Once Upon a Pillow Page 15

  He took a long, deep breath. “Tease,” he whispered. “How did you learn so quickly?” Seizing the pit, he tossed it in a bowl.

  “I had an excellent teacher,” she said.

  “Oh, dear. Look at this.” His finger slid along the dots of red that speckled her belly and her chest. He tsked as if shocked. Then in slow, sensuous motions, he licked her clean.

  By the time he finished, she was digging her heels into the mattress and whimpering. He used his tongue with a talent that made her tingle with heat and shiver with cold. She wanted to jump on top of him and ride him again.

  She didn’t dare, for she was sore between the legs, and her thighs were so weary she didn’t know if they would lift her.

  But her body, usually so sensible, seemed an entity apart from her mind. And she wanted him.

  He knew, damn him. He rested his cheek on her belly as if replete.

  She stroked his hair back from his forehead.

  Reluctantly, he lifted his head. “We must rise.”

  “I know.”

  “We must walk…no! We must crawl downstairs.”

  She tugged him up to rest beside her, and hugged him close as if to fend off reality. “The door’s locked.”

  “Sadly, not anymore. Sometime in the night, one of those treacherous vipers we call our minions released us from our prison.” Rion caught her hand and kissed her palm. “I can only hope they didn’t press their ears to the door. If they did, they received an education.”

  She blushed from her toes to her hairline. “You should learn to be a little quieter.”

  Keeping his arm around her, he wiggled up to rest against the headboard, and smiled down at her. “I can’t. Not when I’ve had a siren who, all night long, tried to see how long she can pleasure herself with my body. I’m drained dry.”

  But he pressed himself against her hip, letting her feel the length of his erection, the heat, the splendor. The man was inexorable, and she still couldn’t believe she had taken that inside herself…and enjoyed it.

  More prosaically, he said, “Besides, the bed squeaks.”

  “We’re lucky it didn’t collapse,” she answered tartly.

  He laughed aloud and patted the mattress. “This is the Masterson bed, my sweet, built by the first earl of Masterson with his own hands. Nothing that is of Masterson making ever collapses.”

  “I noticed.” She sent a flirtatious glance down his body.

  Easing himself down on top of her, he kissed her lips and said the one phrase that could make her heart sing, the one phrase she’d been waiting to hear all her life. He said…”I love you.”

  She could hardly speak, she was so breathless with joy. “Do you?”

  “Yes. Of course. I love you so much.” Then he gripped her convulsively, and ruined everything. “And I can’t have you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  She was gone.

  Rion sat at the table in the great hall, stared at the goblet of ale in his hand, and brooded.

  Lady Helwin had gone back to her uncle’s. And that was as it should be. She shouldn’t be tied to a man who had nothing but a sagging castle and no prospects. She should remain safe under her uncle’s roof.

  Safe…

  If she had stayed here, Rion would marry her. He would marry her because he wanted her, loved her, needed her even above all good sense.

  What good would his love do her?

  None at all. If he wed her, if he had no heiress to save his sagging castle, he would lose even that. He would once again travel the roads of Europe as a mercenary—and as his wife, Lady Helwin, young, noble, beautiful, would go with him.

  He’d seen what happened to women who joined a mercenary troop to be with their men. They grew old before their time. They bore children in dirty tents and died of childbed fever. If they lived, eventually, their men were killed on the battlefield and to support themselves and their children they became thieves, or were forced into the world’s oldest profession until they died of weariness, despair and starvation.

  He couldn’t bear for Lady Helwin to suffer with such a life. She deserved so much better. She deserved the world…and he couldn’t give it to her.

  He’d done the right thing by sending her away.

  Best of all, she’d gone without a single expression of regret. She’d collected her cloak briskly, said good-bye to his men and the village women, and hurried—some might say bolted—out the door.

  Damn her. Couldn’t she just once have turned and gazed longingly at him?

  He glared around him, looking for someone to trounce. But the men, cowards all, had ridden out to exercise the horses, and the maids worked cautiously around Rion, trying to avoid attracting his attention.

  He’d told Lady Helwin he loved her. Didn’t she realize how great an admission that was? He’d never said that to a woman in his life. But he had told Helwin because…well…he did. Feisty, intelligent, organized…luscious, wanton, giving…how could he not love a woman like that?

  Couldn’t she have cried as she trudged down the road?

  He could have cried. He was losing his companion, his lady, the one woman he could ever love.

  In her place he would have to find an heiress. Ugly, old, meek, dreary—it made no difference. He had to wed an heiress, or his lands and his people would be forfeit.

  Lady Helwin understood duty. Surely she understood that.

  Couldn’t she at least have thrown him a kiss?

  But better that she didn’t, for then he would have gone and swept her into his arms and refused to let her go.

  No. No. He wouldn’t do that to her. She deserved to live out her life in safety. She could perhaps find another man to love…

  He found himself holding his goblet of ale halfway to his mouth, a vision of Helwin smiling at some handsome, wealthy, unknown cur of a whoreson husband…

  Rion wanted to kill them both. First her blackguard of a husband, then her, and then the husband again.

  Rion slammed his goblet down, splashing ale on his hand.

  He couldn’t give in, for if he didn’t marry an heiress, he would lose Castle Masterson. He would be damned if, after three hundred years of Masterson occupation, he became the one lord who couldn’t hang on to his land. And he would be damned if he condemned Lady Helwin to a short, miserable life in a mercenary camp, even if the alternative was a lousy swine of a husband in her bed.

  Lifting the goblet, he drained it. He was the most cursed of men, he, who had been the greatest warrior Europe had ever seen…he, whose very name had made the opposition tremble…in peace, he had proved to be an unlucky failure.

  The goblet clattered on the table as a thought struck him. Perhaps there was another way. Perhaps, with the help of his men and the villagers, he could bring prosperity to his people by…

  “My lord!” Young Mercia came running into the great hall, her face red with exertion. “M’lord, I did as ye commanded. I followed her!”

  Rion glared at the maid. “And?”

  Panting, Mercia held her side as if she had a stitch. “On th’ south road…a man…rode out o’ the wood…an’ captured her. She fought. He left…her shoe an’ her hat…in th’ dirt.”

  By just such a ruse, Rion had been locked in a bedchamber with Lady Helwin. Now, inevitably, he was suspicious. “If you’re trying to trick me to make me follow her—”

  “M’lord, I vow…what I say is true.”

  Sharp-eyed Winetta handed Mercia a drink.

  The girl took a gulp. “Th’ odd thing…is that that man…was dressed like…ye.”

  The other maids gathered around.

  Winetta burst out, “‘Tis her uncle! The earl of Smythwick has waited long fer a chance to harm me babe.”

  Rion still doubted, but he found himself on his feet, buckling his sword around his waist. “Why wouldn’t his lordship have killed her before? I’m sure Lady Helwin has many times made him wish to kill her. Many times.”

  Winetta wrung her hands. “Because
Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, made it clear she held him accountable for Lady Helwin’s good health.”

  Rion stopped and stared at Winetta. “Do you know this in fact?”

  “Aye. When her father died, before Lord Smythwick dismissed me, I saw the messenger which came from Her Majesty, and I heard the royal proclamation. I saw the look His Lordship gave Lady Helwin—he hates her with all his shriveled heart, and he would do her a harm if he could. But m’lord, ye kidnapped her off the beach, and if she tried to escape from ye—”

  “I wanted her out a week ago!”

  “—and she dies under yer detention, you will be accountable to the queen!”

  Before she was done speaking, Rion was sprinting out the door. “Send someone after my men!” he shouted.

  “At the curve o’ th’ road about halfway into th’ woods!” Mercia called.

  What Winetta had said made horrible sense. That explained why Lord Smythwick hadn’t sent for Lady Helwin. Like some giant, malignant spider, he, or rather his minion, had been lurking outside Castle Masterson waiting for Lady Helwin to exit so Lord Smythwick could eliminate her from his life…and blame it on Rion.

  Heaven knew, with that sharp tongue and wicked humor, she was aggravating enough that most men would wish they could toss her out of their lives—but that wasn’t a good enough reason to kill the lass!

  Rion saddled his stallion, mounted and leaned into the chase. The memory of Lady Helwin rose in his mind, her mouth richly smiling, her hair flowing freely over her breasts with her dainty, pink nipples peeking through.

  He spurred his horse to greater speed down the south road. Dust rose in a cloud behind him. Samson’s mane flew into Rion’s face. The wind whipped past his ears, and hot blood pounded in his veins.

  Would he be in time? Would he ever again hear her warm laughter, reel from her stout defiance, delight in the generosity of her love?

  He had to be in time.

  As he neared the wood he slowed, looking for signs of Lady Helwin.

  Just as Mercia had described, he found them. Lady Helwin’s shoe and her hat were crumpled in the grass beside the road, and a little further on, a clasp bearing his own crest was tossed to the ground. Two sets of tracks led toward the sea cliffs.

  Driven by a dreadful urgency, Rion spurred his horse onward.

  Topping the hill overlooking the cliff road, he saw them; a man dressed in a cape and a hat like Rion’s, and Lady Helwin.

  A dreadful silence enveloped them as the villain tried to toss her off the cliffs and onto the sharp, wave-soaked rocks below.

  Helwin didn’t scream, but struggled mightily as he pushed her ever closer to the precipice.

  Battle rage turned Rion’s vision to red. Howling with fury, with anguish, with resolve, Rion drew his sword and spurred his war horse forward.

  Chapter Fifteen

  At the sight of Rion, Lady Helwin gave a shriek that shattered the silence.

  But that shriek was more of a shout of triumph than a scream of fear.

  Her attacker looked up. He saw Rion thundering down toward them. He released her and staggered backward. He scrabbled to reach his saddle and draw his own sword from its sheath.

  And Lady Helwin, damn the woman, picked up a stout branch, and with one good swing of her arm, slammed the villain in the back of the head.

  Her attacker dropped face first into the grass and rested there, unmoving.

  Rion could have screamed himself. He had wanted to kill the man who had attacked his woman.

  But he couldn’t murder an unarmed, senseless man. “Damn you, Hellion,” he roared as he pulled up beside her. “You should have let me handle this!”

  “Why?” She almost danced with rage. The sun glinted off of her loose, blonde hair, and her eyes snapped blue sparks. “You’re not the one who was kidnapped—again!— and this time almost murdered in cold blood.”

  “I will wait until he wakes. Then I will kill him.” Armed with that resolve, and his sword, Rion dismounted and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” She pointed at the man on the ground. “I don’t care if he is unconscious. Kill him now!”

  Rion liked her bloodthirsty demand. This was no milk-and-toast maiden who jumped at the sight of her shadow. She would make a fine bride for a mercenary warrior. “I can’t. And you put quite a lump on his head. I don’t think he’s going to wake soon.”

  “I practiced on you,” she snapped.

  Rion rubbed his own head where only recently had his lump subsided. “So you did. And I can vouch for your vigor.” With his foot, he turned the fellow over. “Do you know him?”

  “I do. He’s one of Uncle Carroll’s men.”

  “So it’s true. Your uncle is trying to kill you.”

  “Aye, the wretched knave!”

  In his heart, Rion had hoped it was not so; Rion’s men had his back, and they knew how to do battle, but Lord Smythwick had the resources to bring in supplies and hire an army of mercenaries. Here and now, the odds against them were high, so Rion had no choice. “We leave this blackguard on the ground, and return to Castle Masterson as fast as we can ride. Hurry. I’ll help you mount Samson.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Hurry,” he repeated.

  Hands on her hips, she stood mulishly still.

  Then, startled, she looked up toward the top of the hill. She had heard what Rion heard…the thunder of hooves.

  And Lord Smythwick rode over the hill on his snowy-white, fine-boned, sissy gelding, surrounded by a dozen livery-clad soldiers armed with swords. “Going somewhere, Lord Masterson?”

  Of course. Lord Smythwick had come to personally make sure the foul deed was done.

  Rion placed himself in front of Lady Helwin, raised his sword to fighting position, and directed, “Helwin, mount the horse and ride for my castle.”

  “I will not.”

  Of course. What else had he expected her to say?

  Without removing his gaze from Smythwick’s sneering face, Rion said, “If we live to see the sunset, my dear girl, I swear I will beat you once a day whether you need it or not.”

  Stout branch in hand, she stood shoulder to shoulder with him. “If we live to see the sunset, I swear I will go as far away from you as I can go.”

  Sometimes the lass was not as bright as she seemed. “You…will…not. We’re getting married.”

  “You have to marry an heiress.”

  “I love you, and I’m going to marry you, you stupid wench, and God help us both.”

  “Too bad we’ll never live through this.” She sounded remarkably cheerful for a woman facing death.

  “At least one of us can.” In a tone of quiet command, he said, “Get on that horse and ride.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  This man, this warrior, was willing to give his life for her.

  But perhaps…that was what warriors did.

  More amazing to Helwin was—he wanted to marry her. He wanted her more than money or respectability or even his heritage. He would abandon them all out of love for her.

  He really did love her.

  Her gaze shifted to her Uncle Carroll, and her rage grew cold. She would not allow Uncle Carroll to destroy Rion on the very eve of her happiness. Stepping forward, she called, “Uncle? Is this your idea of a discreet little murder?”

  Rion caught her arm and held her in place by his side.

  Uncle Carroll rode toward them, close enough to speak but not close enough to be in range of Rion’s sword. He looked down at her in apparent benevolence. “I don’t know what you mean, dear niece. I simply want to kill the man who kidnapped you.” In his most unctuous voice, he said, “Come over here and let me protect you.”

  She stared up into her uncle’s dead-fish eyes. “What have I ever done to make you think I’m as stupid as Bertilda?”

  His thin face flushed until two bright spots of red burned on his cheekbones. In a deadly whisper, he said, “You are exactly
like your father.” He rode back to the top of the hill, and in a voice so cruel it would break icicles, he called, “Aye, Masterson, Her Majesty will be grieved to hear that you killed the daughter of one of her beloved courtiers, but she will be very, very pleased with me for killing you afterward.”

  Rion mounted the horse and reached his arm down.

  Still holding her branch—a feeble weapon, but the best she could find—Helwin grasped his hand and let him pull her up behind him.

  He instructed, “Hold onto my waist and whatever you do, don’t let go.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and felt his heartbeat thundering through his back. Stretching up to speak in his ear, she promised, “I will never let you go.”

  A chuckle shuddered through his body. “I depend on that.” He sounded remarkably cool now that the moment was upon them. “If you’re going to use that stick, push them away with it and parry their blows. Don’t try to hit them—you’ll expose your midsection.”

  She found she was shaking, trembling with fear.

  Uncle Carroll lifted his arm and let it fall.

  His men shouted and spurred their horses into a gallop.

  Rion laughed.

  Helwin wondered if he had gone mad.

  Then over the hill behind them, from the throats of Rion’s own mercenaries, came a battle roar.

  Rion held his horse still.

  The ragged mercenaries thundered past them toward Uncle Carroll’s men, swords, maces and shields at ready.

  Uncle Carroll’s gold-braided, liveried soldiers took one look, turned heel and fled.

  At the top of the hill, Uncle Carroll sat immobile, frozen with rage and frustration—until a single arrow from Barth’s bow flew through the air.

  The metal point pierced Uncle Carroll’s shoulder. He screamed and dropped the reins. His horse pranced restively, then raced away, Uncle Carroll clamped into the saddle and tugging furtively at the arrow.

  The men cheered and circled around Rion and Helwin.

  Barth twanged his bow.

  Terris lifted his sword above his head.