By Design

by Madeline Hunter

  There was no choice, but she did not welcome what she faced. She was not that strong. Swells of panic rose again and again, and only the fear for Mark and Rhys kept them from overwhelming her. She prayed that fear would not desert her tomorrow, or be drowned by the soul-chilling dread for herself that lapped at her resolve.

  She was glad that she had not seen the solution earlier. Her childish ideas had bought her three years. Even their poverty seemed beautiful now, because it had led her to this house, and the man who owned it. The foolish dream had kept her alive long enough to know him.

  Her spirit cringed from thoughts of tomorrow. She did not doubt that she would succeed. She would make sure that she did. But she did not lie to herself. There would be no escape after she stilled the hand that had moved the pieces on the board of her life.

  The earth and breeze and sky knew that. They bound her to them in this precise present. They let her see and feel them as she never had before. The acute awareness of her senses and soul both soothed her and pained her.

  The house loomed darkly at the other end of the garden. A man slept inside. She pictured Rhys in that feather bed, and her heart lurched with yearning for the sheltering comfort of his secure embrace.

  She should stay out here in the garden and sleep in the flowers. They had said their farewells, and he thought her gone. She had already let duty tear them apart. The courageous course, the right one, would be to allow him to begin forgetting her.

  Her heart would not let her. She ached for the bond she had known with him. In this sharply real present that saturated her, she needed to cling to him, and know him and touch him as thoroughly as her fingers experienced the flowers and soil. Physically and spiritually, and totally.

  Her mind argued with her heart. It warned that he would guess what she planned, and try to stop her. It said that if she did this, it would be the greatest deception, and unforgivable.

  Nay, no deception. This was now, and the rest was tomorrow. Only the current world existed this night. Not the old one with its memories, and not the next with its duty.

  She rose, and walked toward the house. There really wasn't any choice. Not about tomorrow, and not about tonight.

  Rhys was not sleeping. As soon as Joan entered the kitchen, she saw him standing by the hearth, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at the embers like a man in a trance, and did not react to her footstep.

  She saw him more completely and precisely than she ever had. A strong, handsome man, contained and complete in himself. A good man, who had been too generous with her, and who would receive only pain for his kindness.

  But that would be later, and this was now. Very now. The last now that she would have. She prayed that he would understand. She hoped that sharing what might be for one more night would help him to forgive her.

  A premonition of the morning's pain slid through her. A hollow nostalgia filled her. With fierce determination she forced it out of her. She reclaimed the present, and the sheer joy of seeing him again took its place.

  Most of its place. The waiting sorrow could not be completely banished. It would remain, coloring their bond. It was the sorrow that made the present so real.

  Rhys's head moved slightly, and his shoulders tensed. He had finally realized she was there.

  “I thought you had left. I saw you walk out the portal.” He did not look at her, and spoke into the hearth.

  “I came back. I sent Mark to a friend's house for the night.”

  “Why?”

  “I doubt we would have gotten out a city gate this late.”

  “Then you intend to leave tomorrow instead?”

  “Aye. At dawn.”

  “Alone?”

  “Alone.”

  She could barely see his profile, but it was enough. The line of his mouth hardened, and his expression darkened.

  He was angry. She could not blame him. Her refusal of his help had insulted him. Her deceptions only made it worse. She guessed what conclusions he had drawn while he stared into that low-burning fire.

  “It is not because of who we are, Rhys.”

  “It is all about who we are, darling.”

  “It is not. I do not doubt your bravery, or your worth as a protector. But I have lost too much in this, and I will not lose more if I can prevent it.”

  He did not respond to that. He kept his stance turned from her, and his gaze on the glowing fuel.

  “If you do not want me to stay here tonight, I will leave. I have some coin for an inn.”

  “Do not add to the insult. I am not so cowardly that I would throw a lady out on the street.”

  His sharp tone cut her. She desperately needed to bridge the distance between them. “It is not a lady who will stay, but Joan Tiler.”

  “There never was a Joan Tiler, just a mason too besotted to accept that. Just a man too willing to embrace self-deceit, and never ask the real name of the woman who had not been born to the craft that she practiced.”

  “That is not true. When you met me, and until today, I was as you knew me.”

  “Nay, Joan. The ghost of the lady was ever in you, determined to be reborn, desperate for it. You never forgot. Even in my arms that past owned you.” He finally turned, blue eyes sparkling with deep lights that revealed just how far his contemplations had gone. “I wonder if it was that, as much as the memories of Leighton, that kept you from giving yourself to me.”

  “I beg you to believe me when I say it was not.”

  “I think that you do not know your own mind very well. If I had been a different man, a man equal to the ones whom you lost, a knight of standing, it would have been different. You would have trusted me to right the wrong done to you. You would have seen a future with me that went beyond these few weeks.”

  “I can not say what my mind would have thought. I only know that it would not have made a difference to my body, or my heart. I never deceived you, Rhys.”

  His expression softened a little. “Except that it is all part of the same thing. All facets of the jewel of your past, and your vow to wear it again as you were born to. If I had admitted the truth to myself, I would have understood better, that is all. I would have known from the start that you could not put it aside, any of it, including the memories that killed the pleasure. If you lost hold on one part, you feared losing it all. You warned me as much that first night in my bed.”

  “And you told me to forget while I could, and to remember when I must. You showed me how to forget, and I did, but I will never forget what we shared.”

  Rhys smiled vaguely. Sadly. “I fear that neither will I, pretty dove. That is the problem that I deal with now.”

  He walked over and sat on the bench below the window. He gazed out, as if he could see something besides blackness. “If you must leave at dawn, you should sleep. Use the chamber and bed. I will come up and wake you at first light.”

  It was a gentle repudiation, but an unmistakable one. He had been glad to see her in the garden, but he was not pleased to have her here now. Her presence interfered with his building a wall in which he would contain whatever emotions he felt.

  She should walk away and leave him to it. She should not ask for more than he wanted to give. But she could not sleep in that bed alone. She would lie awake all night, awaiting the dawn, dreading the ordeal to follow, and feeling the mood and presence of the man holding vigil down below.

  As she felt them now. They filled the kitchen, thickening the air, surrounding her like a misty cloud. The old bonds, the physical attraction and emotional connections, still stretched between them, pulling as tautly as they ever had. Like everything else tonight, she experienced them acutely, and her heart and body stirred.

  Rhys had decided it was over, but it was not. Not yet. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

  “If you do not want to come upstairs with me, I will stay here with you.”

  “You speak of an overlong farewell, darling.”

  “I do not want to speak farewells at all. That is for t
omorrow.”

  He shifted, and faced her. “Then what? My humor is not good, and I am in no mood to talk about what has happened, and will happen, until daybreak. It will only lead to arguments, and keep me from finding some peace.”

  “A peace that will come only if I am not with you?”

  “Aye, Joan. I may never forget you, but that does not mean that I will not try.”

  It pierced her heart to hear him put that into words. Only her desperate need of comfort kept her brave. “That can wait for tomorrow, too, can it not? It is not speaking that I want from you, Rhys. I am not in the mood for a lot of talk, either.”

  He just looked at her. His casual pose on the bench did not change, but a new power entered the air. It came from him and forced her alertness higher yet, in a physically exciting way.

  “Then what is it you want from me, Joan?”

  “I want tonight. I want to sleep by your side one more time. I want your embrace and your kiss and your touch. I want to forget for a few more hours.”

  “I do not think that I can do that.”

  “Have you closed your heart to me already? Begun to forget so quickly?”

  “Nay, and that is why I can not do it. I can not trust myself with you tonight. I have wanted you for too long, from the first moment I saw you. When I thought there was a future, my hunger could bide its time. I could afford to wait. But there is no more future and no more time, and I am not a saint. I know what is in my head and my blood now, and it would be unwise for us to do this. I do not think that I would stop, and if I ended this by hurting you, that would be a bitter memory for us both.”

  “Then do not stop. I do not want you to.”

  There, she had said it. She could not turn back now. Nor would she want to.

  He did not move or make a sound. He just looked at her, but she felt his reaction. She sensed the effect of her words on him, and they way they prodded the hunger he spoke of.

  Prickles of anticipation danced through her. She waited for him to rise and come to her. Surely he could not resist the way that the old pull tightened. Tensely Fiercely.

  “I told you the first day that I would not take you in payment even if you offered, my lady.”

  “I owe you much, but I do not offer anything in payment of that debt. I do this for myself, so that when I leave tomorrow I will know that what we had was whole. And it is not a lady who wants you. It is only Joan Tiler.”

  Still he did not come to her. She wished that there were some way to convince him that it would not be like the first time, that the pleasure would not die. There was no danger of his hurting her, because the only memories that lived for her tonight were those of him.

  There were no words that could explain that. There were fewer yet that could convey how thoroughly the present existed for her right now.

  It did not matter. This was not a time for words.

  She strolled over to the hearth, and carefully placed some fuel on the embers. She poked until it caught, and the warm tongues gave off their dancing, golden light.

  She plucked open the neck lacing on her brown gown. She turned to see his intense gaze. The new light sculpted his face beautifully, and the blues of his eyes appeared almost black in their depths.

  The gown slid off her shoulders and slithered down. His quiet watching did astonishing things to her.

  “You do not have to do this.”

  “Aye, I do. For myself. So the remembering is only good, and there are no regrets.”

  She pushed her shift straps down her arms. She lowered the fabric, exposing her breasts. Her skin had grown so alive that the cloth's brushing descent aroused her like a caress.

  The shift dropped. She faced him across the room, naked but for the firelight. The slow way that he looked at her, all of her, made her suddenly shy. She brought her braid forward and unplaited it in order to hide how unsettled he made her.

  He watched her hair loosen. She shook out the strands until they streamed around her.

  Still he did not come to her. His gaze rose up her length until he looked her in the eyes. His expectation of what she offered could be seen in the tight planes of his expression, and the intensity of his attention.

  Still he did not move, but the waiting was not unpleasant. Desire pulsed in the passing moments, exciting her as much as a touch. Despite their distance, they seemed as connected as when in an embrace.

  It affected her physically. Her breasts hardened and their tips grew tight. A delicious tension filled her belly. Her throat went dry.

  He could tell, but he did nothing to breech the space. A spark of challenge glittered in his eyes.

  “You are going to make me come to you, aren't you?” she said, suddenly understanding.

  “Aye.”

  “So that it is clear that it was my choice, and my decision.”

  “Aye.”

  “That is not very generous of you.”

  “What I want tonight has nothing to do with generosity. I want to take you, and possess you, and bury myself in you. Come here to me if you are so sure that you want me the way I want you. Show me that you really need this to be whole between us before you leave. Otherwise pick up that gown and run up to the chamber, and we will part at dawn as we did in the garden.”

  His voice carried enough of an edge to make her pause. He was not angry, and not really dangerous, but he warned her about what he expected. Even more than his words, his tone let her know just where his mind and his blood were tonight.

  It sent a shiver through her. Not one of fear. Deep excitement quivered, humming into her limbs. It shook her so thoroughly that she wondered if she could walk.

  She could. She stepped toward him. His gaze towed her closer, drawing her forward as if he pulled in an invisible rope.

  Finally she stood in front of him, so close that she felt his warmth along her bare skin. She also felt the tension of anticipation in him, and the force of contained power. Her own arousal spiked in recognition, releasing hungry yearnings. They had not even touched, and she already responded to the pleasures that awaited. They filled her imagination and tantalized her body.

  He straightened, and splayed his strong, wonderful hands on her hips. The warmth and roughness of his skin was like a touch of ecstasy. He pulled her between his legs and smoothed his face against her breasts.

  She stroked her fingers in his hair and held him to the beat of her heart. “You did not believe that I could do it.”

  “Nay, not today of all days. Not after seeing him again.”

  “This is not about today, or him. I had decided before he found me. I was waiting for you to come, so I could tell you.”

  He looked up in surprise. He rose, and wrapped his arms around her nakedness. “Then this is just about us. Finally, only us.”

  “Aye, only us.” Finally. Very finally But the contentment of his embrace, of feeling his body pressed along hers, easily submerged the swell of regret that rose with that word.

  Holding him was heavenly, but she needed more. Wanted more. They both did. It tremored in the pressure of their grasping holds, and it flowed along the paths of his long caresses. Something powerful waited. A wonderfully turbulent force built silently but palpably, straining against the containment of this restrained prelude.

  He kissed her and the force broke loose with a fevered gust. Her need met his in a passion made desperate by the impending loss of each other. The hunger in her soul matched that of her body, and both were eager for all that this could be.

  His hot, biting kisses promised that they would finally have that. They warned that there could be no holding back. Her fears and his decency had respected barriers for too long, but it would not be like that tonight. Finally.

  Her senses filled with him. Her skin felt the textures of his skin and hair and clothes in a cascade of alert, novel sensations. His breath warmed her neck, and the touch of his tongue shot pleasure into her blood. Her arms embraced the need rising savagely in his frame, and her own desire
reveled in it, soaring triumphantly, urging more and more.

  It turned mad and impatient and wild. He kissed and held and touched with controlling mastery, as if he wanted to absorb her. Consume her. Her heart begged him to take all of her. Her soul longed to be joined with him.

  She needed more closeness, more connection. She clawed at his clothing, anxious to strip away the interfering barriers. Somehow they got the tunic and shirt off. She pressed her palms and her lips to his bare chest and lost herself in the taste of his skin and the beat of his heart.

  He lifted her into it. Held her to it. Kisses pressed to her hair and hands caressing lower on her bottom, he encouraged her wandering, circling tongue. She loved what it did to him, how his body tensed and his breath shortened. She itched for his stroking fingers to find their goal. She smoothed her palms lower to urge him on, and the muscles of his torso tightened beneath her hands.

  He took his time, tantalizing her need, making her wait. Her body pulsed with craving. The need unhinged her. She looked up to find him watching her rocking body with dark satisfaction.

  “Please. Touch me there. I will die if you do not.”

  His hand moved. Eyes alight with a new kind of passion, he watched her reaction. She let him see it. Let him hear it. Limp in the support of his embrace, she submitted to the torturous pleasure. Welcomed it.

  He lifted her, and settled back on the bench below the window. “Here. Now. It can not wait for the bed upstairs.”

  He pulled her onto his lap, with her knees straddling his hips as they had under the hawthorn tree that Sunday. He eased her up so his mouth could reach her breast. Arms braced on the sill behind him, breeze titillating her hot skin, she hovered there while his tongue flicked and licked and his hands loosened the rest of his clothing.

  Her breasts had never been so sensitive. The luscious torment left her shivering. She reached down and stroked him while he kicked off his garments.

  He let her for a while. In a sweet unity of sensation they explored the pleasure. Tongue and fingers circling and smoothing at her nipples, he played with her madness until cries sighed out with each of her gasping breaths.