by Nicole Locke
‘I am not a patient man, Anwen, and I cannot deny that I want you. My desire for you has been strong since the first moment I saw you. But if my words lack manners, haven’t my actions proved my other desires with you?’
She opened her eyes, not hiding her incredulity. ‘Actions?’ she scoffed. ‘You kept me prisoner! And as for these desires, all I hear from you are lies.’
Teague did not move, but she could sense his sudden alertness. ‘Again, I have my reasons for withholding some truths from you, but I have been honest in all other matters. I spoke the truth when I said I have never wanted a woman more. Even now I am heavy with it and my palms ache to caress you, but I have shown you nothing but restraint.’
‘Restraint? Is that what you call lust and deception?’
‘Are you so familiar with both to know it is all I show you?’ he pushed. ‘Your manner is bold, but I find you intriguingly lacking in other ways.’
She shouldn’t be surprised he twisted her words, but if he thought she lacked charms, why didn’t he leave her alone? Releasing the last jess, she turned her back to secure Gully to his perch.
It was a mistake. At least with the bird on her wrist, she had a shield against Teague, who now stepped closer yet. If she leaned back, she could rest against him. As it was, although he wasn’t touching her, he was enclosing her.
‘I have hurt you. How?’ Teague’s breath caressed her hair.
‘How could you have hurt me?’ Gully shuffled restlessly on his perch. She knew she’d been handling him roughly, but it couldn’t be helped. Her sole wish now was to secure Gully, unlace the gear and leave. But Teague was too close and her hand trembled as she untied and tugged the leather gauntlet from her arm.
‘Allow me.’ Teague reached around her until his arms all but held her. Her body responded, her skin prickled. She felt instantly separated from her body as she watched his large calloused hands release the glove from her arm and lay it on a nearby table.
She waited for him to step away. When he didn’t, she turned. He still did not move.
‘Anwen?’ he asked.
She stared at his chest. ‘Let me aside.’
‘Anwen,’ Teague said again, his voice commanding her to look at him. She did.
His black eyes absorbed and searched. ‘By my comment, I simply meant you lacked a certain knowledge of carnal ways that is curious given your direct manner.’ Brushing her cheek, Teague clasped one of her locks between his calloused fingers.
She felt that touch deep inside her.
‘Did you know,’ Teague continued, ‘that when your hair catches the sunlight, it shames gold?’
Something was happening to Anwen’s breath. It was coming in faster and, with every breath, she took in more of the man before her. He continued to caress her hair, letting it slip between his fingers. She could almost feel that touch on her skin. She wanted to feel that touch on her skin.
‘Does my withholding those missives bother you, or is it that you thought no one wanted you?’
His question dissipated some of the web he wove around her. ‘Does it matter?’ she said.
Teague dropped the curl and trailed his fingers gently along the side of her cheek and curve of her jaw.
‘I think it matters to you. I’ll have you know, I reported in my correspondence that they didn’t need to come; that you were well cared for and would be returned.’
Anwen tilted her head, trying to remove her cheek from his caresses, but the movement gave him access to the lines of her throat.
She forced the words out. ‘So you purposely kept them away from me for all those weeks.’
‘Perhaps. But I think them all fools. If I thought you hurt, I would not have been satisfied until I saw you for myself. I would have come, Anwen.’
She closed her eyes to shut out his words. It didn’t work. They hit her in her heart and some of her barrier cracked.
‘I knew your skin would feel like this.’
Teague’s tone jarred her from the sensual assault and she roughly moved her head away. ‘You touched me enough when I was ill.’
Teague shook his head slowly. ‘No, then I worried for your health.’
The Devil wouldn’t worry. ‘And when I was awake? Or at night?’ she interrupted. ‘My skin cannot be so different from then, or for that matter, when you have touched other women.’ Anwen felt his hand hesitate. ‘You are a powerful Marcher Lord. I have little doubt you would know the touch of a woman’s skin, as it would be all the same to you.’
Teague’s eyes left Anwen’s as he skimmed his fingers along her arm until he grasped her hand. Then he pressed his thumb sensuously against her palm, sliding it up to her inner wrist to circle there and back again. Until tiny shivers flew from her wrists to her toes.
‘Not all skin is the same, Anwen. And it is a world of difference between what was then and what is now. Now you stand before me, very much alive, and I can feel your vibrancy, feel your warmth. Your skin is not like any others, but more like the down of a newborn peregrine and I can feel how it rises up to meet my hand.’
His gentle hand compelled her, but ire warred within her at his words. ‘I am not some foundling.’
‘No, you are a woman grown, or else what would Sister Ffion think if she caught us like this?’
Humour. From the Traitor. Anwen’s lips twitched despite herself. Ffion would indeed fly into a fit if she knew they were alone. ‘I am sure she would think no less than she already does.’
‘Indeed, it is difficult to imagine Ffion’s preaching worsening.’ Teague’s hand went to her nape, effectively raising Anwen’s lips to meet his own. The movement caught her by surprise.
His humour caught her off guard. She thought him gentled, but the primal feel of his large hand cradling her nape belied otherwise. She was the prey to his hawk and his talons were now gently grasping. He’d been waiting, waiting, and only now she realised she’d been caught.
She wanted to be caught.
Teague inhaled sharply as he judged her response. ‘But I’d take the risk if I could be here like this.’
He covered her mouth with his own.
Heat seared down her body. Her skin flushed, expanded, stretched. She opened her mouth to breathe, but instead of air, it was his breath, his mouth that she took in. She could smell his scent, taste his skin, feel his heat and she twined her hands behind his neck not for support, but out of need. Her fingers slid along the warmth of his skin, traced the collar of his tunic and then spread upward to thread through the coarse coolness of his hair.
Her throat vibrated with sound and then she felt nothing but hot male body pressing into hers. The kiss was nothing and everything that Anwen needed. It was like the moment a falcon takes flight and is tugged back to the gauntlet by the master.
She felt tied by Teague’s arms keeping her at a distance she no longer wanted. She thrust herself upward, trying to break the tension that bound her. But the tension increased as her breasts pressed against his chest and her hips cradled against his.
Abruptly, Teague ended the kiss. Their breaths clashed as their eyes met and Anwen quickly looked away. She feared she was too open for him to read.
‘Anwen,’ he whispered.
She refused to answer him.
‘My men will look for me here.’ Teague caressed her cheek. ‘I must go.’
Angry with herself, she pulled back from him. ‘Then go.’
He lowered his hand. ‘We will share a trencher tonight.’
‘No! Why? It will not be expected.’
‘I wish it and I am an honoured guest.’
Orders again. She was a fool. ‘You are more than that here, but what exactly, I don’t know. Besides, Urien will never allow me at the table.’
‘Urien does as I wish.’ Teague’s voice held all th
e arrogance of a Marcher Lord.
‘How could I forget?’ Anwen said. ‘You are Lord Teague of Gwalchdu, King Edward’s Welsh weapon. But you are more than that and I do not like being kept in the dark.’
‘No, you are not like your falcons, who find comfort when their hoods are on.’
‘I have no time for this talk.’ She crossed her arms. ‘I must find Melun.’
‘You will sit with me tonight, even if I tie you to me.’
Images of creances and jesses and gauntlets came to her. Still she tried to distance herself. ‘I have been gone too long. There is much to do here.’
‘What you have to do is choose your battles.’
‘So this is a battle between you and I? And if I lose, will Gwalchdu’s lord have me imprisoned?’
Teague sighed. ‘It is...burdensome that circumstances allow me only to show you my less-than-better traits.’
‘You have other traits besides dominance and betrayal against your fellow countrymen?’
Teague smiled bitterly. ‘My betrayal. How could I forget?’ He turned to leave the mews, his long strides quickly bringing him to the doors, but not before he uttered, ‘Soon Anwen, you will know the truth.’
She would never understand the man. Now that she was home, she should be free from him. And yet he wanted to share a trencher with her.
It did not make sense. She was back in Brynmor, but he wouldn’t leave her alone. It was as if he were testing her and her reaction to him. Setting her free to fly, then keeping her by creance or lure.
And that kiss. Her lips felt swollen and her entire body still trembled. If he was setting a lure, he could not have made a more tempting one. But temptation was not the only feeling left behind by their kiss.
Shaking, she focused on the birds and the afternoon light filtering through the cracks. Gully sat peacefully at his perch, at rest in his home, unlike her, who would never feel the same way about this place. Nothing would be peaceful to her and she would give a peregrine to not know the Traitor of Gwalchdu’s kiss.
There was more to him than lust and deception. It wasn’t the passion in the kiss or the temptation that made her crave him. It was the giving in his kiss that undid her. For the Traitor not only gave her passion, but shared his own. And his was a dark swirling need born of a desolate loneliness.
All her life she thought that Gwalchdu stood out of arrogant dominance and that Gwalchdu’s lord must be the same, but she was wrong. It stood alone, because no one stood with it. It was not cold stone out of choice, but because there was nothing that brought it warmth.
If you had been mine.
Chapter Twelve
In the room adjacent to the mews, Melun sat in his favourite chair. His raw-boned frame was thinner, his skin hung in sallow emptiness as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. When he turned his face to hers, Anwen could see he’d been crying and she flew immediately to his feet.
‘You have returned, child.’
He appeared to have doubled in age since she was gone; his grey eyes were even cloudier. Yet, he was alive and she could ask for no more blessing than that.
He patted her against the shoulders. ‘I am sorry I was not in the courtyard to greet you. I heard riders approach and the shriek of a goshawk. I hoped it was you. I could not have borne it if it was not. So I sat and waited, knowing you would come.’
Anwen let out a small cry. She had wasted time listening to Robert’s greetings and Teague’s demands; Melun must have thought she hadn’t returned.
‘I feared you would be hurt,’ she said. ‘I lost Gully, but even when I found him I could not get here until now.’
‘It is like you to always put people before yourself.’ Melun smiled. ‘I could have managed any punishment meted out by Lord Urien, but I reported to Sir Robert, whom I believe understood my true grief. I did not worry over a mere bird, Anwen, but you.’ He brushed her hair aside, his thin hands touching her wound. ‘You were hurt.’
‘I hit my head. Lord Teague cared for me until I regained my strength.’
‘So what I heard is true.’ Melun’s bushy eyebrows rose. ‘Did you ride with him?’
Anwen blushed. ‘Since I am unskilled, he insisted that I accompany a rider.’
Melun gave a little smile. ‘He thought it a task only equal for himself?’
‘I have stopped trying to understand his ways. How is Alinore?’
‘Better. That is all that I can tell.’
‘What do you mean?’ ‘Better’ was never a word that described Alinore’s fragility.
‘I don’t know, just better.’ Melun shrugged. ‘There is a certain glow to her cheeks.’
‘She is not sick or feverish?’
‘No, not at all. Occasionally, she even eats at the table instead of her room.’
‘Oh,’ Anwen exclaimed. ‘These are glad tidings.’ She was happy to hear Alinore fared well, but she also experienced a certain sense of loss and more confusion. If Alinore was well, why was she not in the courtyard to greet her?
She squeezed Melun’s hand. ‘I have missed you.’
Melun squeezed back. ‘Am I to assume that goshawk was Gully?’
Flashing him a smile, Anwen stood and brushed the dust from her skirts. She recounted to Melun all that had transpired since she awoke at Gwalchdu. While she did so, she cleaned the room just as she did in the past. Melun’s age and diminished sight allowed him meagre skill to keeping a home.
Cleaning for and talking to Melun soothed her soul as nothing else could. When she was done, she knelt again in front of him. ‘The Traitor wishes to sup with me this evening.’
‘Worse things could happen.’
She raised her hands in front of her as if she could stop his words. ‘Ach, are you planning to be a matchmaker now?’
‘As I said, worse things could happen.’
‘Are there any worse things than being an English lord’s mistress?’
Melun frowned and shook his head. ‘I do not understand. The reports told me you were well cared for and no harm befell you.’
‘Reports?’ she asked, confused. ‘You possessed missives from Gwalchdu?’
Melun’s frown deepened. ‘Of course, but you know that. Sir Robert said he would send our greetings. I believe Lady Alinore also wrote you.’
At Anwen’s darkening face, Melun nodded his head. ‘Ah, so he continues to be the Traitor after all.’
‘I received no reports, no missives. I heard naught from Brynmor and I did not know Gwalchdu sent you replies.’
Melun laid his hand against hers and continued, ‘When you stayed, I thought you’d become something more to him.’
Anwen remembered the kiss and the way Teague had shared something of his desire and loneliness with her. Did it mean she meant more to him? No. There could never be trust.
‘I am but a simple woman. I am sure for a man of Teague’s status, the King would demand a more lucrative joining.’
Melun gave a secretive smile. She was immediately suspicious. ‘Why do you smile?’
He poked her in the arm. ‘You gave no reasons of your heart that you do not wish to be bound to that man. He has been good to you, hasn’t he?’
It was Anwen’s turn to frown. What had she revealed to Melun in her retelling of her tale? Apparently much. He might be almost blind, but no one understood her better.
‘Yes, he has been good to me.’ It was his goodness that was the worst of it. How could she ever reconcile this man within herself? The sooner he returned to Gwalchdu, the better. She stood to go and Melun rose with her.
* * *
The hall was full when they entered. Men argued as they slurped beer, women were moving from bench to bench, servants were spilling food that was quickly lapped up by dogs. This was not ordered Gwalchdu, but home, and
she was glad to see some things had not changed.
She walked with Melun to the lower table where he sat. Teague was talking with Robert at the high table, but she could feel his eyes upon her.
‘Go to him,’ Melun requested. ‘He thinks you’re about to sit with me.’
‘You cannot see.’ Anwen made others move to give him room.
‘I can see with more than my eyes and he is making his displeasure known.’
Anwen glanced at the high table. It was true. Even Ffion was frowning at her now. Annoyed, Anwen placed Melun’s hand on his cup. ‘I’ll go, but only not to cause a scene.’
The high table was above the seating of others and that meant she had a perfect view of its occupants and one in particular.
Teague continued talking to Robert, but he kept watching her. He wore a tunic of deepest burgundy and was dressed as civilly as any man she had ever seen: clean shaven, his black hair tied back. And yet, there was something uncivil about him. Brynmor’s gently carved table was insubstantial compared to the man who dined at it. Only in Gwalchdu’s Great Hall did he belong.
Gwalchdu. Black Hawk.
If she didn’t know he was a man, she would have thought him hewn from that very stone edifice.
Teague caught her eye and she quickly glanced at the other table’s occupants. Urien sat at the high seat, his great hulking form slumped, his meaty hand grasping his goblet. No one was acknowledging him.
And neither would she, though Anwen wished to never see him at all. The fact he grew fat from food she helped to hunt and drank ale from fields she gleamed revolted her. The fact he sat with honour at this table, when Alinore never sat at it at all because of her fear of him, enraged her.
But she knew keeping these thoughts wouldn’t be conducive to sharing Teague’s trencher and she forced her gaze to the other table’s occupants.
Robert was dressed in forest green, the colour highlighting his dark brown hair. She had always thought Robert a handsome man, but she could not help comparing him to Teague. Robert was strong, thickly muscled, his features evenly placed and pleasing. Teague’s features were more chiselled and harsh, and yet she found he appealed to her more.