Hellion (Seven Brides for Seven Bastards, 7) (14 page)

"You'll have to leave soon," she
whispered into his shoulder, her hair damp with perspiration and
stuck in gently tickling waves across his chest. "You cannot stay
all night."

Sal glanced over at the narrow arched
window and saw that the sun was setting. He'd spent the afternoon
in her bed and it was indeed everything he'd fantasized. But he was
not sated. He could not rid himself of his lust for her, even after
all that they'd done together that day.

Now, for the first time in his life,
he longed to spend all night with a woman. Just sleeping with her
in his arms. To wake her in the morning with a kiss. To watch her
bathe while he sprawled lazily on her bed. Even to comb her hair
for her.

She must be a witch. What other
explanation for it could there be?

"No, I can't stay," he agreed with
her. "I am expected at my father's manor this evening. The wives
have prepared a supper."

He felt her stiffen in his arms, as if
she might escape them and push him away, so he tightened his grip,
his muscles tensing around her as she lay curled beside
him.

"You would not want me here all night,
in any case," he muttered. "Would you?"

She was silent, her breath gently
blowing into the dip where his broad neck met his shoulder. Did she
feign sleep now to prevent the need for an answer? He scowled up at
the pitted rafters. Distant sounds for some time now had warned
that her manor was coming back to life after the heat of the
afternoon. He would soon have to replace his old man disguise and
leave again.

But everything felt unresolved. He'd
expected to be tired of her by now. To have had his fill and
satisfied his curiosity. It was all most inconvenient.

She said, "I daresay your wives will
be pleased to see you."

"They usually are. Was Calledaux not
so with you?"

For a moment she lay still, breathing
gently, considering her reply carefully it seemed. "Robert married
me because he was told to do so, for the land. My father's land. To
him I was merely a part of property. I daresay he was pleased to
see me in the same way that he was glad to look out and see all
that he owned." She paused, sighed. "You, being a man and free of
bonds, will not know what it is like, of course, to be
chattel."

"But you did not see him as your
master."

"Of course," she protested thinly. "He
was my husband."

"But you, Hellion, ruled the roost. I
saw you."

Aha! He had her there, for she could
not pretend she was her husband's mindless slave. Sal had seen her
at work about the place, taking charge, in control. The manor
survived because of her determination, her blood and sweat, and the
devotion of her people beside whom she worked. Sal had seen how she
nursed Robert Calledaux through his many illness, never
complaining, even when she must have been exhausted from working in
the fields alongside her people. Whenever Sal saw her she was
covered in mud, or hay dust and sweat. If her husband ever noticed
he did nothing to ease her burden. Although, perhaps she did not
want her burden eased. Perhaps she welcomed the work.

He understood that, for he too liked
to keep busy, liked the sense of achievement and satisfaction that
came from a job well done. Constant activity kept the demons at
bay.

Finally she confessed, "I had to take
the reins sometimes. When there were problems Robert could seldom
see solutions, but it was not his fault. He had been raised by a
father who cured and solved all for him. It left poor Robert with
no ability to manage in hard times."

Sal reached up with one hand and
captured a lock of her hair where it spilled across his chest. He
wound it around his finger like a rich thread of silk and watched
the unique colors gleam in the late afternoon light. "And how is it
that you learned to manage?"

She laughed drowsily. "When a person
is isolated for most of their childhood they learn to do things for
themselves, not to rely on others."

"Isolated?"

"My mother attempted to escape my
father's tyranny when I was a baby. She ran away with her lover.
But sadly she did not get far. My father had her lover killed, and
she was shut away from the world to repent her sins. I too was shut
away, but not allowed to go to her. It was part of her punishment
that she would never see me again. My father did not care, of
course, that I was punished too by never being allowed to see her.
I suppose, in his mind, I was a part of her and therefore I too was
guilty. Whenever he looked at me— which was not often —he must have
seen my mother and felt the pain of her betrayal again. At least,"
she sighed, "that is how I learned to forgive his lack of interest.
There is always, so I find, a reason why people behave the way they
do. It is not born in them to be bitter and cruel, like my father,
or sad and helpless like Robert."

He pondered all this while twisting
her hair around his fingers, then letting the silken coils tumble
against his chest. "Then how do you explain me?" he said, his voice
low in that quiet, peaceful chamber. "How did I grow to be so fine
and strong and invincible?"

She lifted her head from his shoulder
and laughed huskily. "You are not human, therefore you are
different."

"Not human?"

"That is what folk say." She smiled,
resting her chin on his chest. "The d'Anzeray are descended from
the daughters of Satan, are they not?"

"You know who wrote that? A monk with
an axe to grind. He misinterprets for his own cause, naturally.
'Tis a pity history will be written by men like that. There will be
little truth and most of it skewed to tell a tale that favors those
they support. Yet the folk who read it, many years from now, will
think that is how it was."

Her head tipped to one
side, she replied, "Then you should write you own account." She
paused. "You
can
write?"

He smiled. "In three languages,
Hellion."

"Oh?" Surprise lifted her voice and
the arch of her brows.

"See? Never believe everything you
read or hear."A gentle chuckle rumbled through his chest. "And as
for my inhumanity, I think you will find I am quite the same as any
other flesh and blood man." He winked. "Just much, much better, at
everything, of course."

She didn't argue with that. Instead
she laid her head down again on his shoulder. "Tell me about your
brothers and your childhood."

"It was very different to yours. While
you were alone, I was surrounded by my brothers and their
noise."

"I would have preferred that," she
muttered.

"You do not like to be alone?" He
thought she managed there so well that she must prefer
it.

"I'd like the choice," she replied.
"When I was a child I had none and I was left alone so long I had
to make up imaginary people. At least you had brothers to keep you
company, and when you wanted to be alone I'm sure you could find
somewhere to go. As you do now, having your fortress apart from
them."

He thought of Helene as a little girl
so bereft of companionship that she imagined her friends and his
heart ached for her.

But she was not alone now was she? She
had an entire manor of people and she would soon have another
husband.

Now would be the time to mention
Gilbert de Vernon. While he was still thinking of how to raise the
matter, however— words not being his strong point—she stretched,
yawning, and then slid out from his embrace.

"Back to our usual lives then," she
said softly. "Don't let me keep you from yours."

Through narrowed eyes he watched her
use the washbasin and then slip back into her thin gown. "Will I
see you tomorrow?" he demanded, hitching up onto one elbow. Her
damn bed was so comfortable he didn't want to leave it.

She swept her hair over one shoulder
and began to braid it quickly but sloppily. "Perhaps."

Perhaps? This he did not like. Sal
wanted to be sure of seeing her every day, not merely hoping for a
glimpse.

But he couldn't let her know how he
was at her mercy, like a weak fool. Like a man in love.

Pah! Soft beds and soft hearts were
for idiots. So he leapt off her bed and pulled on his chausses, not
washing her scent off. He hadn't gone to all this trouble to have
her, only to wash her all off again, had he?

She was watching him with a bemused
eye as he tugged his tunic back over his head. "I hope I didn't
wear you out for your many wives."

He smirked, dropping to the bed while
he pulled on his riding boots. "It's never been a problem
before."

"I wouldn't want them to be
disappointed. Poor things."

"They won't be."

She turned away, reaching
for her wimple where she'd thrown it over a chair earlier, and Sal
took one last look at her beautiful tresses before they were
covered again. He rubbed one hand over his chest where it felt
tight suddenly. "I
will
see you tomorrow, Hellion."

Her eyes flared.

"If you don't come to me, I will come
to you," he added crossly.

She licked her lips. "Perhaps.
Mutt."

Difficult, obstinate woman! He
couldn't imagine what he saw in her.

* * * *

When the "Boar-walker" was gone,
taking his beast with him, Helene realized she was ravenous. She
ate her supper that evening with more appetite than she'd shown for
a long time and the food tasted better than it ever had. It was as
if he'd awoken all her senses from a thick fog of carelessness.
Every color was brighter and more vibrant, every bite of a plum
sweeter and juicier than before, every joke she heard was funnier,
prompting hearty laughter of the sort she could never remember
hearing from her own mouth.

The world had changed because of him.
There was no way around the fact.

But he had six wives and he shared
them with his brothers. He was a man who refused to live by rules.
He had no scruples, no religion.

And she would soon have another man to
worry about.

She shouldn't be sitting at her table,
filling her belly, sipping wine and laughing. Really, she ought to
be on her knees praying for her soul after her sins that
day.

He had turned her into a wicked
creature just like him, because all she wanted to think about was
seeing him again tomorrow. Oh, she'd tried to be off-hand, didn't
want him thinking he had her at his mercy.

Helene was quite proud, in fact, of
her calm demeanor when she saw him off. Good thing those fierce
dark eyes of his couldn't see inside her to where her heart was
beating out of all sensible rhythm.

Harold made her laugh again when he
tried a tumbling trick and landed on his backside in the floor
rushes, but her laughter only urged him to try so hard he hurt
himself and then she had to leave her food and see to his
bruises.

When people got carried away, someone
inevitably was hurt. It was a swift and timely reminder.

She got down on her knees and prayed
that evening. Gilbert de Vernon was said to be a very devout man,
the complete opposite of her dark lover. What would he think if he
knew what she'd done? This must end now, before there was terrible
injury to one, or all of them.

* * * *

Sal enjoyed a pleasant meal with his
brothers and wives, but his thoughts drifted constantly to his
Hellion. She'd crept under his skin and he couldn't get her out
again.

He found himself wondering what she
was doing that night. The damn woman was keeping information from
him, he thought crossly. Would she ever deem it necessary for him
to know about her new husband? Perhaps she would get what she could
from him first with her sexual trading. Aye, she meant to take more
of his land, borrow his labor and his animals, and then another man
would calmly ride up and take over. Oh, no, no, no. If that was her
game, she would be sorry she ever tried to play it.

"You seem distracted, brother," said
Sebastien, flopping down onto a pillow beside him as they watched
sixth wife, Jessamyn, dancing with her veils after supper.
"Anything troubling you?"

He growled, "Not for long."

Dom sat on his other side and asked
how his little milkmaid was coming along.

"She comes along very well," he
replied sternly.

"I think you have a great fondness for
her."

"And how do you reach this conclusion,
brother?"

"I saw the way you looked into her
eyes and even now, I think, those are the eyes you see, as you sit
here with us."

He shrugged. "'Tis something new. She
is...different. A novelty. It will pass."

"And if it does not?"

Sal flared his nostrils and huffed
loudly. "It will. Soon enough."

"Mayhap you should marry
her."

He shot his brother a scowl. "Just
because you have all fallen under the influence of pussy, doesn't
mean I must do the same. I like my life the way it is now. I have
my own fortress to which I can withdraw and be alone as I desire
it. There the time is my own. When I want the company of wives, I
can come here." And leave again when life felt overcrowded, he
thought, remembering what Helene had said.