Malia Martin (10 page)

They went back toward Seabreeze Castle, passing a lookout, one of Aethregard’s men
this time. Aleene frowned at the man, her heart happy that he and Aethregard would be gone soon, that this summer of worry, fear, and endless waiting would be over.

“We shall be happy, this winter, Cyne,” she said aloud, tilting her head to catch the warmth of the sun and letting Cyne lead her along the rocky coast. “The men from the town will be home within a fortnight. Aethregard’s men shall be gone. We can bring in the harvest and be secure that the Bastard Duke shall not come from across the sea to claim a crown which is not his.”

Cyne stumbled, and Aleene quickly looked at the trail, holding onto her husband. “I’m sorry, Cyne, I am not watching where we are going.” She patted his hand, looking then at her castle. There were only a handful of castles in England, most of them belonging to royalty, except this one. She admired the tall, wooden walls closing in the bailey and the tower at the gate; this one belonged to her, a woman.

She smiled again as they passed by the gatehouse, then she frowned. “Where are we going?” She tried to stop, tried to turn back to the gate, but Cyne continued past, headed toward the town of Pevensey. “Cyne!”

He didn’t stop or turn his head.

“We cannot spend another day playing, Cyne.”

He looked at her then, finally, but the grin and mischievous glint in his eye only made Aleene groan. “No, Cyne, I cannot! The candles will never be made if I continue to shirk my duty!” But as she spoke, she walked along beside her husband. “I have not even put on my veil, Cyne.” She touched her hair tentatively.

Cyne stopped then, turning to look at her. He smiled, and something in his eyes fanned a fluttering spark deep in her belly. Swallowing, Aleene searched her husband’s face. He reached out and fingered her hair, twirling a dark, ebony curl around his large hand. Then he brought it to his mouth, inhaled as if taking in her scent, and kissed.

Aleene felt faint as Cyne, again, took her hand and continued toward the town.

Her head rebelled at the idea of spending another carefree day ignoring necessary preparations for the oncoming winter. Her heart rebelled against her head. And so a war thrived in her breast, until they reached the town and Cyne kissed the tip of her nose. Her heart won.

They spent the morning in town, shopping among the stalls. Aleene selected fish to be sent to the castle, and cloth from a woman who watched her with suspicion, and seemed nearly faint with fear at the look in Cyne’s blank eyes. As Aleene browsed among the produce at another man’s stall, she could feel the anger building within her. It had abated the day before, with the new experience of speaking to someone of her feelings. But now, she felt it again, the suffocating fear and anger that had lived in her heart for so many years. Would the people ever accept her as lady of Seabreeze?

A shout broke into her thoughts, and Aleene whipped around, searching for Cyne who had wandered from her side. The shout came again, and she found Cyne.

He was playing with the children, a rousing game of ball. They laughed as they played. The people around them stared. Aleene held her breath. Instead of pulling their children away, though, as Aleene had feared, they let them play. She relaxed a bit, biting at the inside of her lip as she watched Cyne run about. At one point he stopped, cocking his head and bending to inspect some wildflowers. He picked them and carefully arranged them in a pretty bouquet, then handed them to one of the old ladies, who stood gaping at him. She sputtered out her thanks, her face turning a bright shade of red. One of the
younger women batted her eyelashes at Cyne as he straightened and went back to playing with the children.

Aleene could only watch in shock. By the time they had bought some bread and cheese and had some supper, the townspeople seemed completely enamored of Cyne. She had spent her life an outcast, not knowing the way in. Cyne had figured it out in a few hours.

In the afternoon, they went exploring in the woods beyond Pevensey. It was as if she were seeing them for the first time in her life. Cyne found flowers with dark, earthy scents to weave into a circlet for her hair, chased after butterflies, scared rabbits from the underbrush, and dropped light kisses on her mouth as they walked. When finally she realized that her feet had grown weary, they had walked nearly all the way around Pevensey Harbor.

“Cyne!” She tried to sound stern, but the laugh in her voice belied any anger. “We have nearly walked to the next town. We must turn back or we will be walking all night.”

Ahead of her Cyne stopped. With his hands on his lean hips, he surveyed the countryside, his gaze seeming to drink in everything around him. When she caught up to him, Aleene rested her hand against his arm. The feel of the muscles and strength hidden beneath his clothing reminded her suddenly of the day before when she had watched her naked husband splash about in the sea.

“Cyne.” It was a breathless sound, nothing like how she had meant to say it. Her fingers moved of their own accord, skimming his side.

He put his hand over hers, laughing, and she realized she had tickled him. She laughed herself, only it wasn’t a happy sound. To her mind it sounded as if someone was torturing her.

And he was.

Something inside of her screamed to touch, to be touched in ways she didn’t understand. And, to her ultimate despair, Cyne didn’t seem to understand either.

Quickly she dropped her hand back to her side and turned around, away from the beauty and mesmerizing allure of the man beside her. “Really, Cyne, we need to go back.”

His arm went about her shoulders, holding her tightly to his side, and he propelled her toward a tree. She glanced up at him, the afternoon sun slicing through the branches of the tree and illuminating his blue eyes so they seemed intelligent. She turned quickly away, a pang of need nearly bending her double.

Truly, Aleene could not believe her luck in finding Cyne. It must have been God that put him in her forest, poaching her game just as her men happened by. He was the key to everything she wanted, and more, for she had found in Cyne someone she could actually talk to and not fear. And yet she yearned for more. A more she didn’t understand. Somewhere, deep inside, she wished Cyne did understand so that he could show her. For, he had shown her so much, and she knew he would be able to show her what she needed.

He supported her as she sat at the base of the tree, but she kept her gaze away from him. In silence he sat beside her, his long legs pulled up to his chest, his strong arms around his knees.

Pulling up her own legs, Aleene buried her face in her gown. It was unfair of her to want more from Cyne. He could only give her so much, and, really, wasn’t that enough? What he had given her was much more than she had ever thought she would have.

She felt his hand against her head, again, just as he had caressed her that morning at the Roman fort, and closed her eyes tightly, reveling in the feel of the touch. It felt so very
good to have someone touching her to comfort rather than hurt. He stroked her hair awhile, then trailed his finger behind her ear and down her jaw. She lifted her face then, and he leaned toward her, kissing her cheek lightly, his full lips warm against her skin. She trembled, her hands reaching up to curl around his forearms, his own hands cupping her face.

His lips caressed the skin beneath her eyes, tenderly, softly. Holding tightly to Cyne’s arms, she moaned, relaxing toward her husband. She wanted to surrender to him, have him comfort her, take care of her. And something in the way he held her face, kissed her cheeks, made her feel that he could.

Another tender, feather-light kiss teased the corner of her mouth. Closing her eyes, Aleene let herself believe Cyne to be a man. A real man, there to protect her, take care of her. She turned her face so that the next kiss came down on her lips, and savored the feel of Cyne’s strong lips against her own. Breathing in the scent of earth, grass and sweat, she let her husband kiss her again.

This kiss lasted, a deep kiss, his tongue trailing a hot, sensual path against her lips, inside, against her teeth. Opening to him, she touched his tongue with hers, and felt a sudden, heartrending need to have Cyne close, against her, in her, around her. She moaned, tightening her arms around her husband and pressing the back of his head with her hand.

He responded, his kiss becoming hard, taking.

And Aleene wanted to give.

She touched him, his arms, shoulders, back, sliding her fingers into openings she found in his clothing. Touching skin: hard, warm skin. Cyne did the same, the callused tips of his fingers scraping against the sensitive skin at the base of her throat, the swell of her breast.

With a deep, startled intake of breath, Aleene arched toward those fingers, wanting them, needing them to touch her, but not understanding where she needed them. She clutched at her husband’s back, her fingernails digging into the scratchy wool of his tunic, and moaned, a deep, frustrated sound.

Cyne bit her. Her eyes fluttered open in shock, and he looked back at her with that mischievous glint. For a moment they stared at each other, and then, slowly, he bit her again, softly, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. He laughed and she melted, holding him to her as if he may suddenly disappear.

His hand brushed down the side of her breast, his thumb grazing the crest through the layers of her clothing. She gasped as white-hot lightning darted through her at that small touch. Cyne nipped at her earlobe and touched her again, this time lingering, his thumb and forefinger finding her nipple and teasing it.

She stilled, her eyes closed, everything within her focusing on the sensation her husband caused with his hand on her breast. She wanted more.

And then his large, beautiful hand skimmed down her body and pulled at her gown, bringing the material up, caressing her thigh.

Aleene tensed, the new, unknown feelings of ecstasy falling away before an old, familiar feeling. She swallowed, hard, not wanting bad memories to encroach on the beauty. Grabbing her husband’s hand she brought it back to her breast. “Please, Cyne, make the good continue,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t understand.

She kissed him, hard, her tongue seeking his, her mind seeking the excitement she had experienced only moments before.

But the gates that guarded the portals of her memories had been unlocked, and ugly
images seeped into her mind.

Tosig, his hand on her thigh.

She fought the memory, clasping Cyne’s head, pushing her lips against his.

Darkness, hands pulling up her tunic, fingers against her woman’s entrance.

A small sob wrenched through Aleene’s lips. She clamped her mouth together, gritting her teeth. She had to couple with her husband, had to force the sickening memories of her stepfather away.

If only. She grabbed at Cyne’s hand, pushing it harder against her breast. If only she could capture the new feelings her husband brought: capture the new, expunge the old.

But they were there. The gates were wide open now, and black images of Tosig filled her mind, blocking out everything else. Wrenching away from Cyne, Aleene turned on her side, curling into a tight ball, sobs wracking her body.

And then through the fear, the ugliness, the darkness, she heard the song. Lightly, so faint she thought at first she dreamt it, Aleene heard the lullaby. Her mother’s lullaby vibrated in her ear, as arms, strong and large, came around her, holding her, rocking her.

Relaxing, Aleene turned into the arms of her husband as he hummed her mother’s lullaby and rocked her fears away.

When he kissed her again, it was a soft, loving kiss that brought a rush of warmth and security. “Save me, Cyne,” she said it aloud, because she knew she could. She knew she could show her vulnerability to her husband and he would do nothing with it, save comfort her, hold her, heal her. “Save me from the demons that haunt me.”

He held her, humming softly, rocking slowly.

“Save me from me,” she said so low she didn’t even hear the words herself. And then she put her forehead against her husband’s broad chest and let him comfort her.

When finally they stood, the shadows had lengthened and the air had chilled. In silence, hand in hand, they retraced their steps back to the town. And once there, in the gathering dusk, they saw the entire populace in the street, all abuzz at the arrival of King Harold at Seabreeze Castle.

“I
am tired, Lady Aleene, so very tired.” The king looked at her with sorrow in his eyes.

She looked away, her gaze on Cyne, who stood off in the shadows of the great hall, his eyes holding her up, supporting her.

“The wedding must, of course, be annulled,” Aethregard bellowed, his chest thrust out like a strutting peacock. “She married against your wishes, your highness. My father, her very own stepfather, signed our betrothal when she was sixteen.”

Harold’s gaze never left Aleene. “Yes, Aethregard, I know. I signed the betrothal also. I am not an idiot.”

“I never . . . I mean, I . . .” Aethregard stuttered. “I would never imply that . . .”