by Julia Latham
Once again, she peered through her lashes. John was just removing his shirt. She had seen parts of him before, when Rachel the healer had worked on his wounds. But the full breadth of his chest set off another quiver deep inside her. It was pleasurable and embarrassing, yet…she still continued to watch.
His muscles bulged where hers gently sloped. Hair was scattered across his chest and narrowed down his abdomen, which was ridged with more muscle. Scattered scars of combat were white lines of honor across his skin.
And then she remembered that he had not been able to wear hose, due to the splint on his lower leg. He only wore his braies, the barest scrap of linen about his loins. With his back to her, he removed them, and was naked.
His buttocks looked so firm and perfect that she wanted to touch them; she was scandalized by her own indecent thoughts. But since she’d had the pleasure of his intimate caresses, she discovered a yearning to explore him the same way. For now she used her eyes, and what they saw next could have blinded them.
He leaned over to feel the water in the tub, which must surely be cold by now. When he turned in profile, she saw his penis sticking straight outward from his body.
The inside of her suddenly throbbed, as if it needed him to be whole. She knew that male and female came together that way; her mother had not wanted her ignorant when her wedding night came. She hadn’t been able to imagine it then—but now it was fully evident.
He still desired her. He had given her the ultimate pleasure, and not received it himself.
Would another man have been so selfless, especially when she had allowed him to continue pleasuring her?
He climbed into the tub and sank down with a sigh, even though the water must only come to his waist. He was a big man who needed a big tub, but the only one large enough was in the family wing, which her father had had built to order. She would have it sent to John and—
She was behaving like a wife already, she thought in wonder, considering his comfort, his needs.
Had she finally accepted that he was to be her husband?
She continued to watch him bathe, lulled into sleepiness by his slow movements as he used a cloth on his skin.
She told herself that he was her last hope, even as deep inside, a part of her warned that she was losing herself to him.
Chapter 19
In the morning, Elizabeth left Anne inspecting another basket that had been lowered to her during the night, more sweets and books, even a flute. Had Anne’s music been heard by this mysterious man?
At the bottom of the tower, John was waiting for Elizabeth. She felt surprised that she was so relieved and glad to see him. She knew he could only have been dragged from the castle by force, but still…He turned to walk at her side, limping, and she remembered how considerate he’d been, sleeping on Philip’s pallet instead of sharing the bed with her.
She’d almost been disappointed to awaken alone.
In the great hall, Milburn stepped in front of them, and they both came to a stop. She had a sick feeling of panic, so unusual for her. Had John’s identity been discovered? Had the fact that she slept safe in his room caused too much notice?
Milburn took the tray from her hands and gave it to John. “Lord Bannaster would like to see you, Anne.”
In that moment, her years of training resurfaced, and she found herself becoming calm. There were people all around them; it was the start of a new day, and Bannaster was no longer drunk.
But John stepped forward with his hand on his dagger, and Milburn arched a brow.
She put a hand on John’s arm. “Nay, ’tis all right,” she said quietly. “I will not leave the hall.”
She saw the way his jaw clenched, but he only nodded once. The relief inside her gave way to gratitude—he trusted her to make her own decisions. How many women could say that of the man they would marry?
She felt warm inside just looking at John. Milburn, usually so impassive, seemed almost…amused. Elizabeth schooled her features into stern lines and walked to the dais, where Bannaster sat at the head table, breaking his fast.
The viscount looked up at her, and there was no embarrassment in his expression.
Of course not—he was the kind of man who believed he could have any lowly maiden he wished.
“Anne,” he said, after chewing and swallowing a piece of bread, “you can tell Lady Elizabeth that I heard of her betrothed in London.”
She stiffened in surprise, but only nodded, hoping he would continue.
“Quite to my surprise, the king has received regular reports on him for many years. It seems he’s quite famous in Europe.”
“Lady Elizabeth had heard of his talent as a swordsman,” she said cautiously.
“He’s won many of the major tournaments, and apparently he’s quite in demand as a mercenary. A gifted fellow.”
She didn’t understand what Bannaster’s purpose was in telling her all this.
“But sadly, although he may be gifted, it is obvious he cares as little for family obligations as his brother did, for he’s not come back for your lady.”
She lowered her eyes, for she couldn’t show triumph. And then her good feelings faded away, as she realized that yet another person believed the worst of William.
Bannaster sighed. “William was a pleasant companion, though, and I must admit to missing him. No one could sway a roomful of wenches with his handsome looks as much as William could. He knew just what to say. When he died, I was worried what would happen to this estate. It is only fair that as his friend, I make sure it is taken care of.”
He sounded like he believed everything he was saying, too, as if marriage and an impressive dowry were a great hardship no one wanted to bear.
Bannaster scrutinized her again. “You make sure to tell Lady Elizabeth what I said.”
“Of course, my lord.” She curtsied and turned away from him.
John was waiting for her before the hearth, propped on his crutch. He’d been right about his brother all along, and she’d doubted him.
She walked toward him, and he smiled, and even the pull of his scar made her all soft inside for him.
When she stopped before him, he said, “Milburn has asked me to record the amount of sheep grazing Hillesley’s pastureland.”
“I can be ready to leave.”
He arched a brow.
“For Hillesley, anyway,” she amended.
In a lower voice, he said, “Are you well? What did he want?”
Elizabeth looked about, but the hall was emptying except for a few valets who cleaned the trestle tables. “I’m fine. He wanted to slur your name.”
Surprised, he glanced at Bannaster, but the man was already talking to Milburn as he walked toward the double doors leading outside.
“My name?” he echoed, amused.
“It seems the king has been following your famous exploits. I would have thought the king’s interest in you would bother Bannaster, but he seems far too sure of himself.”
“How is that a slur?”
She took a deep breath. “He compared you to your brother, and said that you obviously cared as little for your obligations as he did.”
Silently, John watched her. His eyes were so warm with understanding that she could have cried. Oh, how she was sick of these emotions she could so little control.
She sighed. “So it seems the king is an admirer of yours. That might help us someday. I don’t want to be caught unaware, so tell me of the condition of Rame Castle.”
“You know, I’ve come to believe that William might not truly have known what was going on there. The steward could have been the one deceiving him.”
“John, you don’t have to protect me. Regardless of whether he knew or not, William should have visited his family seat, evaluated its condition with his own eyes. And he didn’t.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, sweetling,” he murmured. “Rame will be yours as well, and I know how you take care of everything that’s yours.”
She wasn’t just giving her property away, she realized. He was offering to share his own. “Come, you can tell me all about it on the journey to Hillesley.”
As they walked outside, she felt as if she finally put the ghost of William to rest. Though he had tried to please her in ways that mattered to a little girl, he’d had his flaws. And he might have ruined Castle Alderley and all its property, if he’d have taken control from her.
But not John. She trusted that he would know that she had the best interests at heart of all of her people. He seemed to value her help and her opinion. If all he had wanted was her property, he wouldn’t care what she thought.
Could this be love? she suddenly wondered. Was she finally growing up, realizing what was important in her life?
She went on with her day, feeling better than she had in a long time. She was going to make this work. The king would want to hear John’s side of the story. Patience might be all she needed to cultivate.
After supper that evening, Adalia hesitantly approached Elizabeth when she came into the kitchen for a tray for Anne.
“Might I speak with ye a moment?” Adalia asked.
“Of course,” Elizabeth said with concern. The cook did not seem her usual sunny self. Was something else about to go wrong?
As Elizabeth had promised, she turned to see if John saw them. He nodded to her, and she told herself she wasn’t asking permission, only granting him a courtesy so that he would not have to worry about her.
Elizabeth followed her into the cook’s chamber, across the corridor behind the kitchens.
Adalia shut the door, then came to Elizabeth and took her hand. “You did not sleep in the kitchens last night.”
“Forgive me for not telling you. I did not know myself what would happen.”
“Bannaster did not…come back for ye, did he?”
“Nay!” she quickly said, patting Adalia’s hand. “I was safe.”
“You were with Sir John?”
Warily, Elizabeth nodded. “But not in the way you might be thinking. He has not—He is only protecting me.”
Adalia closed her eyes in relief. “Oh, thank God above for that. I know he’s been sniffin’ around ye. Poor man, he thinks ye’re but a maid.”
She wanted to tell Adalia the truth, but how could she give the woman information she would have to keep hidden? It would make everything so much more complicated.
“He understands…how things are between us,” Elizabeth finally said.
“Yet he still wants to protect ye. He’s a good man. Maybe I should be flirtin’ with him next!”
Adalia laughed, but Elizabeth realized she had to force an answering smile.
Was she already jealous of any attention John might give someone else? She didn’t like the kind of woman that made her, one doubting of her own abilities.
Before these last few months, she’d never doubted any of her skills! Or perhaps she’d never been truly tried in a time of adversity.
John spent a tense evening, constantly watching Bannaster. Though Elizabeth had remained near his side as he’d asked her to, John kept expecting Bannaster to notice her again.
But the viscount did not seem to be imbibing like he had the previous evening. In fact, he seemed almost…melancholy, as if he’d been so confident in his plan to approach the king, but now had had proven to him that being a cousin did not necessarily sway a monarch.
And a man who’d lost confidence in one way to deal with a matter, often found a more dangerous method. John had warned the four Alderley guards to be extra cautious when on duty at the base of the tower. Philip was supposed to be suggesting the same thing to Bannaster’s own soldiers, to see who among them would be inclined to protect a lady, regardless of what she was to his master.
Finally, John had confirmation that Bannaster had retired to his bed. Philip, who was playing dice with the soldiers, casually met John’s gaze across the hall, and slightly inclined his head toward the corridor. Philip needed to meet with him? John wondered, feeling his tension begin to rise again.
But first, John escorted Elizabeth to his bedchamber. When he did not enter behind her, she gave him a questioning glance.
“I have to speak with Philip,” he said. “I won’t be long, and I’ll be nearby in the corridor.”
She frowned. “You do not have to worry about me constantly. Bannaster did not confront me today.”
“You should not assume he is finished with you. Desperate men do desperate things. And a man long without a woman is a danger as well.”
“Is that a hint?” she asked sweetly. “Or a threat?”
He had an urge to laugh, and it felt good. Why was he letting himself get nervous about his life with her? She was even amusing, and he liked that about her.
“I don’t need to threaten,” he whispered, backing away.
“Oh, I’ll just succumb?” she answered.
He grinned. “You were the one who wanted to.”
He left her looking nonplussed.
He walked down the corridor, took a turn, and found Philip waiting for him, leaning negligently against the wall.
“Well?” John said softly.
“As I said before, there are several good men in Bannaster’s army that I would trust with my life—were I fighting on their side,” Philip added.
“But do they at least agree that Bannaster should not be allowed up into the tower alone?”
“They did, but he is their lord. How would they stop him?”
“They would have the help of Alderley’s soldier on guard, but what would stop Bannaster from having his own man killed for disobeying him?”
“And then again, in his anger at being denied, he might turn to the real heiress.”
Though Philip spoke in a low voice, John winced. “You should not speak such things aloud.”
“I was not followed.”
“Are you so confident in your abilities?” John asked, telling himself to relax.
“You taught me to be that.”
Suddenly Philip’s head jerked forward, and he pitched into John’s arms, unconscious. John only had the briefest glimpse of a club aimed at his own head. He let go of Philip’s body to bring the crutch up, but he was too late. The blow caught him across the temple, a sharp, searing pain. The dark corridor turned to deep black as he passed out.
As John woke up, he couldn’t decide whether his eyes were open or closed. There was nothing but blackness, and a dank, unused odor, and the faint sound of dripping water echoing in the distance.
And pain; he winced with the way his head pounded. It took him several moments before his thoughts became clear. He remembered Philip falling into him, then a club aimed at his head. It had all happened too fast for him to see the man wielding it.
He was lying on something hard and uneven, damp in spots. He reached above him as he sat up, not wanting to hit his head again.
A pounding ache made him hold still until the nausea subsided. He reached up and felt his face; he wasn’t wearing a blindfold. He touched something wet at his temple, and knew he was bleeding. He followed the trace down his face, to his clothing, and detected no terrible wetness, so hopefully it was not too serious a wound.
He ran his hand over what he was sitting on, and it had the deep coldness of stone, rough where it had been carved.
Someone nearby groaned.
John went still. “Philip?” Was he actually lucky enough to be imprisoned with his man-at-arms?
For a moment, all he heard was deep, sporadic breathing.
“John?” Philip’s voice was husky, ragged.
“I’m here. I just woke up.”
“Can you see?”
“Nay, I cannot. At least we’ve not been blinded.”
“Unless we’ve been blinded together.”
John grunted. “I’m lying on a rock ledge.”
“And I as well. You’ve explored no farther?”
“I was about to, until I heard you.”
“D
o you know what happened? I remember speaking with you and then—nothing.”
“You were hit from behind, fell into me, and then I was clubbed across the head. From the way my voice sounds, I don’t believe we’re in a big room. I am going to follow the wall behind me and see where it leads. Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
“Then you go to your left, I’ll go to my right, and hopefully we’ll meet.”
It didn’t take long. They shuffled their feet over the uneven floor, stepping in shallow puddles. The wall was rough, obviously carved, wet with moisture and moss. They met in minutes, then worked their way back. Several other “benches” were carved out of the rock.
Before they met again, John touched something made of wood. Splinters pierced his fingers as he explored. “I’ve found a door.”
Philip was beside him a moment later. “It is as I feared then.”
“We’re in a dungeon.”
“Alderley has a dungeon?” Philip wondered.
“I hadn’t heard of one, but then I’m a bailiff. No soldiers mentioned it?”
“They’re as much strangers here as we are.”
For several minutes, they tried to break down the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Then we have nothing to do but wait,” John finally said, rubbing his aching shoulder.
“And wonder,” Philip added darkly. “Think you we should yell?”
“A dungeon is usually deep enough for sound to be trapped, but you can give it a try.”
Philip did, until his voice grew hoarse. Conversation was pointless, since they didn’t want to discuss anything private for fear someone was listening. They both tried to sleep. John wasn’t successful. His eyes were wide open when the first light registered.
“Do you see that, Philip?”
“Light in the cracks of the door?”
“Aye.”
They remained silent, waiting. The light grew brighter, outlining the solid door. They stationed themselves on either side of it, hoping someone was fool enough to come in alone.
“Sir John,” boomed a voice that echoed from the corridor outside.