The memory of the intense, repeated pleasure he’d given her in the storeroom flooded back to her. She shivered.
“You’re cold.” He ran his large, warm hands over her hips. “Turn toward the fire.”
She wasn’t about to reveal the true reason for her trembling, so she obliged him. She gazed into the flames which crackled and leapt in the fireplace. A moment later, William’s wet finger flitted across her bottom. “What—”
“Shh,” he responded. He clasped her hips and held her still.
Slowly, his tongue traced the wine on her backside. She shivered anew.
“Still cold,” he murmured against the tender flesh.
“That wasn’t cold.”
“What then? Arousal?”
She rallied her pride. “Indignation, maybe?”
“Why?”
“You wrote your name—”
“On your arse, aye. ’Tis a lovely one too. You have the cutest little dimple on—”
“William!”
“You disliked how it felt?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then there’s no reason for me to stop.”
“But…you should respect words.”
“I respect your arse.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m serious.”
His expression was rife with humor. “So am I. The curve of your backside is so perfect that it must have philosophical import.”
She sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that words and sounds have power.”
“Have they?”
“Aye. So have thoughts. What we think shapes our lives.”
He chuckled. “If you only knew what I’m thinking now.”
She returned her gaze to the fire. “I’m not sure I want to.”
Suddenly, he swept her up in his arms and marched to the bed. Excitement and dread danced within her. His lovemaking was heaven. But there was always the possibility it might go too far.
He laid her on the bed’s cool, linen sheets. Then he stretched out beside her. His mouth sought hers, but she caught his face between her hands.
“William,” she said.
He frowned. “What is it? You’re not afraid—”
“No, but you know my body well. This time, if you’ll let me, I want to explore yours.”
His brow smoothed. “Of course, my raven.” He turned onto his back. “I’m yours for the hunt.”
She gave him a shy smile, then ran her fingertips along the rough stubble of his jaw and down his smooth neck. Her gaze dropped to the dark, curly hair spread across his chest. She twisted the strands around her fingers and marveled at their texture; they felt both coarse and soft at once. On impulse, she leaned over and ran her cheek back and forth over his chest.
“You like that?” he said in an amused tone.
“It feels so nice.” She turned her head so the hair tickled her lips and chin. Again, she moved her face across his chest.
“I wonder…” she began. She darted her tongue at his right nipple, then circled it slowly. As her teeth grazed the tender flesh, it hardened. Encouraged, she closed her mouth around the nipple and sucked.
William tensed beneath her and ran his fingers through her hair. He moaned, and she felt a strange sense of power. She sucked the other nipple, then gently bit it.
His response was even louder. She grinned and slid her tongue along the thin line of hair that led to his navel. When she dipped her tongue inside, he laughed.
“Does it tickle?” she asked.
“No,” he said, “but it feels good.”
She honored the navel with another flick of her tongue, then pulled away to observe his erection. ’Twas huge, and she slid her fingers through the springy hair that framed it. Leaning forward, she moved her cheek over the dark thatch.
“I love the way this feels,” she said.
William said nothing. He seemed to be holding his breath.
She moved her cheek along his bulging member to the tight pouch below it. She kissed the sac, then ran her closed lips back up the long, hot shaft. A memory stirred: his mouth on her nether lips; his tongue and the ecstasy it produced. Experimentally, she circled the tip of his manhood with her tongue. Then her mouth sheathed the head of his shaft.
He sprang up and pulled her to him. “Enough,” he growled.
In a flash, he rolled her onto her back. His body covered hers. His hands sizzled over her breasts and hips.
He claimed her mouth in a primitive kiss. She groaned and writhed beneath him. His kiss, his touch, even his scent called to her on a primal level she couldn’t ignore. She wanted him to ravish her…needed to love him and feel his love in return.
But as his knee parted her legs, a whisper invaded her thoughts.
The curse. Remember the curse!
She could feel his throbbing manhood poised at the threshold of her wet, virginal channel. His breaths were sharp and hot on her ear.
“God, Emma!” he rasped. “I want to fill you up with sons!”
****
William felt her stiffen beneath him. Through a haze of desire, he regarded her.
“You needn’t be afraid,” he said. “I’ll be as gentle as possible, and you’ll feel more pleasure than pain.”
She avoided his gaze. “No,” she said. “That’s not it.”
“Is it the curse? Forget it, Emma. We’ll prove it wrong.”
“You still don’t understand.”
He rolled off of her and propped himself up with a pillow. “Then you’d better explain.”
She moved to sit across from him and hugged her knees to her chest. “All you want is sons.”
He frowned. “My desire for heirs is nothing new. I’ve always made that clear.”
With a sigh, she rolled her eyes. “Abundantly so.”
He crossed his arms. “So what’s the problem?”
She threw up her hands. “All my life, I’ve lived to please others. I did everything but beg for my father’s attention, but he saw me as a disappointment, a nuisance. I’ve healed the sick and used my visions to warn those in danger. I’ve tried to be a fair mistress and a dutiful wife. But that’s all I am.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Not anymore. I need to be loved for who I am. Not for my medicines or visions, and not because I can give someone castles, land, and children to inherit them. I want to know real love…your love.”
He had to look away. Her eyes brimmed with pain and longing. He could bear his own, but not hers.
“You cannot ask this of me,” he said.
“Why not? Don’t I deserve it?”
“You do.”
“Then I can hope.”
Infernal memories bit into his heart and mind. He had to set Emma straight and lay down the law once and for all. “You mustn’t hope for the impossible.”
“I’m beginning to believe anything is possible.”
“Not in this foul world.”
She slammed her palm on the bed. “There’s good in it, too.”
He shook his head. “You know not whereof you speak.”
“I know you’ve suffered.”
“I don’t wish to discuss it.”
She glowered at him. “Of course not. You’d rather let the pain fester in your soul until there’s no room for anything else. Least of all love.”
He gritted his teeth. “I banished love long ago.”
“Or maybe you’ve kept it carefully preserved. Is it Sahar you love?”
“Robert should never have told you about her.”
“Must I battle a ghost for your affections?”
Heat and adrenaline coursed through him. He leapt from the bed and stamped across the chamber. In silence, he snatched his clothing from the floor and began to dress.
Emma still huddled on the bed. “Answer me,” she said. “Do you love her?”
He threw his black tunic over his head. “Don’t be absurd,” he snapped.
“Shall I take that as a ‘n
o’?”
He whisked his leather belt around his waist. “You can take it any way you like.”
“Why won’t you talk to me? What’s the big secret?”
“My secrets are my own.”
“A fine remark, especially after you demanded to know how I felt about Wulfstan.”
He shoved his feet into his boots. “That was different. He was very much present.”
“Sahar might as well be. But keep your secrets, if they give you such pleasure. Perhaps I have a few of my own.”
He looked sharply at her. She hugged a pillow to cover her nakedness.
“What are you saying?” he asked, striding toward her.
She stared past him to the fire. “Nothing,” she said.
He stopped beside the bed and towered over her. “I don’t believe you.”
She glared up at him. “Well, you should. I conceal even less than you convey, and that’s a paltry amount indeed.”
“Then why would you speak so?”
“Because I’m mad! You treat me like a stranger.”
“Emma—”
“Or at best, a breeder.”
“I’ve never treated you as such.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “You’re no different from my father,” she murmured.
His heart constricted. “You’re wrong, Emma.”
“Am I?”
He sighed. “How can I convince you?”
Her mouth quivered. “You can love me.”
His chest tightened as he stared down at her. “I would gladly give you any of my possessions,” he said. “But love is not among them.”
She blinked, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Then we are truly cursed.”
She buried her head in the pillow and began to weep.
William reached out to her, but he withdrew his hand at the last second. Her sobs racked his soul. He couldn’t stay. He needed air. With a heavy heart, he grabbed his mantle, trudged to the door, and left the chamber.
Chapter Nineteen
Hours later, Emma woke from a fitful slumber. She rubbed her eyes, rolled over, and peered through the dimness to the hearth. A pile of glowing embers was all that remained of the fire that had burned within. Beyond the castle walls, the night wind sighed. Inside, the chamber seemed as still and lifeless as a tomb.
William had not returned.
Seized by the memory of their argument, she cringed. She’d actually compared him to her father. No wonder he’d needed space.
A disquieting image of the Saracen woman, Sahar, flashed through her mind: a dark-haired, dark-eyed goddess of perfection with whom she could never compete.
God rot her for stealing his heart, she thought, for inspiring in him what I cannot.
Her stomach churned. If her husband was free to leave the bedchamber, so was she. She’d use the bolt-hole and go to Woden’s Circle, but not for a vision. For strength and calm. To feel her mother’s presence.
She tossed the covers aside and jumped out of bed. She dressed quickly, then marched to the largest chest against the wall. Kneeling, she threw open the lid and reached past layers of smooth linen to the back corner, where she hid the storeroom key.
’Twas gone. Frowning, she slid her hand between the garments and along the oaken sides and bottom of the chest. She found nothing.
Slowly, she stood up. Did William take the key? If so, how did he know where she kept it? Was he trying to protect her, or control her?
At any rate, Woden’s Circle was out of the question. She’d never make it past the gatehouse with William’s garrison on the watch. She’d have to stay within the curtain wall.
With a sigh of resignation, she grabbed her gray mantle. She slung it over her shoulders and headed for the door.
Down the spiral steps she flew. At the bottom, she spotted an empty wall socket and paused. The torch was missing. She looked toward the solar’s entrance. ’Twas dark within, so she started toward the hall.
A creaking sound in the solar stopped her cold. She listened intently. Then she scooted along the wall and peeked inside. A sliver of light on the floor expanded as the trapdoor slowly opened.
She held her breath. The head of a torch, then its full length, emerged. A feminine hand clasped the base, and the woman’s identity was soon apparent. ’Twas Gertrude.
Phew, Emma thought. She folded her arms and waited in silence.
Gertrude closed and locked the trapdoor. Then she dragged the rush mat back in place and straightened.
“What have you been up to?” Emma questioned.
Gertrude jumped, and the torch’s flame wavered. “Emma?”
Emma stepped into the torchlight’s sphere. “As you see,” she said.
Gertrude whistled her relief. “You scared the pottage out of me.”
“Likewise. Light some candles, will you?”
Gertrude nodded and went to work until a soft glow filled the room. Then she scuttled to the stairwell to replace the torch. When she returned, her expression was guarded.
“Well?” said Emma.
“Well what?”
Emma held out her hand, palm up. “You have my key.”
Gertrude lumbered forward and dropped it into Emma’s palm. Cold clung to the key.
“Did the storeroom entice you or the bolt-hole?” Emma asked.
“The bolt-hole,” Gertrude answered. “Your husband’s men guard the gate so closely at night there’s no other way out.”
“You’re right about that.”
“And there was one man in particular I wished to avoid.”
“Whom?”
Gertrude’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s just say a member of the garrison has designs on me.”
“Designs?”
“Carnal ones.”
Emma tilted her head. “Is this the lover you mentioned? The man who hurt you?”
Gertrude looked down and smoothed her dark tunic with meticulous care. “I’d rather not discuss it.”
“If you were raped—”
“I was not. I was deflowered but not unwillingly. ’Twas just…not what I expected. Perhaps, if you bedded with Lord Ravenwood, you’d have an easier time of it.”
Emma was sure she would, but her immediate concern was for Gertrude. “Is there any way I can help?” She stepped forward.
Gertrude met her gaze. “No. But I feel much better after my walk in the fresh air.”
“Wither did you go?”
“Woden’s Circle, believe it or not.”
“You? Whatever for?”
Gertrude shrugged. “You’ve preached so often about the peace and beauty there, I decided to give it a try.”
“And?”
“’Tis more agreeable than I remembered,” Gertrude replied. Then she eyed Emma’s mantle. “You’re dressed warmly. Wither were you going?”
“The same place as you, but I’ve changed my mind. I shall visit the chapel instead.”
“Have you the urge to pray?”
Emma shook her head. “Only the need for reflection. All of Ravenwood will be stirring soon, but the chapel should be quiet.”
“’Tis just as well you’re staying indoors.”
Emma removed her mantle and folded it over her arm. “Why?”
A faraway look arrested Gertrude’s features. She brushed past Emma, then halted in front of the window. She spoke without turning. “A storm is brewing.”
****
The brisk wind lashed William’s cheeks as he emerged from the stairwell and stamped onto the twilit battlements. All night he’d paced: round the bailey, through the darkened keep, and high above it all. Anywhere served, so long as ’twasn’t his bedchamber.
As the hours waxed, so did his temper. His mind discharged a clear and terrible record of his life, from the moment he left for the Holy Land to the memory of Emma’s tears. He went over the details again and again, stewing in a burst of negativity which was all-consuming.
Now, on the battlements, his mood so blinded him he nearly slamme
d into the figure approaching from his right. At the last second, he stepped aside. Then he jerked to a halt in recognition.
“Enjoying an early morning stroll?” Robert teased.
“Leave me be,” William snapped.
“A fit of bird-watching, perhaps?”
“I want to be alone.”
Robert sighed. “Why are you not curled in bed with your wife?”
“Are you deaf, Robert?”
“Only to your dismissals.”
William grumbled and stalked to the stone wall. He leaned against its cold, hard strength and peered through the gap between two merlons. A swarm of dark, dense clouds approached Ravenwood and muffled the rising sun.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Robert coming up beside him. “I said—”
“Save your commands for someone who’ll listen to them,” Robert cut in. “I have news, and I think you’ll want to hear it.”
William turned to him. “What news?”
“In the night, one of your men spotted a lone rider beyond the fields.”
“Which man?”
“Erik.”
“Whence came the rider?”
“He rode out of the Long Wood and headed north.”
“North. To Nihtscua?”
“’Tis possible, but we’ll have more information once Erik returns. He followed the rider.”
“Good. He’s always been one of my best spies.”
“The best, I’d say.”
“Why was I not told of this?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“You know my meaning.”
Robert held up his hand, beseeching his brother to wait. Then he yawned loudly.
William’s frown deepened. “Don’t test my patience, Robert. You’ll find it wanting.”
“How refreshing.”
“Answer my question.”
“Your roving about the bailey didn’t go unnoticed, and your moods make the men uneasy. Can you blame them for keeping their distance? Besides, Guy said your whereabouts were unknown when it occurred.”
William searched his memory. “That must’ve been when I was in the prison tower.”
“Not again.”
William glowered at him.
“What did you do there?” Robert questioned.
“I paced…and pondered.”
“Brooded, you mean. Ever since our arrival, you’ve spent a perverse amount of time in that cursed place.”
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