Emerald Prince (17 page)

Sheer want drove him deeper, harder, faster, until he felt his seed spill, the splintering of his soul into hers complete, twin flames merged as one.

Alianor cried with wonder, her own release coming in spasms shaking her to the core. Her climax urged Liam to match her thrusts, pushing her beyond the realm of need and forcing her to embrace the shattering pleasure of it.

W
HEN
A
LIANOR AWOKE, SHE
found herself alone. A single candle on the table near the doorway provided a dim light, enough for her to see by. Quickly she gathered up her clothing and dressed. She wondered how long she had been asleep, how long since Liam had gone.

Anyone could have come in and found her, sprawled naked upon his bed. She trembled at the thought, though there was none there to witness it except God and her own conscience.

What possessed her this night? The shame she should have felt earlier came too late. Was she a wanton? Had she coerced Liam into making love to her? Alianor frowned, dismayed. Despite the fact she was appalled by her actions, her traitorous body remembered Liam’s touch, his gentle caresses, and the ferocity of their mutual need. She ached to feel him beside her again.

She was a wanton indeed. She lusted after her kidnapper, demanded he take her. No, even worse, she dared him to. The emptiness of the room mocked her and she felt abandoned, vulnerable. Guilt tumbled in on top of it all, and she feared she would suffocate if she remained there a moment longer.

Alianor rose and picked up the candle holder, sheltering the wavering flame behind her cupped palm. She slipped from his room and cautiously navigated the narrow corridor. Instead of returning to her own room, she went downstairs to the outer door of the abbey. Alianor needed cool, fresh air to think. She opened the heavy portal and the iron hinges squealed in protest, the sound loud in the silent night.

To her surprise and dismay, Alianor found herself face to face with Niall entering the abbey. She almost collided with him in her haste. Alianor’s cheeks burned and the heat of remorse roared through her. He nodded at her, their gazes meeting.

Niall knew
. Tears threatened and Alianor turned and dashed back down the hall; away from his knowing eyes. Her soft cry of mortification echoed off the walls. What he must think of her. What they must all think of her!

Chapter Twelve

N
IALL WATCHED
A
LIANOR DISAPPEAR
around a corner in the abbey. Her look of despair had stopped him in his tracks. Her sob reached him and his fists clenched. He’d known Liam all his life, and never had he experienced this burning anger towards one he loved like a son.

Earlier he wondered what was going on when he spotted Liam slipping furtively from the abbey, hair and clothing disheveled and a distracted look upon his face. Now, he knew the lad had ravished her. Alianor was unable to conceal her shame, her humiliation.

Knowing Liam had hurt the wee colleen spurred him into action. A deep, smoldering fury gripped him like a vise as he stalked in the direction Liam had gone.

Some distance ahead he spotted Liam entering the granary and he quickened his steps in pursuit. Curse his idiot nephew. By the time he caught up to him, he could have easily throttled the lad.

“Uilleam,” Niall bellowed, his voice ringing off the stone walls with ominous portent.

Liam appeared from behind sacks of grain stacked higher than a man. “What are you hollering about? You’ll wake the whole place.”

Niall staked his ground, hands on his hips. “Why did you do it? Tell me why,” he continued on in a furious rant, not waiting for Liam to answer. “Hell, I know why. Because you were intent on having your revenge. You ravished the poor defenseless widow an’ like a skeevin’
Sassenach
, you left her there to wake up alone. No doubt congratulating yourself on defiling de Lacy’s prize.”

Niall spat to one side, disgusted. “Why, I ought to …” He let the threat fall by the wayside, unfinished. There was something in Liam’s eyes, a flicker of emotion that gave him pause. For a moment, Niall saw his sister Caireen again, her light blue eyes pleading for understanding. He shook his head, banishing memories. His stance softened and Liam responded to his accusations.

“Niall, you needn’t be so damned angry with me. I didn’t force Alianor. ’Twas only …”

Liam trailed off. Niall folded his arms, waiting. “Only … what?”

A strange look crossed Liam’s face. Not bewilderment, but close. Niall couldn’t put a finger on it but he sensed Liam’s distress was genuine and so he asked in a softer vein, “What’s happened, lad?”

Liam looked at him, shaking his head. Niall had never seen him in so much agony.

“Never mind. No matter how Alianor felt, you’re right, I should have had more control. I never meant for it to happen. I swear it on St. Brigid’s bones.”

Niall’s anger was melting away. Liam was like a son to him, the son he’d never had. It was near impossible for him to remain angry with the lad for long.

“Aye, I know it’s hard for a man not to let his passions rule instead of his head,” he said. “But what will you do?”

“About Alianor? Nothing. Nothing’s changed.” Liam’s voice was remote, his expression grim. Whatever emotion had seized him before had vanished like mist burned off by the morning sun. “We wait for word from de Lacy, as planned.”

Liam was stonewalling. Niall sensed it. Everything
had
changed. How, he wasn’t entirely certain. He only knew he didn’t like it. A bit gruffly, he said, “You’d best go back an’ see the colleen is all right. I saw her in the abbey an’ she seemed upset, lad.”

It wasn’t what Liam needed to hear, but he knew he’d have to face Alianor sooner or later. The fact he’d slipped off while she slept was bad enough. At the time, he thought it might be easier on Alianor — not having to face him afterward. Now he wondered if he had done it because it was easier for
him,
not her.

The thought disturbed Liam. He wasn’t a cowardly man; he’d faced death many times in his life. Yet, this mere slip of a woman made him slink off under the cover of darkness rather than face her. God’s blood, he’d not do it again.

Renewed determination filled Liam’s mind. He’d not let any woman get under his skin. Alianor was no different from other wenches he’d bedded over the years. No different at all.

When he returned to his room and found his bed empty, he went to her cell. He paused at the closed door. Instead of knocking this time, he entered unannounced.

Alianor sat on the bed one leg tucked beneath her, replaiting her hair. The meager light of the single candle made the silver locks shimmer and shine. Her hair seemed alive, like pale strands of lightning pulled from the sky. When she saw him there she rose, leaving her hair half done.

He read uncertainty on her face. She started to speak, but thought better of it. The awkward moment passed, but emotion still bubbled high within Liam. She was too damned irresistible, and it didn’t help his temper any. He was angry at himself, and at her, at the whole situation. Damme, what now? What had even led them there, into a forbidden encounter in an old ruined abbey in the midst of chaos? He didn’t know and he didn’t dare wonder.

“Are you all right?” Liam asked, a bit sharper than intended. He did not know how else to begin.

Alianor stiffened at his tone and her shoulders straightened. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

So, they were back to the cool civility of strangers. Liam took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could. “Niall said you looked — upset.”

Alianor shrugged. “It’s true, I came a bit undone when he looked at me, as if, if …” Her words faded away, her sentence unfinished.

“Why should it matter to you what Niall or anyone else thinks?”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t matter. But I am not used to being regarded as a fallen woman.” She watched Liam as she spoke, awaiting his reaction. He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not, but looked uncomfortable.

“Fallen woman?” he asked, confused.

“Aye,” she whispered, glancing away. “You see, I-I have never —”

“By the rood, Alianor,” Liam exclaimed, as what she was trying to tell him finally focused in his muddled mind. “You were a virgin.”

A
LIANOR NODDED.
“V
IRGIN, AYE.
Virginal by nature, it seems I am not.”

Liam stepped closer. His expression reflected his shock, confusion, even anguish, and his eyes darkened with emotion as he studied her.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea. After all, you’re a widow. How —?”

“How is it possible because I was married for so many years?”

“Aye. It does not seem natural a man would ignore his wife physically, especially when she was —
is
— so beautiful.”

He raised his hand as if to caress her cheek, but Alianor took a step backwards, chin raised, hurt reflected in her voice. “Not all men are rutting boars.”

She regretted the words the moment they left her lips. Liam’s expression hardened and his eyes darkened even more. She hadn’t meant it as a personal insult, but quick defense of her late husband made it seem so. She had always been protective of Walter. Their relationship had been unique, true, but she was content in the comfortable life they had shared. Walter made her feel safe, unlike Liam, who made her feel rash and brazen. This handsome Irishman brought out a reckless streak in her she feared endangered them both.

“What I meant to say is the physical side of marriage never existed for us,” she said, unsure whether she could again broach the wall between them. She avoided his gaze, both embarrassed by the delicacy of the subject and distressed at how she had lashed out so cruelly.

“We had, there wasn’t …” Tears clogged her throat. She swallowed hard and forged on, but the tremor in her voice made her distress clear. “Walter considered me a daughter, and I thought of him a father in many ways. He was chivalrous and devoted to me. But intimate, lovers, it was never something we …” She drew a deep, shaky breath as she glanced at Liam’s stony countenance. “I do not expect you to understand.”

“Aye, what would a rutting boar know of chivalry or devotion?”

His retort stung, but Alianor realized she deserved it. “I am sorry. I did not mean you.” She longed for him to reach out to her again, but he remained rigid, his hands at his sides.

She wrung her hands in frustration, wanting and needing him to understand. “Walter was special, that’s all I meant to say. Our marriage may not have been normal in most people’s eyes, but I-I adored him.”

“And love, Alianor? What of love?” Liam’s green eyes burned into hers, and she nearly succumbed to tears.

“Love?”

“Aye, surely you have heard the minstrels sing of it. Something mysterious and powerful and a wee bit mischievous, for it makes sane people do things they normally would not. If Love ruled a country, ’twould surely be Eire.”

She laughed a little shakily. “Doubtlessly true, William.” She hoped by using the name he so disliked, he might be drawn away from an uncomfortable topic. What she and Liam had done, however rash and ill-advised, felt sacred and beautiful, she had to admit. Yet she did not delude herself into believing he loved her, nor would she let him imply it, merely to salve his own conscience or make her feel better.

“It’s true enough Ireland is the abode of dreamers, of bards, and winsome tale-weavers. Those who use a command of language, their gifts, to ensorcell the simpler souls.”

It worked. Liam shook his head.

“You’re a hard-hearted woman, Alianor.” He stepped away as if to leave her, and despite her determination to remain silent, she lashed out again.

“I must harden my heart against the likes of those who would use me for their own benefit and gain.”

“You had only to say no. I would not have forced you.”

His calm statement shattered the last of her poise. “You misunderstand me
again
. I do not speak of our — physical union. I wanted it as much as you did and I’ll not deny it. I’ll not play the victim. I accept full consequence for my actions.”

Alianor glanced at the candle lighting the monk’s cell, the solitary little flame struggling so bravely against the darkness. It was a safe focus, a distraction from the rugged lines of Liam’s face. She rushed on to distract her thoughts from wandering toward foolish longings.

“When I spoke of using me for benefit and gain, I speak of a malicious little King, who gave me to a despicable man out of spite to achieve whatever political gain an alliance can bring him. I speak of de Lacy, who chose me to be his wife for his own dark reasons, reasons that frighten me. And I speak of you, William, who kidnapped me because I can bring you even more money than what you have already stolen. Now you see how I have been so sorely used by kings and lords and outlaws.”

Liam was silent. Alianor was about to blurt out an apology when he surprised her by saying, “I know almost nothing about you, except you were wed before. What else must I know?”

She sighed at the change of topic. Her mind drifted back to her sheltered life in England as a respected widow. “My story is simple. I was Queen Isabella’s favorite. Some assumed the King’s as well, for different reasons. I’ve not kept his lecherous hands off me easily.” She looked into Liam’s eyes. “I’d not have let you make love to me if I hadn’t wanted it. Believe me, I’ve held my own against the King of England. He has not had me.”