Immortal Love

by Victoria Craven

  Her resolve was firmly set, and she readied for bed and climbed underneath the furs. Watching the fire, she drifted between sleep and wakefulness.

  Until Dominick walked in to the room.

  Eleanor was pretending to be asleep. Her body was too rigid for her to be in the throes of the dream world. He smiled. While her eyes remained tightly closed, he studied her face, marveling at her delicate beauty. He fought hard against the urge to touch her, knowing it would send her into a panic. What sorceress’ spell was cast on him that pulled so hard on his desire when the lady wanted nothing to do with him? Never had he been so tortured.

  When he reached out to tuck the bed robes tighter around her chin, her eyes flew open.

  Reassuringly, he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Be at ease, my lady. My vow is my honor.” He turned his back to her. “Even if it does kill me.”

  Eleanor lay quietly as she watched Dominick prepare for bed. Seeing him naked for the second night wasn’t as disturbing as the night before, but she still could not bring herself to look below the waist. The light from the hearth’s fire cast a golden glow over his bronzed skin. The white scars he bore were in stark contrast to his coloring. She wondered how he had survived the vicious beating. Quickly she turned away, not daring to let her eyes go any further.

  Dominick the Immortal they called him, yet evidence of his mortality webbed across his back. She imagined the pain he had suffered as his back lay open and bleeding. Her heart opened with sympathy. Mentally, she shook her head for such foolish thoughts.

  Even with the great size of the bed, Dominick’s body nearly filled it end to end. She felt his stare even though her eyes were tightly closed. When he pulled the covers tighter around her, she nearly jumped out of bed. Only when she heard the steady rhythm of his breathing was she reassured that he wasn’t going to touch her and breathed a long sigh of relief.

  It was their second night together, and he hadn’t forced himself upon her. His vow was his honor. Her leg bumped the heavy metal between them, But for how long?

  “Mother!” Eleanor screamed, sitting straight up in bed.

  Dominick bolted up to find his wife still caught in the world of her dream.

  “Mother . . . please, don’t leave me.”

  The sob was heart wrenching. But before he could reach for her, she jumped out of bed, covering her ears and staggering about the room.

  “Make it stop!”

  He leapt out of bed after her and gently seized her by the elbows. “Make what stop, Eleanor?”

  “She’s falling. Stop her! Stop her!” she shouted.

  He wrapped his big arms around her. “Eleanor, wake up. It’s a dream.”

  Suddenly she became quiet and shoved out of his embrace. The grief in her tear-streaked face nearly tore him apart. Never had he seen such loss.

  “It was not a dream!” Her voice shook with violent emotion. “It was not a dream,” she said again more softly.

  He heard the hitch in her throat when she took a breath. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

  Her shoulders slumped slightly with the burden of her grief. “Because of my father’s betrayals, my mother threw herself off the cliffs and committed her spirit to the sea.”

  Dominick attempted to approach her. “Eleanor, I’m not your father.”

  She stepped back. “No. Stay away. You’re all cut from the same cloth.” Her words were like a stinging slap across his face, but he stood motionless and silent while she continued. “Night after night I witnessed my mother’s torment.” She pointed her finger back toward her, and Dominick watched her grind her teeth to hold back a storm of anger. “I saw noblemen make lascivious gestures toward her. Their hands were all over her when my father was too drunk to care.”

  She collapsed into a chair near the hearth, her head bent low. Dominick could see she was reliving a nightmare. “One night, Father was in a particularly foul mood. My mother had had enough of his pawing, and they had a terrible argument. As her punishment for defying him, he threw her into another man’s arms and told him to take her. That man was McPhearson.”

  A wave of disgust swept Dominick at Eleanor’s words.

  Her voice sounded hollow, her unblinking eyes welling with tears that ran down her face. “I could hear her screaming down the hall. My father sat laughing and drinking, playing with a servant girl. I tried to save Mother, but the chamber door was locked. There was no one to help her.”

  Dominick’s gut wrenched at Eleanor’s pain. “You were only a child, there was nothing you could do.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him, and outrage on her behalf constricted his throat. It made his hands shake. But he pushed it aside. She needed his strength now. Grabbing a fur off the bed, he covered her shoulders. She sat transfixed staring at the flames in the hearth. Silent, he waited as the pain and loss drained out of her. It was still not the time to tell her about her mother. It would torture her even more.

  “My mother became a ghost that night,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “She haunted these halls long before she threw her body over the cliffs. As much as I tried to bring her back to the living, she couldn’t see or hear me anymore.”

  The storm was spent. Eleanor needed rest now. Dominick gently touched her shoulders and guided her back toward the bed.

  She stopped briefly beside it. “That sword shall never be removed by my hand.” She shook her head vehemently. “For I shall never suffer my mother’s fate.”

  “As you will, my lady,” he whispered.

  Like an obedient child, she allowed him to lay her down and tuck the furs tightly around her. Gently he stroked her forehead. She was so beautiful, so fragile.

  “You have my vow, that I will always protect you.” The last tears slipped down the side of her face. “Your fate is your own, Eleanor. Your spirit is too strong to allow you to walk in another’s path.”

  Her jade eyes never looked at him, just focused on the ceiling. He continued to stroke her hair until her eyes closed with weariness. Watching the rise and fall of her chest, he knew she’d fallen to sleep. Gently, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t dream again of your mother this night. Lay her ghost to rest and dream of Heaven’s angels.”

  Softly he placed a kiss on her forehead and climbed into bed.

  So this was Eleanor’s burden. He hadn’t realized the extent of its weight. No child should have witnessed such a thing happening to a parent. Her hostility was understandable. She needed to feel safe in her home. In the darkness, he swore an oath that as long as his heart beat in his body, he would protect Eleanor and pull her from her suffering. He would show her that not all men were the devil her father was.

  And what of McPhearson? That monster would not survive their next encounter. Such evil should not be allowed to cast its shadow on the earth.

  You will die, McPhearson. I swear it. The oath was branded in his mind.

  Eleanor couldn’t remember ever sleeping so heavily. It was difficult clearing the dullness from her brain. Dominick’s side of the bed was empty. The window shutters had been closed to prevent light in from the day. She wondered how much of the valuable morning she had slept away.

  Stretching her legs, she felt something heavy on her foot. A bolt of red fabric balanced at the end of the bed, and a bolt of bright green silk with gold thread running through it fell to the floor when she moved. Ten bolts of fabric in various textures and shades lay beside her. She picked out a bolt of fabric and stroked its creamy softness that shimmered in the morning light. Never in her life had she seen such finery.

  The crackling fire drew her attention. There, draped on a chair, was a mantle made of sable too small to be Dominick’s. Its luxuriousness drew her, and swinging her feet over the side of the bed, she slowly walked to the rich fur. Her hands sank deep into the softness, tracks from her fingers leaving a trail. She’d never imagined anything as beautiful.

  Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the large ruby broach used as a clasp to hold the
cloak together. The blood-red ruby had a fire of its own.

  A loud bang at the door made Eleanor jump.

  “Oh good, you’re awake.” Martha entered the room carrying a tray of food and unloaded it onto the table. “His lordship asked that you not be disturbed, but I knew you’d be upset if we were to let you sleep the day away.

  Her eyes took in the sight of the mantle. “Good lord, will you look at that?” She ran her hands over the soft fur. “My lady, I have never seen anything this exquisite.” She pulled it off the chair and opened it for Eleanor. “Here, try this on and see how you look.”

  Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Oh no, I can’t. This couldn’t possibly be for me.”

  “Whom could it be for? It certainly isn’t the master’s. Any fur he wore would wipe out an entire species of animal.”

  Eleanor chuckled despite herself. “True, But why would he offer such a gift? I have done nothing to deserve it.” Her hand pointed to the bed. “And look there. I woke to fabric, textures the likes of which I’ve never seen. Why would a man waste coin on such frivolity?”

  Martha placed the mantle on Eleanor’s shoulders. She hadn’t noticed the chill in the air until the warmth of the fur surrounded her. Eleanor couldn’t keep herself from running her hands over the satiny fur.

  “You're the Lady of Godwin. It’s only fitting that you should be dressed in such finery.”

  She went to the window seat and watched as masons replaced old stones with new ones. “Where does his wealth come from? His lineage is a mystery.”

  Carrying a cup of tea for Eleanor, Martha joined her at the window seat.

  “Zenon has been talking with his lordship’s men. Apparently he made his riches from the Crusades and tournaments. According to the soldiers, he and his brother are almost as rich as the King himself.” Martha patted Eleanor’s hand. “It’s only fitting that the lord share his wealth with his lady.”

  “So he thinks to buy my loyalty?”

  Martha’s expression saddened. “Lord Dominick cannot win with you. If he wishes to keep you in a style as the lady of this house, you suspect he is trying to persuade your affections. If he did not, then others would think him indifferent and without honor to treat you as a pauper.

  “Accept this, my lady. It will give your people comfort knowing you are well taken care of. They have seen too much bitterness in the past.”

  Martha was right. Her people could only benefit from Dominick’s generosity. She looked toward the gatehouse. Wagons and herds of animals began filling the village and surrounding land. The sound of blacksmiths hammering out metal filled the air.

  In just three short days, Godwin was breathing new life. The hopelessness of her people during McPhearson’s siege still haunted her.

  Looking down at her hands, she sighed with resignation. “How do I learn to trust, Martha? How will I know that this is not just another deception?”

  “Your heart will know, my love.”

  The night before he tried to console her. She could not deny he’d shown kindness.

  “I hope you’re right. Until then I will reserve judgment.” Turning back to the fabric on the bed, she smiled. “I wonder if among all those wagons there is a good seamstress.”

  Chapter Eight

  Unable to sleep, Dominick walked the battlements, letting the cool air soothe his body until it prickled his skin and cooled the flames of his desire.

  He and Eleanor had been married for nearly a fortnight, and he remained true to his vow. Though they had passed the last few days in a truce, she had yet to remove the sword from their bed.

  Every night when she crossed the firelight in her nightgown, the silhouette of her naked body sent him into flights of erotic fantasy. He ground his teeth and did not turn away. The proximity of her lying only inches away made him as hard as granite. He tossed and turned in the night, trying to purge the demons of passion with little effect, forcing him out of their bed.

  As he walked the battlements, he thought of their evening meal. She had looked exquisitely radiant dressed in a new gown of red Egyptian silk. It was the first time he had seen her in a new gown. He’d given up hope that she’d accepted his gifts, until that night when she had graced him with that honor.

  Her eyes sparkled like emeralds. A simple gold circlet was the only ornamentation on her flaxen hair.

  While they ate, he kept the conversation light, talking of the castle, the village, and the restoration. He talked about the progress of the planting and how much the fields would yield by harvest.

  Since Eleanor’s nightmare he hadn’t mentioned her mother. His wife’s wounds were still too deep. He knew she thought that her mother had abandoned her. Dominick understood a great deal about abandonment, but shared his hurt with no one, not even his brother.

  That night he felt comfortable introducing his hounds to her at the end of the meal. She was quite wary of them whenever she crossed their path, and he wanted to put her at ease.

  With mutton bone in hand, he led her to the two giant wolfhounds lying near the hearth. They stood at their master’s approach. The tops of the animals’ heads reached as high Eleanor’s chest. Taking a piece of meat from the bone, Dominick held out his hand to the first one. Yet even with its great size, it gently licked the morsel from his hand. When Dominick scratched behind its ears, the dog waged its tail furiously.

  Pointing to the smaller gray one, he said, “This is Jocelyn and that’s Mya. Mya requires more attention, but both are just big puppies really.”

  “Big puppies that could tear an arm off,” she said cautiously.

  “Not when they are raised properly.”

  “I have seen too many hounds such as these rip each other apart for a mutton chop."

  “Not these girls.”

  As Dominick continued to scratch each dog’s ears, they bent their heads into his hands begging for more. He took Eleanor’s hand. “Here, hold out your palm like this and let them catch your scent.”

  Hesitantly, she did as he instructed. Jocelyn stretched her neck as her nose touched Eleanor’s fingertips. Then the hound’s large tongue licked her hand. Braver, Eleanor patted the top of Jocelyn’s head. Not to be denied, Mya nudged Eleanor’s elbow, demanding her share of the ear scratching.

  Eleanor let out a small chuckle. “They really are two characters, aren’t they?” She gave them both equal attention.

  It was then that she’d looked up at him and smiled. Women had smiled at him before, but somehow this was different. When Eleanor smiled, her face lit up the room . . .

  The cold stone of the battlement wall brought him out of his reverie. He was acting like an adolescent dolt.

  Clearing his head, he looked out into the starry night. No doubt McPhearson’s men were still out there. The man would be relentless in his pursuit of Godwin, its land, and its lady.

  His fists clenched on the stone. Eleanor’s poor mother had been one of McPhearson’s many victims. If it took his last breath, that demon would pay for his evil.

  Randolf walked up beside him.

  Dominick looked over his shoulder at his brother. “What are you doing out here at this time of night?”

  “Just making sure everything is tied down for the night.” Randolf’s eyes narrowed. “Is all well with you?”

  Dominick turned back toward the empty night. His brother had an uncanny ability to know when he was troubled. “I’m fine, just restless. I was thinking about McPhearson.”

  Randolf leaned against the battlement. “What worries you?”

  “What he is up to.” Dominick continued staring at the darkness.

  “My men have cleared the forest, and our spies tell us McPhearson is tightly entrenched in his own fortress.”

  Dominick sighed deeply. “It’s not because he fears a siege from me. He knows Godwin needs mending. He is counting on it.”

  “When do you think he will attack?”

  “When would you attack?” Dominick asked intently.

  Randolf nod
ded his head. “When they had the most to lose.”

  “Exactly. He will wait, but in the meantime he must have decided when that time is.”

  Like his brother, Randolf looked out into the darkness. “With all the activity around us, there may be a possibility we could have missed something.”

  “I will have my men scan the village for any problems,” Randolf said.

  “Good.” Dominick clapped his brother’s shoulder. “I will trust this to your judgment.”

  A comfortable silence fell between the two men.

  Then Randolf shifted his elbows onto the battlement walls. “So why are you out here this time of night and not with your bride?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Have you had any more visions?”

  “No.” Dominick turned back to the darkness. “Eleanor had a dream about her mother the other night.” He took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he shook his head at the image. “Randolf, in all my life I have never seen such ravages of grief.”

  “That is not entirely true, Dominick. You saw grief and desolation in the Crusades.”

  “This is different. Then, I was able to distance myself and not let those tragedies become a part of me, but this is personal.”

  Randolf stood quietly a moment, then his voice cracked as he stated, “I have felt such sorrow. When I thought I had lost you in the battle of Istanbul. When you were taken.”

  Dominick remembered it was Randolf’s face he saw when he regained consciousness. Randolf hovered over him, with his intense blue eyes filled with tears, willing him to live. And miraculously he had. The two stood in silence, remembering those dark days.

  “Do you think it’s more than protection Eleanor’s mother is looking for?” It was an obvious change of subject by Randolf.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It may be revenge. She is looking for revenge against McPhearson. You are the catalyst to bring him down.”

  “It doesn’t matter. McPhearson will die. And it will be by my hand only.”

  “He will not make it easy for you.”