“And I only a few years older. What of it?”
“You cannot say you acted now on that memory alone.”
“No, I do not.”
“Well then. What other?”
“I have my reasons, that of our mutual passion the strongest of my motives. Memories are glorious, often embellished to serve one’s reputation. But the desire I had for you and the one I bear you now combine into a grown man’s need to restore my person in your sight. I deserted you twenty years ago. You suffered many slights because of it. You had to marry because of what I did. I knew you could hate me and it set me mad with anguish. Before I die, I wish to re-establish myself in your eyes and see you whole.”
“You have,” she whispered, undone by his sweet words. “What you have done here for me is no small service. And if I put forth that I hated you, I was wrong to do so.”
“I thank you for that, but you had your reasons.”
“I did. They were not equal to this gargantuan task of taking me from John’s edict.”
“I say it is. And I am not yet finished. I must see that you live and live well. That your lands are restored to you.”
“Oh, Geoffrey. You are a baron only, not equal to the King. Do not throw your life away for me.”
“I will do as I promised myself I would, Kat. Twenty years ago, I had no money, no title, no land and I was bound to fulfil my obligations to my liege lords. I have done that. Hundreds of times over. So when I learnt you were put to a dungeon by an irrational ruler, I knew my time had come to restore my reputation not only in your eyes but also in my own.”
She stepped against him, her sheet slipping to the floor unheeded. “John will try to kill us both for that.”
Geoffrey nodded. “John can be bested. I have seen it happen.”
“You have a plan to thwart him?” Awed that he might, she discounted that any plan against the King might work.
Geoff stared at her. “I do.”
Shivers of horror travelled her spine. “What is it?”
“I will tell you when the day dawns that we execute it.”
She knew then by the set of his jaw and the dedication in his eyes that she would agree to do anything for him because he had paid the ultimate price to save her own life. Something told her she would live to tell the tale. But what of him? Would he? Could she save him so that both of them might live together?
Somehow she doubted it all.
He inched closer, enfolding her in his embrace. At the touch of his hands, she melted against him. Her cheek to his chest, he sighed. “Let me love you, Kat. We have moments given us. I wish to seize them.”
She stepped backwards, a smile curving her lips. “Come bathe with me.”
His mouth turned up in joy and lechery. “And shall I remove my two black opals?”
“Not until you have fucked me well and hard, my lord.”
“Saucy wench.” He wound his fingers in her own as she led him towards the tub.
“For now, aye. I wish to have all you will give me. Your body. Your cock.”
He shoved his hand into her hair and urged her to tilt her head up for his ravening kiss. “You are my witch, beguiling me for decades.”
“And you are my warlock, enthralling me with sinful delights.”
He ran an open palm down her breasts and thumbed her nipples so that her cunt flowed rich with hot cream. “I would know each part of you so well I recount you in my dreams.”
“Come join me then and give me this.” She rubbed her finger over the head of his cock, thick pearls of cum beading there for her.
“Until I can no longer.”
She grinned, turned her back on him and rubbed her ass cheeks against his shaft. “Then you must give me that other present you promised.”
“I will, by God.” He panted as he probed her seam with his rod.
“You will remember me,” she vowed, thrilled at his devotion as he plunged into her.
“My darling, I never forgot.”
* * * *
The next morning, she ate and bathed and waited for him to come to her.
Their lovemaking yesterday had never included his other gift, whatever it was. And he had taken from her the two black gems that so delighted her when he and she fucked. Enraptured by him, she was now eager as a child to have her newest present from him.
But by midday, she was still alone. Wondering what could be keeping him from her, she finally gave in when good health demanded that she walk the wall. Grabbing up a rough cape and slippers that one of the serfs had left for her yesterday, Kat climbed the circular stairs to the top of the keep. Of this castle, she had fond memories. She wished to refresh them. As a child, she had run and played with children her own age. They had played hide-and-seek in the old fortress built more than a hundred years before.
Chepstow was one of the largest fortifications along the Welsh borders. Bigger than her home in Harleigh, this old castle bore fortifications that few others did. Years ago, Marshall had redesigned his towers. She gazed at the tops of them now, recalling that they were round, without any blind corners, and thus they were impregnable. Looking at the southwest tower, which faced the river, she squinted into the sun and saw that Marshall had built a three-tiered platform for his archers to rain arrows down on his enemies. This, plus the double gatehouse’s iron-strapped doors, a huge portcullis and drawbridge offered extra assurance that unwelcome guests would remain outside. Still, if any feigned friendship, then attacked, the numerous murder holes that dotted the upper floors ensured that they would die as Marshall’s men poured hot oil or boiling water over their bodies. And if all defences failed and still the castle fell to invaders, then there was one more element to the castle that those inside could use to escape. The door.
The door! She clamped her eyes shut. Where was that door where we walked from darkness into light? She ran a hand through her hair, straining to recall her childhood games and the door to freedom.
The winds whipped her long hair around her head, the cool air clearing her brain. She blinked into the sunlight, staring into her past. But what she saw below in the grassy plain wrenched her heart.
Men assembled. Horses, too. Trebuchets, tents, wagons. Scores! Nay, hundreds, by her count. My God. They gather for war.
Squinting into the distance, she detected banners of noble houses. Two looked very familiar, as if they were those of her neighbours. Still the colours were too far away. She could not identify the honours upon them.
Clutching the cloak to her chest, she sped towards the stairs and down to the main hall.
At the bottom, the rush left her panting and bracing the wall for support.
“Madam?” One of the male serfs advanced on her, concerned in his furrowed brow. “You are not well. I will help you to the bench.”
“Aye. Thank you. And Lord St Claire? Get him for me.”
“I will.” And he was off.
Minutes later, Geoff appeared in the entrance to the hall. A tall young man behind him hovered in the shadows. Though she saw him only for a moment, he seemed familiar. Tall and broad-shouldered. But like a ghost, he dissolved backward to the hall.
Geoff was kneeling before her. “You came down here on your own? Are you well enough to do that?”
She gave a small laugh. “I needed air. I went up to the wall walk. Geoffrey, who are they out there?”
He put a finger to her lips. “A discussion for our chamber.” He stood, sweeping her up in his arms and heading for the stairs.
“You need not carry me, Geoff.”
He sent her a quelling glance but continued up the stairs. “Be sweet, will you?” He kicked wide her solar door, shouldered his way in and set her to her bed. “You must rest. You need it. I will return with wine and food.”
“Nay.” She clutched his tunic and waylaid him. “I saw the men who gather there out on the plains. Who are they?”
“My friends.”
“This is not wise. I will not destroy you and yours.”
>
With a gentle finger, he lifted her chin and gave her a consoling smile. “John is the one destroying his people.”
“Why do this for me?”
“We have been over this, Katherine.”
“Then we do so again! You gain nothing by this but war. Men will die. Boys, too. And you? You make John your enemy. You may lose your own lands and your title.”
“You must see beyond this.”
“To what? Geoffrey, John will hunt me down and take me back. You will go to the Tower again or, worse, he will starve you!”
One side of his handsome mouth tilted up in mirth. “He has not the men, the money nor the mettle to capture me. Not now. Not now that I have you once more.”
“Bluster cannot spare you his wrath.”
“I have more than bluster to foil him.” He nodded towards the plains where his men in arms camped.
“What?” she countered.
“Reason.”
“When has this ruler ever listened to reason?”
“When a force of his barons assembles against him. When he has a smaller retinue to back his claims than I. When he is wrong to take an heiress and abscond with her fortune, or when he demands a widow marry a man of his choosing, decades younger than she. Or when he seizes a noblewoman and shoves her down a hole to starve her. Men do more than object to the mistreatment of their mothers, sisters, daughters and aye, their widows. They fight for them.”
Kat nodded, chastised by his sentiments and his deeds.
“You plead sweetly, my dearest, but you do not persuade me to put you out to the misfortunes of the world. I can and will do more for you than you can for yourself alone.” He turned solemn. “Unless you tell me you have another champion I know not of, I am your saviour.”
She lowered her gaze to his chest. He spoke the truth, this big broad hulk of a man who had risked his life and worldly goods to rip her from that dungeon. Yearning to put her head down and let him fight her battle, she gritted her teeth instead. “John put Ferrer to the task of usurping my castle and my lands.”
“John will ever persuade men such as Ferrer to steal what they cannot earn. What confounds me is his reason to imprison you and treat you so vilely. Why, Katherine, does he do this?”
She lifted her eyes to his, her declaration not one many would believe of any other man than this King of theirs.
He focused on her with gimlet eyes. “Tell me.”
She owed him the awful truth. “John came on a progression through the South West last year as he has come nearly every time he has inspected the fortifications of the Welsh Marches. He had been tracking William de Braose and his wife Maud to no avail. He was wild, raving and always in his cups. I fed him and his men, and politely asked him to move on. He laughed at me.” She wrung her hands.
“Aye. And?”
She winced at the memory of John barging into her bedchamber, uninvited, full of wine and brash words. “I was a new widow.”
Geoffrey stilled.
She stiffened her lower lip. “Over the years, he had hoped to lure me to his bed. Last year, with no husband to deter him, he assumed he could pursue me more freely. He has the habits of a rabid dog.”
Not even a breath passed through Geoffrey’s frame. He narrowed his eyes on her, but saw, she was certain, only red.
“I refused.”
“As well any right-minded woman would.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. “I did not think he was so mad as to want a woman who would not have him. He has a wife. A comely one. An eager one!”
“And mistresses.”
She nodded, forlorn.
Geoffrey sent one hand over her back as the other drifted to her nape. Pressing her into his warm strength, he held her close and dear. She could feel him flex his jaw and tense his shoulders. “He takes as he wishes and expects us all to look the other way.”
She stroked her fingers up his throat. He was stronger, more tender and noble than she had credited. She cupped his cheek. “I fear for you.”
“Do you, my darling?” Geoffrey grinned at her. “Good to know. But you do no good to fret. I have made my choice in this matter.”
“I must free you from the service, Geoffrey.”
“You cannot.”
“I declare it.”
He caught her chin, his features rigid. “Katherine, I have taken you from John. His greed. His lust. And I will not give you back. My friends out there on that field believe with me that I am right. And more arrive by the day. Come let me love you while we wait.”
His tender declaration was more than she could bear. She worked at words.
He had no more. Only a sorrowing look into her eyes, a low moan of despair, then with a stark curse, he hauled her up into his arms and kissed her.
His lips crushed her own. The force of his possession knocked all else from her mind save his claim upon her. He broke the force of it and took her again, this time with a tenderness that took her breath. She flung her arms around his wide shoulders, sank her fingers into his long silken curls and gasped with the pleasure he so liberally dispensed. He anchored her neck and drove his tongue inside her mouth to sweep and seize and devastate. Willing and wanton, she gave as good as she got, plunging her own tongue into his sweet mouth, duelling with her desire to end this or surrender.
He kneaded her spine, rucked up her gown and stroked her naked derrière. Teasing the cleft, he growled and angled her so that he could insinuate his hand between them and sink his fingers into her cunny hair. She undulated, urging him on, and for her reward, she felt him find the crease of her swollen wet cunt and stroke her sweetly, softly there. She hung in his arms and let him have her. She let him caress her and possess her clit. She let him use her and persuade her as he uttered nonsense while he kissed her once more and again. She mewled and he pulled away, swept the garment away and dropped it to the floor, only to catch her up in his arms and carry her to her bed.
He sat her down, hovering over her as his gaze took in her nakedness. Sinking to his knees, he took one of her breasts into each hand and thumbed the nipples. They pebbled and she thrust forward.
“Nibble me. Devour me. I want nothing more in this world but you upon me. Inside me. Consuming me.”
He brushed his lips over hers, sank inside her and fucked her with tender ferocity.
Moaning, he came and she followed in a pounding crescendo of delight.
He slipped out of her, leaving her bereft. For he took with him her resolve not to love him.
Chapter Six
That night he did not come to her room. Without him, her supper seemed bland. She sat in a chair, growing weary waiting for him, and, uttering a curse, crawled into her bed. But the linens became unbearably cold. Curiosity consumed her, warming her mind in need of an adventure and a search for Geoffrey.
She rose, wrapping a cloak about her naked torso and sliding her chilled toes into velvet slippers. She took a brazier from a wall sconce to exit her chamber and investigate the upper hall. She had walked these halls often as a child. Sometimes, with playmates, she had scampered all the way to the cellars. She paused, her memory snagged on a vision of a door to the plain…
A door! Of course—that’s what she recalled. If ever Marshall and his family needed to escape, the Earl had ordered the stonemasons to carve out a small door at the western end of the castle where he and his retinue could leave at will undetected.
She must seek it out. Learn if it still existed or if the Earl had bricked it up. Because if John came for her and his siege caused famine and disease, she might well have need of that little door. No one would starve for her. She had sampled the ravages of lack of food and water. She would permit no one to die like that. No one.
Taking the winding stairs down, she clutched her cloak tightly about her. But as she arrived at the entrance to the great hall, she heard men talking. One, she knew by his gruff voice, was Geoffrey. The other, a younger man. A third, younger still. They spoke tog
ether quietly and she strained to hear them.
“We wait for word from Marshall in Ireland,” Geoffrey told his companions. “But whether he sends more men to us here or not, we will organise and drill his retainers in preparation for the possibility that John or his surrogates attack.”
“We have at last count this midday one forty-two men, milord,” declared one young man with a baritone voice.
“We can pray that the King cannot raise more than that, Reginald,” Geoff responded. “John has so few who are ready to take up arms for him. Fewer who will justify the capture and starvation of a woman.”
“You are assured of that?” asked the youngest man.
“Quite so. The king has backed himself into a corner,” said Geoff. “My friends de la Poer and Dunwick offer their own retainers and arrive as soon as they possibly can.”
“How soon will our lady be fully recovered, my lord?” asked the same young man.
“I would say within three or four more days,” Geoffrey answered. “I will not rush her.”
“And does she know that there are so many who support her?”
“She went up to the wall walk yesterday and has seen those who have come to aid her cause.”
Aye. That they might die for me is one miserable thought. But that their stance here might change the way that women are treated by John and his closest nobles would be a boon.
The men pushed back their chairs, the wood scraping on the rough floorboards. Kat sank back to the far wall, prepared to flee quickly.
“We meet again at dawn,” Geoffrey told them. Wake me, Reginald. You, too, young man. I bid you both goodnight.”
Kat scurried up the winding stone steps to her chamber. There she paced, awaiting Geoffrey, her mind awhirl with questions about the numbers of men they might expect and how effective any force would be against John or his friends.
But Geoffrey did not come to her.
At last, wearied by his delay, she reclaimed her bed. Sleep did not come easily. Her mind whirled, seeking out solutions to her dilemma. The one she concluded was most useful was for her to find that small door she recalled from her playtime with her friends. Exhausted by her failure, she finally fell to sleep. But it was fitful, her dreams vivid, lurid ones of a man taking her in sweet abandon. Awakening often through the night, she noted ruefully that when she had Geoffrey in her bed, she did not dream but slept the oblivion of the protected.
With Her Kiss (Swords of Passion) Page 8