Wolf's Embrace

by Gail Link

  Sybelle almost gagged at the wet, sloppy kiss that he pushed on her delicate mouth. He ground his teeth against her lips, trying to thrust his tongue into what was closed against him. She fought for her freedom with a vengeance until she succeeded in freeing her hand and slapped him, hard.

  She drew back and tasted the salt of blood on her lip.

  Humphrey Charles heaved a deep breath. His eyes, a nondescript shade of gray, narrowed and focused on her. She shivered with revulsion as he undressed her with those eyes.

  "Disgusting pig!" she spat at him, turning to flee.

  He grabbed her arm before she could, cruelly tightening his fingers on it. "It's not as if you haven't tasted a man before, my lady" he sneered. "Everyone knows that you be swelling with a bastard child." He saw the color leave her face and knew that he had scored a direct hit. "My father is even now discussing with your father our marriage contract."

  "What?" Sybelle gasped.

  "You heard me. Think you that you'll find another willing to give a name to some Irishman's bastard? No," he said with a curl to his overblown lips. "But I willfor a price." He tightened his hold on her arm when she tried to fight free. "Your dowry, as my father sees it, should more than make up for your lack of innocence. And who knowsit should be fun seeing what tricks you learnt in the bed of an Irish whoreson.''

  Irish whoreson. Those words stabbed at her heart with a bitter vehemence. Hadn't she once used them to insult? Now they infuriated her when applied to the Wolf of Killroone. All she could think was, how dare this insufferable lout pass judgment on a man like Rolf.

  Humphrey's free hand grabbed her bottom with a studied pressure that she could feel beneath the lightweight wool of her gown. "I know what I would like to teach you," he leered, forcing her body into his so that she was forced to feel his excitement.

  She hurled a curse at him, this time in Gaelic, smiling at his confusion.

  "So you've learnt some of their heathen tongue, eh? Well, after you've become my wife, you'll never use that again."

  "I'd sooner bed with an ape than you."

  "That could be arranged," he said with a sickening gleam in his eyes. "It could prove interesting."

  "My father will never allow . . . "

  "He may have little to say about it. Do you think that another will take such leavings? You have only your fortune and the fact that you can breed to recommend you, my lady. And as for that, a convenient accident can take care of your little mistake."

  At that Sybelle reacted violently, bringing up her knee until she connected with his groin and watched him double over in pain. "If you ever, ever, threaten my babe again, I shall see you suffer as you could never imagine pain. I pity the woman that you take to wife, for she shall surely be exposed to the pox, you rutting pig. As for thinking that you are a man," she spat at the ground where he lay, "you wouldn't know the first thing about pleasing a woman. He was more a man than ever you could aspire to being. My estates would be destroyed by me before I'd let someone like you get his greedy hands on them."

  "You vicious whore!" he threatened. "My father has the ear of king."

  "And I know just how he got it, by pandering his wife. You fool. Do you think that has this much real influence on Edward?" She snapped her fingers. "Your illustrious sire"and she said the words with a visible sneer"will get his money's worth and no more. Think you that he can better the Earl of Derran's influence anywhere? Beware the power of the Fitzgeralds."

  She turned to leave and heard his parting words. "None will have you, slut! I could have given you your honor."

  "You cannot give what was never yours," she said.

  Sybelle recalled the rest of the evening with a shudder. Her father had called for her, and seeing the bruised mouth, pushed past her and delivered a well-aimed blow to the younger man, sending him once more to the ground, this time with his own lip battered and bruised.

  Within the week, Sir Rosewell and his family were traveling to one of their smaller estates in the north.

  At least that night proved the great differences among men. Never had she seen Rolf mistreat any of his servants, and his lips had never set out to destroy any shred of her person. She remembered how they had tasted, their sweetness, their freshness, their inflamed passion. They possessed, they caressed, they provoked, they flooded her with a sense of wonder. And his hands . . . Humphrey Charles's had inflicted pain and a need to subjugate; Rolf's were warm and sensitive, pursuing, commanding, sharing.

  Two more thumps caused her to moan at the force of her babe's kicks.

  Alyce was awake and at her mistress's side within a minute. "Can I get you anything?"

  Sybelle took a deep breath and sighed. "I think my son is most anxious to put in an appearance in this world."

  Alyce scolded. "You should not be sitting without something about your shoulders or you'll be sure and catch a chill, and you wouldn't want to be doing that now." She fetched Sybelle a thick blanket of beaver fur, soft and warm, tucking it about her lap. "You ought to be back in your bed, too," she scolded.

  "I cannot sleep."

  "Are you thinking about him?"

  "Amongst other things."

  Alyce's years of service to Sybelle, and her love for her, gave her the courage to speak. "Have you thought of telling Killroone that he is to become a father?"

  "Now you sound like my belle-mиre," Sybelle said. "It will serve no purpose. This is my child. Yet I have thought of sending for Etain to act as midwife."

  "Etain? Who is she?" Alyce asked.

  "She was a healer at Killroone's castle. I would have her with me at this time."

  "You hesitate to contact her for fear Killroone will intercept the message?"

  "Aye. I have been mulling over sending word through a French captain that Etain was fond of. He may know how to reach her."

  "Do you want me to see that a message is relayed? I can do that if you will."

  "'Tis an idea." Sybelle rubbed her stomach. She thought about her fears for this child, and she wanted Etain near. But could she be found in time? "I have an idea. I shall say that I desire swans to be served at our Twelfth Night feast. You will journey to the monastery at Abbotsbury and purchase some from the monks there, from their swannery. You will take a sum of coin and purchase the services of two messengers. I must risk the Wolf finding out." She shifted in her seat. "Bring me paper and ink. One of these must reach her in time."

  «»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

  Duvessa shifted in her sleep, trying to find a comfortable position in which to continue her rest. Hugh was wide awake, watching her. She carried the child well, and complained little. Still, each day his fears grew that she wanted to go to services in the village church, that she needed to worship and thank God at this special time for the arrival of her own child. Hugh relented and decided that all the family would go, even Sybelle. A cart was specially reinforced with soft furs piled high so that Duvessa and Sybelle could journey the distance in comfort, along with Drucilla, newly created maid to Duvessa, and Alyce. The twins and he, with several of his men, rode the distance on their own mounts.

  All this because a priest, sent to fill the vacancy left since Hugh pensioned off the last one a year ago, had seen fit to pass judgment on his daughter. He had arrived only two months past, and Hugh had removed him the week before. It still angered him when he thought about it. He had come upon Duvessa weeping. Since tears for no apparent reason were not Duvessa's manner, he demanded to know what was wrong. She hesitated in telling him. He persisted. Out came the story of how she was berated by the young priest for harboring a whore in her house, that she was a woman not fit to be among decent people. He had held back, he said, but his conscience demanded, as Christmas approached, that he at last speak. It was her duty, as Countess of Derran, to remove the woman of sin from her house, be she her husband's daughter or no. When Duvessa said that she would do no such thing, the priest swore that she would be damned for allowing filth to reside among t
he innocent members of the household.

  Hugh needed no further words from his wife for him to take action. He walked quickly from the room and soon found himself in the door to the family chapel. This building was all that remained from the time of the Conqueror. It was small, with a touch of coldness. There were few candles lit, and nowhere were there signs of peace or comfort. Hugh was not an especially religious man; he expected the place to be maintained as it was meant to be, for Duvessa and his daughters. The former priest would not have let it become such an eyesore as this. No, this was the sloppy work of his replacement, a man Hugh now sought in a cold rage.

  Bursting into the antechamber off the altar, he came upon the man asleep.

  "Get up!" he roared.

  The young priest awoke with a start to see the towering figure of the Earl of Derran looming over him.

  "My lord"

  "How dare you refuse mass to my wife and daughter?" he asked coldly.

  The priest gathered his simple wits about him and stood up. "The countess refuses to banish your daughter, and the Lady Sybelle is a whore; she carries the fruit of her salacious union. I cannot allow"

  "You?" Hugh said in a voice that resembled a growl. "You? Who do you think you are, little man?"

  "I am a man of God, and judge therefore. She is branded whore."

  A blow across his face knocked the man to his knees. He cowered there, huddled like a child.

  "Get your things and be gone ere the end of this day. If I see you here past sundown you will wish hell had opened up and swallowed you, for Lucifer would be easier to face than me."

  The priest tasted the blood in his mouth. He spat a mouthful into a linen square and scrambled up onto the bed.

  "Who are you to defy God?" he asked, trembling.

  Arms akimbo, Hugh Fitzgerald stood before him, as proud a man as ever he had seen, and said with a sneer, "Think you that you are God?"

  "No, but I know His wishes."

  "You know nothing, little man. You preach condemnation, not love. You are not fit to judge my child, nor anyone's."

  "God will judge you, my lord."

  "He alone will I answer to, never to such as you. You disgust me." Hugh walked away, noting a small leather pouch half-hidden under the bed. He stopped.

  The priest saw him and dove for the pouch. Hugh reached it first. He hefted the material and opened it. Inside was a large amount of coin. This must be where the money for the upkeep of the chapel was going.

  Hugh again turned on the priest, who he backed up against the wall as Derran advanced. Hugh caught him by the throat with his left hand and hoisted him up against the stone wall. "Feathering the nest, I see. You hypocritical, thieving bastard! By rights you should be hung for this, as an example." His blue eyes were cold. "But you're not worth the rope 'twould take to dispose of your skinny body." Hugh released him, and he collapsed to the floor. "Be thankful for that."

  Hugh walked away, his boots making an ominous sound on the stone floor. Before he left the antechamber he turned and faced the quivering priest. "I would advise you to journey far away, perhaps to France. If you remain in England, I will know and you will be sorry. 'Tis not a threat, you understand; 'tis a promise."

  He informed Duvessa of what had taken place, and he saw in her eyes a gladness, a hope. Too long he had kept himself from her, tortured by the love he deemed inappropriate to express. When she flew to his arms, he finally returned her embrace. She raised her face for his kiss, her eyes wide and expectant. Hugh found that he couldn't refuse, and when his mouth touched hers, he exploded with need, drinking in all that he yearned for. He pulled away the colorful gold-threaded ribbon that held her thick hair into a simple braid, twined his hands through it as he covered her face, her neck, with his hot mouth. That wasn't enough. He had to have more. His impatient hands tore at her dress; she stepped away and turned her back to him so that he could remove the laces. He took the knife that was at his side and simply cut them in one easy stroke, yanking the dress off her shoulders, along with the linen shift that she wore underneath.

  Duvessa slowly turned, her cheeks full of color as she stood before Hugh. Her breasts and stomach were swollen. Tenderly, he scooped her up into his arms and placed her on their bed, tearing off his own clothes in haste. Then it was he who was hesitant when he placed one knee on the bed. "I do not want to hurt you or the babe, my love," he said, holding in check his desire to possess her.

  Duvessa held out her right hand, felt Hugh's close around it. "Then we shall be most careful, my husband." With that Hugh sank to the bed, taking her in his arms, his mouth and creative hands loving her, as she did him. "Oh, my love," she moaned, "I have missed you so, Hugh."

  So intense was Hugh's pleasure after so long an abstinence that he almost fainted from his own release. He wept when later, both sated and resting, talking quietly, loving the feeling of renewed closeness, he felt the powerful kick of his child. Duvessa placed her hand on his as once again it occurred, then she drifted off to sleep

  Duvessa shifted once, as Hugh drew her into his arms. She awoke, her security restored. This was where she wanted to be, this was her universe. Hugh and her child, who was only a month to be born as far as she could calculate. Her Christmas had been truly blessed. All she could have asked for was here again in her husband's strong arms.

  If only she could see her step-daughter wear the same look of contentment that she did. She thought of Sybelle, who should have her man beside her, especially now. And no one could convince Duvessa otherwise than that the Wolf of Killroone was her daughter's man. He was father to the babe, and the husband she would have chosen herself for her beloved Sybelle.

  She snuggled closer to her husband's warmth as he rubbed his palm across the small of her back, which ached. She hoped that Sybelle would forgive her for what she had done. Once again, Duvessa had take upon herself the task of revealing information. She had used Drucilla to see that a message was sent to her cousin in Ireland. Her maid had been more than happy to slip it into the pouch of the handsome lad who was to serve as courier to both Castle Derran and the O'Neill estate. It hadn't taken her long, she reported to Duvessa, to have caught him unaware with her flirting and her promise of a kiss as she worked the extra note into the leather bag. As Duvessa had several messages to her people, one more wouldn't be noticed. She addressed it to Yseult, whom she asked to return to her, along with her own priest. She explained to him in the note about her hasty marriage, and the need for a priest whom she could trust.

  She instructed Yseult that the message was to be dispatched to her cousin as soon as possible. It was of the utmost importance. Whether or not this was right was of no concern to Duvessa. She only knew that Rolf should be here when his child was born. Or at least he should be aware that there was a child. He had a right to know. She loved him too. 'Twas as simple as that.

  And she recalled Sybelle's face as they discussed Rolf. There was no hate, only shades of pain and a love that Duvessa recognized. What she did she did for love of all concerned, and the love that she was convinced would heal all past hurts, smooth the scars, and ease the suffering all had experienced. She no longer feared what would happen should Hugh and Rolf come face to face. She was secure in Hugh's love for her; he might wish to hurt Rolf, but for her sake, and the fact that Rolf was father to the grandchild that was to come, would stay his hand. She was sure of that.

  She placed a kiss on the arm that surrounded her, sheltering her with its love and strength. In her belly, and Sybelle's, rested the promise of the future. It was time for new beginnings.

  Chapter 30

  Her labor was long and hard.

  The room was filled with women. Sybelle was walking, aided by Alyce and Clare. She was doing this at Etain's demand, who felt that Sybelle's being bedridden from the first pain would be ill-advised. Having made her exam and determined that the babe was not ready for birth, she insisted on this, for she wanted the birth to go as easily as possible for her friend.

&nbs
p; Etain brewed some potions over the flames in the hearth. One was to ease Sybelle's pain, the other to relax her so that in what was to come, she would be spared as much hurt as Etain could manage. She also prepared extra in case the countess would have need of it.

  She watched as Sybelle took those small steps around the room; her hair was wet with perspiration, as was her skin. Etain was glad that Sybelle's note had found her. Armand was surprised when the fisherman caught up with him just as he was about to set sail. He relayed the message to Etain, who was living with him where she had sought refuge after her dismissal by Rolf. She responded instantly to the summons, preparing what she would need. And glad she was that she had made the decision to come. Most especially after meeting the woman who passed herself off as a midwife. She would be all right for just anyone, but not for the Lady Sybelle or the Countess of Derran. No, they would need her skills, for she thought that some difficulty might arise, though she kept her counsel private so as not to alarm.

  She poured the brew for the pain into the cup held by Yseult, who had returned to the Derran household. ''Give this to the Lady Sybelle to drink," Etain instructed.

  Yseult did as she was bid.

  Sybelle, leaning heavily on the arms of Alyce and her sister, took a deep breath and forced herself to swallow the liquid. It tasted pleasant at least, she thought. Another pain knifed through her belly, and she let out a small scream and doubled over with the discomfort.

  "Quick, get her to the bed," Etain barked out the order.

  Alyce and Clare supported Sybelle until they could get her into the bed, piled high with fresh linen. Etain insisted that extra soft linen be placed where Sybelle would lie. Drucilla pulled back the pelts and pushed them to one side.

  In a corner of the room, Audrey knelt in prayer, while Duvessa sat on a chair, her fingers worrying the thick gold cross and its chain in her delicate hands. She wanted to help with the birthing process, but was shooed away by Etain. In truth she did feel extraordinarily tired, and the small of her back hurt her. She watched and wished that she could give comfort to Sybelle, who seemed to be undergoing immense pain. She gave a cursory thought to her own labor to come. Would she face it with as much courage as her step-daughter? She had to. She was joined by Yseult, who murmured for her ears alone, "'Tis taking so long. The lady will be exhausted, far too much for the birth."