She had nothing to do then but wait—a thing that was not nearly as easy to do as one might think. She did her best to direct her mind toward the business of keeping her household running smoothly, but no matter how hard she worked it was difficult to keep her anxieties at bay.
Finally, a messenger came with the news that Wulfgar and her father had managed to rout Jean-Pierre’s forces. He had not managed to capture Jean-Pierre, however, and meant to pursue him to the coast to make certain they returned to England.
Alinor was both disappointed and uneasy when the messenger departed. Wulfgar had never made it a habit to elaborate on his messages. She couldn’t decide whether there was censure in the mention of her father or not for her interference in the matter. It seemed significant that he did not return at once.
She finally decided she must be imagining Wulfgar’s displeasure, however. He had made it clear that nothing would satisfy him short of killing Jean-Pierre. He had not gone to make certain that Jean-Pierre had returned to England. He had gone to make certain Jean-Pierre did not.
A week dragged by and then another. The first snow had fallen the day Wulfgar had left and it had snowed many times since. She had no doubt that the weather was making things difficult for Wulfgar, but worry gave way to anger long before she finally had word of him again.
Wulfgar returned for supplies, carrying the news that, instead of returning to England, Jean-Pierre had circled round and was now hold up at his French estate.
* * * *
As soon as he was spotted, Alinor sent the maids scurrying to build up the fire in their apartments, to heat water for a bath, and bring food. Wulfgar found her there overseeing their efforts with a critical eye. It was several moments before she realized he had come into the room and, as he stood watching her, he realized that the sense of homecoming that had flooded him the moment Vardon came into view had nothing to do with place, and everything to do with Alinor. He frowned at the realization, wondering what moment in time had marked the transition from captor, to lover, to loving husband, but he could not seem to recall a time when he had not felt contentment only from the knowledge that he was with her and she was his.
Nor could he mark the time when his pursuit of Jean-Pierre had ceased to be driven by the need for revenge and become a determination to protect Alinor from the animosity that raged between them.
He was certain, however, that he loved Alinor as he had never loved Freda. He had never known Freda as he knew Alinor. Freda had been a fire in his blood from the moment he set eyes upon her. He had never been able to think beyond the need to possess her, or his rage that she had been taken from him before he had even become accustomed to the fact that she was his.
It was different with Alinor. His desire for her was just as intense, perhaps even more so, and yet it was more than that. He had missed sleeping with her curled next to him, hearing her voice, seeing her face—he had even missed her unruly tongue and her sometimes amusing, sometimes infuriating, efforts to mend her unthinking remarks.
She noticed him just then and looked up, surprise, pleasure and doubt chasing across her features.
The doubt bothered him. It was always in her eyes when she looked at him, evidence that she did not completely trust him and because of that, she always tried to hide her feelings from him.
He thought that was the way of it, in any case. He could never be sure. She was always so open in every other way that he could not be certain that she cared, but held herself back because she did not trust, or if she only seemed to be holding herself back because she did not care for him as he did her.
It mattered. It should not have. She was his wife, regardless, but he wanted more. He wanted all.
"My lord! There was such a clatter I did not hear you come in! Come. Sit by the fire and warm yourself." Turning away, Alinor shooed the maids out and closed the door.
When she looked around again, she saw that Wulfgar had not moved, but still stood as he had before, watching her. He looked weary to the point of sleeping on his feet. Grasping his hand, she tugged him toward the hearth, leading him to the chair she had positioned their for his comfort and pushing at him until he sat. "You are nigh frozen," she fussed, chafing his hands for several moments and finally kneeling to pull his boots off.
"I’ve had the maids prepare a hot bath for you. Would you rather bathe first? Or eat?"
Wulfgar’s eyes gleamed. "That depends."
Alinor lifted her brows questioningly.
"On what you are offering me to eat."
Alinor stared at him a long moment in incomprehension, then, slowly, a blush rose all the way to her hairline. "I can not think that that would appease your hunger."
"It is that hunger I am most in need of assuaging—but as I suspect I smell like a mountain goat, I suppose I should brave the bath first."
He stood up to undress and Alinor stepped back, examining him surreptitiously for signs of injury. To her relief, although she saw a number of small cuts, none appeared in need of attention. When she realized that he had noticed her inspection, she busied herself collecting his soiled clothing, crossing the room to pile it outside their door for the maids to collect for the laundress as he climbed into the tub.
The tub had not been designed for anyone quite as large as Wulfgar she saw when she turned. She bit her lip to contain her amusement, knowing the tub could not be at all comfortable for him. Despite the hot water, he shivered as he lathered his arms, chest and shoulders. Her amusement vanished and she moved quickly to kneel behind him and help him with his bath, lathering his hair and scrubbing his scalp and then pouring warm water from the pitcher slowly over his head to rinse it. When she was certain she had rinsed the soap from his hair, she urged him to lean forward and scrubbed his back. He groaned with pleasure as she rubbed his back and she continued for some moments after she had finished washing, and then rinsing, the soap from him.
"You could join me," he suggested in a thick voice when she finally stopped and moved around the tub to pick up the length of linen that had been warming by the fire.
She chuckled. "There is barely enough room for you."
He studied her speculatively for several moments and finally rose from the water. Alinor held the linen up for him. When he stepped out, she stood on her tiptoes, wrapping it around him and drying him briskly. "I have a robe for you."
As she moved toward it, however, he caught her around the waist. Dragging her back against him, he caught her jaw and bent to kiss her long and lingeringly. Alinor felt a rush of heat. He had trapped her arms between them, however, and she struggled to free them. He broke the kiss, moving slightly away to look at her questioningly, but she didn’t notice the look. The moment he released her she slipped her palms up his chest and locked her arms behind his head, pressing herself fully against him.
A tremor went through him as she lifted her lips for his kiss. His arms tightened almost crushingly as he captured her lips one more, kissing her hungrily, his mouth and tongue near scorching as he caressed her mouth with his own.
Alinor was so caught up in the heat raging through her veins that many moments passed before she became aware of the tremors running through him. Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and pulled away. "You are cold."
His eyes were glazed, almost feverish, his skin flushed. Alarm ran through her. Small wonder he had seemed to be behaving strangely. "You are fevered," she said in dismay.
"Aye," he said, scooping her into his arms and striding across the room to the bed. He climbed upon the mattress with her still in his arms, falling upon her like a man starved as he settled her against the bedding. Alinor gasped with a mixture of surprise and excitement as his mouth and hands moved over her, thrusting her clothing aside so that he could touch her bare skin. Struggling, she finally managed to push him away enough to fumble with the lacings of her gown. He brushed her fingers away impatiently, tugging her clothing off and tossing each article in first one direction and then another until she lay naked beneat
h him.
He seemed seized by a sort of madness, nipping her flesh with his teeth, sucking upon it, massaging, tracing every inch of her body. Within moments, Alinor felt as if she were seized with it, as well, descending into an abyss where she was aware of nothing but the feel of him against her and his caresses. His breathing was harsh, ragged. She could not seem to catch her breath.
Grasping her wrists, he pinned them to the bed on either side of her head, suckling upon the sensitive tips of her breasts until her entire body was awash with a fevered tension, and she writhed beneath him, moaning endlessly. She wasn’t even aware of when he ceased to hold her captive for his caresses until he kissed a burning path up her throat and opened his mouth over hers.
She slipped her arms around his neck as he thrust his tongue into her mouth to taste and explore the sensitive inner surfaces, threading her fingers through his silky hair, stroking his shoulders, his back as far as she could reach.
He moved away impatiently after only a moment, breaking the kiss to move his mouth down her throat once more, kissing her breasts, her belly. When he reached her thighs, he pushed them apart, kissing the exquisitely sensitive flesh near the apex of her thighs. She cried out as his heated mouth settled over her femininity, sucking, lathing with his tongue. Within moments, her body convulsed in an explosion of pleasure.
She was still caught up in the aftershocks when he moved over her once more, nudging her femininity with the head of his cock and finally seating himself and thrusting inside of her in a desperate rhythm that strummed her body, taking her quickly to culmination a second time that was far more intense than the first.
He came with her that time, explosively, crying out hoarsely before he collapsed in a boneless heap half on top of her. Alinor drifted to sleep with the feel of Wulfgar stroking her belly gently.
When she woke, Wulfgar had already ridden out once more.
Chapter Fifteen
Wulfgar had told her that he had only come for supplies and that he would return once more to Jean-Pierre’s holdings to make certain that he was settled for the winter before he relaxed his vigilance. She had not expected that he would leave again immediately, however, and certainly not while she lay sleeping.
She was peeved that he had left without even bidding her farewell, but not greatly disturbed—at first. In the beginning, she had not been able to recall anything about the night before except their lovemaking. Later, she recalled that he had murmured something about her belly as he lay stroking it. It was then that dismay filled her, and the anxiety that he had realized that she had deceived him and was angry about it.
It was ironic that he had only seemed to notice now, when her belly had begun to take on a roundness that reassured her that she was with child, when she had finally become certain that the tiny flutters she had been feeling were the movements of the child and not nervous stomach.
A messenger arrived from Arrus the day Wulfgar departed. Her parents had invited her and Wulfgar to join them in the festivities they had planned for Christmas. Excitement flooded her, but was immediately dashed when she realized that Wulfgar might not return before then.
As disappointing as that was, it was far more upsetting that she would miss the opportunity to speak with her mother about all the things that had been worrying her. She thought Wulfgar would probably take her when he returned, unless the weather turned particularly nasty, but that could be weeks yet.
She thought it was possible that she had blown everything all out of proportion, but she wanted her mother’s reassurances that much of the problem was no more than pure imagination and the rest of little or no consequence. Of equal importance, she did not understand the changes in her body. By her count, her child would be born late winter or early spring, but that did not seem right when her belly was yet so small. If she had been a buxom woman, she could have understood it, but she was not. It would almost have been easier to accept that she had not conceived when she thought, even if she then had to face Wulfgar with her deceit. At least then she would not be so worried that the child would be too small to survive.
The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that she needed her mother to advise her and that she could not wait weeks for the reassurances she needed. The following morning, she packed for a short stay and arranged for an escort. The man Wulfgar had left in charge of the keep’s defense was not happy with her decision, but she pointed out that her parents had sent for her. Wulfgar had not left orders that she was not to leave. Wulfgar had said that Jean-Pierre was far away, in his own keep, and it was not far to her parents’ keep in any case.
They debated next over the size of her escort. Alinor considered three men more than enough. He wanted to send a dozen. Finally, after she had pointed out that there was no sense in weakening the security of the keep by sending so many, they settled upon a half a dozen men and Alinor set out.
Alinor was uneasy about her decision almost the moment the gates closed behind them. At any other time, she might have simply said that she had thought better of it and changed her mind. Everyone had already begun to look at her as if they suspected she was afflicted with a touch of madness, however, so she firmly ignored the sense of danger that assailed her the moment she found herself exposed.
She had committed herself to the trip. She needed to see her mother. It could not take long to travel to Arrus and once she was there, she would know it had been nothing but her imagination.
The snow was deep. They decided that it would take less time to take the road, even though it would have been a shorter distance to simply cut across country.
To Alinor’s dismay, the uneasiness did not abate. Instead, the further they traveled from Vardon, the deeper her conviction became that something simply did not feel ‘right’. It did not help one whit that she noticed her escort was looking distinctly uneasy, as well.
They reached the halfway point, however, without incident. Alinor was just beginning to feel that she had worried needlessly when a group of riders emerged from the trees ahead of them. Alinor’s hand jerked reflexively on the reigns and her horse skittered, tossing its head and dancing sideways. As one, they halted. The man to her right muttered under his breath. "There are only four of them to our six."
The leader, who was riding to her left, shifted in his saddle, glancing all around them. "This has the feel of a trap to me—and Lord Wulfgar will have our ballocks for endangering his lady. Jacques, Piers, Frayne and Claude—hold them. Christophe and I will return with Lady Alinor to Vardon." Leaning down, he grasped the reigns of Alinor’s mount. "Back. Now!" he yelled, even as he urged the two horses around, kicking his own into a gallop.
It would have worked had Jean not been right, but they had not gone far when another group of riders flooded from the woods, again blocking their path. Instead of skidding their horses to a halt, Jean changed directions abruptly, heading cross country.
Alinor’s mount, much smaller than the war horses, floundered, pitching her from her precarious perch and into the snow. She lay stunned for many moments, fighting to catch her breath. Around her, she was vaguely aware of the clash of swords. Shaking herself, she got to her feet with an effort, glanced around and headed for the only cover available, the trees. The snow was loose, however, and deep. It was like trying to wade through waist high surf, only worse, for the snow offered no buoyancy, only resistance. She had managed to cover no more than a few yards when a rider swooped down upon her. Leaning from his saddle, he caught her around the waist and dragged her up onto the saddle before him.
Alinor screamed, clawing ineffectually at his armor. Abruptly, something hard caught her across the jaw. Pain exploded inside her head and she slumped against the man, dazed, barely conscious. The sounds of fighting ceased even as her captor turned his mount and kicked it into motion once more.
"I see my little bride has missed me," the man muttered with a sneer.
Alinor shuddered as Jean-Pierre’s voice washed over her, giving up the figh
t to cling to consciousness.
* * * *
It was some time before Alinor realized that they were heading for the coast. That seemed almost as insane as capturing her to begin with. It would have made more sense, surely, to return to his holdings in France than to return to England? Why bother with her now anyway? She was not such a great heiress at to be worth so much effort, and, in any case, she was obviously with child now. Was it because she carried Wulfgar’s heir? How would he even find anyone willing to make the crossing in the dead of winter?
Alinor shook those thoughts off. It did not matter why she had been taken or even where she was being taken. The only thing of any importance was how she might get herself out of her fix. She had no notion when the party that had sent for her would be missed, but it occurred to her forcefully that the only way Jean-Pierre would have been able to set his trap for her was if he had a spy within Vardon--or if he had sent the messenger himself.
The messenger should have been questioned more carefully. She should have been more suspicious—but hindsight was of no use to her either, beyond trying to estimate how long it would be before it was known that she was missing, and, if her parents had not sent the messenger it seemed probable that Jean-Pierre would have her in England before anyone even realized she had been captured.
They had slain her escort and left their bodies lying where they fell, but it had snowed almost continuously since and few people would be traveling now. They might lie their for days before anyone stumbled upon the bodies and reported it. The men had made no plans to return to Vardon immediately and would not be expected back—her parents, she realized now, would not be expecting her.
She would have to try to escape, for if Jean-Pierre managed to get her to England Wulfgar would need to bring an army to free her and Duke William would not ignore an army. Wulfgar would draw attack from every side if he tried—perhaps that was why Jean-Pierre had thought it was better to take her there?
Jean-Pierre gave her no opportunity to escape, however. When she woke, she found herself bound hand and foot. She had expected as much, had known she would have to free herself of her bonds before she had a chance of escaping, but she did not even have the opportunity for that. Except to rest the horses and to relieve themselves, they did not stop at all, even eating in the saddle. Regardless, their pace was slowed by the weather and it took far longer to reach the coast than it had when she had traveled it before. She was so exhausted by the time they reached the coast that even her fear did not lend her the strength she knew she would need to escape.
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