Once Upon a Pillow Read online

  He still held her wrist, and he squeezed it gently. “Go on.”

  “I like your hair, so thick and black, and your eyes are…” She faltered. In sooth, he did have beautiful eyes, green as a forest pool, surrounded by lashes so long and curled she envied him. Right now he watched her so intently, a blush rose in her cheeks and she found herself unable to hold his gaze. She glanced down, then peeked up at him to see what he was doing.

  Expressionless, he stared at her. “What about my eyes?”

  “You have two,” she mumbled. “And I like them very much.”

  “I thank you. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  She scuffled her toe in the dirt. “Nay.”

  “Then come or I won’t get you back to your uncle’s before dark.” He started toward the stables again.

  Incredulous, she stumbled along behind him. “But…I flattered you! Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  He gave a brief, hard laugh. “I enjoyed it very much, but I’m still going to take you back.”

  Infuriated, humiliated, she doubled up her fist and punched him in the arm.

  Then she ducked.

  He flinched and shoved open the stable door.

  He wasn’t going to hit her back.

  She glanced back at the castle keep.

  The women and the knights were crowded around the windows, watching solemnly as their lord dragged his badly chosen guest out the door.

  The castle was dirty, old-fashioned and impoverished, but, oh, how she wanted to stay here for at least a little while longer! “I’ll say whatever you want. Just tell me what you want me to say.”

  He led his stallion from its stall. “I don’t care what you say. You’re going back.”

  Desperately she groped for a reason why she must stay. “You need someone to supervise the maids.”

  “You said Winetta would do that.” He strapped the saddle on the horse.

  “A meal. I could cook you and your men a meal.”

  “You said Bessie was a cook.” He mounted the horse, guided it to the mounting block, then leaned down and offered her his hand. “You’re going back.”

  In despair, she stared at the hand, then up at him. He watched her with dark determination, a formidable warrior who had made his living by his wits and learned well how to enforce his will. Now he made it clear—she’d done her job too well. He didn’t need her.

  She had nowhere to run, no refuge to seek. Since the loss of her parents, she’d had to do as she was told. She’d had no power, no happiness, and now the brief moments of freedom had come to an end. In mingled despair and resignation, she put her hand in his, nimbly mounted the block, and climbed on the stallion before him.

  The animal moved restively beneath their double weight. Rion wrapped his arms around her and settled her back against him. The warmth of the beast and the warmth of the man should have made the ride a pleasure, but instead she wanted to weep. Weep at losing these brief moments of freedom. Weep with knowing she would never see Rion again, or spar with him until the blood raced in her veins and she remembered what it was to live without fear. Nay, more than that. To live with hope, with laughter, with anticipation.

  Yet she would not weep. She was Lady Helwin.

  Or, as he called her, Lady Hellion.

  She stiffened her spine, lifted her chin, and moved with the gait of the horse as they rode out of the gate and toward her uncle’s home.

  As the miles passed, the road rose until they reached the top of the highest hill in the area. There, Rion pulled the horse to a halt. To the left, she could see the place where she had lived her whole life. She should look on it with affection, but for too many years it had been her uncle’s home, an orderly stone rectangle with well-lit windows set at regular intervals, fashionably restrained gables and finials, and a sumptuous green lawn sweeping away toward a well-designed garden.

  To the right, Castle Masterson rose above the cliffs in savage primitive majesty. Crumbling towers thrust skyward, scarcely a candle shone from the narrow windows of the dark stone keep, and part of the outer wall collapsed toward the ocean. Compared to Smythwick Manor, Castle Masterson was a grim, dark, antiquated hovel. Yet she knew well where she would rather be.

  Desolation turned her pride to dust. Turning in the saddle, she grasped Rion’s shirt. “Please, my lord, don’t send me back. I beg of you. Please.”

  He stared down at her. His lips parted. His head dropped toward her. For one moment, she thought he would kiss her. Instead he said, “I’ll not have you spend the night at Castle Masterson. Tomorrow everyone in the district would know, and I would indeed be forced to wed you—a mistake I could ill afford.”

  His words stabbed at her, but she took heart because he hadn’t blankly refused her. Eager and hopeless, she said, “The village women are there. Winetta was my wet-nurse. She can serve as a chaperone. Please, Lord Masterson, don’t make me go back.”

  “Where is your uncle?”

  In London. “He’s never wanted to bother with me. Don’t you see? He won’t force you to marry me. He doesn’t even care that I’m gone.” She, Helwin, who had never begged for anything, begged now. Because it was important. More important than maintaining her optimistic façade. “In my uncle’s house, I’m an unwelcome burden. The previous lord’s daughter. Despised by the servants and ignored by the guests. There I’m less than a person. A mere ghost who drifts the corridors and who, someday, will vanish. With you, Lord Rion, I’m real again.”

  His lips flattened, his nostrils flared, his eyebrows turned upward in devilish disdain. She thought he was going to say no, and she braced herself for this final rejection.

  “Hellion.” He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. He kissed her as if driven by a fury of desire and despair.

  She kissed him back with the same fervor, opening her lips to him, touching her tongue to his, inciting and incited. She ran her hands over every part of him she could reach, straining to press herself against him as if he were the safe haven she had sought for so many years.

  He wrapped one arm around her, lifting her, trying to fit her to him when there was no way they could manage on a war horse made restive by crazed riders.

  The westering sunshine beat against her eyelids, her back hurt from being twisted around, and she wanted nothing so much as to stay here, just like this, in his arms forever.

  Lifting his head, he glared into her eyes. “My Lady Hellion!”

  And, gloriously, wonderfully, miraculously, he turned his steed toward Castle Masterson, and urged it to a gallop. The wind tore at Helwin’s hair as they raced down the hill and along the ocean cliffs. Rion leaned forward, pressing his chest to her back. She inhaled the clean scent of the sea breeze. The wind brought tears to her eyes … or was it more than the wind? She only knew she had been granted one additional night of happiness, and she would relish each moment, storing away the memories.

  Chapter Nine

  “A week! It’s been almost a sennight, and nothing.” Terris spoke to the little group huddled into the corner of the great hall.

  Winetta scowled. “If he spent just one hour in her bed, she’d have him eating out of the palm of her hand.”

  “One hour?” Sir Lathrop hooted with laughter. “Lord Rion never spent just an hour with a woman. If he joined Lady Helwin in bed, she wouldn’t have a chance to rest for two days—but she’d never get the smile off her face.”

  “Really?” Winetta cooed, and ran her hand up Sir Lathrop’s arm. “Is he so much of a man, then?”

  Lifting her hand to his lips, Sir Lathrop kissed it and gazed at her soulfully. “Like me, he well knows how to pleasure a woman.”

  Barth slapped his knee and hooted with laughter.

  Sir Lathrop glared at him, then glanced about with crafty care. “I’ve never seen Lord Rion lust so desperately before. He watches her like a stallion watches a new mare, practically pawing the ground.”

  “Yet she sleeps alone every night in th
e Masterson bed.” Barth sighed weightily.

  “Surely he’ll break,” Terris said.

  “I tell ye, I know th’ master.” Barth’s lugubrious face drooped like a hound’s. “He’s decided he can’t have her an’ nothing will breach his defense.”

  “Nothing?” Winetta grinned. “I have a plan.”

  Everyone put their heads together, and when they heard Winetta’s plan…everyone smiled.

  * * *

  “A bonfire! We’re having a bonfire on the beach!” Barth danced a lumbering jig that shook the floorboards and rattled the crockery.

  Elated at the chance for a holiday, Helwin laughed at him. “Save your cavorting and pack the dishes.”

  He nodded his great head, picked up a pot and dropped it.

  At once, Mercia, young, beautiful, and adoring, rushed to help him. The two stood together, laughing and so obviously in love, Helwin’s eyes filled with tears.

  She blinked them quickly away. Stupid to be jealous of another’s happiness, when she had so much to be thankful for.

  She’d never had such a wonderful sennight in her life. She refused to look ahead to that inevitable day when she would have to return to the Manor. Eventually Uncle Carroll would return and reluctantly decide he must bring her back under his dominion—he could hardly not—and send for her. But for now, she cooked, she cleaned, she laughed with the maids and jested with the men. And always, always she was aware of Rion, watching her from afar.

  He scarcely spoke to her, even at dinner. He avoided contact with her as much as possible. Yet every time she looked up, there he was. Staring. Brooding.

  Lusting.

  He was a man. If he truly lusted, he would give in to his desires and crawl into the huge Masterson bed with her. Yet for the past seven nights, she had slumbered alone in the Masterson bedchamber while he slept heaven knew where.

  If he did crawl into the bed with her, what would she do? Reject him, or welcome him? She didn’t know. She only knew she also lusted. Lusted after his sculpted body, his serious mouth, his heavy-lidded eyes.

  Oh, she liked him, too. Liked the way he thanked the maids when they served him. Admired his dignity as financial disaster loomed ever closer. Positively adored his occasional dry comment and his captivating stories. She could listen to him for the rest of her life. But it was the sound of his warm, deep voice that brought her body to attention, made her nipples bead. The sight of his firm buttocks pressed firmly on an unbroken horse made her damp with longing. There was no escaping the truth. She, Lady Helwin Smythwick, the woman who had so prided herself on her character and intelligence—she was superficial and inclined to admire the physical.

  Sir Lathrop stopped on his way out the door, arms laden with rugs. “‘Tis a beautiful, clear, cool morning. A great day for anything you’d want to do.”

  “And I want to go to the beach.” Since Winetta had come into the castle, even the detestable Sir Lathrop had grown mellow.

  So every morning, Helwin thanked God she was still at Castle Masterson and embraced every moment, every activity, every word and laugh and sigh.

  Today would be wonderful. They were going to the beach, all of them. Winetta had suggested a merrymaking as a reward for the men and the maids. The castle sparkled, the garden was tended, the stables mucked out. If good will and hard work could save Castle Masterson, all would have been well.

  Of course, it was not. The harvest wouldn’t begin for another two months, and Rion needed to buy corn for his villagers if they were to survive until then. He couldn’t. He had no coins hidden in his coffers. But Helwin hadn’t been to such a revelry since she was eight years old, so for today, she refused to worry.

  Had Rion gone ahead? She hadn’t seen him since the morning. Surely he did intend to go and make merry with the rest of them.

  She wanted him to go. She wanted to look on him for as long as she could, because she knew…she knew that if Uncle Carroll didn’t send for her soon…she would have to return of her own will.

  She would slip back into the household routine and perhaps someone would say, “Where have you been, Lady Helwin?”

  Or perhaps no one had missed her.

  Bertilda would smirk, her fish eyes glinting with malicious pleasure, never realizing that when Helwin got the chance, she would put itch powder in Bertilda’s best wig and pins in her corset.

  The castle was emptying rapidly, and Helwin checked to make sure the food had been packed, the casks and baskets carried away.

  “My lady.” From the gallery above, Winetta beckoned. “I have something to show you.”

  Helwin controlled her impatience. “Can’t it wait? They’ll start the beach fire soon and I want to be there.”

  “Please, my lady, come and look.”

  Helwin heaved a sigh and climbed the stairs. Winetta stood at the door of the Masterson bedchamber, her broad face alight with anticipation. Helwin stepped in the room, and a lovely sight met her eyes. A large wooden tub, filled with steaming water, stood next to the fireplace alive with flame. Linen towels were laid across the firescreen, and the scent of mulled wine wafted from a pot over the fire. A tray of bread, cheese and dried fruit sat on the table by the bed, its furs down-turned and waiting with fresh linens and a scattering of crimson rose petals.

  Helwin hadn’t been so indulged in years, but…but… “For me? Now? I mean, when the celebration’s starting?”

  “Come on, my lady, let me help you unfasten your gown.” Winetta pulled her toward the tub. “I thought, after this hectic week, you’d like a chance to be alone, and what better way but a bath while everyone’s gone?” As she burbled over with enthusiasm, she tugged and pulled at Helwin’s cap, at her bodice, at her skirt and petticoats. She pinned Helwin’s hair ever more closely to her head, and said, “You can come right down when you’re done. We’re going to make a night of it on the beach. There’ll be no one in the castle to bother ye. Take all the time ye want.”

  “All right.” Helwin found herself standing beside the tub, nude and confused. But she would bathe, if that made her old nurse happy, and go down to the beach within the hour. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

  “I’ve wanted to do something for you for a long time.” Winetta pulled a tall, folding screen between the tub and the door. “Something you could treasure forever.” With a curtsy, she slipped away, latching the door behind her.

  Helwin stared at the door and murmured, “I don’t know about forever. It’s just a bath.” She stuck her toe in the water. A perfect temperature. Sinking into the tub, she grabbed the soap. She would wash as quickly as possible and…she moaned as the heat sank into her bones.

  Ah, she had forgotten how a bath relaxed every muscle, every nerve. Herbs bobbed on the surface of the water: mint and rosemary, fresh and delightful. Forgetting the bonfire, she leaned her head against the back of the tub and breathed in the steamy scents. She folded her legs under her, sank down almost to her chin, and abandoned herself to luxury. She paddled the water to create waves. She stared, eyes heavy lidded, at the sunshine streaming through the window. Lifting one leg, she pointed her toe and wondered how it would be if Rion was with her, sliding his hand up her thigh … she slid her own hand up her thigh, imagining how it would be, how his eyes would flash with desire, how he’d kneel before the tub and beg for her hand in marriage, and all the while he would be silently demanding she welcome him into her body. And she would …

  Helwin heard the latch click. Her head swung in the direction of the door.

  In a voice oily with satisfaction, Sir Lathrop said, “Right this way, my lord. I think you’ll be satisfied with my arrangements.”

  She froze, staring at the screen, the water sliding down her calf toward the tub.

  Then—satisfied with his arrangements! What did Lathrop mean, Satisfied with his arrangements?

  More important, who was Lathrop addressing when he said, My lord?

  Very quietly, she glanced frantically about for a drape. He must me
an—

  Rion sounded brisk. “I don’t know what you have done, Lathrop, but it had better be good. You haven’t given me a chance to dress, and the bonfire on the beach has already started.”

  Rion! She heard his bare feet moving on the wooden floor. A towel, where was a towel?

  “I, for one, am determined to eat the whole of the bread pudding Lady Helwin made, and will take it ill if you—” He came around the screen clad in only close-fitting trousers and a loose, white linen shirt, observed Helwin, and halted, color draining from his face.

  The two of them stared at each other, ashen-faced, each caught in the midst of their own personal imaginings.

  “Lady Hellion, did you plan this?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  The click as the door closed sounded loud in the room. The key grated as it turned in the lock.

  Rion whirled, his shoulder knocking against the screen. It wavered and toppled. He hit the door at a run. He tried the door handle—fruitlessly. He pounded on the panels with his fists. He yelled, “Let me out, Lathrop, you traitor. Let me out if you value your life!”

  There was no answer. Sir Lathrop was gone. Winetta was gone.

  Rion and Helwin were alone.

  And she…was naked.

  Chapter Ten

  Rion thumped his forehead onto the door.

  Helwin spied the towel on the nightstand. Smoothly, she rose from the tub, stepped out and reached for it.

  Rion faced her. His restrained watchfulness had vanished, and wanton, open, unrestrained lust had taken its place. His eyes were hot, his face intent. He looked like a starving man presented with a steaming loaf of bread.

  Was it possible she had doubted that he wanted her?

  He did. He sought to escape because he wanted her—too much.

  Never in all her life had a man viewed her unclothed. She wanted to cover herself with her hands, to cower behind the tub…to flaunt herself and see, even more, the fire of his gaze turn to fever. Deep in her belly, desire re-awoke and wrapped her in its heated coils. “Turn around.” Her voice wavered. “I’m not decent.”