Had he cared for her? He hadn’t said so, but she swore she had felt it in his touch, in the way his eyes had darkened and softened when he’d looked at her, in the fierce way he’d clenched her skin and then tried to soothe it. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, and it was the pain of him that had made it all the more precious.
Despite her past—despite what she knew of men—she’d been different with him. Now that he was gone she feared she should have protected herself, but she hadn’t. Not her heart, not her body.
He had to be different from the others.
He’d looked at her differently...he’d touched her as if he wanted to give, not take. But where was he?
She missed him.
All those moments shared had been ripped away by the cold terror of Ian’s return.
Evrart had rushed out of the room whilst she had burrowed under the quilt, kept her back to the door, and willed her heart to stop pounding.
She’d heard men’s voices in the corridor, but they’d been muffled, the door’s latch had rattled as if to be opened, but then stilled. No one had burst through the door. No guard had come in to slice her throat or make threats.
Hours later and Jeanne had entered. Without looking at Margery, she’d stripped the bed and made it new. From Jeanne’s averted gaze, Margery had been certain Ian had guessed what had occurred in his bed, but Ian hadn’t entered the room until the next morning.
When he had, he’d acted as if nothing was amiss. As if he hadn’t been gone for weeks...as if Evrart hadn’t disappeared.
Evrart.
After what they’d shared, she hadn’t dared ask Ian what had happened to her guard, and her fear hadn’t been eased when Ian had announced she was to have a change of guard.
Her pacing sped up but she willed her feet to slow. If this was all the space she was to be left with, she needed to savour it. Make it last.
Was this her life now? All that it would be for years and decades? Would her family forget her or go to Josse? To Roul? Did Roul even live?
Oh, my... What if Mabile wrote another letter to Roul’s home to tell her of her health and their mother’s? Who would open it? And if he was alive, would Roul have it delivered here, or read it himself?
What if Biedeluue travelled to Roul’s, only to discover she wasn’t there? Why was she only thinking of this now? Biedeluue, who travelled for work, had often gone to Josse’s, and once she had gone to Roul’s. That hadn’t gone well, but still it was a possibility...
At least her protective sister didn’t know to look at the Warstone fortress. She wouldn’t want her to come here, no matter what. And maybe there was time for her to escape before her family looked for her. Perhaps—
There was a stamping of feet outside, the slam of a door nearby. Servants cleaning? Or maybe a tryst in the corridor or the storage room?
But the next sound was closer. Much closer.
A click, and Margery gazed at Evrart’s private door, which had swung open. Two steps backwards and she saw a figure standing in the doorway. Stunned, it took her moment to understand who it was.
‘Evrart!’ Margery stumbled closer.
She’d forgotten how large he was. Not only in stature, but in the way he filled her heart, her head. Her thoughts never strayed far from the moments they shared, his taciturn words and those he’d whispered with his body shuddering above hers. How was she to forget those tender moments?
But it seemed it had been easy for him to forget her.
Weeks with nary a sight of him. He hadn’t even slipped Jeanne a piece of paper. Any message at all. With Ian in residence she hadn’t expected them to have the freedom they’d enjoyed for the last weeks, but nothing...?
And now he stood here, staring at her as if he belonged. She’d have a few words to say about that.
* * *
Margery was here, right where Evrart had last seen her, held her. For weeks—night after day after night—Evart had kept seeing her everywhere. In the shadows of a tree ahead of him, at the end of long corridors, underneath him. He would have sworn he could still taste her and hear her cries as she came. The images of which he’d repeat in his mind until he’d practically mauled the bed he lay in. All beds, any beds. Because they hadn’t been her.
Now she stood before him, serene. Gone was the abandon of their last time together. Every lace of her shiny light dress was tied, but there were echoes of those moments when he’d held her: in the unbound hair tumbling over her shoulders, the slight parting of her lips. They were there in the tightening of his own body as he tracked her appearance now and recounted her passion as he’d driven into her until he had come undone.
Like he was doing now.
Her eyes were wide, surprised. Was she pleased he was here? ‘You look tired,’ he said.
‘I look...?’ She trailed off.
‘There are dark circles under your eyes.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You look filthy.’
He hadn’t changed from his travelling attire. His only thought since returning three hours ago to the Warstone Fortress had been getting to her. If he’d taken a bath, and that had been the moment when Ian left his private rooms, he’d never have forgiven himself. His torture had gone on for too long. He was a man obsessed.
Wishing to bathe, but not wanting to waste the time, he’d washed his hands and face in the courtyard when the stable boy had lifted the bucket of water for the horse, gone to his chambers, and waited. Listened until the heavy latch of the door had clanged shut. And then he’d burst through the private door that led into Ian’s room.
If it had been Ian, he’d have the excuse of protecting him—but it wasn’t. It was her, her, her.
‘How long will he be gone?’ he said, his words barely audible.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. He mentioned something about the watch guards and the porter.’
That meant Ian would be gone at least enough for him to...to what? He was barely controlling his baser instincts and he merely stood in the same room as her. She wasn’t his. She belonged to the man he had vowed before his family and God to protect.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
Where else would he be? Mere heartbeats after entering under the portcullis, he’d wanted to be here.
She, however, had her arms crossed and her foot looked ready to tap. Was she unhappy he was here? He had risked much getting here, taking paths he would most likely be caught on to cut away the hours, to return to her sooner.
And here she was...stunning, beautiful. Everything he wished for.
Perhaps he should have had a bath in the cold lake before standing like some beast before her. This had been a terrible plan. But he had left without telling her. Not one word exchanged between them. One moment he had been crushing her beneath him, the next he had been gone for weeks. He didn’t even know if she wanted him still.
‘Evrart, why aren’t you saying anything?’
Her words were filled with umbrage, a little wariness. Was she cross with him or concerned? Neither was what she should be feeling. She had no idea of the primal maelstrom of need he fought against. His body was pumping blood through his veins, his heart was thundering. He needed to charge into battle with a war cry—not stand before a petite female with his muscles engaged to attack.
‘I have a few words to say to you.’ She frowned, placed her hands on her hips, then dropped them again. ‘No, just one. Why? Why did you go? Why did you leave me?’
Why was too much. There was no why to his travelling during darkness, or freezing in the night because he couldn’t light a fire. Constantly checking over his shoulder as he stood behind trees with his hood raised. No cloak could hide him if someone wanted him dead.
There was never anyone there—no messenger to pass the scroll to, no item to retrieve. They had all been killed or had never arrived. Or it had been a f
ool’s errand to get him away from here.
There was no ‘why’ to anything the Warstone did. No reason Evrart cared about. There was only her.
Her lips parted, as if she too found breathing hard, and her eyes darkened as they moved from his to the tightness in his shoulders, then down to where he was trying to release his curled fingers. It was a tell-tale sign that he wanted to rip the gown off her.
‘Do you know? Can you guess?’ he said. Not telling her what she asked, but how he felt.
‘Do I know what? What are you telling me?’
Margery took two steps towards him and his body reacted.
‘This.’
Pinning her arms against her sides, he spun and pressed her up against the wall. She gasped, but didn’t try to writhe out of his hardened grip. He almost wanted her to fight against him, so he could fight back. Release some of his strength elsewhere and not against her plump lips or between her narrow hips.
But her eyes darkened, her arms broke his hold and she buried her hands in his hair. He dropped his own hold, supported her weight with his knee thrust between her legs and his hand on her hips. His other hand trembled as it hovered around her wild tumbling tresses, where her hands cradled his face as if she wanted to make certain he wasn’t going anywhere.
As if he could be anywhere else.
‘Evrart...’ she said, half in wonder, half in desire.
‘Ian sent me on an errand. I had to go right then. I don’t know why, and it’s not safe to tell you where.’ His breath bellowed through his lungs. ‘Should I stop?’
Her brows rose; her lips parted. Her eyes were studying him as if she wanted an answer, as if she needed to ask a question.
‘Margery, do you want me to stop?’ It was all he had.
Her eyes lit, her breath brushed against his, and she whispered, ‘You haven’t started yet.’
Hands gripping her hips, he pressed his mouth to hers and he eased her lips open to sweep his tongue inside. To taste her once again was heady, intoxicating, and he wrapped his arms around her, arched her breasts against his chest, and exposed her neck to his feasting mouth.
‘I missed you,’ he said. ‘I longed for you.’
Every word was punctuated by his lips, his teeth, the suction of his mouth. She answered him in the dig of her fingers into his shoulders, the clasping of her legs around his hips. In the breathless whimpers escaping from her lips and moving across his cheeks as she peppered him with her own kisses.
‘I wanted you every single night. Tell me it was the same for you. Tell me—’
He couldn’t get enough. Tighter he squeezed her. He was starving to roll his hips against hers, to feel her forehead slam against his shoulder as she met his thrusts. They were nothing but panting breaths, ferocious need. He wanted their clothes off, all barriers gone. He wanted her to be his.
Not his.
On a low groan of pain, he released his strangling hold to rest his hands against her thighs, to pull his nipping teeth away from the succulent tender flesh of her neck.
Pinned against the wall and resting on his knee, she was weightless in his arms—but she felt like everything.
Slowly raising her head, pressing her hands against his shoulders to pull herself up, she eyed him. ‘You stopped.’
He almost hadn’t. When at any moment Ian or the extra guards at the door could have stormed in, he had been half a heartbeat from ripping away any restraint.
She laid her hand on his cheek, the concern and desire in her expression undoing him all over again. He was never like this. Always a brute of a man, he was a beast with her.
‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked.
She brushed her thumb across his cheek. ‘Not enough.’
He tilted her head to the side and cursed as he eyed her neck.
‘Can you see them?’ she said.
Her eyes were wide, excited. His own must be horrified. ‘You’re marked. I’ve put you in danger.’
‘Do it again,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll argue on why you were gone and how you should have told me where.’
Slumberous large eyes, swollen lips... Too swollen. Had he hurt her there, too? He had just wanted... And she...she wasn’t concerned at all. As if—
‘Did I do this before?’ he said.
Her hand fluttered to her neck. ‘For days I covered them. He didn’t see them. They were good. You don’t understand... I know it doesn’t make any sense or reason—and not to me either—but they reminded me of you. I liked it that you—’
‘I can’t do this. He’s here.’
His blood was ice and fire. His body was forged steel; his thoughts were scrambling like tumbling dry leaves. He needed to step away completely, not to be in this room. But he couldn’t stay away—couldn’t release his fingers from the folds of her gown. He was physically incapable of it. Words. He needed to say them—to tell her what he should have before.
‘There’s more at risk. I have... I have a family,’ he said.
She jerked in his arms. ‘You what?’
He held her tightly, until he realised she truly was fighting him, and then he slid her down to the ground.
‘You have a family?’ she said.
Of course he had a family. Everyone had a—
What a fool. It had never dawned on him to form that sentence any differently because the thought of himself with a wife and children was so beyond his reach as to be not even a dream.
‘No, not like that. My mother and sister are alive, and Ian knows where they are.’
‘You’re not making sense...’
He brushed a hand against her neck. ‘You’re bruised.’
She put her hand against his, held it to her, and he took some heart from that.
‘What do your family have to do with Ian?’
‘He was travelling through my village when he saw me. My brothers... It was just me, my sister and my mother that day. He offered coin. You were right—he did threaten them.’
‘Are they well?’ She gripped his hand.
‘As long as I do what he wants.’
A look of disbelief raced over her expressive face, and she suddenly looked to the left. He took a few steps back.
‘Where have you been?’ she said. ‘What did he make you do?’
Nothing of his past—all about his present. Not an odd question, but not the one he’d expected.
‘I truly can’t tell you. This is not something I can defend myself against.’
‘You must. Or perhaps... Maybe...’
‘What is it?’
She swallowed. ‘Maybe what he’s making you do is what he wants from me?’
Never. If Ian sent her on a task...if Ian had her play some part in his games...he’d find some way to escape with her—some means to get to his sister and mother in time or warn them of—
But wasn’t that what Ian was doing simply by having her here? He was a fool!
‘I don’t know what he wants from me. Why am I here.’ She opened her mouth, closed it. ‘I tried to lie with him. In the beginning, when he took me from Roul. But he walked away.’
The thought of Ian combing his fingers through her soft curls blinded him with rage, but he had to keep his temper. In Warstone games, those who kept their heads stayed alive.
‘He calls you his mistress, but he’s never taken one before. I think it’s for appearances—for something that I don’t know of yet. I know he’s been sending correspondence to his parents.’
‘That woman at Roul’s...was she to deliver a message?’
She was part of it. Even though she’d only accidentally stumbled across Ian’s game of legends and treasures. ‘It’s not safe for you to know this!’ he said.
‘You believe he would usually have killed me?’
He nodded.
‘Something isn’
t right. Ian wants to dine in the Great Hall tonight and he has been acting...gleefully, for him. He’s frightening. And now you’re telling me you have a family you’re trying to protect...’ She waved at him. ‘And you’re acting...unhinged.’
He couldn’t think! Some of it had to do with Ian, but mostly it was to do with her. To hold her, kiss her, lie with her had been everything. To give her up immediately afterwards...his body, his heart, had rebelled.
Torn in two—that was what he was. Torn between his duty to his mother and sister and the vows he’d made to Lord Warstone. Not that they were worth as much as other vows, but he intended to uphold them.
Compare that with Margery, who needed...wanted him. He’d made a vow to her as well. He’d make a vow of his very soul if he was allowed to have one anymore. If he had a soul, it was hers.
But then that vow went both ways, didn’t it? If he was going to be good to her, in body and soul, he needed to say goodbye. To keep her safe, he couldn’t have her.
‘We can’t do this,’ he said.
‘He doesn’t want you to guard me?’
‘No, I’ll still guard him.’ And her. He’d watch over her somehow.
‘What will he have you do? Are you going away again?’
‘I’ll be here. I’m not one of Ian’s typical guards or hired mercenaries. I’m paid far more than them. But I was...bought.’
‘Bought?’
‘I have told you I have a mother, a sister. I also have two brothers. My family are all large. My brothers are gone from home. Their size got them noticed, and they’ve made their own way. I was the last one living at home when Ian of Warstone noticed me, offered to train me and take me under his employ. I said no.’
‘Because he’s a Warstone?’
‘Because I was helping my mother. Unlike my brothers, I never wanted to leave my childhood village. I liked it there, very much. The fields, the fact everyone knows who you are...’
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 55