For as the madness faded, the fear returned.
That he would leave her, too.
Chapter Seventeen
Afterwards, Gavin lay beside her, holding her gently, letting her shake, thinking what a beautiful creature she was.
Her outer calm, her certainty, yes, he admired that. But to discover the passion underneath—she astonished him. He had thought, he had hoped, but she was so much more than he could have imagined.
He closed his eyes against the morning sun, seeing her again as she was last night. Her half-parted lips. Her pale hair, like moonlight spilling across his body.
Her hand, raised to meet his.
Only now, as he held her fully within his embrace, did he realise how delicate she was. Wrists, fingers, collarbone, toes, dwarfed in his arms. No match for a warrior’s strength.
Had he forced her? He asked the question, fearful of the answer. That had not been his intent. He had wanted to bind her loyalty with his body, but he had wanted her to come to him freely, although they had been caged together in this marriage like trapped birds.
At first, as his entire body screamed at him to take her, she lay, clothed in emotional armour strong as any warrior’s.
Slowly, gradually, he had stripped that away.
What had he given her in return?
How would she feel when she wakened? Would she sense the deep joining that he did?
One night. One flight. That had been his promise.
And so it would be. She must choose to come to him next time, although he did not know how he would keep his hands, his lips, away from her. He had dreams of what they might do together next. He would be ready when she was.
But unless she had chosen freely, he could never risk revealing what lay beneath the armour that shielded his soul.
Because it mattered, finally, what someone else thought.
Clare slipped from the bed as he slept, afraid to face him so soon. Now she knew the feel of the skin below his waist, the strength of his arms braced beside her, the unbelievable moment when he, too, had shuddered.
Did he feel as vulnerable as she? When he gave himself to her, had he given more than his seed?
She had revealed herself, fully, without saying a word. He held her heart in his hand, now.
And could crush it at any time.
She pulled her hair back and tied it with a ribbon, not taking the time for a braid. Her father must have kept the men away, for no one had come to pound on the door. She glanced out of the window at the sun. Was it midday already? Had they stayed in bed for a day?
Hand on the door, she paused, afraid to go out and face the knowing eyes. Even if they had not heard her moans, everyone knew how a bride and groom spent a wedding night.
The noise from the Hall reassured her. Murine must have prepared the midday meal. Quietly, she tiptoed down the stairs and past the Hall, unseen.
Smiling, she marvelled at a world still right side up. It seemed impossible that the sky still stretched blue above, dotted with drifting clouds. She should be walking on stars, looking up at trees grounded in heaven, their leaves stretching down to reach earth.
Her steps, of their own, took her to the mews. In the days before the wedding, she had had no time to visit Wee One.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she heard something new.
A tiny chirp. More than one.
Wee One’s eggs had hatched.
She held her breath and crept closer. Two fluffy chicks cheeped in the nest. Wee One stood beside them, wings hunched, as fierce as when she stooped to take a duck in flight. Her head followed Clare’s every step. She and Wee One exchanged a long look. Then, carefully, Clare leaned closer, holding her breath.
Eyes closed, pink beaks open, the chicks looked like chubby balls covered with fur. So young. So fragile. They could be no more than days old.
She had opened the high window in the mews and kept all the birds on the creance so the tercel could come and go. His bits of food and fluff littered the gravel nest.
But the chicks cheeped as if they were hungry. Perhaps the bird had not brought enough for them to eat. She reached for the falconer’s food sack, wondering whether the babies ate what grown birds did.
She retrieved a morsel and held it between her thumb and finger, keeping an eye on Wee One. She had fed her falcon this way. Perhaps she could feed the chicks, as well. If she stretched her arm gently—
‘Stop.’
She turned. Gavin, voice harsh, smile gentle, stood at the door. Freshly washed, hair still damp, he wore a young squire’s smile instead of a warrior’s frown.
Her breasts burned with the memory of his lips. She swallowed, unable to speak, thinking of all they had done.
And wanting it all over again.
He put his hand on her arm and she realised she had not moved. Her arm was still outstretched to feed the chick.
‘If you feed them, they will scream for food every time you come near.’
Heartless man. ‘They’re too young to hunt. How are they to eat?’
‘The tercel will bring food. Unless you want to release Wee One to help.’
She pulled back her hand, but made no move to untie Wee One. ‘How do you know so much about falcons?’
‘They were good companions for a child in exile. The King’s falconer was patient with me.’
‘Which King?’
They shared a smile.
‘Both. David keeps a falcon with him. Edward allows him to hunt.’
‘That is kind of Edward.’
‘They send their armies to war, yet they are related by marriage. Some days, in private, they are as cordial as family.’
What hopes there had been, when King David married King Edward’s sister, both of them children. Joan Makepeace, they had dubbed her. And yet, she had not.
But she did not want to speak of borders and wars when her relationship with her husband was as fragile as the chicks.
‘What else did he teach you about the falcons? Did he ever raise a bird in the mews?’
He shook his head. ‘Once or twice he scooped a fledgling from the nest. Without training by their parents, they never became good hunters.’
Her heart cramped. Even the birds needed a mother to teach them. She looked back at the cheeping balls of fluff. ‘Then I shall leave them to Wee One.’
‘Come.’ His arm sheltered her shoulder and he guided her towards the door. ‘We must face the household.’
She sighed, knowing the comments would be ribald, and walked with him back to the tower.
What would you tell me, Mother? she wondered, as she accepted hugs from Murine and Euphemia. What am I to do now?
She watched him spar with the men over his prowess of the night. Most gathered around and raised a cup. Thom, who had led the fight at Beltane, and one or two others still hung back, muttering in their brew.
Their suspicious glances rekindled her doubts Do I truly know him? Can I trust him? Can I trust the way I feel?
Well, if he truly wanted her, wanted a marriage she had glimpsed in the dark last night, he would come to her again.
She would not ask.
June melted into July, fast as clouds skittering across the sky. The sheep, shorn of their wool, were herded into the hills to fatten on summer grass.
Yet he did not come to her again.
She went to their bed alone, night after night, as he pleaded the need to inspect the armoury or review the records of the wool sales.
Then, he would wait long enough to be sure that she slept.
She did not, always. Many nights, she lay on her side, eyes closed, listening to the soft clunk of his boots, the whoosh of his tunic, the rustle of the straw as the bed shifted beneath him.
Each night, she lay, hoping, her skin aching for his fingers. Once, twice, she almost turned to touch him, but she clenched her fingers to stop her hands. A lady would never reach out first.
So night after night they lay beside each other, backs to
uching, and he never reached out.
Some nights, he did not come to bed at all.
Gradually, her hopes faded. He had not left her as Alain had done, but he had left her in spirit. There would be no more secret sharing. Her moans and her screams must have driven him away.
She tried not to care.
They lived in front of others, every word and gesture for all to see. Each had daily duties. Meals were taken with the entire household. And if she watched him sometimes, wistfully, as he shed his tunic and lifted strong arms to show Angus how to hold a sword, only Murine noticed.
Her silent, sympathetic smile was small comfort.
The only time they spoke alone was in the mews.
The chicks grew rapidly. Within six weeks, long, dark feathers replaced the white fluff. Eager to grow, the birds pecked at what remained of their baby down, pulling out the final feathers.
Strutting to the edge of the ledge, they flapped their wings, as if preparing to jump.
Clare closed the shutters, afraid they would fly away and not be able to find their way home. But though they seemed to know what was expected, neither had been willing to take the final leap off the ledge.
Her monthly time came. And she knew she must confront him.
If they were to produce an heir, they must share more than a bed again.
That night, she lay quietly, pretending to sleep, until he settled in. Then she turned and placed her palm on his shoulder.
He bolted upright, as if her touch was a signal the enemy had come. ‘What?’
‘My monthly time came.’
It was hard to get the words out. Surely she would not have to say more.
But he said nothing. And he did not touch her. ‘Is that not a usual occurrence?’ His choked question sounded as awkward as her admission.
She felt her cheeks burning. ‘It is.’
He looked at her blankly, as if he had no idea what she meant.
‘So I am not with child.’
A smile flickered over his face. ‘That I do know.’
She swallowed, unsure she would be able to say the words. How could a lady ask for such things? ‘And that means we must—’ her eyes went from him to her to the sheets ‘—again.’
He crossed his legs, mercifully under the covers, and leaned towards her. ‘We must?’
‘Without a babe, you will lose the tower.’
‘It will not be the first thing I have lost in my life.’ His voice, husky, echoed with empty years.
Did he hate her so much that he would relinquish everything to avoid her? Well, she knew the price of allegiance if he did not. ‘It is our duty to have a child.’
He dropped his head to his hands, sighing. ‘Is that all this is to you? Duty?’
‘What do you mean?’
He started to reach for her, then pulled back, knotting one arm over the other. But still, he touched her with his eyes. ‘I told you every flight was a choice. Do you choose solely for duty?’
‘I thought…’ What could she say? Yet here was this man, her husband, looking at her with eyes full of hunger. No, more than that. ‘I thought you did not want me.’
Shock first. Eyes blank. Mouth open. A sword’s blow could not have stunned him so completely.
Then, a smile, large now, blessed his face and he pulled her into his arms.
Safely surrounded, his chin on top of her head, she felt a chuckle rumble in his chest. ‘And I thought you did not want me.’
Fear, coiled in her every muscle, ebbed, released by giddy anticipation. ‘You waited for me?’ What man would ever do so?
He nodded against her head. ‘I promised you could choose.’
Now her laughter bubbled up, belly deep. ‘Then it seems, my husband, that we have kept our babe-to-be waiting unduly.’
Bold, eyes open, she raised her lips to his. This time, she would see his every move.
Yet without the freedom of darkness, she saw too much. Their noses bumped. Her hands, first clasped around his neck, then gripping his forearms, rested gracefully nowhere. She dropped them to dangle, uselessly, at her sides.
His tongue teased hers, and she dutifully replied in kind, trying to please him. But instead of a sensual gesture, it felt like a child’s tantrum.
The first night, she had feared the wantonness he released in her. Now, instead, she was a woman so awkward and unsure that she knew she could never please a husband.
Tired of doing everything wrong, she turned limp, returning to simple submission. Let him do as he liked.
The kisses that had cascaded over her ears, her cheek, her throat and her shoulders slowed, then stopped. He pulled away, studying her.
‘I thought you wanted this.’
‘I did. I do. Truly.’
‘Then what’s wrong?’
She turned her head away. ‘I am still a nestling, I fear.’ She thought of the baby birds, hopping on the edge of the nest, flapping their wings, unwilling to jump. ‘When I see everything…’ Her voice faded. How could she explain? ‘I am like the falcon who needs to be blinded to her fears.’
His smile, impossibly, was at once tender and lewd. ‘Ah, I see we went too quickly. We must return to your training.’
The silk kissed her cheek again. Returned to the safety of darkness, all her senses re-awakened, ready again for his touch. She lay back with a sigh of relief.
‘Before a falcon is made,’ he said, his voice coaxing, ‘she must be trained to the lure.’
Beneath her, the straw shifted as he rose. She tried to picture him moving around the room. ‘What are you doing?’ Impatient now. Ready for his touch.
‘Preparing to train my beautiful nestling.’ The lid of a chest opened and closed. ‘I will not risk losing her. And for that…’
He stretched her arm to the edge of the bed and as quickly as she hooded Wee One, she felt a thin leather strap around one wrist.
‘…she must wear a creance.’
Her other wrist, now, secured the same way.
‘Now, my wife, we are ready to resume your training.’
Immediately, something tingled in her breasts, pulsed between her legs. Now, totally at his mercy, desire and fear mingled, difficult to distinguish.
‘Are you comfortable?’
She swallowed, and nodded.
‘Remember. Just say “stop.”’
‘I remember.’ But she remembered more. How difficult it had been for him to stop. And how she knew, now, that it would be impossible for her, as well.
Something soft, a feather’s edge, tickled her ankle, then started a lazy trail up the inside of her bare leg. She sensed where it would end. And already she was slick with wanting.
She swallowed against the throbbing of her heart, unsure she would be able to speak. ‘Will you be patient with me?’ Had she misjudged him? ‘You won’t hurt me?’
The feather’s trail stopped. ‘No falconer would harm a bird. But it must be your choice. Do you want to take this flight?’
His hand, large, gentle, rested over hers, waiting.
Have you the courage to choose what you want?
Last time, frightened by longing so intense, she thought she would go mad with it. Instead, she had discovered a vast sky, a new world, and the freedom to explore it.
She laced her fingers with his. ‘Yes.’
He sighed, with more relief that she expected, and pressed his lips to her brow. ‘Then fly as far and as fast and as high as you dare. I will be here for you. I will catch you.’
The feather resumed its wanderings, exploring the inside of her knee, then stroking, ever so softly, up her thigh. ‘And like the bird when he is fed, you will learn by this sign to expect the food of love.’
He gave a whistle, soft and low.
Then, she felt his lips on the delicate skin of her inner thigh, and she knew there would be no stopping either of them.
Chapter Eighteen
After her release, Gavin held her, still trembling, in his arms.
Or was he the one who shook?
He had not realised, when he urged her on, how much he asked. No woman had ever given herself so completely. She had nothing left, nothing hidden, nothing of herself that she had not exposed to him.
If she were a falcon, there would be none better. And he would never, never allow her to be lost.
To know that she, that part of her, belonged to him alone, made him feel for the first time, as if he was more than a bastard without a country.
He held her closer and kissed the sensitive spot he had found on her neck, just behind her ear, hidden by her hair. Not intending to excite her now, but to comfort her. To tell her without words that he would keep her safe. Always.
In this bed, alone, they were sheltered within the borders of their own kingdom. But that, he knew, was temporary. Douglas, David, Edward, the quarrels of the world would come to them again.
It was only a question of when.
She lay in his arms, shaking, ashamed to raise her eyes to his. What must he think of her now? At the end, something had moved through her. Powerless to stop it, she felt as if she had been cracked open and the spirit, the core, the essence she had been fighting all her life had finally broken free.
The spasming of her body. How total. As if there were nothing more in that moment than a howling banshee. She had moaned, she was sure, wild as an animal, unable to stop. With no more control and no way to hold on to her mask.
Surely, now that he had seen this wild, screaming woman he would recoil in horror.
Alain would have.
Yet her husband still lay beside her, his arms protectively around her. And she felt, for the first time, that she could drop her defences. They had been replaced by his arms.
It would be their secret, these terrible things they did together, the wild feelings that surged between a man and a woman. Had anyone else ever felt them before? Surely not. No one could have survived this—vulnerability. She was weak, exposed, defenceless, and yet he made her feel safe. As if everything she had done and felt was as perfect as the falcon following her nature.
He nuzzled her neck behind her ear, his breath was soft, his kiss gentle.
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