Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  ‘I checked with the maids, don’t worry.’

  ‘The maids? Then they know we’re here?’

  ‘They know I am, but not who with. It’s all right.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Any good spy makes friends with the maids. They know most of the things that are going on.’

  ‘Oh.’ She knitted her brows, not sure how she felt about that.

  ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’ He sounded faintly amused.

  ‘I think...maybe. Just a little.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be.’ He turned her so that she was standing with her legs pressed back against the bed. ‘I belong to you now. For always.’

  Mathilde sucked in a breath, her gaze drawn to the bulging muscles in his arms as he gathered her shift up over her hips and waist and shoulders, then tossed it on to the floor beside her cloak. The words weren’t an admission of love exactly, but they were ones of fidelity and affection, sending shivers of desire racing through her body and raising goose pimples on her skin.

  ‘You’re cold.’ He noticed at once, guiding her on to the mattress and lowering himself beside her. ‘I couldn’t risk drawing attention by lighting a fire.’

  ‘I’m not cold. I’m just...quivery.’

  ‘Quivery?’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘That sounds uncomfortable.’

  ‘It’s not, not exactly. It’s in here.’ She placed a hand over her stomach. ‘Inside.’

  ‘Ah. In that case, let’s see what we can do to ease it...’ He bent his head, kissing her knuckles before lifting her fingers one by one and pressing his lips to the place beneath.

  She stiffened, hardly daring to breathe as he covered her stomach in slow, tender kisses. Quivery no longer seemed like a strong enough word. Pulsing seemed more appropriate.

  ‘How’s that?’ he murmured against her skin.

  ‘Honestly? I think you’re making it worse.’

  ‘Do you want me to stop?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  She felt rather than heard him chuckle as she arched her back, pushing her body up against his lips. Her breasts felt heavy and aching and she could feel her heartbeat low in her abdomen now, a gradually accelerating rhythm that seemed to fill and vibrate inside her whole being, sending her thoughts spinning into incoherence and making her ache for more. She reached for his head, sliding her hands through his hair and teasing the curls between her fingers. ‘I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Play with your hair.’

  He laughed again. ‘I wish I’d known. You can play with it whenever you want. In fact, you can play with any part of me whenever you want.’

  ‘Really?’ She blinked, not quite sure how to respond. ‘Is there anything you want me to do now? Should I kiss you?’

  ‘We’ll get to that. First, I want you to be comfortable.’

  ‘I am comfortable.’

  ‘More comfortable, then. Like this.’ He lifted his head briefly to smile at her and then lowered it again, taking one of her breasts into his mouth and gently caressing the nipple. Then he slid downwards again, moving his tongue in small circles while his hands followed behind, tracing similar patterns over her skin. It ought to feel wicked, she thought, but instead it felt right. She cared for him, she trusted him. Most of all, at that moment, she wanted him. As for love...perhaps it was love. She couldn’t imagine feeling any closer to anyone. She couldn’t imagine letting anyone else ever touch her so intimately either.

  ‘You feel so good.’ He made a guttural sound as he moved back up the bed again, nuzzling his face against her neck. His eyes were blue, she was sure, but at that moment they looked entirely, intensely black, filled with a look of raw hunger.

  ‘So do you.’ She smoothed her hands over his shoulder blades and then around to his chest where she could feel his heartbeat, thrumming hard and fast beneath her fingertips.

  ‘I can’t wait much longer...’ His voice was even huskier as he nudged her thighs apart, positioning himself between her legs.

  ‘I know.’ She raised her lips to whisper in his ear. ‘Neither can I.’

  ‘I’ll be as gentle as I can, but there might be some pain.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ She reached for one of his hands, twining their fingers together. ‘I trust you.’

  They both moaned as he sank into her, breaching her defences and pushing slowly but relentlessly until he was completely sheathed.

  ‘Mathilde?’ He held her hand above her head. ‘Are you—’

  ‘I just need a moment,’ she gasped raggedly, willing her body to relax and adjust.

  ‘Tell me when you’re ready.’ The words sounded strained. ‘I won’t move until then.’

  ‘Ye-es.’ She closed her eyes, placing her feet flat on the bed and moving her hips gently as she sought for a more comfortable position. Fortunately, the movement itself seemed to ease the soreness, encouraging her to do it again, and then again, until she was writhing beneath him. A spark of pleasure flickered to life in her stomach and grew, coiling outwards. It felt surprisingly, wonderfully, good.

  ‘Wait!’ Henry pressed downwards abruptly, pinning her to the bed. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

  ‘What?’ She tried to tilt her hips upwards again, but it was like trying to move a mountain. A very hot, solid, heavily muscled mountain. ‘Why?’

  ‘I can’t be still.’ He sounded as if he were clenching his teeth together. ‘Not when you’re doing that.’

  ‘Oh.’ She smiled with understanding and relief. ‘Then you should move, too.’

  He gave a low groan, not waiting for any further encouragement as he lifted himself on to his arms and thrust inside her with deep, powerful strokes.

  ‘Henry...’ She tipped her head back, part-amazed, part-thrilled by the way her body reacted. There was a new feeling of slickness between them now as they pushed and pulled and rocked back and forth, the tension building to a point where she thought that it couldn’t—surely it couldn’t?—get any stronger. And then her whole body tensed and a wave of sensation rolled over her, a sudden clenching followed by a dizzying, wonderful release. She let out a cry of surprise mingled with pleasure as Henry pushed inside her once last time and then withdrew, spilling his seed on the blanket between them.

  * * *

  The candle was almost burnt to the quick by the time Mathilde awoke, opening her eyes to find herself lying face to face with Henry. One of his arms was draped over her waist, his fingers stroking languorously across the small of her back.

  ‘You fell asleep.’ His lips curved as he spoke.

  ‘I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t seem to help it.’ She glanced at the candle. ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘Maybe an hour.’

  ‘An hour?’ She launched herself upright, putting her hands to her face in horror. ‘I ought to go. And you ought to be sleeping. You have a long journey tomorrow.’

  ‘I know.’ He looked unperturbed, folding one arm behind his head and smiling up at her. ‘But I wanted to look at you for a while. I want to remember everything about tonight.’ He drew her down into his arms again, holding her close against his chest. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Hopefully just a few months, but it depends on the Scots.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Then wait here a moment.’ He kissed the top of her head and then slid out of bed, walking naked across the room and coming back with a bowl of water. ‘Here.’ He moistened a strip of linen and rubbed it gently between her thighs. ‘For your blood.’

  ‘Oh... Thank you.’ She smiled, surprised not to feel more self-conscious with him, perhaps because he was so unselfconscious with her. Maybe it was wanton, but just the sight of his bare skin and powerful muscles made her breathing erratic again.

  ‘Are you all right?’ His brow furrowed as he put the bowl aside. ‘It wasn’t too
painful?’

  ‘Only at first, but then it was quite...very...pleasurable.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it...wife.’ He leaned forward, kissing her tenderly before reaching under the bed and pulling out a piece of folded-up parchment. ‘This is for you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The deeds to my—our—new manor. Just in case.’ He put a finger to her lips as she started to protest. ‘They’re safer here in London with you than in an army camp with me. Just think of it as taking care of them for a while.’

  ‘Then I will.’ She clasped the parchment to her chest, feeling her eyes prickle suddenly. ‘But that’s the only reason.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I should go.’ She wriggled upwards, trying not to sniff, the tender look in his eyes almost too much for her.

  ‘Yes.’ His voice turned sombre as he reached for her hand, helping her out of the bed and back into her shift.

  ‘Goodbye, Henry.’ She turned towards the door, not daring to look at him again in case she started crying in earnest.

  ‘Goodbye.’ He seemed to understand, wrapping her cloak lightly around her shoulders. ‘Take care of yourself, Mathilde.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  North of England

  —summer 1327

  Henry sat down at an empty table, reaching for a piece of bread and peering surreptitiously through the open folds of the tent. Mortimer and the King were arguing outside, their raised voices becoming increasingly audible to everyone around them. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before the whole army camp could hear, although perhaps that was the point. Over the past few months, Edward had become increasingly vocal about the many ways in which he disagreed with his regent, but he’d never gone as far as to air his grievances outside before, in full view of his guards and soldiers. It was as if he wanted them all to know his position, Henry thought, as if he wanted them to take sides, too. Whatever Mortimer and the Queen might want or believe, it was becoming obvious that the young King wouldn’t tolerate being governed for much longer. Fighting the Scots was now more and more a side issue to the real conflict.

  ‘Arguing again, I see.’ A man with wheat-coloured hair and a wide, white-toothed smile dipped his head under the tent flap. ‘What’s that? The second time today?’

  ‘Third.’ Henry gave a taciturn nod. Nicholas de la Beuvriere was around his own age and unrelentingly friendly, despite the absence of anything resembling encouragement. Not that Henry disliked him. In truth, he enjoyed his company far more than he did most of the King’s hangers-on and companions, only he recognised another spy when he saw one. He had no doubt that Nicholas’s light-hearted manner concealed an astute, perceptive and probably calculating mind. The only question was who he was working for.

  ‘It’s getting worse.’ Nicholas sat down opposite, not waiting for an invitation. ‘I wonder if Mortimer’s told him about his plans for a peace treaty.’

  Henry tore his bread apart, refusing to show any sign of surprise. Mortimer had discussed the possibility of a treaty with only his closest advisors at a private meeting to which Nicholas had definitely not been invited. ‘And what plans would those be?’

  Nicholas grinned, ignoring the question. ‘You can understand the King’s objections. It must be hard for a grandson of Edward I to accept any defeat, but this is his first military campaign. A treaty would be hard to swallow.’

  ‘I suppose so. If that’s what they’re talking about.’

  ‘For my own part, I wouldn’t mind a treaty. I’m sick of waiting around for the Scots to attack us whenever they feel like it. The Bruce is far too clever to be drawn into open battle like Mortimer wants and, in the meantime, tempers get frayed. As we have daily proof.’

  ‘No campaign is easy.’

  ‘A treaty might be the best thing for England, too,’ Nicholas persisted, rubbing his chin as if he were simply thinking out loud. ‘It’s about time we had some peace and prosperity. Though no doubt the Scots are aware of that. Mortimer makes it too obvious that he wants a quick resolution. Anyone would think he was eager to get back to London, though whether out of love or mistrust, who knows?’

  ‘You think he doesn’t trust the Queen?’ Henry lifted an eyebrow.

  ‘A woman who led an invasion against her own husband and now usurps her son’s power?’ Nicholas grinned, as if the words were only spoken in jest. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Fortunately, I don’t have to decide. Time will tell all, I suppose.’

  ‘If events don’t force the issue.’ Nicholas held his gaze long enough to imply another layer of meaning, though not long enough for Henry to be certain. He was only left with the strange impression of being tested. ‘However, something tells me he’s not the only man here whose thoughts revolve around a woman.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Just that I know the look, my friend, that one where you stare at the horizon with a dreamy expression on your face. You’re in love. You have all the symptoms.’

  ‘Do I?’ It took an extreme effort of will for Henry not to react. ‘You speak as if love’s a disease.’

  ‘Perhaps it is, of the mind anyway. It can change people, for certain. And you haven’t denied it.’

  Henry rubbed his hands together, brushing away the last remaining breadcrumbs. Was he in love? Barely an hour had passed since his departure from London when he hadn’t thought of Mathilde. Not just their one night together, though he’d relived the memory of it often enough, but the way she looked and spoke and smiled and...everything. Just picturing her face caused a warm glow in his chest.

  Did that make it love? Yes, he cared for her. Yes, he wanted to protect her, but surely love was a step too far? And yet...somehow the word persisted in his mind, making him nervous. He’d already admitted to caring for and trusting her. If he was in love with her, too, then he’d put himself in the very position he’d sworn never to be in again. He would have given another person the power to crush all of his hopes and happiness just as his mother had done.

  ‘There goes the King.’ Nicholas jerked his head sideways. ‘Going to stew in his own tent, I expect. Maybe I’ll go and join him soon, let him rant for a while.’ His expression was almost too nonchalant. ‘Perhaps you’d care to join me? The King likes you.’

  ‘I like him.’

  ‘He trusts you, too, even though you’re Mortimer’s man.’

  ‘And you think he’s wrong to do so?’

  ‘I didn’t say that, although some people have wondered where your loyalties would lie if it came to a choice between the two of them. You might be a Mortimer, but you’re a man with a conscience, too, however much you try to conceal it. You know Edward will make a good king.’ Nicholas’s gaze seemed very intent suddenly. ‘If he’s ever allowed to become one.’

  ‘He will be.’ Henry looked away, answering with more certainty than he felt. The words were uncannily similar to the ones he’d said to Mathilde on their wedding day. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought Nicholas had been spying on him.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Nicholas filled two cups of wine and slid one across the table. ‘Don’t answer now, but if you ever want to discuss the matter further, you know where to find me.’

  Henry paused for a moment before accepting the wine. ‘I’ve had enough of intrigue.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘And even if I hadn’t, like you said, I’m a Mortimer.’

  ‘Understood. In that case, I wish you well, my friend, and perhaps—’

  ‘Perhaps we’ve just been discussing the weather?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Nicholas chuckled. ‘There’s certainly enough of it. Can you imagine what the winters must be li—’ He stopped talking as Henry clamped a hand over his arm. ‘What?’

  ‘Listen!’ Henry half stood, alerted by the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t anything he could put h
is finger on exactly, just a vague sense that something, somewhere in the camp, wasn’t as it should be. The usual, background murmur of voices was missing, replaced by an ominous silence. He clenched his brows and moved towards the tent flap, holding his breath to listen, and that was when he heard it, a low indistinct rumbling building to a roar. The thunder of approaching hooves.

  They were under attack. He knew it a few seconds before the screams started.

  ‘We have to protect the King!’ Nicholas shouted as they drew their swords and charged outside together, racing across the encampment towards the royal tent.

  Henry didn’t answer, ducking as an arrow whistled past his head, so close that he felt the air vibrate against his ear. He took a quick look over his shoulder and then threw himself sideways, knocking Nicholas to the ground as he glimpsed a group of riders all drawing back their bows, preparing to fire again.

  ‘What the—’ Nicholas froze as a volley sliced viciously over their heads. ‘That was too close.’

  ‘Come on.’ Henry hoisted him back to his feet, pushing him ahead as they ran to join the circle of guards outside the King’s tent. Once there, they turned around, bracing themselves for battle. There was no time to put on any armour, only to grab a shield and hope for the best.

  ‘So you protect your King over Mortimer?’ Nicholas threw him an incongruous grin.

  ‘He’s my King!’

  ‘Then I have my answer. And I owe you my life.’ The other spy lifted his sword as a line of Scottish warriors stampeded towards them. ‘Now let me try to repay the favour!’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Westminster Palace, London

  —autumn 1327

  ‘They say Mortimer’s approaching London,’ Katharine murmured softly as she and Mathilde sat by the fireplace one morning, sheltering from the cold draughts that whistled through the palace corridors like invisible, sharp-beaked birds.

  ‘Already?’ Mathilde looked up from the sleeve she was embroidering towards the window, as if she might be able to catch a glimpse of Henry on the road to the capital.