He took another step toward me, his gaze traveling over my face. And then, quite suddenly, without a word of warning, he swept me into his arms.
They were strong arms, muscular, and they held me so close I smelled a hint of leather, a touch of spice. It was warm there, against his hard male body. I did not try to escape his grasp. My cloak had wrapped around me, making it difficult to move. And I felt a strangeness, held so close to this man I didn't know. But I did not really wish to move, because I felt something else, a ripple of what seemed like pleasure.
How could I take pleasure in being— I raised my head to look into his eyes, perhaps to—and knew I had made a mistake.
His eyes were dark—black as the rocks below my chamber window and just as hard. Yet they gleamed with something warm, something burning.
Then he bent his head and his lips covered mine. I shivered, but I was not cold. Indeed, a raging heat swept through my limbs, leaving me as weak and helpless as a child after a fever. But no child ever experienced the shocking emotions that invaded my body at the moment his tongue encountered mine.
I could not help myself, I cried out against his lips.
My husband raised his head, his eyes gone even harder and now stone cold. His lips curled in what approached a sneer. "Beware, Hester, you will get no child if you refuse me."
I had been about to apologize, to explain—though not the precise nature of the feelings that even then made me blush—but his gruff tone and annoyed expression pinched my pride. So instead I simply replied, "I know, milord. I shall endeavor to do better."
Such a soft answer seemed to take him by surprise and for a moment his features warmed again. He reached out, pulling up my hood, which had fallen back during our embrace. "I'm sure you will," he said, touching my cheek with a warm finger. "I'll see to it."
The words were a threat, that much seemed plain. Yet they were spoken with so much tenderness, so much warmth, that I felt that awful heat rising in me again and could not reply.
He didn't seem to take this amiss, but removed his arm from around me, and twining the fingers of one hand through mine, turned back toward the moor. "Shall we walk a little farther? Tell me, now that you've met him, what do you think of Ned?"
That was the opening I sought and immediately I launched into a recital of our tour of the castle and his topics of discussion.
My husband laughed outright when he heard about the snake in the schoolroom desk. "Carolington was right," he said. "You can handle any young boy."
His eyes seemed to say something else, something more, but I nodded and hurried on. "I was a little concerned with this talk of priest holes—that could be dangerous."
Edward shrugged. "The boy has been warned. I think he will listen."
"I hope so." I hesitated, my gaze returning to the moor in front of us. I swallowed, trying to steady my voice. "Edward, Edward, I—"
He stopped short and turned toward me, his eyes boring into mine. "Hester, don't hesitate. If you've something to say to me, then out with it. Remember, I'm your husband."
"I know that," I said, pushing to the back of my mind the embarrassing knowledge that this man was my husband—so far at least—in name only. "Very well then." I took a deep breath. "It's about Ned's dog."
Edward's face softened. "Captain?"
"Yes. The boy tells me the dog is forbidden entry to the castle."
"Yes." It looked like Edward was about to smile.
"Something about a snake and the last governess," I went on.
Edward frowned. "The boy had to be reprimanded."
"Yes, of course," I said. "I am in perfect agreement about that. But—"
"Yes, Hester?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"I promised him I would speak to you about the dog, to see if he might be allowed back in the nursery."
"Is that what you would advise?"
He must know that. Otherwise why should I ask? He was playing some sort of game with me. I braced myself, waiting for his outburst of temper, and said, "Yes, I think—"
"Fine. I leave all such decisions up to you. Shall we walk on?"
I was stunned. Why had he conceded so easily? "Yes, I— Thank you."
"There's no need for thanks," he said as we resumed our walk and he took my hand in his again. "I married you to give Ned a mother. Why should I prevent you from acting as a mother would? Or should?"
The bitterness of his tone made me know he was thinking of her, the beautiful Royale who had run off, deserted her husband and her son. I glanced at Edward, observing how his jaw had tightened.
"Ned is quite an intelligent boy," I hastened to remark. "I'm sure he will come to love me. And I him." I swallowed a lump in my throat, wishing I could erase the look of hurt I'd glimpsed in my husband's eyes.
The fingers that held mine tightened. "Yes," Edward said, his voice husky. "Ned will come to love you. I'm sure of it."
For one wild moment my heart pounded in my throat. For that moment I expected Edward to go on, to say that he, too, could grow to love me. But of course he said no such thing, believing that he might was all a figment of my imagination. I wanted him to love me. Why, I cannot say precisely except, perhaps, that I wished my child—our child—to grow up in a loving family.
But Edward said no more and I, swallowing my disappointment, tried to look around, to drink in the savage beauty of this wild place, a beauty I knew appealed to my husband.
But I could not forget Cousin Julia's suspicions. They rankled in my mind like a thistle in a finger and I could not be content till I had answers. So I gathered my courage and spoke. "Edward?"
"Yes, Hester?"
He didn't stop walking and I was grateful. I wasn't sure I wished to see his face when I asked the question that was searing through my mind.
"Edward, how did your father die?"
He scowled but did not stop or turn. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I want to know."
He stopped then and swung around to face me. The afternoon sun behind his back cast his face into obscurity so I could see nothing but a looming black shadow. My heart rose up in my throat and my knees took to trembling. I was alone on the moor with a man of great anger, great passion. I tasted primeval fear.
He grabbed me by the upper arm and shook me slightly. "Hester! I want an answer. Who's been talking to you!"
I saw I would have to tell him. I moistened my lips. "Cousin Julia told me about his death—the unusual manner of it."
He laughed harshly, his hands dropping away from my arms. "You mean hanging himself by his own cravat?"
I nodded, swallowing my fear. "I— Why should a man do such a thing?" I asked, dismayed to hear the quiver in my voice.
Edward sighed. "I don't know. The physician said there was nothing wrong with him. No fatal illness or anything like that."
I tried to keep my voice steady. "Your mother? When did she die?"
"If you mean did he die because he had lost her, the answer is no. She died when I was quite young."
He sighed again. "One thing you must understand, Hester. My father was not a popular man. He was a hard man, always after more—more money, more power, more women."
He paused. "And he had made many enemies. Ask Uncle Phillip. He often bore the brunt of my father's anger. There was no one to say a good word for the old man. When he died, people began to whisper 'murder.' They even pointed the finger at me." He paused, frowning fiercely. "I suppose I was the logical choice, but I can assure you, I had nothing to do with my father's death."
He turned back to the moor, drawing me on. "It's entirely possible that he killed himself. In the last year before his death he had begun to act strangely. He'd always been a violent man, often in fits of rage breaking whatever was in reach. But then he became very quiet, watching people and saying nothing."
Edward shook his head. "It was like he'd become another person."
"You mean," I ventured, wondering at my own temerity, "that perhaps his mind was disturbed?"
&nb
sp; His reply was curt. "Yes, perhaps."
He walked on in silence for some moments while I wrestled with this new and surprising knowledge.
First murder, now madness! Was every new day to bring me more dismaying information about this disquieting family?
I gulped. I had thought Cousin Julia and Uncle Phillip somewhat eccentric. But perhaps madness, true madness, ran in the family, was in the blood that ran through their veins!
I swallowed hastily. "Your mother—how did she die?"
"How?" Edward stopped again, but this time the sun was behind me and I saw his handsome features twisted into a frown. "From loneliness. From neglect. From lack of love."
The pain in his voice was so intense that for a moment I could not reply. Then I said, "But Edward, those things do not kill."
"You're quite right," he replied coldly. "He killed her."
My shock must have registered on my face for he laughed harshly. "No, not like that. Not with a weapon. She died trying to give him another son."
I experienced the strongest urge to take this big man into my arms and comfort him like I would have a hurt little boy. Of course I did not.
"You might as well know now," he went on brusquely. "Someone is sure to tell you soon. I despised my father. I hated him!"
I sucked in my breath. Could he have—
Almost as though I'd spoken my thoughts, he answered them. "But I didn't kill him. As God is my witness, I did not kill him!"
His eyes searched mine intently and I knew he wanted some response from me. It came from my heart. "I believe you," I said firmly. "I believe you."
Chapter Six
The rest of our walk was uneventful. By common consent we spoke only of the moor. Edward named for me the various grasses and plants, pointing out the sedge, the gorse, the samphire.
Duly I observed them and duly I admired the great stones that lay about, as though scattered by some giant hand. Edward spoke, too, of the people who had left those stones behind them, people of long ago, but I paid little real attention—my thoughts returning time and again to the puzzling matter of his father's death.
I spoke no more about it, however, and in due time we returned to the castle for dinner.
The day's conversation had left my nerves on edge and the approach of darkness—and bedtime—did nothing to calm them.
Cousin Julia and Uncle Phillip were both quite silent through the meal and then slipped away, leaving me alone with my husband.
"You look weary," Edward said. "Perhaps you should retire early."
I did not know how to respond to this. Nor did I care to admit to myself that I wished to retire with him. "I—I am not particularly tired,” I said, but my voice lacked conviction and in truth I was weary.
"You look weary," he repeated, in a voice that brooked no resistance. "You'd best go up now."
At another time I might have argued with him. I certainly did not care to let him think he could order me about like a common servant. But I was weary. And there was a strange look about his eyes, a look that seemed almost tender.
I got to my feet. "Good night, then," I said, and despising myself for the tremor I heard in my voice, I turned toward the stairs.
"Good night, wife."
The strangest sensation quivered down my spine. I was Edward's wife in the eyes of the law. And I knew I would be his wife in more than that whenever he decided to make it so. The thought turned my knees weak and raised that heat in me again so that I could feel my very cheeks burning. I picked up a candelabra and began to ascend the great stairs.
The hall was dark and gloomy, always pervaded by a chill that seeped into the bones. But that night I felt little of it. The fire that burned through my veins drove all else before it and heated my very flesh!
I reached my chamber and set the candelabra upon the bedside table. The maid Betty had been there before me, lighting candles, turning back the covers, laying out my nightdress.
I sighed as I looked at it. It was much patched and darned, poor thing, but then I had never expected anyone to see me in it—least of all a handsome husband. For a moment I gave myself up to wishing for some frivolous feminine adornments—ribbons and bows, pretty gowns. Perhaps then Edward would—
I pushed the thought from my mind and summoned Betty to help me undress. When she was gone, I sat before the mirror in my nightdress and brushed my hair the required one hundred strokes. I studied my reflection in the glass, wondering what my husband saw when he looked at me. Did he find me attractive? Did he wish to consummate our marriage? His kiss that afternoon had seemed to indicate so, yet he had sent me up to bed alone.
In exasperation, I threw down the hairbrush and got to my feet. I would go to bed, I told myself as I blew out the candles. And I would sleep.
Surprisingly enough, I did just that. I was indeed weary and had not been in bed long before I drifted off into slumber.
When I wakened, the room was quite dark. It took a moment for me to realize where I was. And then I heard the sound.
It was not an ordinary sound. There was something frightening, something sinister and unearthly about it.
"Go-o-o-o-o—" a voice breathed. "Leave—this— cursed—place."
I lay frozen in the great bed, staring into the Stygian darkness. But I could see nothing, nothing but the deep black of midnight. I swallowed. Was this the ghost Cousin Julia had talked about? But I did not believe in ghosts.
"Who—who are you?" I whispered, finally getting my tongue to work.
"Leave—this—place," the voice repeated in dire tones.
"I will do no such—" I began, and then I felt it. A hand! A chill ghostly hand touched my cheek. A scream forced its way out of my throat. It was followed by another.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to stop myself. But the feel of that cold, clammy hand lingered on my cheek. I simply had to scream—and go on screaming.
The heavy oak door crashed open, hitting the wall with a thud. "Hester!" Edward rushed across the room to the bed. "Hester! What’s wrong?"
I opened my eyes to the welcome sight of my husband's face shining in the moonlight. Never had a human being looked so wonderful to me.
I threw myself, sobbing, into his arms. "He—he was here!"
Edward dropped down on the great bed and held me close against his chest, his warm strong chest. "Easy, Hester."
"Oh, it was horrible!"
"It's all right, my dear."
Gradually my sobs ceased and I lay trembling in my husband's arms. 'There now," he said. "It will be all right." He smoothed the hair away from my forehead. "It was only a bad dream."
I tried to protest. "No, it was—"
"You must have fallen asleep and then you dreamed." He held me close, patting my back as I might pat a child.
"But—"
His face was so close to mine. The memory of that kiss on the moor twisted inside me and my body began to experience those sensations of heat. It was then I recalled that I was wearing only my nightdress and my husband was holding me in his arms.
"You're trembling like a leaf," he said tenderly. "Shall I stay with you?"
The warmth in his eyes, the touch of his fingers on my cheek, left little doubt as to what would transpire if he stayed. I looked up into his heated eyes. "Yes," I whispered. "Stay."
He smoothed my hair one more time. "Let me just light a candle," he said and rose to shut the door. "This place gets drafty."
I watched him cross the room, so strong, so handsome, and the trembling in my limbs had nothing to do with ghostly voices in the darkness. I was about to become a wife and I both feared and anticipated that event.
When he returned to the bed, Edward looked down at me from hooded eyes. "Shall I leave the candle burning?"
I hesitated. I was innocent of all knowledge of lovemaking and in my modesty would have preferred the darkness. But even Edward's presence could not completely dispel the memory of that clammy touch. "Yes, please," I whispered.
H
e began to undress and I tried to close my eyes, but could not. He seemed so nonchalant, dropping his clothing piece by piece upon the floor, then turning to me with a smile. Of course I had seen male bodies, Jeremy's when he was little, but I had never seen a full-grown man without his clothes. Such a magnificent man. My breath caught in my throat.
He climbed into the great bed and pulled me into the crook of his arm, right against that warm male body. "Do you want to talk about your dream?" he asked, his lips against my cheek.
I knew that I should tell him I did not believe it had been a dream. But he was so close, the heat of his body burning through my nightdress inflamed my very skin.
"Sweet Hester,” he whispered. "Beautiful Hester." That heat that glowed inside me burned ever brighter, and when he pulled me closer and covered my lips with his, I lost all thought of anything but the man who held me.
Sometime later, I lay nestled in the crook of his arm, my nightdress discarded on the floor. He kissed the tip of my ear. "You will have your child, Hester." He chuckled. "And soon, I think. Very soon."
I sighed and moved closer to his warmth. No one had ever told me what I might expect in the marriage bed, so I had brought with me no expectations. But even if someone had told me, I would not have believed them. Such pleasure seemed almost impossible.
Edward's lips moved across my cheek to my throat. "Is it—" I turned toward him. "Is it always like this?"
He laughed, catching my bottom lip between his teeth in a way that set my body on fire again and made it move against his. "Yes," he murmured against my mouth. "It will always be this good."
* * * *
We slept finally, our limbs entwined, and with his strong body enfolding mine I felt no fear. The morning sun, shining in my eyes, woke me. The room was cold, the candle burned down. My nightdress lay still upon the floor, but I had no need of it. Under the comforter I was cozy and warm. My husband lay, one arm across my breasts, one leg over mine. He stirred, and to my dismay I felt my desire rising. The heat flooded my cheeks at the thought of the night before, of what we had done. Edward must think me so wanton.
"Good morning," he said, his dark face so close to mine."
The Haunting of Grey Cliffs Page 5