Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03

by Beleaguered

  She lived and died without benefit of any comfort from me.

  Alyse stared at him as though she had never seen him before.

  “Oh, do not look at me thus, madam.” He fairly spat the words at her. “She was my wife, was she not? What is there amiss that she should carry my child?”

  “Nothing, my lord,” she whispered so low he could barely hear. “You surprised me with the news, ’tis all.”

  “Should I not grieve for them?” he shouted, making her wince.

  “Aye, my lord, you should.” As if in a daze, she turned away from him and continued up the stairs. At the top, she headed down the corridor, toward her chamber.

  She would not escape so easily.

  He raced up the staircase and caught her, twisted her around by the elbow. He thrust his face within inches of hers. “Mary did not deserve to die that way. Neither did she deserve the life she lived with me.” His glare deepened. “She knew I never cared for her, knew I still loved another woman. Knew too that when I held her and used her body, it was only because I could not have you.”

  Self-loathing washed through him at the thought of the hell he had put poor Mary through. “Thank God, I could at least be gentle with her, most of the time, when she served my baser needs. But all I could think was that it should be you, Alyse, there beneath me. It should have been you! And Mary knew it.”

  “You don’t know that.” Alyse’s cheeks alternated between blood red and stark white.

  “There was no way I could keep it from her. I cried out your name. More than once.” He shook his head, willing the image away. “Still, I could do nothing to change my feelings either for you or for her.”

  She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held her. He would tell her all, by Christ. Mayhap then he would find some measure of peace.

  “Yet I believe life was tolerable, at least until our meeting on the deck of the Phillipa.” A day he would not forget if he lived as long as Methuselah. “Those sweet moments that morning made me understand how empty my life had been without you. I needed you like I needed air to breathe. And I had been suffocating since June.” He released her, and she stumbled back a step.

  “If Sir Robert had not been on deck that morning, I swear I would have killed Thomas then and there.”

  She gasped and took another step back. “You would not—”

  “Oh, aye, Alyse, I would.” He smiled and saw fear leap again in her eyes. “And afterward, when I found out that you had given yourself to him, I did sorely regret not doing it.”

  In that moment, at least, it had been true. He had been crazed with the knowledge that another, even Thomas, had touched her.

  “That afternoon, I had wished Thomas happiness with you, sure in my assumption that you loved only me and would never let him into your bed. How much then did I feel the fool when I found out you were man and wife indeed?”

  Alyse’s face paled again. “Thomas told you that we...?”

  He shook his head. Much as he might wish to mar Alyse’s memory of Thomas, he would not lie.

  “Nay, madam, Thomas said naught to me about it. He hardly had to.” She looked at him, the confusion on her face drawing a grunt of amusement from him. “You and he were confined to your compartment alone for a week. I hardly expected you passed the time playing chess. But when Thomas asked me to help bring you up on deck, I knew. Just by the look of him, I knew.”

  Alyse’s eyes narrowed. “Would you deny me the tenderness of a husband’s caress simply because you could not be that husband?” Her nostrils flared, and she swept her hand up and down his body. “You obviously did not feel the need to withhold yourself from your wife.”

  “You should have been always and only mine.”

  “And I should have been the one to carry your child.” The anger that infused her voice surprised him. So that had stung her hardest. “But should have was rent asunder by your father’s treachery. An you would blame someone for the ruin of our lives, blame him. Not me, nor Mary, nor Thomas.” Her eyes flashed with accusation. “But, I vow, a goodly lot of blame for the miseries of my life lies on your head, Geoffrey Longford. ’Tis your fault I wasted the first weeks of my marriage to Thomas pining for you, holding on to a love that could never be.”

  Her face crumpled into lines of pain. “Had I not held myself from my husband, trying desperately to be true to you, I might even now be sure I had his babe within me. ’Tis because of you I do not have that assurance of his love or an heir to follow after him.”

  Geoffrey’s mouth twitched into a sardonic half-smile, his voice icy. “’Twas only because of me that Thomas noticed you at all, madam. Had you not been betrothed to me, he would never have even looked at you. I had to plead with him to marry you.”

  She gasped, and her face flooded red. Her right hand whipped around behind her and then his head rocked back as pain burst in his left cheek. He rubbed his face and blinked at her, too stunned to speak.

  Alyse stood, shaking her hand, then, with a sob, turned and fled toward her chamber.

  * * * *

  Almost there.

  Alyse skidded to a stop in front of her chamber door just as he snared her arm. He dragged her around, and she once again stood eye to eye with Geoffrey Longford.

  She raised her face defiantly to him. Given his current mood, she braced for a blow in return.

  Instead, he swooped down, crushing his lips against hers.

  No, no, no.

  She tried to shake him free, but he took possession of her mouth with deep thrusts of his tongue. Her head swirled, and dizziness overtook her. She pushed against his chest. Precious little good that did. She might as well try to move a mountain.

  He tightened his arms around her, crushing her to him. Then everything seemed to drain from her mind: all the anger, all the sorrow, all the fear, all banished by the sudden feeling of rightness in his kiss. She leaned into him, and he grasped her head, shifting it until their lips sealed perfectly.

  He lifted her in his arms, spun her around, still holding that kiss. They banged into the door, and he let her slide down his body, inch by delicious inch. Her head suddenly heavy, she rested it against the wall, too weak from the surge of fire through her veins to hold it up. When he at last broke the kiss, she panted.

  His eyes gleamed in the waning light, two black spheres filled with hot desire. He pinned her to the wall, his big body molding to hers, his obvious need hard against her belly, which ached with a need of its own.

  “Alyse.” The anguished yearning in the half-choked name shot a white hot streak directly to her core.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her head in his chest, and nodded. He whirled them through the door, and the next she knew, they lay sprawled on the bed, his great weight pressing her into the mattress. Unrelenting, he claimed her mouth once again, drowning her with honeyed kisses that moved from mouth to cheeks to throat. As always, the mere touch of his flesh on hers made her body burn with the intensity of a small sun.

  Heat coursed through her, singing a siren song so sweet she could not resist the melody as it spread from her mouth through her belly to the center of her womanhood. She moaned with delight so intense it might drive her mad.

  He trailed his lips along her neck to the top of her gown. An impatient grunt then the sound of ripping material, and her breasts were free. He seized her nipple and drew hard upon it, sending wave after wave of searing pleasure to lodge between her thighs.

  Oh, God.

  She writhed beneath him, seeking more, tearing at his clothes, unable to wait any longer.

  He rose above her, swept his hose down in a swift, violent movement that freed his throbbing staff. Another deft motion, and he had raked her skirts up to her waist. His breathing ragged in her ear, he pressed her thighs open with his knee, lowered his hips onto hers. With a quick motion, he slid fully into her.

  Oh, God, oh, God.

  She would die with the pleasure of this. The sense of oneness, so long denied,
washed over her—a contentment like none other in her life.

  Oh, let this moment last a lifetime.

  She clutched him tighter to her breast and moved her hips, beckoning him deeper.

  He groaned and sped his thrusts, spearing her again and again, faster and faster until a brilliant explosion within filled her with wave after glorious wave.

  “Geoffrey!” The scream tore from her throat.

  He thrust again, straining into her. “Alyse! Oh, my love.” He spilled his hot seed, his body shuddering as the throes of passion spent him. At last he slumped against her, with a weight she welcomed.

  Oh, sweet heaven be blessed. Home at last.

  Chapter 10

  Alyse swam slowly up out of a deep sleep, her body heavy and rested for the first time in days. A luxurious feeling. She turned on her side, stretched all the way to her toes, and slid her hand across the sheet. Nothing. No companion next to her. She cracked an eyelid, squinting at the brightness of the candle on the stand beside the bed. Groggy, she struggled to raise her head.

  At the table across the room, movement in the shadows caught her attention. He was here. She nestled down into the pillows, closed her eyes, and smiled. “Thomas?”

  “Geoffrey, my lady.”

  She bolted upright in the bed, face aflame, grabbing the sheet up to her chin.

  Geoffrey stood, grinning, and offered her a cup of wine. “I suppose I should have expected that. ’Twill be a while ere you become used to me again.” He sat down on the bed, his huge body seeming to fill the room.

  At least he had donned his hose. No tunic, however, so the broad shoulders, muscled chest, and tapering, narrow waist created a feast for her eyes. Her stomach fluttered, and she shifted back until her head hit the headboard.

  To distract herself from that expanse of smooth flesh, she fixed her gaze on his only adornment above the waist—a small, slightly dingy blue cloth bag hanging from a fine gold chain. Her mouth dropped open.

  ’Tis the pouch I gave him the night he rode away in June. Dear Lord, does it still contain my hair? Her toes curled.

  Her question must have been plain on her face, for he laughed, set her wine on the stand, and ran a finger down the pouch. “Aye, madam, ’tis the same one with the same lock of hair. I have it with me yet. I have not removed it since you placed it there these many months ago.”

  She continued to stare. That would mean he had worn her token when he was married…when they had shared a bed together. She shook her head. “Surely you did not wear it while you were married to Mary.”

  “But I did, my sweet.” He smiled and took her hand. “I told her ’twas a charm for luck, to guard me always from harm. And that I could not remove it until death claimed me.” He shrugged. “She questioned me not.” He cupped her chin and drew her to him. “That was my promise to you, my love. The least I could do was keep my word in that one thing.”

  He found her lips, giving her a kiss so sweet her entire body ached. Her breath caught in her throat. Images of their embrace in the hall—and what they had done in this bed—rose behind her closed lids. Had she really done those things?

  She snatched her head away, fire scalding her cheeks. His gaze bored into her, so intensely she feared he was trying to penetrate to her soul. Only one way to escape it. She ducked beneath the sheet.

  Dear Lord.

  Her clothes had vanished.

  “Did you do this to me, Geoffrey Longford?” She poked her head out to glare at him. The wretch. There was not a stitch of clothing to be found on her. He lifted the sheet away to look, and she snatched it back to cover her.

  His throaty chuckle set her teeth on edge. “I may only take credit for removing the remainder of your clothing, sweet Alyse. I give God in all His glory my gratitude for the rest.”

  She pursed her lips. How dare he disrobe her without her consent? What did he think she was? Her sharp words caught in her throat, however, when she met his gaze. The deep sapphire blue eyes shone softly in the candlelight, so brimming over with love she could almost feel it.

  She burst into tears. “What have we done?”

  He scooped her into his arms and pressed her against his chest. The clean scent of soap overlaid with his sweat sent her mind reeling back to the other bed they had shared. A lifetime ago, or only yesterday?

  “We have consummated our marriage, as pledge of our love.”

  “Our marriage?” She raised her head and cocked it. “I remember no marriage vows spoken between us, Geoffrey Longford, nor a priest to seal those vows. So of what do you speak?”

  “Shhhh.” He released her and slid to the floor, raising himself up on one knee. “I speak of a betrothal contract that promised you to me. Of a love for you so abiding that even though forced to wed another, I never thought of her as my true wife. I speak of my desire to have you to wife as soon as we have a priest to secure the sacrament.” He shrugged and said simply, “I speak of a marriage that exists between us in all but spoken vows.”

  Her heart stuttered in her breast. He spoke only truth. An unbreakable bond had been forged between them months ago. A lifetime ago. She loved him, yea, almost more than life. That had not changed and never would.

  She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it passionately. “I vow I do love you still, Geoffrey. I am, as I have been, yours, body and soul.” To be able to say the words to him, at last, gave her soul wings.

  His eyes widened, and the tension left his shoulders so quickly he sagged and almost swayed. He grasped her head, as she knew he would, to seal the moment with a kiss. But she pulled away and sat back on the bed. She would be heard on this.

  “But we are not yet married. We were betrothed, but that betrothal was broken. Each of us married another, and though now we are free to marry, we cannot without the proper vows and blessings.”

  He rose and seized her once more. “Mere details,” he murmured before possessing her mouth in a kiss that was almost reverent. Oh, the incredible softness, the tenderness of those lips. She had missed this so much. With a sigh, she slumped against him. ’Twas where she belonged.

  Boldness took his mood, and he tasted her deeply, drawing her tongue into his mouth as he wrapped his arms around her. As heat rose in her, all reason fled. ’Twas right, what they did. They should be together. Nothing else mattered.

  Geoffrey stripped off his hose and joined her in the bed. They slid beneath the sheets, pressed together, flesh against flesh. He rolled on top of her, pushing her into the mattress. His weight was so much greater than Thomas’s.

  Thomas.

  A sob tore from her throat, and she tried to wriggle from beneath him. “This is wrong, Geoffrey.” Thomas’s face appeared before her eyes. Oh, love I am so sorry. “I am a widow, sir, of less than five days. You are a widower of less than one. What respect for the dead does this bespeak, my lord? We dishonor their memories with our hasty actions.”

  Geoffrey sighed and turned up onto his side. She scooted away, but he grabbed her hand. “I mean no disrespect to the dead, Alyse. Either to Mary or Thomas. But whatever our actions, we can neither hurt nor help them now.” He kissed her palm. “An these were ordinary times, I would say yea, mourn their passing a proper length ere we let our love bloom again. But nothing is ordinary these days, my love. You know as well as I we are not promised the morrow, and I would hold you and love you as long as God allows.” He hesitated, running his thumb over her knuckles time and again.

  “What is it, Geoffrey?” The stern set of his mouth said there was more.

  “The last time I spoke to Thomas, when he knew…he was dying,” he swallowed hard, “he told me that if God spared you and I both, he gave us his blessing. He wanted us to be together, for he knew how we loved each other.” A tear glistened in his eye. “He was the best man I have ever known. I loved him like a brother. I would do nothing to dishonor him or his memory.”

  Tears stung her eyes. Oh, Thomas, my love. Such unselfish thoughts for her happiness from her dying husb
and wrenched her heart. Sobs shook her, and Geoffrey drew her close.

  “Shhh, my love. Take comfort in the knowledge that Thomas loved you deeply and knew you loved him. I wish Mary could have had such comfort at the last, but I had not the way about me, the capacity to love another woman after you.”

  The pain in his voice made her tears ebb. “Do you mind that I came to love Thomas?” This fear had eaten at her for weeks. “You held me in utmost regard even above your lawful wife.” That confession still made her giddy, yet she had not been so true. “I tried to do so, from the start, but Thomas…was a friend. And he,” she paused, searching for the right words, “made me love him.”

  “Indeed?” His voice deepened.

  “Aye. You know how he was.”

  Geoffrey nodded, brows knit together. “’Twas often remarked he could turn a saint into a sinner with a single smile.”

  God, but that had a ring of truth. That lazy smile had made her knees weak the first time she had seen it. “His wit, his courtesy, his concern for me all made me care for him past the bonds of friendship. And when I finally accepted that I could never have you, I wanted to love him. Not as I loved you,” she hastened to reassure him, “never that way, but I did love him.” She sighed and brushed a tear away. “I tried to be a good wife to him, for I never thought to have another husband.” She swallowed back new tears. “I hope he was happy.”

  “Aye, love, he was. His words to me exactly, my oath upon it.”

  Geoffrey’s conviction soothed her guilty conscience. If Thomas had been happy, and wanted them to be together, mayhap they had not dishonored him.

  “You gave him joy in your short time together. Be not sad that we love now.” He ran his finger down her cheek, capturing a tear. “I understand how he felt, for my time with you, sweet love, though even briefer, has been the delight of my life. Which is why,” he smiled at her, and pulled her closer, “I intend to have as much time with you as we can possibly wrest from this life.”