The heated pressure of his manhood within her was sweet beyond imagining. He filled her and drew away, at once pleasing her and tormenting her in the same enthralling movement. Slick and hot, they moved together, the friction raising them both to monumental heights. Rosalynde’s arms circled Aric; her face pressed against his thick, muscled neck as he moved faster and faster over her. He drove into her relentlessly, and with every wild plunge, she cried out her pleasure until they were moving as one, frantic for the ease they found only together.
“I love you.” She heard his hoarse words as he drove on like a man possessed. “God, but I love you.”
If perfection could be reached on earth, Rosalynde found it in that moment. Her heart swelled with love, even as her body erupted in violent fulfillment. It was an absolute harmony of her physical and emotional love for him. Swift hard shudders welled up from deep inside her and radiated out to encompass her entire body. Yet she was still aware of Aric’s answering response as he tensed over her. With a muffled cry against her hair, his body quaked in uncontrolled passion as he poured his life and love into her.
His breath came in great gasps as he spent himself within her. And yet this too they seemed intimately to share. As they both fought for breath, they lay there together, Aric half upon her still, their arms and legs twined together in the perfect lovers’ embrace.
“I love you,” Rosalynde murmured through her hazy contentment. “Love you …”
Aric stirred at her words and lifted his head to look at her. His face was little more than a shadow in the thin light of early morn, yet Rosalynde could see him clearly. His dark-golden hair fell about his face; his eyes were dark and solemn, although she knew he was well pleased with her.
“Is it truly love you feel?”
Rosalynde nodded, her eyes direct upon him. “I love you,” she repeated without hesitation.
“Why?”
A small frown creased her brow as she pondered his question. Did he doubt the depth of her feelings? She reached her left hand to cup his hard prickly cheek. “I love you because I must. I must breathe to live. And eat. And I must love you.”
She felt the faint relaxation of his jaw beneath her fingers, and then her eyes closed and a sleepy smile spread over her face. “I love you,” she said once more as a yawn overtook her.
When he curled her against him, cradling her head on his arm, she surrendered completely to sleep, lulled by her exhaustion and the soothing sound of his whispered “I love you” in her ear.
28
Cleve sat in a nook near the great hearth, waiting for Sir Gilbert to depart.
“By damn I will hunt him down!” Gilbert ranted, glaring at Lord Edward as if he had plotted this entire episode. For his part, Edward appeared amazingly calm, considering the disastrous conclusion of the melee and the hours he and his men had since spent searching for Aric.
“We will all continue the search in the morning,” Edward put in mildly.
“I caught him once; I’ll not need any help in doing so again,” Gilbert retorted. “And this time I will hang him on the spot!” Then, not waiting for a response, he strode furiously from the hall.
It was only then that Edward’s expression grew dark. When he spied Cleve inching into the thickening light, he signaled him to approach.
“Go bid my daughter to attend me, Cleve. I fear greatly that she may be the one with the answers to this coil,” he added, more to himself than to the boy.
“Milord, the Lady Rosalynde—” Cleve halted, then grimaced to himself. There was nothing for it but to tell the man. “Lady Rosalynde is not to be found. I’ve searched the castle for her, but she is nowhere within. And a mare and saddle are gone from the—”
“Gone!” Sir Edward started out of his seat, his mild aggravation replaced by angry disbelief. “She is gone without my permission? With whom? And to where?”
“I-I fear she travels alone … to seek Aric.”
Cleve watched as first fury, then fear, and finally confusion washed over Lord Edward’s face. When the man slumped back into his seat, still staring in dismay at Cleve, the boy moved nearer.
“Milord,” he began quietly, after casting an eye about to ensure they were alone. “I have reason to believe that Lady Rosalynde has a soft spot in her heart for Aric. ’Twould not surprise me if she has gone to help him.”
“Help him? The fellow is no doubt many leagues away by now. He leaves Stanwood with a horse, weapons, and a decent tunic—far more than he came here with. He’d be a fool to linger after today’s foul doings.”
Cleve bit his lip, not sure how correct was his own conjecture. “Methinks he will not leave here—not without Lady Rosalynde. Nor without meeting Sir Gilbert again.”
At this Lord Edward straightened up. His eyes narrowed as he stared hard at Cleve. “Tell me what you know, boy.”
By dawn searchers were out again, and though Lord Edward tried to downplay his daughter’s obvious absence, too many tongues already spoke of it. From maid to manservant, the tale was passed until he could not deny the truth of it to the knights who yet lingered at Stanwood. Those who might have departed, unconcerned by one rogue’s escape, stayed now, outraged that a noblewoman could be stolen away from her home. For despite Lord Edward’s reluctant belief that Rosalynde had fled of her own will, he refused to allow any others to suspect it. As the riders thundered down the dusty road that led from the castle, there was a universal conviction that the runagate from the melee had somehow absconded with the innocent Lady Rosalynde. And each man vowed to have the villain’s head for it.
Cleve’s face creased in concern as he watched the activity in the bailey below. He too planned to search for Rosalynde and Aric, for he was certain they were not long away. But with so many searchers about, he feared greatly for Aric’s discovery. A wry grin lifted his lips at that sentiment, for there had been a time—not very long past—when he would have relished just such an end for the scoundrel Blacksword. Hanging would have been too good for him. But there was more involved now. Rosalynde clearly loved the man—and it appeared he wasn’t quite the rogue he had at first seemed.
Cleve’s eyes narrowed as he saw Sir Gilbert mount his own destrier. With an angry jerk at the reins, the man turned the animal, then drove him forward, scattering chickens and the pack of castle hounds as he charged across the bailey with his men, resuming the search they’d had to abandon the night before.
Now there was a man to beware of, the boy decided. And one who must not find the missing lovers before he himself did.
When Cleve rode out from Stanwood Castle, he was on a sturdy pony and without any escort or fanfare. The only eyes that noted his departure were Lord Edward’s, and that one frowned thoughtfully at his passing. While the forest was scoured from east to west, from glen to highest hill, the boy urged his steed on, following a hunch that had plagued him all night. Although he spied other riders, he avoided them, for he wished no one to mind him overlong. As the sun moved higher into the sky and he drew several leagues away from Stanwood, he began to relax a bit, and even to doze in the saddle, for he’d had little enough sleep the previous night.
He did not notice the four riders who trailed him at a distance, careful to remain hidden. Even had he seen them, he would not have recognized the men in their nondescript hoods and tunics. But Sir Gilbert of Duxton recognized young Cleve very well.
“What is that trifling boy about?” he had murmured to himself when he’d first seen Cleve. He’d almost dismissed the boy as just another of the searchers who hoped to gain both glory and a reward by saving Lord Edward’s daughter. But then Gilbert had reconsidered. The young squire traveled alone and did not appear to be looking for anyone. He seemed instead to have a definite destination in mind as he hurried his horse along. On a hunch, Gilbert sent his other men off with the strict orders to kill the rogue knight Aric as soon as they set eyes on him. Then he and three of his men followed Cleve.
The sun was curving toward the western horiz
on when Cleve approached the Stour River. Golden shafts of sunlight glanced off the tumbled granite boulders of the adulterine as he urged his weary mount across the river ford. There was no sign of life in the abandoned castle, and a shiver swept up his spine as he thought of the ghosts said to haunt the place. Yet they’d been safe there once before, he reminded himself sternly. No unhappy spirits had beset them then. None would now. It was the living they must fear more than the dead.
The pony’s head was hanging low as he ambled up the littered path. Birds called back and forth through the forest canopy, and small creatures scurried through the wild blueberries and holly that almost overgrew the path. But no sound of human life could be heard. Cleve let out a short mutter of despair, but then he suddenly pulled up. A hoofprint showed clearly in a muddy spot on the trail. And another! With renewed enthusiasm he nudged his mount on. At the first wall he jumped down and tied the exhausted animal to a protruding beam. Then he hurried past the broken wall, clambered over the ruins, and jumped down into the deserted bailey.
Cleve remembered very little of the time he’d spent within this eerily silent castle—only dark flickering shadows and a place with no roof. Now as he looked around him it appeared no more than vaguely familiar. He picked his way slowly—past a wildly overgrown garden and a broken stone bench. A chimney stood lonely sentinel where a kitchen had once been. Then he heard distant voices and he froze.
Was it Rosalynde? Was she safe? On stealthy feet he made his way around an open shed and peered cautiously beyond. What he saw caused his mouth to drop open in shock.
A woman—Lady Rosalynde, quite obviously—sat upon a stone-walled well, but she had not a stitch of clothing on! She was draped only in her long, glorious hair! Standing beside her, clad in braies and nothing else, the runagate, Blacksword—Aric, he was—lifted a bucket of water and doused her thoroughly. Though she shrieked and tried to escape, it was clear she enjoyed herself immensely, for she suddenly clasped the man to her, wetting him thoroughly with her own dripping embrace.
“If I’m to bathe, so shall you,” she vowed as she dropped the bucket back into the well.
A low chuckle came from Aric. “How I longed to do this to you when first we lingered here.”
“Did you? I thought you disliked me then.” One of her brows arched in mock disdain.
“You were more than filthy,” he replied. Then when she pounded his chest in outrage at his words, he laughed and caught her small fists. “My sweet Rose,” he murmured before he lowered his head to kiss her.
In the silence Cleve was completely taken aback. How happy they appeared together! He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, wondering what to do. At once Aric wheeled, sensing the presence of someone else. He grabbed up his sword, which leaned against the nearby stonework wall, and stepped protectively in front of Rosalynde.
“Show yourself!” he challenged in a ferocious snarl.
Cleve edged nervously into view, staring wide-eyed at the man and Lady Rosalynde, who tried to hide her nakedness behind him.
“Cleve!” she cried out in relief when she recognized him.
“Mi-milady,” he stammered, still caught up in his embarrassment.
“Are you alone?” Aric demanded, not lowering the sword at all.
“Aye, I’m alone. But there are legions of men searching for you both.” His eyes darted away from Rosalynde, then crept back of their own accord. Aric dropped the point of his sword at that news, but he frowned at the direction of Cleve’s gaze.
“If you want to keep those eyes of yours, you’d best turn them away from her.” Then his tone calmed. “Get you to a shed off to your right. We shall join you directly. I would have news of Stanwood. And of Gilbert.”
Cleve scurried away at once, for he was chagrined to catch them in so intimate an act as bathing together. Rosalynde too was mortified to be found thus, but that emotion quickly fled for she knew that if Cleve had found them, so could Gilbert. A shiver went through her, despite the warm sunshine, and she leaned forward to wrap her arms around Aric’s neck. Her bare breasts pressed against his warm back and she laid her forehead against his shoulder.
“Let us be away from here,” she pleaded softly. The words caught in her throat and she compressed her lips tightly to fight back her tears. “Oh, please, Aric—my love, my husband—I would give up Stanwood gladly to keep you safe.”
Aric turned, then pulled her from atop the well wall and held her close against him. A wet tendril of her hair caught between them and with one hand he slid it back from her cheek.
“Did ever a wife worry about her husband so?” he mocked her gently. “Have faith in me, my love. Have faith in me.”
Rosalynde did not press him after that, for she knew it was useless. With great haste she donned her kirtle and gown, blushing when Aric’s eyes stayed avidly upon her. Despite their shared intimacies, she doubted she would ever become accustomed to the possessiveness in Aric’s eyes whenever he looked at her. A warm knot tightened in her belly as she let her eyes slip over his powerful arms and wide shoulders. When he picked up his discarded chainse and tunic she averted her gaze, biting her lip in consternation at the wanton thoughts that had crept into her mind. She busied herself tying the laces on either side of her waist, but when she heard him slide the black sword into its plain scabbard she looked up in dismay.
“Aric, please,” she began.
He silenced her with a quick kiss. “It will be all right,” he murmured once more. “Now let us hear what Cleve has to say.”
Aric kept his arm about her shoulder as they walked back to their shed, and Rosalynde took what comfort she could from his reassuring warmth. Let him be safe, she prayed. Please, let him be safe.
But her prayers seemed to go unheeded, for when they rounded the broken wall, the devil himself confronted them.
“My, my,” Sir Gilbert drawled as he took in their cozy embrace. “Isn’t this a pretty scene.”
Despite her own shock, Rosalynde was well aware of the immediate tension in Aric. But when she would have drawn back, he would not remove his arm from her shoulder. As he stood there—to all appearances not in the least unsettled by Gilbert’s unexpected presence—she saw Gilbert’s face grow dark with anger even as he gave them an evil smile. Beyond him three knights stood, one huge brute with an arm around Cleve’s neck. Not for a minute did Rosalynde think Cleve had deliberately led the men to them. But that hardly mattered, she realized. They were outnumbered and she could see no way out of their dire predicament.
“If you think to save yourself by the Lady Rosalynde’s presence, think again.” Gilbert’s eyes flickered furiously to her, but he must have fought back his urge to lash out at her as well. “Your father believes you have been abducted, Rosalynde. But ’tis clear to me that he has been duped by the pair of you.” He took a casual step forward. On his face was a mocking smile. “However, despite your unseemly behavior with this blackguard, it is not too late to save what is left of your tattered reputation.” His voice became hard and his pale eyes bored into hers. “Come here, Rosalynde. Now.”
In the heavy silence that followed his command, Rosalynde hesitated. She did not begin to consider cooperating with Gilbert. If he was Aric’s enemy, then he was hers also. Yet she was consumed with fear for Aric’s safety. He could not win against four men! But if she could appease Gilbert in some way—
Aric’s fingers tightened on her shoulder as if he read her desperate thoughts.
“I love you,” she murmured very softly as she turned her wide eyes up to him.
Although he did not respond or even smile, she felt the love in his clear gray eyes. Then he turned his face back to Gilbert. “Leave Rosalynde and the boy out of this. Our difference does not concern them.”
“What does it concern?” Rosalynde interrupted. She hoped to forestall any fight, yet she also did not understand the venom between the two men.
“Has he not told you then?” Gilbert gave her a keen look. Then, as compr
ehension dawned, he began to laugh. “So, Aric,” he began, putting emphasis on the absence of any title. “You keep her uninformed about our dealings. I commend you for your foresight, for should she know too much … well, I can see you fear I might be forced to kill her too.” He broke off with a malicious shrug, then let out a full-throated laugh.
Although she did not know what he meant, Rosalynde knew that Gilbert’s words had struck a chord of truth, for she felt Aric go rigid in response.
“What is the truth?” she asked, leaning harder against Aric as she stared pleadingly up at him. “It will not matter to me. I swear it!”
“Although I mislike agreeing with him, Rosalynde, ’tis best that you stay innocent of our dealings. We shall speak on it later.”
“Only there will be no later,” Gilbert said with a snarl, brandishing his sword menacingly. “This should have been ended in London—or in Dunmow. But we will end it now. I will end it!”
Before Gilbert could advance even half the way toward them, Aric thrust Rosalynde to the side and drew out his own wicked blade. Then the men met in a violent crash of metal against metal.
Rosalynde backed away in horror from the two as they locked in deadly combat, but she was unable to tear her eyes away. Although Aric had a slight advantage in height, he had only his sword and was barefoot, clad just in braies. Gilbert, by contrast, was fully garbed with leather boots and a thin mail hauberk and protective hood. In the angled sunlight Aric’s skin glinted golden—and vulnerable—as Gilbert pressed his attack. Slowly Aric gave way as Gilbert hacked at him. The black sword raised to fend off the fierce assault. In desperation Rosalynde looked around for some means of help. It was then her eyes met Cleve’s.
The Rose of Blacksword (Loveswept) Page 38