Elaine Barbieri (13 page)

Intoxicated by her scent, by the feminine warmth of her, Dagan stroked Rosamund’s hair. He marveled that the pale tresses were as silken as he had imagined and whispered, “Your hair glows despite its cut, you know. Although my vision was impaired when you first tended my wounds, I recall that your hair was akin to a halo surrounding delicate features that I struggled to see. As I recovered, I spent hours imagining how it would feel to stroke those gleaming tresses…to feel them slip through my fingers. I longed to smooth the flawlessness of your cheek…to follow the contours of your ears with my tongue…to follow a course that could only lead to your lips. I wondered…I
ached
with a need to know if they were as sweet to the taste as they seemed, and if…if…”

Words slipped away as Dagan touched his lips to Rosamund’s. He pressed his mouth deeper, inwardly reveling when Rosamund’s lips parted to accept his kiss. He heard her gasp become a groan when he quickly adjusted her clothing and then his own. He held her close, feeling her womanly softness yield to his masculinity, and marveled at the way she fit in his arms…so close…so perfect.

His senses reeled as his lips found the soft mounds of her breasts at last. The taste of her filled him…lifted him high on a plane that he had never reached before.

The sweet intensity…the bliss…the awe…

And when he slipped inside her, the world went still.

Rosamund gasped as Dagan slid himself inside her. She did not recall the exact moment when his ministrations drove all thought but his touch from her mind. She knew only that his lips on hers had been sweet and right…that she had cried out at his kiss and the sensations he evoked when he pressed his heated kisses against her suddenly naked breasts. She recalled holding him tight against her when he found the roseate crests at last and suckled them fervently. Her passions rapidly escalating, she accepted his loving ministrations with an ever-growing need of her own, until she curved her arms around his neck, then waited breathlessly when he laid her down at last and thrust himself inside her.

Dagan stilled, his gold eyes touching hers in a silent question. Rosamund searched his gaze and saw an emotion there that matched her own. It was powerful beyond her wildest dreams, and joy welled inside her. This was what she had sensed, what she had wanted so desperately. Drawing him down upon her, she welcomed his lovemaking. She met his thrusts instinctively as they grew more rapid, steeling herself against the wonder he raised inside her. Ecstasy deepened, a vista of incredible colors that grew brighter, more brilliant, until—

The moment came in a burst of glory, with Dagan throbbing to fulfillment inside her as her own pleasure winged free at last.

All movement halted. Dagan lay full upon her, the heat of their mutual passion fusing them as one.

A breathless silence reigned. The sky was darkening. The traffic to the stream had all but ceased, and they were alone in the lengthening shadows. His gaze holding hers, Dagan whispered as he searched her expression, “I didn’t intend this when I came to find you, Rosamund. I wanted only to apologize…to explain that I knew…to tell you that—”

Sliding her hand across his lips, Rosamund whispered, “You need not attempt to explain an emotion that I understand too well. This was meant to be between us, Dagan. I know that in my heart now—I suppose I knew it from the first moment I saw you. You were dear to me from that first instant. My heart beat wildly each time our gazes met, and I felt an emotion that I did not understand. I realize now that this time together is a gift that we will remember when it is long past and other things are forgotten.”

“Remember? Other things?” Dagan shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Unexpected tears filled Rosamund’s eyes as she replied, “Is it so difficult to understand, Dagan, that if I deemed it necessary to conceal my gender from all who did not know me, that I might also conceal another secret as well?”

Dagan stared. “Rosamund…”

Rosamund curved her palm around his cheek, tears slipping silently into the fair hair at her temples. “It grows dark. Hadley will wonder where we are. I do not want him to attempt to look for either of us.”

“Rosamund, I do not understand.”

Rosamund pressed a finger against his lips. “There is beauty in this moment, Dagan. I would not have the world intrude.”

Rosamund’s eyes held his. In her gaze, Dagan saw an unanticipated strength…and a secret that still went untold.

A secret
.

Momentarily angry that Rosamund should keep a secret from him, Dagan rationalized that he kept one from her as well—a secret that could easily turn her against him when the truth was out.

Frowning with confused uncertainty at that thought, Dagan helped Rosamund to her feet. He straightened his clothing as she adjusted hers, until she was a youth once more.

Abruptly giving vent to need, to the passions surging hotly inside him, Dagan crushed Rosamund close and claimed her lips in a kiss. He was uncertain of the complications the future might bring, but of one thing he was sure: Whether she realized it or not, he had claimed Rosamund for his own, and no one would take her from him.

“Come…we must hurry.”

His introspection interrupted by Rosamund’s urging, Dagan frowned and followed her out onto the trail. He filled the bucket once more and walked beside her until the danger of being seen parted them. Allowing her to return to the hut ahead of him, he watched her slender figure in the doorway, etched in
dark relief by the light from within until she disappeared from sight.

Dagan’s heart lurched at the temporary deprivation. He vowed into the silence, “Whoever she is, what ever her secret, Rosamund is mine.”

S
ounds of feasting filled the great hall of the keep as night fell. Annoyed, de Silva barely withheld a sneer when he observed the tables loaded with delicacies: swine that had been dressed and cooked with great care, shellfish and meat pies touched with herbs, puddings, all manner of cooked and baked fruit, nuts, figs, and honey cakes. All was washed down liberally with his good ale, so strong that it left some of his men tipsy.

De Silva raised his chin. He did not normally deem it necessary to feed all the men who remained ready to fight at his beck and call through the years. Rather, he fed only the knights who were unattached and demanded that those of his men who lived in nearby huts with their women should share their food. Yet he had decided that it would be wise to allow DuPree to see the full number of knights in service to him.

De Silva observed that Martin Venoir sat among his fellow knights rather than at his side, while visitors and soldiers alike enjoyed the banquet he had ordered in the hope of distracting DuPree from his mission. He did not like it, but he admitted to himself that Martin’s decision was a wise one that would endear him to the men. It occurred to the baron that Martin was far cleverer than he had realized.

De Silva’s smile concealed his annoyance that such abundance now would render his own meals and those of the knights he allowed at his table wanting later in the season.

“Damn the old man!” de Silva whispered heatedly in Champlain’s ear. “He rested after arriving this morning and appears to be unnaturally rejuvenated, considering his age. I had expected to be allowed some time, but he wants to see William’s hunting preserve tomorrow. He claims he can map it for William no other way, and he does not want to waste any time in getting back to London because William is anxious to return to Normandy.”

Champlain shook his head, his dark brows furrowing. “DuPree will be too tired to observe the perimeters of the preserve after this merrymaking. You will still be able to arrange matters so you will not be discovered.”

“Discovered?”

“He might otherwise determine that you have been clearing the land of Saxon huts and declaring their land William’s hunting preserves only to usurp it as your own.”

“Usurp…
usurp
?” Blood rising to his face, de Silva spewed, “Unlike the Bastard, royal blood flows through my veins! That land is mine, won in battle from a pretender to the throne—a throne that I will take rightfully from another pretender when the time is ripe!” Suddenly aware that his haughty response and loss of temper might have been overheard, de Silva glanced at the table around him where his guests and knights still supped. Satisfied that the din of merrymaking had
masked his words, de Silva turned back toward Champlain and whispered impatiently, “DuPree is determined to obey William’s charge. Nothing will deter him from the course he has been set upon. He has William’s ear. I dare not do anything that might raise suspicions about the plot to overthrow William.”

“William is still in England. Your allies dare not make a move until he leaves.”

“I am not sure they are prepared to wait. In any case, his residence is temporary. He but awaits Emile’s return and will then return to Normandy as soon as he is able. Everyone knows of William’s preference for his native land and language.” De Silva snickered. “I have used that argument often against him.”

“Yea, but—”

De Silva’s expression hardened as he interrupted. “Since the plan has not been set into motion and I am not yet ready to declare myself to William, I have no choice but to offer DuPree a hunt. Hopefully, I can distract him from too close an observance of the lands by filling his mind with the quality of my falcons and hounds, and perhaps by his participation in the argument that inevitably erupts between huntsmen and falconers over which form of hunting suits nobles best.”

Champlain nodded. “Observing the construction of the cathedral underway should sway him favorably.”

“Yea…” De Silva responded, but he was no longer listening. Instead, his eyes were on the youths who scurried back and forth, bringing food to the tables.

Champlain nudged, “Guilbert…”

“It amazes me that I feel no attraction to any of the youths who serve my tables. They would be easy sport.”

“Unlike Hadley’s apprentice…”

“Yea, unlike Hadley’s apprentice.” Turning back to his friend, de Silva said darkly, “The lad avoids me. He even had the gall to bring that big fellow to protect him when I called him to my room.”

A rare smile quirked at Champlain’s mouth. “So I heard.”

“The young fellow does not seem to realize how greatly an affiliation with me might benefit him. I have invited him to follow the hunt tomorrow.”

All trace of Champlain’s smile disappeared as he responded, “Do you think that is wise? He probably doesn’t even know how to ride.”

“He will learn, and that is what I have commanded.” He added, “Commanded, do you hear? Ross did not dare challenge me.” He sneered and added, “I have ordered that one of my finest hunting mounts be furnished for his use. During the hunt, he will see that the hounds are treated more gently than children, and that the falcons receive similar attention. When I have properly impressed him with the stables at my command—with the well-trained horses, birds, and dogs, with the freedom I am allowed on the hunting grounds, and with the outstanding ability of my men and myself, most especially—I will call him to my room again. He will not hesitate a second time.”

“Guilbert…the man who claims to be his guard…”

“I have ordered that he not accompany Ross to the hunt or to my quarters. He will not dare disobey a direct command.”

Champlain hesitated, and then said, “Have you
considered that he may have a previous claim to the youth?”

De Silva’s nostrils quivered as he suppressed his anger and ordered, “Do not speak to me of that again, do you hear? I care not about previous claims. There is only one claim that I consider valid, and that is mine!”

Champlain hesitated, then replied darkly, “As you wish.”

De Silva maintained his silence as Champlain turned back to the feast without another word, but the damage had been done. Champlain had spoken aloud the thought that gnawed at him, the very real possibility that the big man called Dagan might be exercising a previous claim on the one he desired.

Nay, he would not acknowledge any such thing! He had already stated the simple truth that the only valid claim was his own.

That determination in mind, de Silva turned back to garner the attention of DuPree, his favored guest. His smile belied the dark resolve in his heart.

Hyacinthe moved amid the group of young men tending the invited throng in the great hall. With a provocative step, she tread the fresh rushes scattered for the occasion and managed a sultry dip of her shoulders that allowed for a view of her ample bosom as she served the baron’s men. She had taken particular care with the dark hair that hung against her shoulders in curling profusion, and had used the hand mirror that de Silva had given her in a generous moment to peruse her features. She had made sure to pinch her cheeks for color, to make sure her smile glowed. Yet as she glanced up at
the head table, she saw that contrary to the jealousy and desire she had hoped to inspire, de Silva appeared totally unaffected and was too deep in his conversation with Champlain to pay her any mind at all.

She shrugged off men with a smile, and was about to dislodge another unwanted touch on her arm when Martin Venoir stayed her and said, “You look lovely to night, Hyacinthe.”

A glance at Martin’s expression revealed his sincerity. Hyacinthe replied with a twitch of her lips, “Do I? It does not seem that my appearance has garnered any notice.”

“Yea, it has…from me, and from many others. It just has not garnered the notice of the man you hoped to impress.”

Suddenly angry, Hyacinthe hissed, “Why did you not tell me of Guilbert’s new penchant for perversion?”

“It was not my place.”

“A poor excuse.”

“Would you have believed me if I had spoken?”

“Perhaps not, but—”

Martin’s smile fell as he continued, “I had hoped de Silva’s decision for tomorrow’s festivities would not affect you unfavorably, but—”

“His decision?” Hyacinthe’s heart began a slow pounding. “You are speaking of the planned hunt, are you not? Why should I be affected?”

“Then you do not know.”

“Know what?”

“That the baron has invited the youth…Ross Wedge…to attend the hunt.”

Hyacinthe paled. “I do not believe you! Guilbert would not make so obvious an attempt to impress anyone. Besides not having the proper equipment, the boy probably has no idea what is involved in a hunt.”

“The baron has given the order to supply all that he might need…even one of the best horses in his stable.”

Hyacinthe stared up at Martin incredulously. She had thought he was one of the few knights she had served that night who was not far into his cups. But why else would he make so outrageous a statement?

Raising her voice over the din surrounding them, she replied, “You must be wrong. Guilbert would not invite one as common as his master mason’s apprentice to the hunt for any reason. He would not make so open a gesture.”

“He has commanded the young man to attend and ordered that a horse and equipment be sent for his use tomorrow morning. He has commanded that the youth take a place at the rear of the procession, but it is my thought that once the mayhem of the hunt begins, the baron will see to it that he does not remain there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the baron desires the young man. He obviously hopes to impress him. He will probably take him under his wing.

“
Take him under his wing
…”

Hyacinthe was beginning to tremble. Observing her disquiet, Martin rose abruptly and took her arm. He drew her outside, away from the din in the interior hall. Once in the darkened hallway, he whispered
sincerely, “I’m sorry, Hyacinthe. I know this is difficult for you.”

Breathless, Hyacinthe pressed, “By taking him under his wing, you mean that Guilbert will—”

“I mean only that I believe the baron will take the opportunity to attempt to impress the boy with his prowess.”

“But…but the hunt is meant to impress DuPree, not the youth.”

“I fear…” Martin hesitated. His strong features tightened as he continued, “I fear the baron is more concerned with impressing the youth, than he is in distracting DuPree.”

“But Guilbert knows DuPree could complicate everything he has achieved. He knows how important the hunt can be.”

“He knows, but I suspect his emotions are too involved for him to make a wise decision.”

“His emotions…” Hyacinthe whispered, “Does Guilbert not realize that I love him?”

When Martin did not reply, Hyacinthe pressed, “Does he not?”

“I fear…” Martin took a breath before continuing resolutely, “I fear he knows but does not care.”

Hyacinthe went still. There was no doubting Martin’s sincerity. There was no doubting that somehow…somewhere through their long acquaintance, Martin had become a true friend who would tell her the truth as he saw it. But he was wrong! Damn it all, he was wrong!

Sobbing wildly, Hyacinthe was not aware of the
moment when Martin’s arms closed around her, when he drew her against his strong chest and held her tightly in consolation. She did not hear the soft reassurances he whispered, so great was her heartbreak.

Martin held Hyacinthe protectively. He wished that he had the power to ease her pain but he knew he did not.

Martin drew Hyacinthe closer. She was sobbing uncontrollably. She did not hear when he whispered that she was beautiful and womanly, that any man would be fortunate to have her love him. She did not notice when he said that the baron was an aberration…a man consumed with self…a man who sought to be king and would never take a common woman to wife.

Martin knew instinctively what Hyacinthe wanted. She wanted to be wife to the baron. She wanted to bear his children and to spend the rest of her life serving him in any way he wished. She would not accept the reality that even with all she had to offer—true beauty, deep love, incredible devotion, and everlasting loyalty—de Silva did not consider her good enough for him and never would.

Martin drew her closer. He held her tighter as her sobs continued. But she was good enough for him…too good for a man who had made his way in the world by the wanton shedding of the blood of strangers. If she only knew…if he could only tell her that truth…But she loved de Silva, and he had become her friend.

Her friend
…

By accepting that reality, Martin feared he would never have more.

The sun was rising and the morning air was crisp as Rosamund rode at the rear of the procession. The hunt had begun, but Rosamund’s mind was occupied, recalling Hadley and Dagan’s dark expressions of disapproval when a messenger had appeared at the hut the previous evening to inform her that de Silva had invited Ross to attend the hunt the following day. Their expressions had darkened even further that morning when a silent servant delivered the horse and the necessary apparel.

Rosamund winced as she recalled the conversation that had ensued the moment the
invitation
was issued.

“I do not want you to accept the baron’s invitation. His intentions are obvious, and I would not have you suffer at his hands because of me,” Hadley had said.

“Father, the baron has commanded that I attend. I dare not refuse outright without incurring his wrath. But you need not fear; I will be wary of his attentions,” she had responded pleadingly.

Hadley had remained unconvinced. The argument had resumed as dawn crept over the horizon and a mount and the equipment and apparel necessary for the hunt were delivered to her door. Only too aware that Dagan had maintained his silence throughout, Rosamund had faced down Hadley’s objections. “Please try to understand that I have no choice but to accommodate the baron temporarily. But your concerns are for
naught. He will be too busy with the contingent from William to bother with me. I intend to remain at the end of the procession, out of his sight.”