Warrior's Deception (22 page)

Lenora bolted up from the chair and hit the edge of the table. The bag of stones fell and its contents spilled across the floor. Her fingers trembling, she tried to replace them.

Beatrice knelt beside her and attempted to put her arms around Lenora. “We’ve upset you. I just thought if you told him how you really feel…”

“Nay.” Lenora stood and shook off her cousin’s help. “I’m not upset. I’ve lost the stones is all.” Did Beatrice’s words mean to warn her about Roen, that he might be drifting from his wife to her cousin? “Roen and I have discussed this. We’ve pledged our loyalty, respect and trust. ’Tis all he wants.” She hesitated before adding, “All we want.”

A painful lump caught in her throat. She passed the bag to Beatrice and nearly ran from the room. Like a little shadow, Goliath trotted at her heels.

It hurt that others could see her caring, yet Roen did not. The more painful wound stung from the fact that she did care, deeply, for her husband, and he did not return those feelings. Despite the fact that she had been warned, it did not lessen her injury. To tell him her tender feelings would only embarrass him and topple their newfound happiness. Better to go on as they were and live with what emotions Roen consented to express.

The stones fell into the velvet bag from Hamlin’s hand. Beatrice pulled the gold-cord drawstring. “Did we do the right thing?” Her voice shook with emotion.

“Aye. We’ve got to make one of them crack that stubborn shell. How are they ever going to know they’re in love unless one of them breaks down and tells the other?” Hamlin took Beatrice’s hand and led her to a chair. He knelt at her feet and leaned back against the arm of the chair.

Beatrice watched the dark brown head move. She reached out her hand and held it suspended just above the curls. With a feather touch, she felt the silky smoothness of his hair. “Speaking from your heart is always difficult. It leaves one vulnerable.”

His head turned, and she jerked her hand back to her chest. “Are you regretting your part in my scheme?” Hamlin’s eyes met hers.

“Nay, ‘tis only the entanglements I regret.”

He nodded sagely. “There is always a spiderweb of complications when one plays Eros.”

Beatrice picked up her needlework and whispered under her breath, “I pray ‘tis not I that is caught up in the web.”

W
ater trickled through the slats of the gigantic wooden tub in the middle of the floor. Lenora sat cross-legged on the bed, her skirts pulled across her knees. “This is useless,” she complained. “’Twill never fill.”

The shoddy workmanship was her own fault. Tom had warned her Cervin needed more time, but she had insisted on delivery as promised. She stared at the wet floor and moped.

“The wood’s lookin’ like it’s finally goin’ to swell tight, Lady Lenora,” the servant commented while he poured in another heavy bucket of steaming water. “We’ll have it full for ye soon.”

“Thank you, Darrot.” Lenora skipped to her trunk and extracted a soft cloth and a bar of her favorite scented soap. She grabbed the cloth and soap and laid them on the table her father had made. The game board reminded her of her conversation with Beatrice and Hamlin. How could she tell Roen how she felt? How could she tell him she loved him when he didn’t even understand the emotion? Without sound she mouthed the words,
Roen, I love you.
Nay, ‘twas not right. She continued her silent practice.
Roen, my husband, I need to say this. I love you.
She shuddered. Definitely not right. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the confused look of her servant.

“I’m memorizing a new passage from the Scriptures.”

“Uh huh.” He nodded and raised his eyebrows. Darrot dumped the last pail of hot water into the tub.

“’Tis all filled for ye, milady.” He scooped up the rope handles of several empty buckets and excused himself from her presence.

She rolled up her sleeves and tested the water with her elbow. Steam rose from the surface of the water like a cloud. The moisture clung to her face and throat. She reached for a towel and groaned. Roen would arrive at any moment and she had forgotten to pull a towel from the linen press. Hoping to return before her husband, she made a dash for the press.

The squire had just managed to pull off Roen’s tunic when Lenora rushed into the room. Color washed her face and she bit her lower lip. She tossed the towel onto the bed and grabbed the cloth and soap. Kneeling by the wooden tub filled with hot water, she urged him to enter his bath. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to assist you, but I forgot a towel. Hurry, or the water will grow cold.”

Roen waved his squire off and finished undressing. His skin protested the temperature of the water. With his back to his wife, he sat on the stool and soaked in the hot water. The smell of honey drifted to him from the soap in Lenora’s hand. Her strong fingers massaged his shoulders and arms. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his back.

“This tub is much more to my liking.” The slap of the cloth stung his back. He stretched out his legs and pointed his toes, then sprawled out using as much room as possible. “There’s more than enough room for two.” He waited to see if she took the hint. “Nora?” He cricked his neck to see her behind him.

“Hmm?” She shook her head and tucked back a curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry, I did not hear you.”

“Nothing,” he grumbled. For the past several days he had sensed an internal conflict in his wife. She daydreamed and had silent conversations with herself. Each time he broached the subject, she only smiled and told him ‘twas nothing.

“You’re quiet tonight, wife. ‘Tis not usual.”

“Relish it.” Firm pressure from her hand eased his head off the tub ring and forward. The cloth moved in large circles down his back.

So she didn’t want to speak about it. He would respect her wishes, for that had been his promise to her. Yet he ached to share her worries. She moved to sit at the side and he leaned back. The honey-scented soap in her hand lathered his chest
with bubbles. Lenora did not meet his eyes while she washed his neck and chest.

Intent on breaking her melancholy, Roen scooped up a handful of suds and threw them at her. Her eyes flew open wide. “Roen! What are you doing?”

“Paying you back for an earlier bath. You almost blistered me.”

The nagging look of worry eased from her face. The familiar glint of mischief returned to her eyes. A gentle warmth spread through his chest. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“You sent that old hag to boil me alive.”

A secretive smile slanted across her lips. “I sent no hag to you.”

“You’re lying.”

The smile evaporated from her lips. “Nay, husband, there is one thing you can be sure of, I do not lie.” The smile returned. “I sent no hag, because—” Lenora changed her voice to a reedy waver like an old woman “—I was the hag. A scrap of old clothes and some dirt and you didn’t even recognize me.”

“Then I must repay you for the temperature and the conversation of that bath.” He made a grab for her and the soap dropped into the foamy water. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and plunged her hand into the water. His voice husky, he commanded, “Find it.”

Her full lips parted in surprise, and he heard a tiny gasp. Pulling her closer, he trailed his finger down the side of her face. He had her full attention, all distractions forgotten. She slid her arm gently under the water and made contact with the inside of his upper thigh. Instantly, he could feel the heat seep into his groin. When her fingers danced down his leg, he halted them and moved them in the opposite direction.

Tentatively, her arm glided through the steamy water along his leg. He closed his eyes and allowed the hot licks of passion to devour him. A deep groan of pleasure shuddered from him when her hand touched his organ. Soapy fingers slid up and down the hardened shaft. Slowly, so achingly slowly, they encircled him, tugged at him, then withdrew.

“I found the soap.”

Roen opened his eyes. He watched, mesmerized, while she rolled the bar in her hand, over and over again, building up a
huge lather. The soap slipped from her hand again and disappeared between his legs. Her hand followed, brushing the tip of his manhood then gliding down its heated length. Like a child playing with fire, she teased the flames of his passion.

“Nora.” The need grew too great, the heat too intense. He wanted to taste her, to feel the soft skin of her breasts against him, see her nipples harden from his touch. Her touch left ripples of desire across his skin and stoked the yearnings in his groin.

“My name’s Lenora.”

A robust laugh shook him. He had her back with him now and he intended to make the most of it. A tug and a lift, and she tumbled over the edge of the tub.

“Roen, what are you—”

He drowned her words with his lips. It could not be plainer what he intended. His hands tore at her chemise to expose the rosy circles of her breasts. His lips covered them and he suckled the essence from each milk white orb.

“Isn’t this what you had in mind when you ordered such a monstrosity built?” He chuckled in her ear. His tongue darted across the tender skin to punctuate his intent.

“Nay.” Breathless, she nipped his neck with her sharp teeth. “I thought ‘twas you who ordered it.”

“Aye, so ‘twas.” He held her face in the palm of his hand. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders to her bare breasts. “’Tis well our thoughts are so much in tandem.” He touched each perfect globe, marveling at its softness.

“Roen, I…” She stopped midsentence.

He looked up from his passionate explorations and waited. “What is it, Nora?”

“You’re pleased with our marriage, are you not?”

“Aye.” His thumbs massaged the tiny, erect peaks of her breasts. “I am well pleased with our marriage.” He couldn’t help grinning at her solemn expression. So this was her dilemma. He should have known she needed more sweet words, more compliments. Women needed that sort of thing.

“You don’t feel anything is lacking, then, in our union?” Her dark eyes wavered.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” He brought his lips to hers and let her feel all of the passion he held in check. She tasted
like the smell of the soap, clean and sweet. She clung to him. Her beautiful hair spilled across her shoulders and floated in the water like copper-colored water lilies.

Water splashed over the tub in deep swells. His hand moved beneath the swimming folds of her gown to her braes. The handful of cloth gave way to his insistent pull and freed delicate curls for his fingers to explore. Her head thrown back, the graceful arch of her neck exposed, Lenora guided him to her.

Her grip on him tightened. He gritted his teeth and pulled her to him. Using his knees as a brace, he cleared away the yards of material from her gown and had her straddle him. With a push, he plunged his engorged shaft into her. He buried his face into the deep valley of her breasts, his hands cupped the cheeks of her derriere. She moaned, a sound filled with pleasure and desire.

Roen floated in the ecstasy of the feel of her wrapped around him. He kissed a path from one milky white breast to the other. The low purrs from Lenora heightened his yearnings. He shifted his weight and could not control the outcry of erotic gratification when he eased even deeper into her.

She began to rock. The waves of water moved in time with her. Surges of fevered heat enveloped him. He moved with the flow of the tide Lenora created. Her pelvis ground against him, causing a storm of golden passion to rip through him. He could feel the involuntary tremors of arousal pulsating through him, through her.

Lenora’s rocking lost its gentle meter and became more insistent, more demanding. A hot tide of excitement raged through him. His body craved release from its enchanting torture. Lightning streams of passion poured into her womb. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders while a desire-rich groan spilled from her lips. Spent, she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.

The tepid water swirled, soapy lather covered the floor. Roen held her to him tightly, afraid somehow she would melt away in the water and leave him alone once more. His voice wavered with awe. “I believe that’s the best prize ever.”

Lenora lifted her head, an impish grin on her lips. “I know what I’ll ask for when I win our game.”

“Pray, tell me.”

“I’m
going to make you look for the soap.”

The involuntary tremors of their lovemaking still coursed through her body while she rested in his arms. She sucked the skin on his neck and giggled when gooseflesh prickled along his skin. He tasted soapy and slightly salty. The long locks of his blond hair were plastered to his face and head. As always when he smiled, years drifted away from his face and manner. He looked like a carefree young man, not the lord of an important keep. Not a man haunted by the mistakes of his parents.

She traced the line of his lips with her fingers. His blue gray eyes darkened to aquamarine. He had never had the opportunity to be young, to be a child. ‘Twould only add to his burdens if she confessed her love to him now. They needed more time to discover each other’s feelings, more time for Roen to learn how to care as deeply as she did. She kissed him on his lips, chin and the tip of his nose. His fingers fiddled with her laces.

“Roen, you can’t mean to.”

The laces came free, and his hands ran up her naked ribs and pulled off her netgown.

She protested, “The water is too cold “

A stab of heat in her loins told her otherwise.

Lenora pulled a dry gown from the trunk and wiggled into it. She didn’t even bother to put on a chemise, just her tunics. The sun had long ago reached its zenith in the summer sky; the evening meal preparations had already begun. She would be late for her meeting with Geoffrey. Roen had already dressed and left to attend to business. ‘Twas time she did likewise.

She ran down the steps to the main hall, still adjusting her girdle and hair. With impatient hands, she braided her wet and tangled tresses. ‘Twould take all night to dry and tomorrow her hair would be a frizzy mess. A small price to pay for the afternoon’s lovemaking. A delicious flood of tenderness filled her.

Absorbed in her thoughts, Lenora collided with a side table. A basket of rose petals skidded across the top. She captured the basket in midair. Petals fell like a gentle winter snowfall. With her foot, she hurriedly scraped the flowers back against the wall and made her way beyond the keep.

Roen tried to flag down his wife but she was too far away. Forgot something, no doubt. He smiled at her retreating figure. Of course, he had distracted her all afternoon, so he should bear some of the blame. He knew he was smiling but he couldn’t help himself. He felt…good. Everything he had ever wanted was his. An important keep, good comrades…and a wife. Despite his reaction the first time he had met her, Lenora had turned out to be more than acceptable. A relaxing fatigue from their lovemaking still remained. He couldn’t wait for the evening meal to be over and their nightly game to begin. Although he no longer need win to gain his wife’s willingness, victory did make their mating sweeter, more intoxicating.

He moved through the hall envisioning Lenora’s red gold locks floating in the water. The overpowering smell of roses assaulted him. An off-center basket of roses lay amid a light scattering of petals. The skewness bothered him. He pushed the basket to a central position. After another appraisal, he moved it a bit to the left. His hand on his chin, he gave it another look.

A pale white corner of paper jutted up from the dried flowers. He removed and unfolded it. The words hit him like a boulder of despair.
Have her meet me in the woods before the evening meal this Sabbath.
The basket belonged to Beatrice; he recognized it from the garden. She was to give this note to “her.” Bile rose in his throat, and the contentment he had gloried in only moments before bubbled away in the heat of his anger. He knew who this letter was intended for. Hadn’t he seen “her” racing off to meet her former love? Lenora was with Geoffrey. Now that she no longer need fear the loss of her maidenhead, Lenora was free to couple with her paramour with no repercussions.

He threw the basket and table across the room. The crash created a shuffle of servants’ feet and hushed, frightened whispers. His fury carried up the stairs to his broadsword. Yanking it from the wall, he belted it to his waist. The armor that he had encased his heart in returned, tarnished and confining, but protective. This matter with Sir Geoffrey would be settled once and for all, his way. Then he would settle with his wife. Of the two, Lenora would suffer the most. Only vengeance would salve the wound created by her betrayal.