"You could bring more than your ladies, perhaps a dozen others to serve on your staff, and to help the abbey with the added burden," Michael offered.
Elena's face brightened, her gaze meeting his. "Well, then," she said softly and licked her lips. His gaze followed the path of her tongue like a starving man. "Let us prepare ourselves. It shall take at least a sennight before we are able to depart."
"Tomorrow." Michael folded his arms over his chest, refusing to back down. He wanted her to leave that instant, but he knew it would take some time to pack the caravan.
She nodded. "Tomorrow then, Captain."
Michael exhaled the breath he hadn't known he was holding. He was relieved she was so amenable to the idea of leaving, and he felt she would be quite safe in St. Augustine's Abbey. He inclined his head to her and her ladies and then turned to leave her chamber, in search of his men so they might begin preparations, and so he might gather a team to help him discern the whereabouts of the tunnels.
"Sir Michael?" Elena's soft voice stopped him.
"Aye, my lady?"
"Might we have a word?" She eyed her ladies. "In private?"
"As you wish, my lady."
Her ladies all curtsied and then quietly quit the room, closing the door softly behind them. Elena rushed to him then, her body colliding with his, her arms encircling his waist, and her head resting against the thickness of his hauberk.
"Michael," she breathed, her voice like a feathered caress to his ears. He was immediately alert, filled with desire for her. "I am frightened." His desire dampened.
He reached up and stroked the silky hair that spilled down her back, wanting to comfort her, and himself. "Don't be frightened, my love. I shall keep you safe while you are here, and when you are securely behind the abbey walls, God and his sheep shall protect you." That and the thick abbey walls as well as the guard I will leave behind, but he didn't voice his last thoughts.
Her head bobbed against his chest, and then she leaned back, looking up at him with dewy eyes, and sweet rosy lips. His gaze was caught on the pink flesh that called to him for a kiss. He blinked, trying to push the need to connect his lips to hers away, but the desire was too much. He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers, drinking in her essence. She eagerly kissed him back, her arms threading up around his neck, her body sinking into his. He swept his tongue inside to meld with hers, stroking softly, lovingly. He wanted her to feel his need for her, how much he cared for her.
She whimpered in the back of her throat, eliciting an urgent primal response from himself. His hands stroked down her back to cup her derrière, lifting her up so that the apex of her thighs cradled the hardness of his cock. She rubbed wickedly against him, her arms unwinding from his neck as she explored his chest and shoulders with her hands. Her tongue danced over his, and her teeth nipped at his lips. His sweet angel had gone from being a frightened rabbit to a tempting tigress.
What he wouldn't give right now to lift her up, toss her on the bed and ravish her, listening to the sweet mewls of her delight and the cries of her passion—to forget the danger that vibrated all around them.
"Oh, God, Elena, my love, I want you…" he breathed against the shell of her ear, before kissing down the length of her neck, pressing his lips to her collarbone. His thumb slipped into her stays and stroked over her rigid nipple, and it took all of his control not to yank her gown and stays down from her breasts, to take the dusky peak into his mouth.
"I want you too, Michael. Now." Her voice was husky, but strong. Her gaze met his, as her hand slipped to the front of him, and beneath his hauberk. She stroked the length of him through his breeches, her lips parted sensually. Oh, what he knew she could do with those lips…
He shuddered, and felt his heart skip a beat.
"Not here." He couldn't risk them being seen. Not with Kent in the rage he'd been in this morning. The man was likely at any moment to come in search of his wife.
"Where then? You said you had need to find the tunnels." Her grip on his cock left him gasping for breath as her hand pumped up and down in quick, firm strokes. Her gaze and the set of her mouth determined.
His head fell back. He would unman himself like a green lad, if he didn't get her to stop soon. Before he could think, something hot and—oh dear God!—pressed against his rigid length. His eyes popped open, and he sucked in his breath. Elena had knelt before him, her lips rubbing against the straining fabric of his breeches.
His cock lurched. Sac tightened. He wanted her. He couldn't wait for the tunnels. He would burst if he didn't have her now. She breathed hotly on him, nuzzling his shaft through his breeches, and Michael's knees buckled.
"Good God, woman," he mumbled, unable to say more.
"Let me taste you," she said against his erection.
His mouth opened, and then closed, he couldn't speak. Nimble fingers unlaced his ties, and his thick flesh eagerly came out of the folds of his clothes, the tip resting on her lips. Her tongue flicked out across the tip, before she took him into her mouth.
Michael gasped, his hands threading through her hair, as his hips involuntarily pumped against her mouth. When she started to suck harder and faster, he gripped her shoulders, pushing her back.
"Not like this," he growled, his voice so choked with desire. He wanted her like nothing he'd ever wanted before, but he wouldn't finish himself in her mouth, not when there was her own pleasure to be had.
He picked her up in one swoop and stalked to her bed, pressing her down on the mattress, his body atop hers. His mouth covered hers in an instant, tongues thrusting. He pushed her skirts up to her hips, and stroked a thumb between her slick lips, over the swollen bead of her desire. She arched her hips against him, and he swallowed the moan that escaped her mouth, trying to make as little noise as possible.
His thumb circled over the sensual bead, and he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth at the same time he drove his cock inside her. She lifted her legs around his hips, taking him in further. Her hands gripped at his buttocks, nails digging through his breeches. This was no sensual tumbling like when they'd first made love, but one of pure carnal need, desire, and an urgency to be together, to join with one another. For Michael it confirmed the bond they had, the emotions gyrated through his body, tumbling about, as his hips thrust against hers.
Her core tightened around him, and he kissed her deeper still, silencing her erotic moans, and answering her climax with his own.
They lay, gasping for breath as their trembling limbs finally regained strength.
"While I thoroughly enjoyed that, my love, it was not the tunnel I was originally in search of." Michael chuckled with his vulgar joke.
Elena broke out in a teasing smile, and punched him on the shoulder. "Ah, so it was not a secret code when you requested my assistance in locating the darkened channels."
"No, but I find entering heaven to be of much greater reward than the dark recesses beneath the castle fortifications." He kissed her on the lips, sucking her lower one lazily into his mouth. "I would do so again with pleasure."
Frantic knocking sounded, and then Raelyn's voice rushed and frightened, squeaked, "My lady!"
"Go!" Elena whispered hysterically, smoothing her hair with one hand and shoving Michael toward a tapestried wall with the other. "There is a door behind the tapestry. It leads to one of the tunnels."
Beyond the main door to her chamber Kent bellowed orders for her ladies to stand aside. Elena turned her back on Michael and ran to her dressing table, sensing his absence more than seeing him actually disappear into the wall. She stumbled along the way, catching herself at the last minute, before seating herself on a stool. She picked up her brush and with shaking hands began to pull it through her hair.
Not even a heartbeat later, Kent barreled through the doorway.
His breathing was ragged and loud. From what she could see out of the corner of her eyes, his face was ruddy as always—yet his eyes bulged more than usual.
"What are you
doing in here?" he barked. His gaze raked over her form, and then around her room, searching for something—or someone. Did he suspect Michael was here?
"My lord?" she questioned, turning, her head bowed. "I simply sought to finish my morning toilette."
"Without your ladies?" he asked suspiciously, his eyes still roving over her room.
Elena had not thought of an excuse for that, but decided it would be best to play on Kent's abhorrence of women. "They were twittering around me, my lord. I confess I found it rather tiresome and begged them let me finish in peace."
Kent grunted, accepting her response. Elena breathed a sigh of relief.
His hands rested on his hips and he tapped his foot. She took his body language to mean he wished her to face him fully. Despite the fear that snaked its way around her spine, she stood, placed her brush back on the table, and folded her hands in front of her, trying as hard as she could to look demure.
"The annoying Sir Devereux, who won his place in that farce of a tournament, is insisting you vacate my castle, until he finds his head enough to safeguard you. I must say, the idea of you and your simpering ladies being out of sight for a while is tempting." He searched her face accusingly, and for what, she wasn't certain.
Elena was unnerved by her husband, felt somehow he was testing her, and she did not know how to respond.
"Whatever your wish, my lord," she responded.
He grunted again. "Have you a desire to leave Kent?" His words were dagger-edged and Elena bit her tongue.
"No, my lord."
Another grunt. His eyes narrowed. "I think I have need of peace. You are a constant nuisance to me, and I should like very much not to have you underfoot. I'm sure the men wish you out of their way as well as they seek to find the demon menacing my keep. You will go, wife." His words sounded like a threat, and Elena had to bite harder on her tongue to keep herself from smiling with excitement at being banished. "I do not care which abbey you go to as most will be sorely displeased at your presence. You will have to bribe them with coin from your own purse and beg them to allow you refuge."
Despite the anger and disgust beneath his words, Elena was elated. A huge pressure lifted from her shoulders, and she felt for once she might breathe without the thought of an angry backlash collapsing her lungs.
"I wish you to leave as soon as possible, and I will send for you when I deem it time for you to return."
Elena didn't know if Kent thought she might beg to come back, or if he was trying to reassert his authority over Michael.
"As you say, my lord." Her voice came out tight, and she steadied herself into a curtsey, her knees wobbling.
"It is always, as I say," he bellowed. Elena waited for the blow that was sure to come, but there was nothing but a gurgling sound.
She looked up sharply to see Kent clutching at his chest. Her eyes widened and she stepped forward, but he turned a glare of hatred on her and an angry snarl passed from his lips. She backed away.
He took a few heaving gulps of air, his face nearly purple, and then lumbered from the room.
As soon as the door closed, Elena broke out into a smile, and let tears of relief flow freely. She would soon leave Kent and seek out solace at St. Augustine's with her ladies and some servants. The only damper to her delight was that Michael could not stay with her there—that he would remain behind, in danger. But she supposed he was needed here. He would find the villain who murdered the knight, and then she could return to him, to his arms. Perhaps, whatever ailed her husband would make him weaker, and when Kent finally deemed she should return—which she sincerely hoped was not anytime soon—he would be too ill to abuse her.
She clutched her hands in prayer over her heart and sunk to her knees. Face lifted toward the heavens, she mumbled her prayers of thanksgiving.
Fear gripped at her heart. She and Michael had been too rash. Too spontaneous. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. If Kent had managed to come to her room even a minute before he did, they would have still been in the act. And it was her fault. She was too much of a wanton. Too eager to please Michael and receive pleasure in return. When he'd kissed her… She could think of nothing else but memories of the way he'd made love to her. How it had made her feel both in body and mind.
Her stomach sank. She couldn't allow something like that to happen again. It was too dangerous. And yet it had felt so wonderful to be in his arms, and being the temptress had been irresistible. She'd never wielded such power before, and in truth it made her feel like she might have some choices in this life. From Michael she also felt love, like life was not only full of pain and betrayal, that it was worth living and that she could wake up looking forward to the future.
But the shadow of her husband's presence was always hanging over her.
And there lay the truth. She was married. A future with Michael was not possible.
She stood and smoothed her gown. Lifting her chin, hands at her side, Elena walked stoically to the door of her room. It was time to prepare for their departure.
"Elena, wait."
She tore her hand from the door handle and whirled around. Michael stepped from behind the tapestry.
"What are you still doing here?" she asked, shock, surprise, excitement and dread filling her all at once.
"I heard everything he said."
"You never left?" Her heart beat a rapid pace. He'd heard the humiliating words Kent had tossed at her. Behind closed doors, with only her own ears to witness his abuse, she was easily able to brush his contempt off her, but for someone else to hear it, was beyond mortifying. Would Michael put any credence to Kent's words? But her doubt of him was quickly gone. No, he would never.
"How could I leave you, knowing that your tyrant of a husband was raging beyond the door?"
She shrugged, not knowing what to say, too overcome with emotion.
"You know how important you are to me, Elena. You know I would do anything to keep you safe." He stepped closer to her, and she wanted to back away, to put distance between them, but her feet seemed rooted to the floor. He reached out his hand and stroked her cheek. "I love you."
She shook her head. "I love you too, but we must distance ourselves from each other, at least for now."
"Why?" His face fell, his hand dropped. Pain etched in his eyes as if she'd broken his heart with her words.
"We were nearly caught, Michael. The penalty is death. We flirt with danger. I would not see you tortured for loving me."
He pressed his lips together, his brows narrowed. She hated to see him looking so distraught.
"I know you speak the truth. But I waited so long to have you in my arms again, only to have you taken away once more. Run away with me. Now."
Her own heart felt as though it were ripping into pieces beneath her ribs.
She shook her head. She would not have him persecuted for loving her. "I must leave this place. I will be safe at St. Augustine's and you can continue your duties here. Perhaps…" She trailed off, not wanting to give hope where she wasn't certain there was any.
"My days without you will be as though I walk in Purgatory. You're the reason I came to England, my reason for breathing." His voice was gravelly, filled with emotion.
"How can I be sure? You didn't even bother to return my correspondence. You never came for me before now. Your vow to me was a lie. Was the tourney simply your excuse to leave Ireland?"
She tossed out her words without thinking, simply to hurt him, to get him to leave the room—to forget the notion of running away. She told herself she hurt him for his protection—but was it really to protect herself? She'd fallen hard for him when young, and he never came for her. What now? She was falling again, and would he once again hurt her, no matter how he vowed not to? He'd sworn he'd sent her a letter when she'd received none, and part of her thought the letter had been intercepted, but that was not information either of them were privy too.
The muscle in his jaw flexed furiously, anger and pain flared in his eyes. But she spoke mo
stly the truth, as much as they both wanted to think otherwise, he had longed to leave Ireland.
"Too long have you lived under the cruel thumb of Kent. His venomous tongue has found a home within your own mouth," Michael bit out.
Elena stepped back as if she'd been slapped. She hadn't wanted him to hate her, only to understand that they could not be together. But the rage emanating from his eyes told another story. She opened her mouth to try and quell some of his anger, but he spoke, cutting off her reply.
"I shall escort you to St. Augustine's, and I will make certain you are well cared for, but there ends my duty to you, my lady. I shall seek placement in the king's household."
She swallowed hard, wanting to shout, No! To pull back all the words she'd said. She reached out her hand to try and grasp his but Michael stepped away, glaring down at her as if she were offal in his path.
"If you will excuse me." His voice was cruel. He bent a quick bow before brushing past her, and slamming from the room.
Elena stared at the closed door, and this time when her room emptied of another's presence she did not cry with tears of joy, but of heartache and regret.
Inside, Michael raged with anger, and what he suspected was a broken heart. As much as Elena was right that he wanted to forge a path on English ground rather than Irish, he had only left the Emerald Isle because of her. He would have done his duty to father and country by remaining behind, but when he'd known she needed him, his plans changed.
He wanted to forge a future in England for her. Because while she was married to a tyrant now, the man was old, and one day, Elena might be free to share her future with him. A future Michael would see was filled with pleasure, comfort and…love.
But she'd tossed it all in his face. Left their lovemaking on the ground and spit on it, as if he'd only come to share her bed and seek out his own fortune. Did she really think so lowly of him? Really think him such a selfish bastard?
And hell, he'd certainly acted like one in his moment of uncontrolled temper when he'd accused her of being just as cruel as her husband. He wished to take the words back, but he couldn't, not now. If he tried to go back into her room, she would probably hit him across the head with a candlestick or stab him with her dirk.
Knights of Valor Page 17