Desires Promise

by Desire's Promise (NCP) (lit)

  Edmund pushed himself up from the floor and stalked about the chamber with his hands clenched at his sides. "Nay, this cannot be! Kendrick, have you forgotten all the wonderful times we have had together, sharing everything including women?"

  He sensed Edmund’s apprehension at the news and anticipated it. Edmund never wanted to face life without him. "Men grow and change, my brother. ‘Tis time that you grew up and learned there was more to life than sporting in bed."

  Edmund’s hands flew to his hips in a jealous rage. "We promised long ago never to let a wench come between our kinship and then you go and fall in love with a slave!"

  "She is a Queen, Edmund, no mere slave," he corrected in a quiet manner.

  This sent Edmund’s ire to a whirl. His hands beat the air in a wild fashion and he stormed around the chamber, the sound of his hardened boot heels permeating the air with a steady beat. Kendrick smiled. No matter what happened, he could always get the best of Edmund.

  * * * *

  Gardana pushed herself flat against the rough-hewn wall of the kitchen. This was an important conversation. Back and forth they bartered over the price of the stallion, their masculine voices rising in anger. She wished they would speak more of the gamble. A giggle arose. The Fates never told her how Isabeau would come here, only that the little Ice Queen would bear Kendrick’s children and become his wife.

  The tone quieted down to one of subtle banter and she listened with great intensity, hanging on every word with the intention of gleaning anything else to use against Isabeau. Against all hope the conversation turned to glories of the past, on and off the battlefield. Her heart sank. Why could they not return to the subject of the gamble?

  A sharp tap at the stones near her foot drew attention. "Her’ now, Gardana, get ye back to work! There is much to be done this morn!" Hedda cackled as her weathered stick pounded against the stones and emitted a hollow sound that ricocheted around the room.

  Flipping her raven mane over her brown wool clad shoulder, she held her chin in a defiant pout. "Get away from me, old woman! I am through with my work."

  The cane caught her in the mouth, aided by Hedda’s weathered hand. Several rough spots caught the corner and opened the flesh. A startled hand reached up and felt the warm trickle of blood as it flowed from the parted skin. "Do not talk back to me, Gardana! Get back to work!" the elderly woman cackled as she turned away and started supervising others, leaving her alone for the moment.

  Gardana’s eyes narrowed as her stare became more heated. When she did become Duchess, Hedda would disappear forever. What would be a good place for her? The lake or the moat? Better yet, maybe the secret oubliette. A determined smile crossed her lips as she pushed herself away from the wall. Nothing would be too good for Hedda.

  * * * *

  Gentle winds sweeping through the wide valley streamed through the open window and beckoned Isabeau from a deep sleep. Delicate layers of natural perfume filled the air and enticed her senses. The call of the wolf echoed deep in the thicket beyond the confines the castle and rumbled through the land. Isabeau opened her eyes and realized it was still in the middle of the night. How long had she been asleep?

  Deep silvery rays of the moon wafted in and bathed the room in a soft, ghostly light. She sat up and drew the warm coverlet over her breasts in a show of modesty. She looked around as her senses climbed through the cloud of sleep. In the corner, Kendrick’s armor glimmered with a shiny light as it hung on the armature. Tapestries hung on the wall, some small while others large, and decorated the chamber. Hardly what she would have expected for a man’s chamber let alone a warrior. Her gaze shifted from one to another and noted the handiwork that went into each and every one. Who ever had made them was skilled with a needle.

  One tapestry in particular drew her attention. It hung next to the wide door and was perhaps half a rod long. The fabric was dark and rich. Bright stitches stood out and composed a serene scene. In the background was a castle with the crest of Kent high above the drum tower. A woman sat underneath a tree in the foreground, her hair as black as night as it floated loose around her head. Her blue eyes twinkled like twin sapphires and her mouth curved into a warm and generous smile. Somehow that smile looked familiar ... She jumped when the realization struck her. It was Kendrick’s mother! There was no else it could be.

  The sudden shift to her right distracted her from the portrait. Kendrick moved onto his back amid the creaks of the bed and rested his hand on her thigh. She looked down at the smooth limb, dotted with fine hairs, as it lay there. Tears formed in her eyes but she refused to let them flow as the truth echoed through the hallowed halls of her mind. She did not belong here, with him. She was not his wife let alone his mistress. Mayhap it would be different if he loved her but there was no indication he felt anything for her other than possessive. She sighed. There was only one thing left to do.

  Isabeau slipped from beneath the soft sheets of the bed and walked with quiet steps away from Kendrick. Her coarse gown still lay over the chair where she had left it several days before. With trembling fingers she pulled the rough material over her head and smoothed it down over her curves. She had no right to share his bed and now was the time to change things. The servant’s quarters was where she belonged.

  Making her way over to the bed, Isabeau stood on Kendrick’s side and gazed down at him. His smooth, broad chest rose and fell rhythmically, as lithely as the tides of the ocean. His midnight hued hair fell into his closed eyes and swept across his high-planed cheeks. Out of instinct, her hand went to remove the errant tendrils but she drew back before she could. If she woke him now, there was no escape.

  Turning on her heel, Isabeau padded to the door. Her hand went to the iron ring then she stopped. The ancient wood was notorious for making tremendous amounts of noise when opened. Would it do it this time? There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, Isabeau tugged on the door. The heavy wooden oak moved a fraction of an inch but never made a sound. Kendrick was too tired to lock it tonight. His exhaustion worked in her favor.

  Pulling the door a bit more, Isabeau found the door made no more sound. Her heart beat erratically in her chest as her foot went outside of the chamber. Would he awaken the moment he realized she was gone? Isabeau shook the notion from her mind. With all the exercise he had in the last two days, Kendrick would undoubtedly be so far into sleep, it might be several days before he would discover her missing.

  Isabeau put her other foot outside the door and pulled it shut behind her. Amazingly, the door refused to emit a sound much to her delight. A light sheen of perspiration broke out on her forehead and she laid her head against the cool wood of the door. What was she going to do? Now that she had drunk from the cup of passion and desire, she hungered for more. Could she last against the temptation of his body and the demand of satisfaction of her own?

  * * * *

  The sun rose high in the morning and heated the kitchen to a full roaring blaze. Fires crackled in the blackened hearth with the embers flowing upward as though they sought refuge in the flue. Cooking carcasses turned nicely on the prepared spits, rotated by small dogs in the cages on either end. Isabeau’s body ached from the work of the morning but she did not mind it. Her thoughts remained occupied so she could not think of Kendrick.

  Her hands viciously kneaded the lump of bread dough before her, punching and pulling it apart with a mad gesture. She must put him out of her mind completely and forget the heady time they had spent together. She was nothing more than a toy to him, new and exciting. In a short time, he would seek another out for the same thing then she would be cast aside like a discarded garment. That was one torture she could not endure.

  Strands of golden hair escaped from her braid and fell into her eyes where the ends pricked her cheeks. Why could her hair not stay in place? Taking the backs of her flower dusted hands, she pushed them back where they belonged.

  As she looked down, a pair of large tanned hands encircled her waist while sensuous l
ips nibbled at her neck. "When I awoke this morning, you were not there. I searched every where until I found you with the servants. Why?" Kendrick murmured. His voice was soft and seductive, nearly bringing her to meltdown inside.

  "I have duties to attend to," she replied gruffly as she slammed the dough into a nearby bowl to rise, "and I had no desire to wake you."

  His tongue continued to tease. "It would have been most pleasurable, I assure you. Come, Isabeau, this is not for you," his hands slid down her flour encased wrists and turned her around gently. "Come back to my chamber and I will show you what you should be doing right now."

  Isabeau spun around sharply and set about paring apples for a pie. "Nay, Kendrick, I am your slave and this is where I need to be."

  The hands around her waist increased in strength. "No, Isabeau. You are a Queen and above all of this."

  "You should have thought that before you captured me. Now leave me so I might prepare your meal." Her words had a sharp edge to them but she cared not. If she wanted to save her soul, she must be absolutely sure of his feelings and intentions toward her.

  His hands descended on her shoulders and turned her around. Kendrick’s eyes took on a deep glow, almost as if an inner fire burned just for her. "I will never leave you alone, Isabeau," His hand slipped from her shoulder and moved to her breast where his thumb toyed with the nipple. "How long will you thirst for my touch before you drink from the glass I offer you?" Under his hand, the nub turned to marble and sent shivers of anticipation mixed with excitement coursing throughout her veins.

  Holding her head high, Isabeau matched his stare with one of her own. "I can hold out, milord, as long as necessary. I must save my soul."

  A seductive smile spread across the full lips. "You will, Isabeau, and you will save mine as well. Come with me." His hand clamped on her wrist as he walked away but she refused to budge.

  She wrested her arm free. "Nay, I will not, milord. I am just a woman with whom you spend your lust. My innocence meant nothing to you and will mean nothing when it comes time to cast me aside for another."

  A black eyebrow rose. "What ever gave you that notion?"

  "Your reputation precedes you, milord."

  Kendrick closed the slight distance between them. His hands descended on her shoulders where they applied a light pressure. "Your innocence, whether or not you want to believe it, meant a great deal to me. As for casting you aside for another, that will never happen."

  Her hands went to her hips. "How will I know that? You can promise on your very life but how will I know that the moment you leave my arms, you do not rush to another woman's?"

  Kendrick’s hands moved down her arms and clasped onto her wrists in a loving gesture. "You will have to trust me, Isabeau. No other fills my soul the way you do or has healed the wound to my heart. Would you feel differently if I asked you marry me?"

  She shook her head as her mind reeled. Was he bold enough to ask her to marry him again? "I will do no such thing…." Part of her wanted to fall into his arms immediately but her practical side prevented her from doing so.

  His finger caught her under the chin and tilted her face up to meet his glittering eyes. "’Tis too late to say no, my dear. Do you not remember your promise to marry me if you were with child? You could be right now and not even know it."

  Isabeau pulled her chin out of the soft cup of his fingers. "Aye, that I did," she said through clenched teeth, "but there is no indication there is a child in my belly nor will there ever be."

  "Give me time, Isabeau. Before it is all said and done, you will be my wife." With that, Kendrick brushed a swift kiss across her moisture-laden brow and left. His heavy footfalls echoed down the hall until the last note died away.

  Isabeau turned to the half-pared fruit in front of her and furiously started carving on it. Her hands trembled with frustration as she tried to finish. How dare he insinuate that she would marry him if she were with child! Never for all the gold in England! If he thought he would get her to marry him by getting her with child, he was mad! He would never get close enough to accomplish that.

  The juice of the partially pared apple dribbled down her hand and in between her fingers and made the fruit very slippery. In her angry state of mind, she moved the knife a little more then she lost control of it. The steel tip sliced into her finger. "Damn!" she muttered as she put the bleeding digit in her mouth.

  Hedda hobbled over in her usual meandering gait. "Here, let me see," Hedda ordered and withdrew the finger from her mouth. Her aged hands turned it over this way and that, and examined the wound carefully. "Ye did not do much damage but I would take care of how ye cut the apples." Taking one of the extra cloths, Hedda wrapped her hand and made her sit in on a splintered wooden stool and apply pressure to the cut. "Keep a hold on that and the bleeding will stop."

  Isabeau sighed and leaned back against the cool stone wall, the sharp points digging into her back. She stood up. As if the episode with Kendrick was not bad enough, she had to go and nearly slice her finger off. Why must he torture her so exquisitely and purposefully? Did he not know what kind of havoc he wreaked on her senses? Apparently he did or otherwise he would not do what he did.

  Isabeau closed her eyes for a moment and opened them in time to see Gardana at the other end of the kitchen. The thin, black haired creature leaned in an arrogant manner against the doorjamb, her head bent at an odd angle, with her hand to her mouth as if to stifle a giggle. Daggers of hate dripped from the onyx eyes. Why did Gardana hate her so badly? It was not her fault that Kendrick no longer sought Gardana’s company. Let her have him. Despite the feelings that resided deep inside of her, she knew her place was with her people. Even if she had to escape on foot, she would return to Castile. From there, she would lead her people against the tyranny of the English. This time it would be to victory.

  Chapter 12

  The days passed at a sluggish pace, almost too slowly for Isabeau. Each morning, she awoke at dawn to begin her duties. The room she shared with one of the other women was nothing compared to comfort of Kendrick’s bed. Straw covered the floor with a few old covers thrown over it. There were no pillows, only more old blankets rolled up. Inside the chamber, the smell of sour bodies filled the air and vented through a little slit in the wall. Brilliant rays of morning sun tried to filter through the tiny opening but it was nearly impossible given the size. She sighed. Kendrick probably thought if he let her have her way for awhile, that she would come to her senses and return to his bed without reservation. Ha! Not all the fires of hell could drive her there.

  Isabeau lay awake at night and waited for blessed sleep to overtake her, but it rarely did. Her body had grown accustomed to having Kendrick next to her, the warmth of his body claiming her as well. His flesh possessed a clean, masculine smell unlike the dour odor of work that her roommate reeked of. She quivered at the thought of him. Images of their past arose like legendary ghosts on a fog shrouded night and haunted her mind. Her body trembled as it remembered his hands stroking her nether regions and bringing them to a sudden new life.

  Why must things be this way? Shifting to her side, she let her mind drift once more. What must Kendrick be doing at this moment? Was he as haunted by her as she was by him?

  * * * *

  Kendrick pushed his horse to near exhaustion. Maddening thoughts of Isabeau had driven him to this point. Day after day, he pursued her, with kisses and touches in the vain hope each one would crumble her resolve. Nothing did. Even when she placed his food before him, he made sure to stroke her backside in a loving manner and gaze at her through wanton eyes. He saw her lower lip tremble on several occasions as she left the room with hurried steps, almost as if she could not get away fast enough. Damn that Castilian will. It was almost as hard and brittle as the iron they produced. Somehow, he must break her stubbornness but how would he do it without crushing her spirit?

  Rape was beyond his perception. Even though he wanted to get her with child in order to get her to marry hi
m, forcing himself on her was something he would never do. The child must be conceived through consensual means or not at all. Why could she not just marry him? It was the easiest solution of all.

  Kendrick halted his horse at the edge of the ridge where he and Isabeau had stood after their first lovemaking staring at the coming dawn. His gaze cast out to the horizon as if to recapture the magic of the moment. The bright orange globe crested the line of the world and slipped up toward the heavens. Gentle breezes rolled along the earth and riffled the ends of his hair. Even the wind carried her scent with it. Images of her danced through his mind like a fevered dream and aroused his ardor. What was he to do about her?

  He shifted a little in his saddle as his legs tightened over the sides of the horse. The animal bucked slightly but quieted down with his hand on its neck. There must be a way to get her to come around to him again. Then, out of the depths of his mind, emerged the answer. With a sly smile on his lips, he kicked his horse in the naked flanks and directed the beast toward Henstrige.

  * * * *

  Isabeau hummed a merry tune as she worked. For nearly a week, she had thought she carried Kendrick’s child in her womb. Her course this morning confirmed its emptiness. She assumed it was the worry and the anger she had been feeling for weeks that caused the delay in her monthly course. Gladness filled her heart. She would not have to hold to her promise. Still, she felt a slight disappointment flood through her. Part of her wished a baby existed but the stronger part was relieved. Now came the harder trick. How was she going to stay away from him and keep him from getting her with child?

  Isabeau laid pared ripe fruit in the wooden bowl and mixed it with spices under Hedda’s wise eyes. The sudden, sharp tap of the stick on the strong flagstones drew her attention. She turned around to meet Hedda’s worried gaze "Nay, do not add ye sweet spice in yet! You will ruin it completely!"

  She had enough of the old woman’s cackling over her shoulder. Picking up the wooden bowl, she thrust it toward the Hedda. "Then you do it, old woman. I have no desire to listen to your incessant voice any longer." Hedda stood there and looked at the bowl, staring back at her as though the words meant nothing to her.