Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  The hand that touched her shoulder was a human one, but she jumped to her feet with a cry and let the book tumble to the floor. The robe hung open, her shining flesh clearly visible to Charles as he stood beside the chair, his face concerned, his eyes half-averted from the display of her nudity.

  “I see that you have the means of occupying yourself. You are better, then?”

  Julian felt the flush mount to her face. “Much, thank you.”

  They stood staring at each other, so close that they could touch, two people who had shared much and yet were now so far apart. Julian’s mouth went dry, and she found her breath hard to catch. It seemed stifling in the cabin that was comfortably warm only minutes before. The gray eyes that bored into her were tangled with those of the mythology she had just read and the passionate gratitude that she felt toward him despite his disclaimer, mingled with the love that had been so strong before she came to fear it.

  Charles made as if to withdraw, his brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak. In another minute he would retreat and the time would be lost. Julian’s blood began to move as rapidly as though she had been running. Her lips parted and she moved slightly so that the fur glistened in the light and reflected on her pale skin. One hand rose and pulled at the neckline so that one rosy breast was revealed.

  “Madam, I came to ask if you wished to take the air.” His voice was hard, but a flush was mounting under the dark skin, and a pulse moved rapidly in his throat.

  Greatly daring, Julian said, “Not the air, Charles.” Her eyes met his and they looked long before his head jerked backward. “Charles.” She drew back slightly, and the robe dipped again. Brazen creature, she thought, but still she did not cease to lure.

  Then the matter was taken from her. Charles caught her to him, and their mouths locked in an explosion of hunger that rocked them backward. Their tongues explored greedily, their bodies pressed so tightly together that they might have been one flesh. Julian felt her breasts ache, and the throbbing in her loins became physical pain. Her hands sought his bare flesh, the heated length of him that belonged in her moist corridors.

  Charles released her with a push that sent her tumbling back on the bed in the folds of the soft fur. Her chestnut hair spilled around her shoulders and over the rose-pointed breasts. The light shone on her translucent skin and picked out the brilliance of her aquamarine eyes. Julian read the confirmation of her beauty in his hungry face and his own anger that he could not control the desire for her that he felt.

  He jerked at his clothes, almost ripping them in his eagerness. She knew that this would be no tender taking; no gentleness would hold them this time. She had urged him on, and now he would be the master. The long fingers pulled at his boots, the gaze with which he surveyed her was almost black. She savored the moments of waiting, drawn out with anticipation, as she looked at the wide shoulders, tapering waist and long legs, the trim buttocks, the lines of his ridged muscles, and the powerful shaft, raised and moisture-tipped, that would join them and slake their longing.

  “I vowed to keep from you!” He grated out the words as he poised above her, a statue in this last moment of hesitation.

  “The decision was not wholly yours to make!” She came up from the position in which she had half posed, half reclined. “Did you think it so?” She balanced on her knees in a partial crouch, knowing that the globes of her breasts swung free, and the light shone on the triangle of soft hair that was just lighter in hue than her cascading curls.

  Charles reached out very gently and touched her nipple. She remained very quiet as he put both hands on her shoulders and ran them over the whole length of her upper body, causing the skin to pucker in response. He came to her waist and squeezed it so tightly that she gasped and put her hands out, first toward his face and then down toward the powerful hips and shaft that seemed to rise to her hand.

  “Shameless!” He gritted the words out, and a little smile of pleasure curled one side of his mouth.

  “Aye. Is it shameless when you do these things?” She let her finger drift over the tip and back toward the pulse. “Did you not teach me the delights of the body?”

  He caught her in both arms and twisted so that they lay together, she his willing prisoner. The dark eyes met hers without subterfuge. “I was another man then.”

  Julian freed her arms and flung them around his neck, pressing the whole warmth of her body against him and moving her legs so that he was between them. With a moan he shifted and took her on top of him. His face was as set as if he went into battle, but the hunger was winning. He thrust deeply into her, lifting and lowering her as she rode, eager and triumphant on top of the piercing shaft that went deeper each time, bringing her closer to the point of ecstasy.

  He balanced as she did, then held her with one hand while the other rubbed her breasts. The flush of passion blazed in him now, and the heat was growing so consuming in them both that the rest of the world faded. She rose slightly on her bent legs and came down, he pulled her forward, and they melted in a combination of pain and fiery pleasure that seemed to rend Julian asunder. The strong force of penetration was part of the hard hands that held her sides, his tongue in her mouth, and the subjection of man and woman in this glory that was beyond endurance. She sagged over him and relaxed in the blessed release.

  Julian came back from the timeless void where she drifted, bodiless, mindless, wholly content, in a sleep that was less sleep than utter relaxation of all her faculties. Instinctively she reached for the hard body, the supple length, that should be beside her. Now was the time for tenderness, for exploration, for the explanation of her eagerness, as they lay close and whispered their yearnings and secrets while he touched the inner places of her body and she his, and they waited for the fire to take them both in equality. The thoughts rose easily, and she felt her lips curve upward as she smiled in the continuation of happiness.

  Reality was something brutally different. The hands that could bring such delight now flipped her over on her back and pinned her hands above her head. The seeking gray eyes were black now with anger as he straddled her body and brought the engorged shaft up toward her chin. Charles was smiling, but it was a mask for the fury within him. Julian recognized it, for was that not akin to the anger that had burned within her so long? But here and with all that they had shared? She opened her mouth to speak and was stilled by a burst of laughter.

  “You used the wiles of a slut on me for your own whims and not for the first time. Do as I tell you now or you will regret it. Do you understand me?”

  She tried to twist free and was held in the grip so tightly that she could barely breathe much less continue to flail her legs. He bent forward and kissed her mouth in a mocking, painful gesture. Then he moved closer on her and rested the tip of his shaft on the edge of her chin. “Take it. Take what you have sought.”

  In any other circumstances she might have been willing to experiment and explore the less plumbed depths and ways of passion, but not this way, not in this mockery of all that she cared for in Charles Varland.

  “No. No!” She gave a wrench that nearly unseated him and writhed against the power of his grip.

  Charles let her struggle for another minute, then he transferred his grip so that he still held her with one hand. He pressed the other into the softness of her throat, moved it hastily over her neck and back to her face. He stared down at her, anger blazing in his eyes. His grip grew harder as he fought for control. Then he released her and swung to the side of her, watching her face intently.

  “Count yourself lucky that I have not the time to master you as you need to be mastered. That will be the unfortunate task of your husband if you attain one.” His words were slighting, but the tone was reflective, almost gentle.

  Julian wondered at the change from black fury to musing in a matter of seconds. She put out both hands to him. “Charles, what is it?”

  He caught her in his arms and crushed her to him. She felt him shudder and started to put her arm
s around him.

  Instantly he drew back and looked down at her, his mouth curling upward. The blackness was in his face again.

  “This is what you need.” He pushed her down, holding her firmly though she did not try to free herself. She lay at his side, his leg over hers, her hands held once more in his, and this time he inserted himself more strongly in her, driving deeply inward. Hunger enveloped Julian, and her body began to lift in eager response though she fought it back. He drew nearly out of her and hammered in again and again. She felt the cries rising from her and could not bite them back. His sardonic look faded; passion and an odd yearning came over his clear features.

  He did not release her to participate with him; she was prisoner and captive and willing slave to his touch. His mouth drained her of all except longing. She could not get close enough. His body held her down and she willed it so. She lifted her hips to go downward with his thrusts, but he pushed her flat and came over her. Julian did not want to give in before this demand, but the clamoring of her body could not be denied. The storm rolled over her, lifting her up, bearing her high, and throwing love’s receptacle down before the man who now lay beside her, one arm over his eyes, his mouth twisted and pained.

  Julian stared at the ceiling and counted herself used, her dignity ripped away. Charles had helped her, saved her life, taught her the ways of love, but never for her own sake. The flag of her pride rose and with it her temper. She turned and set her fingernails in the brown shoulder. He looked at her and she saw that he was a stranger, not the man of violence she had just seen nor the tender lover nor yet the comrade she had known. This was a man who was somehow ravaged. The angry words died in her throat, and her mouth softened.

  “Ah, Julian, you will never be tamed. Why could I not have met you a century ago in another life?” He sat up and reached for his clothes. “I must go.”

  “Charles, stay with me!” She wanted to reach out, to hold him and comfort him.

  It was the wrong thing to say to Charles Varland. He spoke icily. “I have other matters to attend besides your gratification, madam.” He adjusted his cloak and started for the door.

  “Then get out! Out!” She rose in the bed, naked body slender and gleaming, tears filming her eyes.

  He slammed the door as Julian threw herself down on the bed and wept all the tears of her life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When Julian next woke, first starting up in the unfamiliar surroundings, then settling back into the warmth of the covers, she was amazed at how well she felt and how peaceful in view of all the fearful happenings of the day before. Time had twisted round again, but she could not doubt that she had slept for many hours. She touched her eyelids; they seemed a bit swollen and why not? All the stored-up misery of the past months had come out along with the cruelty that Charles had shown. She pushed back the gleaming strands of hair and wondered what he had found so reprehensible in her stirring of the passion he knew was in them both. If there was one thing she had learned in these last months it was that the moment must be seized while you lived and with no regrets. There should be none now.

  She rose and stood nude in the cabin’s dimness. It looked to be a gray day from the light showing in the, little high window; surely it was morning to judge by the lightness she felt and the hunger. How to face Charles after all that had passed between them? She was purged, cleansed of anger and pain. Perhaps it would return, but for now it was enough that she was no longer embittered. Her fingers touched the faint indentations on her breasts, and her blood leaped in response. Memory must be enough from now on.

  She scrambled into the black breeches that fit quite well, the boots less so, the clean white shirt smelling of fresh winds, and added the coat that was far too large but would give good warmth. She plaited her hair up into great braids which were then wound around her head and left little curls springing up at her temples. It seemed to Julian as she ran her hands over her face that even in this short time the bones were less prominent.

  Her eagerness to know what was happening in the world outside her own small self and all that had transpired since her imprisonment suddenly boiled up. The reluctance of yesterday was gone; Julian Redenter was herself again. Honesty forced her to admit that this, even as her life, she owed to Charles Varland. In him the strains of anguish were deep; perhaps they had comforted each other.

  She opened the door and stepped out into a small corridor which gave onto the deck where rain peppered down. A blast of icy wind invigorated her as she peered out first and then walked boldly to the railing. The ship was almost entirely sheltered from the weather by the slate-dark cliffs that rose up to meet the heavy clouds. She stared at their jagged tops and heard the booming of the surf that seemed to come from behind the ship. When she walked back she saw that there was a tiny aperture far beyond and almost hidden by mist as well as two great sheets of rock that clawed out for each other. The sails were furled, and the ship seemed to be part of the rocks and the wind. Far overhead some remnants of small trees, tortured into agonized shapes by the battering winds that did not reach this low, were visible. Sea birds wheeled near, and one sank to a branch only to be torn away by a savage gust.

  Julian caught her breath in excitement and pleasure. She would give much to be able to go ashore and walk those paths, to dodge the wind and feel the mystery of this land open up to her. Arthur’s country, legend-haunted, a fey world, full of romance. She spread her arms and said aloud, “Perhaps the Holy Grail is here, yonder in those cliffs.”

  “On the contrary, lady, there is more of the present than the past in the paths and caves and inlets here.” The amused voice belonged to the heavy-set man, Roger, who had been on the barge at their rescue. “Had you best not come out of the weather? I came to offer you food and found your door ajar.” He caught her questioning look and spread expressive hands. “Lord Varland sleeps; he labored long over maps and plans last night.”

  Julian drew back into the comparative shelter of an overhanging plank. “What day is this? What is the news? Are we pursued? What news of the queen?” All the questions she felt she should have asked Charles burst out of her now as she lifted her head to the fresh winter winds.

  There was a movement at Roger’s elbow, and the same boy who had been in the cabin the night before now tugged at his sleeve and jerked his head backward. The man said, “The food is ready in your cabin, Lady Redenter. I will tell you all that you wish if you do not mind the company of a rough sailor. This lad shall wait at the door for your peace of mind.”

  There was something in the way he spoke the words that told Julian orders had been given by Charles for just this exigency. She smiled, willing all her vagrant charm to rise. “I should be honored, sir.”

  Over broth, ham, the inevitable bread and cheese and thin ale, Julian learned that it was early December, the French were pressing on against the English and the war was not going well, burnings of heretics continued in London, and that as far as they could tell there had been no ships in pursuit of them. “That is not surprising, lady; there are many who are with us. Fortunate we were that some of these had access to the Tower and liked the feel of gold in their palms. Later it was noised abroad that the queen’s own lady, unjustly imprisoned, was taken from under the very noses of her keepers. I doubt not that the city talks of it still. What London knows the whole country will know.” He leaned forward confidingly. “They say that the queen will be brought to bed in early spring. Bah! The only danger is that Spain might believe it. She is old and her health is bad.” He poured out more ale and drank hungrily.

  Julian felt that strange stirring of pity and fought it back. As well to feel sorry for the Lord Pope himself! “Then Charles fights with the French?”

  Roger gave an outraged gasp and even the boy turned to stare. “Never so! We harry the Spaniards who come, and we take her ships that set out for Spain; English gold is for England. Sometimes we engage the French in battle, and at other times we protect those victims such as you
rself. Would you call us traitors who seek to preserve the land until the old harridan lies dead and Elizabeth is queen?”

  Julian said, “What is her opinion of that, this princess whom you would hurry to the throne?” She herself could not have said why she took the opposing view. Lady Gwendolyn’s face, with deep-set, reproachful eyes, rose in front of her and slowly faded.

  Roger stood up, his skin flushing red under the deep tan. “I will leave you to rest now, lady.” He compressed his lips as if he wished to say more and dared not give vent to his feelings.

  Julian sank down on the bed and tried to sort out her emotions. She had no doubt that Charles would take her to France as he had once offered; there was nothing for her in England now except death and danger. Certainly she did not want to remain with him, nor would he have her. Then her natural wit asserted itself, and she knew that she wanted Charles Varland more than ever. I will not lie to myself, at least.

  A sudden blast of sound rang in her ears just then, and the ship bounced upward to settle back. Running feet and cries came from the direction of the deck where she had recently stood, and someone began to scream, cursing in the same breath. She rushed to the door and then outside. Nothing but the cliffs and the fog could be seen, but she smelled smoke and powder. There was another blast that shook the timbers and then an answering one. She started for the back deck, where there now came a babble of voices, and was halted as a slender sailor ran into her, knocking them both back.

  “What is happening?” Several other men ran by them, and she had to shout to make herself heard. The ship shook once more and shifted to the left before righting. The dark cliffs blurred before Julian’s eyes as she dreaded the answer that was too obvious.