The Damsel's Defiance (15 page)

Sylvie clutched her arm, her expression pleading. ‘You’ve got to take me away from here, Emmeline. Take me back to France before he comes back.’ A wildness entered her eyes, panic threading her voice. ‘I don’t know what he’s likely to do next.’

Emmeline nodded sharply. She didn’t need to ask Sylvie the details of what had been happening with Edgar; it was obvious. The bright, vivacious, proud and beautiful Sylvie had been reduced to a hollow shell: a forlorn, broken woman who teetered on the edge of madness. ‘Let’s sleep tonight, Sylvie, then on the morrow, I’ll ask Lord Talvas for an escort and a ship. We’ll travel on the morrow.’

Sylvie’s mouth turned upwards into a faint smile. ‘Oh, Emmeline, do you promise? Do you promise that you’ll take me away from this place?’

Emmeline hugged her. ‘It’s why I came to England, Sylvie. I promise.’

The heavy oak door banged back on its hinges. Both women jumped, guilt etching their faces.

‘Ah, what a touching scene.’ Talvas’s rough words fell on the sisters as he shouldered his way through the door carrying a platter littered with bones. ‘Sorry to break up the reunion, but the men need more food.’ Emmeline rose uncertainly, patting her sister’s shoulder in reassurance before slipping
from the bench to resume her pastry making. Talvas stepped down into the heady warmth of the kitchen, his body moving with pliable grace. ‘What were you plotting?’ His surcoat and chain-mail had been replaced by a dark blue overtunic, the neck slashed to reveal a white linen shirt beneath, the brilliant colour stark against the tanned cording of his neck.

Emmeline pursed her lips, concentrating on lining a piedish with the rolled-out pastry. She knew he awaited an answer, her heart beating erratically under his sapphire perusal. ‘We’re not plotting anything, my lord,’ She said eventually. ‘Merely our journey on the morrow.’ She picked up a long knife, beginning to attack a piece of cooked ham, slicing it into large chunks to put in the pie.

‘What journey?’ Talvas reached out, snaring her wrist. She had pushed up the sleeves of her underdress to reveal pale forearms, a delicate tracery of blue veins under her skin. Under his grip the knife slipped from her fingers, clattering to the table. Her face lifted, emerald eyes luminous, magical in their depths. His heart jumped at the beauty of her countenance. A smudge of flour dusted her cheek; he wanted to smooth it away. And yet again he asked himself the question that had dogged him all day—how could two sisters appear so similar on the outside, yet differ so radically in their character?

The warmth of his fingers enervated her, sparking her veins. She quivered, the burning vitality of his gaze unbalancing her resolve, the sweet pressure of his fingers demanding an answer. ‘I will take Sylvie back to France tomorrow,’ she replied, her voice wavering. ‘She can stay here no longer.’

He grimaced, his mouth stern. ‘It’s not going to happen, Emmeline. Stephen has other plans for you.’ The arrogance of his tone needled her. ‘Other plans for us.’

Emmeline shook her head, muscles tensing in her stomach. ‘Then he must change his plans…don’t you think it’s time we
left?’ But her heart jumped with joy at the chance to be with him for longer.

‘Aye, I do. I think you’ve been through enough. Besides, England at the moment is no place for a woman without protection.’

A woman without protection! She bristled. ‘I can take care of myself…and my sister.’

He stepped toward her. ‘Nay, Emmeline, that’s where you are wrong. I agree you’re strong up there—’ he tapped the side of her head ‘—with a mind to equal any man’s. But don’t fool yourself that you can best a man physically. That way of thinking will lead you into danger.’

‘Then don’t place me in it!’ Frustration coiled in her belly. How she hated the way these men tried to control her every move!

‘There’s nothing I would wish for more, Emmeline. But I can’t disobey a royal command.’

‘Do you always do what Stephen tells you to do?’ she bit back, irritation flaring in her eyes.

‘There’s such a thing as loyalty,’ he replied calmly, ‘or maybe you know little of that.’

‘Depending on others is foolish,’ she said, trying to keep her tone on an even keel.

‘Maybe you should try it some time,’ he murmured. ‘You might be surprised.’ Their eyes caught, snagged. Were they still talking about the same thing? she wondered.

‘I’ve promised Sylvie.’ Emmeline darted her eyes toward her sister’s ravaged face, streaked with tears. ‘Talvas, she’s in danger!’

‘We’re all in danger if we don’t stop Maud, Emmeline.’

‘How can I possibly help? Surely you need an army?’

‘Your skills in navigation are needed. As a woman, you’ll draw less suspicion. It will make it easier to approach Sedroc
by stealth.’ He dropped her wrist, pushed a hand up into his hair, tousling the dark strands. ‘Believe me, Emmeline, I’m as against this idea as you are. But Stephen has made up his mind. He’s adamant that we two can achieve more to oust Maud than a whole army.’

‘We two?’ Her voice rose a notch.

He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘Stephen feels that the two of us would be able to break into the castle at Sedroc, flush Maud out.’

At the table, Sylvie whimpered. ‘Don’t go, Emmeline! You promised, you
promised
to take me away from this place.’

Guilt coursed through Emmeline’s body, her resolve wavering. The heat from Talvas’s fingers lured her, held her. She knew her loyalty should lie with her sister, but Talvas, Talvas was giving her the chance of spending more time with him, and every ounce of her heart wanted to leap for it, the opportunity to be at his side for longer. ‘Maybe we could sort something out, Sylvie? Perhaps you could stay till I return from Sedroc?’

Sylvie picked at a splinter that had come adrift from the edge of the table. ‘He is making me pay for what I have done to him,’ she answered, her tone resigned.

‘Nay, Sylvie, he’s not! He’s under orders from the King!’ Emmeline glanced at Talvas—since when had she began to defend the actions of this man by her side?

‘He’s taking you away from me.’

‘Not for long, Sylvie. I’m sure the King will grant some soldiers for your protection.’ A brief nod from Talvas confirmed her statement.

Sylvie began to back away, pointing a finger at Talvas. ‘If you forgive me at all, Talvas, then grant me my sister. Don’t take her away from me, please!’ She turned, a half sob clutching at her chest, and disappeared, a wraith on the steps.

‘I must go after her, Talvas!’ Emmeline stepped away from him, disloyalty like a foul taste in her mouth. The hem of her
bliaut
flicked upwards as she whisked around the table, pulling off the apron.

‘Leave her!’ he growled.

Already climbing the steps, Emmeline turned to fix him with her emerald gaze. ‘Nay, Talvas. I will not. She is my sister. Surely that counts for something?’

‘Not from what I know of her,’ he responded drily.

Emmeline shook her head. ‘She has paid a high price for choosing to leave France. You must find a place in your heart to forgive her.’

Talvas stared at the closed door for a long time after Emmeline had gone, his expression bleak.

F
ully clothed, Emmeline lay on top of the bed furs beside Sylvie, drawing a final sigh of relief at her sister’s steady breathing. In sleep, the lines of exhaustion, of oppression, lifted from Sylvie’s features, reminding Emmeline of the time when they were young and carefree, before the responsibilities of life had seized them. After she had fled the kitchens in pursuit of Sylvie, Emmeline had found her in one of the tower chambers, huddled beneath the bed furs in a state of despair. In the darkness, Sylvie had told Emmeline the upsetting details of her marriage to Edgar, the daily taunts and curses, the wayward punches, how much she regretted the direction her life had taken. Listening, Emmeline was filled with guilt; her overriding urge was to protect her sibling. She, above all people, knew of the consequences of a violent husband. Sylvie must be her priority now; surely Talvas could find someone else to accompany him to Sedroc?

Tentatively, she stretched out her limbs; this narrow bed was too small for the pair of them to sleep comfortably. She swung herself carefully around, the bed rustling and creaking as she manoeuvred her body around to swing her feet to the
floor. Twisting back, she drew the coverlet high over Sylvie’s shoulders, dropping a light kiss on her sister’s cheek. She opened the door with a faint click of the latch, pivoting on her toes silently into the curving stair well, intending to find a bedchamber on the floor above.

‘At last!’

Startled, Emmeline pressed back against the planks of the door, steadying herself.

‘Talvas…you made me jump!’ She stared at the smooth lines of his brow, the shock of his gleaming hair falling forward, his wide, generous smile.

‘Sorry.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I’ve been waiting for some time.’ he pushed his large frame away from the wall, towering over her in the cramped space.

‘Why? Surely everyone is asleep by now…the King? His soldiers?’

‘All have chosen to sleep in the great hall; it’s warm in there…the fire is still roaring away.’

‘So why are you not with them?’

‘I wanted to make sure you had a good night’s sleep before tomorrow…it’s a long ride to Sedroc.’

Emmeline shook her head, the bright blond of her hair gleaming in the hushed dimness. ‘I can’t go, Talvas. I can’t leave Sylvie, not after what she’d been through. Her marriage…it’s been horrible for her.’

‘She should have thought about that before she went away with Edgar,’ he retorted, his good humour fading.

‘Shh! You might wake her; she’s only just gone to sleep.’

Talvas lifted her hand, engulfing her cold fingers in the rough curve of his palm. ‘Then come with me.’ His voice was rich, velvety. He drew her carefully up one flight of the stairs, pushing into a chamber above.

‘Oh!’ Emmeline glanced around with delight. On one side
of the circular room, a charcoal brazier had been lit; the coals glowed with ambient heat, filling the room with warmth. The candles in the iron wall sconces flamed strongly, the flickering light painting the chamber in a wash of gold. Furs and covers were piled high on the bed, the dark chestnut of the pelt forming a strong contrast with the bleached linen of the pillows.

‘It’s wonderful,’ she breathed. ‘Who did this?’

‘I did.’

Surprised, she reached out to touch his arm—a gesture of gratitude, of thanks.

‘Why?’

He laughed. ‘Always so suspicious,
mam’selle!
As I said, so that you have a decent night’s sleep.’

‘Before I travel to Sedroc?’

‘Before you travel to Sedroc.’

She moved away from him then, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Why can’t it be anyone else? Why does it have to be me?’

A couple of paces brought him to her side. The mattress dipped under his weight, the tightly packed straw rustling within the linen sacking as he sat down next to her. ‘Because I want you there. I trust you.’

She closed her eyes, the enormity of the decision tearing at her heart. ‘But Sylvie…?’

‘Will be protected until we return. She will be safe.’ He pushed back a soft tendril that fell across the flush of her cheek.

Emmeline studied her hands folded neatly in the lap of her dress, trying to ignore the heated touch of his fingers. The message from her heart was clear…go with him! Go with him! She lifted her head, her mind absorbing the fine details of the chamber: the scented, fresh rushes strewn over the wide, oak floorboards; the smell of freshly laundered linens on the bed; the earthenware bowl filled with water to wash in. ‘Stephen’s soldiers will stay with her?’ Her voice wobbled uncertainly.

‘Stephen has already agreed to it.’

‘Then I’ll go.’ Slowly she expelled the breath from her lungs, throwing a faint smile in his direction.

‘Thank you, Emmeline.’ His hand curled around to the nape of her neck. ‘You are so different from her.’

‘Not so very different, Talvas. Remember, you loved her once.’

His hand fell away, resting on the bed between them. ‘I thought I did.’ His clipped, raw response jolted her. ‘Seeing her again…after all those years…it brought it all back again.’

She searched the devilish shadows of his face. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered.

‘We were betrothed to marry. The wedding day had been agreed, although we had begun to argue. She wanted me to accept my father’s lands and estates, but I was determined to make my own way first, to earn a living from the sea.’

He lifted his eyes, encountering her assessing gaze, the limpid quality of her beauty. ‘We were both stubborn.’

‘She hated the poverty we had to endure after my father’s death.’ Emmeline’s voice echoed softly in the chamber. ‘She couldn’t bear it.’

‘So she thought she’d find herself a rich husband by working on my father’s estate?’ Talvas laughed hollowly. He stuck his legs out before him, flexing his ankles. The leather straps that criss-crossed his muscled calves strained against the movement. ‘Too bad she set her sights on the wrong man.’ His eyes glittered with memories. ‘Maybe if I’d forced her to marry me, rather than letting her run, then…’ The rich timbre of his voice trailed to nothing.

‘Your baby might have lived?’ Emmeline shook her head sadly. Her fingers moved to catch his, enfolding his rough digits within her own. He squeezed her hand, acknowledging the silent reassurance.

‘Mayhap,’ he muttered. The touch of her fingers sent the briefest sense of release fluttering through his torso, a lightening of pressure that had bound him tightly for all these years. The thick weight of his hatred toward Sylvie began to dissolve, melting slowly by degrees. His eyes sought the bright, vivacious face beside him, cupping her face in his hand, planting a kiss on her forehead. ‘Thank you, Emmeline.’ Under the burning press of his lips, her skin was silky cool.

‘It’s nothing more than you have done for me,’ She whispered.

‘Nay,’ he growled, lifting his lips and drawing her toward his hard frame, ‘’tis something far more, something that cannot be put into words, but it is there. It exists between us. And both you and I know it.’

A
frisson
of excitement burst through her limbs. Side by side on the bed, a hair’s breadth of air separated them.

He touched one finger to the sweet curve of her cheek. She shuddered.

‘Nay, do not fear me, Emmeline. Just one word from you and I will stop.’

She swayed fractionally toward him, his touch kindling a spiral of desire. He made her feel alive, shot through with unknown, peculiar feelings. Her mind spun; tentatively she touched the fullness of his bottom lip, tracing the generous curve. His mouth parted, the hot surge of his breath caressing her skin. She leaned into him, brushing her lips against his: a movement of trust, an avowal of passion. The touch of his cool, pliant mouth sent a spasm of excitement rippling, unchecked, within her. He groaned, catching her to the hard, muscled contours of his body, a flush of desire staining his cheeks. What did he do to her, this wild man of the sea, this rough pirate who touched her as if she were the most precious thing in the world? As his hands moved around her shoulders, sketching across her neck to cup her heart-shaped chin, simple
logic teetered on the edge of chaos, a swirling, unknown maelstrom that implored and encouraged her, urging her to jump.

His hands caught impatiently in her hair, wanting it free. Tracking each braid down to its end, he tugged at the leather bindings that held each plait in place. Her silken hair slipped from the bondage, a glorious mass of shining loops that spilled over her shoulders.

‘So beautiful,’ he murmured, his eyes drinking in the tumbling curtain that fell past her hips. His fingers spread through the strands around her face, sweeping it back to expose the delicate curve of her neck. He kissed the pale skin just beneath her ear, sending delicious sensations direct to her heart.

She drew back. ‘Nay it’s too much!’ Her breath came in short, trembling pants.

He laughed softly, his breath fanning her cheek. ‘This is just the beginning,
chérie.
’ He studied the beautiful contours of her face; this brave, determined maid, whose courage had, by turns, amazed and frustrated him. The light of the torch painted her gleaming skin with a pearl-like lustre, her black lashes splayed out over rose-flushed cheeks, the green of her eyes darkened with the intensity of passion.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. His mouth crushed upon hers with a wild, compelling insistence, fuelling a hunger like he’d never felt before. Tilting his head back for a moment, his breathing rapid, he touched unsteady fingers to the luminescence of her skin, the flushed curve of her cheek: a touch of wonderment, of dreamlike quality.

‘Do you realise what will happen?’

She nodded.

‘Do you want it to stop?’ he demanded.

‘Nay.’ Her voice, low, caught slightly.

Desire blistered through him, raging uncontrolled through his blood, a tide of rapture. His fingers shook as he tore at the
fussy lacings of her
bliaut,
dragging the garment over her head, swiftly followed by her underdress. He feasted his eyes on her delicate curves that tempted him beneath the chemise, finally ripping at the fragile linen in frustration, to expose the magnificence of her naked skin.

He groaned, devouring the roundness of her breasts, the flare of her hips curving out from a tiny waist. He tore at his own clothes, ripping off his tunic, his undershirt, then his braies, throwing them in a heap to the floor. As he lowered himself beside her, her hesitating fingers moved over the taut planes of his chest.

‘I’ve never touched a man like this before,’ She whispered.

He frowned. The light pads of her fingers trailed over the dark hairs of his chest, amazed at the solidity of his frame.

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied gently. He allowed her hands to explore until he could no longer bear it, then stretched out beside her, hauling her soft curves alongside him. The naked sinew against her own seemed to stagger her; ripples of surprise jolted through her body, his arousal evident against her soft thighs. His mouth sought hers once more; she responded to the strength of his kiss like a flower blossoming in sunlight, hesitation fading rapidly under the scorching onslaught of his mouth as she dissolved into the volatile chaos of rapture.

‘Mother of Mary, what do you do to me?’ she gasped.

Talvas moved over her then, the brilliant sapphire of his eyes full of promise. In the shadows, the solid frame of his chest appeared as polished metal, burnished in the glow of the torch. Emmeline relished the heavy feel of him as he pressed her down into the fragrant straw mattress, his broad hands enclosing the beautiful fragility of her face. The radiant turquoise of his eyes fired with passion, with urgency, as he touched one finger to a soft blond curl that had fallen across her flushed cheek.

‘Are you certain?’

She surveyed the sensuous angles of his face, the wide curve of his bottom lip, the striking upward slash of his brows, and knew that she had never been more certain in her whole life. If they only had this one moment together, she would cherish it for ever.

‘Aye, Talvas. I am.’

He smiled at her, hungrily, wedging the long length of his body along her slim flank, wrapping a length of her hair around his wrist. Fastening his lips to hers, he plundered the sweetness there, before trailing his mouth downwards. Flickers of intense pleasure lapped her body in waves, a sense of building intimacy, of rapidly dissolving self-restraint.

‘I…I’ve never felt this way before,’ she gasped in wonder. His fingers sought the core of her womanhood and she coloured at the hot wetness he discovered there. Noting her reddened cheeks he levered his upper body up on thick arms roped with sinew, a sheen of perspiration on his face.

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, dearling.’

The soft endearment whispered in her ear pushed her body to bursting point, the blood hurtling uncontrollably in her veins. He pushed into her then, slowly, carefully, the heavy nub of his manhood testing her readiness as her body screamed silently for more. She moaned, lifting her legs around him, shifting her weight so she could match his steady progress, urging him onwards. Throwing her arms back against the pillow, she lifted her upper body from the bed, yearning, trying to reach for something, a pleasure unknown, never attained.

He began to move within her, a surging, bursting force that plunged her into a whirling cavern of need. She matched his determined movements with a wildness, a frenzy of her own, desperate to achieve that pinnacle of desire that her body sang out for. Together, they rocked to and fro, the two of them as
one. The reins of her conscious thought slipped and loosened, trailing uselessly, her limbs shaking as stars peppered the blackness of her mind.

‘Talvas, I…Sweet Jesu!’ she cried as he plunged into her and the straining, pulsing bubble burst as her whole body arched with blistering violence, heaving and quaking. A scream tore from her lips. Talvas threw his head back as he shuddered in tandem, reaching his own climax. He collapsed on her, aftershocks rippling his frame, his body slick with sweat and she threw her arms around him, holding his large body close.