by Gail Link
Inside, the girls lay cocooned in their bed, the hangings surrounding the bed embracing them in darkness.
Sleep had not claimed all the inhabitants.
"Curse these things," Clare hissed, pushing one of the heavy embroidered panels aside. "Sweet Mary, I cannot breathe."
Audrey, who lay prone watching her sister, pushed herself up, arranging the pillows so that she could lean against them. Reaching out her slim hand, Audrey pushed aside the tangled mass of blonde waves that hid Clare's face from view.
"Be calm, sister."
Clare tossed off the comforting hand with a shrug of her shoulder, twisting herself around in the bed until she faced Audrey. Her blue eyes rested on her twin's smooth features, her hair neatly plaited, her manner demure. She looks like an angel, Clare thought, while I probably resemble some hound from hell.
"What troubles you so?"
"Things too numerous to mention, dear Audrey. Forgive me for waking you."
"'Tis not just Belle's abduction, is it?"
Clare and Audrey exchanged glances; the secrets each kept were impairing their ability to see into each other's hearts.
Clare rested her head on Audrey's shoulder, missing the closeness that now seemed elusive. Audrey responded by hugging Clare close, whispering, "Tell me, please. I know your sleep was disturbed."
She tried to evade Audrey's question by answering, "Sir John hasn't told us the complete truth. He has some idea why this man took Belle from us. We have a right to know the truth."
"Most assuredly, Clare. But Sir John must have a good reason for keeping the truth from our ears. Mayhap 'tis a delicate political manoeuvre involving the king, and Sir John is honor-bound not to break his oath."
"Perhaps. Yet I feel that is not the answer."
"What bothers you, Clare?"
Clare pulled abruptly away from her sister's embrace, bringing her knees up. She rested her chin on them, the golden waves of her hair hiding her face. She took a deep breath. Then, knowing that she couldn't continue to ignore her twin, she said, "Nothing."
"That is an untruth, and well you know it. Do you fear separation from William?"
"He is a mere boy, Audrey." Clare scoffed. She listened to the weary tone of her own voice. Only days ago William was an object to practice her tentative woman's wiles on. Now that seemed such a childish waste of time. She was merely flirting as she had seen other girls her age do. Harmless. Fun. A lifetime ago.
"Then what? Who?"
Who indeed, Clare thought. Who was he? Clare had asked herself that question the few times that she permitted herself to think of him. He was no phantom, for she remembered the hard touch of his hands on her arms, her lips, the strength of his slim body against hers.
Clare confessed, "One of the men that night." She spoke softly, the words painful in their utterance.
Audrey exclaimed, "One of Belle's captors?"
Twisting her head, Clare looked directly into Audrey's widened eyes. "Aye," Clare said. "'Tis unreasonable, unthinkable," she declared. "Yet I feel a pull towards him that I cannot understand. Can you comprehend that, Audrey?" Clare said, hoping that her sister could make sense of the senseless.
Audrey could do nothing except grasp Clare's hand, squeezing it with a reassuring embrace. "Mayhap 'twould be better if he remained only a spectre to you, sweet sister," Audrey said, her own eyes bright with unshed tears. She slid beneath the linens again. "We must rest for our journey, for Sir John will set a brisk pace, to be sure."
"Goodnight, Audrey."
"To you also, Clare."
Clare sat listening to Audrey's even breathing after her twin finally succumbed to sleep. She remained awake, turning the events of the past few days around in her mind, trying vainly to make coherent the incoherent. Gradually, exhaustion overcame her and she, too, fell asleep, though it afforded her no real comfort. Her sleep was disturbed by restless dreams, in which she was pursued by a creature that changed from man to bird, to cat, to horse, to man again. Clare jolted awake, saw the yellow glow of the rising sun, and admitted defeat, consigning sleep to some quieter night.
Chapter 10
Hugh Fitzgerald stood outside the open door to his bedchamber. He watched the woman sitting inside, head bent; the light from the mullioned window caressed the black strands of hair plaited into a single thick braid. The green ribbon, woven through the woman's hair matched the simple woolen dress She wore.
''Mavoureen dheelish," he said, entering the room.
At the sound of the endearment, Duvessa turned from her needlework, dropping it on the floor, not caring what happened to it. She was intent only on seeking the comfort of the strong arms which beckoned her.
Hugh folded the slender woman into his embrace.
"Did I say it correctly?" he whispered.
"Aye, my love," she said, her voice a soothing caress.
"Duvessa, you shall always be 'my sweet darling,' for I have risked much to win you," he said, working her hair free from its be-ribboned constraint.
Duvessa wrapped her arms even tighter around her husband's slim waist. "Think you that I do not know that? Have I also not made sacrifices?" She raised her head, looking Hugh full in the face. Her hazel-green eyes were guileless, direct in their sincerity. "I would do so again, gladly, to be wed with you. No matter what, 'twas the only way."
Cupping her small round face in his large soldier's hands, Hugh gazed down into the face of the woman he loved. "'Twas hard for you, Duvessa, that I know. Leaving Ireland, and your home, playing out that farce to spare you from wedding the man chosen for you by your cousin . . . Think you I liked playing the villain in this piece?" he demanded vehemently. "No. But I would do it a thousand times over, my love, if that is what I must do to have you at my side, in my bed.
"We are safely wed now," he said. "No one can challenge us, or deny our union. Did not the Archbishop of Canterbury himself perform the service? Did not the King's Grace attend, along with his queen? Christ!" he swore, "even as much as I loathe Elizabeth Woodville, she is a witness to reckon with."
"I would have traded your Edward and his entire court for your children."
A note of sadness crept into Hugh's voice. "As would I, Duvessa." His blue eyes darkened. "But leaving my girls in Ireland was something I had to do. If they'd come, the pretence would have been for naught. Too much precious time would have been wasted. This way, should your cousin send inquiries to them, they will know nothing and be safe."
"Yet . . . "
"Yet I would have had them if 'twere possible."
"Can we not send for them?"
"Aye," he said, placing a kiss on her head. "'Tis time they were informed of their father's marriage, paid their respects to his new bride. I shall dispatch a rider later this day." He scooped Duvessa up into his arms, making for the huge, canopied bed. Why had God blessed him so? he wondered. He had had the good fortune to love, and take to wife, two beautiful, loving women. He had three daughters of whom he was extremely proud; his king found favor with him . . .
His thoughts trailed off as he placed Duvessa on the wide bed. Straightening, Hugh pulled off the doublet he wore, tossing it haphazardly to the floor. Bending, he stripped off his hose and braies; his shirt followed.
Duvessa's eyes hungrily drank in the sight of her husband. She too wondered why God had chosen her to be so fortunate. She was wed to the man of her heart's choosing; he stood before her now in the full glory of his masculine beauty. What did she want with the callow youth Rolf had chosen for her? Here was the man of her dreams.
Above medium height, his body was defined by a lean musculature and broad shoulders. The sunlight set off golden sparks in his dark reddishblond hair, which curled thickly around his head. The thick hair that covered his wide chest angled down to a nest of hair, from which rose the essence of his masculinity.
She thought of the many times her nurse Matilida had repeated to her that true ladies received nothing from the necessary couplings with their husbands, excep
t perhaps a child. She had also cautioned that an older man wasn't able to perform his husbandly duties as well as a younger man.
Sweet Matilda, how very wrong you were, Duvessa thought saucily. Hugh gives me the greatest joy I have ever known. And as for his age . . . Hugh would be thirty-eight his next birthday, she knew. Better a seasoned stallion, Duvessa decided, able to give and sustain pleasure, then an untried colt, eager for his own get. She smiled. Father Geoffrey would probably tell me to say ten Hail Marys for my wicked, lustful fancies about Hugh.
Undoing the laces that held her gown in place, Duvessa gave herself up to her husband's claim, dragging his mouth to hers. For you, my heart, she thought, I have given up my country, and if the need should ever arise, I would give my life, gladly. I pray you never regret our love, for I never shall. Holy Mother, Sweet Jesus, thank you eternally for this greatest of gifts, the love of Hugh Fitzgerald.
Hugh's lips skimmed a path from her cheeks to the hollows of her throat, dipping to the flesh revealed by the opened neckline. He tasted Duvessa's flesh, felt her nipples tighten with desire as his mouth fed hungrily. Her sharp gasp of pleasure thrilled him. Shoving her skirt above her waist, Hugh knew he couldn't wait to completely undress her. His hands skimmed her thighs, which parted in anticipation.
"Hugh," she moaned, her hands grasping his shoulders tightly. "Hugh. . . . "
"Yes, love," he answered, "now," as he fit his body to hers, allowing the strong rhythm to carry them both. His wild cry of triumph mingled with her own husky exclamations of rapture.
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Duvessa lay within her husband's arms, her head against his left arm. She nipped a playful kiss on his index finger and tickled the back of his hand with the tip of her tongue, trying to touch each of the freckles she saw there.
Hugh's hand lifted her chin to meet his descending mouth, which covered hers in a powerful kiss.
"I fear we have missed the evening meal, my lord husband," Duvessa said, moving sinuously against his body, stretching like a contented, sleek cat.
"Indeed," he said, his wide mouth curved into a devilish grin.
"Shall I fetch something for us?" she asked, twisting her body around so that she faced him, her breasts against his chest, one slim leg wedged between his. She could feel the evidence of his desire hot and hard against her body.
"Perhaps you had better, else I shall be forced to administer another lesson in wifely duties."
Duvessa dropped a swift kiss onto his mouth before she lifted herself off his body and slid to her feet. She picked up their discarded clothes, laying them carefully across her chair and gathering her hastily dropped needlework. She smiled as she looked at her design: it consisted of their joint emblems on one coat of arms. Her fingertips touched the raised colors; her lips curved sweetly. This was to be for Hugh's birthday, a hopeful sign for their future babes. She so wanted to have Hugh's child. A man of his position and wealth needed a male heir, as did she. Her property in Ireland demanded it. One hand strayed to her flat belly. She prayed daily for a child, asking the Holy Mother to intercede for her.
A wanton smile revealed white teeth. 'Twould not be for want of trying, to be sure, Duvessa admitted, casting a quick glance at the blond man who lay with his eyes closed, dozing lightly, unconcerned about his nude state.
Pulling on a chemise of the finest lawn, she laced the ties across her breasts, feeling the fabric brush her sensitive nipples, making her recall with a sweet pain the pleasure of Hugh's mouth on her flesh.
She remembered the envious looks of some of the English ladies at the court as she slipped her arms into a robe of dark green velvet, banded with soft beaver fur. She touched the wide band of gold on her right hand. Hugh might have bedded some of those fine women, but he'd married her. She shared his name, his bed, his home, his life. And, she thought darkly, his guilt when Rolf found out the truth.
She slipped out the door, heading for the stairs at the back that lead directly to the lower floors and the kitchen of the huge manor house. As she descended the circular stairs, Duvessa felt a stab of apprehension. What would Rolf do when he discovered that she was gone?
When Rolf's last message reached her, informing her that he was about to arrange her marriage with Lord Lorcan, Duvessa had felt trapped. She loved her strong-willed cousin, honored him as her guardian. But stronger was the love she felt for the powerful English lord who was her neighbor. She knew Rolf's mind. He would never allow her to wed a Royal Sheriff, a symbol of English rule, nor would her priest defy her guardian and perform the ceremony to join her to the Englishman.
Knowing Hugh wanted to offer for her, and fearing that Rolf would spirit her away to his own stronghold, Duvessa begged Hugh to find another solution. His idea was simple: he would abduct her; they would go to England for their marriage ceremony, then inform Rolf. Desperate, afraid of losing Hugh, Duvessa agreed to his plan.
Now, experiencing the potent force of Hugh's lovemaking, sharing his quick mind and important dreams, Duvessa realized she would have done anything to have him, including, had he wished, becoming his mistress. Rolf would have to be made to understand just what this union meant to her, for she had no intention of giving Hugh up.
A sudden inspiration flicked through her brain. Her step-daughter Sybelle. She would be a powerful ally in her battle. Sybelle loved her father; she was close to Duvessa. She would be the voice of reason to Rolf. He couldn't manipulate Sybelle, Duvessa decided, as she entered the kitchen, smiling at the cook.
"What is it that you be wanting, Countess?" asked the cook, wiping her big hands on her apron, which already held traces of her work. She was a plain-speaking countrywoman, proud to be in the employ of such a man as Lord Derran. She guarded her territory jealously, aware that men were usually the holders of her position, and she wasn't sure what to make of the young foreigner her lord had taken to wife. This had been a secure job; she didn't want to lose it.
"I would like something for my husband and myself," she said.
"Shall I send a servant to you?"
"No," Duvessa instructed. "That won't be necessary. I will take our meal myself. What have you on hand?"
Duvessa blushed under the portly cook's knowing glance.
"Some cheese, a joint of mutton, smoked ham, my lady."
"Ham, I think," Duvessa said, searching for a tray. She found one and laid it before the cook.
"Thick slices, please. And some of that cheese, too."
As the cook sliced the ham, she observed the young countess fetching apples from a pile, selecting a loaf of hot bread. It took no great intelligence to know why the earl and his countess had skipped their evening meal; the flushed, happy glow on the Irishwoman's face was all one needed to see.
Duvessa loaded the tray, helping herself to one thick piece of succulent ham. "Excellent," she pronounced, and then looked at the mutton.
"Would you be wanting that also?"
Duvessa shook her head. "No, not right now. I have been told though, by my lord husband, that you make a fine lamb stew. That I should very much love to taste," she said as she hoisted the tray.
Watching her leave, the cook grabbed the joint and began slicing it into chunks, adding carrots and onions. It occurred to her that people of such strong appetites wouldn't be satisfied with a single feeding.
On the stairs, returning to their room, Duvessa thought once again of Sybelle. She wished she could have confided in her, but she had acquiesced to Hugh's wishes, keeping the secret of her love and their plans.
Duvessa considered Sybelle and Rolf. Aye, that would be a match indeed. . . .
"No!"
The shouted word reached Duvessa's ears as it echoed loudly, painfully, through the manor house. She dropped the tray in the hall in her haste to reach her husband.
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The parchment was crumpled in Hugh's closed fist; his face was contorted with the rage he was feeling, directed
both at the Earl of Killroone and at himself. "That Irish son of a bitch!" He swore aloud as Duvessa burst into the room, panting.
"Hugh! My God, what has happened?" she questioned, hurrying to his side. She'd never seen her husband so angry before. It frightened her. She placed a hand on his clenched fist, felt the knots of tension.
"I am instructed to give you this also, my lord. 'Tis from my father."
Duvessa looked around, noting for the first time that she and her husband were not alone in their chambers. A young man, barely older than a boy, stood before her, mud and dirt caked to his clothes and person, his manner hesitant. His gaze was downcast. Duvessa could see the stain of color rising in his face as he realized what he was interrupting.
Duvessa drew herself to her full height, which was the equal or more of most men's, and repeated her question.
Hugh replied tersely, releasing the papers. "Read this."
Duvessa obeyed as Hugh took the other sealed missive from the messenger.
Hugh quickly scanned the short document. He read Sir John's hastily coded message informing him that his daughters were now en route to Graywood for their safety.
When he looked up from the note, his eyes were old. Both Duvessa and the lad felt shudders of fear slip along their bodies. Instead of the hotblooded lover of a short time ago, Duvessa saw another man, a man whose features registered cold-blooded fury. This was a man who could kill, without fear or hesitation.
Duvessa shivered.
She re-read the sheets Clare had written. Sybelle abducted.
"Get below," Hugh instructed the younger man. "Have a bath and some food." He swept his eyes over the dirty clothes. "See to it that someone provides you with clean garments. You will ride to London later this night to deliver a message to the king for me. Go," he said, dismissing the lad with a curt nod of his head.
The youth did as he was told, saving his groan of fatigue for the stairs lest his master hear.
"What does Sir John say, my love?" Duvessa asked, approaching Hugh with caution.