Love Never Lies

by Rachel Donnelly

  If he possessed a lick of sense he would turn around, ride north and deliver her to Newbury with all haste.

  But apparently he didn’t.

  He wasn’t willing to part with her yet.

  ***

  Isabeau gasped with shock and pleasure, as the cold water little by little swallowed her up. ‘Twas Fortin’s suggestion they stop for a bath before arriving at Highburn, an hour south, according to him.

  There was no need to ask her twice. After so long in the saddle, she felt stiff and sore, and no doubt stank to high heaven.

  The frigid water felt deliciously invigorating. She would gladly linger if there was time for a proper swim, but Fortin had warned her to make haste, before striding off up river in the opposite direction.

  She had left her chemise on for modesty sake, but wished now she hadn’t. It clung to her skin like a limp rag, making it troublesome to wash. ‘Twas challenging enough with no sponge or soap, besides a wet chemise slapping between her thighs.

  Nevertheless, she managed and by the time she waded out of the water felt blissfully refreshed. Just in time ‘twould seem. No sooner had she reached the mossy bank than Fortin came striding through the trees, bare from the waist up, rubbing his wet hair with his black surcoat.

  The sight of him made her heart pound.

  Glistening riverlets of water trickled down his sleek chest. His skin glowed golden in the dim light of dusk, accentuated by his black braies. The glittering path of water drew Isabeau’s gaze lower to where dark curls formed a vortex from his bellybutton to his braies.

  She hadn’t realized she’d been staring until she heard him suck in a sharp breath and looked up to discover his hand had stilled on his head.

  He wore a look of amazement.

  Her gaze dropped, bringing into view her transparent chemise, plastered to her skin, outlining every curve of her quivering body, including the rosy peaks of her breasts.

  She took a step back, forgetting her shoes were sitting behind her on the edge of the bank and kicked one into the river.

  “Rot!” she expelled. Then, seeing no other choice, she charged in after it, wading back in, up to her waist to grab it, just in the nick of time, before it swirled off down river.

  By the time she waded back out again, she was shivering from head to toe. Wearing a wet shoe did not sit well with her, which accounted for the scathing glance she bestowed on Fortin when he reached down a hand to help her up the bank.

  Coming within inches of his bare chest unbalanced her further.

  The jibe on her tongue melted from her lips, faced with the proximity of his warm skin.

  “Don’t look at me.” Laughter danced in his blue eyes. “You kicked it in, not me.”

  “I’m not looking at you.” At least she was trying not to. But, ‘twas difficult not to drink in every hard part of him when he stood so close and her whole body screamed to reach out and touch him—to lick every last drop of water from his tanned skin.

  She took an abrupt step away, averting her gaze, startled by her own thoughts, afraid he might see the desire reflected in her eyes.

  He captured her hand to draw her back, a knowing smile curving his lips. “Yea, you are.”

  She pressed her lips tight, and shook her head.

  “Admit it,” he said with a chuckle, drawing her closer to wrap his arms around her waist. “You’re bursting with curiosity to finish what we started.”

  A shiver ran through her, the delicious toe curling kind. A denial sprang to her lips, but she dared not voice it, lest he call her a liar. And he would be right. She yearned to know what Hilda meant. And not just from anyone—from him. “Yea,” she said on a shuddering breath. “You’re right. I am…I mean… I do. I want to.”

  “You do? Thank God!” He bent his head, his lips claiming hers in a hungry kiss that would have knocked her shoes off, had she been wearing any.

  A moment later he was stripping the wet chemise off over her head, while she fumbled with the ties on his braies.

  They couldn’t get each others clothes off fast enough.

  After, when they were both completely naked, he stood back, holding her by the hands to gaze at her from head to toe. “I could look at you forever, Isabeau. Do you know that?”

  His husky voice went straight to her core, sending little shivers down her limbs. When he lowered her to the velvety moss on the riverbank she quivered even more, though she could feel her body growing just as hot as his.

  She felt no fear as she had the first time their bodies joined, only an over- powering urgency to feel his hardness within her. Anticipation left her so tightly strung, the touch of his hand sliding over the curve of hip, sent delicious vibrations rattling through her like earth tremors.

  When he bent his head to place tiny kisses over her breasts, she reached down to grasp his fullness in her hand, positioning herself to receive him. He continued to pay homage to her breasts, sucking and kissing each nipple until she thought she might scream. She had waited so long, imagining this moment so often, the anticipation had ignited her to a feared pitch.

  Every inch of her flesh yearned for his touch.

  Unable to wait any longer, she clasped his buttocks urging him to her, to give her what she wanted. Though exactly what that was, she wasn’t quite sure of yet. She only knew that she wanted to feel him closer. She yearned to experience the same pleasure they’d shared the first time.

  His first thrust sent her catapulting to such heights, she wrapped her legs around his hips to push him deeper until she was lifted higher and higher with each smooth thrust. Her thoughts flew until she could not think—until there was only him—his smell, his taste, his hot sleek skin.

  The world receded.

  She wanted to stay this close to him forever. She wanted it to go on and on and never end, to never leave the warmth of his golden skin, to forever hear the beat of his heart and the rasp of his breath in her ear, and know that he was always near.

  But one more thrust sent her flying over the top in a sweet piercing climax, shuddering through her over and over until she lay shattered in a delirium of ecstasy so intense, so lacking in description she shook from her eyelids to her toes.

  “You are a wizard of the flesh,” she breathed between little gasps, attempting to catch her breath while delicious spasms clutched her inside and out.

  “What?” He breathed against her ear, giving one last thrust before collapsing against her.

  “That’s what Hilda called you,” Isabeau panted, her body humming from the pulse of him deep inside of her, causing further quivers and quakes. She ran her hands over his back, drawing him closer, loving the feel of his smooth skin.

  He pressed his lips once more to hers in a long, tender kiss, then rolled onto his side and gathered her into his arms. “I’ve bedded many a maid. ‘Tis fortunate you don’t know them as well, or you might waste much of your life gossiping.”

  She tilted her chin to gaze into his blue eyes, darkened with the shadows of passion from their love making. “How many?”

  “I don’t know.” He dropped a soft kiss on her lips, sounding amused if not surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

  “Curiosity.”

  He pulled away, then came to his feet, making her wish she hadn’t asked. “Many dozens. I’ve not kept count.”

  “How many at Highburn?” She lifted her head to regard him as he stood to pull on his braies.

  “Does it matter?” He cast her an incomprehensible look as he snatched up his surcoat from the ground.

  It mattered more than she wished to admit, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She should never have asked. Now he would think her jealous, which of course she was not. ‘Twas naught but curiosity. Why should she be jealous? He was not her husband.

  She shrugged, coming to her feet. “Only to know what the chances are of being accosted by one of them, or having to listen to them recount your prowess or failure in bed.”

  “Failure?” he sa
id, emerging from pulling his surcoat on over his head. “I’ve had no complaints.”

  His casual confidence chafed. She had the urge to knock him down a peg or two. But to say she had not enjoyed making love to him would be untrue, in fact ‘twas a vast understatement. She had never experienced anything like it, and doubted she ever would again.

  It made her curious to know if he had enjoyed it as much as she had. But, it wasn’t the sort of thing she could ask. ‘Twas shameful enough, to allow her desire to rule her good sense without shouting it to the highest tree top and demanding he do the same.

  They had shared their bodies, but he had promised nothing else.

  And yet, she could not help but wonder where she stood in the crowd of women who were now his memories, something she would soon become, once the ransom was paid and she left Highburn forever.

  Would he forget her?

  Or would he remember her with fondness, despite all that her family had done.

  “There have been none at Highburn,” he said striding toward their mounts.

  None.

  That was curious.

  Not that she cared.

  Why should she?

  But strangely, knowing it lightened her heart as well as her step as she hastened to catch up with him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You should have seen her face!” Hilarity clung to Gwen’s words, as she swept the broom across the flags of the chamber Abigail and Darcy had just vacated. A smile tugged at the corners of Gwen’s mouth. “Her tongue dropped to floor, it did. I thought her eyes would jump right out of her head.”

  “I dare say they did.” Isabeau didn’t bother to suppress her own smile as she bundled up the sheets on the bed. She would have dearly loved to witness Abigail’s consternation at finding another woman in Dominic’s bed.

  “She said she was sleepwalkin’. I don’t believe a word of it. She looked no more asleep than my sire with his face over a haunch of mutton.”

  “Well, she’s gone, thankfully,” Isabeau said over her shoulder, lugging the bundle of sheets to the door. “You’ll not be disturbed by her nocturnal wanderings again.”

  “A good thing for all our sakes, yours especially, my lady,” Gwen returned with great feeling. “A little birdie told me ‘twas her who told your cousin where to find you.”

  Isabeau swung round in the doorway, neither shocked nor surprised at Abigail’s actions, but curious as to how she could have accomplished such a feat. “Who?”

  “Servants talk, my lady.” A knowing gleam lit Gwen’s eyes. “Lord Langley’s lands aren’t so far from ‘ere. Half my kin dwells there, they do. There’s only so many men to be found in Highburn without marryin’ your own brother.” Gwen’s lips curled in a satisfied grin. “’Twas my brother who heard of Lady Abigail’s mischief, how she paid Lady Anna’s maid, a cousin of mine, I’m ashamed to say, to give your cousin the message at the tourney.”

  “Does Lord Fortin know of this?”

  “Nay, my lady.” Gwen’s face paled, as though it had just struck her what sharing this information might mean. Should Fortin get wind of it, he would certainly send the maid packing for her treachery, as soon as he and Lady Anna were wed.

  “Just as well.” Isabeau offered a reassuring smile. “’Tis too late to change what happened. I’m sure your cousin only sought to do good by saving a lady in distress.”

  “‘Twas more likely the coin,” Gwen said wryly. “She’s a grasping little strumpet, may God forgive me for speaking ill of my own kin. But not very wise, if you be askin’ me, to risk losing such a fine position.”

  If, Lady Anna considered it a breach of trust, Isabeau mused, heading for the clean sheets piled on a chair by the hearth to begin making the bed. Lady Anna might feel all too pleased to have her out of the way, especially if she believed Fortin’s prisoner was competing for his affections.

  A shiver rattled through Isabeau as she shook one of the sheets to billow high above the bed. Abigail was gone. She should be jumping up and down with glee. But the thought of another jealous female out for her blood dampened her relief. Not that she could do aught about it.

  The best she could hope for was to stay out of Lady Anna’s way—avoid any contact, which should not prove difficult. If Fortin wished to marry the Lady he’d not wish for her to get wind of his recent dalliance.

  Something she would rather not think about.

  Although, it made her heart heavy, just the same, bringing a catch to her throat.

  But right now, thankfully, there was no time to dwell on it with so much work to be done. She’d returned to Highburn last eventide to discover the upstairs chambers in a shambles.

  With Myrtle and Gwen running hither and thither to see to Abigail’s every whim as she and Darcy prepared to depart, there had been no time for their regular chores. Fortunately, Gwen had offered to help after the hall was tidied or ‘twould have taken days for Isabeau to put everything to rights.

  After this chamber was put to rights, Dominic’s needed a good scrubbing. He’d left for Normandy after breaking his fast that morn. Isabeau missed his laughter and teasing already. He could always coax a smile to her lips, despite Alec glaring down at them from the other end of the high table.

  Highburn would not be the same without Dominic.

  At least she’d no longer be forced to share a bedchamber with his brother—a blessing after what had happened at the river. She could not trust herself, sleeping so close to him. The mere sight of him stirred longings inside of her she had no right to feel. Her body grew hot just thinking of him.

  The best thing she could do was to keep her distance—avoid temptation. The less contact they had the better. Losing her virtue to escape marrying Newbury was one thing—giving herself over to the sins of passion like she had at the river quite another. Because, without a marriage contract, that’s all it was—an indulgence of the flesh.

  ‘Twould be foolish to risk the consequences. She’d tempted fate once too often already.

  Isabeau threw herself into work to shut out the devilish urgings which put her soul in peril.

  By the time both rooms were set to rights, beds made, grates cleaned, most of the day was spent.

  Gwen helped her to lug her casket of clothes to the chamber Dominic had vacated, then hustled off below to the hall to help Myrtle serve the eventide meal.

  Isabeau set about laying a fire in the hearth.

  She had lain but two sticks of wood when the prickly sense of someone watching her made her rise and turn from the task.

  Fortin stood in the doorway, looking dark and wild as he always did, an inscrutable look on his face. “Food is on the table. I await your company, my lady.”

  “Why?” She kept her tone light, though her belly fluttered as she turned to lay more sticks on the grate. “There’s no need. Dominic and Abigail are gone.” Besides, ‘twould only serve to remind her of all she’d lost. To sit beside him at the high table like husband and wife, exchanging tales of their day, seemed too bitter a draught to swallow.

  “Because I wish it.”

  “Why?” She rose from her haunches to face him. “I’m the enemy, remember?”

  His face creased in a devilish smile. “No enemy has ever returned my kisses with such zeal.”

  She arched one brow, ignoring the erratic beat of her heart. “Are you in the habit of kissing your prisoners, my lord?”

  “Only the comely ones.”

  “Have you had many?”

  He crossed his arms, accentuating the width of his broad chest. “Nay.” His voice grew soft and husky. “Only you.”

  A shiver of pleasure rushed through her. After sharing her body with him, he was no longer a foe, but nor was he a friend. She wasn’t certain what he was, only that whenever he was near, every part of her wished to touch every part of him.

  Rot!

  Why did life have to be so complicated?

  Why couldn’t she just hate him and be done with it.

  Th
at would be the normal thing to do—the safe course of action.

  But, she had never been one to take the safe route, had she.

  She looked up to find him smiling at her with a twinkle of mischief in his sapphire eyes.

  Her heart raced over the hill and through the woods. “What will Lady Anna think?”

  He shrugged. “Why should I care what she thinks?”

  “Servants talk. ’Twould harm your suit, if you wish to offer for her hand.”

  He gave her a long look. “For an enemy, you’re overly concerned with my future.”

  She flushed under the heat of his intense gaze. It wasn’t the response she was looking for. Her tongue fairly itched to come right out and ask if he intended to marry Lady Anna or not, but her mind rebelled at letting him know how much she cared—that she was sick with jealousy.

  If asked, she would certainly deny it. But nothing else could account for the queasy churning in her belly whenever she imagined the two of them standing at the altar. Or, encased beneath the furs on his bed.

  She sucked in a long fortifying breath, attempting to come to terms with the shocking revelation that she was fast losing her heart to the man who held her captive.

  How could that be, after all he had done to her? ‘Twas a complete waste of her affections, and could come to naught in the end. He’d never offer marriage, feeling such malice for her family. And yet, she couldn’t help it.

  “Marry her if you wish. You have my blessing,” she said, saying a silent prayer that the Lord forgave her for the lie. Her tone grew tart, vexed that he had somehow managed to wheedle his way into her heart. “I only hope she isn’t as single-minded as Abigail in her quest for love, or the next time I scrub the laundry, you’ll find me at the bottom of the river.”

  His black brows contracted. “Who told you this? Barak?”

  “Nay.” She shrugged, choosing her words carefully, not wishing to betray Gwen’s confidence by implicating her cousin. “But it stands to reason, Abigail was the only one who stood to gain from my disappearance.”

  He nodded, apparently having already reached the same conclusion. “She would have needed help—a messenger. Even she isn’t so brazen as to be seen in the company of the enemy at a tournament.” His voice went cold. “When I find out who it was, I’ll cut out their tongue.”