Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

  He reached for her, as if he could see her as clearly as if a hundred candles burned. “Come with me. Do not speak or argue. Just do as I say.”

  A cloak billowed and fell around her shoulders. Taking her hand, he pulled her to the door.

  She snatched her hand away. “You must not. I will not allow it. You will be blamed, and—”

  “Will you never learn to obey? I told you not to speak.” He pressed her back with his arm and moved her forward. “I am not so foolish as to help you escape. I merely want to be with you for a while, but not in this prison. Now, be silent.”

  He guided her through the sleeping manor. Down the stone steps, past Hubert’s chamber, through the timbered hall. They stepped out into the silent yard.

  The rush of crisp, fresh air made her heady. She gazed up at a beautiful sky dotted with hundreds of bright stars. Her soul stretched at the sight, and her heart filled with gratitude that he had given her this temporary reprieve and had let her taste the world again.

  He waited while she absorbed it, then took her hand. “Come with me.”

  He led her over to the chapel. She wondered if the priest slept in his chamber at its rear, and if he would ignore them.

  They did not enter the chapel, however. Horses waited in the shadows where it met the wall. “We will go away from this place, Nesta. Outside the wall, where I am not the King’s man, and you are not a Welsh traitor. Put up your hood. You are wearing one of my squire’s cloaks, and this is his horse, and in the night no one will think twice about the person riding beside me.”

  “If this is discovered, Arundal and the others will think—”

  “They will think that I am a man hungry for a woman, who took advantage of a desperate lady’s hope for mercy in order to ease his need. Maybe they will be right. I do not know myself anymore. If they are angry, it will only be because I would not allow one of them to try it.”

  They rode out the gate. The guards only noticed Marcus. The camps slept as soundly as the manor, and they trotted through them, heading to the west. Finally, Marcus led her up a low hill behind the outskirts of his army. No fires burned up here but many could be seen below, dotting the rolling land much as the stars did the sky.

  “One is hard put to determine where the sky ends and the ground begins out there,” she said.

  He dismounted and lifted her off her horse. “The night appears endless, doesn’t it? There is freedom in the sight of it.”

  “Perhaps I will be given a prison chamber with a little window, so that I can see stars like this some nights.”

  He laid his palm against her cheek. “Let us not speak of that. We came out here to be away from it.”

  The eyes gazing at her contained their own fires and stars, like a continuation of the lights of the night. The comfort of his touch had her spirit calming. She no longer felt chilled.

  He kissed her gently but possessively, as if it was his right. As if what had occurred the last week was for the life waiting back inside the walls.

  As if she had not betrayed him.

  The tenderness of the kiss broke her heart. He did not know about the design. He would never be doing this if he knew. Mark would never want to steal a final taste of heaven with a woman who had so ruthlessly turned her back on their love.

  The confusion of the last days returned, overwhelming her. Reaching up, she stroked her fingers into his hair and held him to her so the kiss might last longer. Love and regret poured through her. She could not contain the deluge, and it burned her throat and brimmed at her eyes.

  “Mark, I need to tell you something. I—”

  His fingertips silenced her mouth. He shook his head. “I said we will not speak of it. Unless you utter words of love, I do not want you to talk of anything.”

  Love. Words unspoken, despite their passion. Words forbidden, by her. The ache cleaving her heart said that had been foolish, and unnecessary. Keeping silent had not spared her the pain. Pretending that they only shared pleasure had not hidden the love, but only intensified its power.

  He removed his cloak, and spread it on the ground. He held out his hand. “Lie with me, Nesta.”

  She should refuse and turn away, for both their sakes, but she could not. She had never been able to do that. Not in the name of duty and her father’s dream. Certainly not in order to save herself from confusion and division and hurt.

  She took his hand. He drew her down until they knelt on the cloak. Knees to knees, hips to hips, they looked in each other’s eyes. His absorbed her, and the pain retreated. Anticipation of his touch and embrace, of their complete union, chased away the misgivings and regrets and left only the pure sweetness of love filling her so completely that she could not contain it.

  He slipped the cloak from her shoulders. “I will see that you do not get cold.”

  “I am never cold when I am with you.”

  “Then let me love you, Nesta. Out here where there are no borders, and heaven surrounds us.”

  He took her face in his hands, and kissed her so sweetly that she wanted to weep. They had been parted too long, and she could sense the power of his desire despite his gentle handling. He did not hurry the kiss, however, even when she embraced him and kissed him back.

  Their slow, careful connection went on and on. A whole, silent conversation passed in that kiss. They spoke of regret and gratitude and understanding. And love. Unspoken words drenched every instant.

  Her confusion had been calmed, but the pain still burned. It flared and scorched her, turning the love poignant and aching. She clutched him closer and kissed him harder so that the tears that wanted to spill out might not come. She wanted to hold all of him to her, in her, so that their union would let her forget for a while that this was the last time they would know this bliss.

  His response grew harder, controlling. Wrapping her in an embrace, he sat back on his heels and angled her body across his. Supporting her in his arms, his kisses moved to her neck and breasts. His fingers worked on her back, and her gown’s lacing loosened. Sliding the shoulders of her cotehardie and gown down, he exposed her breasts.

  He broke the kiss as he caressed them. He looked at his hand move as if the dark did not obscure his sight. With titillating touches he provoked an insistent, anxious arousal in her body. It joined the emotions pouring through her, deepening them, joining them all into one relentless ache.

  Laying her down, he moved on top of her. He loosened his lower garment and lifted her skirt, and then nestled between her naked legs with his hips pressed against her thighs. She accepted his deep kiss, expecting him to take her the way her heart and soul needed.

  He stopped the kiss, but did not move. He looked down at her face. She could feel him all along her body, warming her as he had promised, pressing against her vulva but not entering. It reminded her of their first night, and it incited the same crazed desire in her.

  Above his head and shoulders, around them both, stretching into eternity, she could see the stars of the endless sky.

  “Are you waiting for me to beg, Mark?”

  “That is not what I am waiting for.”

  “Then what?”

  “I want you so badly that I almost took you in that chamber. However, I have decided that this time it should be slow and careful and full of pretty words.”

  This time. The last time.

  His head dipped, and he kissed her breast. His tongue swirled, creating wonderful sensations. Not just those of desire. Not only physical arousal spiked. He did not only give her pleasure.

  It was the same for him. She could tell. Could feel his heart speaking to her. She heard the sadness in their silence.

  She knew which pretty words needed saying, and she could not deny them. Stroking her fingers through his hair, holding his mouth to her. “I love you, Mark. It was never just simple pleasure. That was the danger, wasn’t it? Look where it has brought us now.”

  “It has brought us to this hillside, Nesta. It has brought us to speaking the word
s that our duties forbade. That you love me and that I love you, and that the pleasure has been magnificent but never simple, and that in my heart you are not Llygad’s daughter or the King’s woman, but my wife.”

  He moved, and entered her, making the claim of his words physical and complete.

  She closed her eyes and savored the feel of him, the total union. He filled her perfectly. Their bodies and hearts were so close that they truly merged into one.

  “You must repudiate the betrothal,” she whispered. “You know that you must.”

  He withdrew and entered her again. “I will not. You may have been drugged when you said the pledge, but I was not.”

  He was making her arousal stir slowly, build blissfully. The sensation was so beautiful. It joined with her heartache, creating an emotion that was exquisite and soulful in its combination of happiness and sorrow. “Then I have betrayed you even more than I thought. I will cause your destruction. Can you forgive me?”

  “The question should be mine, Nesta, if it is spoken at all. I am the one who put you in prison.”

  “You know what I mean.” But he didn’t. Not all of it. Not the worst betrayal. He knew enough, however.

  He stopped, his body half joined to hers. He laid his warm palm against her cheek. “There is nothing to forgive, my love. I did not expect you to forget who you were because of me. My desire to protect you made me demand that you do. So did my hope that I could keep you with me. I never really thought you would turn your back on it, however. I am not sure I could have loved you if you had.” He kissed her. “Now, do not speak of that anymore. Tell me that you love me again, and fill the night with your cries of pleasure, and carry me to heaven as only you know how to.”

  She gladly told him she loved him. Again and again she said the words until they became a chant keeping rhythm to the connection of their bodies. Even when abandon obliterated her awareness of everything except his body and soul and breath and pleasure, she still said it. The cries ringing around them as they careened to the stars carried frantic declarations of her love.

  “We must go, Nesta.”

  She had dreaded hearing the words, and her heart sank like lead. Time had slowed as they lay on the hillside, and she had never known such beauty as she experienced in his arms.

  He helped her rise, and fixed her garments. He kissed her once more, wonderfully, then took her hand and led her to the horses.

  After draping the cloak on her, he lifted her to her saddle. He did not let go once she was settled, but stayed there, his hands on her waist, looking up at her. He looked so long that it unsettled her.

  Finally, he released her, but only to lay his hand on her thigh. He pointed into the night. “Look to the west, Nesta. Do you see that fire in the distance, the lone one near the edge of the sky?”

  “Aye.”

  “Ride there. Do not gallop, but make what speed you can. Addis has relieved the sentry posted there. He will let you pass.”

  His words stunned her. “What are you doing, Mark?”

  “Once you are past our camps, ride as far away as you can.” He pulled a sack from under his garment and pressed it in her hand. She recognized it as the little hide pouch that carried the dried venison. “There is coin in it too. Find a place of sanctuary, where you can hide. Do not go to Carwyn. You must flee, and make your way out of the realm.”

  “You said that you were not going to help me escape.”

  “If I had told the truth, would you have left that chamber?”

  “Of course not, because if I do this, it will be suspected that you aided me.”

  “Let me worry about that.” He tied his cloak to the back of the saddle. “Did you really think that I could let them have you? That I would allow you to be judged, and imprisoned or worse? I only put you in that chamber so that the others would not watch me too closely, so that I could get you away.”

  “I cannot believe that Addis approved such rashness.”

  “I told him that my squire would be passing before dawn, and he accepted that. He suspects the truth, but will look the other way because of our friendship.”

  Her heart beat hard as confused emotions began a war. Salvation waited, and her blood raced with excitement. If she escaped like this, however, she would surely destroy him.

  It was a short battle. Love conquered her fear. She could not allow him to sacrifice himself.

  She tried to slide off the horse. “I will not do this.”

  He held her in place. “You must. I command it as your husband.”

  “Mark, I probably would not obey on little things, let alone something like this.”

  “Then I command it in the name of our love.”

  “And I must disobey for the same reason.”

  “I need you gone, Nesta. I cannot do what I must if you are here. I cannot have your fate weighing on me.”

  She stopped struggling. She looked down at him, and in that instant his tight hold might have been a final loving caress. She cursed the darkness that kept her from seeing clearly, but her heart knew the resolve and love that his expression held.

  Pain ripped in her chest, stealing her breath, rising like a fire into her throat. Tears brimmed and fell. She wiped them away with her sleeve, so that this last sight of him would not be further obscured.

  “I would prefer to go back to my prison. We would not be forever parted then. Not yet.”

  “You must leave. You know that.”

  She loved him so much. Too much. The love even gave this anguish a sweetness. Its lovely light revealed her heart’s deepest corners. Even her misery contained a precious beauty.

  “Mark, when the battle comes, do not lead them. Please, do not. That arrow by the stream… it was because of the betrothal, I think. It complicates things. Carwyn does not want it to stand, and only killing you will make sure it does not.”

  “Do not let worry for me make your heart heavy, Nesta. I have no intention of dying.”

  “It does make my heart heavy. All of this does. The weight is unbearable, and the worst is knowing that if I leave now, we will never see each other again in this life.”

  “Then when I see you again, I will know that I am truly in heaven, forever.”

  He angled her down, and kissed her. Her swallowed tears refused to stay down and they streamed from her eyes. His kiss moved to each wet cheek, and then he dried her face with the edge of her cloak.

  He stepped back, breaking her hold on his shoulders, leaving her bereft. The loneliness waiting for her touched her with its chill, raising a flurry of panic.

  Suddenly the night appeared a gaping void that light barely penetrated. If she entered it alone, she might never come out again.

  “Once you pass Addis, ride like the wind, darling. Let these mountains give you sanctuary.”

  With a sharp swing, he slapped her mount’s rump and sent her toward the tiny fires.

  Chapter 24

  Soon after dawn Nesta trotted her exhausted horse into a tiny village that clung to a mountainside. Villagers emerged from their huts and eyed her curiously. She did not say a word, but only lifted her sleeve to reveal the gold armlet and its engraved dragon.

  That produced an enthusiastic welcome. A village elder named Ifan gave her his cottage to use. After supping on thin broth and brown bread, she dragged her weary body to the straw pallet, hoping oblivion would claim her.

  Sleep came, but it brought little peace. Her mind churned as if she were awake, and the eternal debate raged on. Mark had taken a huge risk in letting her escape, and she should obey his last words and disappear into the mountains. She should forsake him, and her father’s dream, and save herself. The fear blazing through her wanted to, desperately.

  It was weakness calling her to that path, but not the same wavering of her will that had drawn her to Mark.

  It had not been cowardice that sent her into his arms. That weakness had been good and beautiful and optimistic, a spiritual yearning for a taste of love that transcends worl
dly concerns.

  The temptation to now flee both that love and the duty that thwarted it was in no way good or optimistic. The lure to run away from the battle inside her was as great as that to escape the real clash of arms about to occur.

  Upon waking she saw that most of the day had passed, but she had still known little true rest. Nor had her mind reconciled the two halves of her heart.

  A group of women and children and old men milled outside the cottage. Nesta peeked out the door, and saw the gifts of food that they had brought. She smelled roasting fowl, and guessed that they intended to honor her with such a feast as their poverty permitted.

  She called for the owner of the cottage. Ifan entered, hunched with age and deference.

  “The able-bodied men have all left?” she asked.

  “They could hardly stay here with such great events occurring all but in their own fields.”

  She thought of the fields, and how some would lie fallow next year even if her father’s plan succeeded. Men would die, on both sides. The villagers knew that, but no man had held back.

  Why, then, had she? Not because of Mark. It was deeper than that. She thought of her last design, and how making it had distressed her. Betraying Mark had weighed on her, but that was not all that caused her hand to falter so often. Her message had been a call to arms, and a demand for a war that would cause untold suffering. It was one thing to sacrifice one’s own life, and another to ask hundreds to do so in your name.

  “We’ve cooked a young chicken,” Ifan said. “Me and some others tried to hunt some meat, but the region has seen its game taken by others, so there is little to be found, and what is left is faster than us.”

  The others would be both Marcus’s and Carwyn’s men. Living off the land, they would have further impoverished the inhabitants. It was the way with armies, and the normal result of war, but Nesta could not help feeling guilty for it. The goal was to free the Welsh, not make them suffer.

  She forced herself to remember that all great causes had their costs. That innocents would pay as well as soldiers saddened her, however.