Emerald Prince (18 page)

“Nor did Walter.”

“True, but for a different reason. I was married for a number of years, but due to an old war injury, in one way my dear husband could not love me as a husband loves his wife. I chose you to take my virtue, William. Don’t ever apologize again for a decision that was mine to make. Don’t ever be sorry for what we shared.”

“I
HAVE NO REGRETS,”
he said. “Save my own foolish actions.”

He was silent a long moment. “Alianor,” Liam whispered, looking at her with yearning, the strain in his voice telling all, “I’ve a confession. Something compelled me to take you — it was not what I planned. We were after your dowry, ransom was not our purpose. And later, I might have left you with the farmers whilst I negotiated with de Lacy, but I would not and brought you here instead.”

She searched his eyes. “You wanted me at Wolf Haven?”

“Aye. Not for nefarious purposes. In truth I know not why, but I succumbed to the selfish urge anyway.”

“Speaking of urges — I want you to make love to me again. Now.”

He looked surprised at her simple, straightforward demand. But her words ignited his blood for he took her in his arms again. All logic, all reason fled, but she did not care. She only knew she needed him. She closed her eyes against the intense passion in his gaze, but he had already hypnotized her, and beckoned her back into his world of desire.

His fingertips brushed her cheek, and she melted beneath his fire. Her soft little gasp was smothered by lips claiming hers, locked in a desperate longing neither could control. She clutched his shoulders, swaying against him. Jesu help her, it was happening again. It was as if she had lived her whole life for this moment. Lived day after monotonous day in exchange for one wild night of unleashed emotion and reckless desire.

Enemies briefly united, if only in their passion, they came together in a fierceness urging them beyond the tender side they explored earlier. This time, Liam took her standing up, skirts rucked above her hips, lifting her onto him and plunging deep into her softness in a heated, single thrust. She cried out with the intensity of it, her thighs clamped against his hips like a vise, holding on for dear life. Ripples of pleasure traveled through her arched body, and her shattering little cries drove him on.

Liam fed Alianor’s hunger, backing and bracing her against the cold stone wall as he pummeled her in desperate, pleasurable agony. She cried for more, straining to accept all of his hardness as he worked to sate the hunger, the terrible, wonderful need. His mouth slid against her cheek, he groaned and shuddered as he burst within her.

Bitter passion, sweet despair. The whimper caught in Alianor’s throat, struggled forth as her world exploded with his. How could life be so exquisite and so cruel at the same time? She held onto Liam with a fierce desperation, knowing when they parted again, everything would be as it was before. He would still be Irish, and she would always be English.

H
OT WATER SLOSHED OVER
Alianor’s breasts as she sank down into the small metal tub. She never appreciated a simple bath more. Its therapeutic heat drew the soreness from her muscles, soothed the aching aftermath of lovemaking. Every movement she made, every throb or sweetly aching twinge, reminded her of Liam.

How he haunted her. It seems she spent every minute trying to forget the explosive chemistry they created when they came together in love. Their frustration and anger when they did not.

Alianor swore under her breath, splashing her hand in the water to destroy the image of him she imagined there. But it was everywhere she looked. It would be easier to defy murderous mercenaries than Liam. She wanted to hate him, and tried summoning outrage and indignation, but all she could think of was the way his eyes gleamed when he kissed her, the tender way his hands sculpted her, the shivering passion he provoked in her breast and loins.

Besides, how could she hate a man who went to these lengths to procure a bath for her?

She knew she wouldn’t trade the yearning between them for anything in the world, despite the agony it brought them both. But to cling to a false dream, would only bring her worse pain; this, too, she understood.

Alianor scrubbed every inch until she cleansed the musky male scent of him from her flesh. At least she could rid herself of one reminder of their passionate encounters together. If only she could sluice her mind as easily, and still the memories plaguing her.

Alianor rose, prepared to step from the tub when the door to the room flew open. Expecting Liam, she was surprised to see Rosaleen instead. The brunette slammed the door shut behind her, and stood there arms crossed over her heaving bosom, the anger clear upon her face.

“Do you always burst into a lady’s quarters unannounced?” Alianor asked as she picked up a linen cloth, folded it about her dripping body and stepped out of the water. Her wet feet made a puddle on the cold stone floor, which she was forced to stand in while Rosaleen blocked her way.

“Lady, my arse,” Rosaleen sneered, the withering look she cast over Alianor as ugly as her words. “You’re just a high-bred harlot from what I see.”

Alianor felt a flicker of uneasiness. Summoning calmness she did not feel, she returned the woman’s hate-filled stare with a steady gaze. When she moved around Rosaleen to pick up her clothing, the other woman cut her off, hands planted upon her hips in an aggressive manner.

“
Sassenach
whore,” Rosaleen hissed.

Alianor shook her head, trying not to let anger unhinge her. “Why on earth or in heaven would you say such vile things to someone you do not know?”

Rosaleen ignored the rebuke. She stepped closer, almost nose to nose with her. “Liam has taken a fancy to you.”

“Oh?” Alianor neither confirmed nor denied it. “And how, exactly, does that make me a whore?” Her level response only seemed to infuriate Rosaleen more.

Rosaleen reached out and pushed Alianor. Not hard enough to knock her down, but firmly enough there was no doubt of the threat. “The Emerald Prince is a man of his word. Some slut spreadin’ her legs will not distract him from doin’ what he must for his people. And you’re nothin’ special, bitch. Just one of many women he’s brought here.” Her eyes glittered with malice.

Alianor did not let the pain reflect on her face. She regarded Rosaleen with contempt. “Captive or not, what I do is no business of yours. Besides, why should you care if Liam
fancies
me or not? Aren’t you Torin’s woman?”

“So what?”

“So it means what Liam does is not your business, either.” She brushed past Rosaleen to retrieve her clothing laid out upon the bed. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

Rosaleen tossed her head. “Or what?”

“Let us say I am not quite the helpless lady I appear.”

“Stay away from Liam, bitch.”

“Oh, I will,” Triumph flashed in Rosaleen’s dark eyes, until she added, “if it’s what he wants.”

Rosaleen’s smug look changed into a glare of hatred. She looked like she wanted to say more, perhaps even strike Alianor. She didn’t. Instead, she turned to leave.

Alianor stopped her with one last question. “Why do you care who shares Liam’s bed?” When Rosaleen glanced back at her, her face said it all. “Ah, I see. You want him for yourself.”

Without replying, Rosaleen stormed out much like she had breezed in, a tempestuous whirlwind. Alianor’s instincts warned her this wouldn’t be their last encounter.

Chapter Thirteen

L
IAM ROSE FROM THE
table when he saw Alianor enter the gathering place at Wolf Haven. The large chamber was formerly the old chapter house of the abbey, but had been converted for feasting and meetings. The clamor of the men gathered about him silenced as Alianor approached, her head held high.

At Liam’s look, the other men rose in a show of respect, everything from awkwardness to uncertainty reflected in their eyes and unshaven faces. Liam saw why the King himself desired her. Alianor was a vision, her washed and plaited hair gleaming like a newly-minted silver coin, her black gown simple and neat. She was a combination of dignity and astonishing beauty. A woman of quality and grace was a rare prize, indeed.

“
Thig a-steach
, Alianor. Come, join us.” Liam nodded welcome to her, his knuckles whitening where he clutched a goblet of malmsey. She had the damnedest effect on him and he saluted her with the goblet before taking a deep drink from it to steady his nerves.

It was Niall who stepped forward and led Alianor to a seat. He picked a spot between himself and Liam. All eyes remained on Alianor as she took the seat proffered. Liam cleared his throat and nodded for his men to sit and resume the feast.

“You look ever so bonny, milady.”

The compliment issued not from Liam, but his uncle. Alianor thought Niall’s compliment out of place amongst the burly men gathered about, but he seemed unaware of the tension her entrance had caused.

Alianor smiled at Niall and replied, “You are kind.”

Everyone went back to eating, but their nervous gazes drifted back to her frequently. Liam laughed at something one of his men said but it sounded forced, his own uneasiness as apparent as theirs.

Liam had avoided Alianor for two days, making it evident he did not wish to speak of their passionate encounters. She wondered if it had anything to do with Rosaleen and her unwelcome visit. She remembered the cruel words. Was she truly only one of many women Liam had brought here?

“’Tis a pleasure to have you join us, colleen, but I fear our fare isn’t what you are used to,” Niall said.

“Captives cannot be choosy, Niall.” Alianor knew Liam overheard because he flinched at her remark. She figured he could not resist a retort. He did not.

“Nay, but fine ladies can. You needn’t suffer yourself to endure any of our humble offerings here, Alianor.”

She turned and smiled sweetly at him. “Suffer? Not at all, William. I have enjoyed everything Felicity has brought me. I decided it would be nice to enjoy company for the evening meal.”

“The women already feasted and retired to their own amusements in the old nave. Sewing and nattering and the like.”

“
Boayl ta guoee ta keck, as boayl ta mraane ta pleat
,” one of the men called out, laughing. Niall translated for Alianor’s benefit. “Where there are geese there’s shit, and where there are women there’s prattle.”

Liam expected Alianor to shudder at the crudity of the old saying, but to his surprise she laughed instead. “I remember Walter saying something similar.”

He gave her a grudging smile, quelling the urge to lean over and kiss her. “You’re welcome to join the other women if you wish. Perhaps you would feel more comfortable.”

She shook her head. “This is fine.” Niall passed down a plate to her, and to her credit she did not grimace at the familiar sight of cabbage, onions, beans and peas. There was a wedge of hard cheese and simple oatcakes, and a bit of blackened roast thrush. She did not hesitate but ate, while the chatter gradually resumed around them, though a bit more reserved than before.

“It’s good,” Alianor remarked, nodding as she bit daintily into the oatcake. Liam arched an eyebrow, and her cheeks pinked from his reaction. “I do not sneer at simple fare, William. Let’s not burden Felicity with the chore of bringing a tray to my cell. I’m happy to attend meals as the others do.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam apologized. “I should have said you are welcome anywhere in the camp. I didn’t think you would feel comfortable among strangers.”

“It seems,” Alianor glanced about at his men, “I am not the one who is ill at ease. It was not my intention to make anyone uncomfortable. I will leave you in peace to enjoy your meal with your men.”

Alianor started to stand, but Liam stopped her. When his hand touched her arm, he regretted his actions. It felt as if a fire scorched his flesh, her warmth mingling with his own even through the woolen cloth she wore. How could an innocent touch create so much havoc inside him?

“Please stay,” he whispered hoarsely from the rush of emotion.

“Aye,” Niall added. “We don’t often have the pleasure of a lady in our midst.”

Another man, a squat, sturdy, middle-aged fellow added his own plaintive note. “Please, milady. We don’t mean t’ be a monstrous lot. Does us good t’ mind our manners.”

Smiling at them, Alianor subsided to her seat again. “I will stay, on one condition.”

“What is it, colleen?” another called out down the length of the large table.

“I wish us
all
to feel at ease. Let us be ourselves, good and bad. I’ll not think differently of any of you for acting honestly, if you’ll do the same for me.”

The men nodded agreement. Bit by bit, the jovial atmosphere and jokes returned to the hall. Only one man seemed subdued that eve. Alianor noticed Torin did not laugh nor banter with the others.

Liam looked on, bemused as the uncouth lot did as promised and embraced Alianor’s suggestion. Soon, the stone walls echoed with ribald comments and hearty laughter. Alianor seemed to take little notice of off-color remarks, but when she did, it was to toss back as good as she got.