by Flora Speer
“Will he live?” Dain asked Emma as she came out of Hermit’s room with a water pitcher for one of the maids to refill.
“If his wounds don’t fester, I believe he will,” Emma said.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Dain said. “He’s a brave man. Emma, I have a minor problem to discuss with you, if you can spare a moment.”
“Of course.” Emma handed the pitcher to a waiting maidservant before turning her full attention to Dain.
“I trouble you only because I promised Sloan I’d speak to you as soon as possible, and because I hope your answer will speed his recovery from his own wounds,” Dain said. “Sloan wants to marry Hawise. Have you any objection?”
“None at all,” Emma responded promptly, and discovered to her surprise that it was possible to smile at the end of the day’s fear and pain. “I can’t imagine Hawise will object to the idea.”
“Nor I,” said Dain, chuckling. “She has been with Sloan for so much of the afternoon that Agatha scolded her for neglecting the other wounded men. I do think Sloan will enjoy a speedy recovery.”
“Let them be happy,” Emma said, her gaze on the still figure she could see through the doorway, and on Vivienne bending over Hermit’s form.
“Unlike Sloan, Hermit will have a long and slow recovery,” she said. “Dain, if you were to offer him a place here at Penruan when he’s well again, I think he’d accept it now, and be glad of it. You saw today that he is no mean swordsman.”
“A mere man-at-arms,” Dain said, looking at his sister. ”I wonder if it’s wise to keep him here.”
“Why don’t we leave the decision to Hermit?” Emma suggested, her voice taking on a note of sharpness. “And to Vivienne, if Hermit offers her a decision to make.”
Citing the need to remove the last of the bandits who were infesting Rough Tor before they could regroup and wreak vengeance on Trevanan village for the defeat of their comrades, Dain rode out at dawn the next day with a large troop of men. He was gone for almost a week. During that time two of the wounded bandits died and a third tried to escape and was recaptured. Todd, who was left in charge of the castle defenses during Dain’s absence, ordered the man cast into the dungeon until Dain’s return.
“If he’s healthy enough to slip past his guard,” Todd said to Emma when she inquired about the man’s healing wounds, “then he’s well enough to withstand being confined for a while.”
Sloan, with marriage to Hawise promised in the near future, got out of his bed and limped into the great hall to announce his decision to return to duty.
“Only if you promise to rely on Todd,” Emma warned him. “I will not allow you to disappoint Hawise by suffering a relapse.”
“My lady, I will obey your every command,” Sloan responded. “You’ve granted me my heart’s desire.”
“Actually, it’s Hawise who will grant you that,” Emma said. Noticing how Sloan winced when he tried to stand upright and square his aching shoulders, she winked at Todd behind his back and received an answering grin that told her the younger man would see to it that Sloan did not overexert himself.
Hermit’s situation was not as cheerful as Sloan’s, for one of his wounds began to fester. He developed a high fever and Emma, Vivienne, and Agatha, who remained at Penruan to help nurse the injured, all took turns sponging him with cool water and trying to force herbal medicines past his lips. Early one morning the fever finally broke, but he lay in a stupor for several days more.
“He’ll live,” Agatha assured Emma. “Rest and herbal brews and nourishment will restore him. You don’t need me here any longer. I’m going back to Trevanan. As for you, my girl, see that you get some rest, too, or you’ll be sick. Let Hawise spend a few hours with Hermit, while you and Vivienne sleep. It will do all of you a world of good. I’ll return in a few days.”
***
As soon as Hermit began to regain his strength Vivienne suggested that she shave his matted beard and cut his hair.
“Have you ever shaved a man before?” he asked.
“I haven’t,” Vivienne admitted, “but Emma could do it for you.”
“I will, if you’ll let me,” Emma offered.
“No.” It was as firm a refusal as his continuing weakness allowed. “Having seen the rest of me unclothed while I’ve been lying here helpless, now you want to see my bare face, too.”
Vivienne giggled at the remark, but Emma detected something evasive behind the joking.
“We will do whatever you want, and not tease you for more,” she told him.
“My old face is too scarred for gently raised young ladies to view,” Hermit said. “Leave well enough alone.”
“I was not gently raised,” Vivienne reminded him.
“But you were,” Hermit said, taking her hand. “You didn’t learn to work fine embroidery, or to pin up your hair and wear silk gowns or play a lute, but Agatha taught you how to trust your kind and gentle heart.
“I will make a concession,” Hermit said. “You may trim my hair and my beard, but I’ll not be shaved.”
“Speaking of fine embroidery,” Emma said, ”Hawise owns a pair of sharp embroidery scissors. I’ll ask her for an hour’s use of them.” She left the room quickly, not wanting to stay there while Hermit and Vivienne gazed at each other with their hearts in their eyes and longing written clear to see on their faces.
As soon as Dain returned, Emma begged him to offer Hermit a place at Penruan. Though he again expressed his doubts about exposing Vivienne to the constant presence of a man about whose family and past he knew nothing, Dain made the offer, at a time when Vivienne was resting and Emma was with Hermit.
“It would never do,” Hermit said at once. “I am grateful to you, Dain, for more reasons than I dare to reveal. You will never know how much these months I’ve spent on your land mean to me. But it’s best if I resume my travels as soon as I am able.”
“Will nothing change your mind?” Emma cried.
“My heart will always be at Penruan,” Hermit said. “It’s my mortal body that cannot stay here.”
“Well, that’s that,” Dain said to Emma later. “Hermit obviously understands he wouldn’t be well matched with Vivienne. Whatever the circumstances of his birth or his past, he is a man of honor.”
“You needn’t look so pleased,” Emma retorted. “Vivienne will be heartbroken when he leaves.”
“I left the choice to Hermit, just as you wanted,” Dain said.
“So you did,” Emma admitted on a sigh. Privately, she feared Vivienne’s reaction when she learned Hermit was planning to depart – and she wondered what were the real reasons behind Hermit’s decision to forsake the woman whom Emma was certain he loved.
Chapter 17
“Hermit’s belongings are still in the cave,” Emma said to Dain the next morning. “I thought I’d go there and gather them up and bring them back to him.”
“I will go with you,” Dain offered.
Emma was a bit surprised at the suggestion, but there was no excuse she could think of to keep the lord of Penruan away from a cave that was located on his own land, so she quickly assented. Perhaps, once they were removed from the castle, where the demands on his time and attention were constant, Dain would reveal his thoughts about their marriage. He hadn’t returned to their bed since learning she could work magic and, though he treated her with scrupulous courtesy, Emma wasn’t sure she could continue as his wife if he didn’t soon tell her what was in his heart.
They walked out of the gatehouse at midmorning. The day was mild, though a haze hung over the sea, turning the sunlight to a milky-white glow. The sea was murky gray and oddly still.
“I am beginning to know the Cornish weather,” Emma said as she followed Dain along the descent to the beach. “I recognize the signs of an approaching storm. We will have rain by midnight.”
“You’ve been paying attention.” Dain stepped off the path onto the sand and turned to offer Emma a hand.
“That,” she responded, “is
half the secret of working magic. Few people pay attention to what is happening around them.”
She was slightly above Dain, still on the path and gazing downward into his upturned face, caught by the marvelous blue-green depths of his eyes. Her heart lurched within her and she wondered what she would do if he decided to send her away. She hoped she was strong enough to live without him, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to live with him for the rest of their lives, to lie beside him every night and bear his children and help him to care for the people who depended on him. She belonged to him completely, yet for all her magical ability she could not read his mind or guess at the future he intended for them.
“Perhaps it’s the mystery that tempts me so,” she murmured.
“What mystery?” he asked.
“Men are such strange creatures,” she said. Evading his outstretched hand, she jumped onto the sand and began walking toward the rocks at the far side of the beach.
“Do you think women are not strange?” he muttered, catching up to her on the damp sand at the edge of the water. “Emma, despite your claim, you haven’t been paying attention to the sea. The tide is in, so you’ll get wet if you try to reach Hermit’s cave.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said, and stepped into the water and began to walk around the rocks.
“Are you mad?” he exclaimed. “You could be swept away.”
“Not while the sea is so calm. You see, my lord, I have been paying attention after all.” She marched out of the water and up the beach without looking back to see if he was following her. She was inside the cave before he rejoined her.
“You are too damned independent!” he shouted at her, “thinking for yourself, making decisions on your own, choosing what is safe and what is not.”
“Do you want a wife who cannot think?” she demanded, angry without really understanding why. “I know you wish you’d married a wife who cannot work magic, and who is not the daughter of Gavin of Wroxley, but you have me now and must make do with me, whether you want me or not.”
“Must I?” he asked softly, a cool threat in his voice.
Frightened now, as well as angry, she spun away from him and made her way to the inner chamber, where Hermit’s few belongings lay on the sand in a neat little pile topped by a folded blanket. The remains of his last fire occupied a shallow pit he had dug out of the sand. Next to his camp the underground stream that supplied his water rippled past on its race toward the sea.
Kneeling, Emma unfolded the blanket and began to transfer Hermit’s possessions onto it. She tried to keep her attention on what she was doing and not think about Dain, who followed her to stand glaring at her as if she had committed some great sin. She did her best to pretend indifference to him, though she ached to know he cared about her.
“As for making do with you,” Dain said suddenly, “at the moment, there is just one thing I want to do with you.”
Emma paused with Hermit’s leather knapsack in her hands. Dain knelt across the blanket from her. When he took the knapsack from her and set it aside she did not protest. A warm flush began deep within her and spread outward, melting any resistance she might have offered. Perhaps, just possibly, he did care. He wasn’t the kind of lord who simply took for the sake of physical release.
“If I wait until we return to the castle,” Dain said, “we will be interrupted. Someone will demand a moment of my time, or of yours, and it will be midnight before we are free of obligations. I do not want to wait, Emma. I cannot wait. I want you now.”
“I don’t think Hermit would mind if we use his blanket,” she said, and shuddered with urgent need when he reached out to take her face between his hands.
“Proper wives cover their hair,” he said. “I am glad you do not. Your hair is too beautiful to hide. Oh, Emma,” he groaned, and without warning pulled her toward him. She fell against his chest.
“I shall never be a proper wife,” she whispered, her face buried in his shoulder.
“I know it. Just for an hour, will you be an obedient wife?”
“I can try. What do you require of me, my lord?”
“Disrobe,” he commanded. “Here, where no one will see or intrude upon us, remove your clothes while I watch.”
“I will, and gladly,” she said, “if you will, also.”
“That’s not obedience,” he protested.
“No, it’s not.” She left his embrace with reluctance, to get to her feet and stand smiling at him in an attempt to disguise the improbable combination of rebellion and desire that was surging through her. She would – she must! – have him on her terms, as equals, and never would she use magic on him. She would meet him woman to man with a passion to match his own. Perhaps then he would understand how much she loved him. “It’s a matter of cooperation.”
He regarded her for a moment, as if making up his mind, then leapt to his feet.
“I have never in my life refused a challenge,” he said.
He unbuckled his belt and laid it and his sword on the sand. Emma untied her sash and cast it aside.
Dain kicked off his boots. Emma removed her shoes, unfastened the ribbon garters just below her knees, and with slow, deliberate movements, rolled down her stockings. The look in Dain’s eyes as he watched her fingers sliding over calf and ankle sent exciting chills along her spine.
Dain pulled his tunic over his head. Emma lifted the damp hem of her skirt and very slowly, with Dain’s overheated gaze still on her every motion, she removed her gown.
Dain grinned and began to unfasten his hose. Emma unbraided her hair and combed her fingers through it until it swung loose over her shoulders.
“Have a care, my lord,” she advised, noting the hurried way he was fumbling with his undergarments. “It would be a great pity if you do yourself an injury at so vital a time.”
He laughed at her remark, then tore off his last remaining piece of clothing and stood naked and unashamed, letting her look her fill from his silver-gilt hair to his twinkling eyes, to his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long, well-muscled legs and shapely feet. And then back again, upward to the flaunting, eager evidence of his desire for her.
“If cooperation is truly your intent, my lady,” Dain said, “remove your shift. For, as you see, I have cooperated fully with you. I expect no less in return.”
She lifted a trembling hand to push her wide-necked shift off her shoulders and let it fall. She stepped out of the circle of crumpled linen and went to him, to stand so close she could feel his warmth, yet not touching him.
“We are wanton,” she whispered.
“I do hope so,” he replied, and bent to kiss her shoulder.
Turning her head, she touched her tongue to the corner of his mouth. She felt his shiver of response deep in her bones.
Dain kissed her throat and her ears, her eyelids and her chin. She swayed toward him, wanting his arms around her, but he drew back a little, to look into her eyes.
“You are mine,” he said.
“Only if you are mine, also.”
“Will you never be obedient?” He sounded more perplexed than annoyed.
“I doubt it, my lord,” she told him.
There remained an inch or two of space between them and Emma could no longer bear even that slight separation. She stepped forward, put her arms around his shoulders, and kissed him on the lips.
His strong arms almost crushed the breath out of her. Dain lifted her off her feet and laid her on the blanket. He came down firmly on top of her, letting her feel his need, making clear his possession, telling her without words that she did, indeed, belong to him. He kissed her as if he would never get enough of her heated response, and he caressed every inch of her quivering skin.
“This cave is a magical place,” he whispered so harshly that Emma knew he was making a desperate effort to restrain his ardor for just a little longer.
“But you don’t fear magic,” she said, and shifted her legs a bit to let him know she welcomed his increasing press
ure against her liquid heat.
“You are the magic. I do not fear you, Emma.”
She was unable to answer, for as he spoke Dain made them one, and Emma shook in the grip of an all-consuming pleasure. The wonder that lay between them seized her, holding her enthralled, opening her body completely to his driving masculine presence.
Only dimly, as from a great distance, did Emma hear her voice and Dain’s crying out together at the final moment. She felt the warm rush of Dain’s seed. The same magical knowledge that had once told her Dain was her true mate now informed her in a blaze of joy that in their joining they were creating a child. She was granted only an instant in which to accept that wondrous truth before the convulsions of her release came upon her and she lost awareness of time and place for a long, enchanted eternity of love.
“Now that the bandits are routed,” Dain said, “and you and Vivienne are safe, I have one more important duty to perform.” They were lying together on Hermit’s blanket, still naked, and Dain’s palm brushed lightly over Emma’s breast, stirring a gentler fire than the demanding one they had recently extinguished. She turned to him with a smile that vanished when she heard his next words.
“I must go to Tawton Abbey and inform my mother that her plan to murder you and my sister has gone awry and, furthermore, the man she sent to perform the deeds is dead, himself.”
”I do still wonder what message Wade carried for her,” Emma said, “and to whom it went.”
“Perhaps she will tell me.” Dain sat up, reaching for his shirt. “We ought to return before Todd brings men-at-arms to the beach to search for us. He’s remarkably efficient. What’s this?”
Dain dug his fingers into the sand where his feet and Emma’s had churned up the surface of the cave floor. He drew forth a golden crescent, twin to the one Vivienne had placed on his pillow weeks ago.