Page 101 of Come the Morning

Why did she want so much to deny him? she wondered vaguely. Simply because he had taken her life, been given her life …

The question, at the moment, faded. She had to breathe. She gasped in a tremulous breath, fingers tightening in his hair as he continued to move against her. His hand moved against her hip, his lips continued to lave her breasts, a slow assault, teeth and tongue teasing, touching, the heat of his breath whispering … he moved lower again, kisses brushing her navel, her abdomen. Her fingers remained gripped taut within his hair. And still he moved, bathing her with his touch, his kiss, everywhere, thighs, stomach, hips, thighs, and then, between.

She gasped, a startled scream that barely touched the air. She ceased to breathe again, she writhed in protest, and then …

She writhed.

She seemed to pulse within, body, blood, bone. Sweetness, heat, hunger, filled her; she ached, she longed. Mercury whirled within her, molten steel, sweet, explosive. She couldn’t bear it, she couldn’t stop him, she would die if he did cease …

Then suddenly he was atop her, lips against hers, whispering, “Lady, you need never question my desire for you …”

He brushed her lips with his kiss, caught her palm, kissed its center, drew her hand down the length of him. She trembled, and he taunted, “Ah, lady, you may touch a man. Such a region is vulnerable, and does not bite.”

He closed her fingers around the fullness of his manhood. “Nay, it does far worse!” she murmured. “It …”

“Aye?”

“Robs breath, steals the soul.”

He smiled, and rose above her, and with a slow seduction of movement, impaled her. She shuddered, and his eyes touched hers, and he smiled slightly. “It’s the heart, lady, that steals the soul, and nothing other can do it.”

She closed her eyes. He began to move. And all that he had touched before took flight from the fire that had been, and this time, when she climbed and longed and reached, it seemed she touched the sun. And then the sun exploded at that touch, shattering within her, and bringing with it a million shards of perfect light to melt throughout her …

He lay at her side. Then his arms were around her and he drew her to him.

“The prize,” he said softly, “is worth any fight.” She was startled to realize that she couldn’t speak. “Umm, that good, eh?” he whispered. “Ah, see there! I must be careful of how much I admit, for I don’t dare confess that you’re entirely fascinating, when you, of course, remain married to an old, decrepit Norman.”

She was surprised to find that a smile could touch her lips.

“You are not entirely repulsive.”

“Ah! Such words of encouragement will keep me forever captivated!”

“You have all your teeth, sir, and they’re actually very good.”

“Alas, after tonight, I may not have all my hair.”

She knew to what he referred, and she twisted, ready to strike out with far more embarrassment than anger, but he laughed, and he caught her, and kissed her again, and that night, she had less sleep than ever.

And it was true, of course, that he was not at all repulsive, old, or decrepit.

Indeed, she didn’t dare admit just how compelling her laird husband was proving to be.

CHAPTER18

For several days, Mellyora moved about in a state of happy oblivion. She slept far into the day, spent the afternoons on the mainland still tending to the injured, and enjoyed the company of Sir Percy at their dinner table. She felt somewhat awkward with Ewan, even somewhat afraid that everyone might realize just what part of marriage had given her such a renewed energy and optimism for the future. The rest of the world couldn’t possibly know that her marriage hadn’t been intimate from the very beginning, she told herself, and certainly, nothing showed in her face. But Phagin commented almost sourly on the cheerfulness of her disposition; she flirted as outrageously and charmingly at dinner, but did so standing by her husband’s side, feeling his touch, and making her own relationship quite clear. She did challenge and taunt her husband, but knew that he was not displeased, for though he never said as much, the way that he swept her up the minute they reached the privacy of their chambers was eloquent in itself.

She had discovered power—her own, and that which Waryk wielded. Sometimes, she was afraid. Sometimes, she was glad simply to awaken with him by her side, arms strong around her,giving her a feeling of belonging unlike anything she had ever known.

Sir Percy didn’t leave. One morning, late in the second week of his arrival, she finished breakfasting in the great hall and walked out to the parapets. From there, she saw that he was out on the hills beyond the castle walls with Waryk, watching while her husband worked with his fighting men, perhaps twenty-five of them, mounted on warhorses. The men were armed with maces, and one by one they raced across the field to a standing dummy to swing at its vegetable head. From the parapets, Mellyora viewed the proceedings thoughtfully. Sir Percy had been charming and entertaining every evening. Igraina, Ewan’s younger sister, had joined them for a more equable distribution of the sexes, and the evenings had been most pleasant. But Sir Percy had come for a reason, and, of course, Mellyora realized now, it had to do with the fact that the king would never let Waryk rest; he would be called back to David’s service.

They often talked about the king at dinner. It was natural, of course, that he take the side of Empress Mathilda in the English question. Mathilda was his niece, since his sister had been Henry’s first wife. The English had loved Henry’s sister; she’d been known as Good Queen Maud. She’d renewed the Roman roads, built numerous religious houses, and she had known humility. She’d washed the feet of beggars in the church, kissed those feet, and taught humility to others. She had borne Henry two children, their daughter, Empress Mathilda, and their son, William, named for his grandfather, the Conqueror. But William had died in a shipwreck returning from Normandy to England, and Stephen, the Conqueror’s grandson as well, had managed to take the English throne. Mathilda had reigned for eight months, at one time, and now, though agreements had been made, civil unrest went on. And on. And lawlessness prevailed. Waryk, she knew, disliked the fact that Henry looked to stretch his bordersinto northern England. He felt it was most important to make Scotland stronger and more unified. The kings of Scotland already gave homage to the kings of England, and it seemed to him that the Scots suffered each time they tried to take advantage of any chaos in England. He said as much at dinner, even while Sir Percy speculated about the present situation; Stephen’s wife was another Mathilda, and she, like the Empress Mathilda, was a cousin of Stephen’s. There was rumor that while Mathilda and Stephen battled for England, they also shared a wild, passionate love affair, and that Mathilda’s son, Henry, born of her second marriage to Geoffrey of Anjou, was in truth Stephen’s son. But the older Henry grew, the more it appeared he carried the blood of none other than his great-grandfather, William the Conqueror. Speculation continued to rage among the English people, unhappy as their government deteriorated, left now to what was often a lawless land.

Mellyora knew her history, especially recent history, as it so affected them all. And she knew Henry, and that he would indeed, invade England. Yet the way Sir Percy talked, it seemed as if plans for his invasions were still under way, which made her wonder just exactly why Sir Percy had come, and why he and Waryk worked so strenuously, training more and more men. The goldsmith’s son, once intended for the church; was now spending his days working with a crossbow. One of the master mason’s three boys excelled with a sword, and had been taken from his work, repairing a wind-damaged wall. The sons of tenant farmers, household servants, artisans, and more were entering into the training.

She asked Sir Percy why he had come, but he refused to answer questions at night, diplomatically sidestepping answers. If Waryk were being called back, he could not disobey the king’s direct command, and so it seemed foolish to her that no one would simply tell her what was going on.

Mulling the question, she wondered what she would discover if she just rode out to the field to watch the men practice at arms. So determined, she walked along the corridor to her room for a cloak, then paused as she heard talking within. Igraina was with Jillian, tending to the chamber, and the two women talked.