Richmond smiled faintly. “As would I. Mayhap he’s suffered enough humiliation from me and will opt to leave before the feast tonight. One can always hope.”
She turned her gaze to him, a smile on her lips. Bright blue eyes blazed upon her and she was suddenly aware that they were alone, far removed from the rest of the household and festivities.
How many times had they sat alone, talking about items both trivial and important? How many times had they been together, just the two of them, laughing or playing or simply sitting in silence? Certainly, more times that she could count. But this time, it was different.
Richmond’s smile faded as she lowered her gaze, staring at her hands. She seemed ill at ease, uncertain somehow. Since his arrival yesterday, their relationship hadn’t been the same and he was deeply perplexed by the situation. He knew that his own confusion and guilt had cast a fog between them, causing her discomfort. Of course she’d been skittish in his presence; he’d given her good reason to be. It was all his fault.
But one thing was clear; he’d always been able to speak to Arissa. Communication between them was an important factor to their relationship and he had always gone to great lengths to preserve their openness. Now, in the heat of his bewilderment, was not the time to sever the lines of contact.
“Is Tad the only item bothering you?” he asked softly. “You have seemed very disturbed since I returned yesterday. Is there something I can do?”
She continued to stare at her hands. Is there something I can do? She had no idea why tears began to sting her eyes. Mayhap it was her own sense of helplessness, the power of a love that refused to die, of a love that would never be nurtured. It was a love that would be forced into obscurity when she was committed to Whitby. If only he could do something; if only he could return that love.
A single hot tear dripped onto her hand. Richmond saw it; immediately, he was out of the chair and kneeling before her.
“Riss, what’s the matter? Won’t you tell me?”
His gentle voice struck deep. The single tear turned into a flood and she dissolved, falling forward against him.
“I…. you cannot help,” she whispered, her voice constricted with sobs. “No one can help.”
He clutched her fiercely; somehow, she managed to fall out of the chair and ended up cradled in his lap as he sat on the floor. Richmond held her as if to never let her go.
“I can help, I promise,” he murmured into her hair. “Tell me and I shall do everything in my power to ease your ache.”
Ease your ache. Sweet St. Jude, if it were only possible! But it was not. And she would rather die than tell him the true reasons behind her tears.
“Tell me,” he urged tenderly, squeezing her. “What is so terrible?”
Arissa knew from experience that he would not let the subject rest until he had received a satisfactory response. Aware that it would be futile to resist or refuse to answer him, she thought carefully on her reply. Certainly, it was not a lie. But it was only a small measure of the truth.
“I….” she coughed, wiping at her eyes. “I do not want to go to the convent.”
He did not say anything for a moment. Arissa swore his embrace tightened. “You have been pledged to the abbey since you were an infant.”
“I know,” she sniffled. “I was never given any say in the matter. I do not want to be shut off from the world for the rest of my life, Richmond. I do not want to go.”
He shifted her in his lap, sliding over a few inches to the hard stone wall. Reclining against it, he cradled her to his chest.
“Why not?”
She blinked thoughtfully at his question, her tears fading somewhat. She couldn’t very well tell him the truth.
“Because I do not think I am suited for life at the cloister. I like parties, and pretty things, and good food and entertainment. I have only been devout to the religion because mother and father have forced me to be rigid in my practice,” she sat up, wiping her cheeks and looking him in the eye. “I do not want to wear gray wool and wimples for the rest of my life. I want to be married, to know the security of a home and family. Richmond, I want to live.”
He gazed at her a moment, the woman he loved. Absently, a gloved hand came up to touch her hair. “Your entire life is before you and you want to sample all it has to offer.”
“Exactly,” she said firmly, tears forgotten. “I am eighteen years today, old enough to go to court, or be married, or anything else that young women do. Why should I be deprived of my life simply because my parents saw fit to make me a sacrificial lamb by devoting my life to God? I never had a choice and it was unfair of them not to consider my feelings.”
He smiled vaguely, toying with a tendril of raven-hued hair. “’Tis not usual that one is given a choice in one’s destiny. Furthermore, ’tis not usual to consider the feelings of a newborn child when deciding his, or her, future.”
She pursed her lips wryly. “You are not helping me. I do not want to obey my father’s wishes and you make jokes.”
His grip on her hair tightened as she tried to move away from him. “I am not jesting, simply stating a fact.”
She met his gaze, trying to ignore the rising heat between them by focusing on her concerns. “Will you talk to my father, Richmond? Tell him that I do not wish to join the church.”
He sighed, knowing that her betrothal to the church was nearly as binding as a marriage. Furthermore, Henry himself had made it. The only person who would have a remote chance of dissolving it would be, clearly, Henry. And the chances of that happening were close to impossible.
“Riss, it’s not that simple,” he said after a moment. “You have known since you were old enough to understand that your destiny was to become a nun. This is the first time I have heard you speak negatively on the subject.”
She shrugged, looking away from him. “‘Tis only because I have realized that I want a voice in my destiny. Why must my father decide it for me? I have never truly been excited about joining the cloister, merely resigned to the fact. Resignation has kept me silent for eighteen years.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “But no longer, I see.”
She shook her head. “No longer. I do not want to go. If father won’t consider dissolving the contract, then I shall…. I shall run away.”
“Do not talk like that. You couldn’t run far enough away from me that I could not find you.”
She slanted him a long glance. “You would follow me anywhere?”
He gave her a half-smile. “I am my lady’s shadow.”
She stared at him a moment, observing his well-shaped, masculine features. The grin on her lips matched his own. “What are you going to do when I am forced to enter the convent? Are you planning on lurking about the halls, shadowing me as I prepare for Vespers?”
He pretended to think on the matter. “I look rather good in a nun’s habit. Do you think they would suspect?”
She shook her head immediately. “Never. Who would suspect anything peculiar about a six foot nun?”
“I am well over six feet.”
Her smiled broadened. “I know. You have told me. Six feet and five inches. You are well over a foot taller than I am.”
“Sixteen inches, to be exact. But everyone is taller than you.”
“And everyone is younger than you.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You are an impudent, disagreeable wench. Beware, or next time I will refuse to save you from Tad de Rydal.”
She sighed, her light mood fading as she returned to picking her nails. “I would marry him if it meant dissolving my contract with the church. I would rather suffer a lifetime of arrogance than a lifetime of unhappiness.”
He grasped her fumbling hands, so tightly that she nearly winced. “You shall not marry Tad de Rydal. Is that clear?”
Her puzzled gaze met his darkened blue eyes. “I…. I meant it figuratively, Richmond. As you said, I have no choice in the matter. I must join the cloister whether I want to or not.”
; His grip relaxed. The heat she had been trying to ignore had increased in strength, growing, enveloping her. No longer able to ignore it, she tried her best to control the power. Mayhap if she disregarding the quivering, it would go away.
But the searing heat refused to fade. If anything, it was growing stronger. When Richmond’s gloved hands began to gently caress her fingers, the painful ache his touch provoked bolted the length of her arms.
Richmond felt the heat, too. It was difficult not to. Heat generated by his intense emotions for the woman who was his charge, a princess unaware. A woman he was too weak to fight his feelings for. In faith, he was not entirely sure he wanted to do battle with his emotions any longer. It would be far simpler and far more destructive simply to give in to all of it.
But to give in to his emotions would mean destroying Arissa in the process. How could he force himself upon her, a man she had grown up knowing as a faithful friend? How could he damage the trust between them, the companionship simply because he had been weak enough to fall in love with her? It was his own flaw, a flaw he would not thrust upon her because he was unwilling to do her even the slightest amount of harm.
Forcing himself to ignore the blazing heat was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. It would be so easy to….
“Are you feeling well enough that you might rejoin your party?” he asked, his voice tight.
Arissa was gazing at him openly. Before Mossy had interrupted them earlier, she had been positive that Richmond had been preparing to kiss her, and she had furthermore vowed to feel his lips upon hers, just once, even if it meant distancing him forever. She had always been able to manipulate him in order to fulfill her desires ever since she had been a small child; the greatest knight in Henry’s army had always bent to her will.
Aye, she was shameless when it came to Richmond. She suddenly did not care anymore. There was nothing more important at this moment than feeling his mouth upon her lips as it was always meant to be.
“Nay,” she said slowly. “I do not wish to rejoin them.”
His brow furrowed slightly until a small finger came up and delicately touched his chin. Richmond froze; the small white finger moved across his chin and up to his mouth, tracing an erotic line across his lower lip that sent bolts of lightning leaping through his big body. He simply couldn’t believe what he was seeing, feeling.
Richmond began to quiver beneath her touch. The more she explored, the more intense the quiver. His body was tight, straining against itself to respond to her touch. Curiosity! His mind screamed. A maiden’s simple curiosity! God’s Teeth, do not respond to her! … oh, God….
Her silky hand moved to his stubbled cheek, caressing it. Shifting on his lap, she managed to lodge herself more tightly against him as her other hand came up, cradling his entire great face within her two small palms. Gazing into his astonished blue eyes, she smiled.
“Do you know that I have always thought you to be the most handsome man I have ever seen?” she whispered.
His throat was so tight he could barely speak. “Nay, I…. I did not know.”
Her thumbs moved along his lower lips as he spoke, watching his mouth. “You do not smile enough,” she murmured. “Father swears he’s only seen you smile ten times in all of the years he’s known you. You smile at me ten times in an hour. Why is that?”
He was losing a battle greater than any he had ever fought. His palms were sweating, aching with more desire than he had ever experienced to return her curious touches, to explore her beloved face as she was exploring his.
“Because…. because I want to smile at you, I suppose.”
She was studying his lips intently. As his sentence concluded, she suddenly plunged a finger into his mouth and stroked his teeth. His control snapped.
His hands came up, clutching her beautiful face, touching her as he had never touched anyone in his life. His gaze was both ecstatic and remorseful at the same time.
“Riss, we should not…. we cannot….”
All of her restraint was gone. He was responding to her; his tender touch to her face confirmed the most outlandish of dreams and a whimper escaped her lips, a display of the pure joy she was beginning to feel. A gateway to eighteen years of childish infatuation and maturing love was opening wide before her.
“Oh, Richmond,” she suddenly sobbed, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I want to, my love, I want to. Don’t you know how long I have loved you?”
He stared at her, his eyes as wide as the heavens. He tried to speak and nearly choked in the process. “How…. God’s Teeth, Riss, how can you say that? I am old enough to be your father!”
She shook her head, tears pelting his wrists. “But you are not my father,” she sighed raggedly, her hands gripping the mailed gloves on her face. “Richmond, I do not want to join the cloister because I love you. I realize that a man of your importance could not possibly return my feelings, but I will tell you all the same. I am sorry if my confession makes you uncomfortable, but I cannot stop myself. You must know.”
His mouth hung agape; he couldn’t help it. All he could do was stare at her, touch her, the knowledge that she loved him filling him beyond his wildest dreams. He still had difficulty grasping what he was hearing.
“How…. oh, God, Riss….”
He couldn’t think of anything other than his desperate need to kiss her. His shaking hands clasped her face with savage tenderness, pulling her luscious mouth to his desperate lips.
As he knew, her lips were sweeter than he could possibly imagine. A tremulous kiss that was meant to introduce her into the world of desire suddenly turned overwhelmingly passionate, blinding by force and nature until Arissa was practically crushed in his arms. She cried softly against his mouth, sounds and tears he absorbed.
He simply was not getting enough of her. He needed more from her. His tongue licked her lips indecently, parting her lips for his erotic invasion. Sobbing with joy, Arissa opened her mouth wide to him as if she had been doing it all her life. He growled as his tongue came into her, tasting the essence of her sweetness. She was in his arms, finally where she belonged.
Richmond lost all concept of time. He had no idea how long he had been kissing her, only that he was no longer content to merely taste her honeyed lips. With Arissa still seated on his lap, he rolled onto his side and took her down to the floor. His armor was jabbing them both, but neither seemed to realize it. Nothing in the world mattered any more.
His lips began to explore new territory, moving along her cheek to her chin. His hungry mouth devoured her delicate jawline, blazing a scorching trail to her ear and down the side of her neck. Arissa sobbed through it all as if her heart were breaking, so deliriously happy that she knew of no other way to express her joy. Richmond stopped only once in his quest, grinning as he lapped her tears. She had simply cried harder.
He was mindless in his pursuit, only aware of his desire to taste every possible inch of her flesh. Her deliciously large breasts beckoned his touch, his mouth, and gently he answered. The yearn to touch her was an overwhelming, seducing hunger.
Arissa sobs had faded somewhat, her hands intertwined in his rich brown hair as his lips nibbled at the ripe swell of her bosom. When a great mailed glove tenderly traced the underswell of her breast before enclosing it within its grasp, she gasped with the shock and pleasure of it.
His passion-creased face came up, his eyes conveying far more emotion and depth than she ever thought possible. With the deepest of feeling, he kissed her chin, her eyes, her nose as his hand gently massaged her right breast. She closed her eyes against his touch, clutching his head against her.
“I do not want to join the cloister, Richmond,” she whispered against his hair. “I want to be with you. I want to love you.”
His mouth was on her neck, both hands on her magnificent breasts. “And I want you, Riss. God only knows, I have wanted you for nearly as long as I can recall.”
She moaned as his fingers traced the outline of her puckered nipples.
“Will you talk to my father?”
His mouth moved down her neck to the valley between her breasts. He was mindless with the intoxication of her. “I shall do whatever it takes. You shall marry me, Riss. Not the damn church.”
She smiled, a gesture of genuine joy. “Do you love me, Richmond?”
His head came up, the beautiful blue eyes focusing on her. “More than words can express, kitten. I have always loved you.”
She traced his lower lip, new tears springing to her eyes. “Truly?”
He kissed her finger, her hand as it touched him. “Truly.”
She gazed into his eyes a moment, scarcely daring to believe that a dream that had been a daily part of her existence had actually become a real part of her life. Tears found their way onto her temples again, bathing her hair.
“Thank you.”
He dipped down, kissing her more sweetly than life itself. “Nay, kitten,” he murmured. “Thank you.”
She wound her arms around his neck as their lips fused once more, becoming familiar with the taste of one another. After several moments, she realized his kisses had slackened in intensity and she opened her eyes questioningly.
He was staring at her. “How is it that you have fallen in love with a man twenty-two years older than yourself?” he whispered. “Why have I become the fortunate one, Arissa?”
She shook her head, touching his face with delicate hands. “I do not know,” she murmured. “I cannot remember when I haven’t loved you. As a child, I used to dream that we would be married someday and that I would bear you a host of strong sons.”
He smiled faintly. “Why do you think I have never married? There was only one woman for me, in spite of the fact that she was pledged to a convent.”
“I have heard you say that before. I thought you were jesting.”
He shook his head slowly. “Nay, lady. I have never been more serious in my life,” he studied her porcelain features for a moment, the enormity of the situation beginning to saturate his mind. “But I cannot promise that we will meet with immediate success, Arissa. You have been pledged to Whitby for eighteen years.”
Lasses, Lords, and Lovers: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 81