Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

  He turned her enough so their mouths could meet, and claimed her with a savage kiss that contained all of the night’s emotions, both harsh and loving.

  Releasing her, he moved her body. Rising on his knees, he eased her forward and pressed her head to the pillow so her back arched and her bottom rose. The vulnerability sent a shocking thrill of anticipation through her.

  As if he sensed how the position tantalized her, he let her wait. She felt him there, right behind her, looking at her, and imagining what he saw only made it worse.

  He touched her where she pulsed, and she thought she would faint. It was the first caress of the night, but her body was so anxious that it almost undid her. Intense pleasure streaked through her.

  Another touch, more deliberate. A moaning sigh escaped her.

  “That is right, Nesta. Let me hear your desire. Making you want me gives me great pleasure.”

  With slow, masterful touches, he forced madness on her. Delicious, mindless need consumed her. He made her want him until the sounds of her own cries floated in the fog of her mind.

  Holding her hips, he joined them with a slow, deliberate penetration. The sensual chaos in her consciousness calmed with the welcome fullness. It felt so wonderful. Hard and complete and connecting.

  He withdrew slowly, and the exquisite sensation made her throb. A hard reconnection turned the pleasure feral. She looked back to where he rose behind her, strong and controlling, his body astonishing in its masculine beauty. His gaze met hers in the instant comprehension they had always had of each other when it came to passion and desire.

  Welcoming this special submission, she let him take her into ecstasy.

  “Stealing these tastes of heaven with you has also meant knowing a lot of hell.”

  His quiet voice broke the stillness as they lay together on the pallet beneath the window, letting the brisk night air cool the heat of their bodies. It was very late. She should have returned to her chamber long ago, but their lovemaking had not ended until long after the household had retired.

  She lay sprawled on him, her ear to his chest and her thighs flanking his hips. This last joining had not been furious like the first, but so soulful and sweet that her heart had wanted to break. As his hold had guided the rise and fall of her hips, she had been able to see his face in the moonlight, and the way he looked at her, and the times his gaze had slid to the sky behind her head.

  That was where he was looking now.

  She did not break their embrace, but listened to his heartbeat and nestled in the surrounding strength of his arms. Escaping into the magic of their passion had been wonderful, and she wanted to pretend it would not end. She could not ignore, however, that the emotions that he had brought back to Anglesmore tonight still churned in him.

  She did not need his quiet statement to tell her that. She felt it in him, as she had even in their pleasure. A dark current flowed in him, touching everything, even his desire and ecstasy.

  “You were wrong, Nesta. What you said earlier. That no one would care about those villagers. I did not see the bodies of Welsh people hanging there. I saw the bodies of my people. If I had followed my blood not only would Arundal’s men be dead, but I would have probably taken my men into Arundal’s land, looking for him.”

  “I am glad you did not go that far, although a war between two marcher lords would be useful.” She laughed after she said it, hoping to lighten his mood. Their profound connection meant that she sensed too well the turmoil in his head and heart.

  He kissed her hair, as if acknowledging her small attempt to soothe him. They lay silently in their embrace, and she tried to let their closeness bring some peace.

  “How was it between you and Edward?”

  The question jolted her out of her stupor of contentment. “I thought you did not want to know which of the songs was true.”

  “The man who holds you does not, but the Lord of Anglesmore has decided he needs to know.”

  “I do not think the King holds any affection for me now, if that is your—”

  “I am not concerned about his reaction to our love. I need to know for other reasons.”

  Our love. They had slipped out, forbidden words spoken while he concentrated on something else. The affirmation planted a spot of startling, pristine happiness in her heart. Her reaction was instant and helpless.

  She rose up a bit, so she could see his face. He still gazed at the stars, and did not even appear very thoughtful. His expression was too calm, too firm.

  His eyes burned with the lights of a man who had made a decision and only waited for the signal to ride. I saw my people.

  His gaze shifted to meet hers. Suddenly it was just the two of them in the world, bound by a mutual knowing of each other that was deeper than any words.

  “Was it rape, Nesta?”

  She knew what he was contemplating. Whether it was because of her or the villagers, or because of the centuries his family had lived in Wales, his loyalty was wavering. Only one thread had ever held it to England, and that was what he owed the King.

  One word from her, and that thread would break. This man of all men would not feel bound to serve a rapist. Especially one who had violated the woman he loved.

  Her heart started pounding. A victory she had never sought was waiting in the dark eyes gazing into hers. If one marcher lord joined her father’s men, others might too. The new English lords to the north and west could never stand against the power of the borders. The odds of her father’s plan working would increase tremendously, and the alliance Genith was supposed to have made would surely unfold as it should.

  It was all there, a breath away. But the bigger temptation was a personal one. She saw Marcus and her united in all ways, joined by day as well as night, hand in hand in duty as well as passion. Her heart filled with a yearning so intense her eyes misted from wanting it so badly.

  “Was it?” A demand this time, as the arms surrounding her nakedness tightened possessively.

  She wanted to say it. Hungered to. She felt him beneath her, around her. Sensed what was in him, and understood it even better than he did. United, aye, but for the wrong reason. Joined by a duty, but one that would cause the destruction he wanted to stop. Hand in hand, but perhaps in defeat and not victory.

  They were his people, but this was not his cause.

  A horrible pain lodged in her heart. Sharp and ragged, it stole her breath. In that instant she realized how much she loved him. The regret ripping through her, the temptation to say the words that would bridge what separated them, was mellowed only by the complete certainty of that love.

  “Nay,” she whispered. “I was in no way coerced or forced.”

  A series of reactions flickered in his eyes. Relief and surprise and even a bit of disappointment. Then, deeply, a flash of anger, as if he resented her refusal to give him the excuse he wanted.

  He pressed her head back down on his chest, and the peace lapped over them again. She could feel whatever had provoked his crisis of the soul receding on its tide.

  “Then I want you out of it, Nesta. I want you done with it.”

  She did not respond. There was nothing she could say.

  What he and she wanted was of little importance in this. In any of it.

  Chapter 19

  Marcus, Addis, and Nesta stood together near the rushing stream, drinking the crisp water with which they had filled their cups. Marcus surveyed the forest-covered hills flanking the small valley in which they traveled. They had crossed into Merionetshire, the crown lands known to the Welsh as Gwynedd. When they remounted, they would have to climb into the mountains in order to reach the old manor of Llygad ap Madoc.

  “Two boys and three girls,” Addis said to Nesta, in response to her question about his family. “Then there is a third boy, whom we fostered.” He launched into a description of his children and their achievements while Nesta listened politely.

  Marcus looked past them to the dense clustering of men and horses that st
retched along the banks of the stream. From this domestic conversation, one would never guess that Addis and he led an army, or that Nesta accompanied them as something of a prisoner.

  He had brought her because he dared not leave her to make mischief from Anglesmore, and because her presence might be useful.

  She also came, however, because he wanted her with him. He had not voiced that reason to Addis, but he suspected that Addis had guessed it. Someone sleeping in the bedchamber would have heard what occurred in the solar.

  Nesta walked the twenty paces to the stream’s bank. She took out a cloth and dipped it in the water and began dabbing her face and neck.

  Addis sidled closer to Marcus, and glanced up at the tree-covered hill to their left. “We are being watched. Have been since we entered this valley. I know it, you know it, she knows it, and half the men know it.”

  Marcus nodded. There had been no evidence of being followed, but one could feel the presence of others.

  Addis gestured to a group of three men standing to one side. They had also come as prisoners, only more obviously than Nesta had. “Good that you had them remove Arundal’s colors. It was wise of you to bring them, too. If Arundal had arrived at Anglesmore demanding their release, the men guarding the keep would be hard-pressed to refuse him.”

  “My bigger concern was the danger they faced from those guards, Addis. Many within my walls are Welsh, or have a lot of Welsh blood, and even my English knights think they deserve execution. If I did not hang them that day in the village, I do not want to return and find them dead through some accident or suspicious illness.”

  Addis peered to where the valley narrowed and rose. “We will be riding no more than two across up ahead. If there is going to be trouble, it will be there.”

  Marcus laughed, and clamped his hand on Addis’s shoulder. “You broach the subject as a mother does wit a grown son. The warden in you wants to give advice but you hesitate lest you insult me.”

  Addis smiled with some chagrin. “It is habit, from when you needed advice.”

  “I still welcome it, so do not be so careful with in pride. As for the eyes in the forest and the narrow pat ahead, we will tell the men to carry their shields.”

  Nesta strolled back toward them. Addis noticed he coming, muttered something about passing the order and walked away. Nesta watched him go, then turned her gaze on Marcus conspiratorially.

  She favored him with a private smile and tender look. He reacted as he always did, with an onslaught of desire and yearning that blotted out most of the world. For a moment nothing existed but the sight of her, and that smile, and the bright sun, and the sound of the rushing stream.

  During that mesmerized instant, her face fell. Frowning, she quickly looked to the hills. Shock re placed the warmth in her eyes. With an expression o horror and determination, she ran toward him, he mouth open in a soundless yell.

  He saw her come as if time had slowed. Whistle penetrated his awareness just as she slammed into him with all of her weight. She clutched him in a hurtling embrace that had him staggering back while the world swirled.

  His balance and senses abruptly righted themselves He found himself surrounded by her arms, her body pressed to his.

  All along the stream activity erupted. Men yelled swords flashed, and horses pranced. A line of archer! marched forward and sent volleys of arrows into the forest Arundal’s three men lay in heaps, each pierced by several arrows from longbows.

  Marcus looked down, and saw another one sticking out of the ground where he had just been standing.

  No one attacked. No more whistles sounded. The battle stance of his men slowly relaxed.

  Marcus embraced the woman who still shielded him with her body. A turmoil of reactions overwhelmed him. Astonishment that she had sensed the danger before Addis or himself. Anger that she had risked herself so thoughtlessly. Joy that she cared enough to do so.

  He set her aside firmly, and went over to Arundal’s men. Colors or not, they had been identified.

  Addis joined him. “There will be hell to pay with Arundal when he hears of this.”

  “He will probably hear of it very soon, too. Words travel faster than a horse in Wales.”

  Men lifted the bodies and slung them over saddles. Squires brought their horses, and he and Addis mounted.

  “No need to pass the word about those shields now,” Addis said. Behind them every man had steel facing the hill to their left. “I think that I will carry mine too.”

  Marcus took the hint, and lifted his own. He was probably the only one who needed to, from the looks of things. Except for the one bolt still rising beside Nesta, no others had been aimed at other than Arundal’s men.

  “Perhaps they wanted to free her from this betrothal you made,” Addis said.

  “Perhaps.”

  Addis gave the woman waiting for them a thoughtful examination. “I suddenly favor her much more than I did a short while ago.”

  The first sight of her home made Nesta stop her horse. A flood of reactions poured through her, and shock tinged every one.

  She had never realized how poor her father’s manor was. Only the lowest of English lords lived like this.

  Pushing her horse forward, she tried to reconcile what she saw with her memories. When she lived here as a girl, she had thought it very grand. Compared to everything else that she knew, it had been. In the eight years since she had left, however, she had learned what true power and position looked like. In comparison, this appeared very primitive.

  Riding beside Marcus, she entered the gate in the wooden stockade wall. The low tower rising inside it was built of stone, but the rest of the house was timber. That was still typical in Wales. When Edward’s grandfather had conquered the princes of the north, the mighty stone fortresses he strung throughout Wales had symbolized England’s domination more surely than the men who held them.

  The details flashing at her sapped her spirit. Outbuildings in the yard bore thatched roofs, and some had not seen new straw in years. Two children played in the dirt near the wall, wearing tunics so short that their bottoms showed. A woman watched them from where she had been feeding chickens, and her bare feet peeked out from beneath her ragged hem.

  Nesta felt Marcus’s attention on her, and looked to find him watching her reaction as they paced their mounts through the yard. She shrugged. “It is different from what I remember.”

  “It has not been maintained well these past years. That often happens when a knight holds property that is not his, and the King has put a castellan here.”

  It was not only the lack of care. Everything was smaller. Older. Sadder.

  “The lands are not large either,” she said. “Not much of a dowry for Genith to bring you.”

  “Well, a big swath of the forest to the south was included, as the King’s contribution.”

  “If you married Genith, perhaps, but not me. You had better join me in praying that Stratford annuls this betrothal. A marcher lord should get more than this with his bride.”

  “When we marry, this marcher lord will get everything that he wants.”

  It was a sweet thing to say, and ambiguous enough not to broach the forbidden topic of love. His expression revealed more than any words, however.

  The last two nights of abandoned lovemaking had further broken the boundaries in which they tried to keep their passion. As if they both sensed the end nearing, they had grabbed more of each other than was wise until her heart had ached even as she held him. The hunger they had brought each other had not just been physical, and she had let herself get lost in his eyes, his scent, his possession.

  Word of their arrival spread, and the yard began filling with manor folk. A few recognized her, and the shouted welcomes increased in number and enthusiasm and drew yet more people from the buildings. Their calls got louder and louder, and rolled over the manor and across the wall and into the forest, turning into a joyous chant of her name.

  The demonstration moved her. Throat th
ick and eyes brimming, she paced her mount through the crowd, picking out faces she knew and waving her acknowledgment. Dozens of hands rose to touch her body and garments, slowing her progress.

  Marcus took it in placidly, as if this outpouring did not concern him. That surprised her. Surely the implications must be obvious to him. This would not be like Anglesmore. Any one of these people would do her bidding.

  “Will you lock me in chains now?” she asked.

  “If I had intended to, the chains at Anglesmore are stronger. This changes nothing. It is your home. It is not surprising that they are glad to see you again.”

  Her home. Her people. She surveyed the little sea of smiling, hopeful faces. Happiness welled up inside her, colored by profound emotions of pride.

  He was wrong. It changed everything.

  A woman lifted a child toward her, and shouted a petition for her blessing. Thus had mothers presented their babes to her father. Although she felt very awkward doing it, she placed her hand on the little head and mouthed the words. The warm softness of the skin and downy hair beneath her palm, the helplessness of the child, touched her so deeply that she could not move for a moment.

  She suddenly understood Marcus’s impassive reaction. Aye, it changed everything, in ways that contradicted and confused each other.

  Coming home reminded her as nothing else could what she owed to the man who had last been lord here, and to his dream, and to Wales.

  But if war came, the first ones to suffer would be the Welsh in this manor and that forest and the nearby hills.

  Simple people. Poor people.

  Her people.

  “Thank the saints you are here.”

  Hubert uttered the statement after pouring more ale into Marcus’s cup. They stood alone beside a table near the hall’s hearth. After the castellan’s welcome, Addis had returned to the army outside the walls to see to the placement of camps.

  Hubert downed another cup, his third. He was a fair-haired young man, the third son of a powerful baron in Sussex, and had been given his position as a favor to his father. Evidence in the manor indicated that he had no talent for managing an estate, or for anything other than battle. From the worry masking his features, Marcus suspected that even when he wielded his sword, Hubert liked to know he was favored to win.