by Sarah Hegger
“Nay.”
Helena froze.
“Leave,” he ordered Colin, who spared only a moment to glance in her direction before he was off, his feet slipping against the damp soil as he clawed his way up the incline. Time stilled. He was leaving her here with an angry husband. Helena yearned to beg Colin to stop, come back; take her with him.
“You stay.”
The blue of Colin’s tunic flashed between the trees. Escape. Her cousin had the right idea. She was a good runner. She could be up that incline faster than Colin. She took a single step.
Guy was before her in a wink. Helena backed away from the large chest a hairsbreadth from her nose. His face held a complete lack of expression, more chilling than anything he could have said. The edges of the pool lapped against her bare feet. Finding herself stuck between him and the water, she cast a desperate glance behind her. The safety of the pool beckoned.
He raised his arm and Helena flinched. A muscle in his jaw tightened and his hand descended slowly to the wet rope of hair hanging over her shoulder. Deliberately, he wound it around his fist, testing its weight and strength against the breadth of his hand.
“You were swimming.”
“Aye.” Her voice sounded shrill and thin.
He clenched his fist in her hair. His hand was so large it could encircle her neck.
She raised her eyes to his. They were as unreadable as ever.
His gaze dropped to the damp linen of her shift. The fabric was almost transparent where it absorbed the water clinging to the upward thrust of her breasts. She sought to bring her arms up to cover her near nakedness, but her limbs refused to obey.
He tugged on her hair firmly enough to force her head back. “Look at me, lady.” His voice rasped across her ears.
His gaze penetrated right into the centre of her mind, laying her bare for him to read. The pressure on her hair was almost painful and her hands came up to cover his fist.
“Your champion has left you to face my wrath,” he stated.
“Colin cannot fight you,” she panted as he tightened his grip on her hair.
“And you can?”
Impotent tears stung the back of her lids. He held her so effortlessly; she was powerless in his grasp.
He stepped closer until the tip of his boots bumped her bare, icy toes. “Would you kill me, lady?” His fingers opened and speared across the back of her head, dragging her face closer. She could see the darker ring of indigo that surrounded the paler blue in his eyes. “Would you, to be rid of me by midsummer?”
“Nay,” Helena gasped.
“Or your champion?” He forced her onto her toes. “Will the noble Colin plunge the dagger into my back?”
“Release me.” The sensation of utter helplessness brought a flush of heat to her skin. Her hands clawed at his hold on her head, her nails digging into his skin.
“One of you will have to kill me.” His warm breath smelled of mint. “Because there will be no annulment.”
His lips touched hers.
The kiss was so unexpectedly gentle. The breath rushed out of her body as her legs crumpled beneath her. His arm fastened like a band of steel around her waist, supporting her weight.
Helena hung like a rag in his hold. A fine tremor hummed through her limbs. A moment passed before she understood it came from her husband. She lay quiescent in his grasp as his lips swept over hers. Against her he pressed, tense as a bow. Hard as iron.
That he kept control even as he shook with the effort was like a balm against her stupefying fear. The steady pressure of his mouth tingled against hers.
Surprise held her passive as his tongue surged greedily into her mouth. Her frozen limbs warmed. This was not the polite, chaste salute of a wishful courtier, but the demanding kiss of a lover.
Heat curled in her belly to wash over her skin. The fine wool of his tunic was soft through her damp chainse, his muscles unyielding as oak beneath. Her shape melted and curved around where he was rigid. The taste of him was potent, male, calling to a wildness inside her she’d never known before.
He released her so suddenly that she stumbled before righting herself. Chilled by the abrupt loss of his heat, her senses were slow to respond.
“No annulment.”
Awareness skittered across her sensitized skin as he took a step back. His possessive gaze stripped her bare.
Her hands flew up to cover herself.
In three easy strides he cleared the embankment and disappeared between the trees, his long legs carrying him back toward the keep.
The wind was brash against her wet chainse and she tugged her bliaut over her body. Her hands shook so much, it was hard to fasten the ties, and she clicked her tongue in irritation.
Helena stopped and stretched her fingers, willing them not to shake. Dear God. She sat down abruptly on the rocky edge of the pool. That could have been a bloodletting. Instead he had kissed her. And kissed her senseless. What was she to make of his actions? Nothing he did was as she expected.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she laid her palm against the unruly flutter of her heart. The silence in the clearing was absolute. Even the gentle lap of the water seemed to have gone silent. As her body slumped, she leaned her elbows on her knees and dropped her head onto her arms.
She was wed to Sir Guy and nothing, short of death, would see them part.
Chapter 9
Helena crept back into the keep. She couldn’t face anyone until she settled her overset nerves.
Colin came out of the darkness so suddenly, she almost screamed. How long had he been hiding just out of sight of the hall? His hair hung low over his eyes and his bottom lip protruded in a way that made her want to shake him.
“I have been confined to the keep,” he announced without preamble.
“Aye,” she replied, her voice stiff and cold. He was lucky to be alive.
“He has no right.”
Helena gaped, struck speechless. Had Colin not been in the same forest with her? Had he not turned tail and run, leaving her to face a furious husband? She didn’t expect an apology, but he showed not even a trace of remorse.
Her palm tingled to box his stupid ears, unladylike or not. “Are you going to tell him that?”
He pushed his hair back. “I should leave Lystanwold and never come back.”
“And what of me?” Helena demanded.
“You will be fine,” Colin flung at her. “You always manage matters to your liking.”
“Indeed?” Outrageous! “Now you want to abandon me and our plans and leave me here to face Sir Guy.” She took a step closer until they were almost nose-to-nose. “Just as you did earlier.”
“Have you gone mad, Nell? What did you expect me to do? The man had a sword against my throat. See here.” He tugged open his tunic and pointed to a small nick of blood against his throat. “Look what he did to me!”
Helena snorted in disgust and pushed both her hands against Colin’s chest. “You left me there with a man so angry, he could have snapped me in two.”
He staggered backward, then inched away until his shoulders hit the wall behind him.
Helena followed, too angry to care that he winced as his spine made contact with the unforgiving stone.
“But you are fine,” Colin sputtered as she advanced. “There is not a mark on you.”
“No thanks to you!” Incensed, she wound her fingers in his tunic and dug her nails into the wool. “I could have been beaten or killed, but you would not have known. You were running forward too fast to look back.”
“Let go of me.” Colin grabbed her hands and yanked, uncaring that fabric tore. He gripped her wrists hard. Colin was slim, but strong.
Helena tried to pull free. He tightened his hold and shook her. “How dare you de
mean me?”
“You left me there, alone!”
His hands fisted to the point of pain around the thin bones of her wrists. His face darkened into a scowl, his eyes narrow and glittering. “I had no choice!”
She could see him building into one of his rages, but the desire to placate him, to calm him, was not within her. Righteous anger blazed instead. “You had a choice. You chose to be a coward.”
“How dare you!” He thrust her away; she lost her balance, staggering backward into the wall. “You are a bitch.” Colin loomed over her. Spittle flecked around the corners of his mouth. “Do not ever call me a coward.”
He raised his hand as if to strike her. Colin’s rages were rare but legendary within the keep.
Helena braced for the blow. She refused to flinch before him. She had saved his miserable skin this morning and he’d repaid her by leaving her to face Guy’s wrath. Now he thought to abandon everything?
“Coward.” Helena spat the word at him.
The blow snapped her head to the side. Heat exploded across her cheek. The edges of her vision went black. Fury clawed at her belly in the sudden silence. Not since they were children had he dared as much.
Their breathing was harsh in the deathly stillness.
“You struck me—” Helena could barely form words. Her fingers shook violently as she raised them to her throbbing cheek.
“You called me a coward.” Colin edged away from her, shock and sudden guilt clearly visible on his face.
“I am glad I am not to marry you!” Tears burned the back of her throat, but she would not shed them. “You are not worthy to be my husband.”
Anger won and Colin’s face tightened. He advanced on her again.
Helena faced him squarely. Let the miserable churl do his worst. Let him dare to strike her again.
“Sweet Mother of God, what is going on here?” Bridget demanded from the entrance to the hall. “They can hear you two squabbling in the next borough.”
Colin stopped with his fisted hand poised mid-air.
Bridget’s eyes darted from one to the other and lingered on Helena’s face. “Did you strike her?”
Colin slowly retreated, but his eyes still blazed.
“What possessed you to raise your hand in this way? Roger would have had you strung up for this.”
“Roger is gone,” Colin snapped.
“Aye.” Bridget fixed him with a piercing stare. “And fortunate for you that he is.”
Silence reigned, before Colin finally dropped his gaze to the floor.
Helena’s cheek pulsed with pain. She wanted to rage and cry all at once.
Bridget turned Helena’s chin with gentle hands. She clicked her tongue. “That it should come to this.”
“I beg your pardon, Nell.” Colin stared at his hands as if he’d never seen them before. “I struck you and I am most truly sorry.”
“Is it bad?” She spoke to Bridget instead. The rending within her breast would spill over if she allowed it. Deathly calm strangled her voice and left it devoid of expression.
“It will mark for sure,” Bridget replied.
“I shall leave,” Colin mumbled in a voice rife with emotion.
Helena could only find him pitiful.
A flush of colour stained his cheeks. “I shall leave before he reduces me to a beast like himself.”
“He did not strike me.” Her anger thrummed beneath the surface, but she could not allow it to escape. Colin had struck her. Had Bridget not intervened, he would have done so again. A choking bile rose in the back of her throat.
“I am sorry, Nell,” Colin pleaded, his hands outstretched toward her. “I am not myself. How can you expect me to be? He has taken everything that was mine. Even you.” His finger shook as he pointed it at her. “He has taken you from me, otherwise you would never have spoken as you just did. You would never have provoked me to strike you.”
Helena’s hands tightened into claws. In Colin’s mind none of this was his fault. She could see, even now, the certainty growing in his eyes that he spoke true.
Always, in the past, she and Roger had allowed him his little conceits. They had never challenged his view of himself. She had been blind. Colin was naught more than an indulged, petulant boy in a man’s body.
Disgusted, she turned away. Her resolve grew stronger as she strode toward the stairs.
“You cannot expect me to stay here,” he called after her. “Not with that lout sitting at my place a-table and sleeping in my bed. I will not grovel like a dog before some limp-minded behemoth.”
Helena climbed the stairs and Bridget fell into step behind her.
“You do not understand!” Colin shouted. “My position here is insupportable. I was to be lord to this pile of stones and now I must play the serf? I cannot do it, Helena. I warn you, it is not to be borne. I am a man. There is a limit to what a man can take—”
She and Bridget ascended to the upper level, leaving Colin and his nonsense behind.
“My lady?” She started as Geoffrey hailed her. He emerged from her solar, tripping only once on his way. “I have been searching—” His gaze narrowed on her cheek.
“What is it, Geoffrey?”
Geoffrey frowned as if struggling to contain himself. “Sir Guy sent you a message. He rides out this night with Sir Ewayne.”
Helena nodded, too wrung out to question Geoffrey any further. “My thanks.” She dismissed the boy.
“He will be back only after Vespers.” Geoffrey visibly struggled to contain himself. Questions flooded his eyes. “Mayhap I should . . .”
Bridget gave him a gentle shove. “Go, lad. You do not want to keep Sir Guy waiting.”
Geoffrey stammered and blushed, but backed away and clattered down the stairs again. He narrowly missed ploughing into Willie.
“God’s Bones,” Willie breathed, his eyes wide as he caught sight of her.
Helena’s face heated beneath the boy’s avid stare. The mark on her cheek ached.
Willie yelped as Bridget laid hold of him by the ear. “Watch your tongue.”
“Take him below.” Helena motioned to Bridget. “I would like some quiet.”
Bridget hesitated, but nodded and dragged the yowling Willie down the stairs.
Approaching the sanctity of her solar, Helena’s feet dragged like a woman aged a hundred years since she had woken this morning. Suddenly she wanted to cry.
“Lady Helena?”
Helena groaned. “Over here.” She turned as Lady Rosalind approached.
The woman held a small clay pot in her hand. “You had best put this on your bruise before Guy sees it. Or he will separate your precious Colin from his head for sure.”
Silently, Helena accepted the vessel.
With a smirk, the woman sauntered away.
Helena’s fingers tightened around the pot, longing to hurl it at Rosalind’s retreating back.
She slipped into her solar instead. Closing the door, she barred it and approached the bed, dropping face first into the furs, wincing as the action jarred her wounded cheek. The tears refused to come and after a moment she rolled over onto her back.
The salve was still clasped in her fist and she raised it and took a sniff. It smelled vaguely bitter, but not unpleasantly so. She stuck her finger into the pot and pulled out a large dollop. With careful fingers, she soothed it over her cheek. It stung a little before reducing the ache to a low throb.
The ache in her chest only grew larger.
Chapter 10
Helena stood at her casement as Guy rode out of the bailey. His men clattered across the drawbridge in his wake. His coif was drawn back as he sat, tall and unbending, on the back of his destrier.
He seemed a knight straight from a minstrel’s t
ale as he kicked his horse into a canter and disappeared from view into the forest. Helena rested her head against the cold stone beside the casement.
Guy departed this evening to ensure the safety of the keep whilst Colin skulked somewhere within, nursing his bruised ego. So different to Colin in every way, Guy was the very kind of man she’d chosen not to marry and yet, Roger had overset her plans in one bold stroke.
Helena touched the sore spot on her cheek. Even in his anger, Guy had remained in control of his emotion. She could still feel the way his body shook with the effort to contain himself. Colin struck out viciously when he felt belittled. Guy kept his anger in check, a man of violence, but also a man of restraint. Colin had shown no restraint.
Her sigh came from deep within. Guy was also a man with a mistress about to birth a child. Did Colin have a mistress? She had certainly never heard mention of anything of that nature, but Colin was a man. Men did as they pleased and women bore the burden. It was the way of the world.
She was adrift and so terribly alone. Mayhap some buried part of her had always known Colin was not for her. He had put one barrier after another before them being wed and, in truth, she’d not fought him that hard. What was to be done? Guy was her husband and the idea was no longer so terrible that she needed to fight it with all that she had.
Willie wove into sight below her, staring forlornly after the retreating men. How quickly a child such as he could adapt to a new hand on the reins.
An idea struck Helena with almost dizzying force. Willie was still staring after the knights as the idea took root in her mind. It was so obvious. She had to catch the edge of the casement to contain her whirling head.
Her thinking had been too tame, too mired in her woman’s fears. She could see how she’d missed the most obvious solution. She needed to stop thinking like a woman, passive and meek as she awaited her fate. She must think like a man.