by Gayle Eden
“Yes, of course, I will.”
Archard waited a beat. “If there is anything I can do for you…”
“You already do.” It was said gruffly and with great affection.
Standing, Archard reached down and touched Aric’s shoulder.
Aric said, his words showing the effect of the whiskey setting in, before Archard departed, “I envy you, brother. To love a woman through so much, for so long, with no guarantee she will ever be yours. You stayed here, all that time, for her—”
“I loved her on sight. She’s never said she loves me.”
“She loves you,” Aric assured, and took a long drink before heading down to the lake.
Archard did not go to the house. He slept at the woodcutter’s cottage, arose and began to expend his emotions with physical work.
He wanted her love, beyond anything else. But, more than that, he wanted her to be all right, to be free of all the terror in her life.
Sometime in the afternoon, he washed the sweat off himself in a rain barrel and laid his damp shirt by the woodpile. Sitting on a wide stump, his mind drifted through the past years, months, weeks. He had oft struggled with wanting to shoot Leland. Nevertheless, he had never questioned in himself—what he felt for his wife.
* * * *
Val emerged from the woods and stepped into the small clearing of the woodcutter’s cottage. Van Wyc had his back to her, sitting on a large stump, his knees wide and forearms on them. He was gazing at the ground. His shirt was off, hair damp, and tanned skin smooth on his broad upper back and spine, looked like gold velvet under the sun.
“Archard?”
His head jerked upwards and turned in her direction. Coming to his feet abruptly, his light eyes went over her before he said gruffly, “Woman. What the devil are you doing up?”
She walked toward him, his gaze scanning her again. “I’m fine, now. Really. I needed to get up and out of that bed.” Val paused before him.
Archard’s gaze met hers. Something gruffer filled his voice, “I said this whilst you slept, but in case you did not hear, I’m sorry, love.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t protect you.” A muscle tensed in his cheek, his eyes expressive. “I promised you. I—”
“It wasn’t your fault. I was right here on Hawksmoor.” She shook her head, holding his gaze.
He shook his head too then. “You should have never gone through that. It was my place and I—”
“It didn’t happen because you, or father, or anyone else failed me. It happened because Leland was determined it would. As long as he lived, he would have been a threat.”
Val lifted her hand and touched his high cheekbone. “I know you would have protected me. You did. You’ve done so, in many ways.”
He captured her hand, looking from her eyes down to the bruises from the binding on her wrist. “Damn him to hell.” His lips pressed warmly there.
When his head lifted, her hand, he had brought to his chest; Val said quietly, succinctly, “I need you, Archard.”
Instantly, she was gathered against him, held in his embrace. Val breathed him in, absorbed his strength. Oh, God, he was everything to her. He was her body and soul. She skimmed her palms up his back. When she leaned her head back, he lifted his and regarded her.
“Is there a bed in that cottage?”
“Yes. But you’re not recovered—”
“Archard.” She put her fingers over his lips. “My body is a little sore and bruised, true. But my heart and soul need you.”
His eyes kindled. He picked her up in his arms, and carried her through the doorway. Inside was small, but neat, a row of shelves, a scrubbed table and chair. He set her on her feet by a down mattress in the corner. A cross breeze was wafting from two windows, bringing in the woodland songs.
Archard turned her, undid the gown, kissing her shoulders, her back as he peeled the material away, and revealed ivory skin. The gown fell to the waist and Val pushed it the rest of the way and stepped out of the skirts. She held up her arms while he skimmed the under garment off, and removed her chemise and laid it with the gown, over a chair.
Archard smoothed his hand over her hair. “I like this.”
She smiled and turned, watching his eyes go down her nude body. He lifted that gaze as he reached for her and murmured, “You’re beautiful.”
She felt it. Laid down upon the mattress, Val stared up while Archard peeled off his trousers. His body was warm, strong, and scented by woodlands—so welcome when he lowered it.
Her Viking was in no rush. In the cozy cottage, he kissed her gently, kisses over her face, every bruise, and down her body—lingering on the hurts and scrapes, caressing where none were formed, and building a slow burn in Val’s blood that had her breathing harsh and deep.
He turned her to her stomach, laved and kissed her, every inch, smoothing his hand over her upper thighs, her buttocks, and massaging her nape while he kissed and nibbled her spine. His hands, so strong, a man’s hands, were a lover’s now, both sure and gentle, stroking and touching her perfectly.
“Archard….” She breathed, heavy eyed when he rolled her to her back again.
“Ummm.” He suckled her breasts, her hands in his hair. He held and shaped them afterwards, kissing them, going from her nipples, up to her mouth to kiss her erotically again, until she panted with desperate hunger.
At length, he was leaning over her, looking down at her with that mussed white gold mane sliding forward. His hand parted her legs, fingers gliding to her sex. Then, touching her inside, thrusting slowly, he would dip down, kiss her, soft, silken, clinging, and built the fire hotter with a tease of tongue.
Her legs parted wider. She trembled.
Archard gave her what she wanted.
He chafed and rubbed, biting her lip with sexual teasing, nibbling her ear while he summoned her climax. The shudders took her with an indrawn hiss and roll of her eyes, arching her hips eagerly to his touch.
His lips touched hers again. Val’s lashes lifted, her hand going to his hair. She pulled him closer and plunged her tongue into his mouth.
He grunted deep, growled sexily, and then followed her command when she bit his lip, until he had kissed her deeper, harder. Just the way she needed.
“Christ….woman.” He sucked in his breath when she found his thigh and sank her nails into muscle.
“Now. Please…cover me.”
He had a protest formed, to remind her of her bruises, but Val used her silken leg to drag his between and fisted his sex, her lavender eyes glittering into his. “I need you—now!”
Archard was over her, her shapely limbs on his hips though he poised at her entry a mere moment before sinking in deep, all the way to the hilt. Their groans echoed. He held her. She clutched him. They breathed tense and diminutive.
Finally, Archard leaned back, pulled out, and began to thrust back in, rotating his hips at times, gaining a few scratches on his back as Val arched her neck and cried out.
“More?” He gritted after moments of that.
“More.” She panted. “More!”
He hooked her legs under his arms and drove into her then. Her lush hips, her slick sex, the heat welcoming him.
It was intense, scorching, erotic, and neither thought of her bruises as they let the fire burn them. Reaching, driving, every inch of his thick cock hotly rasping over nerves and pleasuring quivering, grasping muscles inside her sex. That short pant of fiery breath echoed in the cottage, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, broken only by a moan or terse whisper, urgent and lost—soul reaching.
Archard climaxed before he wanted to. However, with Val so wild under him, her nails biting into his flanks, he did well to last the moments he had.
Panting, sucking in air, he managed afterwards, “Did I hurt you?” Archard rolled to the side and gathered her.
“Not at all.” She bit his rib and then laved it.
Archard sat up and swept her hair back from her cheeks, cupping her f
ace, saying in a whisper, “You came to me. You needed me. You wanted me.”
“Yes.” She smiled and rubbed his muscled arms. “Yes to all three.”
His eyes lightened. “I love you,” he said it again, gruffly, “I love you, woman.”
Val, eyes filling with tears, whispered, “I love you too, Archard. For the first time in my life, it is real love, a heart and soul filling love.”
He seemed to stop breathing, and then caught it again. “Can I hear that—just, once more love?”
“I love you. I knew before—I was just afraid of it. During the worst hours, I promised myself, I would tell you. I promised I would thank you for what you did, back when I lost the babe. When I almost gave up and willed myself to die. For staying—for being there—here—with me. And for showing me—what real love and passion feels like.”
“Ah, love. That was the easiest part. The loving.” His pale blue eyes burned into hers. “The hardest was waiting, although I would have, forever. Because when I saw you, I knew you were mine. You should have been.”
“Oh, Archard.” Tears pooled in her lavender eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I love you.”
Val found herself tuned on her back, kissed long and deep. Soon afterwards, there was a husky whisper in her ear of, “I want you, again.”
“Yes. Please, yes.”
This time the lovemaking was slow, intense. Val made him let her take the lead and ride him through part of it. There were murmurs, words, looks, but it was all the intimate things together, the joining bodies, the beating hearts, the skin to skin that spoke volumes. Moreover, there was something of traveling, from the shadowed past together, into a future that was theirs alone.
At the end, Archard was sitting up, back against the cottage wall and kissing her deeply while she undulated and moved sensually on him. His climax brought a gasp from her too, an arch of her neck as his sex swelled inside and his seed soothed deeply, their hands were clasped and holding tightly.
“You’re mine,” Archard husked, holding her gaze.
“Yes.” She answered. “And you…You belong to me.”
“With pleasure. I am yours. Whenever, however, and… any time you wish.”
Val laughed breathless, “That’s a generous offer…”
His brow rose. “I’m a generous husband.” His smile turned wicked then, under lazy lashes. “Do, test me on that.” His large hand squeezed her buttock. “Anytime.”
Sighing, Val lay against him and bit his sinewy neck.
Archard sighed too and released a masculine purr. “I’ve got to get you in a real bed, woman. Then you can bite me—and see what you get.”
“You taste delicious. Everywhere.”
“Most definitely, have to get you in a bed.”
A bit later, they arose, washed, dressed, and walked hand in hand to the house.
* * * *
The others were lounging in the moonlit side yard.
Alexander said, observing the lovers with lazy amusement from his cane chaise, “Cook has put dinner aside for you.”
“No doubt they’ll need it.” Alex muttered from her spot beside Edmund.
Aric was openly grinning; taking in their rumpled appearance and watching Archard draw his wife to his side. Her arm was around his hips.
Val flushed, but Archard said before they pass to the interior, “Don’t—wake us for breakfast.”
Chuckles followed that.
* * * *
Hawksmoor
Annual Gathering and Bonfire
“Are you sure you want to go home with them?” Val laughed to Jo, watching the Campbell kin jumping off the dock into the lake, whooping and yelling. All day they had participated in sports and games with their usual blood and guts energy, and though Jo kept up, as did the men, Val left it to Archard to make an impression. Her husband enjoyed the competitions, and truthfully, Val enjoyed watching him more than playing. After several bouts of passionate lovemaking, she was a wee too sore yet to do much romping.
“Yes. They’re wonderfully uninhibited.”
“Is that what you call it?”
Jo sat up from the blanket and looped her arms around her knees, her plaid skirt pooling where she had her legs bent. Wearing a white lace blouse with it, her deep red mane in braid, she made the most of this last day with her family for a time. “There’s more to them, hard work, and serious study, but they also love and support each other.”
Touching her back, Val murmured, “I realize that. I was teasing you.’
“I know.” Jo grinned and then sighed. “But society is trying, even for someone like me, who bloody doesn’t care for them. I cannot think straight in the midst of rebellion. And I can’t keep making mistakes…well those sorts.”
Jo added. “Besides that, I have a feeling Auvary is falling for Ingrid.”
Val sat up and gaped at her. “What? They just met. I—”
Jo nodded toward where Auvary stood with the men. The earl’s gaze was obviously not on those talking, but the other direction, where Ingrid was laughing and joking with one of the cousins.
“Whilst you and Van Wyc have been keeping your sheets afire—” She ignored the elbow Val gave her. “Auvary has lingered here, when he normally would have returned to London. And even if Ingrid herself has not noticed it, father certainly mentioned that Auvary was visiting Whitestone twice a week.”
“Well, he and Archard h—”
“—Val.” Jo rolled her eyes. “You know Auvary. We all do. This—is out of character. The man is one of the most sought after Lords in London. Women love that wounded and brooding hardness. If he is enthralled by her, my going away for a bit will at least stop distracting him from perusing her. He’s bloody stubborn about making things right—as he calls it, even if neither of our hearts are in it.”
Val chewed her lip. “Do you think I should encourage it?”
“I think, dear sister, your husband’s cousin is a very wise, very knowing, heiress. I imagine she knows it, and since she likely senses what kind of man Auvary is, rightly so, she is being cautious. If it’s meant to be, it will.”
“Yes. Of course.” Val wanted to remind her, the same was true of herself and Auttenburg, but that had been said before.
Jo stood and pulled her up. “Come, let’s move around a bit.”
They spoke to Megan Campbell, who passed by, looking as if she was awfully intent on what Aric was saying. Hmm, Val thought, they make an attractive couple— then pushed it aside. Aric had lost some of his carefree humor. Everyone had noticed it, and understood it. She was simply happy he was not off by himself, and had enjoyed participating with the men and family today.
He had been cleared, thanks to the long list of Leland’s unpunished crimes. However, just because he took the decision away from his brother and the Marquis, did not mean he lived with it lightly either. Archard said people would walk a wide berth around Aric, and her father said as much. Justified or not, ignorant of the details, he was branded dangerous. It would perhaps alter his resolve to make a life in England. She hoped not, but Val knew, he had measured that when he fired that pistol.
It became known, that Leland was likely responsible for eight suspicious deaths, and two missing children of former mistresses. Val shuddered at the thought he would sell his flesh for coin, or kill it. God. No more. She was not giving that darkness another moment of her happiness.
She had found a private moment to hug her Van Wyc brother in law, to relay to him that she understood the why, and how difficult that was. Aric had hugged her back and murmured quietly, “Be happy. Just you and Archard, at last, be happy, and live your lives. You’ve both earned that.”
Presently she and Johanna went to fill their cups with dark beer. Val saw her husband turn and wink at her. She smiled, ignoring the snort of humor Jo gave. Archard and she had exchanged many such glances today. It was absolutely wonderful, to be his wife, his lover.
“Just be careful in Scotland—and take care of yourself.” Val
finally embraced Jo.
“I will. And, you enjoy your marriage. Your husband seems to.”
Grinning, Val offered, “I do…enjoy it.” She heard Jo laughing as went and took Archard’s arm.
He drew her to his side, their arms around each other. Val listened to the conversation, while absently rubbing his back, relishing the feel of him, his scent, and his brawn. She rubbed a bit lower than his spine.
Archard said something and nudged her back, turning to walk with her along the lake, away from the crowds.
“You didn’t have to stop talking.”
“Oh, but I did.” He brushed his lips in her hair. “I know when my wife touches me like that, she needs a bit of loving.”
“Archard. I merely—”
“And you were touching me all day. Watching me, and driving me a bit mad, you tease.”
She laughed. “I did not tease. I watched. I looked. You know I like the way you look when…”
“—Um.” He stopped and turned, having her loose in his arms. Grinning, heavy eyed, Archard husked, “Woman, I’m about to tend my husbandly duties.” With that, he went to his knees, slowly pushing up her skirts.
“Archard—“
“Um” He began kissing, licking up her thighs, his teeth teasing, his breath caressing.
“Archard…” she moaned.
He reached those curls and went between them with his tongue.
Val gasped, “Never mind. Carry on.”
His masculine laugh rumbled in his throat, he used his thumbs to part her, his teeth teasing that nub. Archard gave his all, entirely focused on the assignment at hand.
* * * *
Alexander stepped away from the bonfire, scanning visually around and smiling slightly at the talk and laughter amid the guests. It may just be family, well, plus Auvary this year, but it was special. A shadow was gone from their lives and Valerie was in love—very obviously in love.
The Marquis mused that last week when he had gone to Whitestone on horseback, he and the Earl had been shown into the parlor, kept waiting a bit, as the blushing maid and servants had informed them the master and mistress were… ah…out riding.
When they finally showed, it was not from the stables, and not dressed to ride. Laughter had echoed as his son in law and daughter came through from the study, Archard with his shirttail out, and wrinkled, Val no better, with hair mussed and gown askew, her feet bare. They had stopped dead when the guests came to their feet.