The Yearning Heart

by Zelma Orr

  By God's eye, Stephen has his nerve.

  * * * *

  “I will see the king and queen to relay news of Princess Alix, Rebecca,” Stephen said.

  They were to stay one night at an inn just outside London before journeying to Salisbury. Aubin remained on guard outside her door.

  Rebecca curtsied.

  “Indeed, my lord, I would expect it of you even as the king demands it.”

  Stephen stepped into the room.

  “Rebecca, I forbid you to speak of his royal highness in this manner. We are his subjects and it is our duty to serve him.”

  “It is thy duty to serve him, my lord, and do not forbid me to speak whatever I wish. I cannot say thus as your wife, but as Rebecca Lambert I can voice my own thoughts. You cannot stop me.”

  Stephen reached her in one long stride, and his hands closed on her upper arms. He yanked her close to him, staring into the taunting eyes, lips parted in a matching half smile. He meant to chastise her, to order her to rethink her statements, but he forgot what he was about to say. He forgot everything except the woman in his arms.

  He bent his head, finding her soft mouth yielding and moist.

  He went mad with wanting her, his body reacting to months of denial of manly desires, all because of Rebecca. He had not wanted another woman while she was gone, his mind unwilling to accept she would not return to him.

  Rebecca could be faulted for all of his pain.

  His hands moved down, taking Rebecca's blouse with them. The cotton material ripped easily in his strong fingers, and his wife stood before him with her outthrust breasts bared to his vision. He moaned, bending his head to place his mouth over the brown nipple, sucking wetly. His body rose in wonderful torment as shock after shock of wanting showered his body.

  She smelled of honeysuckle and rose petals, of the tall grasses that grew along Moon Cliffs, of freshly bathed skin and simply woman. Smelled of nights when her love filled him, when he filled her body with his own needs. The scents belonged to him as her body belonged to him. She smelled of sunshine, of flowers, of love.

  She smelled like Rebecca.

  There was to be no stopping him now, his body burning with such heat that even a summons from the king would be ignored. Everything, his duties, his loyalties, his love, was centered in the arousal that threatened to explode ere he could claim her.

  Rebecca fought the flood of feelings threatening to overcome her. At Stephen's touch, she melted inside, but still she struggled to hold herself away from him. His mouth, hard and demanding, started a fast beat in her chest, and when his lips closed over her breast, she could not stand straight. Her blouse material disappeared beneath his roaming hands, and Rebecca leaned against him, moving her body so that he could push her skirt away.

  Somehow, Stephen had her on the bed, both of them naked, the words he spoke making no sense to her at all. She tried once to push him away but he whispered hoarsely, “Nay, Rebecca, I will have you. Do not fight me.”

  And she did not.

  She did not fight, and she tried not to respond. It was as though fighting the wind over the rough sea waves they had just sailed. And just as useless.

  So many nights she had dreamed of Stephen's arms, his lips tender and speaking words that turned her heart over and made her love him all the more. There were no words of love now, but the sounds she heard were hot and demanding and ruthlessly taking what Stephen considered rightfully his.

  He knelt over her, and Rebecca opened her eyes to see his face, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, wetting the heavy hair that had fallen over his brows. His breathing came short through parted lips. Eyes, bluer than skies over Dover, stared with fiery intensity into hers. His hand slid between her legs, pushing them apart, as he guided himself into her. She clung to him while his body pushed harder into hers.

  His entrance was not easy. It had been a long time since they had made love, and Rebecca was small and tight. Stephen gained entry partway into her, and then he stopped, looking into her face where he could read nothing. No response, no desire, no denial.

  “Rebecca,” he whispered. “I do not wish to hurt you. Help me.”

  Her hands came up and pushed damp hair from his face, and she let her fingers slide down his cheek to his lips. One finger moved over his lips and into his mouth. She found his tongue and gently caressed it with her fingertip. It hardened instantly, then wrapped itself around her finger, sucking.

  His face changed, softened. He closed his eyes, his breath coming in great rasping gasps, but still he sucked, his body held rigidly above Rebecca. Reluctantly, she withdrew her finger, but the arousal of her body's response centered between her legs. She pulled her knees up, clamping them against Stephen's hips, resting her heels on the backs of his legs. Slowly, she raised her hips, tightening her knees over Stephen at the same time.

  He gave one gentle push, and then thrust strongly so that Rebecca grunted. He lay there, deep inside her, looking into her moistened eyes. Then he kissed her. Over and over, he opened his mouth, clasping her soft lips, running his tongue inside, sliding it beneath and around hers, sucking it into his mouth, biting gently. He released her mouth to kiss over her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead, down to her chin.

  With a deep moan, he once more found her breast and suckled, hard and fast, until they strained against each other, until murmured words blurred and senses soared

  His body could not wait. He began hard and fast thrusts and, suddenly, he shouted her name, hoarsely, and his mouth crushed hers as his seed spurted hotly into her pliant body. He shuddered and felt the answering response from Rebecca. No matter she didn't want to, her body answered for her.

  Stephen lay for a moment, slowly withdrew, and lie, shaken by his feeling for her, for the longing he had that she feel the same for him.

  “Rebecca?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Didst feel anything?

  His voice was demanding, not what he wanted it to be at all, but it was said and he could not recall it.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He waited, but she did not tell him her feelings. Why could he not say gentle, loving words to her, those he felt as he claimed her for his own after all this time? “Well? Sayst what they felt.”

  “That you wanted my body for thy satisfaction, and that is what I trust you got.”

  Had he been a man to beat his wife, Rebecca would have felt his wrath at that moment. Fire still raged deep inside him. He wanted her to be filled with desire, this flaming hunger that raged unabated even after he had possessed her. He stared into the insolent eyes, closed his own for a moment, and then opened them once more.

  “Nay, Rebecca,” he said softly. “Not nearly satisfied.”

  He placed his hands to each side of her face, bent to place his mouth over hers.

  “I want more. Much more of you, and I shall take what I want since you are so willing. I will have you as much as I want since you are mine. Mine alone, Rebecca.”

  He raised himself up, brought his hands down to slide along the side of her breasts, his thumbs resting beneath them. He caressed the taut nipple, slowly, watching his thumbs as they moved. A soft moan escaped his lips as he bent to take the brown tip into his mouth. He suckled, licked, suckled again then went to the other side to repeat his movements. His body was as though set with fire, and he trembled as, once again, his body hardened with desire.

  Rebecca's eyes closed, and she fought to keep from responding to him. But as he kissed and licked his way down her belly, down so that he could reach her spread thighs, she trembled, and held her breath. Until he reached her hot center, then she could no longer withhold the moan that eased from her throat.

  “Stephen.”

  “Rebecca.”

  Then his mouth touched the moist heat, his tongue circled, touched deep within her, suckled the soft flesh, and she cried out. Her back arched upward from the bed to meet his kisses. Her eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling, but she saw nothing, he
r mind blanked by the torture of Stephen's lips, his arms, his hands, taking her to places she'd never been, to gardens where only love grew. Her heart reached outward to Stephen, wishing, hoping.

  He brought himself back to look down into her face as he eased himself back inside her.

  “You are mine, Rebecca. No other man will touch you. No other man will have you.” He pushed himself deep into her. “Wrap your legs around me and hold me tightly.”

  She licked her lips, and then pressed her teeth into them.

  “Do it, Rebecca. Now.”

  Slowly, she brought her legs up to cross them over Stephen's hips. Her arms slid around his neck.

  “Hold me. Hold me, Rebecca.”

  He began to move, easily at first, watching Rebecca's expression. When her lips parted and her eyes widened, Stephen smiled.

  “You will enjoy me, Rebecca. You cannot do otherwise.”

  With that, he crushed his mouth to hers, his body began pumping with rapid in and out motions. Rebecca's mouth opened, accepted Stephen's thrusting tongue, and matched his movements with her small body. She didn't think about it, she couldn't think. All she knew was that she was in Stephen's arms where she longed to be, that Stephen was loving her as he had years ago. His body and hers were bound together in this one instant, this one forever, with love as the only tie.

  For this one night, at least, he was hers.

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  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  For a long time Stephen lay over Rebecca, his breathing harsh, hands beneath her shoulders clasped tightly. Neither spoke.

  When Rebecca's body shuddered, Stephen raised his head to look straight down into the dark blue eyes. They were wide, stunned, questioning. He had no answer for her. He was dazed by his own actions, the fierceness with which he'd taken her body, the unbelievable rapture that filled him as he possessed her. He'd practically devoured her, stimulated beyond reasoning by just holding her in his arms again. It had been so long, too long, since he'd held her, since he'd felt that softness beneath him, felt the unbridled response of her young, lovely body.

  How he loved the woman he held. Why could he not tell her this? He shook his head, unable to answer his own questions.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Her lips parted, but she didn't speak. She couldn't. Her heart and body still belonged to Stephen. Her response had been unplanned, had in fact, been denied, but her feelings had not listened. He was the only man to ever touch her, the only one she'd loved, the one to which she belonged, body and soul. It was a wrong love, one-sided, but she didn't know what to do about it.

  “No, Stephen,” she said. “You did not hurt me. Do not worry thyself about me.”

  His body pressed into her as he lifted his hands to frame her face. “I needed you, Rebecca. You belong to me, and I will not give you up. I have been denied a woman too long.”

  A woman? Just any woman? Rebecca wondered at his words. What about Malvina? She dared not ask.

  “Art satisfied then?”

  He brushed his mouth over hers. “Yes. And you?”

  She didn't answer immediately, and Stephen kissed her hard.

  “Answer me.” His eyes blazed like blue fire into hers. “Answer me truthfully, Rebecca.” There was a hard demand in his voice.

  “Yes,” she said. And that was all.

  At Rebecca's quiet answer, Stephen stared for only an instant, withdrew from her body, slid away, gathered his clothing, and left the room without a word.

  She lay where he left her. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she did not wipe them away. They were the first ones to be shed since that day long ago when she left Glastonbury and Stephen. The ache in her chest did not lessen with the flow of tears nor did the useless love she had for Stephen. Her body trembled still from her response, from the savage loving they'd shared. Stephen was no more to blame than she for wanting to share her body. He demanded, and expected, that Rebecca give herself to him. Demanded. Did he ever think about her feelings, any at all? Not that she could tell.

  She would love him always, but his slave she would not become.

  And in his new home where he was taking her resided his real love, Malvina.

  Arising, Rebecca used the soft cloth by the enamel basin Aubin had filled to wash away the scent of Stephen's lovemaking. Still, she felt him inside her. A half smile touched with cold satisfaction, parted her lips. Stephen would never know how much her body had enjoyed his. She would never tell him the wild desire he roused in her, or the blinding heights he had taken her to. He would never know how being full of his thrusting maleness had released a sweetness that slashed through her thighs and her belly, meeting his hot suckling lips at her breasts and exploding once more deep in her thighs as his juices flooded her.

  She laughed out loud.

  “What sayst that to feelings, Sir Stephen?” she said into the silence of the room.

  Then she turned to dress.

  * * * *

  Morning mist turned to steady rain as the carriage swayed over the muddy road. Rebecca, a pale blue shawl over her hair, peered through the curtains drawn around her and Stephen. They had not spoken since leaving the inn.

  “ ‘Tis not pleasant for Aubin to ride thusly, Stephen,” she said.

  “Aubin is healthy. He will not suffer.” Stephen's voice was cold, unfeeling. “Thou art warm enough?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Her body was indeed warm enough, but her heart was cold. Cold and alone. She hadn't felt so abandoned since the day Stephen forbade her to ride Tor.

  Her hands were wrapped in a fur muff to match the shawl over her hair. A deep blue rug lay across her knees and Stephen's. They barely touched, but for all their closeness, he could still be in London and she in Grinwold: furlongs apart.

  “How much longer to Salisbury?”

  “We will arrive late afternoon.”

  They had stopped one night at a wayside inn as Aubin said Stephen was wont to do on the trip from London to Salisbury. Rebecca had waited for Stephen to come to her and demand her body once more, but he did not. It had been past midnight when she finally slept, a restless sleep with wild dreams in which Stephen told her he loved her.

  When she awakened, there was the salty taste of tears in her throat.

  Stephen's head was turned away from her, and Rebecca feasted her eyes on the hard line of his jaw. Heavy locks of dark blond hair curled over his ears, and she thought Aubin needed to take scissors and trim a bit. It would curl more, she knew from past observations. Her gaze lingered on his mouth, set in a stern line as though he gripped something between his teeth.

  No doubt thinking I need a good tongue lashing for speaking my mind, she thought, and turned back to look out her side of the carriage at the slanting rain. As far as the eye could see, there was deserted countryside, everything wet and cold.

  She shivered in sympathy for Aubin.

  Aubin, wrapped in a smelly wool rug, sat happily atop the carriage. Everything would go back to the old way, the happy way, with laughter and song, now that Lady Rebecca had come home. The servants in Glastonbury would be most happy to have her lilting voice raised in sometimes naughty songs inside the gloomy stone walls. Malvina would stop frowning with my lady's long, blonde hair to brush, her clothing to care for, the bed to make in Rebecca's bedroom rather than to dust unused things as she had done for so long.

  Perchance Sir Stephen would smile again.

  Aubin huddled inside his rug and thought of happier days.

  * * * *

  “What do you call it?”

  Rebecca stared at the towers on each end of the stone building, which was Stephen's new manor house. Colorful stone, the likes of which she had not seen before, adorned the high walls like gentle flowers set among rock. The house sat within but apart from stone walls, wide yards filled with green shrubs and beds prepared for a spring planting.

  Rebecca's hands itched. There would be lovely gardening days in store.
But she did not plan to be here the spring season. Let Stephen turn his back, and she'd be gone once more.

  “New Sarum is the name. You may call it something different if you like.”

  Stephen stood behind her, and she could not see his face or know what he was thinking. She could feel him, his warmth, even the reluctant touch of his hand on her arm. His voice showed no feeling, no warmth, no coldness—nothing.

  In truth mayhap that is his true way, Rebecca thought. Did I once think he was warm with feelings for me, if not of love, then perchance a friendly tenderness? Did I dream that one day he would love me? That love would conquer all? Nay. Those were her daydreams, not Stephen's.

  He has no feelings for the house, its name ... or me.

  “I would call it cold, my lord,” she said and started up the stone steps toward a wide door with stained glass arches. Accustomed to cavorting on stage with Hugo and Gerald, Rebecca's feet skimmed lightly upward ahead of Stephen. As she reached the doorway, it opened and Malvina stood there.

  Rebecca stopped.

  I should not be surprised, she thought. Aubin so warned me. I cannot abide this woman, yet she belongs here, not I. New Sarum is more Malvina's home than mine.

  Stiffly, she curtsied to the other woman.

  Malvina's green eyes widened, and her mouth was open, as she stared, shocked, at Rebecca's appearance. She had had no news that Rebecca had been found. Sir Stephen had not sent word nor had any gossip reached the new manor house.

  Color drained from Malvina's face, and she moved forward.

  “M-my l-lady. Oh, Rebecca, it is good to see you home. Welcome.” She curtsied to Rebecca, and then enfolded her mistress within strong arms. “Oh, my lady.”

  Rebecca's shoulders remained stiff although she smiled a little as her face buried into the thick auburn tresses.

  Stephen liked long hair, did he not? She glanced around to find Stephen's eyes fastened on her, his countenance stern and unreadable. Did she want to know what he was thinking? His wife and his lover in a warm embrace? No, mayhap not.