Stuart, Elizabeth (14 page)

Robert
de Langley met Jocelyn's eyes briefly and then looked away. "Get them out
of here, Geoffrey. See that they have whatever they need."

Geoffrey
sheathed his sword wordlessly escorting the women to the doorway. At the
threshold, Jocelyn turned back. "A fine performance, my lord," she
said. "But I pity your soul if it was aught other than that."

Robert
de Langley didn't respond, only stared at her with eyes that were flat and cold
and told nothing.

Jocelyn
knew de Langley was bluffing. No man of honor would even think to do what he
had threatened. He was bluffing. He had to be.

But
what if she were wrong?

It
was impossible to get Adelise quieted. She lay across the bed, sobbing so
wretchedly Jocelyn feared she would become ill. Nothing Jocelyn could say or
do, no reassurance she could offer, seemed to make any difference.

After
a time Jocelyn stopped trying. She ordered the flighty Hawise to build up the
fire, then sent the girl away and poured herself a cup of wine from the flagon
Sir Geoffrey had provided.

Drawing
a stool near the hearth, she sat down and sipped the wine. It was good, her
father's best, the one he saved for. important occasions. Jocelyn permitted
herself a wry smile. Sir Geoffrey was offering what comfort he could, or
perhaps it was only the token offered the condemned.

She
took another drink, staring thoughtfully into the fire, listening to the
soothing crackle of the flames, the soft weeping from the bed behind her.
Robert de Langley was a hard man—he'd had to be, as Geoffrey had said. But he
was also well aware of her father's pride, well aware, by now at least, of his
affection for Adelise. Might not the man be trading on both to force her
father's hand?

She
poked absently at the fire, becoming aware that the weeping behind her had
stopped. She rose and moved to the bed. Adelise was lying curled toward the
bedcurtain, eyes wide and staring, swollen from countless tears.

Jocelyn
climbed onto the bed beside her. "Sit up, Adelise." She held out the
winecup. "Drink this. You'll feel better."

Adelise
shook her head and closed her eyes. "I suppose it's foolish to think of
Edward right now," she whispered. "But I... I can't help wondering...
wishing all this hadn't happened. I mean... it's ruined now. Everything! Oh,
God, Jocelyn, I
hate
that man! That horrible man!"

Jocelyn
stroked her sister's hair back, tucking a damp strand of spun silver gently
behind one ear. She thought of Edward of Pelham, his handsome face, his
pleasant manner, of his many kindnesses to her and Adelise, his attentions to
them both while he was laid up at Montagne last month with an injured shoulder.
But it was Adelise he had obviously wanted, which didn't come as any surprise.

"You'll
have your Edward," Jocelyn said. "Father will do as lord de Langley
has asked. He won't risk your being harmed. We'll be away from here by
tomorrow, and you can begin making wedding plans."

Adelise
shook her head, turning away with a look of anguish. "Oh, Jocelyn, you
don't know!" She swallowed hard, drew a deep, shuddering breath.
"Y-you just don't know what's happened. He... kissed me," she
whispered, squeezing her eyes tight shut. "He kissed me... touched
me—" Her hands clenched convulsively at the bedcovers. "Oh Jocelyn,
it was horrible! He said he wanted me. That if Father didn't do what he
said—"

She
broke off again. Tears slipped from beneath her closed eyelids. "And then
he forced me out into the passageway, told me where he was taking me. He said
Father had come, but I didn't believe him. I thought he meant to... to—"

Adelise
turned her face into the pillow, unable to go on. "If he touches me again,
Jocelyn, I-I'll kill myself! Surely God will forgive me. Surely Our Blessed
Lady will intercede."

"Don't
say such a thing! Not to anybody. It's mortal sin, Adelise!" Jocelyn drew
in a sharp breath. "Promise me you won't say that again. That you won't
even think it!"

"I
can't help thinking it," Adelise whispered. "Oh, Jocelyn, you just
don't know what he's like, what he's
really
like! And I keep thinking
what I might have had with Edward. But now that's all ruined!"

Jocelyn
frowned, tried to think of something comforting to say and couldn't. Of course
Robert de Langley would want Adelise. Every man who wasn't a babe or near dead
of old age did. But Adelise had always been carefully protected before. She had
never so much as spoken to any man alone. Their father had cared for Adelise
like a nervous hen with an only chick, but now all that care and concern had
only put Adelise in more danger.

Jocelyn's
frown deepened, her thoughts sliding back to that time nearly four years ago
when she had first come to Castle Montagne. Her father and older half-brother
had treated her like a mistake to be corrected, improved, or at the very least
kept out of sight.

It
was Adelise who had seen through the icy indifference Jocelyn had feigned, who
had offered warmth and love and acceptance, returning good even for the ill
Jocelyn had meant. On several occasions she had even come between Jocelyn and
the punishment their father intended.

Adelise
had made life bearable, even good at times. She had brought about an uneasy
truce between Jocelyn and the Montagne men, encouraging their grudging
acceptance of Jocelyn's unusual ways, her many talents.

Besides
truly loving her sister, Jocelyn owed Adelise a great deal. And the Welsh paid
their debts. Always. For good or for ill.

She
slid abruptly from the bed. "I must leave, Adelise. Will you be all right
here alone for a bit?"

"Oh,
Jocelyn, don't go!"

"It
will only be for a bit." Jocelyn forced a smile. "There's something I
must see to. Here, sit up and have some wine. Sir Geoffrey took it from
Father's best, I'll be bound. We might as well drink it as to leave it for
Robert de Langley."

At
that, Adelise did sit up. Taking the cup Jocelyn held, she made a wry face.
"You're right. I don't want
him
to have it."

She
sipped the wine, her eyes meeting her sister's above the rim of the cup.
"Be careful, Jocelyn. I doubt either of us are safe from that man, not
even after all you've done to help."

Jocelyn
nodded. "I'll be careful." Then she slipped from the room, telling de
Langley's man outside the door a hasty improvisation, "Your lord wished to
speak with me again once my sister was resting. Will you go with me now to find
him?"

With
a nod he set off down the corridor, and Jocelyn followed, her heart pounding
painfully against her ribs. She hoped Robert de Langley would agree to see her,
prayed he wouldn't still be in the same foul temper of half an hour ago.

The
door to his solar stood slightly ajar. She could see several men inside, and
she bit her lip uncertainly. This wasn't a good time. She would have to come
back.

One
of the men glanced toward the door. "My lord," he murmured, nodding
in her direction.

Robert
de Langley turned, frowned. "Madam, what do you do here?"

Jocelyn
took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. "I need to speak with
you, my lord. Alone."

"Alone?
Here?" De Langley stared at her thoughtfully. "This is neither the
time nor the place. Besides, nothing will change for any discussion we might
have."

Jocelyn
moved into the room. "Sir Aymer Briavel will live because of me. You owe
me something for that if for nothing else, my lord. A few minutes of your time
and attention is all I ask." She hesitated, added softly, "Is that so
much to exchange for the life of a good man?"

"Very
well, I will grant your request, madam. As you said, I do owe you something for
your help."

De
Langley's men melted away without a word. The last one left, closing the door
behind him.

Jocelyn
swallowed hard. She had been alone with few men in her life, her father and
brother, an occasional bailiff or two. Certainly no one even remotely
resembling Robert de Langley. Certainly never in the intimacy of a private
sleeping chamber. But this was no time to be thinking of propriety, not with
the discussion she was about to initiate.

"Well,
madam...?"

Jocelyn's
heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he must hear it. She met his eyes.
"I would speak to you about what happened here this afternoon."

His
frown deepened. "There's nothing more to be said."

"Oh,
but there is. A great deal, I believe."

"I
told you before, madam. I'll do whatever is necessary to secure my lands. If it
harms you or your sister, I'm sorry. I'll grant you that much at least."
He hesitated. His mouth hardened. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "but
it's your father's choice at this point, not mine."

She
heard regret in his voice, regret and determination. Sir Geoffrey's words came
back to her.
What he says, he will do.

She
took a long, steadying breath. There was only one thing to say. She had
prepared herself for the possibility. "Then I would ask you to grant a
request, my lord de Langley. Use me if you must. Use me instead of
Adelise."

Robert
held himself still, so still that for a moment he was sure even his heart had
stopped beating. Inside him something ached over the injustices of life.
If
anyone is hurt, madam, I'll take care it not be you.

"No!"
he said, so sharply that the girl flinched. But she didn't change her expression,
just stood there, staring, her eyes like the rare colored glass he had seen
once in a Paris cathedral.

"No,"
he repeated more softly. "Let's hope that a choice doesn't become
necessary, that your father will do as I ask."

"Certainly...
but I must have your word on this. It's of the utmost importance to me."

His
eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Do you even know, madam, what you are asking?
Perhaps I should enlighten you with the details."

"I
wasn't convent-raised as my sister, but bred up in a rough border keep with
servants and coarse men-at-arms to hold in check. You may spare me the details.
I do know the most important ones."

He
lifted his eyebrows. "Do you now?"

"Yes,
my lord, I do know what I am asking." She drew in her breath. "And I
know that Adelise would never survive it, but I would."

She
hesitated again, but her gaze never wavered. "I am not, perhaps, so
pleasing to look upon as my sister, yet have I heard it said that all women are
alike for such a purpose. Choose me if it becomes necessary to force my
father's hand. After all, you do owe me something for the life of your
friend."

"And
a poor payment you would have me give you," Robert murmured, turning away.
He poured himself a cup of wine, and drank deeply. When he glanced back the
girl was still staring.

"If
you hesitate because you think my father cares little for my fate, you are
right. He's made that clear enough. But I do have value of a sort. With me he
will learn you mean what you say, and that Adelise would be next." Jocelyn
shook her head. "He won't let it go that far. He'll give what you ask. I'm
sure of it."

Robert
wondered what that speech had cost her, wondered at the kind of father, who
could make such an admission necessary. A becoming flush stained the girl's
cheekbones and, for the first time, her gaze shifted uncomfortably from his.

He
poured another cup of wine and moved nearer, holding it out to her. "And
why is that? Why is the lady Adelise the favored child?"

"That
should be obvious," she said, taking the wine. She lifted the cup and
drank, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Not
to me."

At
that she did look up, her heavy eyebrows arching in polite disbelief. "In
addition to all the obvious reasons my father prefers his eldest daughter, you
may add one more. He and my mother didn't suit. In me he sees her failings and
more. Welsh blood—even the blood of princes—isn't fit to mingle with good
Montagne stock. That fact was brought home to me oft enough in my
childhood."

She
hesitated again, adding coolly, "Oh, he was polite to my mother, of
course. He dared not antagonize her family. After all, he did marry to secure
his borders while he was off about his wars for the king. Save for occasional
visits during the year, however, he and my mother trod separate paths. She and
I went our own way, visited often with kinsmen in Wales. We were happy enough,
just the two of us, but then she died."

The
girl stared down into her cup. "After that, after he remembered he had
another daughter, he brought me back to 'civilize' me, to redeem my improper upbringing.
All the Welsh are such savages, you know."

For
a moment there was silence between them. "Your father is a fool."
Robert said at last. "You do know that, I hope."

The
faintest hint of amusement lightened her face. "It scarcely behooves me to
agree with you. 'Twould be
most
unfilial and
completely
disrespectful."

"And
true," Robert finished. He smiled then, feeling an unexpected sense of
kinship with this girl. He'd made more than his own share of jests at life's
misfortunes.

"Oh,
there aren't many at Montagne who'd agree. There are those who would say I
deserved what I got." The girl lifted her cup and drank deeply.

Robert
stared at her mouth as she drank, at the alabaster skin of her throat, the
smooth woman's curves beneath the plain brown cloth of her bliaut. Her chest
rose and fell unevenly. She wasn't as poised, as indifferent, as she wished to
appear.

The
very stillness and privacy of the room weighed down on him. He watched Jocelyn
Montagne drink, couldn't keep his mind from thoughts of kissing her. He'd been
having them often these last days—visions of tasting that wide, passionate
mouth, of exploring that small, shapely body, teaching her all the sensual
pleasures of the flesh, teaching her that there was more to life than the
ugliness she had seen thus far.

He
stared at her hair, carefully drawn back and braided. He couldn't help
remembering the way it had looked that first night—a wild, bewitching fall of silken-hot
darkness. He wanted to see it that way again, to run his hands through its heavy
waves. He wanted to loose it over her shoulders, spread it over her bare
breasts... to wrap it around his throat, around his—

"I
said why are you staring, sir?"

Robert
swore, turned abruptly, and splashed more wine into his cup. Judas, he was
behaving like a fool!

"Oh,
for pity's sake, I am not a witch!" the girl snapped. "Despite what
you may have heard, you've no need to fear that."

He
swung back, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "You're not what?"

"A
witch. If I'd any extraordinary powers, I assure you I'd have used them ere
now, on any number of people!"

Robert
frowned and took a slow sip of wine, studying Jocelyn Montagne over the rim of
his cup. "Did I miss something? Were we speaking of witches?"

"Some
say that of me. I'm sure your people have told you by now. It's because I watch
people and I think and sometimes I sense what they're going to do. Because I'm
a healer."

She
frowned, shrugged. "It's because of my eyes and these God-accursed
eyebrows. I may look different from every other woman in Christendom, my lord,
but you've no need to fear me. I assure you I can't give you the evil eye. You
may do with me what you will."

Robert
felt a smile. If only he could. "And I assure you, madam, I am not afraid
of witches."

"But
I'm not—"

"No,"
he interrupted, still studying her appreciatively. The girl was different, but
in an earthy, exotic way, a way that was challenging and provocative, a way
that aroused both his blood and his brain. "No," he said. "I
didn't think you were."

"But
you were looking at me so oddly."

"Do
you tell me no man has ever looked at you like that before?"

"Men
have looked at me oddly all my life," she said coolly. "I've that
kind of face, I've been told."

Robert
allowed his smile free rein. No doubt there had been men who had looked at her
like that, men who had imagined all the things he had been imagining just now
but had been too intimidated to do anything about it.

But
he wasn't a man who was easily intimidated, and he was done with imagining. He
had kissed the shivering, bloodless Adelise today for policy's sake. He might
as well kiss the lady Jocelyn for pleasure.

Perhaps
she would find it pleasurable as well.

"I
could tell you, madam, just why that is," he murmured, putting down his
cup and walking slowly toward her.

Jocelyn
held Robert de Langley's eyes. He was doing it again. Staring. Trying to make
her back down. And something about the look in those untamed golden eyes set up
an uneasy tightening in her stomach, an unsteady pounding of her heart.

He
halted in front of her, lifting his hand to trace the line of her jaw with one
finger. His touch was cool, but a rush of heat suddenly suffused Jocelyn's
chest, rising to her throat, flaming across her cheek bones.

She
drew in her breath and stepped back. "If you think to frighten me as you
did my sister today, you are wasting your time and mine. I don't frighten
easily."

An
odd half-smile curled one corner of his beautifully shaped mouth. "I am
not so foolish, madam. I'm well aware you are made of much sterner stuff."

Jocelyn
forced herself to hold Robert de Langley's stare. Belavoir's lord admired
boldness, that much she knew; and any respect he had shown her these last few
days she attributed to that fact alone.

But
her heart was beating so hard it was painful. Her pulse drummed like thunder in
her ears. She felt like a rabbit about to be eaten by a fox, a lamb about to be
savaged by a lion.

She
lifted her chin higher still, clinging desperately to a courage that was
rapidly draining away. "If you're done, then, trying to intimidate me, we
need to talk about Adelise."

"But
I'm not done," he said softly. "In fact, I've scarcely begun. And I
have nothing, absolutely nothing, to say about the lovely Adelise."

His
eyes were beautiful, Jocelyn realized irrelevantly. A warm golden color deepening
into amber then ringed with gray about the irises. She could see herself
reflected in them, experienced the oddest sensation that she was drowning in
them.

He
reached for her, sliding one arm about her waist, drawing her toward him. She
didn't struggle. This was the treatment she could expect, this and a great deal
more if he agreed to what she asked. If her father didn't turn over his lands.

She
was held against his chest by a strong arm encircling her waist. His hand
feathered down her spine, splayed out at the small of her back, pressing her
against him.

On
instinct Jocelyn's hands rose to his chest, but she didn't try to push him
away. It would have been futile. She could feel his powerful chest muscles
shift and tighten beneath her fingers, could feel the hardness of his thighs
against hers, the hardness of that lower male part of him pressing boldly
against her belly. The heat of his body enveloped her, an awareness of his size
and power and strength, of his overwhelming and discomfiting maleness.

She
had never been so conscious of her own smallness, of her softness, of the way a
woman's body could fit so perfectly against a man's. She had never in her life
felt so fragile, so female, so tightly and exquisitely drawn.

De
Langley's hand rose again, his thumb tracing her cheek, her jaw, the curving
lines of her mouth. His gentleness was so different from what she had expected,
what Adelise had so fearfully described.

She
stared up at him, eyes wide, as his hand slid beneath her chin, intimately stroked
the suddenly sensitive contours of her throat. His hand was large and strong
and warm. She had the fleeting thought that it felt good against her bare
flesh.

Then
he was tilting her head back. He was going to kiss her. Whatever horrible thing
had happened to Adelise was about to happen to her.

For
a moment more he hesitated. Amusement danced like tiny flames in his eyes.
"You need not look at me like that, madam. I'm not going to eat you, you
know. At least not today."

He
was smiling openly. "And I will tell you something further, for with all
your learning I suspect you know little of this. All women may be similar, but
they are not exactly alike. Especially not for the purpose we've been
discussing. There must be scores of interesting differences, dozens of
intriguing variations to explore. Perhaps we should explore some right now. You
tempt me far more than you know."

Jocelyn's
throat went dry. She thought of Alys, of Adelise, of the wild pounding of her
heart, of the tilting, tightening whirl of her stomach. She watched him lean
close, watched the heavy downward sweep of his lashes. No man had the right to
have such eyelashes.

She
closed her eyes.

His
mouth settled over hers. She felt the firm, full texture of his lips, the
sensual, velvet sliding of his mouth against hers. This wasn't the rough
mauling she was expecting. She felt no humiliation, no pain. Instead an
overwhelming feeling of warmth and security enveloped her, a warmth and
tenderness begetting the strangest, most intimate sense of belonging.

If
this was a kiss, it wasn't so bad. It was almost... almost
pleasurable!

He
shaped her lips with his own, sucked at them, seduced them into opening. His
tongue glided along her full lower lip, wetting it, tasting it, sucking it into
his mouth in a way that made a tiny shiver run through her, a shiver that
rippled, intensified and grew.

Her
whole body began to warm, to tingle, to ache where it met his. A weakening,
melting sensation flowed through her, turning her knees to jelly. He bent her
back further against his arm and she grasped his shoulders, surprised by the
exquisite pleasure of holding him.

Then
he was inside her mouth, his tongue exploring her so thoroughly, so intimately,
it was shocking. She gasped and tried to turn away, but she was anchored by the
curve of his arm, by the large hand that caught and cupped her chin as he
deepened the kiss, as his tongue began a slow, rhythmic thrusting against her
own.