Castle of the Heart (32 page)

“I received a letter from Sir Valaire in the
last packet from court,” Thomas went on. “He made it quite clear he
is unhappy at Selene’s long stay in his household. She and her
mother quarrel constantly. Valaire wants her removed. He will join
me in insisting that his daughter obey me.”

“We will try to make Selene welcome here,”
Guy said.

“I’ll see to it she causes no trouble. Not to
anyone.”

It seemed to Thomas that his decision had
lifted a burden from Guy. The older man’s step grew almost springy
as summer progressed. His health was noticeably improved, and that
made Meredith happier. Thomas felt certain he had made the right
choice.

There were no Welsh raids that summer.
Geoffrey rode in from Tynant several times, looking more cheerful
than he had done for a long while. One of his men told Guy and
Thomas that Geoffrey had recently taken a pretty Saxon mistress, a
placid girl who adored him. The deep wound to his esteem inflicted
by Gwenefer’s betrayal seemed to be healing.

Thomas and Arianna had kept their oath to
treat each other as friends. They met daily, maintaining rigid
control over their feelings, though Arianna could not hide the
sadness that filled her eyes when Thomas told her he would bring
Selene back to live at Afoncaer.

“It is the best thing for Jocelyn and
Deirdre,” was all she said. “And you need a lady by your side.”

“You won’t leave, will you, Arianna?”

“No. You and Selene and I need not be thrown
together constantly. Linnet is well enough trained by now to care
for the children, so I am not in the nursery as often as I once
was. I am spending more time with Meredith in the infirmary she has
set up in the village. I still have a great deal to learn from her.
And Reynaud has agreed to begin teaching me Greek this winter. At
last I’ll be able to speak my mother’s tongue. I shall be well
occupied, Thomas. There is nothing to prevent me from being
friendly with Selene again, if she wishes it, too.” She gave him a
bright smile that fooled him not at all.

Because of the constant unrest along the
Welsh border, Guy was exempt from sending fighting men to the
king’s service for the usual forty days each year. When Thomas left
Afoncaer he took with him only a dozen men-at-arms for protection,
and, at Guy’s suggestion, Benet as one of his squires.

“He has little to do until I’m fully
recovered,” Guy said, “and he deserves a reward for his faithful
service. Let him see something of the world beyond Afoncaer. Let
him see a royal court.” Thomas, who liked Benet, readily
agreed.

Their crossing of the Narrow Sea was delayed
by bad weather. It was not until mid-November that Thomas and a
properly impressed Benet knelt before King Henry.

“You have come here only to turn around and
go back to England,” Henry said. “Still, I’m glad to see you, and
William will be, too. Come sit here and tell me all the news of
Wales before you leave to find your lady wife.”

It was his father-in-law Thomas found later.
He learned from him that Selene had not come to court but was still
in Brittany with Lady Aloise.

“They will join us next week,” Sir Valaire
said, “since they are both to sail to England with us.”

“I want to see Selene before that,” Thomas
told him. “I have made my report to King Henry, and I visited with
William, so I’m free to join her. My men and I will ride to
Brittany and escort the ladies to Barfleur in time to meet the
ships on sailing day.”

“I’ll send a message to Aloise that you are
coming,” Valaire said. “A word of advice, Thomas. Use a firm hand
with Selene. She has done as she pleases for too long, and you
leave yourself open to gossip and mockery by letting her have her
own way. She’s had naught to do with other men while you were
living apart, I can vouch for that, but I am ashamed to say my
daughter is willful and stubborn, and entirely too bad
tempered.”

“I intend that she will change greatly,”
Thomas assured him.

Selene was not waiting in the great hall of
Sir Valaire’s castle to greet him as a wife should. It was left to
his mother-in-law to do that honor.

“She’s in the solar,” Lady Aloise told him
apologetically. “She asks that you join her there after you have
bathed and refreshed yourself from the journey.”

“Does she indeed?” Thomas’s eyes narrowed.
Lady Aloise looked distracted. Thomas suspected she was having a
difficult time with her daughter. “Is she very angry that I expect
her to return to Afoncaer with me?”

“She was.” Aloise produced a bitter smile. “I
spent two extremely unpleasant days trying to convince her. For a
while I feared you would have to take her back by force. She is
more reasonable now. If she opposes you, beat her as a good husband
should. You have been too lenient with her. Her stubborn pride must
bend to your will, and would have done so long ago had you not
always been so foolishly gentle with her.”

Thomas almost asked if Sir Valaire had ever
beaten his wife, but seeing Aloise’s expression, he bit back the
irritated words. He doubted Aloise would understand his desire to
have a wife who looked upon him with affection rather than
fear.

“I’ll not wait. I’ll see her now if you will
show me the way,” he said.

“But I’ve ordered bathwater taken to your
room at once.”

“Good,” Thomas responded. “Selene can help me
bathe. She can begin her wifely submission in that way.” Aloise
nodded in grim agreement.

Thomas paused in the hall just long enough
for Benet to remove his heavy chain mail hauberk, before following
his mother-in-law up the staircase to the second floor of the
castle.

Selene sat on a stool in the solar, close to
a window, her head bent over bright-colored embroidery. A few
silken strands of thread glowed smoothly across the knee of her
dark green woolen gown, placed there until she should need them for
the next stitches. The light fell softly upon her face and set her
crisp white linen coif aglow. Her profile was perfect. Thomas
concentrated his thoughts on her beautiful face and body and the
pleasure he had once found in both, trying to dredge up some faint
stirring of desire for her.

She heard his step and looked up. Thomas saw
her emerald eyes grow almost black as the pupils dilated and a look
of fear crossed her face. It was swiftly erased into smooth
blankness, but her eyes still glowed bright and dark. Gathering up
her embroidery, she rose from the stool and knelt to him.

“My lord,” she said, her husky voice
trembling just a little. “Welcome, sir.”

“In the future,” Thomas said coolly, “when I
return to a place where you are, you will greet me at the
door.”

“Yes, my lord.” Grey-shadowed lids were
lowered over her eyes so Thomas could no longer see the expression
in them. He wondered if it was hatred.

“Get up,” he said, “and come and bathe
me.”

“Surely one of the serving women can do
that.”

“It is you I want to serve me, Selene.” He
put out his hand and she took it, rising and following him meekly
along the corridor to the room Lady Aloise had shown him.

A tub of steaming water waited by the blazing
hearth. Two serving women stood next to it, one with a bowl of soap
and linen towels, the other with a large pitcher of hot water for
rinsing.

“You may go,” Thomas told them. “My lady will
wait on me.”

When they had left he bolted the door after
them. Selene stood with hands folded before her, in the posture he
remembered so well, looking at the floor with apparent great
interest, so that her face was hidden from him.

“You may undress me now,” Thomas said.

She did not speak, nor did she look directly
at him while she removed his travel-stained garments, his padded
gambeson and hose, and his silk undershirt. Thomas thought she was
trying not to see his body, which was beginning to react to the
touch of her slender fingers as she handled his clothing. He
encouraged his own response, trying to recall how much he had
wanted her in the early days of their marriage, making himself
remember the feel of her smooth flesh beneath his hands and the way
she had always moaned in pleasure as he took her. When at last he
was naked and shivering slightly in the drafty chamber, longing for
the muscle-easing warmth of the inviting tub of water, she walked
across the room and picked up the soap bowl and a small linen
cloth.

“If you will get in, my lord, I will soap
you,” she said, still not looking at him.

“Not yet, Selene. You will stain that lovely
gown. Take it off. Your headdress, too.”

“Please, my lord, no.” The delicate hand
holding the soap bowl was shaking.

“God’s Holy Teeth, woman!” Thomas exploded.
“I’ve had enough of this nonsense. You are my wife, Selene, not
some terrified virgin about to be raped. I want you bare-headed, in
your undershift, kneeling before me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He watched her undress. When she bent to
remove her shoes and stockings, Thomas, satisfied that she would
not run away, stepped into his bath. He sat in the linen-draped
wooden tub, with knees drawn nearly to his chin, and felt his tense
muscles begin to relax in the pleasant heat.

Selene knelt beside the tub wearing only a
long-sleeved linen shift. Its wide, rounded neck left the beautiful
line of her throat exposed. She had partially released her hair so
that it hung down her back in a single thick braid. Still she did
not lift her eyes, and her small mouth was pressed into a firm
line, but Thomas could see her lips were trembling a little.

“Shall I soap your back, my lord?”

“Yes,” he said, and moved forward a little to
make room for her to reach between his back and the side of the
tub.

She worked silently, efficiently, her eyes
never meeting his, and Thomas marveled how she held herself in
check. The Selene he had once known would have drowned him in a
flood of angry words. He sensed the churning emotions beneath her
serene exterior, and found they gave an exciting edge to the
physical need that at last had begun to rise in him as she handled
his body. Selene, however angry and determined to avoid lying with
him, had always turned into a wanton, wildly passionate woman as
soon as she realized he would have her no matter how she protested.
He chuckled aloud at his body’s sudden, urgent reaction when her
hands, lathering soap across his chest and abdomen, met the stiffly
raised banner of his manhood and stopped.

Her eyes flew wide open, no longer shielded
from him. Thomas saw anger, fear, and pain mingled in their emerald
green depths, and something more, the flaring, passionate look they
always held just before she accepted his lovemaking, and he knew
she would offer him no great resistance. He wanted to rise dripping
and soapy from the tub and fling her onto the floor and have her
there. He could almost feel her hot flesh pulsating beneath him.
Somehow he controlled himself, knowing that if he waited, and lured
her cleverly, she would come to him, and it would be all the better
for his patience.

When she finished soaping him and had poured
most of the pitcher of fresh water over his head and shoulders, he
stood up so she could finish rinsing him. He stepped out of the tub
and stood on the wet floor, letting her dry him.

“My legs, too,” he said when she had finished
his back. He felt the linen cloth along the backs of his legs, felt
it linger across his buttocks. “The front, too, Selene.”

He reached around and grabbed one arm to pull
her forward, disregarding her sudden yelp of pain.

“Kneel,” he commanded, pressing downward on
her arm. She went to her knees, face to face with his rising desire
for her.

“Thomas. Oh, Thomas.” A dry whisper, wrenched
out of a constricted throat. She touched him, with her fingers
first and then with her mouth, and pleasure and heat and throbbing
physical need surged up in him, mingling in sensation so intense he
thought he would burst with it.

He bent down and took her by each arm,
raising her to her feet. She was weeping. Her rosy lips were
slightly parted, and with a surprised start he remembered he had
not kissed her yet. He would, in a moment.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her
across the room to lay her on the bed. She cried out, wincing, as
he moved his hands across her back, then lay still, watching him.
He stretched out beside her, and with one hand turned her face to
his. That beautiful face, pure and delicate, and without
blemish.

“Selene,” he murmured, “wife, this is our
duty. We’ve neglected it too long.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She was still wearing her damp linen shift.
It clung to her body. He could see beneath its sheerness the
pointed contours of her small breasts, the soft mound of her belly,
and below that, the patch of smooth black hair, into which, in a
few moments, he would plunge as they slaked their violent passion
on each other. But first, he wanted to see her entire body without
covering. She was his possession, he owned her, and if he must live
with her, he would look at her whenever he wanted. He tugged the
shift upward.

“Take this off,” he ordered. When she
hesitated, he tugged harder, pulling the linen up to her waist,
exposing slim legs and thighs, softly rounded hips, and that place
– that place into which he wanted to dissolve himself. Now. This
instant. “Hurry, Selene.”

She sat up and twisted away from him,
affording him a tormenting glimpse of inner thigh and creamy
buttocks. Thomas licked his dry lips as another surge of heat swept
over him. This, he knew, was the lust Selene had always feared,
unsoftened now by any thought of love. She belonged to him, was his
chattel. He wanted a woman. He would take her. It was remarkably
simple.

“Will you hurry, woman? Get that thing off!”
He sat up, glaring at her, unwilling to wait any longer to ease the
purely physical desire that surged through his body.