Mary Reed McCall (11 page)

She didn’t dare, even once, to look back.

Gray watched his wife reenter the hall, making her way timidly around the clusters of people who feasted, drank, and sang with the minstrel who played a rollicking song near the hearth. The king had already retired to his chamber, as had Eduard directly after the incident in the corridor. But many others remained awake, and the revelry still went strong.

Gray knew that he couldn’t sleep. Not if his life depended on it. He’d been reliving what had happened in the corridor, shifting between condemning himself for not beating Eduard to a pulp, sanctions be damned, to reassuring himself that he’d done what was right by giving Elise the final say. But as she approached him now, he almost wished he’d
gone with his urge to throttle Eduard. She seemed more upset then ever. Apparently allowing her to stay his hand hadn’t been the right choice.

When she rounded the end of the hall, one member of the Royal Caravan, a squire to a lesser knight, leapt from the table near her, shouting with laughter at one of his friends. The young man was well into his cups, oblivious to much around him, and Elise shrank away from his abrupt movement and noise. Her skittish reaction might have gone unheeded by anyone at the feast.

Anyone but Gray.

“My lady,” he said, his voice even as she regained her seat next to him on the dais.

“My lord.”

She was still pale. Her hands trembled when she raised her cup, and he watched with displeasure as her gaze strayed immediately to Eduard’s place at table.

When she noted her brother’s absence, she seemed to calm a little, but anger spiked within Gray nonetheless. Damn Eduard. Damn every man who ruled those in their care with their fists. He, too, knew what it felt like to be so thoroughly dominated. He’d lived his childhood in fear, always watching and trying to read each expression, each word from his master’s mouth. Yet even at the tender age of fourteen, he’d had his masculine strength and size to bolster him against Thornby’s threats.

Elise was tall, but she was most definitely female and therefore more vulnerable to abuse.
Just like Gillian had been.

The thought raked him with claws of steel, and he tried to push aside the images that never failed to lurk close to the surface of his thoughts. He tried to repress the vision of Gillian, gasping his name as he held her. She’d been beaten and broken. Defenseless. And Gray had been unable to stop it. Unable to save his own sister.

But he could help his wife. He’d already vowed to protect her with his body and blood, both as knight of the realm and as her husband. True, the king’s command forbid him from killing Eduard, as deserving as the bastard might be. Yet there was something else that he could do to safeguard Elise. Something he would have done for Gillian, if he’d only known how, then.

“My lady?” he murmured. Considering the din of the feasting around them, he’d spoken softly, and yet she startled at the sound of his voice. When she looked at him, the timidity and caution in her gaze sent an aching stab through his heart.

“Aye, my lord?”

“Have you ever held a sword?”

Surprise widened her eyes, their soft hue reminding him again of the blue flowers sprinkled across Ravenslock’s meadows.

“Nay, my lord. Never in my life.”

Gray paused to weigh what he was about to say, knowing that it would sound daft. He wanted to be logical, but intellect wasn’t part of what he was feeling. This sprang from some deep, primal place in him that urged him to protect and shield this woman from anything that might harm her.

He clenched his jaw and forged ahead. “Do you dislike the thought of wielding a weapon, lady?”

“Aye…I mean, nay…I—” She stumbled over her answer as her face suddenly bloomed with color. “I cannot say that I ever considered the possibility.”

“Yet you seem strong, and you have your height to aid you. Do you think it possible? If not, we could begin with daggers and work our way up.”

“My lord?”

Now she seemed truly confused; she’d gone completely still, and she was looking at him as if he’d grown a third eye. Gray felt a twinge of remorse. Of course she had no idea where he led with this conversation. In truth, what he envisioned doing with her was as unorthodox as his own donning of gown and veil.

It would be better, he decided, just to spit it out. “I wish to train you, Elise. I want you to learn how to use weapons for defense, to give you enough skill so that you need not fear physical harm from any man, ever again.”

She gazed at him, unmoving, not uttering a sound. She was shocked. Mayhap even mortified. Gray tried to read her thoughts but found that they were closed to him. He was preparing to clarify himself, wondering if she’d understood what he meant, when she spoke.

“’Tis a noble gesture, my lord, your desire to teach me these skills. Yet ’tis pointless. Under English law a woman cannot take arms against a man.”

“In the act of protecting oneself, ’tis allowed.”

“And yet many women have been punished,
nonetheless, for daring to do just that, especially against men bearing title.”

Gray stared at his wife, surprised at her quick intelligence and pleased with her stubbornness; this show of spirit boded well for her success in the training he planned for her.

“You argue aptly, lady,” he said, “but I must counter that England is still a land of justice and truth. And I vow that I will allow none to punish you for defending yourself against tyranny.”

She seemed to hold her breath for a moment. Her gaze slid to her hands, folded tightly in her lap. When she looked at him again, he saw a flicker of interest in her eyes. “’Tis not likely that Eduard would approve of such training. Is that why you wish to pursue it?”

Gray’s jaw tightened. “I would have already punished your brother for what he did to you had the decision been mine to make. But barring my own action, I must find other means to protect you from his or any other man’s violence. If that means training you in weaponry and defense, then so be it.”

Elise’s cheeks flooded pink again, and she looked away. “I understand, my lord,” she murmured, “and I am humbled by your care of me. ’Tis more than I deserve.”

“Nay, lady, you deserve all that honor and respect can afford. ’Tis sinful that you have not received more of both in the past.” Gray heard the gruffness in his voice, even as he tried to ignore the warmth that had begun to swell outward from his chest at her praise. He stemmed the unfamiliar feeling by adding, “You agree to the training, then?”

She nodded, her eyes grave as she lifted her face to him. Trusting. Accepting. Another surge of warmth engulfed him. He allowed himself a moment’s indulgence to stoke the delicious embers of emotion she inspired in him. He knew that it couldn’t last. It never did. But God, how good it was to taste this pleasure again. To let himself feel needed by a woman, if only for a short time.

Too soon it slipped from his grasp. Like an arrow fired true and deadly, the memory of what had happened the last time a woman placed her trust in him pierced his heart.

“We will commence your training as soon as your bruises are healed,” he said, clenching his jaw as he tried to push back the memories and the fear of failure that accompanied them. “I leave it to you to inform me when that time arrives.”

“Aye, my lord,” she murmured.

A shout of laughter from the feasting tables and the arrival of several jesters on the floor prevented any further discussion. Gray tried to concentrate on the antics of the fools. He forced himself to look amused when one of them hit the other on the head while juggling apples. But he felt incredibly distracted, and it wasn’t only because of the nearness of his voluptuous bride. He was a man, after all, and such carnal thoughts were to be expected, especially considering that their marriage would remain unconsummated until she was healed.

Nay, his anxiety went much deeper, stemming from a source not so easily dismissed as physical desire. He couldn’t help but acknowledge that he’d
taken a giant leap off the path he’d planned to follow here, a leap away from safety into the most dangerous arena of all.

He’d promised to keep his emotional distance from Elise. To leave his heart unaffected. But he’d already begun to break his own word, for his vows to stay clear of entanglement seemed to have melted into a sapphire mist. It had billowed up and surrounded him, muddling his mind and making him want to stay wrapped in its seductive embrace forever…

Mist the same soft, compelling shade as his lady wife’s beautiful eyes.

T
hough he’d known she’d come eventually, Gray was still unprepared for his reaction when Elise appeared in his solar a fortnight later and admitted that her bruises were healed. He could commence her training on the morrow, she’d murmured. Then she’d stared at the floor for a moment, cheeks blazing, before glancing up at him again and scurrying away. He’d been left sitting in his chair, engulfed by an almost painful sensation, as if someone tugged invisible, taut threads connected at strategic points to his belly.

He’d spent the remainder of the day roaming the grounds of his castle, restless and sharp-tempered. Nothing had pleased him. He’d felt on edge. Tight as a bowstring. As the shadows deepened to darkness over the lush fields of Ravenslock, his tension
had only wound tighter. He’d come late to the evening meal in the great hall to learn that his wife had already supped and retired to their chamber for the evening.

At the news, he’d swallowed his food mechanically, downed the rest of his mulled cider, dismissed his jesters and his courtiers, and stalked up the curved stairs after her.

Now he stood outside their door, filled with the same uncertainty he’d felt the first night he’d come to her. ’Twas ridiculous, he knew. What other man had ever waited more than two weeks to bed his lawfully wedded wife? And yet something still nagged at him as he pushed open the door and stepped into the chamber’s gloom.

Moon shadows played a pattern across the floor as he moved closer to the bed, close enough to touch her as she slept. She looked innocent, almost like a child in slumber. He unclenched his hand and reached out, his fingertips pausing but a whisper away from her hair spread out on the bolster. He could almost feel the silken texture of it against his skin. But with a grimace he pulled back and pressed his hand to his side.

He’d fought this same temptation every night since they’d wed, and each night he’d made himself walk away, made himself sleep on a pallet before the fire so that no one would question his absence from their chamber. He’d succeeded in his restraint thus far, spurred by the knowledge that joining with her might bring more pain to her injuries.

But there was nothing to hold him back now.
Nothing, that was, except the haunting shades of his own past.

Elise sighed and shifted, turning away from him. One arm crossed over her chest protectively; the other cradled her head. Just looking at her made Gray’s breath catch in his throat. He was struck again by that incongruous, seductive blend of sensuality and spirit that seemed to emanate from her. His heart thudded slowly, and threads of heat tingled through him, spiking shafts of desire that tightened and wound from his belly out to the rest of him as he gazed down at her.

God, how he wanted her. Wanted her with a need so great that it sometimes hurt to breathe. It boggled his mind how it had come to this. Before the wedding, she’d been nothing more than his enemy’s sister. He’d trusted that, like Eduard, she’d be easy for him to hate. That he’d simply take her to his bed, do his duty in consummating their irksome marriage, and then promptly dismiss her for all intents and purposes from the rest of his life.

But the opposite had happened. Each day that had passed, every moment that he’d spent with her, witnessing her quiet strength, her intelligence and her beauty, he’d desired her more.

And it was tearing him up inside.

Somewhere in the back of his brain a warning clanged, telling him that once again he played the fool. He’d planned to hate Elise de Montford. Hell, he’d
wanted
to hate her. But he couldn’t, no more than he could hate his own eyes or bones. In truth,
he was beginning to care for her, and he of all people knew how dangerous that was. Feelings like these could divert him, weaken his purpose—cripple him with guilt for daring to have them at all. He wasn’t fit for such emotions. Not he with his stained history and the blood of innocence on his hands.

And yet Elise was his. This was their marriage for better or worse, and it waited only for him, now, to make it a union in truth.

Closing his eyes, Gray tilted his head back and held tight against the pain that washed through him. He let out the air from his lungs slowly, unclenched his fists, and looked down at his wife one more time before pulling off his tunic and sliding into bed beside her.

She stiffened, and he heard a catch in her breathing. It lasted but an instant, and yet he knew that she was awake. She lay on her side, facing away from him, and he gently placed his palm on her waist, sliding his hand forward until it rested on the flat of her belly.

“Elise?” he murmured. He caught the sweet fragrance of her hair and fought the impulse to bury his face in it. Leaning closer, he breathed in her ear, “Let me see you.”

She lay still for another moment before rolling on her back, clasping the blanket tight under her chin. She gazed up at him, eyes wide and solemn, and he stroked a wispy curl from her forehead.

“I’d share our bed, this night, lady, if ’tis meet with you.”

At first he wasn’t sure she’d answer. Then she
whispered, “Aye, if ’tis your will,” before averting her gaze and biting at her lower lip. She clutched the coverlet tighter to her chest, her knuckles white.

Gray paused. He’d never bedded a woman who seemed so nervous. Her apprehension surprised him after the passion she’d shown the night of their wedding. Of course, then her actions had stemmed from fear that Eduard might learn their marriage remained unconsummated. She’d needed the bloodied sheet as proof for her brother and the rest of the guests, and so she’d pursued their joining. Now no such pressure goaded her. She was free to act as she truly felt, and it was clear that she was frightened.

’Twas natural, he supposed. He was a larger man than most, and she was a virgin. He couldn’t forget that. He needed to go slowly and gently, to use all the skill he possessed to make her desire their joining before he took her in body as he had in name.

Breathing deep, Gray willed himself to patience. He cupped her cheeks in his palms, bringing her gaze back to him before pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. He moved his mouth in a gentle path along her cheek and to the delicate hollow beneath her jaw, feeling encouraged when she made a soft sound in her throat and reached up to rest her fingers tentatively on his shoulder.

Even that light touch sent a jolt of fire through him. He moved over her and kissed the sweet temptation of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed again. But she seemed to tilt her head up a bit, as if offering herself more fully for his taking.
He didn’t hesitate. He deepened the kiss this time, gently coaxing her to return the caress. She seemed to respond in kind, but when he stroked the tip of his tongue along her lips and into the honeyed recess of her mouth, she pulled back; her eyes snapped open, and she blinked up at him, alarmed and uncertain.

Innocent.

Aye, innocent—he’d forgotten again. Damn his need. He’d allowed it to overwhelm him, and it had caused her to stiffen fearfully against him; both of her hands once more gripped the blanket as tight as if it were a rope to salvation.

Pulling back, Gray held his breath.
Slow,
he reminded himself.
Go slow. You’ll fright her if you push too fast.
He leaned his forehead on hers for a moment, then pulled away to kiss lightly along her cheek again before moving on to nuzzle her earlobe.

“’Tis all right, Elise,” he murmured, hoping to soothe her. “There’s naught to fear. I’ll be gentle with you.” He stroked his fingers rhythmically along the side of her face and over her shoulder and arm, trying to dispel her anxiety and ease her back into their lovemaking.

He breathed in her sweetness, feeling a heady swirl of sensation wind through him. Brushing his lips over the tender spot below her ear, he pressed more fully against her and feathered kisses down the side of her neck as his passions began to swell.

And it was then that he noticed it.

She was trembling. Tiny shudders that shook her body like a leaf in a storm, rippling, it seemed, from
the very center of her. Gray lifted his head, concern jabbing him with tiny pinpricks. Her teeth were clenched together, her eyes squeezed shut.

“What is it, Elise? What’s wrong?”

She gave no answer, though a single tear slid down her cheek. His gut felt hollow as he moved his fingers to brush it away. But it was followed by another and still another, until she sobbed softly and turned her head. The pit in his stomach opened wider.

“Sweet Jesu, lady, why are you crying?”

She didn’t speak at first, only shaking her head. “Forgive me,” she whispered at last, her voice ragged. “But having you touch me so…I—I can’t think of anything but—”

She stopped talking when he gently used his finger to tilt her face to look at him. Fresh tears wet her cheeks, seeming to flow without end.

He gazed at her, his heart wrenching. He felt lost and powerless in the face of this sadness. After a while he sat up and shook his head, running his hand through his hair. “I cannot continue this if the very act of lying with me in our bed terrifies you to tears.”

“Nay, my lord, ’tis not fear of you,” she said, her voice catching as she sat up next to him. “’Twas only that your touches made me remember…” She swallowed hard. “They made me remember how Eduard would stroke his fingers over my cheek as you just did. Only he did so right before he beat me. He said it pleased him to caress me first, so that I might experience the fine contrast of sensation
when he struck me.” She looked down at her hands clenched tight in her lap. “He repeated that phrase each time he beat me, until I could hear the words without him speaking them. Until I could not escape them.”

“Each time?” Gray asked hoarsely. He watched the shadows playing over her face, knowing they reflected darker emotions lurking inside. He felt the sudden urge to pummel Eduard to a bloody pulp. “He abused you other times, then, beyond what I saw the night of our wedding?”

“Aye,” she whispered, struggling to meet his gaze. “He struck me almost daily at Faegerliegh Keep.” In the moonlight her eyes looked wet and full, vulnerable with remembered pain. When she tried to muster a smile for him, his heart broke a little more.

“’Tis perverse, I know, but because of him, cruelty and tenderness are strangely twined for me. When you were so gentle a moment ago, all the memories rushed back.” She shook her head, her pallid face suddenly resolute. “And yet I promise to try harder to overcome it, my lord. I will work to control it and make myself—”

“Nay,” Gray broke in harshly. Then he gentled his voice. “Nay, lady. I will not have you anything more than you already are.”

“But I—”

“I’ll not allow it. Your ease with me will come in time. Think no more on it until then.”

She looked as if she might protest again, so he moved his head until he held her gaze, adding,
“Make no mistake, Elise. We
will
consummate our union—but I am not so bound to my own pleasures that I cannot wait until you are ready to share this with me, without fear or remorse.”

Even in the dusky light, he saw her face regain some of its color; a delicate flush spread across her cheeks, and she looked away. But to his dismay, she seemed ready to cry again.

His mouth softened to a smile, and he shook his head in mock reproach. “Ah, lady, we’ll be floating away on a stream if every thing I do and say keeps releasing that wellspring of your eyes.”

A soft, throaty chuckle escaped her, and she blinked, smiling back at him even as she swiped her hand over her cheeks. “You’re right, of course, my lord. I will cease immediately.”

“Gray.”

He saw a flash of white teeth, and her gaze dipped again. “Aye, my lord.” The pink of her cheeks deepened. “I mean, Gray.”

Warmth flowed through him, and for a brief moment he reveled in the bittersweet sensation. By heaven, but she possessed a beautiful smile. He wanted to bask in its light a little longer, but the weariness in her eyes made him gesture to the pillows. “Come, now, wife. No more talk. You must be tired, and you’ll need your rest if we are to begin your training tomorrow.”

She gazed at him in silence a moment more, her haunted expression intensified by the room’s shadows. But then she nodded and lay down facing away from him, offering no protest when he stretched
next to her and pulled her back into his arms. She even nestled against him, shifting until he too was forced to move so that she wouldn’t feel the rigid swelling of his manhood in response to her buttocks curving so sweetly against him. Soon her breathing settled into the regular rhythms of slumber.

Closing his eyes, Gray held very still. She felt so warm, so good in his arms. As he watched her sleep, felt the gentle rise and fall of her breast, breathed in the delicate fragrance of her skin and hair, a pang twisted his insides. He waited for it to pass, but it remained there, a steady, dull throb of emotion that he felt as ill prepared to face as he had the prospect of this marriage when King Henry had first commanded it of him.

Christ, but just holding her like this was difficult. It taxed him in a new and unexpected way. He’d fought in hundreds of battles, laid siege to countless foreign lands and wielded his sword in an infinite number of bloody conflicts, but he’d never faced anything quite like this. It was a war against himself this time—a savage combat waged in his own soul.

Walk away
, his logic told him.
Save yourself, before ’tis too late.
But he couldn’t. Something deeper forced him on. God help him, but he wanted to protect this strange, lovely creature that was his wife. Wanted to comfort her and make her feel safe…

Wanted to love her
.

Gritting his teeth, Gray sucked in his breath and pushed the thoughts back. He rested his chin on the top of Elise’s head, feeling the silken texture of her hair as he struggled with the moment.

’Twas near impossible to try to sleep with her curled against him like this; along with his other torturous thoughts, his mind raced with images of what he’d planned to do with her this night. Ways he’d wanted to touch her, passions he’d hoped to make her feel. And yet for all of the delicious torment it caused him, he knew that he’d be loath to relinquish their embrace.