Authors: My Lord Conqueror
Pride came to her rescue at last. “You sound jealous, Sybil.”
Sybil threw back her head and chuckled heartily. “I am hardly jealous, Alana.” She winked at her. “Raoul sees to it that I have no time to spare for other men.”
Alana’s lips tightened in disapproval. How Sybil countenanced Raoul was beyond comprehension.
“Besides,” Sybil added knowingly, “’tis common for a man to stray when his woman
is near term. An enormous belly is unsightly and ungainly—scarcely pleasing to the eye—and it hampers his pleasure, if you know what I mean. And indeed, Merrick has no reason to be faithful, since you are hardly his wife.”
Alana caught her breath. The thought of Merrick with another…Pain dragged upon her breast like a fallen timber.
Sybil pursed her lips. “Indeed,” she continued matter-of-factly, “’tis likely the babe will be born with your curse.”
Alana’s eyes met hers in horror. “Nay,” she said brokenly. “Nay!”
Gleaming dark eyes fastened on her. “There are ways to end the possibility of such, you know.” When Alana gazed back at her blankly, Sybil heaved an impatient sigh. “Come now, Alana! Surely your mother knew a potion to get rid of an unwanted babe!”
Alana stared at her in shocked, frozen silence. Mayhap Sybil only meant to help, but she could tolerate no more. She spun around and ran.
She was completely unaware of the tight-lipped scrutiny locked on her form from just down the passageway.
In her chamber, she collapsed before the fire. She took her evening meal there that eve, but there was no peace for her wayward mind. What if Sybil was right? Merrick desired her now, but what would happen when she grew round and full and heavy with her burden? Perhaps Sybil was right and he would cast her aside.
Ah, but isn’t that the very thing you sought from the beginning?
needled an intrusive little voice inside.
To be free of him forever?
Her heart constricted. She did not know…God in heaven, she did not know!
Merrick entered shortly thereafter. He stood in the doorway, tall and lean and so handsome it stole the very breath from her. But did her imagination run wild—or was there a hint of brooding darkness in those eyes that chanced to light upon her?
She rose, uncertain of his mood, just as uncertain how to proceed. Some strange emotion caught at her heart. His hair was tousled, she noticed, as if he’d run his fingers through it time and again. It struck her then that he appeared incredibly tired. There were deep grooves etched beside the stark masculine beauty of his mouth.
“You look weary,” she murmured. “Mayhap a hot bath would be to your liking.” She did not await his answer, but glided past him to the door, where she called for buckets of hot water.
A short time later, he climbed into the round wooden tub, paying no mind to his nudity. Alana disrobed and slipped into bed naked. Her gaze strayed helplessly to him again and again as he bathed. He had not asked her assistance, and oh! how she wished he had!
Against the flickering flow of the firelight, his profile was arresting and noble and proud. With her eyes she traced the jutting strength of his nose, the lean squareness of his jaw. His
arms and shoulders were wet and sleek, like oiled wood, his biceps cleanly defined. Her fingers fairly ached with the need to skim her hands over the binding tautness of his arms and shoulders, to savor the feel of muscle sheathed in skin.
She found she couldn’t look away as he arose, water rolling off his body. Droplets glistened like tiny jewels in the dark mat of hair on his chest. Her treacherous gaze slipped helplessly lower. His legs were long and bulging and sinewed. And his manhood, even unaroused, was of a size that made her cheeks heat anew.
He dried himself with a length of linen, then climbed into bed beside her. He lay with one hand tucked under his head, his eyes on the ceiling. He had yet to speak, and she was both puzzled and wary, for he seemed so very distant!
It was she who broke the silence, her tone tentative. “You are very quiet tonight, Norman.”
At last he turned. Their eyes tangled for an immeasurably long moment before he spoke. “I have much on my mind this night, Saxon.”
A pang shot through her. He’d claimed last eve he would not let her go. Had he changed his mind so soon then?
All at once the need to be close to him was too strong, too powerful to be denied. She wanted to feel him hard and straining and full inside her, clear to her womb, for only then would she know he still desired her.
“A troubling day?” Her voice was but a breath. She did not want him to turn away from her. God help her, but she did not…
He shifted so that he was sitting, staring down at her. The furs fell down around his hips, but he paid no heed. “That it was,” he said slowly. “That it was.”
Her heart skipped a beat, for his gaze had dropped to her mouth.
“And now a question for you, Saxon. Would you ease my troubles if you could? Would you make me forget all but my need for you?” Reaching out, he ran his thumb across the swelling fullness of her lower lip.
Alana caught his palm to her cheek, a touch that surprised them both. Her heart was pounding so that her blood rushed in her ears. The breath she drew was deep and unsteady. “If it were within my power”—she heard herself, as if from a very great distance—“so I would.”
His eyes darkened. He caught her by the waist and pulled her upright, holding her arms lightly at her sides that he might look his fill. Modesty compelled she cover herself, for she was still shy about appearing naked and bare before him, especially now that her shape was changing. But the hot swell of desire coursing through her dictated otherwise. His regard was slow and unhurried, as potent as any caress. Her breasts seemed to swell and quiver; the budding crests grew all tight and aching. She yearned for the brush of his fingertips against the very tips, the wanton lash of his
mouth on her nipples, tugging hot and sweet and wet.
A finger beneath her chin, he guided her eyes to his. “Then show me, Saxon.” His whisper was low and vibrating, so intense she trembled anew. “Show me…”
Her fingers twisted in the springy dark hair on his chest. She wanted to please him, to drive him as wild as he drove her. But suddenly a faint distress flitted across her features. She bit her lip, feeling all at once confused and unsure. “I want to,” she confided all in a rush. “But I—I know not what you would have me do.”
His eyes sheared directly into hers. “I would have you touch me, Saxon. With your hands. With your lips. Wherever you wish. In whatever
way
you wish.”
His declaration was stark and shattering. A quivering excitement ran the length of her spine. Emboldened by the glittering heat in his eyes, she wound slender arms around his neck. With hesitant heart, she raised her tremulous lips to his.
His mouth captured hers. She tasted urgency in his kiss, a raw hunger, and something almost desperately seeking.
It was all the invitation she needed. She clung to him blindly, arching eagerly against him, molding strength to softness, crushing her breasts against the unyielding breadth of his chest.
He cupped the weight of her breasts in each hand, then bent low to avail himself of the
fruit of first one taut nipple, and then the other, teasing and taunting. Her heart plunged into a frenzy. She recalled what he’d said that very first night…
I will take you, not by fear or by force
. Nor had he. Even as her heart and mind fought to resist, he had only to touch her and her body responded with a will of its own. Yet ever and always, he gave of himself unselfishly, seeing to her pleasure long before his own.
A reckless abandon washed through her. She could not deny the magic that flared between them in the dark splendor of the night. Many was the time she’d longed to explore his body as he explored hers, but she’d been so afraid of giving her all—afraid Merrick would see her surrender as still another victory. But now…now she longed to bestow on him just a measure of the rapturous delight he’d given her time after time.
She broke off his kiss, gently easing him back from his taunting play with her breasts. She glimpsed the faint puzzlement that flitted across his features, and gave a slight shake of her head. He went very still, his hands dropping to his sides.
Slowly she knelt between his thighs.
Shaking, praying he wouldn’t guess her uncertainty, she combed her fingers through the dark pelt on his chest, skimming nipples she discovered were as sensitive as hers. His breath caught and her courage bloomed, ripe and full. With her mouth she tasted his
skin, traveling down…down over the grid of his belly.
Merrick’s breath came fast then slow. There was no thought of stopping her. Sweet Lord, this was the moment he’d awaited forever, it seemed…the first time she’d touched him of her own free will. A nagging shadow surfaced deep in his consciousness. Ruthlessly he thrust it aside, greedy to take all she offered.
The muscles of his belly clenched. Small hands delicately paved the way for the touch of lips as soft as summer rose petals.
Her hair feathered over his thighs, just as it had a hundred times in his dreams. Her tongue swept over his navel, down the crease of his hips. He gritted his teeth. Blood rushed to his loins, swelling him hot and full and rigidly erect. He stared down at her and nearly groaned. God above, would she never…
Her fingers touched him first, cool against his burning flesh. Her breath, warm and damp, wafted across the most achingly sensitive part of him. And then she was there, her tongue swirling around the boldly arching tip of him, a searing, molten caress that ripped the very air from his lungs and caused a massive shudder to sweep the whole of his body.
His hands slid into her hair. It was beyond his most wildly erotic imaginings. His breath was harsh and scraping. He cast his head back, the cords of his neck taut, unable to withhold a deep, ragged groan. Immersed in an agony of pleasure, he bore her daintily shy exploration as long as he dared, until he was
certain he would splinter into a thousand tiny shards.
“Sweet Jesus,” he said thickly. “I can take no more…enough, sweet! Enough or I will have naught left to give you.”
He caught her beneath the arms and dragged her up against him, his embrace almost frighteningly strong. Alana did not care. She felt sotted and dizzy with the knowledge that she had pleased him beyond measure. Feeling him quiver beneath her had but kindled her own desire to fever pitch.
But her eyes flew wide when his hands slid around to cup her buttocks. A soft cry of confusion hovered on her lips. Instinct warned he meant to take her. Yet how on this earth…?
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he directed hoarsely.
She needed no further urging. A thrill shot through her as she glimpsed the blistering passion reflected on his hard features.
She did as he asked, exhaling a ragged rush of air. Her nails dug into the knotted strength of his shoulders. She felt herself lifted and impaled, her passage slowly stretched and filled by the turgid length of his shaft. She gasped, certain she could take no more of him and yet she did, all that he had to give, until at last she felt him fully imbedded within her.
Time spun endlessly. For the space of a heartbeat he did not move. He kissed her then, with aching tenderness, his breath mingling with hers. Alana moaned and clung to him all the more tightly, seeking to tell
him all that she felt, for the words ever failed her.
Something seemed to give way deep inside him then. His fingers dug into her hips. She almost cried out her loss when she felt herself lifted away, but then he was straining and driving, a sword of molten steel within her. His arms bulged as he brought her down over his pulsing hardness…lifting…lowering…again and again.
Never had it been like this, their emotions a wanton tempest. Scalding pleasure carried her higher, ever higher. Her breath was jagged, almost sobbing, the sound pushing them both over the edge. He plunged wildly within her, reaching her heart, her very soul. She felt the heat of his seed burst within her, again and again.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs and furs. A strong arm curled hard about her waist, he drew her tight to his side. Her hand curled naturally there in the midst of his hairy chest, looking small and impossibly pale. Unconsciously seeking, she nestled closer, as close as she could be.
A finger beneath her chin, he raised her face and kissed her mouth, the contact long and lingering.
When at last he released her, she tucked her head against his chest. She pressed her mouth to the hollow of his shoulder, the veriest kiss. “My lord,” she whispered. “My lord conqueror.”
F
or once it was Alana who awakened first. She lay pressed against Merrick’s side, curled tight against him for warmth. There was a certain contentment in awaking so, and she remained very still, reluctant to move. He was naked, his chest awesomely broad and masculine. The furs lay tangled about his hips, scarcely covering that part of him that lay flaccid and undemanding now against the plane of his belly. Her mind ran wild as she recalled anew all that passed between them throughout the night. Her entire body flooded crimson, for now in the cold light of day, she was mortified to think how very wanton she had behaved! And yet, God save her soul, she could not regret it. Nay, not a bit, for Merrick had whispered again and again how she pleased him.
Slowly her eyes traced the ruggedness of his profile. In sleep he no longer appeared the fierce warrior. The lines of his face were smoothed, his harshness blunted. Mayhap now, with his mood eased, he might be
inclined to allow her to visit Aubrey once more. She lay quietly a while longer, then slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him.
After tending to the call of nature, she quickly washed and dressed and tended the fire. She straightened and turned. It gave her a jolt to see that Merrick’s eyes were fixed upon her. Her heart skipped a beat. How long had he been awake…and watching her? As usual, his features provided no hint of his thoughts. Yet she could not rid herself of the sense that he seemed rather brooding.
“You are awake early, Saxon.”
“I could sleep no longer,” she murmured, feeling all at once inexplicably shy.
A dark brow arose. “Have you plans for the day?”
His scrutiny was unwavering. She felt distinctly uneasy. “Aye,” she admitted.
“Indeed.” Was it her imagination—or had his gaze sharpened? “Mayhap, sweet, you would care to share them with me.”
Alana floundered. Why must he always make her feel so guilty? She laced her fingers together to still their trembling, then summoned all her courage. “I would ask your leave to visit Aubrey. I—I’ve not seen him for some days.”
For a moment Merrick could scarcely believe he’d heard aright. Everything inside him grew hard and brittle as bone. By the Virgin, now he knew why she’d been so sweetly obliging, so determined to please. Ah, but
he should have known! he decided scathingly. Last eve had been naught but a woman’s deception, a display of feminine wiles. She had sought to bargain her favors for his, but he would
not
play the fool so easily…
And it was time she learned it.
“I think not, Saxon.”
Too late Alana noticed the tightness about his mouth. In the space of a heartbeat, everything changed. It was as if a frigid wind swept in from the sea. The set of his mouth was grim, so very grim.
Damn him!
she thought brokenly.
Damn his soul to eternal hell! Why must he be so cold? So heartless?
“Why? Is it because you still believe I plotted with the Saxons?” Her cry was torn from deep in her breast. “I swear on the grave of my father, I did not!”
“’Tis not that, Saxon.” His eyes were as cold as the northern seas. The passionate lover of the night before might never have been. In his place was the cold, ruthless knight who had laid siege to Brynwald. He rose and began to gather up his clothes.
Alana stared at him, unaware that her heartache lay bleeding and vivid in her eyes. The breath she drew was painful and racking. “What then?” She slammed her hands flat on the table in fury and frustration. “
What?
”
He turned, fully dressed now, tall and straight as an arrow…and just as deadly. “You carry a child,” he stated flatly, “a child that is mine as well as yours. Despite your
feelings toward me, I will not tolerate any attempts to rid yourself of it.”
Alana inhaled sharply. A staggering horror caught her in its grasp. She stared at him, her face bloodless. “Dear God,” she said faintly. “Never say you heard Sybil…”
“Aye, that I did. She said that surely your mother knew a potion that would rid a woman of an unwanted babe. And I did not hear any denial spring from your lips, Saxon.”
She had seen him angry before, but not like this. His hands were fisted at his sides. His rage boiled over into his voice.
She shook her head wildly. Oh, if only this were but a dream! “Surely you cannot think that I…God above, I could not…I
would
not!”
“No? ’Tis my flesh you carry, Saxon. And you bespoke your hatred of me only last eve.”
Her face was wild and anguished, her eyes full of angry hurt. He still did not trust her. But Mother of God, surely he could not think she would murder her babe…The knowledge pierced her heart as keenly as a blade.
“I spoke in the heat of the moment! And after you accused me of lying with another! Why are you allowed to change your mind as the wind changes and not I?”
She gave him no chance to answer but went on, her emotions as raw as her voice. “Once…
once
I sought to escape you, Norman, and it seems I must forever pay the price. You ask for truth and I give it. But you must ever
choose not to believe me, ever and always. And I would remind you that Aubrey will be the one to suffer here. He does not deserve this, for he is innocent—”
“But you, Saxon, are not!” Merrick remained as unyielding as ever. “And I would remind you that it takes but one deed to undo all others. Were I you, I should keep that in mind.”
Seized by an unbridled rage, Alana was suddenly so furious she was shaking with it. “You are cruel, Norman. Cruel to deny me the one thing I ask of you—what you know will wound me most.” Each word grew more bitter than the last and came out without thought. “Damn you! Why can’t you let me go? You want this babe no more than I!”
It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it as soon as it was out. Only then it was too late, for his face, his every muscle had gone rigid and stiff.
He moved so quickly she cried out. His hands shot out. He encircled her wrists in a merciless grip and dragged her close—so close his breath pelted her cheeks like the lash of a whip. Above her his eyes were cutting. He spoke through lips that barely moved.
“A word of warning, Saxon. If you do anything to harm this child, or yourself, I promise you will pay the price. And if I am convinced you would dare to try such a deed, I vow I will lock you in this chamber until this babe is born.”
Their eyes locked endlessly. The very air seemed to pulse with the fever of his fury. Alana shrank back, stunned and numb, for his utter control was almost terrifying. His expression as frigid as the northern seas, he dropped her wrists as if he found her suddenly abhorrent. Without a backward glance, he whirled and strode away, slamming the door so hard the floor vibrated beneath her feet.
Alana pressed the back of her hand to trembling lips. Tears scalded her throat, tears that ripped her heart to shreds. And alas, now that Merrick was gone, her last vestige of control shattered. She slumped to the floor and burst into deep, wracking sobs.
That was how Genevieve found her.
And it was Genevieve who wiped the tears from her cheeks, who stroked her brow, who held her and rocked her as if she were a child…Genevieve who nodded and listened while she poured out her heart and soul, her hatred and anger, her doubts…and her fears.
A long time later Alana sat huddled before the hearth. She stared into shooting flames of amber and gold, her features pale and tearstained. But when she spoke, her voice was curiously hollow.
“He can be merciful to others, but not to me. Never to me.”
Genevieve shook her head. “I cannot believe he truly thinks you capable of harming your own babe. I do not defend him, only to say that he is a suspicious man by nature and by
necessity. This will pass, I promise you.” She hesitated, wondering if she dare speak what she had known for some time now. “Alana, I—I know my brother well. I see in his eyes that which I have never seen for any other woman. He cares for you—”
“He cares naught for me!” Alana raised her head, unable to contain her bitterness. “I was a convenient wench for him to bed. And now I am merely the vessel that carries his child.”
Genevieve was undaunted. “You must trust in yourself, Alana. And you must trust in him.”
“Trust!” Alana cried out her frustration. “If he will not trust in me, why should I trust in him? He killed my father, Genevieve!”
Genevieve laid her hand on her head. “Nay, Alana,” she said gently. “War killed your father.”
“He made me his prisoner! And now he would do so again!”
Nay
, whispered a voice deep within her.
Her heart made her prisoner
. But what that meant, she dare not speak. She dare not even
think
of such…
Reaching out, she clasped Genevieve’s hands lightly in hers. “If Merrick cannot give his trust to me, then he will have none of mine.” Pain flitted across her features, but then her expression softened. “But I trust in you, Genevieve. Indeed, I would do anything in my power to help you. And so I can only pray that you would do the same for me.” With words she beseeched her. With her eyes she pleaded mutely.
Genevieve squeezed her fingers. “What is it you wish of me?”
Alana took a deep breath, marveling that this woman she’d known for so little time knew her so well. “I know that Merrick sees that Aubrey is well fed.” She bit her lip. “But he is old, and there is a need for food of the spirit and soul as well. I—I do not think that Merrick understands that.” She smiled wistfully. “Indeed, Aubrey himself would hardly admit to such. But I know that already he has grown fond of you. And if you could talk with him from time to time, walk with him if he so desires…It need not be each and every day, but—”
Genevieve pressed a finger to her lips. “Alana, say no more. I will tell him that you will be with him as soon as you are able. And I will strive to be the comfort to him that you are.”
Alana’s smile was shaky. “Then I can ask no more.” Her smile faded. “Someday God will cast his blessings upon you, Genevieve. I pray it will be soon.”
Genevieve smiled in return, but deep in her breast was a rending ache. She had Simon, and she loved him dearly. And while a corner of her heart would be solely Philippe’s, the gnawing emptiness inside her had sharpened of late. She was still a woman, and not so very old that she did not yearn for the closeness of a strong male body in the cold of the night…A vision flashed into her mind, a vision of tousled dark hair, tattered clothing and angry,
flashing eyes…She relinquished it quickly, for such a thing was most improbable…nay, impossible!
Moods were unsettled indeed in the days that followed. Genevieve was Alana’s only link with Aubrey, and though she was forever in Genevieve’s debt, it near broke her heart. Though she fretted and fumed, argued and pleaded, Merrick was not to be dissuaded. Saxon will battled Norman pride time and again.
But if he was stubborn, so was she. No longer was she captive to his whim and will. Many was the night she kept her lips closed tight against his kiss…against him! Oh, in the end, he wore down her defenses and conquered her resistance, yet his victory was not so easy as before. Then, alas! one night they lay together side by side, a smothering silence all that existed between them. All at once, Merrick arose, a violent oath upon his lips. He snatched his clothing from the floor and stormed from the chamber…and their bed.
He had not returned.
Nearly a sennight had passed since then. Oh, Alana told herself she cared not where he slept…or with whom! Yet one day, she spied Sybil smiling up at him, her hand on his arm. Quickly she turned away, a hot ache closing her throat.
There was a seething tension whenever he was near…a wrenching heartache whene’er he was not.
Never had she been so torn! She bitterly resented him for what he had done, and while the anger soon faded, the hurt did not. Yet still there was a part of her that longed for him with all of her being. She woke in the darkness, yearning to be held fast in his strong embrace, to wake in the morn with her head on his shoulder. She did not understand why it was so, for he was her enemy, and would ever be so!
In all her days, never had she been so miserable…or so lonely.
Her nerves were ever ajumble. Sleep proved elusive until well into the night. Plagued by a nagging restlessness, she stretched out upon the bed after noontide one day, numb and exhausted beyond measure. Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep.
But it was a sleep plagued by dreams…
She was there in the darkness, a darkness that encompassed all else. The ever-present sense of evil was all around, smothering her, seeking to snatch her within its grasp. The wind howled. Lightning crashed. And there in the distance was Merrick, astride his great black steed, his sword raised high aloft…
Then all at once, everything changed. The darkness faded. Light shimmered all around. A figure appeared before her, stoop-shouldered and thin, his hair flowing like silver about his shoulders
.
Aubrey
.
Gnarled fingers stretched toward her. “Alana,” came his whisper. “Come to me, child. Come to me now…
”
She jerked upright with a jagged cry. She pressed shaking fingers to her forehead. Something was wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong. She flung the furs away and ran from the chamber.
She did not stop, not in the hall, nor in the yard. She paid no heed to the puzzled glances flung her way as she bolted toward the gate. She was nearly there when a hand of steel caught her arm and whirled her around.
It was Merrick. “Saxon! What the devil—” He stopped cold when he glimpsed her expression, wild-eyed and stricken. “What is it?” he said quickly. Strong hands grasped her shoulders. He gave her a little shake. “Tell me, Saxon. What is amiss?”
Her vision misted by tears, she shook her head. “Aubrey!” she choked out. “I must see him…I must!”
He turned and gestured. In an instant his steed was before them. He swung up cleanly into the saddle, then lifted Alana before him.
A cloud of dust spiraled behind them all the way to the village.