His Captive Lady (20 page)

'You love her.'

'Loved. Marie was attacked near the market. A man...forced her and she became pregnant and--'

A rustle of skirts and the chime of bracelets and her hand was on his shoulder. 'She was raped?'

Wulf nodded, staring at the knot in her girdle as that never-to-be-forgotten image of Marie, pale and still on her bier, flashed into her mind. 'Yes, she died giving birth to a stillborn son. She was little more than a child herself.'

'Your sister, yes, I see it. That is why you were so quick to come to my rescue in Guthlac's hall.'

To his astonishment her fingers wandered inside the neck of his tunic and trailed up past his ear into his hair. Wulf held himself very still, trying not to lean into the caress until he could bear no more. Then he glanced up, watching for the slightest change of expression. Was she aware of what she was doing?

White teeth were worrying at that distracting mouth. 'You put yourself at risk for me in Guthlac's hall. These past few days, I have been thinking how hard that must have been. You were in enemy territory and yet...'

She was playing with Wulf's earlobe and his blood was beginning to run hot. Her eyes were dark and dreamy, her lips slightly parted. Wulf's ear burned, his heart thudded. She sighed, sent him a shy smile and bent to remove his other boot.

Bemused, holding his breath to the point of suffocation for fear of startling her, Wulf submitted while she tugged it free. She set it next to its mate, stepped in between his knees and rested her hands on his shoulders.

'I am your wife, Wulf, and I would have you know that if you...if we...it will be no disparagement to me if you...' Rosy colour suffused her cheeks. 'It would be...pleasant, I think. Like your kisses.'

She
liked
his kisses. Desire swamped him. Wulf dragged her to him and buried his face in her belly. 'Erica.' Her name emerged as a croak. Rapidly, he pulled himself together. It would not do for her to realise the effect she had on him. Lord, she nearly unmanned him. He gave her a crooked smile, rose, and was lifting the silver headband from her and setting it safely on the nightstand when she caught his hand.

'Wulf, this...' She indicated the circlet. 'It's from you.'

'Yes.'

'I have never been given anything half so pretty, I thank you.'

He looked at her. It was not gold, which she was used to, but it had cost him more than he could well afford. Wulf was not comfortable with expressing his feelings, but something in those eyes made him want to try. 'The filigree made me think of you. Beautiful. Delicate, but strong. I am glad you like it.'

Erica unpinned her veil and reached for her braid; Wulf brushed her fingers aside. 'Let me take Solveig's part.'

Green eyes met his. 'You watched us in the cottage, that night Morcar...hurt you?'

Wulf smiled, but did not reply as he tugged at a ribbon and her hair came loose. As it unravelled her scent surrounded him--homely and exotic--and dizzied him.

Sitting down with a thump, Wulf pulled her onto his lap and rubbed his cheek against hers. Her lips hovered but an inch from his, her breast was pressing into his chest.

She was smiling a secret woman's smile he could not interpret, but she was relaxed in his arms and that told him all he needed to know. And then those slender fingers were in his hair, sifting through it, doubtless contrasting his shorn locks with those of her housecarls. It came to him that she might like more than his kisses, that she liked his short, Norman hair.

Erica leaned in, pressing more fully against his chest. She is a virgin, he reminded himself. I must go slowly. Sharp teeth were nibbling at his earlobe, building the heat in his groin. He was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Erica is a lady, a lady. She may be your wife, but she has been gently bred and she is innocent.

His innocent lady wife was making it hard to think with her green eyes so slumberous, so dark with desire. And his ear, Lord, she was biting his neck, unlacing the front of his tunic...

'Duty,' he muttered. After what Erica had been through, it was his duty not to frighten her.

She lifted her head and her lips curved. 'Duty? Is that what this is?' Her tongue traced a warm wet path along his chin. 'Not entirely.' Drawing back, she leaned her arms against his chest and looked him straight in the eye. 'Sad though it may be, I find your kisses pleasurable. It is very reprehensible.'

With a groan, Wulf brought his lips to hers. It was a fierce kiss, a kiss of possession, and contained the pent-up longing of that painfully chaste journey from Ely to Winchester. It was hard, and hot.

Erica's lips opened. She fisted her fingers in the hair at the back of his head, as though to prevent his escape. Her tongue stroked his, her nails were digging in his shoulder, she was biting, kissing, licking.

Breathless, he pulled away. Her head fell against his chest and then she was urging his lips back to hers. He slid his hand up her ribcage and closed on her breast, stroking it through the cloth of her gown. She quivered.

'Wulf.' His name was no more than a throaty moan.

Muscles weakening, when he fell back on the coverlet she came with him. Her beauty snatched his breath away. Her hair was shining in the candleglow, her cheeks were flushed and her lips were wet from his kisses. Like him, Erica's breath was coming fast, and what he could see of her breasts through the wool of her gown told him that she was as aroused as he. A lady, he reminded himself. Innocent and gently bred and just look at her. How shocking. A grin tugged at his lips. How delightful. Her hand ran over his chest, bracelets chinked, and he shook his head, bemused. Innocent?

'What?' she demanded even as he levered himself to a sitting position in order to drag off her shoes. 'What's so amusing?'

'You are an extraordinary woman. I thought you might be afraid.' Lying back, he ran a finger down her cheek.

Careful fingers mirrored his gesture, lingered on his mouth. 'Not with you, you great ox, never with you.'

'Ox?
Ox?
I'll show you ox...' Wulf tore the tunic from his back, then his chainse and reached for the ties at the side of her gown. Her fingers were there before his. He kissed her shoulder and they fought over lacings and ties. In moments her gown lay on the matting next to his tunic. Her underskirt followed, then his hose and braies...

And before they knew it they were kneeling somewhat unsteadily on the bed, holding on to each other for balance. They were entirely naked. Wulf might have expected awkwardness, embarrassment, even fear, but there was none of that, just an open enjoyment of each other's bodies.

'Oh, Wulf, your bruises.' Gentle fingers reached for the smudges on his ribs. She bent forwards, hair falling between them as she covered his chest in kisses.

'They are fading.' Wulf swallowed and steadied himself by cradling her head. There was no way he could hide his desire. He was nudging against her and he could not stop himself, she would be afraid, she...Lord, but she was beautiful.

Leaning sideways, she felt back onto the pillows, pulling him with her and the light in those green eyes dispelled the last of his qualms. Erica might not love him, but she did like his kisses and, if Wulf had any say in the matter, she was going to like, to more than like, consummating their marriage.

He let his hands roam over her, worshipping her shape. He caressed her breasts, her flanks, the curve of a buttock. And everywhere his hands went, his lips followed. But it was not easy, because although Wulf was in no doubt that Erica was a virgin, she was not displaying the coyness he might have expected a virgin to display.

In this, the bedding of an innocent wife, a man of some experience might expect to be in control. Control? How could he keep control when Erica was moaning and writhing beneath him and her hands were exploring him
everywhere
, in the most unseemly and delightful manner, emptying his mind of sense, of thought? Her fingers closed over him and he gasped, fighting for air. Control?

A pretty foot kicked the bedding aside. She licked that distracting mouth and showered his cheek with kisses and when he pulled back he saw that her green eyes were as dark with lust as his must be. She muttered his name, 'Wulf', any number of times and each time his senses fired, his blood burned.

'Wulf,' she murmured as a beringed hand streaked fire down his sides.

'Oh, Wulf,' she gasped as his fingers slid between her legs and found to his astonishment that although he had scarcely touched her, she was already ready for him.

'Wulf, my Wulf,' she sighed as she ran her tongue up his neck and towards his ear-lobe and bit him, gently. She liked biting him, it seemed. She wriggled beneath him and muttered his name again and her glossy dark hair spilled over the pillows and tangled beneath them. She hooked a foot over his calves and stroked his leg with it.

It was more than a man could bear, especially a man who, while he was experienced, had never been in the habit of taking his pleasure of women as though they were merely conveniences for his easement. And as for this woman,
the
woman, he cared about her, far more than he ought.

'Wulf, please,' she said, a hint of impatience in her tone as small hands tugged at his hips, nudging him into position.

'Wulf.' She groaned, eyes fixed on his.

They moved simultaneously, and then it was done, they were one. Easy. Wulf slid into her as though they had been lovers for years; there was no barrier that he could feel, no gasp of pain, just Erica's eyes on his and a small hand bringing his mouth to hers.

'Wulf.'

'Erica,
ma belle
...' He ought to ask her if she hurt, but she was moving beneath him in such a way that she could not possibly be in pain and his body was responding to her urging, and they were together, moving together. He had no idea that lying with a woman could take a man so completely out of himself. Her body was tight about him, and, Lord, he only had to reach for her thighs for her to be wrapping her legs about him, and they were moving again, fast, faster.

Her breath was flurried in his ear. 'Erica.'

And then he felt it, that sudden tightening round him as she breathed his name one last time and trembled beneath him. One thrust more and her name was torn from him; it felt as though he were giving her his soul.

About them, the stars on the walls swirled and danced in the flickering candlelight. As their breathing slowed, the stars seemed to settle, and when Wulf rolled to one side he was careful to take her with him.

T
he door banged back on its hinges and Erica's eyes flew open. She frowned. It was a rude awakening, after last night she had hoped....

Wulf's boy, Gil, rushed up the bed, panic in his eyes. His hair was awry and he was out of breath. There was no sign of Wulf or of his clothes.
'Madame, madame, venez vite!'

'Gil?' Clutching the bedclothes to her bosom, her naked bosom, Erica sat up. Icy fingers ran down her back.

'Madame, s'il vous plait!'
Gil groaned, made as if to pluck the bedcovers from her, but the sight of her bare shoulders penetrated his panic. Turning, he made a grab for the discarded blue gown and thrust it at her. 'My lady, please,' he said, finding his English, 'Captain FitzRobert has need of you.
Urgently.
'

Urgently. That last word had been unnecessary; the boy's whole demeanour made her blood run cold. As Gil turned away, Erica thrust back the bedcovers and dragged on the gown and girdle. Otherwise, she made short work of dressing, neither bothering with undergarments nor with brushing her hair; she simply tied it in a knot and shoved her unstockinged feet into her shoes. 'I'm ready, Gil.' On her way out she snatched up the veil and the silver circlet Wulf had given her. The door slammed behind them.

By the time they reached the bottom turn of the stairs and had gained the corridor, the veil and circlet were in place, hiding, Erica hoped, her uncombed hair. She, like Gil, was panting. Dread was a knot in her belly.

'Gil, what is it?'

The boy glanced over his shoulder at her, going so far as to grab her hand to urge her along. 'The chapel...the Captain has arranged a rendezvous. I...I fear for him. He is alone and your men...'

'
My
men?'

'Oui. Ailric et Hereward et--'

Erica picked up her skirts so she would not trip as they rushed down the corridor. Questions pressed in on her.
Ailric and Hereward? Hadn't they been sent to Ely? How could they be in Winchester?
She tried to remember exactly what Wulf had told her in the chapel, but she had been so pleased to see him that she had had little space in her head for anything else. At the hall doorway, Erica dug in her heels. 'Wulf has arranged a meeting with my men? In the chapel?'

'Oui.'
Gil tugged at her hand.

'How many...how many of my men?'

'Three. My lady, please...'

Three of them...Saints. The picture of Wulf, tied half naked to a tree, pushed all other thoughts aside. He had already been beaten to a pulp by her men. She gritted her teeth, determined to put her panic behind her. It was time to take command. 'Very well, Gil, I will go immediately to the chapel. You, however, are to fetch help. You understand?'

Gil nodded.

'Good.' She gestured towards the hall. 'Get that friend of his, Sir Richard. And...and...that lute-player if he is around, he looked strong, and also bring...well, anyone you can think of.'

'Yes, my lady.'

Gil was halfway through the door. In the hall, heads turned towards them as Erica called after him, 'They must bring arms, Gil.'

Candlemas candles left over from mass, Erica thought as she flew into a chapel that was ablaze with light.

Wulf was sitting on the wall-bench between Ailric and Hereward. Hrolf was standing a little to one side.
Hrolf?
She had sent Hrolf to the Willow! She took a deep breath to steady herself and looked again.

The four of them were deep in conversation. No one was hurt, no one appeared to be threatening anyone. It all looked very...amicable. Amicable?

'My lady?' Rising, Wulf came towards her, arm outstretched. He was not wearing his sword, no one was. Indeed, there was not a weapon to be seen. Some of the tension left her. 'Are you well?'

She clutched at him. 'You are safe. I thought...Gil said...' She shook her head, veil fluttering. She was aware of her men hovering in the background, but she only had eyes for Wulf. 'What's going on?'

Before Wulf had chance to answer, a Frankish knight stalked into the chapel.

The previous evening this same knight had sat at Sir Richard's right hand in the hall. He had dark hair and he was wearing a green tunic with an intricate Celtic pattern embroidered on the hem. In such a tunic the knight could hardly be said to be dressed for combat, but his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword and his eyes were alert as they quartered the chapel, missing nothing.

Ailric fixated on the knight's sword and his expression became shuttered, his jaw tightened. Sweet Heaven, Erica knew that look...neither Ailric nor her other men were bearing arms, but...

'Adam?' Wulf lifted an eyebrow. 'I thought you understood these negotiations were...delicate and we were not to be disturbed.'

The knight made an exasperated sound. 'God's teeth, man, I am not a complete dolt. But you should know De Warenne has just ridden in, he will be here any minute. It appears he has been informed of your marriage and--' he shot a swift look at Erica '--it might be time for you to make a strategic retreat.'

'Strategic retreat?' Wulf shook his head. To Erica's surprise he was grinning. 'I am no Breton, to rush to retreat.'

The Frankish knight grinned back, muttering something in French which Erica struggled to catch. It sounded like, 'Strategic retreat saved the day at Hastings', but she could not be certain.

There was no time for more. Raised voices could be heard in the corridor. Erica dug her nails into her palms even as the Frankish knight stuck his head through the door to see who was coming. 'Too late, man, you have left it too late. It's De Warenne.'

'I thank you, Adam,' Wulf said, 'but I shall hold my ground.'

And then the knight called Adam stepped aside to admit the Lord of Lewes.

De Warenne had removed his helm, but he was still mailed and cloaked from his journey and his hair was streaked with sweat. Sir Richard of Asculf accompanied him; he was unmailed but he had buckled his sword belt over his tunic. The lute-player Benedict Silvester brought up the rear with Gil; both were carrying shortswords.

Hrolf swore. For a moment, silence gripped the chapel. It was no longer possible to breathe.

A candle sputtered and Erica felt Wulf's gaze rest briefly on her, before it fastened on De Warenne. He bowed. 'My lord.'

'So, Captain.' De Warenne's face was impassive. 'I came here expecting insubordination, which Sir Richard confirms, though he stands by your action. And I find--what is this? Rebellion?'

'No, my lord.' Wulf's voice was steady. 'I would hope you know me better than that.'

'I thought I did, Captain. But at the very least it would seem that you have contravened a direct order--you have disparaged this woman--'

'No, my lord,' Erica burst out. 'That is not true, Wulf has
not
disparaged me!'

De Warenne's gaze was cold. 'He is not your equal but he married you, did he not?'

'Yes, my lord, but...' Erica reached for Wulf's hand '...it is no disparagement for me to marry him. I...I love him.'

Wulf's hand jerked in hers, his gaze burned. 'Erica?'

De Warenne made a dismissive movement. 'Silence, Captain!' Cold eyes narrowed on hers. 'Lady Erica, you are telling me that you are married in
every
sense?'

Erica's cheeks scorched, not with shame, for she was proud to have married Wulf, and never more so than at this moment. All the while she thought he had forgotten her, he had been fighting behind the scenes for reconciliation between her people and his. But De Warenne's question was embarrassing. What had happened between her and Wulf last night had become public when it ought to be private. But this was 1068 and, because she was a thane's daughter, it mattered that she had given her virginity to Captain Wulf FitzRobert. It mattered because the ownership of her lands was called into question.

'Yes.'

'Hell, Captain, you tread a thin line, you realise that?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'And why have Lady Erica's housecarls come to Winchester Castle?' De Warenne put his fists on his hips. He had not, Erica realised with a puzzled frown, even thought about reaching for his sword. Her heart lifted. Why, all this talk of insubordination, of not trusting Wulf, is just that...talk. The Lord of Lewes
does
trust Wulf; more than that he
likes
him. It is his pride that makes him shout and bluster, De Warenne is angry because Wulf disobeyed his orders.

Wulf stood to attention at her side, a soldier in his bearing except for one tiny but significant detail--he was holding her hand. Erica glanced down at their linked fingers. Not once had Wulf spoken of love, but he had shown it in the way he treated her. From the moment of their first meeting in the bailey at Guthlac's castle he had held her in respect, he had kept her safe. Wulf was one of the most self-contained men she had met, he never gave space for his emotions and yet...and yet...shooting him a swift glance, she intercepted a searching glance from those blue eyes and her lips curved...he had gone out of his way to
ask
De Warenne for her hand.

Wulf
did
care.

Erica did not know if he loved her, but he had said he thought her beautiful and, far more importantly, he claimed that he wanted her and not her lands. Unfailingly, Wulf had honoured her with the truth. She would take him at his word; marriages had been built on worse foundations.

'You, Saxon.' De Warenne cut into her thoughts; he was staring at Hrolf. 'I have not seen you before--are you part of this lady's household?'

'Yes, my lord.'

De Warenne's brow darkened. 'You were with her in East Anglia?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'What of your arms, your other compatriots? I had heard that four, maybe five score men, answered to the Thane of Whitecliffe. Where are the rest of you?'

Wulf released Erica and stepped forwards. 'These housecarls are unarmed, my lord. They came to the chapel under my safe conduct to discuss terms for a peaceful settlement for the entire warband.'

'So, your report was correct, Asculf,' De Warenne said. 'I confess that I doubted it. Captain?'

'My lord?'

'Have you come to terms?'

'Yes, my lord. Provided safe conduct is agreed for my lady's men and no reprisals are made against their families, most of the housecarls are prepared to leave the fens and return to Whitecliffe.'

'Most?'

Wulf spread his hands. 'Not all will treat with Normans, my lord, not all will return. But those that do will swear fealty to you provided--'

'How many will remain outside the law?'

Ailric cleared his throat. 'Not above a dozen, my lord.'

'You may give me their names later.'

Ailric flushed and his eyes slid away.

'Saxon, did you hear me?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Very good.' De Warenne swung back to Wulf and gave him a curt nod. 'There are bound to be a few hardened rebels, but on the whole you have done well, Captain. I confess I did not look for so swift a result.'

'Thank you. My lord, about my marriage--'

De Warenne cut him off with a wave. 'Say no more, Captain, you disobeyed a direct order.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'My lord?' Ailric cleared his throat; there was a decidedly belligerent gleam in his eyes. 'You must know that our loyalty is dependent on you giving your blessing to Captain FitzRobert's marriage with Lady Erica. Should it be annulled, we shall be forced to reconsider our position.'

'You are in no position to threaten me, Saxon.'

Ailric tightened his jaw. 'I do not threaten, I merely state the terms as we have agreed them. Captain FitzRobert has acted honourably in his dealings with us. He stood out against Thane Guthlac in the matter of the bloodfeud, he protected our lady. And after Guthlac's castle was fired, he trusted Hereward and I to begin negotiations with the rest of our men. He is half-Saxon, he understands us.'

After a moment's silence, De Warenne shook his head and held out his hand. 'Asculf, your sword, if you please.'

Steel rasped as Sir Richard drew his sword. The hilt was pressed into De Warenne's palm.

Erica bit her lip; she could not read Wulf's lord, but cold sweat was running down her back. Her hand crept to her bracelet, twirling, twirling.

'Peace, lady,' De Warenne said. 'No blood will be shed in the King's Chapel. Captain, kneel.'

Wulf's cheeks emptied of colour. He swapped startled glances with Richard of Asculf and fell to his knees. Erica found herself at his side.

De Warenne's lips curved. 'I was not best pleased when I heard you had married Lady Erica. I had intended her to marry someone of her own standing.' He raised the sword, turning it so the flat tapped Wulf's shoulders in quick succession, once, twice, thrice. 'So. You had best be a knight. You have been acting like one in any case, organising treaties with outlaws, marrying their ladies and giving them the confidence to summon our knights on your behalf. But I warn you, Captain, you put the cart before the horse, and, while I understand your motives, I would not wish you to make a habit of it.

'You have got away with it because you have been vindicated by the outcome, and because it is my judgement that England has need of men like you. Understood?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Oh, get up, FitzRobert. You are made knight.'

That night, Erica was lying alone in the tower room unable to sleep. She was going home!

Whitecliffe! Preparations were in hand, they were setting out in the morning. She could scarcely believe it. Of course, much had changed since she had left her father's hall--her homecoming was going to be nothing like the one she had planned. Wulf would be riding in at her side--her husband--a man who had taught her to trust him in
all
ways, politically as well as personally. De Warenne had gifted him with her father's land.

Erica's forehead creased--would everyone accept him? A Norman knight at Whitecliffe? Who would have thought it? A sound on the stairwell caught her attention. Wulf would win them over, particularly if he continued to deal fairly with everyone. He was a just man and they would appreciate that.