Heather Graham

by The Kings Pleasure

  He groaned anew, closing his eyes. “Must you eat it?”

  “It’s quite delicious,” she said. “Try some!” she added maliciously, coming toward the bed with her plate.

  “Come near with that, and I shall thrash you.”

  “And risk your Scottish son?”

  “You’ll probably have a girl.”

  “I shall do so on purpose, if it will irk you.”

  To her surprise, he smiled, lying back, casting an arm over his forehead. “You’re an evil woman,” he told her, waving his arm in the air. “Out—get out of here with your fish!”

  “Out—my door isn’t bolted?”

  “I beg of you, go downstairs and enjoy your meal with Monteine.”

  She hesitated, puzzled. “You’re not afraid I’ll run?” she asked softly. “We’re still very close to Dover.”

  He leaned on an elbow and stared at her, the laughter gone from him. “If you run, I’ll come after you. And I’ll find you, wherever you may go.”

  He made no actual threat, but the sound of his voice was chilling, and she realized that whether he had been tender and passionate did not matter; he had not forgiven her. She was not to be trusted.

  She fled from the room, and ate downstairs with Monteine. She was startled, moments later, to see that he had made a complete recovery. When he strode down the stairs, he was dressed in emblemed tunic, sword, and scabbard, and was impatient to be on his way, shouting orders even as he entered the public room.

  It was a long, hard day. When they stopped that night at the manor of a friend, she tumbled into bed, exhausted, as soon as they had supped. She was aware of Adrien taking off her shoes, loosening her gown, removing it. And she thought that he watched her for a while, but she was too weary to know. She was aware of his warmth in the night, yet he was up when she awakened.

  They didn’t ride so hard again. He said that they would stop early the next afternoon.

  “It will take us a long time to reach Scotland at this rate, Laird MacLachlan,” Daylin warned.

  “We can go no faster. I dare not risk Danielle and the babe,” Adrien replied.

  Danielle flushed, feeling everyone stare at her. Yet she was absurdly glad that he had noted her state of exhaustion, and that, simple courtesy though it might be, he offered her that much.

  It did take them a long time to reach Scotland. But Danielle didn’t mind the time, nor the ride.

  Adrien did not forgive her, nor did she bow to him in any way, asking forgiveness. But they were together. They frequently rode apart, Adrien leading, then tending to the line of their men, goods, and baggage, and riding ahead again. They slept some nights in taverns and inns, and some were passed at the castles of his friends and acquaintances. And at night, no matter who he talked with, or how late he stayed awake—gaming, drinking, or talking by a fire—he always came to her before dawn. And she never tried to deny her pleasure in making love, or in simply being held through the night. They were man and wife, she thought, drifting off to sleep one night, in a way they had never been before.

  And for weeks, it was all even better when they reached Scotland. She had charged him that his land would be barbaric; it was charming. The sprawling manor house, built of wood and stone, was warm and comfortable, furnished with beautifully carved pieces. The hall boasted a huge table with lion-clawed feet and huge, high-backed chairs. The master’s chambers were warmer still, the bed covered in a tapestried blanket, the hearth huge, the walls lined with shelving that housed books and armor, Gaelic carvings, and swords from around the world. Off the master bedroom was a nursery, already furnished with a cradle that had been Adrien’s, she was told.

  The people were charming to her, welcoming her with a familiarity she hadn’t known before, but that she found pleasant. The house sat on a loch, with the water just feet away, cool and crisp and beautiful. Through a series of channels, it reached all the way to the Irish Sea. The land rolled and weaved; in places it was greener than emerald, in others, mauve, and in others still, it was the color of the stone that seemed to be cast carelessly down upon it. The wind smelled sweetly, cleanly, of the cool, crisp water of the loch, and she found herself quickly entranced by the colors.

  Her first night home, she wandered from the bedroom to the attached nursery and stared at the cradle. She set her hand upon her abdomen, admitting that it had grown quite round. Even having been so constantly sick for so very long, she hadn’t really believed she was going to have a baby, create another life. A child who would be a combination of herself and Adrien. It seemed such a special and unique thing to share.

  As she stood there, for the first time, she felt movement. She cried out, startled, pleased.

  “Danielle!”

  She hadn’t known he was in the house, but he was at her side instantly, hands on her shoulders as he turned her around to face him. “Danielle—”

  “He moved!” she whispered.

  The anxiety in his face fled to be replaced by a wide grin. “He? You told me it was going to be a girl.”

  “She moved.”

  He laughed softly and swept her up into his arms, carrying her back to the bedroom and laying her on the bed. He set his hand upon her stomach, waiting.

  “He—she—moved. I swear it!” she whispered.

  “Patience, my love. It’s a virtue with which you don’t seem very familiar.”

  She frowned at him, ready to argue. But the baby chose that moment to move again. She wondered if only she could feel it inside her womb, but then she saw his face, and for a moment, it was filled with simple wonder. “I’m glad I’ve brought you here,” he murmured. “I’m glad my son will be born here.”

  “It’s a girl,” she protested for the sake of argument.

  “My child,” he amended.

  There was a knock on the door; supper had been brought to them. They dined in the room, for it had grown late, and when they were done, Adrien undressed her and made love to her very gently, with a strange poignancy.

  Over the following few days, he rode the estate with his Scottish steward. Danielle made a point of getting to know the servants in the manor, and the farmers, masons, and craftsmen in the village who also stood as men-at-arms to protect the castle against attack, should some border lord, Englishman or Scot, decide to hunger for greater lands. She enjoyed the people, loved the sound of their speech, and was surprised to realize she was content. Evenings, she shared suppers with Adrien, who told her colorful tales about the great William Wallace and Robert the Bruce, while admitting unhappily that King David of Scotland, like King Jean of France, was a prisoner in Edward’s tower. They argued over books, philosophy, and history. No matter what the argument, he was with her at night. Sometimes he made love very gently, and sometimes with a hungry, yearning, almost desperate passion.

  They’d been there a week when she went down by the loch in the afternoon. She wore a simple linen dress, and at the water’s edge, she stripped her stockings and shoes and waded in. It was cold, but delightful. She was there when he came to her just as night fell.

  He sat on a rock by her side, chewing a blade of grass and watching the water. “You look very well here,” he teased. “Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are bright, and very lovely.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, emerging from the water. She sat on the embankment and drew her shift over her bare feet.

  “You’ll survive my heathen and barbaric lands?”

  “They are wild and beautiful,” she said.

  “Treacherous as well—you must sometimes take care. Dangerous, wild, and beautiful—my land, and my wife,” he murmured. Looking back out to the water he said, “I leave for London tomorrow.”

  “So soon? We’ve just come here—”

  “I leave for London tomorrow,” he repeated.

  She stiffened. “And I am to stay behind?”

  “Aye, my love.”

  She lowered her eyes, afraid for him to see the depths of her disappointment. London. Prince Ed
ward and his troops would be in London. What of the peasant girl, Terese, always so willing to serve her husband? Her pride would not allow her to ask.

  “So I am not to be trusted in London?” she inquired bitterly. “One would think the King of England would have enough men in London that I would not be such a danger. Edward said that I am not to come?”

  Adrien stood, still staring out at the water. “Nay, my lady. I have said that you’re not to come.”

  And he turned and walked away.

  Chapter 22

  EVENING WAS COMING—WITH it, a fierce chill in the north.

  Danielle drew her knees to her chest, feeling the breeze by the loch. She didn’t hate this place; she loved it. Loved it more, possibly, than any place she’d been before. Something about the colors of the land was especially beautiful to her. She loved the rock that jutted from the ground, the sweeping hills and plains, the crystal beauty of the loch as it stretched away into the sunset. She even liked the sound of the wolves howling at night. She just didn’t like Adrien leaving her. She was the French wife who had betrayed him and the king. She’d provided a continental title and property, a rich income from that property, and now, she was about to give him an heir. And he was leaving again.

  She put her palms to her cheeks and felt how her flesh burned. She stood, staring out at the water. He would never believe in her again, not while the house of Valois ruled France.

  The lock seemed incredibly tempting. She waded out into it again, glad of the cold water that seemed to sluice right through her. She walked deeper, and when she could, she began to swim, desperate to ease her rage and frustration, jealousy and fear. She plunged beneath the surface, freezing, shaking, yet feeling a strange freedom and elation in the act.

  “Danielle!”

  She surfaced to realize that she had come a long way from shore. Adrien, minus his boots, sword, and scabbard, was thrashing into the water, then coming after her, swimming hard. Alarmed by the sound of his voice, she swam toward the shore, only to be caught up by him and dragged back to the embankment.

  “What is it—?”

  “Have you gone daft, lost your senses, lass?” he demanded angrily.

  She stood before him, seriously shaking then, for she was out of the water and goosebumps had arisen all over her skin.

  “I was swimming, Adrien, nothing more. Am I not free to swim?”

  “You were swimming?” he repeated, golden eyes narrowed.

  “I went swimming. I’m not to go to London. Am I not to go into the water? You forgot to tell me there would be no swimming!”

  She was startled when he suddenly clasped her to him, his fingers threading into the hair as he cradled her against his chest. “Swimming. My lady, it’s cold. And that water is far colder than any you knew in France. You’ll catch your death.”

  He carried her into the manor house and to their bedroom, where he stood her before the fire, peeled her wet gown from her, and wrapped her in a warm wool blanket. He cast off his own damp tunic and breeches, then lifted her, and sat with her in a chair before the fire, just holding her. “You can’t risk illness,” he said, smoothing back her hair.

  “Because of the bairn,” she murmured, using the Scottish inflection. “I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, or the baby.”

  He didn’t say anything. She leaned against his chest, fighting the temptation to cry. She was going to miss this. She knew his chest so well. The muscle structure, the scars, everything about him. She stroked a finger down his cheek, seeing the way the fire reflected in his eyes. “Adrien … it was long ago now, but I can remember when my mother died—she was so fervent! She insisted that I acknowledge the king. She had been hurt so in war … and maybe she felt that in surrendering Aville, she had betrayed her own people. I made a vow to her. I carried it out.”

  He nodded. “You made vows to me.”

  “I didn’t break them.”

  “That, my love, is certainly debatable.”

  “But,” she said, “there is argument for my side, at least.”

  He smiled, and stroked her hair. “There will always be argument with you.” He sighed after a moment. “It was all very strange … I knew your mother, you know.”

  “Of course, I know. You caused Aville to fall. There’s a great deal I might continue to hold against you.”

  He ignored the taunt. “She might have been a Valois and Edward’s enemy, but she liked the king. Honestly. I don’t know why she would tell you to fight foolishly against him.”

  “Adrien?”

  “What?”

  She looked up at his face, his beloved face, and stroked his chin, wondering how she had ever hated him. “I love you,” she whispered.

  He stared at her a long moment, gold eyes glittering a strange fire, yet giving nothing away. He caught her fingers and kissed them. “Do you?” he asked her softly. “Or are you simply such a beautiful seductress that you will have your way at any cost?”

  She closed her eyes, furious that tears stung against her eyelids. She had confessed the truth, and gained nothing but more accusations. She started to shift against him, struggling to rise, but he held her closer. “Danielle, would that what you say is true! I cannot, will not, take you to court now. I want my child born here. I don’t want you traveling anymore, and God knows, I want you far from temptation.”

  “I want you far from temptation as well!” she returned, still stiff and anxious to free herself. She might as well press against a brick wall. His arms did not relent.

  “And what does that mean?”

  “It means that I don’t like a woman’s lot in this world. You locked me in a castle while your mistress followed you off to war! And now you’ll go to London—”

  She broke off because he was laughing. She slammed a palm against his shoulder and he caught her wrist. “Sorry, sorry, my love. But could this mean … if I kept a mistress, would you care?”

  “I’ll not answer you, and you can stop this game. I tell you that I love you and you call me a liar. Am I to cast myself at your feet with even greater humiliation while you laugh and ride away to join …”

  “To join whom?” he demanded, eyes sizzling.

  “Edward!” she lied.

  He sat back smiling, lifting a strand of her fire-dried hair, twirling it in his fingers. She snatched the lock back, and he smiled again. “I’m truly curious. With whom do you think I’ve dallied?”

  “Leave me be, let me up—”

  “Oh, my love, there are lots of things I mean to do with you tonight, but leaving you be and letting you up are not among them!”

  “Damn you, Adrien—”

  “Whom?” he demanded, holding her still, his eyes piercing into her.

  “I don’t know! How would I know? The king’s court is full of women—”

  “I’ve been at war.”

  “Camp followers go to war.”

  “Ah … so you accuse me of a whore here or there?”

  “Oh! Could we not discuss—”

  “Whom specifically?”

  “The girl, Terese, who informed me she meant to do your bidding.”

  He eased back in the chair, smiling broadly. Once again, she tried to leap up. Once again, she hadn’t a prayer of escaping him.

  “I am sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t be enjoying this quite so much, but I’ve spent so much time in pure torture wondering what your next mischief might be.”

  He caught her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I never slept with Terese. She did follow the troops to battle, and I suppose she did let me know that she was available to serve me in any way. And she is a pretty young thing.”

  “Adrien—”

  “I’ve never betrayed my marriage vows, Danielle. Never. Though there were times I admit that I wondered why I didn’t.”

  He stood, lifting her, setting her on her feet, drawing the blanket from her and allowing it to fall on the sheep’s wool rug before the fire. Darkness had fallen, and only the reds and golds of the fl
ickering firelight bathed them both in their nudity. He slid his fingers into the hair at her nape, cradling her head, and kissed her. And when he was done with her lips, he kissed her shoulder blades and breasts. And as she began to tremble, he went down upon his knees, and his hands cupped the roundness of her belly, and he pressed his lips against her flesh, and his cheek against her, as if seeking a movement from his child. Her knees began to give, and she came down before him. His lips locked with hers once again, and kissing her, he eased her down before the flames. The fire seemed to dance upon their flesh. Each spot he caressed came alive, his kisses teased and tortured. Where flame danced, he touched and paused, then consumed her with his eyes, stroked again, kissed again. She began to writhe with wanting him until she could stand no more and she cried out his name. Yet when they were first sated, she felt a strange desperation, and it was she, not he, who began again. She could not make love tenderly enough, passionately enough … desperately enough. She wanted more and more. She wanted to keep him with her somehow, when he would be gone.

  Sometime during the night, someone knocked to bring them supper. But they were both too absorbed. If they hungered, it was only for more of one another, for more intimate moments from which to create memories. Sometime, during the long hours before dawn, they slept on the lamb’s wool.

  With the dawn breaking, Adrien opened his eyes. She lay curled upon his chest, hair entwined around him, fingers laid delicately upon his flesh. He closed his eyes again, feeling her, and he realized it was going to kill him to leave her.

  Perhaps he had meant to do so in hopes that she would learn she could not fight him and the English forever. But he knew now that he didn’t want to bring her because he was afraid. He didn’t know what the situation at court was going to be, but King Jean was there, an honored prisoner, and her old friend Simon was there, as well as Paul de Valois, all of whom were being held for ransom. If there was trouble at all in London …

  God help them all.

  He opened his eyes and allowed himself long moments of staring at her. She was her mother’s daughter, beautiful beyond all measure, bold, thoughtful, caring, intelligent. She had said that she loved him …