Breath Of Heaven

by Holby Cindy

  “I fear her wounds may be much deeper than mine,” he said to Yorath. He returned the steed to its stall and bellowed for Mathias. He needed a release; perhaps training with his squire would provide it.

  Mathias came at a run, through the gate that led to the river. He was soaking wet; no doubt the lazy git had been swimming instead of seeing to his chores. “Tend my hand!” Rhys stuck out his fist. “And see that you do not pain me when you do it, for I will surely beat you this day.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Why am I so afraid? Why do I continually push him away? Eliane might not know much about being a wife, but she knew enough to know that Rhys’s outburst was caused more by frustration than jealousy. He had no reason to mistrust her any more than she did him. Still…she fingered the hilt of her jeweled dagger…let him even think about bedding another…

  She shook her head at Llyr, who sought a sunny spot on the balcony that overlooked the back of the house and the river beyond. “I speak bravely when it comes to using my weapons, but when it comes time to follow my heart, I am the biggest coward in the land.”

  She was hot. Unbearably so. She removed her bliaut and shoes. She placed her leg on a stool and rolled down the long stockings that covered her knees. The touch of her hands brought back the touch of another and she saw the imprint of his fingers on the back of one thigh. Would he have taken me against the wall if not for Llyr? She looked at the dog, who had stretched lazily upon the warm stone. “I have not yet decided if you did me a favor this day.” She attacked the other stocking and wondered how many more weeks it would be before the babe inside her grew too big for her to perform this simple task on her own. Barefoot, and clad only in her yellow kirtle, she went to the balcony, hoping for a cool breeze from the river. She flipped her hair over her shoulder to cool her neck and looked beyond the wall to the boats that skimmed over the water.

  The clash of swords brought her gaze from the river to the yard below. Rhys and Mathias were training. His attention had quickly turned from her to his squire. Mathias will have the worst of it…Both had stripped down to their chausses. The sweat dripped from them and droplets flew as they raised their arms and shook the hair out of their eyes. They used swords made from wood so that Mathias could hold his broadsword and his movements would be quick.

  Rhys was glorious. Her eyes drank him in from the top of his damp dark hair to his leather boots. There was power beneath that sweat-soaked skin. He moved gracefully as he showed Mathias the proper way to block and thrust. He held the weight of the wooden sword easily whereas Mathias struggled to keep his aloft long enough to block. Rhys was patient with him, taking the time to adjust his sword grip or move his feet into a better stance. Would he be so with their child?

  “I will not touch you unless you desire it.”

  How do I make him love me? I know he desires me, but I want more. Is that what frightens me so? Do I fear giving him my heart and not getting his in return? Will it be enough that I am his wife and carry his child? Is it enough that I have told the king I am content with him? Will this thing that we have, whatever it is, be enough to get us through the rest of our days?

  I think not…There must be more. There must be love between us. I do not know how to find it. I do not know what it is he wants of me. How will I know desire if he will not show me?

  There were nights when he came to her room and looked down at her as she slept. At times she thought if she would just reach out to him, everything would fall into place. It felt as if a wall had been placed between them and she did not know how to remove it.

  If only she had not failed him so miserably on their wedding night. There were those who would say she had not. She was with child. That was her duty. But she had not pleased him. Too much had happened too fast…there had been no time for anything beyond accomplishing the deed.

  But before…before her father’s summons to his deathbed, there had been something extraordinary. What would have happened if she had not been called away? Where would Rhys’s touch, his kisses, and his hands upon her body have taken her?

  The gentle warmth of the day was suddenly more than she could stand. The pale yellow kirtle she wore had a tie at the neck and she loosened it, opened the fabric, and lifted her hair from her shoulders so the breeze from the river would cool the sudden heat that came over her.

  “ ’Tis the babe…” She knew it was not.

  “Damn!” Rhys swore. When she looked down to the garden, she saw Rhys shaking his hand as if he’d jammed it. Mathias was bent over double with laughter.

  “Do not give me an excuse to beat you,” Rhys growled at the squire.

  “Did you not say that the first rule of any battle was to keep your eyes upon your opponent?” Mathias asked.

  Rhys looked up to where she leaned on the balustrade, and returned his grip to his sword. “That only works when one’s wife is not sunning herself on the field of battle,” he said.

  He watches me.…As she watched him. He raised the broadsword over his head, and his chausses slipped down onto his hips, revealing the curve of his buttocks and a reddening of the skin from Llyr’s attack. He was sleek with sweat. And most likely thirsty. Did he desire water? Was there something else he might desire? If only she knew what it was she should desire. His touch? There was only one way for her to find out. She would ask him. Llyr rose from his spot and followed. Eliane’s bare feet flew down the stairs and she went to the well to draw a bucket of water.

  They were talking when she came into the yard. Rhys had his hand on Mathias’s shoulder and his head was bent to the boy as he gave him instructions. Mathias looked her way when she approached, carrying the bucket.

  “You should not carry that.” Rhys rushed to her side and took the bucket. “We have servants for that.”

  “Our servants are about their jobs as they should be,” she replied. “The women of Aubregate manage to work the fields and care for their families until their time comes upon them. Look at me, husband. Am I so frail that I cannot carry a pail of water to relieve your thirst?”

  His dark eyes moved over her from head to toe. She should have checked her appearance before she left her rooms. His gaze upon her was hot and piercing and she knew she appeared a mess, wearing nothing but her yellow kirtle with her hair falling around her hips.

  “You look as if you just came from the fields.” Rhys handed the dipper to Mathias, who took it and drank greedily. “A field full of wildflowers in bloom.” He picked up a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. It had been a long while since he’d done so.

  “If only I had.” She stood perfectly still, enjoying his touch. She kept her eyes upon his face, losing herself in the depths of his gaze. “I find that I miss…them.” She almost said him. Should she have?

  Rhys dropped her hair and looked around the walled yard as if it were a prison. Llyr, with his tongue lolling, moved out of the sun to lie beneath a small willow.

  “I will return you to Aubregate as soon as the king releases us.”

  “Will he ever release us?”

  With a nod of his head, Rhys bade Mathias leave them. The boy went off gratefully to jump in the river. Rhys took the dipper dropped by Mathias and raised it to drink. He dumped the rest on his forehead and let it run down his face. “The king plays maneuvers for power with the Church.” He picked up the bucket once more. “We are naught but pawns.”

  “And Renauld?”

  “He is biding his time. I shall have to kill him before it comes.”

  Without thinking, she grabbed his forearm. It was slick with sweat and as hard as stone. His veins and tendons stood out from the weight of the bucket. She felt the faint beat of his pulse. “This game is dangerous for us, Rhys. I fear its outcome.”

  “What outcome do you fear?” He raised the bucket over his head and poured the water over himself. Eliane jumped back as it sluiced over his shoulders and downward, washing away the sweat and the grit from his exertions. He dropped the bucket and wiped t
he water from his eyes with the back of his arm. Droplets clung to the shadow of his beard and to his dark lashes like tiny stars. He blinked them away.

  “I fear losing you.”

  He tilted his head to one side as if it would help him see her better. His eyes burned over her, hot, scorching. The heat of the sun was nothing by comparison. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt her skin flush, giving proof to the fire he’d started inside her. She was not brave enough to look into the flames of his eyes, so she cast her gaze on his chest, only to find there was no escape from the inferno. She stared at the silver cross that rested in the hollow beneath his throat. She wanted to touch the damp skin, to marvel at the smoothness of it. To trail her hand down the ridges of his stomach into the dark hair around his navel and beyond. His chausses, loose and wet, dipped dangerously low. Her eyes widened. He grew hard beneath her gaze. Was that possible? Could her look have the same effect on him as his had on her?

  “Rhys.” Eliane swallowed. “I desire.”

  “Don’t say it unless you mean it.” His voice was full of pain.

  “I know not what else to say.” Tears came unbidden to her eyes. “I only know that I desire…”

  “Eliane.” He whispered her name. Placed his fingers on her cheek, then trailed them down her hair, until he reached her trembling hand. “Let me show you what it is you desire. Let me kiss you and touch you as we did at first. Let me take away the pain of our joining.” His hand moved to her stomach. “I want it to be right between us.” He swallowed hard and there were shadows of pain in his eyes. The lonely boy he’d been was now showing his soul because he feared for the child she bore. His mouth brushed against her ear. “Let me love you.”

  She swayed against him. His hands gripped her face and he kissed her as he had the day they were attacked. He claimed her for his own, demanding her body and capturing her soul.

  “Love me, Rhys.” He pulled away so they could take a breath. He leaned his forehead against hers and she clung to him, her knees weak from his kiss. “Show me my desire.” He nodded his head against hers and then bent to scoop her up in his arms. He moved into the house quickly, surprising Cedric and Khati.

  “Milord?” Cedric asked, his brow arched in question.

  “Milady?” Khati turned from the table where she worked.

  Eliane buried her face in Rhys’s shoulder. She could not look at them.

  “Leave us!” Rhys roared. “Do not come unless I call.” He rushed to the stairs and took them two at a time. Eliane saw Llyr about to follow, saw Cedric catch his collar, saw Khati stuff her knuckle into her mouth to keep from laughing out loud as Rhys carried her up the stairs. She saw it all as if in a dream.

  He kicked open the door of her chamber. He placed her on the bed, then went back and barred the door. He pulled off his boots as he returned to her. Eliane watched him as if hypnotized. She could not tear her eyes from his face, from the burning look that scorched her. He knelt beside her on the bed, putting one arm over her hip to brace his body, while she leaned against the pillows.

  Another scorching look went from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, which peeked out beneath the hem of her kirtle. He touched her neck where the fabric lay open, then moved his hand down to her belly and splayed his hand over it.

  “Will it be safe for her? I do not wish to hurt—”

  Eliane did not let him finish. She took his head in her hands and pulled him to her. Her lips found his and demanded what he’d promised. He groaned deep in his throat and rolled them both to their sides. His pulled the hem of her kirtle up her leg, and his hand followed, resting on the bare skin of her hip. She threw her leg over his and pressed against him.

  “The babe?” he asked again as he moved his mouth to her throat.

  “Yes,” was all she managed to gasp. His mouth and his tongue moved down her neck and into the space between her breasts and she arched against him. The heat that flushed her body settled between her legs. This is desire…I want more.

  Her kirtle was hot and heavy between them. She wanted to feel his skin on hers. She ran her hands over the dampened smoothness of his back and downward until she felt the powerful muscles of his buttocks beneath his chausses. She squeezed and flattened her hands, which pushed his hips closer to hers. She could feel his shaft, hard and heavy between them.

  Rhys growled low, deep in his throat, and turned them over so she was on her back. He kneeled over her, his legs straddling her. He grasped the hem of her kirtle and she held on to his shoulders so he could pull it from beneath her. He flung it aside and she pulled at the waist of his chausses.

  He grabbed her hands. “Let me look at you.” His voice was husky with desire and his eyes black as night. Eliane fell back against the pillows once more. Her hair was wild and spilled over her, tangling about her waist. He pushed it aside, trailing his hands over her skin as he moved it, exposing her breasts and the slight curve of her belly.

  “You are beautiful.” He kissed her stomach, then moved upward. His hand found one breast and she arched again against the rough feel of his palm. His mouth found the other and she moaned. Desire…

  “Rhys…” She twisted her hands into his hair, holding him close against her breast yet squirming beneath him. The bristle on his cheek was rough, and the small silver cross that hung at his neck tickled. That combination, along with his lips and tongue, drove her wild with something she could not name…want…need…desire. Rhys raised his head, and she reached for him. He merely smiled and moved down her body. He put his arms beneath her thighs and pulled them upward and apart.

  “What…” she gasped, alarmed, yet curious. His lips touched her knee, then his tongue. The bristle of his beard burned the tender skin of her inner thigh, then his tongue cooled it as it followed.

  She felt the heat of his mouth move to the place that she should not touch. She put her hands over her face, embarrassed, yet fascinated. Oh…my…She could never confess this thing that he did…Then all conscious thought left her. She grasped the sheets, twisting the fabric in her hands as her hips moved of their own accord. Something was happening. Something was coming. Something was pushing her and pulling her and she did not want it to stop, yet she feared what was to come.

  “Rhys.” Her voice cracked on his name and then she screamed as a tide of stars poured over her. Her body rose from the bed and sailed outward into millions of pieces, scattering into the air like ash. Rhys pulled her up, into his arms, cradled her against him as her body shuddered and screamed and throbbed. He pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her cheek and the peak of her ear.

  “That was desire,” he whispered. As her senses returned, she heard Llyr barking, but she did not care why. Something much more important pulled at her.

  “More,” she gasped. She was empty and needed to be filled. She felt his hardness beneath her. He still wore his chausses and she pushed them down, freeing him. His breath caught and she took him in her hand. His head fell against hers. “Fill me, Rhys. Fill me with desire.”

  She was boneless as he pushed her back, yet she managed to twist her legs around his hips when he raised himself on his arms over her. “This time will be different,” he said. “There will be pleasure.”

  She knew it as surely as she breathed. He slid inside her, so very slowly, until he was buried deep inside. She felt her passage mold around him. Yes…this is…Rhys…Felt the size of him and the power that he held back because he still feared hurting her or the babe. This is desire. This filling of one’s body and soul. He propped his upper body on his elbows, put his hands in her hair, and gazed down at her with his soul plainly showing on his face.

  “This is what I wanted to give you on our wedding night. This pleasure.”

  She moved her hips, adjusting her body to the feel of him, to his weight, to the fullness, and he closed his eyes, every muscle of his body drawn taut.

  “Show me, Rhys,” she said. “Show me before I die of want.”

  He smiled an
d opened his eyes. “You are greedy, wife.” He pulled out, teasing her, and she gripped him tighter with her legs, showing him the strength born from years of riding.

  “Only for my husband, who has been most selfish.”

  He plunged back into her once more and she gasped, her eyes widening as he filled her even more. He moved and she found his rhythm. Once more she felt the pressure she’d known before, the reaching, and the wanting. She arched toward it, seeing it, feeling it build with each thrust as he moved against her, faster and faster. She kept her eyes on his face, marveling at the intensity of his gaze, and at the fire that burned in his dark eyes. Then his focus went beyond her, to a point far away, and she saw what he saw, joined him in reaching for it. She felt her bones turn to ash once more as he carried her into the sky.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Rhys put both hands on her stomach and held his breath. Eliane said the babe moved when she was still and he wanted to feel it. He still could not wrap his mind around the truth. Their first time together he’d put a babe inside her. He wished the child was a result of today’s union, but he was not one to question God’s handiwork. The fact that she was breeding would surely be enough for the king to give his blessing to their union. Renauld would be gone from their lives forever.

  How did Eliane feel about the babe? Did she welcome it? Or would she feel as his mother had, that she was trapped? He would need to watch her carefully for any sign of sadness or anger, anything that would indicate she was the same as his mother. He could only pray she would not seek death as his mother had. He would do everything in his power to stop such a thing.

  This would worry him every day he was gone. It would gnaw at his insides in the same way Edward’s illness had gnawed at him. Killing him on the inside. Rhys de Remy, who gave not a thought to anything outside of his control, would be in constant agony over his wife’s pregnancy.