Mary Reed McCall

by Secret Vows

  God, how he wanted her. Wanted her with a need so great that it sometimes hurt to breathe. It boggled his mind how it had come to this. Before the wedding, she’d been nothing more than his enemy’s sister. He’d trusted that, like Eduard, she’d be easy for him to hate. That he’d simply take her to his bed, do his duty in consummating their irksome marriage, and then promptly dismiss her for all intents and purposes from the rest of his life.

  But the opposite had happened. Each day that had passed, every moment that he’d spent with her, witnessing her quiet strength, her intelligence and her beauty, he’d desired her more.

  And it was tearing him up inside.

  Somewhere in the back of his brain a warning clanged, telling him that once again he played the fool. He’d planned to hate Elise de Montford. Hell, he’d wanted to hate her. But he couldn’t, no more than he could hate his own eyes or bones. In truth, he was beginning to care for her, and he of all people knew how dangerous that was. Feelings like these could divert him, weaken his purpose—cripple him with guilt for daring to have them at all. He wasn’t fit for such emotions. Not he with his stained history and the blood of innocence on his hands.

  And yet Elise was his. This was their marriage for better or worse, and it waited only for him, now, to make it a union in truth.

  Closing his eyes, Gray tilted his head back and held tight against the pain that washed through him. He let out the air from his lungs slowly, unclenched his fists, and looked down at his wife one more time before pulling off his tunic and sliding into bed beside her.

  She stiffened, and he heard a catch in her breathing. It lasted but an instant, and yet he knew that she was awake. She lay on her side, facing away from him, and he gently placed his palm on her waist, sliding his hand forward until it rested on the flat of her belly.

  “Elise?” he murmured. He caught the sweet fragrance of her hair and fought the impulse to bury his face in it. Leaning closer, he breathed in her ear, “Let me see you.”

  She lay still for another moment before rolling on her back, clasping the blanket tight under her chin. She gazed up at him, eyes wide and solemn, and he stroked a wispy curl from her forehead.

  “I’d share our bed, this night, lady, if ’tis meet with you.”

  At first he wasn’t sure she’d answer. Then she whispered, “Aye, if ’tis your will,” before averting her gaze and biting at her lower lip. She clutched the coverlet tighter to her chest, her knuckles white.

  Gray paused. He’d never bedded a woman who seemed so nervous. Her apprehension surprised him after the passion she’d shown the night of their wedding. Of course, then her actions had stemmed from fear that Eduard might learn their marriage remained unconsummated. She’d needed the bloodied sheet as proof for her brother and the rest of the guests, and so she’d pursued their joining. Now no such pressure goaded her. She was free to act as she truly felt, and it was clear that she was frightened.

  ’Twas natural, he supposed. He was a larger man than most, and she was a virgin. He couldn’t forget that. He needed to go slowly and gently, to use all the skill he possessed to make her desire their joining before he took her in body as he had in name.

  Breathing deep, Gray willed himself to patience. He cupped her cheeks in his palms, bringing her gaze back to him before pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. He moved his mouth in a gentle path along her cheek and to the delicate hollow beneath her jaw, feeling encouraged when she made a soft sound in her throat and reached up to rest her fingers tentatively on his shoulder.

  Even that light touch sent a jolt of fire through him. He moved over her and kissed the sweet temptation of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed again. But she seemed to tilt her head up a bit, as if offering herself more fully for his taking. He didn’t hesitate. He deepened the kiss this time, gently coaxing her to return the caress. She seemed to respond in kind, but when he stroked the tip of his tongue along her lips and into the honeyed recess of her mouth, she pulled back; her eyes snapped open, and she blinked up at him, alarmed and uncertain.

  Innocent.

  Aye, innocent—he’d forgotten again. Damn his need. He’d allowed it to overwhelm him, and it had caused her to stiffen fearfully against him; both of her hands once more gripped the blanket as tight as if it were a rope to salvation.

  Pulling back, Gray held his breath. Slow, he reminded himself. Go slow. You’ll fright her if you push too fast. He leaned his forehead on hers for a moment, then pulled away to kiss lightly along her cheek again before moving on to nuzzle her earlobe.

  “’Tis all right, Elise,” he murmured, hoping to soothe her. “There’s naught to fear. I’ll be gentle with you.” He stroked his fingers rhythmically along the side of her face and over her shoulder and arm, trying to dispel her anxiety and ease her back into their lovemaking.

  He breathed in her sweetness, feeling a heady swirl of sensation wind through him. Brushing his lips over the tender spot below her ear, he pressed more fully against her and feathered kisses down the side of her neck as his passions began to swell.

  And it was then that he noticed it.

  She was trembling. Tiny shudders that shook her body like a leaf in a storm, rippling, it seemed, from the very center of her. Gray lifted his head, concern jabbing him with tiny pinpricks. Her teeth were clenched together, her eyes squeezed shut.

  “What is it, Elise? What’s wrong?”

  She gave no answer, though a single tear slid down her cheek. His gut felt hollow as he moved his fingers to brush it away. But it was followed by another and still another, until she sobbed softly and turned her head. The pit in his stomach opened wider.

  “Sweet Jesu, lady, why are you crying?”

  She didn’t speak at first, only shaking her head. “Forgive me,” she whispered at last, her voice ragged. “But having you touch me so…I—I can’t think of anything but—”

  She stopped talking when he gently used his finger to tilt her face to look at him. Fresh tears wet her cheeks, seeming to flow without end.

  He gazed at her, his heart wrenching. He felt lost and powerless in the face of this sadness. After a while he sat up and shook his head, running his hand through his hair. “I cannot continue this if the very act of lying with me in our bed terrifies you to tears.”

  “Nay, my lord, ’tis not fear of you,” she said, her voice catching as she sat up next to him. “’Twas only that your touches made me remember…” She swallowed hard. “They made me remember how Eduard would stroke his fingers over my cheek as you just did. Only he did so right before he beat me. He said it pleased him to caress me first, so that I might experience the fine contrast of sensation when he struck me.” She looked down at her hands clenched tight in her lap. “He repeated that phrase each time he beat me, until I could hear the words without him speaking them. Until I could not escape them.”

  “Each time?” Gray asked hoarsely. He watched the shadows playing over her face, knowing they reflected darker emotions lurking inside. He felt the sudden urge to pummel Eduard to a bloody pulp. “He abused you other times, then, beyond what I saw the night of our wedding?”

  “Aye,” she whispered, struggling to meet his gaze. “He struck me almost daily at Faegerliegh Keep.” In the moonlight her eyes looked wet and full, vulnerable with remembered pain. When she tried to muster a smile for him, his heart broke a little more.

  “’Tis perverse, I know, but because of him, cruelty and tenderness are strangely twined for me. When you were so gentle a moment ago, all the memories rushed back.” She shook her head, her pallid face suddenly resolute. “And yet I promise to try harder to overcome it, my lord. I will work to control it and make myself—”

  “Nay,” Gray broke in harshly. Then he gentled his voice. “Nay, lady. I will not have you anything more than you already are.”

  “But I—”

  “I’ll not allow it. Your ease with me will come in time. Think no more on it until then.”

  She looked as if she
might protest again, so he moved his head until he held her gaze, adding, “Make no mistake, Elise. We will consummate our union—but I am not so bound to my own pleasures that I cannot wait until you are ready to share this with me, without fear or remorse.”

  Even in the dusky light, he saw her face regain some of its color; a delicate flush spread across her cheeks, and she looked away. But to his dismay, she seemed ready to cry again.

  His mouth softened to a smile, and he shook his head in mock reproach. “Ah, lady, we’ll be floating away on a stream if every thing I do and say keeps releasing that wellspring of your eyes.”

  A soft, throaty chuckle escaped her, and she blinked, smiling back at him even as she swiped her hand over her cheeks. “You’re right, of course, my lord. I will cease immediately.”

  “Gray.”

  He saw a flash of white teeth, and her gaze dipped again. “Aye, my lord.” The pink of her cheeks deepened. “I mean, Gray.”

  Warmth flowed through him, and for a brief moment he reveled in the bittersweet sensation. By heaven, but she possessed a beautiful smile. He wanted to bask in its light a little longer, but the weariness in her eyes made him gesture to the pillows. “Come, now, wife. No more talk. You must be tired, and you’ll need your rest if we are to begin your training tomorrow.”

  She gazed at him in silence a moment more, her haunted expression intensified by the room’s shadows. But then she nodded and lay down facing away from him, offering no protest when he stretched next to her and pulled her back into his arms. She even nestled against him, shifting until he too was forced to move so that she wouldn’t feel the rigid swelling of his manhood in response to her buttocks curving so sweetly against him. Soon her breathing settled into the regular rhythms of slumber.

  Closing his eyes, Gray held very still. She felt so warm, so good in his arms. As he watched her sleep, felt the gentle rise and fall of her breast, breathed in the delicate fragrance of her skin and hair, a pang twisted his insides. He waited for it to pass, but it remained there, a steady, dull throb of emotion that he felt as ill prepared to face as he had the prospect of this marriage when King Henry had first commanded it of him.

  Christ, but just holding her like this was difficult. It taxed him in a new and unexpected way. He’d fought in hundreds of battles, laid siege to countless foreign lands and wielded his sword in an infinite number of bloody conflicts, but he’d never faced anything quite like this. It was a war against himself this time—a savage combat waged in his own soul.

  Walk away, his logic told him. Save yourself, before ’tis too late. But he couldn’t. Something deeper forced him on. God help him, but he wanted to protect this strange, lovely creature that was his wife. Wanted to comfort her and make her feel safe…

  Wanted to love her.

  Gritting his teeth, Gray sucked in his breath and pushed the thoughts back. He rested his chin on the top of Elise’s head, feeling the silken texture of her hair as he struggled with the moment.

  ’Twas near impossible to try to sleep with her curled against him like this; along with his other torturous thoughts, his mind raced with images of what he’d planned to do with her this night. Ways he’d wanted to touch her, passions he’d hoped to make her feel. And yet for all of the delicious torment it caused him, he knew that he’d be loath to relinquish their embrace.

  Before long, he acknowledged defeat. The bliss of dreamless, easy rest would not be his this night. He opened his eyes and exhaled. Elise made a little sound of contentment and, moving her head where it rested on his arm, she reached up and sleepily gripped his hand, clasping it to her chest as if it were a favored poppet.

  Gray froze, barely suppressing a groan at the sensations shooting up from his palm and fingertips, cupped now over the soft warmth of her breast. Against every instinct he tried to pull his hand away, but she only nuzzled closer, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder and pulling his arm to her bosom more tightly. He held still in shocked silence a moment more. Then he tipped his head back with a soft, chuckling groan.

  Nay, sleep would not be his this night.

  With a murmured prayer for strength, he used his free arm to pull the coverlet secure around them; then he held his wife close, settling in for the long, quiet passing of the hours. He waited in the hush, watching the dark outside the window deepen to midnight, then to sapphire blue. He watched and waited, saw stars burst to life and wink out, followed the rising moon in all of her splendor until she dipped as slowly again beneath the curve of the horizon. And still he lay, soaking in the calm and peace he found cradling Elise in his arms.

  He, Baron Grayson de Camville, man of action, war, and bloodshed, Champion Knight of King Henry III, scourge of every tournament and battlefield in England, lay very quiet and still in those hours before dawn, simply holding his wife and waiting…

  Until pink clouds tinged the golden dome of the heavens, signaling the start of the new day.

  When Catherine awoke, she felt the sun streaming in on her, warm and comforting. Something lingered in the back of her mind, leaving her strangely content. Without opening her eyes, she stretched until each joint of her arms, legs, fingers and toes rebelled in happy protest. And then she remembered.

  Eyes snapping open, she looked around the chamber. By the sun’s strength she guessed it to be well past terce, which probably explained why the room was empty but for herself and a small mound of clothing perched on a chair near the fireplace. A jagged scrap of parchment rested atop the garments.

  Scrambling from the bed, she padded to the chair. Beneath the note lay a pair of breeches, a shirt and tunic. The message scrawled on the vellum instructed her to don the garments for her weapon’s training this morn. She was to go to the clearing just beyond the castle wall shortly before sext. It was signed simply, “Gray.”

  Gray.

  His name echoed through Catherine’s mind, leaving a swirl of warmth in its wake. He’d been so kind, so patient last night. Why hadn’t he pressed his rights with her? She’d never known a man to show such restraint. It had been unusual enough when he’d forgone their joining on the night of their wedding, but this…this exceeded all bounds. He’d denied his own pleasure again, and for her sake. Because she hadn’t been able to stop herself from weeping in his arms.

  She sat down hard in the chair, pulling to her chest the garments he’d left for her. She’d felt so confused last night. At first she’d been nervous—aye, and with the same worries she’d borne from her first night here. But before long, Gray’s kisses had made her feel…well she didn’t quite know how to describe it. She’d never felt so before. ’Twas different. All she’d ever known when Geoffrey kissed her was disgust and fear.

  But with Gray silky warmth had swept through her, and she’d realized that she wanted more of the feeling. That it felt wonderful. And when he’d stroked his tongue so gently inside her mouth…

  Liquid heat settled low in Catherine’s belly at the recollection. Her cheeks felt hot, and she jumped from the chair to pace across the chamber. Lord have mercy on her, but when Gray had kissed her like that, she’d almost forgotten the horrible reason she’d agreed to wed him. She’d wanted to forget.

  ’Twas only when he’d brushed his fingers across her cheek that the spell had been broken. She hadn’t lied to him; his gentle touch had sent images of Eduard hammering into her thoughts. The pain and fear of those times had ripped through her in the darkness, unmerciful and harsh. Their onslaught had left her feeling exhausted, empty and aching.

  But miraculously, Gray had seemed to understand. He’d comforted her, held her as she slept without complaint or guilt. She’d felt safe in his arms. And he’d asked for nothing in return. Nothing. He was like no man she’d ever known before.

  But is he the kind of man you can trust with your secret? A man you can trust with your children’s lives?

  The question taunted her. She put down the clothes and swallowed the nausea that rose in her throat. Dare she consider that possibility now,
with Eduard gone from Ravenslock and Gray sure to be alone with her all during her weapon’s training?

  Nay. ’Twas too soon to decide. She’d known him but two weeks.

  Many men were capable of going to great lengths to hide their true and often foul natures. What if Gray was a man of that ilk? Aye, he’d been kind to her, but he was still a fierce warlord—the king’s best champion, a man capable of great brutality on the field. What if he secretly harbored a darkness that exceeded even Eduard’s hate? ’Twas possible, she knew. Many men had proved their baseness to her time and again.

  She didn’t need to decide right away. There was still time. Eduard wouldn’t return to Ravenslock for another month at least, and perhaps once she knew more about Gray, ’twould be easier to know what to do. Until then, she’d trust nothing and no one.

  She busied herself with getting ready for the day, trying to calm her mind. Except for old Heldred, the village weaver, who was the nearest thing to a friend that Catherine had known during her years at Faegerliegh Keep, there’d been no one to confide in, no one to believe in but herself, for as long as she could remember. And for now, at least, she resolved to be content to keep it so.

  Pulling the shirt and tunic over her head, she sat and began to roll the unfamiliar breeches up over her knees. Compared to her usual layers of smock and kirtle, the fitted garments felt peculiar. But she managed to lace them up and take a few paces across the chamber.

  She lifted her leg, kicking and swinging it back and forth. ’Twas an odd sensation. She supposed such free movement was necessary for learning to handle a sword, but she wasn’t sure that she liked it. The tightness of the breeches left her feeling almost…well, almost naked.