“What’s this?” Wolf laughed. “Humor?”
“Don’t tease, Wolf,” Kit interjected, surprised by yet another change in Hugh. She turned to her husband’s closest friend and said, “We call him Bart. Eleanor can’t come close to pronouncing the whole thing.”
“Nor can the rest of us,” Wolf said, chuckling, “but Kit insisted on naming him for my father. I liked ‘Bill’ or ‘Alf’ but my lady wife wouldn’t hear of it.”
Hugh looked from Wolf to Kit, then back to Wolf again. He was unaccustomed to such lighthearted bantering. He supposed they’d always engaged in jesting between them, but for some reason he had never taken note of it.
Setting aside his puzzlement for the moment, Hugh let Henry down to go back and play with his princess, and sat with Kit and Wolf. “I have not seen Siân since we arrived three days ago,” he said. “Where is she?”
“Are you saying that Lady Siân is avoiding you?”
Hugh sighed. “What else should I think?” he asked. “She has not graced me with her presence since…” Since the night when she’d sat with him, holding his hand, whispering Welsh words to him. He’d been too ill to ask her to speak English, and besides, her voice was soothing to him no matter what language she used. He’d felt strangely adrift and alone after she left him; feelings that were certainly not foreign to him, though that sense of isolation had been changing of late. “…since the night we arrived.”
“Hugh, what do you know of Siân’s brother settling her in a nunnery?” Kit asked.
Hugh’s demeanor stiffened. “It’s a ridiculous plan,” he said. “There are other alternatives for her.”
“What alternatives?” Kit asked. “She told me she will not marry.”
“What do you mean?” Hugh asked sourly. “Siân was meant to marry, to be surrounded by children. Have you not seen the way she—”
Kit exchanged a glance with Wolf.
“What?” Hugh demanded sharply as he stood up again and began pacing in front of the fire.
“Siân feels she would not be an adequate wife,” Kit explained. “I sense that she has been berated so often and so severely that she cannot believe she could ever be an asset to a husband.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Hugh snorted. “She is…”
“She is what?” Wolf asked, tipping his head suspiciously.
“She is…” Hugh ran one hand through his hair. “She is not going to become a nun!”
Wolf and Kit Colston could only stare in disbelief as he turned and stormed out of the room.
Siân sat on the steps leading to a small stone chapel in the middle of Windermere’s garden. The little building, which consisted of one oblong room, was quite unusual, Siân thought, with stained-glass windows on all four sides. From where she sat, Siân could see the castle itself through the trees, but it seemed distant and remote. She was virtually alone in her own quiet world out there, with no one, not even the gardeners, to disturb her meditations.
Wrapping her cloak tightly against the breeze, which had turned chilly with the dusk, Siân got up and climbed the stairs into the chapel. She lit a few candles against the darkening gloom and sat down on one of the benches.
She felt very much at home at Windermere. Kit and her husband had welcomed her into their home to an extent that was wholly unfamiliar to Siân. She had yet to be criticized for her attire, her untamable hair, or her deportment. No one berated her lack of feminine skills or beauty. Since coming to Windermere, her confidence had grown. She was no longer the clumsy girl she’d been at Clairmont.
But could she stay here at Windermere? Could she live out her life knowing that Wrexton still lived, still preyed on the innocent?
Could she return to Clairmont and commit murder?
Siân thought again of that morning when she’d stood over the evil earl, knife in hand, ready to plunge. And yet, she’d held back. Held back long enough for Hugh Dryden to stop her.
Hugh wouldn’t be there to stay the knife next time, though. Now that she knew he was nearly recovered, Siân could bring herself to leave Windermere. She would visit his room once more while he slept, and say a last goodbye. Early in the morning, she would leave, with no one the wiser, taking what stores she’d need for the journey and leaving on the mare she’d ridden from Clairmont.
Brushing away a foolish tear, and forcing herself to think of anything but leaving Hugh for the last time, she considered the journey ahead of her. It would not be easy. She did not know where she would stay the first night on the road because Dryden Hall was too close to Windermere. She would need to ride a lot farther—
“Siân.”
Without looking up, Siân knew the voice. She recognized the deep, rich timbre of it and knew it belonged to the one man whose presence she had wanted to elude. It had been days since she’d seen him, days of passing the hours trying not to think of him, trying to insulate her heart against the pain of the moment when they parted.
Knowing that he belonged to Marguerite, that he would soon return to that gracious lady, was more than Siân could bear. For her own sanity, she had to keep away from him. She couldn’t risk becoming any more attached than she already was.
Siân arose as he stepped into the chapel and walked to the opposite side. “Hugh,” she said, her voice hollow and vulnerable in spite of herself.
His stance was tense, movements controlled. He did not seem cold, though he wore no cloak, only a cordovan tunic over dark chausses. When he turned to face her, his features were cast into harsh relief by the flickering light of the candles.
“I’ve…not seen you…these last days,” he finally said.
Siân could only nod.
He took a few steps toward her, the intensity of his gaze causing Siân to take one step back.
“You saved my life, Siân, and likely that of your little Parry, yet you cannot rouse enough interest in seeing for yourself how I fare?”
“I—it’s not that, my lord, I—”
“What is it, then?” he asked quietly, coming dangerously close to her. So close, in fact, that Siân could feel his warm breath on her face, smell the leather of his tunic.
She swallowed hard and ignored the pounding of her heart. He was too close. She could hardly breathe without her breasts rising and coming in contact with his hard chest. If he touched her—
“Siân,” he said again, his voice harsh and raw.
She could not move. When his hands cupped her face, she felt as if she’d become a boneless mass. When his lips touched hers, she was certain of it.
Seemingly without volition, and against all that she’d told herself these past days, her hands skimmed up his chest, relishing the solid feel of him. She entangled the fingers of one hand in the hair at his nape and welcomed his kiss, increasing the contact between them.
Hugh groaned and pulled her to him, running his hands up her back, sending shivers of pleasure through her. Lord, how she’d needed his touch…his strong and fierce presence. He kissed her lips, then her ear, and moved his mouth down her neck, until he reached the barrier of her gown. Siân sighed. Without further hesitation, Hugh untied her cloak and let it fall. Next were buttons and laces, of which he made quick work.
Siân trembled, though she did not feel the chilled air. She soon stood bare before him as he worshiped her with his hands, his lips, his teeth and tongue.
Because of his wound, he had some difficulty removing his own tunic, but Siân reached up to help him pull it off. Then, as she untied the laces of his chausses, his hungry kiss became desperate. Their bodies met, skin to skin, heart to heart.
“You are mine, Siân,” he rasped as he lowered her to the bed of discarded clothes on the stone floor. “Never forget it.”
She reveled in his touch as his hands moved over her, caressing intimately, arousing her, teaching her to please him. She ran her hands down his back, cupping the tight muscles of his hips, savoring the various textures of his body. She learned the hard muscles and planes of his body as he dis
covered the soft curves of hers, touching, tasting, creating a maelstrom of desire. Sensations flowed through her, foreign yet familiar, satisfying but frustrating.
She needed more.
Sensing her readiness, he moved again, shifting her, and suddenly she was over him, then part of him.
They became one with a sharp plunge that bound their souls together, along with their bodies. They moved in a rhythm born of the ages, in a cadence that propelled them toward completion, with hearts pounding, nerves roaring, and muscles flexing.
“More!” her heart demanded as she gave him all, and wrung from him every dram of passion in his soul. Liquid heat engulfed her. An animal wildness surged through her. The powerful rhythm drove her toward a culmination she could not fathom, but one she desperately sought.
When finally Hugh shifted them so that Siân lay under him, a new, more intense fire rushed through her. She met each thrust as Hugh’s power and strength became her own. She felt his heart pounding against hers, the force of his muscles straining in union with her own. She heard his harsh panting breaths, his groans of fulfillment. And suddenly, in a whirlwind of sensation, something entirely untamed burst within her.
Swept outside of herself, she joined Hugh in an exquisite intensity that made them one being, heart and soul. The oneness spiraled for a seeming eternity, then exploded in a triumphant shattering expression of emotion.
Their return to earth was slow and sweet.
He ran the fingers of one hand over her wondrous features, reveling in the smoothness of her skin, the lightness of her touch. Her eyes glimmered with unreserved emotion.
“You are a dream, Siân,” he said, looking into her sated eyes. “I’ve never…”
Hugh began to think dangerously. They were scattered, disjointed thoughts, about marriage, about Marguerite Bradley. The perfection of Marguerite’s features, the care with which the lady dressed, her competency in keeping Clairmont running…None of these attributes compared to Siân’s spontaneity, her generosity of spirit, her fire for him.
And Hugh had not realized until now, how important that was to him. He hadn’t understood how abhorrent Marguerite’s cool competence and constant aversion would be to him.
But Hugh was tied to her by his proposal, bound to uphold his offer of marriage.
Siân pulled away and sat up, gathering her clothes as she did so. Her features were soft and beautiful in the flickering candlelight and he wanted her again. Hugh knew he’d want her always.
“Don’t, Siân,” he said, gathering her into his arms again. “I—”
She stopped him with a few of her slender fingers pressed against his lips. “Please, Hugh,” she said, “you are already promised to Lady Marguerite. I would not ask you to break your vow, and I ask you to say nothing now—”
“Siân,” Hugh said, frowning as he took her hand and kissed the palm. Then he drew her to him and pressed his lips to hers. Passion flared again, but Siân wrenched herself away.
Hugh traced her jawline with his thumb and looked into her troubled eyes. She was so beautiful, so wildly passionate. She was more to him than he’d ever thought possible, but he’d had no right to do this, no right to make love to her. She was an innocent and he knew better. He could offer her nothing. Not even the protection of his name.
“I—I will remember this night always,” Siân said, her eyes sparkling a little too brightly, her chin trembling slightly. “When…when you are back at Clairmont and—”
“Siân,” he said, tracing the contour of her ear with gentle fingers, “Clairmont means nothing to me. Marguerite will never be the wife of my heart, nor does she want to be.”
“How can you say such a thing?” Siân protested. A flurry of emotions crossed her face from disbelief to astonishment. “Any woman would be well pleased to have you as her husband. Lady Marguerite is no different than any—”
“Siân,” he said, pressing a kiss to her mouth. “You overpraise me. Could it be that you are unaware of my flaws? My scars? Most women take one look and flee.”
“That is not so, Hugh,” Siân countered. “You may be scarred, but what difference does it make to the goodness of your soul? How does the possession of a few scars alter the honor in your heart?”
Hugh dropped his hand from Siân’s face and looked away. He began to gather up their clothes and helped Siân to dress. “Honor is something I forfeited two years ago when I was imprisoned here at Windermere.”
He saw the crease appear between her brows, as if she couldn’t understand, and he felt compelled to continue.
“Many years ago, Wolf’s cousin usurped his title,” Hugh explained. “Wolf eventually found the evidence that would convict Philip Colston of his crimes, and I was sent from London to Windermere to keep an eye on him until the king’s men could apprehend him.
“Colston…took me prisoner. I was taken down below Windermere Castle and chained to a wall in one of the tunnels.”
“Oh, Hugh!” Siân cried. She stopped dressing and took his hands in hers.
“Philip had a penchant for inflicting pain,” Hugh continued. “He tortured and killed his stepmother there, while I watched, unable to intervene, powerless to assist her in any way.”
Siân gasped.
“Then he took his pleasure from working on me,” Hugh said quietly. “He had every possible instrument of pain in that dank cellar…”
“Your eye?” Siân asked, swallowing the tears burning in the back of her throat.
Hugh gave a quick nod. “Among other things.”
Siân bit her lip to keep from crying out loud.
“He was a master of exquisite pain, Siân,” Hugh said. “He knew how to draw it out, how to squeeze every bit of enjoyment from it, short of causing unconsciousness…or death.”
She shuddered. “Oh, my poor Hugh,” she said, “how did you ever survive?”
“That is my shame, Siân,” he replied, “I tried to buy my own survival with betrayal.”
She didn’t comprehend, and he could read that lack of understanding on her face.
“I…promised to deliver Wolf to Philip…” Hugh’s voice was a mere shadow to her ears, “if only he would set me free.”
A long silence ensued. Hugh felt there was no greater dishonor than promising to betray Wolf, his closest friend and ally, for his own pitiful life. And now Siân knew of his disgrace, as well.
“Hugh,” Siân said earnestly, looking directly into his eye. “How can you hold yourself responsible for trying to bargain for time?”
“Time?” Hugh countered. “It was Wolf’s life…he is a brother to me, and I would have handed him to his—”
“Don’t you see?” Siân asked in earnest. “It was time that I was bargaining for, as well, when I told the earl of Wrexton that I was the one who stole his lambs. I was in such pain, I did not know what I was saying, only that if I kept up my story, then somehow, someone would intervene. Someone would come along and stop the horrible nightmare and everything would be all right again.”
“Siân, they’re two different—”
“No, Hugh,” she said, “Wolf Colston is a most formidable knight! Some part of your mind knew it, remembered it! You had to know that even if you tried to give him over to Philip, Wolf would never succumb to his cousin, however powerful or devious he was.”
“No. That is not how it was—”
“Oh, but it was!” Siân took his beloved, troubled face in her hands. “I know you could not have been aware of it at the time, but you must have realized Wolf would come up with a plan…and that Wolf would divert Philip’s attention from you long enough for you—or him—to act. Hugh, you are too noble, too honorable to willingly give up the fight.”
She kissed his astonished face. “Can you have so much faith in me?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “You are nothing if not noble and kind. Chivalry is deeply bred in you, Hugh. I’ve seen with my own eyes that you are incapable of treachery.”
“Siân—�
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One crystal tear formed and spilled over Siân’s cheek. Hugh brushed it away with his thumb as she spoke. “Speak no more of dishonor and betrayal,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “You did as any man would, under the circumstances. You are guilty of nothing but an attempt to delay for time.”
Hugh crushed her to him, cherishing her belief in him. She was unlike anyone he’d ever known. Yet she could never belong to him. He had dishonored her, and himself, as well.
She shivered, and Hugh realized that it had become quite cold in the chapel. He released her and helped her to finish dressing, then pulled her cloak tight around her, breathing deeply of her scent, relishing the soft resilience of her skin. “Come,” he said, with pain and dejection in his heart, “you’ve taken a chill.”
They walked through the garden toward the castle, listening to the breeze rustle through the dead leaves, looking up at the moon through an overcast sky. And at the moment, Hugh could not fathom how he could possibly return to Clairmont and leave Siân here. If only he could think of some solution, some honorable way to keep Siân with him.
In the courtyard, there was a large number of horses, some sweaty and winded, some appeared to be freshly saddled. Hugh glanced around suspiciously. No large party of riders was expected at Windermere and their presence could only mean trouble.
“Go through the back kitchens and up to Kit’s chambers,” he said to Siân. “I’ll see what’s afoot.”
Siân sensed urgency in Hugh’s voice. She skirted around the horses and walked quickly to the back of the castle. Had Bishop Beaufort finally managed to follow them here to Windermere? Though she had no fear that Hugh and Wolf would be able to deal with the situation if it did turn out to be the bishop and his men, Siân still worried for little Henry’s safety.
And she wondered what she would do about Wrexton if he had come, too.
Siân stopped to breathe deeply. She had to shake off the feelings of despair that had begun in the chapel when she and Hugh had separated.
She knew he could not belong to her, though that knowledge had no effect in stopping the tears that finally began to fall. Siân had known of Hugh’s commitment to Marguerite when he’d walked into the chapel with her, when he’d kissed her and touched her so tenderly. The fact that he was not free had been perfectly clear when she’d given herself to him. But it had not mattered. For Siân, there would only be Hugh, and his marriage to Marguerite Bradley could not change that.
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