Everlasting

by Charlene Cross

  “She talked about a couple who were unhappy in their marriage… asked what sort of protection the Church could offer if a husband wanted to put his wife aside.”

  “And you told her she could sequester herself in a nunnery,” Paxton finished for the man, his gaze now on Alana.

  Her chin lifted as she said, “Which, my husband, I have done… or I will do, just as soon as I make the journey to the nearest convent. Until then, I will keep myself in this chapel, under the Church’s protection.”

  Paxton’s eyes narrowed. “I think not,” he growled.

  Alana gasped when he swept her up into his arms. “Put me down!” she demanded.

  “Nay,” he said, then turned to Father Jevon. “Priest, get to yon hall and bless our marriage bed—now!”

  “But—”

  “Do it!”

  As Father Jevon scurried toward the chapel door, Paxton following him, Alana saw her schemes unraveling like the frayed threads of a rotted tapestry. She’d hoped to get back at him for forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want. Becoming a nun was her one recourse, her one way of thumbing her nose at the Norman.

  Yet, while he carried her from her professed sanctuary, his intent being to bed her, everyone aware that it was, she saw hatred fomenting in her kinsmen’s eyes.

  This had to end before tempers flared. “Paxton,” she said, her hand rising to his cheek. “Put me down, please. They watch us. To them, what you are doing is tantamount to rape. Don’t let your anger with me become the cause of a clash between everyone here. ’Tis our wedding day. Let’s not ruin it.”

  One stride away from the door he stopped. His gaze locked with hers. “Do you still want to become a nun?”

  “Nay,” she said while shaking her head.

  “And this night you will lie beside me willingly, so we may consummate our marriage?” he asked.

  Alana noticed how his voice grew husky, his eyes darkening to a midnight blue. She felt her stomach flutter in the strangest way. “Aye, I shall come to you willingly,” she said, both dreading and desiring that she would. The latter surprised her, considering her abhorrence to the act.

  “Then we shall wait,” he announced and set her to her feet. “Come,” he called to everyone inside the chapel and out. “Let us go enjoy the bride’s ale.”

  The hall hummed with the sounds of merriment, laughter rising toward the ceiling just like the smoke curling from the central hearth. But it was the Normans who celebrated.

  Alana watched the throng from her position at the table of honor. The Welsh sat to one side; the Normans to the other. One set of faces were grim; the others joyous.

  That her people objected to her marrying another man of Gilbert’s ilk was more than apparent. But like with Gilbert, they had held their tongues, allowing her to make the determination of whether or not she would wed herself. The problem was, in this instance, she’d had no choice. But her kin didn’t know that. Even so, to them her decision was the wrong one. Gauging them now, she knew they’d be eternally unforgiving that she had married Paxton.

  She looked across the way to where her new husband stood. Gwenifer had procured a harp and was playing the instrument for Paxton, Sir Graham, and several others who had gathered around.

  As with everything Gwenifer did, the chords she plucked rose in perfect unison, filling the air with a haunting sound. All who listened were entranced. But then it was hard to tell if it was the woman or her talent who drew them.

  Glancing at one of the windows, Alana saw the sun was sinking ever faster toward the western horizon. At sunset, or shortly thereafter, the marriage bed would be sanctified, she and Paxton receiving another blessing from the priest, so they may be fruitful. Then she would be expected to prepare herself for her wedding night.

  Lying naked in the same bed she’d shared with Gilbert, she was to welcome Paxton when he came to her not that long after. She was to pay honor to him as her husband by being submissive, eagerly accepting his advances as he set himself to consummating their vows.

  Her insides quivered at the thought. She was so very fearful of the moment he would come to her. Unlike her first time, she knew what to expect, but dreaded it just the same. Paxton had once promised that when they came together their joining would not be at all like what she suffered with Gilbert. But how could she be assured that he spoke the truth?

  Just thinking about her past experiences made her stomach turn. Lord, there had to be some way out of this!

  The more Alana conceptualized what was to come, the more agitated she became. Her mind tumbled and tossed with a flurry of uncertainty. Her people despised her; her new husband paid more heed to her cousin than he did to her—not that she cared. Then there was that horrid point when he would climb atop her.

  The turmoil stirring within her drove Alana from her seat. She had to get away, even if it was no farther than to the yard. On swift feet she headed to the hall’s entry. Once outside she drew a deep, cleansing breath and tried to calm her thoughts.

  Rain. She could smell it. Though she saw only high wispy clouds, she knew a storm approached. A near tempest, she thought. Just like the one that whorled around inside her now.

  For no apparent reason, Alana found herself heading toward the side gate. As she went her thoughts rolled and churned.

  Oh, why hadn’t she fled long ago when Gilbert had died? What exactly was it that had driven her back here, the dark secret she’d vowed to keep buried deep inside her?

  Rhys had told her it was risky for her to return home. But she’d insisted, believing it was the only way to protect them all.

  This land that she so loved—what had it brought her but misery. And her kin—this time their displeasure with her seemed insurmountable. And Paxton—if he ever learned the truth about Gilbert, he’d kill her.

  It might be cowardly, but never did Alana want to run from her troubles as much as she did at this very second.

  If she could only—

  Alana halted in her tracks, staring at the side gate. Was she seeing things or was it actually standing open?

  Blinking, she eyed the gate again. It was open.

  She glanced around the area, looking for a sentry. She saw none and took the few steps needed to reach the portal, whereupon she peeked outside.

  There, a half-dozen yards into the wood, was the guard. His back was turned to her as he relieved himself against a tree.

  Anticipation rose within her. Beyond this gate was her pathway to freedom. Knowing she could bear no more of the chaotic turmoil that dominated her mind and soul, Alana took to the wood.

  Halfway down the trail to the river, she heard limbs snapping and leaves stirring underfoot behind her. Then her name resounded through the trees in a thunderous roar. The voice was distinctive, angry. And it belonged to…

  Paxton!

  Alana sent herself running along the path with a flurry of stretching legs and pounding feet. Her heart was in her throat, fear of his catching her driving her onward.

  “Alana, stop!”

  His shout filtered through the hammering in her ears. He was gaining on her. Still Alana pressed on. She had to be away from him, away from what he represented.

  The disconnected mass of thoughts once spinning inside her head drew together into complete clarity. The reason she’d been so restive, so desirous of escaping the castle was because she couldn’t abide the concept of being trapped in another marriage that promised to be much the same as her first.

  As it was with Gilbert, Paxton didn’t love her. There would be no joy or laughter, no communion of hopes and wishes between them. Silence and moodiness was all that would be allotted to her, the express need to ease his physical wants the only time he’d seek her out.

  She couldn’t bear living in the same hell again. She wouldn’t!

  Alana was now at the river, but she didn’t look back. Sliding down the bank, she hopped from boulder to boulder that rose from the riverbed, then when the giant stepping-stones were no longer aff
orded to her, she splashed through the shallows and up the opposite bank. It was then she turned to see Paxton bounding across the stream in the same fashion that she had.

  God’s wounds! She hadn’t expected him to be this close.

  Hiking her skirts, she dashed off into the wood, hoping to find one of the watchers. He would take her to Rhys, the swiftest way possible.

  But Alana suddenly shifted course, away from the direction of the ringwork. Paxton may give up his chase. Gathering his men, he could then ride on her kin, burning and pillaging, destroying every man, woman, and child who dared to stand against him.

  Her heart threatened to burst as Alana darted through the thicket. She heard Paxton crashing through the brush behind her. Closer and closer he came.

  Up ahead was a small clearing. A little way beyond that was a steep hillside. Hidden in its rocky face was the entrance to a cave, naught but a slice in the slate. There she could take refuge, but that was only if she could outdistance Paxton.

  Alana broke into the glade and ran for her life. Midway across she heard Paxton’s boots digging into the soft earth; his pants sounded not that far behind her.

  “Damn it, Alana,” he growled. “Give it up!”

  She never thought he could be this swift. Not from the uncertain steps he’d taken the first time he’d been in the wood. She was wrong about his agility. She was losing ground fast. Then she felt his fingers raking at her back.

  “Nooo!”

  The cry passed through her lips as she tried to break away from him. But, as his hand snatched at her again, she stumbled. She attempted to right herself, but couldn’t. Alana went sprawling into the patch of grass and wildflowers dotting the floor of the glade; Paxton came down nearly atop her.

  “Damn it, woman,” he grated, flipping her over onto her back. He clamped his leg over her thighs. “Why didn’t you stop when I told you to?”

  His eyes were charged with fury, and Alana’s fear bounded to the fore. “I won’t,” she said, her head rolling on the ground. “I won’t.”

  Paxton’s brow furrowed in obvious confusion. “You won’t what?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, tears stinging them. Her sobs rose to her throat. She tried to choke them back, but to no avail. “I-I won’t live like I did before. I won’t be made to feel that way again. I won’t, I tell you!”

  He caught her face between his hands, stemming the toss of her head. Then he ordered, “Alana, look at me.”

  She refused his command.

  “Look at me!” he demanded. “Please.”

  That one word, along with the soft tone in which it was uttered, caused Alana to open her eyes. His face, only inches from hers, no longer appeared harsh and angry. Concern marked his features instead. She said nothing, just gazed at him.

  “You won’t be made to feel like what again?” he asked.

  “Like a whore… like the only thing of value I have to offer a man is my body.”

  “That’s the way Gilbert made you feel,” he stated.

  “Yes. And I won’t be made to feel that way again.”

  His jaw hardened. “Gilbert was a fool, Alana. An arrogant and vainglorious fool. I told you before I am not like him. Why won’t you believe me?”

  His eyes said he was sincere, but Alana was yet unsure. “You say you are not like him, but how am I to know?”

  The question she posed had only one answer. Paxton understood this when he said, “I will prove what I say is true. Then you will have no more doubts.”

  “So you say.”

  Paxton was gazing at her lips, soft and inviting. The urge to taste them came just a hair short of overpowering him. “Aye,” he whispered. “So I say.” The words were delivered so close to her mouth that he felt his own breath fanning back at him. The need to feel her lips under his could no longer be suppressed. “Kiss me, Alana, then you will know.”

  He didn’t wait for her assent, but opened his lips and covered her alluring mouth. She whimpered as she first resisted his urgings, but Paxton was determined to make her respond.

  His teeth nibbled lightly at her lower lip, then his tongue played along the same path, to tease and to tantalize. He’d make her forget Gilbert’s selfishness, wipe those unhappy memories away. He’d give her joy and fulfillment. This he promised himself.

  With his hands still framing her face, he pressed down on her chin with his thumb. The action parted her lips, and his tongue plunged between.

  At his invasion, she attempted to pull away, but he held her head still.

  Delving deeper, he tasted the sweetness within. As his tongue plunged and withdrew, imitating the ritual that was to come between them, he gained his first response from her. Alana moaned. Her warm breath traveled into his mouth. Smiling to himself, he deepened the kiss. Soon she would be his.

  Tentatively Alana’s lips began to match the slant of his. As they grew more pliant, meeting each of his promptings, her tongue mating with his, Paxton rejoiced. She set a fire in his loins the way no other woman ever had. He wanted to be inside her, thrusting and withdrawing, watching her face as he brought her to the pinnacle of her own desire, watching as she sailed over.

  His lips broke from hers, to slide across her cheek. As his eyes cracked open, he saw the blur of color surrounding her head. The fragrance of wildflowers filled his nostrils. It was his dream come true.

  In his mind’s eye, Paxton once again beheld her slender arms beckoning him to her, again saw her satiny thighs open, inviting him to lie between them. There he would find his pleasure; there he would spill his seed. With the knowledge, the fire inside him became a blazing inferno.

  “I want you, my wife,” he said near her ear. “I want you now.” He drew his hand from her face to her breast where he captured its fullness. Through her bliaud, her chainse, and her chemise, which he was tempted to tear away, he caressed her. “Give yourself to me, Alana. Let me show you what ecstasy is.”

  “Nay.”

  Her response surprised him, as did the plaintive quality of her voice. He searched her face. Against the contrast of color that surrounded her, she looked starkly pale. “Are you afraid of my being inside you?”

  Yes!

  The affirmation screamed through Alana’s head, but the word stayed just behind her lips.

  Paxton read the answer on her face. “Why?” he asked, clearly bewildered.

  Memories of Gilbert and how he’d driven into her, without care, leapt to mind. Swallowing, Alana attempted to look away from Paxton, but he caught her chin, forcing her to attend him.

  “Answer me. Why are you afraid?”

  “’Twill hurt, just like it always did.”

  An oath hissed through his lips as he stared off at some distant point. “The bastard,” he grated, his eyes growing cold. When he next gazed at her, he levered himself up and away from her, then ordered, “Take off your clothes.”

  Alana gaped at him, fear rising inside her. If she thought he would be considerate of her needs, allowing her to escape his lustful demands, she’d been mistaken.

  While she lay there staring at him, trepidation filling her whole being, he’d pulled his bloodred tunic, a golden dragon emblazoning its front, over his head. He spread it on the ground beside her, then he tore away his undertunic, placing it next to the first.

  Poised on his knees, he planted his hands at his waist. “Did you hear me?”

  Alana’s voice was trapped in her throat. When she didn’t respond, he gripped her shoulders and dragged her up from her back to face him. Then his fingers were low on her hips, lifting her bliaud. “Don’t!” she cried, swatting at his hands.

  He caught her arms. “You are my wife, Alana. You are to obey me in all I say. Now, remove your clothing.”

  His eyes said he’d brook no disobedience. Unable to hold his gaze, she scanned his broad shoulders, her attention settling on his chest.

  Dark hair lightly furred its muscled expanse, darting down his rippling abdomen into his braies. His body—what sh
e saw of it—was a work of perfection.

  “Well?” he questioned.

  Swallowing hard, Alana gripped the hem of her bliaud and, with shaking fingers, pulled it over her head. Next came her chainse. As soon as both garments had fallen from her hands, he spread them on the grass beside his.

  “Your chemise, woman,” he said.

  Alana shook as she stripped the last scrap of protection away. Naked from her head to her knees, she crossed her arms over her breasts. Then she was being lifted, placed onto the discarded clothing.

  “Lie back,” Paxton ordered.

  My God! He was going to ravish her. And there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  Aware it was so, she nonetheless obeyed him. As though in a daze, she stared at the sky, her arms still clamped across her chest. The clouds were thickening. Rain, she thought nonsensically. It was coming.

  She felt him at her feet. He stripped first one wet slipper from her, then the other. Next he removed her hose. Now she was fully nude. She trembled as the breeze blew across her skin, shuddered from the understanding of what he was about to do.

  One of his boots thudded against the ground, then the other. His stockings and braies followed. Alana refused to look at him when he reclined beside her.

  He stared down on her for the longest while, as though memorizing each inch of her, then in a husky voice, he ordered, “Close your eyes, Alana. Close your eyes and let yourself feel.”

  Her quivering worsened as she squeezed her eyes shut. He took hold of one wrist, then its mate, pulling her arms away from her breasts.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, and she jerked when his tongue touched her nipple.

  Alana thought to cover herself, but his hands pinned hers to the ground.

  “Be still,” he commanded, his warm breath skimming against the moist bud.

  Sensation rioted through her as he again began to lave the peak with his tongue. The feeling both frightened and excited her. Then he was suckling at her like a babe. Fire shot through her, a blaze burning low in her belly. Alana groaned, and Paxton moved closer, pressing his engorged member against her hip.