by C. C. Wiley
“As many as it takes.”
He stopped her as she turned to flee. “Meg, you may also want to inform Cook that we are to be wed in two days. I expect a small celebration.”
“Two days? Do you not wish for your friends to bear witness?”
“Your brother and sisters will suffice.” He lifted his hand to stall her complaints. “A messenger has been sent.”
“Two days is impossible.” She swayed on her feet, threatening to topple over at the least provocation. “There’s no time,” she muttered under her breath. Her skin blanched the color of cream.
Nathan rushed to her side and caught her waist. He returned her to the chair, pressing her head down. “Good thing my pride is not so easily bruised. I hate that the mere thought of me as your groom makes you take ill.”
“Don’t be a fool,” her voice floated up from between her knees. “’Tis no reason to rush. You have the holding and title, your lordship. If we must marry, I would at least like to know who I’m wedding.” She swatted blindly in his direction. “Do let me up.”
“Do not fall over in a heap,” he warned.
When she turned her head to cast a withering glare, he did as she bade him. He chose to remain perched on the table should she threaten to faint again. “I explained to you why we cannot wed. Why do you persist?”
He cleared his throat. “Brother John is aware that I came to your rooms. He agrees that we should not delay the event any longer than we must.”
“We did nothing sinful.”
He shrugged. “It’s all in perception. You believed that I would touch that wench. Why?”
Meg rose from her chair. The color had returned to her fair face. “She was on her knees by your…” Her hand waved in the direction of his cock.
“And that wench needs to be cast out of the keep. If she is willing to present herself to me, she must be watched.” He twirled his pen. “Keep her away from Baldric.”
“My brother is an innocent.”
“Then let us keep him that way. There is trouble about her. I can feel it.”
“She has newly arrived. Why would she hold a grudge against us?”
“Whose family does she reside with?”
“Wayland.”
“The blacksmith?” They looked at the meal Millicent brought to the chamber.
Meg grabbed the contents on the tray, and hurled it out the window. She dusted her hands, then poured water over them from the pitcher.
“I shall speak with Cook myself.”
Nathan nodded. A wave of pride swept through him, piercing his heart. She could one day be his lady, his wife. By all that was holy, his lover.
“Meg,” he called out. “Remember, return to me posthaste. We have work to do.”
“But ’tis nearly evening. Vespers will be called. Brother John will expect me to attend service.”
“Not tonight. This night, we shall share together.”
* * * *
Meg stared at the door to the master chamber. It, a trap, waited to snatch her from the life she had known for the last five years. Had Nathan truly gone over Father’s numbers? To say they were in disarray would be an understatement. She should have thought to provide a separate set of ledgers. Then no one would have been the wiser. But she did not. And now Nathan poured over those pages, tallying up profits and losses.
Would he be furious when he discovered the truth about Fletchers Landing’s financial state? She had warned him off when she gave him her reasons why their marriage could not be one of passion in the marriage bed. Even then, the holding had begun to show signs of financial ruin.
Her hand shook as she pressed down on the lever. The hinges complained as the door swung open. The blacksmith had been charged to repair many of the locks and hinges. But since he was still kept prisoner in the smokehouse, there was little promise that the repairs would happen until Wayland cleared his name. She would have to speak to Nathan. See that it was done soon.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve and strode into her parents’ chambers.
Candlelight swathed Nathan’s auburn hair with threads of gold. His broad shoulders were hunched over those damn books.
Memories of her father swirled into the room. Sir Godwin, too, had poured over numbers, trying to find the magical spell that would multiply their coin. Unfortunately, he had more skill in spending and losing wealth than he did in creating it.
She had thought to keep her secrets to herself. But mayhap it was time to share with the man who would inherit more than buildings in need of repair. He stood to lose a substantial amount of wealth. Baldric was in need of fostering. Her sisters would soon be in want of marriage and dowries.
Nathan looked up and laid his quill pen near the pot of ink. A ghost of a smile swept up his lips. “’Tis good to see you,” he said. His voice, soft like a feather, stroked over her skin. “I began to wonder whether or not you intended to ignore my wishes.” He rose to come around the table and join her.
Meg inhaled, pulling in his scent of mint and leather. She would forever think of him whenever she entered the stables. Even after he had left them all.
He covered her hand with his. “Tell me, dear Meg, how Fletchers Landing’s accounting of goods and expenses do not add up. And yet, by some miracle the tables are laden with food and drink.”
Now is the time. She should explain their troubles. That if she did not take the measures that she did, it would be impossible for them to eat through the winter.
“We are frugal in our measures. And we grow most of our food. The fields produce what we need. Phillipa’s skill with the beasts keeps them bred. Anna keeps us healthy.” She gulped. How much more should she say?
“And you make your meads and ales,” Nathan helped her. “Selling and bartering with nearby villages.”
“Yes.” Relief attempted to shake her off her feet. “We do what we can.”
He prowled around his worktable, scraping his fingernail over the spines of the books. “And yet, it still does not balance. Why do you keep the numbers from your sales off the books?”
Meg closed her eyes and prayed Father would not hear her lie from his grave. “I fear I have no head for figures and very little time to work my way through them.” She fluttered her lashes. “Mayhap now that you are lord, you will take over the task.”
The book he’d been examining fell to the floor making them both jump. Taken aback by the expression on his face nearly made her burst with laughter. But then the desire whether to chase him away or keep him as lord warred within.
She followed the dimming light outside the window. Shadows stretched. Soon her presence would be required in the caverns.
“I will hire someone to look after the ledgers when I have returned to my duties,” Nathan offered.
The thought of him leaving pinched her heart. “Already you plan your departure?”
Nathan made a circular path around the room until he once again stood before her. “I must always be prepared. ’Tis the nature of my role.”
“I spoke with Cook. He complained that he has not seen Millicent since she brought you a tray.” She hugged her arms, aching for them to no longer be empty. Swallowing her foolish sorrow, she added, “There is talk that she is not happy here and wished to return to her home near Carlisle.”
He leaned against the table, his hip near hers, but kept his distance. “Do you believe the rumors?”
She shook her head and plucked at her skirt. “The girl is quick of wit. Mayhap she realizes she acted a fool and is too embarrassed to show her face.”
“The wench travels alone? ’Tis not safe.” Worry brought a furrowed to his brow. “And her uncle?”
Jealousy reared its head. It almost left her speechless. What was Nathan asking? She waited, hoping he would repeat himself and clarify.
“Wayland, the bla
cksmith?”
She latched on to the information. Of course. It must be the sleepless nights that made her thoughts wander. “Still waits for you to speak with him. Do you intend to keep him in the smokehouse forever? He should not be punished if he is innocent of treachery.”
Nathan pushed off his perch and went to the navigator’s glass. He peered into it, focusing on the outbuildings. “I mean for him to be ready to spin his tale when next I see him.”
Following him, she looked out the window with him. “What do you see when you stare into that thing?”
He turned his head. His mouth near hers. All that was required of them was to lean into each other. Her tongue flicked out, searching, tasting her lips. The now-familiar ache had awakened and called to be fed.
Nathan must have heard it too. He drew her to him, wrapping her in his embrace. He called out her name as their lips met. “Meg,” he groaned against her mouth.
Chapter 15
Nathan came up for air. He did not know if he had the control to keep from bedding Meg that night. What madness possessed him to think they could be sequestered in the same room while still keeping his hands from roving over her succulent body? Why did he agree to wed in two days? The vows should have already been completed. Then they would have found their way to their bed, consummating their marriage.
Meg squeezed his arms, pushing him away. She locked her elbows. “We can’t. We mustn’t.”
“We can. We should.” He leaned down, nipping at her kiss-stung mouth.
“Not yet.” She pulled away.
Nathan sighed and swept his hair out of his eyes. He knew he should move slowly with her, assuage her fear. He had even promised to wait for her. But every time they were with each other, they were tempted to kiss. He wanted more. And she was afraid.
“Meg, we must discuss our upcoming nuptial. There is more to a marriage than saying the vows.” Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed her back into his chest. “I want more than that. With you.”
She bowed her head, refusing to look at him. “I’m well aware of what goes on between a man and his wife.” Her voice held a mix of annoyance and fear.
He turned her to face him and tightened his embrace when she threatened to pull away again. She shifted between his legs, her skirts brushing his cock. He could feel her apex pressing into his need. His body leaped to attention. He swallowed, aching to reach down and touch her bud of pleasure. “Are you now? ’Tis good to know. Though I cannot but wonder how you came about this knowledge.”
Intrigued, Nathan watched the color rise up her neck.
“Through Brother John. Same as Anna and Phillipa.”
He fisted his hands. “Baldric?” His eyes burned. The dreaded burgundy color of wine began to seep into his vision.
“Not yet.” Her soothing voice worked through the red tide. “I believe the monk will instruct him in the fall when he is old enough to understand the way of things.”
“I’ll kill him. With my own hands, I’ll strangle him.” He flinched when she touched his cheek, smoothing the tic by his eye.
“Nathan, ’twas only the rutting of beasts of the field. Though my mother might not have approved, how else would we comprehend the violence of breeding?” Her eyes brightened with humor. A soft chuckle lifted her shoulders, brushing her breasts against his shirt.
Nathan sucked in a harsh breath and released it. The rage washed out with it. There were enough repairs required at Fletchers Landing. The thought of the women being damaged by the monk’s lust had nearly caused him to take another life. He shook his head and thanked God that he would not have the blood of one of God’s own on his hands.
“Brother John, a monk, talked to you regarding the pleasures in bed? He’s a damn monk. What could he possibly know of it?”
A soft chuckle lifted her shoulders. “I’m told he did have a life before he took the vow to serve God. He chose to teach us through nature’s way and let us witness what takes place between the animals.”
Nathan pressed his forehead to hers. The warmth that surrounded her, seeping through their clothes, reminding him of what little space was keeping them apart. How was he to undo that monk’s damage? “My sweet Lady Meg. There is a great deal more that goes on between a man and a woman.”
Her fine brow arched with skill. “If you recall, I had taste of it with Geoffrey. It left bitterness on my tongue and life.”
“I am no Geoffrey. Of that, I vow as truth. When we come together, it will not be rutting like your previous fiancé.”
“Then you will keep your word? You will not take me to your bed?”
He released Meg, offering proof that he would not force her. “I gave my word.” He caught her wrist, staying her for a moment longer. “But I did not promise to not give you reason to come to me when you are ready. Nor will I give you reason to fear me when the time for our lovemaking comes.”
He brushed his lips over her knuckles. “Because you will come to me. Of that, I am certain.”
* * * *
Although Meg desired to stay within Nathan’s embrace, she withdrew her hand and restored the space between them. If they were to remain as close as they were, enclosed in the room, improperly chaperoned, another night would not pass by without her losing her virginity.
She was afraid. Would their mating be like the stallion and mare? Would he mount from behind? She had seen the nipping and biting, heard the mares squeal. Seen the blood.
Geoffrey had caused pain when she refused to please him. Nathan had yet to show that side of him. He was a knight. A soldier familiar with battle, violence, and bloodshed. And yet, he was a gentle man with the animals and her brother. The loss of her mother’s advice left an ache in her heart. What if she and Nathan found a love as deep as her parents? There was still a chance for it to bloom into something wonderful and breathtaking.
She fiddled with the navigator’s glass, turning toward the firth. The moon glistened on the rippling water. The dark night sky sparkled with faerie lights.
They had studied the ledgers together, side by side. The hours had slipped by unnoticed. Her pulse quickened. Time for the delivery of the last shipment had come. Thankfully, that Scotsman, Duncan Graham, would be there to oversee and ensure that proper payment was received. And she must be there to be certain that all the money owed to her was handed over.
Lights winked near the shore. She had to find a reason to leave Nathan to his muddled ledgers and numbers.
“Be warned, Sir Nathan, this will be a loveless marriage,” Meg warned. “Nonetheless, I thank you for your vow of patience. ’Tis late and I must take my leave now before everyone has found their beds.” She flicked her attention outside the window. The lights were moving in an odd dance. Something was going wrong. “I suggest you find your bedchamber. I bid you good eve.”
She swept up her skirts and did her best not to run down the stairs.
* * * *
Nathan started to take off after her and stopped. She might not have thrown his pledge in his face, but she came damn near to doing so. He threw down his quill and paced to the window. He spun the spyglass with the flick of his finger. The shiny metal caught his reflection. Around and around, the harried face of a warrior came back to stare at him. Did he truly look the madman? The days and nights had folded upon each other until it was no longer clear the length of his stay. He no longer desired to hasten back to his king’s side. The lady of the keep was more enticing than any quest the king might send him on. This was his home now and he would find a way to claim her heart. If only she would trust him.
He spun the tube again. His image shifted and wavered with each turn and click of the glass. It was much like the journal pages: flip them faster and the hidden map appeared. His pulse racing, he dug into his tunic and pulled out the journal. As the pages were flipped faster and faster, the drawn lines of the shoreline connected.
> He looked through the lens. The moonlight and shadows matched the map. He popped up to stare out the window and then at the map. A medallion formed along the shore. By all that was holy, he had discovered the place to start his search for the king’s treasure.
A movement caught his eye. Lights flickered across the firth. They bounced and swerved along the rocky edge. He grabbed the telescope and leaned in. Someone ran down the path that led to the water below. “Meg?”
What or who did she run to? The bite of jealousy clamped onto his heart. She had lied to him. She ran to her lover. Swearing a possessive oath, he doused the candle and set off down the circular stairs toward his bedchamber. “By all that is holy, there will be a price for this behavior.”
Sweeping up his broadsword and the short blade, he ran to the stairs. The short blade slid into the sheath at his hip. His boot heels clattered down the steps leading into the deserted great hall. The hour had long passed vespers and the evening meal. Everyone had taken to their beds.
“Everyone but our Lady Margaret Grace,” he growled as he slammed through the double doors. They crashed against the stone, and bounced back, nearly closing on him.
What if trouble had drawn her from her bed, his conscience countered. Mayhap she needs your help.
Nathan drew in a deep breath to bank the fiery rage. It would do them no good if he lost himself in the dark thoughts again. He would return to the lessons he learned as a Knight of the Swan. He would listen and learn. “And then execute,” he muttered.
He followed the path he had seen Meg take moments ago. The moonlight aided in navigating the steep incline. More than once, his heel slid over a pebble, forcing him to slow his pace. He grabbed a branch lining the rocks to keep from falling to his death. His heart pounded in his ears. What forced that woman to navigate a treacherous path in the middle of the night? Surely a lover would not demand she take her life in her hands. “I’ll kill the bastard and apologize to Meg later.”
Nathan stopped. The lights had stalled in their movement and clustered together in the safety of the boulders. He slipped into a crevice, pressing his back flat against the rock.