Wolf's Embrace

by Gail Link

  Now all she could think about the weight of him across her body, for he still hadn't allowed her complete freedom of mobility. She found herself studying the mouth, wondering what it would feel like against her ownso very different, she reckoned, from the meek kiss of that squire.

  Bran wondered what the taste, the feel, of those innocent lips would do to him. Could he sample them and walk away? He had to, for in the morning he would be gone, never to see her again. Didn't he deserve something sweet to take with him? This was a memory to last him a lifetime, for their future was now; none other existed for them. Reaching out his hand he anchored it in her hair, holding her head, and slowly, inexorably, drew her to him. She was putting forth no resistance. Had she too felt the tug of their mutual attraction? Mouth touched mouth. Skin pressed against skin. Once wasn't enough for a lifetime. He deepened his kiss, gently persuading her lips to open beneath his, so that his tongue could slid in and stoke hers. He could feel her hands reaching for his shoulders; they were cool on his heated flesh. Pushing aside the material she wore that covered her body, he ran his hand around the silky flesh of her breast.

  A shaft of desire forced Clare to bite her lip for fear she would gasp aloud. His mouth was on her throat, taking snatches of her flesh and putting his mark on her with the hot brand of his lips. She arched her back unconsciously in an attempt to push her breast into his palms. How strange, how wonderful it felt, how right, for his warmth to be cupping her trembling body. Oh God, she thought brokenly, I must refuse him.

  I must reject this before it can go any further, he thought, feeling the pain as he pulled his lips from hers and drew a deep breath of air into his starved lungs. He longed instead to draw her beneath the linen that covered his now fully aroused body and sweep aside the cloth that hid her tender flesh from him, show her the way to passion, the way to love. He could not dishonor her, knowing that he would leave in the morning. He could not do that and find faith in himself.

  "You'd best return to your own chambers, and put this incident from your mind."

  Her blue eyes, darker in their passion, looked dazed. Clare found that she was free to leave. She scurried from the bed with as much dignity as she could muster, picking up the disgarded dagger.

  "Slan leat," he whispered in the darkness.

  She understood without being told that he was saying farewell. Clare couldn't bring herself to echo his words and said instead. "Au revoir, Branduff O'Dalaigh."

  He watched her go as silently as she had come. Her own words were not lost on him. She thought that they would see each other again. Would that it were the truth.

  Chapter 28

  Bran had departed for Wales, with an escort of Derran's men, that morn. Sybelle had quietly asked that he keep in touch with her, and Bran wondered if that would be a wise policy.

  Sybelle said, "I need to know that you have arrived at your destination without incident." She kissed his cheek, and he hers; then she sent him on his way, with Duvessa and the twins looking on.

  Hugh observed the scene from the window, a scowl on his handsome face, wishing that he could have satisfied his thirst for revenge.

  He had remained closeted with his bailiff for the remainder of the morning and well into the afternoon, discussing business of his various estates, business that he had for far too long paid little heed to. He had read the reports, but not absorbed them. Now that his daughter was restored to him, and he was about to become a father once again, he knew that he must keep a tighter rein on his affairs. Now, especially since he would no longer take an active part in the makeup of either Edward's judicial system, or any of Edward's affairs. He had resigned his post as Royal Sheriff, informing his king that henceforth he would no longer be involved in policies of state, directly or indirectly. He was sure that would upset Ned; he didn't much care. His loyalty was badly damaged; now there was nothing Ned could do to restore it. The relief he felt at being away from all the court intrigues surprised him. He was truly weary of the machinations of the Plantagenets, and most especially the Woodvilles.

  He crushed a document in his powerful hand. It still galled him that he had been forced to let that vermin spawn go. It would have given him satisfaction to have delivered Branduff O'Dalaigh to his brother, if not in pieces than in a burial casket, only to appease his sense of wronged honor. But where would that lead? a voice inside his head mocked. A temporary settlement of his hurt and anger, 'twould not restore what his daughter had surely lost, what he had lost.

  It would grant satisfaction, he answered back. Sweet satisfaction.

  He stood up, crossed to the window that looked out to the garden at the back of the estate. He could see Duvessa and Sybelle walking hand in hand, talking. It looked as though they had come from the small private chapel. He wondered if Duvessa was confiding in Sybelle about the forthcoming child. Or was his daughter telling Duvessa about her time as a captive of the lady's cousin?

  "I am so happy for you and my father, Duvessa. He must be overcome with the joyous news. A father again, at his age."

  "It does not trouble you, then?"

  Sybelle hugged her step-mother. "Of course not. He is a man who needs children." And happy tidings at this point in his life, Sybelle decided, aware of what her father had recently relinquished thanks to a word from Sir John.

  "I am glad you see that need in him also."

  "You know that my mother died in childbirth?"

  Duvessa stopped. "No, I did not."

  "She died giving birth to a son, and the boy died shortly thereafter. My father was desolate."

  Duvessa smiled. "I am young and healthy. My babe will be too."

  Sybelle hugged her again. "I pray that all will be well for you, and for me."

  Duvessa's wide eyes reflected her puzzlement. "What mean you?"

  "I carry Killroone's child," Sybelle said.

  Duvessa's eyes grew even rounder. She blinked and sat down on a carved stone bench. "Rolf's babe?"

  "Aye. And now I must tell my father."

  "'Tis glad I am that you waited till Branduff left US."

  "'Tis the reason that I did not tell my lord father last evening. He would have been too upset, I'll wager, to have given me his word that Bran would be safely escorted to Wales."

  Sybelle joined Duvessa on the bench, her hands folded primly in her lap. "Derran must be informed."

  "Aye," Duvessa agreed. "Hugh will have to know. Do you wish me to accompany you when you tell him?"

  Sybelle gave Duvessa a wide smile of thanks for the offer. "How I wish you could, though I think that I must be private with him whilst I explain."

  "What could you have to explain? 'Tis no fault of yours that you are carrying this child."

  Sybelle's gaze locked with Duvessa's. "No, that is not the truth."

  Duvessa did not know quite how to broach the subject without raising painful memories for her step-daughter. "Sybelle, there can be no blame if you were forced."

  Sybelle gave a sigh of relief that Duvessa did not hold to the theory that 'twas a woman's fault for merely being a woman, that temptation and sin were their particular lot in life. She herself had never subscribed to that canon. "'Twas not the result of being forced, Duvessa." Sybelle saw the shock and the dawning understanding in the hazel eyes as Duvessa comprehended what Sybelle was telling her.

  "You were in Rolf's bed willingly?"

  Sybelle smiled as Lugh, back from his run of the nearby hills, nuzzled her hand. She bent and hugged the dog before resuming her speech. "'Twould be more in truth to say that it happened in my bed. There was a night, a . . . " She trailed off, remembering the seduction she had willingly acquiesced to, participated in. Memories of that night filtered through her brain and spun her backwards, temporarily, to a feast of splendid sensations.

  "Sybelle?" Duvessa asked.

  Sybelle shook her head. "Forgive me," she said.

  "Do you love Roll?"

  "Let us say that I chose to keep this babe when offered a way to rid mysel

f of it."

  "Who offered you that choice?"

  "Etain." Sybelle scratched Lugh's ears, and the dog growled in contentment. "She asked if I wanted the babe, and I do."

  Duvessa noted that Sybelle had successfully avoided saying what were her real feelings about Rolf. Mayhap Sybelle couldn't put them into words as yet. She decided not to press the issue. "Are you returning to your own estate?"

  "No, I think not. I want to stay with my family. Though that shall be my father's decision." Sybelle sighed. "Perhaps he will want me to go away." Tears shimmered in her eyes. That was what she feared most, that after having been restored to her loving family, somehow she would be forced to leave so soon after.

  "Hugh will never cast you aside, Sybelle. He loves you too much for that."

  "I pray that you are correct."

  "There is only one way to know."

  Sybelle stood up, a determined look on her face. "I know." It was said with a finality. "Stay, Lugh," she commanded as the dog made to follow her.

  She knocked on her father's door, opening it to find him seated and perusing a document. He was checking a column of figures. Sybelle was proud that her father was a learned man. All too often, she knew, it was considered less than an accomplishment. Too many people who relied on others to read and interpret their business paid for that mistake when they found money and land lost through unscrupulous estate managers and corrupt bailiffs. Her father hand-picked all who worked for him, sure of their loyalty. Still, he deemed it his responsibility to make a check of all his properties. Her grandfather had lost much by trusting others. And Hugh had made sure that his daughters received the same education, for they were his heirs, and they would be custodians of the future generations of the family and its properties. Sybelle's hand strayed to her stomach; her heir was already conceived.

  Hugh held out his hand to her. Sybelle took it willingly, forsaking the other chair for a tapestried footstool, pulling it close. She sank down on that, resting her head in her father's lap.

  Hugh laid his hand on her head, softly caressing her hair. He couldn't at times believe that she was back, safe and secure, where none could harm her again. Guilt still weighed heavily on him as he blamed himself for what she had gone through. He was determined to make that up to her as best he could. He didn't know quite how he would do that as yet. He would find a way. He had to.

  Perhaps a grand marriage, with a dowry to rival that of any Plantagenet princess. She would be wed only to one he deemed worthy of his daughter. And a man who would shelter her from hurt. But could he part with her so soon? No. She must remain with him and his wife and daughters, and the babe to come. Had Duvessa told her?

  As if she had read his thoughts, she said, "Duvessa told me of the child to come."

  Hugh couldn't quite hide the pride in his voice. "'Tis a wondrous occurrence though, 'tis it not?"

  "Indeed."

  "Though I must confide that I worry about Duvessa. She is so young, and if anything were to happen to her . . . "

  "'Father, she is not a child. Remember when you were first wed? Both you and my mother were younger than I am, little more than a boy and a girl."

  "And I recall that your mother succumbed to death after the last babe."

  "Do not let that color your judgment regarding Duvessa and your child. All will be well." Her lips curved into a grin. "And did it not make you swell with pride to hear that you had fathered another child?"

  Hugh threw back his head and laughed. "Aye, daughter, it did indeed make me swell with pride"not to mention with love and the need to express that love to his wife, he added to himself. "One day I shall rejoice when you present me with your first babe."

  A thorn of fear pricked her heart. She must tell him while her courage was high.

  "Then you shall rejoice soon," she said, her voice calm and clear.

  He heard, but couldn't believe. Happiness was stripped from his expression; a shadow passed over his features. "What are you saying?" he asked, his tone dark and sober.

  "That come next year I shall give you that grandchild to adore."

  He gripped her arm and yanked her up from her position at his feet. "Did I hear you correctly?" he asked.

  "You did, Father," she responded.

  He released her and walked away. She could see him fighting for control as he hunched his shoulders and balled his hands into fists. He took a deep, steadying breath. Sybelle thought that she heard a slight moan coming from him; she couldn't be sure. Then he turned in her direction. "Killroone's," was all he said.

  "Mine," was her quick, proud reply.

  So it was not over, he thought. Damn the man! Damn him to hell! His options ran swiftly through his mind. He could demand that she rid herself of the unwanted child. He could force her into banishment to one of his other estates until she gave birth and then take the bastard child from her, making sure that it was raised well as befitting the illegitimate grandchild of the Earl of Derran. Or he could simply renounce Sybelle and her offspring, letting fate take her in hand. He could tell her to return to Ireland and have done with it. He could betroth her to an unwitting fool to give the babe a name. Aye, all these options were open to him. None could he choose. This was his Sybelle, whom he had witnessed being born, whom he had held and cherished mere moments after her birth. She was his delight, his comfort and counsel. He could no more abandon her than he could take a knife and plunge it into her heart.

  "Then, as yours," he said, opening his arms to her, "it shall be welcome in this house, in this family."

  Tears of relief coursed down her cheeks, and she wet the front of his fine lawn shirt as she hugged him gratefully. For many minutes they remained like that, each drawing comfort and love from the encounter.

  "Thank you," she managed to say finally.

  "No thanks are needed. You are my Sybelle."

  «»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

  Sybelle decided that her sisters should also know the truth. She walked into their room, delighted to find them both there. Audrey was reading from a book of psalms, studying the finely drawn manuscript with great concentration. Clare was trying to make something of her needlework, but all she was succeeding in doing was to poke her finger with the needle. She drew on the blood that dotted her fingertip.

  Audrey turned and saw Sybelle. "Sybelle," she said, rushing to her sister's side, still not quite able to fathom that she was real and not a figment of her hopes. Clare dropped her needlework, bolting to Sybelle. Audrey urged her to take the most comfortable chair that they possessed. Clare sat on the floor, rearranged her skirts, and drew her knees up to rest her chin on them. Audrey stood behind Sybelle, and produced a comb. "Shall I do your hair?" she asked; she had performed this service for her older sister before.

  "As you wish, Audrey," Sybelle said, relaxing as she felt the ivory comb pull through her windtangled hair.

  "'Tis so good to have you amongst us again, Belle," Clare pronounced.

  "'Tis wonderful to be with you both again." Sybelle hesitated for a moment, then began again. "There is something that you must know. I am going to have a child."

  Both twins gasped and exchanged looks. Audrey's hand stilled while Clare reached for Sybelle's hand, closing her own around it tightly.

  "I have informed our father and Duvessa of this matter."

  Audrey threw down her comb and embraced Sybelle. "You shall not leave us!" she said staunchly.

  Sybelle thanked God that she was so loved. With that, she could face anything, and she knew that she would have to. "Aye, I shall be remaining here, ma chйre soeur. I only thought that both of you should understand the situation, for there will be gossip and pain, of that I am sure."

  "No one had better say aught to me," Clare declared vehemently. "Or they shall rue the day they spoke so of my sister, or of any Fitzgerald."

  Audrey volunteered, "I will offer prayers to our Lady to intercede on your behalf and that of the child to come."

  "And I shall make another toy for my niece or nephew." Clare tilted her head. "There will be babes aplenty in the household come this next spring." She got up to fetch the design she was working on to show Sybelle, and her mind wandered as her sisters examined the workmanship, such as it was. Clare longed to hold both her new sibling and Sybelle's baby. Would she too have a child one day? And who would father this babe? All she could see was a man who made her feel strange, magical, achingfor what she wasn't sure. All she knew was that he was special; that he was hers. Maybe not now, or even tomorrow. There would come a day. She would make sure of it. Her heart dictated and she would obey.

  Chapter 29

  "A man comes to see you, my prince," announced the wiry dark man, shaking the snow from his shoulders. He warmed his hand by the fire, accepting a mug of hot wine from a comely young woman, equally dark-haired, who turned to the man being addressed.

  "Is he known?" asked the taller man, who slipped his arm around the woman and accepted her kiss.

  "He claims to be your brother."

  Bran entangled himself from the woman. He quickly stood up and approached the man who delivered the message. "My brother?"

  "'Tis what he told Davyfd."

  "Did you see him?"

  "No, my prince. I only know that Davyfd said the man bore a great resemblance to you."

  Bran pondered the implications of this. Rolf, here? For what reason? There had been no communication between the brothers since Bran left all those months ago with Sybelle, no answer to the letter he sent Killroone. What did Rolf want? This was not a season to be traveling through the Welsh mountains.

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