Bound By Blood

by Kimberly Hoyt

  "That pleases me more than it ought to," she admitted. The knowledge that they were going back tonight made her aware that there were a few things she needed to do and she started to rise. "Thank you for bringing me here and helping me past my panic," she said.

  Sebastian rose as well and aided her with a hand beneath her elbow. "Of course," he said, his gaze still heavy and intent on her. "You will allow me to escort you inside?"

  "I would like that, yes," Laurel said, accepting his arm in a routine that had become familiar and let him lead her across the grass.

  Now all she had to do was keep Anne at bay, choose a dress for this evening and secure a blindfold so that he wouldn't balk when he saw her chosen method for taking them home.

  Laurel smoothed her hands down the layers of the dress that fit her like a dream. It was unlike any other dress she'd found in the wardrobe, the shoulder straps thin, the daring neckline low and fitted, the color a light turquoise that did her pale hair and tan skin justice. From the waist, one short layer after another fell toward the floor, gauzy and ethereal, and she refused to wear anything beneath it that would make it bell out at the bottom. She wanted it loose and flowing around her legs. The blindfold had been strapped to a garter around her thigh, out of sight.

  Katherine had exclaimed over the gown, declaring it both scandalous and gorgeous. The good lady in waiting had hurried along some few minutes before, assured Laurel would follow in a moment.

  Upon returning from under the cherry tree with Sebastian, Laurel had been obliged to see to her 'duties', as much as it annoyed her. She kept telling herself that after tonight, she wouldn't have to worry about pampering Anne any longer.

  Now, she stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her. She had the cherry blossom safely tucked in the bodice of the gown and the charm around her neck.

  Everything was in place.

  Making her way through the gloomy hallways, she eased in at the back of the king and queen's entourage as if she'd been there all along. Katherine, she knew, had probably said Laurel was off doing this or that chore for the queen. She was a faithful little mouse of a roommate, covering for her like frat girls in college. After Henry and Anne had gone through the ritual seating ceremony and received their due, Laurel stepped away from the other ladies in waiting, searching out only one man among the many.

  She was aware that her entrance caused a stir among the nobles, saw the startled glances at her gown. Locking gazes with Sebastian, who stood across the room with a goblet in hand, she was pleased to see how her appearance affected him. His gaze sharpened and raked over her in the most possessive way. Laurel didn't worry about getting into trouble, or shirking her duties, or anything but luring that fine gentleman closer so they could get on with the business of leaving.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It promised to be a rowdy night at court. A sense of expectation and merriment seemed to hang over the great hall and the courtiers already gathering there. The candles burned a little brighter, the tapestries on the stone walls seemed a little more vibrant. Perhaps it was his own mood to blame, Sebastian mused, as he stood conversing over wine with the young Earl of Devon, and the musician Mark Smeaton.

  Mark strummed the fiddle as they talked, and Sebastian noticed that his eyes lit when the Queen made her appearance. Both the monarchs wore cloth-of-gold and white. Together they made a stunning picture. For a moment he suffered a pang of regret for Anne, because despite how beautiful they looked on the outside, like a rotting apple there was disease within.

  As a whole, the courtiers bowed as their rulers entered, and when he straightened, Sebastian’s attention bypassed the monarchs and searched the sea of ladies trailing in the Queen’s wake. There…no, the hair was not the right shade of --- there.

  Like a healing wind she blew in with her blue eyes and odd mysteries, and he felt his heart stammer in his chest when their eyes connected. He stopped talking mid-sentence, and his gaze burned up the distance between them. The dress defined every feminine curve, the color an astounding shade of pale turquoise.

  She was exquisite.

  The neckline was low enough to heat his blood, even from here.

  “You’re to be envied, man,” Harry -- the Earl of Devon -- spoke beside him. “She’s the most beautiful woman at court …” he paused, and thought better of himself before adding, “… after the Queen, of course.”

  Sebastian slanted him a wry look that turned into a full-fledged grin. Clapping him on the shoulder, he turned and strode toward the royal entourage. More than one set of feminine eyes followed him as he moved through the crowd, but only one was the precise shade of blue that drew him like a moth to a flame.

  He had dressed with more care than usual tonight: a heavy brocade doublet in deep emerald green, the sleeves slashed near his broad shoulders to reveal the white shirt beneath. The brocade was stitched with a subtle vine pattern and trimmed in gold, and the short breeches matched. Hose hugged his powerful thighs, and boots in rich black leather rose up his legs to just above the knee. A thick chain of large gold links lay around his neck, and the sword on his hip swayed with his stride.

  Anne tried to catch his eye in passing as he came close to the monarchs in his search for the Queen’s lady. Once he had the blonde in his sights, there was no looking elsewhere. With head and shoulders inclined toward the King and Queen, he continued past until he reached her-- a predator on the hunt with blood that would never run so hot again.

  “My God, you are ravishing, my lady,” he said, his eyes raking over her in the flickering candlelight. He swept one hand toward her to escort her into the throng, his gaze lingering on her wine-wet mouth and the subtle flush on her cheeks.

  “You want to ravish me, you say? My lord. We should at least wait until we are in private,” she said, laughing, as she looked him over. “You tempt me to touch you again.”

  “If that is an invitation, my lady, I accept,” he said, his eyes dancing with laughter and something much more intimate. “And there, in private, you can touch me at your leisure.”

  “You are very generous this evening, Your Grace.” Her voice trembled on the verge of another laugh, and Sebastian was hard-pressed not to steal it, and a kiss, from her pretty mouth.

  He guided her to a table and snagged two cups of wine, pressing one into her hand. "Mm, I could be even more generous, my lady."

  "Please, enlighten me."

  Sebastian noticed Anne's brother and the Duke of Kent were heading their direction. He didn't think he imagined the intent looks on their faces. They were a pair of men bent on interrupting his time with the lady.

  She was just finishing a sip of wine when he took the cup from her hand, set it down, and swept her out onto the dance floor. He nodded at the two men in passing, like he didn't know what they were about, and then turned all his attention to her.

  "Perhaps you are better enlightened when we are alone, my lady," he said, leading her through an intricate set of steps.

  Sebastian was aware of the attention his lady received even if she did not. He wondered what game Boleyn was scheming at now, and saw how Kent watched her as they danced. It riled his possessive streak…a streak he shouldn't have had knowing the lady-in-waiting only two days.

  “If that is anything like the kiss in the maze, then yes," she said, eyes lifted to his.

  He was about to reply when the dance ended. Like the other men in his line, he stood across from her and bowed. Before he could either ask her for another round or lead her into the music, Kent strode onto the floor and approached them. He stood a few inches shorter than Sebastian, had wheat colored hair, and shoulders that filled out his doublet.

  "Your Grace," Kent said, interrupting with a nod to both. "With your permission?"

  Kent wanted to dance with her. Sebastian, about to breach protocol and deny him, was waylaid by the King descending his throne and calling for a certain favorite song, Anne on his arm.

  Sebastian clapped Kent on the shoulder,
grinning. "Damn unfortunate. Another time, perhaps."

  "Count on it, your Grace," Kent said with open disappointment and bowed his head to Sebastian and the lady.

  Laurel looked surprised, and a little confused, at the entire exchange.

  He had no right to be so possessive, he was aware, but he also made no apologies. His message was clear: Laurel was under his protection. Wearing a dashing grin that smacked of male superiority, he collected her hand and tucked it over the bend of his elbow, leading her from the floor, saying loud enough to be heard by anyone nearby, “Wine, my lady?”

  “Wine would be lovely, your Grace.”

  As they departed, he slanted a look over his shoulder at Boleyn, acknowledging that he knew the man was up to something. Henry's attention to Anne left no doubt that -- for tonight at least -- he found favor with his young wife. It made some among them relieved to see, and set others back. Love was never simply love in the life of a monarch, and with every possible excuse the courtiers schemed and played at games of power.

  Once at the table, Sebastian procured two cups of wine and pressed one into Laurel’s hand.

  “Thank you. Who was that?” she asked without glancing in Kent’s direction.

  “The Duke of Kent,” he answered her, adding, “perhaps my apartments are a more prudent place to talk, my lady.“ The invitation in his eyes was blatant.

  She had only a sip before she pressed close to leave the goblet on the table.

  “And I am impatient. Lead on, my lord,” she whispered, stepping back to take his elbow on her own accord.

  Her boldness continued to inspire his passion, and for all that he knew it was visible to everyone present, he could not prevent it. He did have a care for her reputation, however, and rather than escort her from the room, Sebastian took her hand and bowed over it, brushing a kiss on her delicate knuckles. He spoke low and heated. “Wait in the south corridor. I will follow.”

  She answered him with a subtle nod of acknowledgment.

  In a louder voice for anyone who happened to be listening, he said, “Good evening, my lady. I trust your head will be much improved after a night’s rest.”

  “Good evening, your Grace. I believe I will feel much better tomorrow."

  Delighted by how easily she played along, he watched as she turned to depart the hall. She had only gone a short distance before Sebastian turned and cut a preemptive path toward Kent and Boleyn, in case the latter had an idea toward following the lady.

  “You seem to have the exclusive attention of the Lady Mayfield,” Kent mentioned once greetings had been exchanged between the three. “What does it take, I wonder, to gain a few minutes audience with her?”

  Boleyn smiled the same way a snake might and let Kent talk. Whatever Kent was up to, Sebastian knew that Boleyn was behind it. The why of it, he could not yet guess.

  “You would have to ask the lady,” Sebastian answered. “But one wonders, my lord, why-- in acknowledging that her preference is for another--you are so intent on gaining her attention.”

  “Her preference, Thorn? Or yours?”

  Although Sebastian’s eyes chilled a little, his smile remained smooth and amiable. “Did you see the lady resisting?”

  “Indeed, I did not,” Kent admitted.

  Making ready to depart, he clapped Kent on the shoulder and glanced around him at Boleyn, his expression hardening. Another man would have hesitated to anger the Duke of Darkthorne because he stood high in the King’s favor. Boleyn had a Queen as a sister, which gave him some bit of leverage.

  “My lords,” Sebastian said, peeling away from the pair to make a circuit of the hall before exiting through a shadowed doorway.

  Moments later, he rounded the corner of the south corridor to find the lady standing under the warm glow of the candle above her. It rendered her pale hair almost golden, and the vision of it put a spark in his eyes. He caught her elbow with his hand, leading her down the shadowed hall toward his apartments with a belated, “My lady.”

  "Your Grace."

  At the door to his apartments, his man stood guard, bowing his head to them as they passed inside. Sebastian’s private space consisted of several rooms including the bedchamber, and though they were not as lavish as that of a king or queen, they befitted a Duke. He led her toward a chaise in front of a fire in the antechamber.

  "Thank you," she said, flicking the skirts before sitting down. She smoothed them out with her palms, watching him.

  “Kent means to make your acquaintance." He stepped aside to pour them both wine. Handing her a pewter cup, he settled on the floor near the chaise, his back against a chair and his legs sprawled across an expensive rug.

  “I am not particularly interested in meeting him." Something in her eyes suggested that she wondered why had chosen a seat close, but apart.

  “I fear he will make it happen whether you will it or no, my lady. I thought you should be aware.”

  Laurel leaned toward him, her eyes lit with mischief. “But he is not the one I wish to touch.” Her murmur was conspiratorial, like she was sharing a secret.

  Sebastian’s grin flashed handsome and wolfish in the firelight, and he reached up and took her hand before she could lean away. Watching her, he pulled her hand forward with slow deliberation and laid it on his muscled thigh. “I am relieved to hear it, my lady,” he said. “He is a decent fellow. I would have hated to kill him.”

  Her laughter was pleasant and intimate on his ears, but it was the heat in her eyes that warmed his blood. As they bantered, she kneaded the flesh of his thigh with her delicate hand, and he swept his thumb in idle caresses across her knuckles.

  She set her goblet aside and eased forward to her knees on the floor. Reaching down, she clasped the heel of his boot and tugged it off. He watched her do one, and then the other. Her fingers followed the hose up along his muscled leg, coming to rest at the edge of his breeches.

  He wanted her, this strange and remarkable woman. It was hard to feel guilty for it when he had held himself away from all other women out of love for Anne.

  Was he not a man, with a man’s needs?

  His eyes had darkened, the expression in them intimate and tinged with lust. “Tell me of you, my lady."

  She touched him, exploring the contours of his legs in a way that hinted at fascination. “What would you like to know, your Grace?”

  As they talked, she worked her way to the clasps on his doublet, unhooking them so he could shed the garment. He shucked it aside without a thought, leaving him in a flowing white shirt, the collar opened and the cuffs framing his big hands.

  “The truth, my lady." He challenged her to trust him.

  Her fingers faltered on his chest and she glanced at his eyes. "I would rather hear about you."

  Leaning forward, he caught her around the waist with his hands and settled her on his lap. When he had her seated on his thigh, he said, “I believe you know of me already.”

  “Only just, and not as thoroughly as I’d like to. I don’t even know which parts of a woman you enjoy best, or all the little things that please you.”

  His eyes remained intent on hers, though he reached up to trace the chain around her neck where it lay against her skin. She often touched the charm on the end, he noted. “We talk much and say very little, I fear, my lady.”

  “That’s because we speak so much more eloquently with looks and touches,” she said, drawing in a breath at the sweep of his fingertip over her collarbone.

  He rumbled a deep sound, snaking one strong arm around her hard and fast when she curled against him. It was an odd cocoon he’d carved out on the floor; his back against the chair, the two of them tucked in the juncture where the chaise and the chair touched arms. The fire popped on occasion, sending up sparks as logs collapsed in on each other.

  “There is not one part I prefer over another. All women have their charms,” he told her. “Some women have beautiful breasts --” as he spoke, he brought his hand up and trailed his fingertips ov
er the flesh that swelled above the bodice of her gown.

  She sucked in a sharp breath in response.

  “Some have fetching hips.” His hand trailed down her side, pressing a squeeze against one slender curve.

  “Mouths that --” here he paused, leaning into her so he could brush his mouth against her own. Her quiet moan made him taut beneath her. “… were made to be kissed.”

  Her fingers skimmed down his jaw. When their mouths parted, she said, “I miss you."

  Her words, and the look in her eyes, drew him up short. He leaned back to regard her, one hand splaying open over her ribcage.

  “But I am here, my lady,” he said, studying her expression.

  “Yes. And I am glad for it.”

  A moment passed between them during which he thought they both acknowledged that she was not telling him the entire truth. She said no more, and he didn’t press her. He chose instead to kiss her again, locked onto her fathomless eyes as he leaned in. Sebastian kissed her more fully now, parting her with practiced tenderness so he could taste the silk of her mouth. A shudder rolled through him as he stroked inside her, and his hand flexed against her hip when her deft little tongue fenced expertly with his.

  “What part of a man do you like, my lady?” he asked, breaking the contact.

  She shifted and straddled his lap, the dress rippling over his thighs and the floor. "I like when you kiss me and look at me like you are right now."

  He pinned her hips with his hands, centering her over him. Sliding his hands up her back, he felt for the stays on her dress, plucking them open to loosen the bodice. He watched her as he did so, the alluring expression on her face telling him that she had no desire for him to stop. Lowering his dark head, he brushed his hot mouth across the swells of her breasts, his shadow-whiskers rasping over her skin. It was not a vulgar burying of his head, but a seductive taste, exploring the texture of her flesh, her scent.

  There was a resonance to their interaction that felt … right. He could use no other word to explain it. She felt good in his hands, across his thighs, a comfortable fit in more ways than one. This space seemed carved out just for her.