill. I need to see him a last time before he dies.”
Concern crossed her brow. “Should I go with you? I might be of some assistance with my herbs.”
“Let me see him first. If he looks as if it would be beneficial to bring in a healer, I will come for you myself.”
Jess laid a palm against his cheek. “Take care.”
“I will.”
Marcus bent and kissed her tenderly. He needed this last physical contact with her before he rode into the lion’s den.
Jess was the one who broke their kiss. “Go,” she urged.
Marcus went to where the horses were hobbled and found that Rand already had Storm saddled and waiting for him. He mounted his horse and set out for Hartefield with mixed emotions. The last few months had been unlike any he’d experienced. All his life, Marcus had trained to be a soldier and then fought in Northern Scotland and Ireland with the king.
Something in him broke, though, when he returned home and learned of his mother’s death. When he’d stormed from the keep after his father gave him that news, Marcus hadn’t known if or when he’d be back. He only knew if he remained, his father would wind up dead on the floor by his only son’s hand. It had taken the child who’d innocently come to Marcus and climbed trustingly into his arms to prevent a bloodbath.
Time away from Hartefield with the mummers had healed his emotional wounds. The life was transient and lighthearted, the people friendly and loyal to one another. Things moved at a different pace and each day proved to be new and different from the one before.
Most important of all, he’d found Jess. By the Christ, this woman was everything to him now. As Marcus rode toward home, he thought long and hard on his mother’s words, the ones that warned him never to give his heart to another and if he so foolishly did, never let her know. Margaret de Harte had told him to refuse to utter the words of love that would make him weak.
Had his mother been wrong?
Marcus didn’t feel weak loving Jess. In fact, he seemed more powerful for it, as if he could move mountains. Mayhap his mother’s bitterness regarding her own situation had colored her view. He had the rest of his life with Jess. Plenty of time to decide if the words recognizing his love for her were important to say aloud.
But his heart told him they were.
It amazed him that Jess had given herself freely to him, knowing she’d said she would only wed a man she loved and one who loved her. He would be ever faithful to Jess, daily showing her how devoted he was to her and any children they might have. His decision regarding future declarations of love could wait for the present. More than anything, he needed to see what awaited him at Hartefield.
Marcus rode through the gates as dusk turned into dark. They were still open, probably at Rand’s urging. Sure enough, he spotted Thomas and reined in his horse. Dismounting, he tossed the reins to a stable boy who ran to take them.
Marcus clasped Thomas’ hand. “’Tis good to see you, Thomas.”
“And you, as well, my lord.”
The two men fell into step and headed toward the keep.
“I heard the Irish fight dirty,” Thomas said.
Marcus laughed. “I’m sure the men entertained you with all kinds of stories of our years away.” Then he grew serious
. “How is my father? Rand said he was quite ill.”
“Very ill. Lady Ailith, as well, though from what I know, she suffers from a different ailment.”
They entered the keep and began up the staircase, passing Sagar, Hartefield’s longtime steward. Marcus gave him a brief nod. Sagar turned and followed them to the solar.
When they reached it, the steward told him, “From what I know, Sir Marcus, you’ll be our new baron before the week is out. You should know you have my loyalty and that of every soldier and servant at Hartefield. Thomas will confirm that.”
Marcus replied, “That means a great deal to me, Sagar.”
“We’ll wait for you here in case you have need of us,” the steward said.
He prepared himself for what he would find and then opened the door.
The first room had been changed from a family room into a sick room. The table and all the various chairs had been pushed to the far side of the chamber. A bed had been brought in. A flushed Ailith de Harte lay in it, coughing harshly despite being asleep. Herleva, the head of Harte Castle’s many servants, sat beside her.
She rose. “Greetings, my lord. ’Tis good that you’ve returned home.”
“What’s wrong with Lady Ailith?” he asked.
“My lady has both fever and chills,” Herleva said. “She’s started coughing and has difficulty breathing. I moved her out here so that both she and Lord Charles might be able to rest better apart and not disturb one another.”
He studied his stepmother. “Will she live?”
“By God’s Grace,” the servant replied.
Marcus crossed the room and entered the master bedchamber. Inside, he saw Hartefield’s priest and knew that the man of God was present for a good reason. Marcus’ eyes were drawn to the shriveled husk in the bed. His father looked nothing like the man he’d seen in early May. Though Charles de Harte had been thin to begin with, he now looked like skin and bones. He’d also lost all of his hair and trembled visibly. He clenched his teeth as if in pain.
Father Pious finished the prayer he intoned over the baron and looked up.
“He hasn’t long, my lord. I heard his last confession just moments ago.” The priest leaned over the living corpse. “Your son is here, Lord Charles.”
His father opened his eyes and sought out Marcus. “You came.”
“Aye.”
“I’m dying.”
“I can see.”
The nobleman struggled to breathe. Finally, he said, “You must wed Ailith at once.”
His words took Marcus aback. “Lady Ailith is your wife, Father.”
“Nay. She never has been. She is yours.”
Marcus looked to the priest. “How long has he been confused, Father?”
The priest flushed a dull red. “He’s not, my lord. I’ve seen the betrothal papers. You are the one betrothed to Lady Ailith.” Father Pious looked back to the baron.
Nausea filled Marcus.
“Tell him,” rasped Charles. “I haven’t the strength.”
“Your confession—”
“Tell him,” insisted the baron.
Pious nodded. “Lady Ailith’s father brought her to Hartefield only days before your mother’s death. He and Lord Charles signed the betrothal papers, legally uniting you and Lady Ailith. She was to remain here and learn about Hartefield while you were away fighting with the king’s troops. Lord Charles was most taken with the lady. He waited a month and could no longer fight the demons that made him covet his son’s wife-to-be. He . . . he told her that you had been killed in battle. That he would send word to her father and new contracts would be drawn up and signed.”
Marcus sucked in a startled breath. “My father lied to her? He claimed I was dead?”
The priest nodded, shame evident on his face. “He did, Lord Marcus. Your father told the lady he’d received a missive that you’d been killed by the enemy. He then told Lady Ailith that the best solution was for him to wed her to ensure her future and said her father had agreed to new proposed contracts.
“Ones that would make Lord Charles her husband.”
Marcus could see how the events played out. A naïve young woman, far from home, trusting the always confident Charles de Harte. A pretense of sending papers back and forth. His father being solicitous and caring, earning Ailith’s trust.
“Did they go through a Church ceremony?” he asked the priest.
“Nay. Lord Charles stated the papers sufficed and that made them legally wed. He emphasized to Lady Ailith that he did not want to have a large wedding when he had recently lost his own wife and son, and Lady Ailith had lost the betrothed she’d never seen. The poor lady did not know any better, my lord.”
Rage flowed through Marcus. He wheeled toward his father. “So, you seduced an innocent virgin who didn’t know how low you would sink. Got her with child since you’ve wanted more sons ever since I was born. And what did it get you? Two more daughters. Shake any tree around Hartefield and one of my many half-sisters would fall from it.” He spat on the floor. “You disgust me.”
Charles shrugged feebly. “I always have. You were your mother’s child from the beginning. Never mine. Now, though, you must make things right. I don’t have long left in this world and I’ve grown fond of Ailith. You need to protect her and your half-sisters. She was meant for you. Not me. I was nothing more than an old fool. You must do as I say, Marcus. I am Baron of Harteley. I am your father. You will obey me.”
His fury boiled over. “Why should I clean up your mistakes?” he seethed. “You are the one who’s ruined this woman’s life. Did you think I’d be eager to take your bloody leftovers? Or even want to raise your bastards by her? No, Father. I refuse to do as you command and wed Lady Ailith. I won’t have her and those children foisted upon me. Soon, you will be in your grave and I will be the new Baron of Harteley. I have my own life to live, not one of your making. I will run Hartefield as I see fit, with a wife that I choose by my side.”
The baron licked his cracked lips. “I regret taking Ailith to wife under false circumstances. I have confessed to Father Pious. I know I shall burn in the fires of all Eternity for the man I’ve been.” Charles paused. “Be a better man than I was, my son. Take Ailith to wife. I beg you, my son. Now.”
“You can plead until no breath is left in you, Father, but I will not wed her. Not now. Not ever.”
His father’s eyes fluttered shut. Marcus hoped the bastard was dead. He’d been a terrible father and worse husband. The fact Charles de Harte had deceived an innocent such as Lady Ailith only proved what a bastard he truly was. The fires of Hell were too good for him. Marcus hoped God would find an even greater punishment for his father. One where he suffered beyond Eternity.
As his fury cooled, Father Pious placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Lord Marcus, I understand how angry and hurt you are by your father’s actions.”
“You have no idea, Father. I abhor him and everything he’s done.”
“I understand, my lord. Time will heal you. Forgiveness will come.”
Marcus doubted it ever would but he kept silent.
“You do realize you’ll have to do as he requested,” the priest continued.
“I will never take Lady Ailith to wife, Father.”
Father Pious gazed at him sadly. “You already have.”
Marcus paused, going over the conversation in his mind. Realization struck him as a physical blow and he fell to his knees.
Though he hadn’t spoken vows in a wedding ceremony, by law he was already a husband to Ailith.
Which meant he couldn’t be one to Jess.
Chapter 19
Marcus awakened with gritty eyes due to lack of sleep. It had eluded him for most of the night as his mind whirled in circles, all his thoughts centered on Jess. The life he’d planned for them, with their children playing throughout the estate as they worked together for the good of their people.
All gone in an instant.
He worried that she might carry his
child. They’d only coupled once but Marcus knew it was a possibility. He couldn’t send her away, not when he would want to love the child that resulted from their night of passion. Yet, he didn’t believe Jess would stay with him under the present circumstances.
How sick was Ailith? The noblewoman hadn’t awakened when he’d come into the solar last night. Marcus had never wished anyone ill but his hopes must be pinned upon his stepmother not surviving whatever illness gripped her body. He would gladly care for Livia and little Mary in the case of Ailith’s death and bring them up as daughters of the house. He believed Jess would be generous in her time and affection for these girls, mothering them as her own.
Marcus rose, looking about the familiar bedchamber. Many times, his father had told him that he would one day share it with his brothers. As the years passed, that never occurred, despite his mother’s many efforts to provide more sons to her husband.
He returned to the solar. Opening the door, he froze. No one occupied the bed.
Had Lady Ailith died during the night?
Guilt washed over him at his deepest desire already coming to pass.
He sensed a presence behind him and turned. Herleva stood there.
“Where is Lady Ailith?” Marcus demanded.
“I had her moved across the hall,” the servant told him as she began stripping the bed and bundling up the bedclothes.
“Why?”
Herleva stopped her task. “She has the measles. The spots appeared late last night. It explains the symptoms she had before. I plan to burn these bedclothes.”
Measles were easily spread. Marcus could understand Herleva isolating Ailith from others within the keep.
“What of her children?”
“Lady Livia is fine. I will keep her from her mother.” She paused. “Lady Mary, though, has been infected. Lady Ailith nursed the child up until two days ago when she fell ill. The babe is with her mother now. I’ve found a kitchen girl who contracted measles as a child. She is with them and will handle their care.”
Marcus knew once a person survived the disease, they never got it again. He himself had measles as a boy while he was fostering. It spread like wildfire among the pages and squires.