Authors: Blackheart
Feeling as if it were the executioner's block she was about to lay her head upon, she traversed the corridor. It was normally lit by four torches, but this night there was only one. Enough light to guide her, but too little to creep within the chamber and reveal that it was she who came to Gabriel. Bernart had thought of everything.
She swallowed, eyeing the dark line between door and floor that proved no light shone from within Gabriel's chamber. Three nights. An eternity. She halted and pressed a hand to the door. Her heart raced, breath caught, palms turned moist. She must go to him. But how? How was she to give herself to a man not her husband? Especially the one responsible for Bernart's loss of manhood?
The idea of love espoused by her mother returned to her, but try as she did to convince herself it was her lover who awaited her, that in his arms she would finally know the passion and adoration denied her, it was no use. The man within was Gabriel De Vere, and his heart was as black as a dreamless night. No lover he.
But the sooner she went to him, the sooner she could leave. She opened the door and stepped inside. By the light that strained into the chamber, she located Gabriel. He sat in the chair before the brazier, the coals of which had long ago yielded the last of their warming glow.
Chilled more by fear than the lack of heat, Juliana closed the door and barred it. As her eyes adjusted to the dark that was diminished slightly by the moon's penetration of the oilcloth over the window, the silence stretched. Did Gabriel sleep? If so, perhaps—
Nay, Bernart would send her back. She stepped forward. The half dozen steps seemed a long way, but finally she stood before Gabriel.
He was still, likely more from the potent wine pressed upon him than fatigue. How was she to awaken him? Her heart pounded painfully. She could not call to him, for to speak would reveal her as surely as the light of day. There was only one way, which was something to which she must become accustomed. She would have to touch him.
She released her mantle to the floor, uncovering the homespun gown she'd donned in place of her lady's finery. It had chafed her through the fine chemise worn next to her skin—the latter being the only comfort she allowed herself for fear Gabriel might discover her garments were not the stuff of servants.
Juliana sent a prayer heavenward, then began loosening her laces. An instant later, she was seized and dragged forward.
She gasped and strained away, but her strength was no match for Gabriel's. She landed hard against his chest. Although instinct urged her to struggle, she suppressed it with the reminder that she was here to get Bernart an heir.
Ere the night was over, she was going to come even nearer to Gabriel.
"Who might you be?" he asked, his voice thick and slurred.
He was drunk, though not so much that he mistook her for Nesta. Juliana had hoped he would simply do the deed and be done with it, but it seemed he had no intention of making this less difficult for her. How was she to answer him? As she searched for some way that would not reveal her, he settled a hand to her buttocks and pulled her fully onto his lap.
His scent was entirely different from that which had assailed her ere the commencement of the tournament. Never would she have guessed he smelled of pine needles, grass, a warm breeze—
"Have you no tongue?" he asked, his breath fanning her cheek.
—and wine. Hopefully enough that, come the morn, he would remember little of her visit.
"Wench?" He drew a hand from her buttocks to her waist.
At least he believed her to be a serving girl, Juliana consoled herself. However, there was no consolation in his touch. She felt it as surely as if it were his bare skin against hers—strangely disturbing, though not repulsive as expected.
Reminding herself that Gabriel awaited a response, that if she did not give one he might drag her into the light, Juliana did something she would never have believed herself capable of. She pressed a hand to that place to which she would soon submit. Beneath his tunic, Gabriel surged against her palm. As much as she wanted to wrench her hand away, she held it there, praying he would not pursue her identity.
He groaned and cupped her breast.
She tensed, but in the next instant forced herself to relax. This was neither the time nor place for maidenly outrage. True, Gabriel was drunk, but that did not mean he was senseless.
He kneaded her breast, coursed his other hand down her leg, caught up the hem of her skirts, splayed his fingers over her calf.
A peculiar sensation rippled through Juliana. She told herself it was revulsion. His fingers feathered higher and played at the back of her knee. Fear. Only fear. Through the material of her bodice, he pressed her nipple between thumb and forefinger and roused it rigid. Still, she denied the awakening of her senses, told herself she loathed his touch. Beneath her skirts, his hand turned inward and caressed the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. Juliana struggled to suppress her response, but could not. As the shudder escaped her, Gabriel's male member surged beneath her hand.
"Ah, wench," he murmured, "you are a sweet one."
His voice was more resonant than she remembered, as if it rose from the depths of him. Had it always been thus? Was it simply that she'd never been so near him?
He lingered over her thigh, then strayed inward and grazed her secret place.
Juliana whimpered. Strange things were happening to her. Things that were not supposed to happen. Her stomach ought to be roiling with nausea, and yet—
He parted her and touched her secret place. A deep ache uncoiled within her. Frightened by its intensity, she squeezed her thighs together, but it did not deter him. He delved deeper.
"You are ready," he said.
She hated him. Loathed him. But at the moment, she could not remember why.
He pulled his hand from beneath her skirt and set her to her feet.
He did not want her? Had he changed his mind?
He stood, lifting her against his chest.
Nay, he wanted her and would soon take that which she had come to give. In exchange, he would sow the son Bernart needed. That last reminded Juliana of the reason she hated Gabriel De Vere. But her treacherous body seemed immune. Though she had heard whispered what a man's touch could do to a woman's resolve, never would she have believed it could be so strong.
For as much as Gabriel had imbibed, his stride was sure as he carried her to the bed. He laid her upon the mattress.
She could barely make out his shadow alongside the bed, but she knew he was undressing. Once more, fear burrowed beneath her skin. Now he would come to her and take the gift that should have been another's.
He lowered a knee on either side of her and leaned over. The brush of his hair against her cheek and his wine-laced breath mixing with hers were all the warning she had that he intended to kiss her. And he would have had she not turned her head sharply right. He settled, instead, for her ear. His breath, then his tongue, rekindled the desire he'd evoked minutes earlier.
Heat swept Juliana's breasts, tugged through her belly, quivered in her innermost place. She fought it, tried not to feel the sensations, but to no avail. Gabriel knew her woman's body as if he had lain with her many times.
As he trailed his mouth to her throat, his hands began their assault anew. He eased her skirts up. Touched. Caressed. Pleasured her as she had only ever dreamed of being pleasured. And in that moment, she let herself believe he was her lover. A man who adored her and defied all that conspired to keep them apart.
"Touch me," he said in a groan.
She knew what he wanted. Years of denial guiding her, she closed her hand around his hard length. Surprisingly, he was as smooth as down, but very large.
"Aye," he said under his breath, "now put me to you."
With sudden disquiet, she wondered how she was to take him inside. Surely he would hurt her, perhaps rend her flesh.
At her hesitation, he lowered himself between her thighs and pressed his manhood to her.
Juliana's hand between them prevented him from breaching her. Though she ached to finally cross the threshold that separated girls from women, her arousal was tempered by fear.
He closed his hand over hers and loosened her fingers. The barrier to his pleasure removed, he pressed into her.
Radiant pain shattered her desire, but she refused to cry out. Gabriel must not know she was other than what she pretended to be. If she shed virgin blood and he later noticed it upon his sheets, she could do naught about that, but he must not know now. However, it seemed her reaction was not lost on his drunken senses. Though he did not withdraw, neither did he proceed.
"Have I hurt you?" he asked, his voice strained as if he bore a great weight.
What had betrayed her? In the next instant, Juliana realized it was her body again. She was as tense as a board. Somehow she must relax. If only the pain were not so great.
Gabriel began to pull back.
God, no!
She had not come this far to be denied. Would not! She wrapped her arms around him, arched her body against his, surrendered the last of her maidenhood. Though she had not thought it could hurt more, it did. Tears swimming in her eyes, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip and rocked her hips back. A moment later she came to him again, and twice more before Gabriel responded.
He wrested control of Juliana's clumsy attempts from her, slid a hand beneath her, and guided her to meet his thrusts. Gradually her pain receded until all that remained was a dull ache. Though she found no pleasure in their coupling, she moved with him until his breathing turned harsh. Then he drove so hard and fast between her thighs it was all she could do to receive him.
Very soon he would give her his seed, she was certain; then she could return to the solar and brave the interminable hours until dawn, wondering whether or not a babe had taken.
One moment Gabriel was deep inside her, the next, outside. Shouting his release, he gave the stuff of children to the flat of her belly.
For a long moment, Juliana could not draw breath past her disbelief. Dear God, it could not be!
Gabriel issued a harsh sigh and rolled onto his back.
Knowing it was so, that she had naught to show for her sacrifice, she squeezed her eyes closed. She wanted to scream, to rail, to beat her fists against Gabriel for what he had cheated her of, but she forced herself to lie perfectly still.
A short while later, his hand touched her shoulder. "Forgive me. I have had too much drink."
Yet he was lucid enough to take from her without getting her with a child he did not want. Juliana had heard of such means of ensuring against impregnating women, but she'd never considered that Gabriel might practice it himself. Under different circumstances, she would have thought it noble that he should be so responsible.
Curse him! Curse Bernart!
Gabriel brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Next time I shall pleasure you first."
Next time.
For what? An empty womb? Wishing to be as far from him as possible, she pushed onto her elbows.
He pressed her down. "Stay. There are yet hours before dawn."
Which would see him increasingly sober. However, as much as Juliana longed to leave, she knew that to oppose him might draw his suspicion. Maybe he would fall asleep and she could steal back to the solar.
He settled his arm across her chest and caressed her shoulder. "Sweet," he murmured.
She tried to think of anything other than the man beside her and the not entirely unpleasant sensations aroused by his touch, but it proved futile. His presence was too strong, her skin too sensitive. Fortunately it was not long before his breathing deepened.
Juliana forced herself to be patient a few minutes longer, then slipped from beneath his arm and off the bed. She hurried to where she had left her mantle, donned it, and fled the chamber.
She was not surprised to find the solar empty but for Alaiz on her pallet. For certain Bernart would not be clinging to his side of the bed this night. Was he still in the chapel? Or in the hall drinking away his guilt? No matter. It was done, though certainly not with the result he expected.
Feeling wound tight as the thread on a spindle, Juliana crossed to the washbasin, shed her clothes, reached for the hand towel. The water was chill, but she hardly noticed as she bathed away the evidence of Bernart's quest for a son. Though there was very little blood upon her, it was only passing solace. She prayed she had left even less behind and that it would escape Gabriel's notice. She prayed that when she told Bernart that Gabriel had withheld his seed he would not send her to him again.
She stilled. Bernart would be angered to learn this night's tryst had proven fruitless, but he would surely seek another to do what Gabriel would not.
She closed her eyes. It was horrid she'd had to go to Gabriel, but to be passed from one man to another as if she were more of a whore than Bernart had already made her? She could not stand the thought. But what choice had she? She must protect Alaiz.
Juliana lowered herself to the edge of the mattress. As much as she wished to put from her mind memories of this night, she opened them, relived the scent of Gabriel, his touch, the words he'd spoken. Although the only pleasure she had known had been before he'd entered her, at least he hadn't hurt her as she had heard some men did women. Aye, she would prefer him to an unknown, but only if there was some way to ensure he gave her his seed when next they came together.
Her head began to ache. How was she to steal a child from a man who did not wish one? Unfortunately, there was no one she could turn to. No one to answer her questions. In the next instant, Nesta came to mind. Although Juliana could not approach the woman, the things of which she'd overheard Nesta speak, which had made her blush, returned to her—specifically, how the wench had seduced and pleasured a visiting bishop.
Once again Juliana's skin flushed. Could she do those things to Gabriel that only women of ill-repute did? She swallowed. She would have to touch him as he had touched her, arouse him so he did not withdraw until it was too late. Somehow she would make it work.