by Geri Borcz
Three long months since he'd lain with a woman. A woman? His wife. And therein lay the crux of his suffering; no stranger to thwarted desire, his body burned with her memory.
He didn't want just any woman. He wanted his wife.
Wife. The word conjured an unrelenting ache. To his surprise, he'd discovered that he wanted Juliana more, not less, with each passing day. Jesu, how weak and unmanly to crave a woman who chooses loyalty to her family above that to her husband.
God curse her. Even knowing that, Rhys hungered for the comfort of Juliana in his arms right now. Was that the price he was to suffer for his sins? Isobel had been taken from him. Was he never to completely have Juliana as well?
"Rhys? Have you heard a word I've said?"
Rhys glanced up from hobbling his horse. "Your pardon," he said and blew a breath. "My mind has gone abegging."
"To a doe-eyed vixen, no doubt."
"That obvious?" Rhys gave a rueful grin. "But aye, you've the right of it."
"Perhaps," Alain said, hefting his saddle, "'tis time to quit feeling sorry for yerself."
Rhys stared at his friend in dull surprise.
"Naught can bring yer daughter back, and you do her a disservice not to rejoin the living."
Rhys realized he'd been less than poor company, a part of him still grieved, but he couldn't bring himself to admit his grief. He should be able to, with all he and Alain shared, yet there it was. His man looked to him to lead, the instinct to hold a brave face to the world too inbred, the habit too strong. And that added to his frustration. He squelched the ever present throb of sorrow.
"Aye," Rhys said. "'Tis why... how to win Juliana clouds my thoughts."
"’Tis useless to rue her for possessing those qualities that have tied you in knots since you first saw her."
"I'm not--"
"I've watched you for years with women. Pretty or nay, ambitious or nay, they all fell at yer feet and clung to you like loose threads. And once out of their sight you were hard pressed to remember their name. 'Tis what attracts you to Juliana, and 'tis what addles yer wits. She doesn't fawn and she doesn't cling."
Alain knew him well.
Juliana's wild spirit and quiet courage both drew Rhys and infuriated him. But he cherished most her capacity to love despite a man's foibles. Her family basked in her acceptance, and his heart ached, for his insecurities and unsureness needed her, too.
"So what counsel do you offer?" Rhys said.
Alain shrugged. "Do what Costin does with a recalcitrant woman. Tell her you love her. Those words work often enough for him."
Rhys snorted, then chuckled aloud. So simple a task, yet baring his heart seemed more frightening to him than the prospect of meeting an enemy horde on the battlefield.
Heavy footsteps crunched in the straw aisle behind them and paused before a voice boomed.
"How does my brother of Adington?"
Upon hearing the insolent demand, Rhys widened his eyes and swung around. "Roger, why are you here?"
"I'm a guest," he said with a dismissive shrug. An awkward silence lingered for a second. "You... you received my message about the Scot?"
"I did," Rhys said with cool unfriendliness, turning back to finish with his horse. He'd received it, found that the news of his death brought no comfort, then moved on.
"Why did you leave him to me, Adington?" Roger asked.
"The king's--"
"--Business could have waited," Roger finished. "Now I'll hear the truth. Why?"
Rhys exhaled a slow breath and finally faced him.
"Isobel was mine from the first moment I held her, " he said, "and for that gift, I owed you. But more than repayment, the Scot was your right. Now, is that all you wished to tell me?"
"You flatter yourself," Roger snapped. "I hadn't wished to see you at all."
Rhys refused to rise to the bait.
"I am curious, though," Roger added. "What do you plan now?"
"Don't close in for the kill too soon," Rhys said. "I continue to hold Adington at Henry's sufferance. And if he chooses betwixt the two of us, you may find yourself disappointed... again."
Roger gave a noncommittal shrug. "Since I have seen you, I give you warning to check your tent before the night grows older."
That chore completed, he turned to leave.
Across the horses' backs, Alain and Rhys shared a suspicious look, then Rhys ceased his task and stepped into the straw-padded aisle.
"Why bother to warn me?"
Another long silence filled the air before Roger angled back to him.
"Because I understand what you did."
Acceptance of his role was more than Rhys had ever expected. Roger shifted his gaze to Alain, then back to Rhys.
"I don't like you Adington," Roger said, "for as you say, it matters not a whit to me should you be damned and rot in hell. But, you've the right of it—it matters to Juliana."
A bond of blood.
Rhys nodded.
"Have you left something in my tent?" he said.
Roger half-turned and barked a laugh. "Not I. 'Tis something from home."
"From Juliana?" Rhys said, secretly pleased. "How does she fare?"
"Well enough," Roger said, then turned his back to him completely this time.
"Wait," Rhys called.
He needed to ask, to understand, so he stepped closer to his brother-by-marriage.
Roger halted and faced him again. Their gazes met across the short expanse, the air between them crackling.
"When did Juliana tell you about Isobel?" Rhys said.
Roger's harsh snort spooked a nearby horse and it whinnied. He gave no pretense of misunderstanding.
"Now which of us is the fool?" He took one step, until he stood a hand's span away from Rhys. "But then, how could you know? You're as blind as I was. Adington, I knew a child existed and I hated you for it, hated you even though I know death anchors every life, hated you for possessing the joy and serenity that were rightly mine. . . but I hadn't set eyes on the child until that morn."
The tension evaporated from Roger's face. He shook his head and dropped his gaze to the ground, then raised fathomless gray eyes to Rhys. Eyes awash with memories.
"I knew Isobel's true parentage the moment I gazed upon her," he said quietly, "for I saw Ana at that age."
Suddenly appearing older than his years and with nothing further to add, Roger spun around and strode toward the pavilions.
"Check your tent," he called back over his shoulder, "and have a care. You're not the only one who takes what he wants."
~~~~
CHAPTER 26
The tent flap lifted so suddenly the lantern flame danced, throwing most of the interior into darkness.
Juliana's heart jumped.
She retreated an uneasy step, closer to the rear wall, and gripped the bow tighter in her hand. Though she'd expected Rhys to come, the interminable wait had frayed her already worn nerves, and she didn't wish to cause an accident.
"What trick is this?" Rhys said.
Gazing toward the tent opening, she realized that she'd surprised, nay shocked, her husband with her presence. The gaping mouth he sported told her that much.
"Do come in," she said.
His narrowed gaze sped to the weapon she pointed at him. He clamped his mouth shut and stepped fully into the tent, dropping the flap back into place. The lantern flame resumed its steady grace.
"Juliana, have you taken leave of your senses?"
Perhaps.
What lunacy had possessed her? But it was too late now to retreat.
"Put that bow down," he said.
She stood unwavering beneath his critical appraisal, gathering every ounce of courage while silently beseeching a miracle. The eyes that raked her from head to bare foot darkened to rival the inclement weather.
Relief, excitement, and heat surged through her body. She recognized that look, had despaired to ever see it again.
"In due time," she said, ignorin
g his outrage.
"Serle," Rhys demanded, rounding on the nervous squire who hovered near the entrance. "What's the meaning of this?"
"Oh, don't fault him," Juliana said, before the lad could speak. "'Tis my doing." Then she tipped the arrow for emphasis. "I confess to making it difficult for him to object. Serle? Pray, assist your lord in removing his mail. " She swung the weapon to a threatening stance, halting Rhys's advance toward her. "Take care, my sweet. It shames me to admit my aim is none too good, and I'd truly not wish to harm your squire."
Upon hearing that ghastly possibility, Serle ducked his head and flew through his task. In half the normal time, Rhys stood stripped of his hauberk, and the armor lay piled in the corner opposite the oversized pallet.
"May I go now, my lady?" the lad said.
Through a twinge of guilt, Juliana nodded. "You may see to my lord husband's bath now. And, oh Serle?" The lad halted at the flap. "Do see that we are not disturbed for a few minutes."
Once they were alone, Rhys crossed his arms over his chest and braced his feet apart.
"Well, woman? I will hear your explanation."
Not a good sign, she decided, nor the stormy eyes promising murder. What did she expect? That the black demon would make baring her soul easy? God help her, what if he laughed? Or mocked her?
"Now, madam."
Blue eyes seared to her soul. Ebony hair, big man, broad, and beautiful. Her heart beat a dizzying tempo. Jesu, how she'd missed him.
She swallowed past a lump of unease.
"Would you like to sit?" she said.
"I'll stand. Out with it."
"Very well. 'Tis a bit extreme, I'll grant--"
"A bit?" Rhys snorted.
"But you make it so hard to be civil."
"Me?"
"What with your dark looks and scowls. And don't you dare laugh." Her chin rose. "I came here to talk, no easy feat mind you."
"Did Roger bring you?"
"Why, nay," she said, insulted. "I wouldn't ask him. 'Twas my cousin, Oliver."
"Why does that not surprise me?" Rhys muttered with a resigned head shake.
"You needn't worry," she said, feeling tears burn behind her eyes. "He's on his way to Normandy, and I doubt to ever see him again."
"You mistake me," Rhys said. "It pleases me that you care for him." He searched her face. "Roger knows you're here in York."
A question lay in Rhys's quiet statement; she heard the undertones and saw the faint tensing around his mouth.
Was Agnes correct?
Juliana looked, truly looked, at her husband. A wealth of private trials and whispered doubts all coalesced behind those blue eyes. Rhys hid his uncertainty well, but it was there. Jesu, a kitten with a lion's roar.
How could he believe she'd value her brother above him? Had she erected so many defenses that Rhys felt he couldn't breach them?
You need him and he needs you, came the old nurse's words into her mind. Show him—take the first step.
"Roger's not my husband," Juliana said. "I made my choice." She tipped the bow again. "And this was to ensure you wouldn't fob me off with petty excuses once I got here, but instead would listen."
Rhys relaxed his stance and lowered his arms.
"You have my complete attention," he said. "What do you wish to tell me?"
He still wasn't going to make it easy.
"I wish to discuss surrender."
He arched a raven brow. Did amusement flicker in his eyes?
"Lady, you make no sense."
She winced, but whatever the outcome and before her courage failed her, she meant to see this through. Drawing a deep breath, she plunged on.
"I have come to tell you that I yield," she said, lowering the bow to the floor.
Any hint of amusement in his face died.
"I agree to your terms, Rhys," she said. Her voice shook. With trembling fingers, she opened her mantle, trading a man's weapon for a woman's. "All of your terms."
"And just what are my terms?"
"Surrender," she murmured. "Total surrender."
The cloth glided to the floor, unheeded, and she stood before him naked. She stepped toward him, reaching up a hand to brush the wayward locks from his forehead.
Don't shut me out, her gaze entreated, while she lowered every barrier and spoke from the heart.
"I want you, Rhys, more than my life, and need you like the air I breathe, and love you forever. I yield. You've won the day."
He stared down at her so intently, she dared not blink. As though he drew all of the lantern light into his eyes, never had they shone so blue, so promising.
"Jesu," he breathed at last, "but I like how you look at me."
To her ears, his ragged voice sounded heavenly.
Like a drowning man, and she a life line, he pulled her against him. He wrapped his arms around her, then captured her mouth. Hot. Deep. Hungry.
Juliana gladly gave herself up to his urgency. She pressed closer, feeling the swelling evidence of his need for her, and tangled her hands in a cloud of ebony hair.
"Are you well?" he said in a hoarse breath, reaching a hand to brush the wisps off her cheek. His hand lingered, gently, hesitantly tracing the curve of her skin, while the roughness of his callused fingers unraveled her nerves.
"I'm fine," she said.
Such desultory remarks, and he hadn't returned her avowal.
"Nay, you're beautiful," he whispered.
She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his.
"Please," she said in a watery whisper. "Let us start anew, free of secrets and mistrusts and family hatreds. I'm so sorry about Isobel. I know how you miss her, for I loved her, too."
The strong arms encircling Juliana tensed, then crushed her against him. She didn't complain. Minutes rolled by, while he buried his head between her neck and shoulder, nuzzling into her hair.
Juliana held onto him fiercely. Patting, stroking, murmuring, she cradled him in her arms. She listened to his half-formed words, while he sought her safe haven, each drawing comfort from the other.
"Forgive my stubborn pride, Rhys, but I was so afraid. And Roger--"
"Nay, Ana... 'tis naught to forgive. We were both afraid. 'Tis over, let's not speak of Roger or Isobel... not now. We have so much time later. For now, tell me, Ana. What do you want?"
Her knees weakened. Holy Mary and Joseph, had she spoken for naught? Then, she understood what her proud husband wanted to hear.
"I need. . ."
"What Ana?" he prodded.
"You," she whispered, searching his face for some sign that he believed her words. "Oh, Rhys, I need you. Only you. So much I ache. I chose you above all others. Don't send me away."
"Daft woman," he whispered. "I should give you the flat of my hand... instead I've loved you from the first moment I saw you in your father's courtyard."
She smiled. "Do you mean that?"
"I mean to take care of you, Ana, now and always, if you'll let me."
He lifted her from the floor to bring her lips against his, and in the space of a heartbeat precious joy filled her.
"Ana, I need you—all of you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Aye," she whispered back, touched by his strength and tenderness. "'Tis all here, every word, locked in my heart."
And he took the kiss she offered to him.
"Rhys, I wasn't going to shoot. I'd never harm you."
"I know." He chuckled. "But you're beautiful when your fire's up, sweeting. I didn't want to spoil it."
"You have too many clothes on," she said, and fumbled with the tunic hem.
"They can wait," he murmured.
He lowered her to the pallet.
"Rhys?"
"I've dreamt of doing this, sweet. You won't hurry me now."
The raspy feel of his callused palms on the bare skin above her thigh caught Juliana's breath somewhere between lungs and mouth. Anticipation sped through her, but he took his unnerving time and glided hi
s hands down each leg to her feet. He bent to place a light kiss on each toe, and she stared, mesmerized by this intimate motion.
"Are you still willing for a dozen babes, Ana?" he said, nibbling his way up her calves.
She extended her arms and tangled her fingers in the strands at the top of his bent head.
"Aye," she murmured. "I yield to you."
"Forever?"
She shook her head. "If you love me, forever isn't long enough."
"Aye, I love you."
"Then, kiss me again."
Rhys lifted his face towards her, his heart shining in his blue eyes. "Wife, 'tis time and past you gave me the day."
Juliana obediently nodded, but a secret smile graced her face. "Husband, the day is ours."
* * * * *
About the Author:
Geri Buckley Borcz is a Georgia, USA, native who writes general fiction short stories, historical and contemporary romance novels, and women's fiction.
Her short fiction has appeared in several publications, including The Ediface of Literature, The Roswell Literary Review, The Southern Ocean Review, Ashes anthology, and the literacy textbook series Rhoades to Reading.