Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

“I am not willing.” Clearer this time, like a melodic response to the priest’s Latin.

  The priest glanced at her, but continued. The barest stirring flexed through the knights.

  “I am not willing.” A shout this time. A desperate yell. “I am not willing.”

  The last words bounced off the stones. Genith backed away from Marcus, and shouted her denial again.

  The priest halted his benediction, and stared aghast at Genith. The knights exchanged stunned looks. As the last of Genith’s shouts died away into a brittle silence Nesta grabbed her sister and pushed her toward the doorway before anyone could gather their wits.

  One person in the chapel did not appear astonished. The lord of the manor silently watched their retreat. Nesta could not ignore that the dark anger in his eye was not aimed at Genith.

  “I am not sure what to do, my lord. One hears of such things, of course, but in my experience I have never been faced with it.”

  Father Robert wrung his hands with distress. He was a portly young man, recently ordained, and Marcus did not doubt that he had no experience with such thing; since he possessed little experience at all.

  “Normally such a problem is dealt with earlier, an the woman listens to reason. But this… so public…”

  Not so public, Marcus thought. Not in front of the whole household. He had at least been spared that, although soon everyone would hear of it. Still, he should probably thank Nesta. Maybe he would, after he finished warming her rump with his indignation.

  “What would you require to go forward?” he asked.

  The priest looked miserable. “She will have to tell me freely that she has changed her mind.”

  “How freely?”

  A shocked expression flitted over Father Robert round face, but he swallowed it. “I suppose she need only say the words to me.”

  “Then I must see that she agrees to say them, mustn’t I?”

  Father Robert cast Marcus a horrified glance. He sighed hopelessly, and aimed for the doorway like a man who didn’t want to know what would happen.

  Marcus gestured for his knights to leave as well. They headed back to the hall, but one stayed behind. Paul, his closest friend, allowed his outrage to show once they were alone. He paced around, spitting curses that desecrated the chapel.

  Paul finally squared off and gave the matter a sharp contemplation while he scratched his head through his curly dark locks. His full lips pursed in annoyance. “That girl is too proud, Marcus, and stupid as well if she dares such an insult.”

  Immersed in his own dark anger, Marcus only knew one thing for sure. The woman who had dared this insult was not stupid.

  “We will keep her from food until she comes around. Once we get her mark on the contract, this priest will not ask questions, I’ll see to that,” Paul said.

  “I will not starve her.”

  “It is that or beating her. Otherwise she will pretend to agree, and the next time in front of a priest she will deny you again.”

  “I will not beat her, either.”

  Paul’s gaze caught Marcus’s, and understanding flickered. With a resigned sigh, he looked away. “Pity to lose the lands. Llygad’s are no great prize, but the other property promised to you would bring a good income.”

  “I do not intend to lose anything, but I cannot force the girl. You know that.”

  Paul’s expression said he did know that. Someone else had surmised as much, too. Like an opponent in £ joust, she had ridden a few passes and immediately spotted his weakness.

  Nay, not stupid. Brilliant.

  He left Paul to go find the woman who had expertly foiled him today.

  The chamber door did not crash open. It swung slowly gently pressed by a strong, masculine hand. The quiet entry put Nesta on her guard more than if a battering ram had pounded the door to pieces.

  Marcus stood at the threshold, his stance as casual as if he visited merely to pass some time. He filled the doorway with his strength, but no bluster or threat puffed him up. With his golden hair and skin and blue courtly dress, he appeared quite magnificent and disarming.

  Nesta wasn’t fooled in the least. Marcus was dangerously angry. It could be seen in the wicked humor of his eyes and the line of his crooked smile. It oozed out of him and affected the air like an approaching storm.

  Genith did not see or feel it. Her tense body relaxed with relief.

  “I must insist on staying with my sister,” Nesta announced.

  “That is not necessary. She is in no danger from me.” He put a silken emphasis on the “she.”

  “You have no reason to be afraid, Genith. I blame myself, for not getting assurance of your willingness when we spoke today.” He addressed her sister, but he looked only at her and Nesta knew that he did not blame himself at all.

  In her relief, Genith broke into a bedazzling smile that would soothe any man in the world. Unfortunately its effect was wasted on Marcus, who had begun a predatory circling of the spot where Nesta stood.

  “Go to the hall now, Genith, and take the women with you. I would speak with Nesta alone.”

  Happy and ignorant, Genith gathered the servants and left. As soon as the door closed, a new fire entered Marcus’s eyes that more obviously revealed his mood.

  The silence became suffocating. Nesta could almost hear the battle for control taking place in the man pacing around her. She closed her eyes and braced herself for a blow.

  “Nay, lady, if I decide to do that, it will not be here. I will make your humiliation at least as public as mine was.”

  She opened her eyes and sneaked a glance at him, and decided that keeping silent would be the wisest choice.

  “By now the hall is full of talk of it. But if I drag you down there by the hair and bend you over my knee, it will give everyone a better spectacle to laugh about.”

  “Since I am not the woman who denied you in the chapel, they will conclude that you try to coerce my sister by unjustly hurting me. Would you have your people think you are such a man?”

  “If I seek to compel your sister, there are better ways to do it.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It is the contemplation of a man who will not be manipulated by a troublesome sister. I warned you not to play me for your fool again.”

  “What do you contemplate? Beating her?”

  “It has been suggested.”

  “I do not believe you will do that.”

  “You are so sure? Do not be.” He snapped it as an angry warning.

  But she was sure. There was much she did not know about this man, but she knew this.

  Her certainty must have shown, because he stopped his pacing right in front of her and speared her with steely gaze. “You are well contented that you have bent me to your will, aren’t you?”

  “This is not about you and me, but my sister.”

  “Nay, woman, it is all about you and me. Your sister is merely the prize.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and inspected her. A glint, no more, of the other way it was about him am her entered his eyes, but his annoyance burned it away.

  “I can make quick work of this in other ways, Nesta. could threaten to hang the bard. If the price of his lift was her hand, do you think Genith would continue to withhold it?”

  The suggestion horrified her. Not just because Genith might submit, but also because she might not.

  She resented his using such a bluff. She stuck he face up at him. “If this is between you and me, leave innocents out of it. Besides, you will not do that either. L fact, I do not think that you will coerce her in any way.‘

  “Do not goad me by counting on my being weak lady.”

  “I do not accuse you of weakness, but of honor. I you were a man who forced women, you would have already forced me.”

  It was a mistake to say that. She knew it as soon a the words blurted out. His expression darkened more but a new danger slid through him. A sensual power flowed, shading and sharpening his anger with her, g
iving it a new edge.

  Their mutual craving was suddenly, starkly there, absorbing her, trying to pull her across the narrow space separating them. Its intensity frightened her. It also excited her.

  She could see him grabbing her, pulling her to him, kissing her with the confident possession he had in the cottage, obliterating her control and dragging her into abandon.

  He did not reach for her. Her relief was tinged with a disappointment that horrified her.

  He did not touch her, but neither did he retreat. He made no effort to quell what had risen between them and it remained thick in the air, an enlivening, threatening lure.

  “As you can see, there would be no forcing to it, Nesta,” he said quietly, cruelly naming her weakness to him. “To imply there would be is dishonest of you. Nor is it goodness or honor that restrains me. You are my king’s woman and my future wife’s sister. To take you would be both stupid and contemptible.”

  That certainly laid it out baldly. Not only the desire but also her expected compliance, and the impossibility, and impracticality, of ever acting on what wanted to happen between them.

  A wistful sadness welled inside her chest. He had said nothing that she did not already know. A foolish corner of her heart ached at hearing it put into words, however. That uncontrollable part of her was shameful, and potentially very perilous. Unfortunately, it appeared to be growing, and making her more stupid with each day.

  “It occurs to me that the easiest course is to lock you away, so that Genith does not have you whispering in her ear. With a little time away from your influence, I think that she will come around.”

  “A little time was all I asked to begin with. If you agree to that, there is no need to lock me away. I will say nothing to dissuade her.”

  He smiled. “So you think that a week of wooing is all it will take?”

  “Well, two weeks perhaps.”

  He thought about that, and nodded vaguely. She was sure that her exhale of relief sounded as loud as a gale of wind.

  Marcus appeared accepting of the delay. She assumed he would leave.

  Instead, he finally did touch her. Not with a grab for passion, however. His hand went to her face, and his warm palm pressed her cheek. He looked down at her with a thoughtful, absorbing gaze.

  “What mischief are you up to, Nesta?”

  None. I only do my duty to my sister. The words did not come out, because her stupid heart had risen to her throat, blocking the sounds.

  His palm stayed for a delicious moment, tantalizing her. She wanted to push it away, but she could not. She could barely breathe.

  Suddenly, his touch was gone. With purposeful strides, he left the chamber.

  She continued feeling that brief touch as if he had branded her. Free of his absorbing presence, however, she began to worry about the implications of his last question.

  Aye, why couldn’t the King have chosen a stupid man?

  Marcus would not threaten to hang Dylan to coerce Genith, but he might have to hang the bard all the same. It was time to decide about that.

  He did not return to the hall, but instead took the stone stairs down to the cellar chambers. As he descended, the glimmer of a candle turned a corner and moved up toward him. It illuminated a happy girlish smile and dark eyes not nearly so vacant as normal. Whatever private thoughts amused Genith, they, and the smile, disappeared in a blink when she noticed him standing on the step where he had paused.

  She started, and almost dropped the large sack that she carried under one arm. Dylan’s sack, containing his harp. Marcus looked at it pointedly and Genith hoisted it a bit higher, as if she feared his taking it away.

  “You have been visiting the prisoner, Genith?”

  “It is a charity to visit the imprisoned, I was always taught. I trust it does not displease you, my lord.”

  The girl was quick, he had to give her that. Not as quick as Nesta, nor as smooth, but then Genith was much younger and had less practice.

  “He asked me to take the harp, since his chamber is so damp that he fears it will be damaged there if he is kept long.”

  “Bring it to the hall, and I will remove it to my chamber later. No harm will come to it there.”

  She appeared a bit disappointed by that. Balancing her candle and hugging her precious burden, she climbed the stairs until she had passed him.

  He started down, but her call stopped him. “My lord, perhaps during some meals you might let him come up to sing. The people would like that, I think.”

  He was supposed to woo and placate this girl, and that included giving in to her little requests unless he had a good reason not to. His only one right now was that he might execute Dylan, and a dead man cannot sing. “If he stays with us, I will consider what you ask.”

  She favored him with a dazzling smile. It made her look more like her sister.

  No guard stood outside the prisoner’s chamber since none was really needed. The key hung on the wall, an< as Marcus took it down he realized that Genith must have let herself in as well if she was given the harp.

  He unlocked the door and pushed it open. An amazing sight awaited him.

  Dylan did not lie on the floor in the darkness Rather, two candles burned on a makeshift table, and ; rough bed had been constructed against one wall Someone had thoughtfully provided a crockery chamber pot. The remains of a good meal, the same food being enjoyed in the hall, sat on a plate beside a small jug.

  The young man jumped to his feet from where h< lounged on the bed. He raked his long hair back from his face so that his brave indifference could be seen.

  Marcus looked at the straw and blankets, am thought of the girl who had just left, and decided that henceforth there would be a guard after all.

  He walked over to the table and lifted the jug. Wine not ale.

  “You are comfortable, Dylan?”

  The youth regarded him with the fiery defiance h< had shown from the start. “Comfortable enough.”

  More than enough, to Marcus’s mind. It was a wonder the chamber had not been decorated with carpet and tapestries.

  He knew how these comforts had come here. No through Genith and Nesta, although they may have seen to some. Others, servants and squires and even knights, had brought them. As lord he was sworn to the English crown, but many within these walls had a lot of Welsh blood flowing in them. Bards were revered among the Welsh, and word had spread that one now lived in the cellar.

  “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Are you one of Llygad’s men?”

  He only got a hot stare in response to that question.

  “Nesta said that Genith was headed to her father’s men when we caught up with you.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m with them. The woman paid me a coin to help escort her sister. Like most, I can use it.”

  “If you intended to escort Genith to Llygad’s men, you would have to know where those men are.”

  A touch of fear flickered in Dylan’s eyes, barely visible among the rasher, belligerent lights. “The others knew, not me.”

  “I think that you are lying.”

  “Can’t prove it.”

  Of course he could. It would not take much to break this one. He would not even have to raise a hand. Dylan’s thinness spoke of a life that had known hunger, and he would fear knowing that gnawing pain again.

  “Do you know who I am, Dylan? Where you are?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then you know that I am one of the lords who need not wait on the King’s courts. I hold ancient rights of judgment on these lands. If I say that you hang, you hang. If I say that you are beaten, the lash will fall. You helped to steal what was mine, and I think that you knew it was mine as you did so. Tomorrow I will ask again if you know where Llygad’s men are. Think about your answer tonight, because if you lie again I will not be inclined to mercy.”.

  The youth did not so much as flinch through all of it. He just stood there, braver than a man twice his size wo
uld be, hearing the ultimatum that might mean his death. As Marcus left, he was treated to that bold glare once more.

  He climbed the stairs. Tomorrow he would decide whether to carry out his threat, but he already knew what the decision would be. He should hang the bare because, as Paul had said in the village, Dylan was either a thief or a traitor, and most likely the latter.

  He wouldn’t, however, and not because it would distress the girl whose favor he needed. He wouldn’t because Dylan’s rebellious insolence reminded him too much of someone else.

  Himself, not so long ago.

  Chapter 7

  He burned.

  Nesta’s presence fueled the hellfire that tortured him.

  Flames licked at him during meals. Her sister sat between them, but even the barrier of Genith’s ice could not cool the heat.

  During the day, Nesta had only to walk nearby or look at him to make his blood crackle. At night a blaze roared. As he gazed out at the stars or lay restless in a bed damp with sweat, his imagination knew no constraints. He mentally made love to her a hundred times, often in ways he had never taken the time to try with other women.

  For a few days he tried avoiding her, but that did not help much. He would enter a chamber and know at once she had been there from the lingering spring scent, and her ghost would invade his head to fan the embers. And so, since it made no difference, he stopped avoiding her at all.

  Which only meant that he burned all the more.

  Paul noticed. A week after returning to Angles more they were walking across the yard when Nest passed them going in the other direction. Marcus was so distracted in watching her that he stepped on chicken.

  Amidst the flying feathers and squawks, Paul pointed a finger right at his face. “I speak as your friend and no your sworn man now. Don’t. If you want the sister to have cause to deny you, that is the best. If you want the King to reduce you to the smallest of men, that will do it. Nothing but trouble there, and you know it.”

  Marcus laughed. “Hell, but that’s the truth. Still, find myself not sleeping well these days.”

  “Then take a servant or call a woman to come from the town. Or better yet, get on with wooing the on< you are intended to bed.”