By Design

by Madeline Hunter

  She laughed. His heart leapt at the sound. He had expected a soulful night, imbued with her sadness. And his. He was grateful for the sign that there would be joy, too.

  And then she surprised him further. She bent to offer something that she had not done before. Her crown dipped. Time slowed. His body silently begged for it with a pounding anticipation. The sensation of her lips kissing him, and of her tongue slyly flicking, almost undid his control.

  It was just a taste, no more. A torturous promise. She kissed up his body, and offered her lips to his. “Not now, I think. Not yet. I want to play first.”

  He grabbed her in a hold too rough and kissed her with a mouth too hungry. “It might be a dangerous game for you, pretty dove. Especially tonight.”

  “You can never be dangerous to me. I want us to feel everything together and be alive in each other. I do not think it will be dangerous at all, only delicious and deep.”

  “If we are to feel everything together, I have some work to do, since I am crazed with the want of you but you are already content.”

  “Not so much work. I find the contentment passes.”

  He would make sure it did. Quickly. He wanted her vulnerable to the pleasure. He wanted her shaking from passion as he now shook, and full of the silent howl that demanded more and more.

  He lifted her and carried her to the bed and laid her down. The sight of her there, naked and willing, made his desire tight and chaotic.

  Her arms rose up to receive him in an elegant gesture of invitation. He joined her, and their closeness soothed his hunger a little. The unity of skin and warmth enchanted his soul.

  He wanted the night to last forever, and he tried to slow time. He caressed her smooth skin until he felt her rising to his hand, impatient for more. His touch circled her breasts eternally until her sighs grew fretful. Even then he gave her pleasure with grazing strokes and tantalizing touches, and waited for her to again reach the intensity of need that obscures the world.

  He ran his tongue around the velvet tip of her breast. Her arms fell to either side of her head as she arched and offered herself. He flicked and sucked and aroused her other breast with his hand, and reveled in triumph when utter abandon claimed her.

  Different this time. She proved that at once. She slid away and pushed him down. Eyes bright with passion and confidence, she straddled his hips and sat back on his thighs.

  She looked glorious and wild and statuesque in her beauty. The light played on her golden hair streaming around her body. Her breasts peeked from beneath the curtain.

  She pushed her hair back so he could look. And he did. At all of her, all the parts and lines. The warmest part snuggled him closely, and he could feel the pulse and moisture that his looking created.

  The tips of her breasts bid him with tight, seductive promise. He guided her down so he could taste them again. Not for her pleasure this time, but for his.

  He lost himself in it. The sounds of her passion became a musical cloud in which he drifted higher and higher. Her body rocked slowly, just enough to brush his phallus again and again. He reached down and stroked her cleft, and her cries grew frenzied. He sensed her need coil and begin to beg.

  She eased away, and sat back again. “I said that we would love each other tonight, and not just you me. You tempt me to forget my pledge.” She smoothed caresses down his chest. “I think that I know how to do it. I believe that I can guess what you want.”

  She dipped forward, and kissed him, and then moved her lips to his neck. Different this time, since she did not follow his lead. A subtle change quivered through the pleasure. Her boldness made it more erotic—for both of them.

  Her kisses moved to his chest, and her tongue to his nipple. All the while her hands touched in tantalizing, feathery caresses over his body.

  The desire turned keen and decisive. He reached to flip her and take control.

  She retreated from his hold, and sat back again. “You are too hasty. I have promises to keep.”

  She looked down at his phallus rising in front of her belly. She gently scratched one fingernail from its base to its tip.

  She glanced in his eyes. “Aye?”

  “Please.”

  Her explorations built a delirium of sensations. Her playing brought him to the brink time and again. When she swung off his thighs, and turned to use her mouth, he thought that he would die from it.

  He almost succumbed. He barely retreated from the finish being drawn out of him. The bigger desires of this night pulled him back, and he reached for her.

  He laid her on her back and spread her legs and knelt between them. He put his hand to her and slowly touched until her cries filled the little chamber. She bent her knees and raised her hips. “Come in me. Please. Now. I want to feel you inside me.”

  He pressed her knees to her chest so that she was open and waiting. He rose up and stroked in as deeply as possible.

  The chaos cleared for a moment, and profound contentment glowed like the sun. Nothing and no one intruded on the light. He had worried that their parting would shadow it this time, and was relieved that it wasn't so.

  The calm did not last long. A penetrating, incessant desire took control. He rose up on his arms and withdrew, and looked down to watch her body accept him again. He made the thrusts a slow, long, series of joinings, and each one seemed deeper and tighter than the last. He wanted to stroke into her velvet warmth forever, and hear the contentment moan out of her for ten lifetimes.

  It turned insane at the end, hard and grasping and noisy. Her clawing hold and crying breaths urged no gentleness, and the power in him overwhelmed all restraint.The release came like a cataclysm, rending his consciousness.

  He experienced nothing physical for a long moment. Not even her body beneath him. Her breath and scent were there, and her heart and love, but nothing that had substance.

  Slowly the world intruded. Its forms reemerged. He found himself sprawled on her, wrapped by her arms and legs, her lips pressed to his temple.

  A slight moisture slid between their faces. He rose up and looked into her glistening eyes.

  Her smile quivered from her emotion. He kissed her, to seal and savor what they had shared. He moved to her side, and tucked her against him.

  The passing hours were not desperate. They held each other in blissful silence, and then again in passion. She urged him to take everything he could imagine, and gave all that she could. He had never known such peace as he experienced in that borrowed bed. It was the night's unfettered union with her that caused that. A man can not fear death while he is dwelling in paradise.

  As sleep slowly claimed them, she rested in his arms, her body sprawled over him, her cheek to his chest. “I did not convince you to stay, though, did I?” she murmured drowsily. “I did not really expect to.”

  He only kissed her head gently in response, and awaited the dawn in the sanctuary of her arms.

  Rhys packed the wagon lightly. It would appear odd if he did not bring it, but he wanted no extra weight slowing his way.

  The castle yard was quiet and empty except for a few yawning servants. One could sense the household stretching as it woke to the dawn, but the latent silence of the recent night still hung in the air. He hitched the horse, and draped the reins over a post. Then he turned back to the keep, to go and take his leave of Joan.

  Probably his final leave. Whether good winds or ill waited at the end of this journey, there would be no more nights like the last. He was determined not to think about that when he kissed her on parting. He did not want their joy in each other to be marred by sorrow.

  A draped figure appeared at the top of the keep steps. A woman, head and body obscured by a cloak, descended toward him. He thought at first it might be Moira, but the column of fabric was too small.

  She raised her head and the cloak fell back. Smiling broadly, Joan came down to meet him.

  He wished that she had waited inside. He had left her in the bed, and had promised to return. He had w
anted his last sight of her to be as he had known her during the night.

  She paused to kiss him, then walked over to the wagon. Something thick and bulky emerged from under her cloak. She dropped a sack in among his, then turned, looking too much like a woman braced for an argument that she planned to win.

  He went to her and glared down at the new baggage. “What is that?”

  “A sack with some clothes.”

  “I left no garments behind.”

  “They are mine. I am coming with you.”

  “The hell you are. You are staying here, where you will be safe.”

  “I will be safe with you. I always have been.”

  “I ride into a lion's den, woman. You are the last person who would be safe there.”

  “I am unknown to them. If anyone suspected me of Guy's death, we would have been caught on the road. The messenger heard no news of a search for me, or of anyone with my description. Even if Mortimer sees me, he will not know whom he meets.”

  “I do not risk you, and that is my last word on it. Now kiss me sweetly, so I can be on my way.”

  She crossed her arms. “I am coming. You are to do the same work as at Westminster. You needed a tiler there, and you will need one at Nottingham, too. We are partners in the tile works, and it is fitting that I should be with you.”

  “You are not coming, Joan. If you will not obey me, I will tell Addis to lock you away.”

  “I do not think that he will. I have already spoken to him, and he agrees the risk is a small one.”

  He aimed for the steps. “Then I will explain it more clearly.”

  “If you insist on questioning his judgment, you will find him in the solar. He is still abed with Moira, and I do not think that he welcomed my intrusion, if you know what I mean. I doubt that he will appreciate yours any more.”

  The insinuation made him pause. “Then we will wait until he finishes what he is about.”

  She embraced him, and looked up with beseeching eyes. It annoyed him to no end that she had him weakening at once. “Rhys, do not insist on thwarting me. My brother will be there, and I can not just sit here worrying about him and you.”

  “Moira will be sitting here. You can worry together, if you must worry at all.”

  “Moira has children. If she did not, she would surely come. She reminded Addis that she had joined him when he came to retake his home. It was that which swayed him to my plan, I think.”

  That was all he needed, Moira conspiring against him.

  “If I do not leave with you, I will follow with Addis and Mark. I have waited too long for this, and I will see my family's honor restored when this is done. Denying me will not stop me.”

  She pressed a little closer, so that her rebellion was imbued with a silent argument that was much more compelling than the verbal one.

  “I will come, one way or another. I am resolved.”

  He knew what that meant, and saw the truth of it in her expression. He glanced up to the solar. The lord and lady making love in there would not be of any help in this.

  “I will not enter the castle. I will stay at an inn, and wait for you to bring me news. We will be together at least, on the journey and then at night in Nottingham. I wasted so much time with you, please do not forbid me that which is left.”

  Speaking of their nights together defeated him. The chance to prolong them, even for a week, proved too seductive. His heart said that the risk would not be so great, even though his better judgment still insisted that any risk was too much.

  “You are to stay in the town, away from the castle.”

  “Of course.”

  “When Addis arrives, you will wait with your brother, and not interfere.”

  “Certainly.”

  “If I sense any danger at all, you will leave at once. You must swear to obey me in this.”

  “I will be dutiful, master.”

  He helped her onto the wagon, and climbed up to take the reins. She smiled with contentment.

  Master, hell. She had worked him like the clay of a statue.

  And he was glad for it.

  CHAPTER 25

  RHYS WAS IN Nottingham Castle for four days before Mortimer even realized he was there. The King's commission had been enough to gain him entrance, and he busied himself with the project, staying invisible among the other craftsmen and servants. If not for the arrival of a chamberlain to ready Edward's apartments for his summoned visit, he might have never been noticed.

  The call from Mortimer came the next day, as he prepared to return to the inn where Joan waited.

  The great man was not alone. A knot of his knights filled a dark corner of his chamber where they played with dice. Rhys glanced at them only long enough to count five.

  Addis could handle five. The sword of Barrowburgh was known to cut a wide swath.

  “Another commission? You are fortunate in the King's favor,” Mortimer mused upon hearing the reason for his presence.

  “He approved of my work at Westminster, and seeks to favor his wife with this, not me. I thought it unwise to refuse.”

  “Does he know of the service that you have done for me?”

  “He surely knows of the work that I have done on the fabric of buildings, and knows that some was for the Queen. But I do not think that he suspects anything else. A master builder does not refuse his king's project, that is all that I meant.”

  “Perhaps you knew that he is coming here, three days hence.”

  “I did not know that. I was given the commission only, not any confidences. Kings do not discuss their movements with masons.”

  The reminder of his lowly status seemed to help. The vague suspicion fell from Mortimer's expression, and he lost interest. He did not even give a dismissal. His attention merely wandered away.

  Rhys waited until his presence became no more significant than that of a piece of furniture, then strolled to the door.

  As he did so, laughter burst from amidst the gambling knights.

  He glanced toward the sound just as the knot loosened. A beam of light from a nearby window sliced through the gloom, illuminating a crouching figure scooping up some winnings.

  The knight's head tilted back, revealing a full view of his face. His eyes lost their mirth and grew alert, as if they sensed something amiss. His gaze swung through the chamber, stopping at the craftsman standing near the door. His lids narrowed in scrutiny, and then something thoughtful and dark shadowed his expression.

  Rhys continued his calm retreat, but his blood raced and his heart beat with alarm.

  Guy Leighton was alive.

  Somehow Rhys managed not to bolt through the castle like a madman. He headed directly for the yard and gate, all the while cursing himself in a hundred different ways.

  He should have made sure that bleeding body had taken a death blow. He should have found the knife and thrust it into Leighton's heart.

  He should have chained Joan up at Barrowburgh.

  No wonder there had been no search. Guy would not tell Mortimer who his attacker had been. He would not admit that his lust had permitted the children of Marcus de Brecon to live—children who could testify about the massacre carried out on Mortimer's command.

  Nay, he would keep silent, and make the search a quiet one.

  How much had his inquiries revealed? Had he learned that Joan lived in London with a mason? Did he know about the tile yard, and her work on the King's apartments? He need only ask the right questions to learn all of it. He was probably the kind of man who could ferret out information.

  Even if he had not, Joan was not safe here. Rhys had to get her far from Nottingham. Addis and Edward would have to move without him.

  He found her in the tiny chamber that they shared at an inn on the town's main market street. She sat at the window, watching the bustle down below.

  He walked over and pulled the shutters closed. He reached for a leather sack and began stuffing her garments into it.

  “We are leaving. Now.�
�

  “What has happened?”

  “Guy Leighton is not dead. I just saw him with Mortimer.”

  She paled. “You are sure? You saw him only once, briefly. Perhaps—”

  “That brief seeing seared my mind. It was Leighton, and he looked very hale and fit for a dead man.”

  “It can not be. All of that blood—”

  “Not enough, it appears. Or maybe he is truly a demon, and can not be killed with a knife.” He dropped his tools in the sack with her clothes, and slid his dagger in, too. “We leave the rest. I do not want to delay.” He threw her cloak over her shoulders and took her arm to urge her along.

  “You are too hasty. We need not flee, and you need not abandon the King's plan because of this. Guy can not know that I am here. Addis should arrive tomorrow, and the King as well. One day more and it will be over. I will stay in this chamber, and not even open the shutters until then.”

  He remembered the thoughtful veil that had fallen over Guy's eyes. It had been the look someone gets when two halves of a mental chain suddenly link together. “One day is too long. It is a chance that I will not take. Nor will I permit it of you. Come with me now. You promised your obedience in this, and I command it of you.”

  He hurried her out of the inn and down the alley to the stable where the horse had been bedded. When the groom began to lead the animal to the wagon, Rhys stopped him. They would leave that behind, too. He wanted nothing to slow their departure from Nottingham.

  He saddled the horse himself while the groom fit the bridle. Joan waited, arms crossed over her chest and foot tapping with annoyance.

  He took the reins to lead the horse out of the stable. Her hand closed over his, stopping him.

  “You abandon the wagon and your garments. You abandon your solemn word, too. For a man with big ideas, your concerns are very small suddenly.”

  “You are not a small concern. Not to my mind and my heart.”

  “Nor are you to me. My heart is glad that you want to leave. I am relieved that in seeking my safety, you too will be safe. But if Edward fails because we fled, it will be a bitter draft for us both.”