Virginia Henley (27 page)

Suddenly she was desperately fighting the urge to touch him. In her imagination she wanted to rub her breasts across his back, to let her belly rub against his buttocks. She wanted to glide her tongue over his skin and taste the salty, manly taste of him. Her body had
become all nerve endings so that every inch of her skin tingled, and as the tightness of her lower body became unbearable, she let her imagination have its way. She fantasized that he released a breath that was half a sigh, half a moan. She dreamed that he turned to her and pulled her hips to his mouth; then his tongue began to dance over the delicate folds, teasing between her legs until the sensual ripples snaked upward into her belly. She moaned, and her hand reached out to caress him. Roger awoke instantly. As in her imagining a few moments before, he turned and lifted her hips to his mouth. “I dreamed that you let me love you this way,” he breathed huskily.

Wildly, she thought it impossible that they had shared the same dream.

“Let me love you, Roseanna!”

She was shocked beyond anything she’d ever known as his tongue began its devilish dance in and out of her hot, throbbing womanliness. She tried to stop him, but an inner voice told her it was the most wickedly thrilling sensation she would ever experience, and she let him go on for long minutes. Finally she begged him to stop, but he was not ready to give up her sweetness. The throbbing pulse where his tongue thrust became heavier, threatening to erupt, yet he went on and on until she cried out and arched up from the bed. Finally, when the explosion came, it brought with it the most blissful feeling she’d ever known. Everything was totally new and exciting. The spark of sensuality had ignited into an explosion of erotic sex. He had her primed and willing now, and he wasn’t about to let her retreat behind her cold, rigid barrier yet.

His hot mouth moved up her throat, and he murmured
into her ear, “Whisper to me your secret fantasies. What wicked reveries delight you?” She could not answer him, for she was beyond words. So he whispered his wicked desires to her and finished, “I would like to do that with you! Let me love you again, Roseanna, before daylight comes and makes you circumspect!”

She reached out, and her fingers closed around his swollen shaft. He groaned his pleasure, and they were shamelessly hungry for each other again. Her breath was ragged, and he knew her desires were as great as his. Her sighs of delight as his pulsing shaft thrust deep told him that she received almost as much pleasure as did he. She caught his rhythm and moved with him until they were both lost in the throes of passion. His seed thundered into her; her enjoyment was so intense, she almost fainted. His body shook with a great shudder of intense pleasure as he filled her with his love.

At dawn he slipped from her bed, taking infinite care not to disturb her. He caught his breath at her loveliness. Her hair was disheveled, and it suited her. She was wildly beautiful. He silently cursed his state of erection as he yearned for a time when they could awaken together. Then he would reach for her, and she would open to him and welcome his advances. The nightmare had shaken him, although he kept the lurid details to himself. In the dream when she’d been missing, he had searched for Roseanna and had found her dead, exactly as he had found Janet. His face grim, he silently put on his robe and went softly from the chamber.

Roseanna spent the morning visiting Rebecca. She wasn’t surprised to learn that Tristan had spent the night with her. Their relationship was much improved; Rebecca was eager for Tristan’s return from Ravenglass, for if the political situation seemed quiet, they would all be traveling back to Ravenspur.

“Did Roger tell you how long they would be away?” asked Rebecca hopefully.

Roseanna shook her head. “We didn’t speak of it. I assume they’ll be gone about two weeks, but I suppose it could be much less. Ravenglass is about sixty miles from here. If they ride hard, they could get there in a day.”

Rebecca sighed. “The thought of moving the entire household again fatigues me, but I’ll be glad to go home. I’ve had enough of the frozen North.”

“I’m looking forward to going to Ravenspur Castle. I haven’t seen my real home yet,” said Roseanna.

“Oh, you’ll love it. It’s so much prettier than this place. It doesn’t seem like a castle at all. In the spring and summer the gardens are like a picture, and the parkland
between Ravenspur and the house where Tristan and I live is ideal for riding. It’s nothing like the wild moors up here.”

“I rather like these hills and dales, although they seem like mountains to me. I suppose I’d better get Kate Kendall started on the packing if we are about to move households. I’ll consult with Mr. Burke; he knows everything that’s going on, and he usually has everything under control.”

Her mind was already busy with the horses. They’d take them all back to Ravenspur, taking special care with the three mares that were in foal. She’d have to speak again with Thomas about the white horses that those monks were known to breed. Now that she had money, she intended to buy a mare or two to breed with the Arabian.

That evening, she again dined in her chamber rather than go down to the dining hall, which would be empty except for servants and the castle women. Afterward, she took a notion to explore Ravenspur’s chamber. What a great opportunity to satisfy her curiosity about the chamber—aye, and about the man! His possessions would give her insight into his personality and perhaps his weaknesses.

In his room she blushed at the sight of the bed, yet she spent a pleasant hour touching his belongings, looking into coffers and cabinets, and admiring his rich clothes, which were hung in two large wardrobes. One, she noticed, smelled of exotic sandalwood, while the other held the scent of newly mown hay from the herb woodruff.

Already she had known him for a fastidious man; now she realized how neat and organized he was. The room was furnished richly, and she could tell he loved luxury;
yet she knew he was Spartan enough to survive any hardship. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and tossed her head in disdain. A mirror, indeed! To admire himself, no doubt. He was an arrogant and prideful devil, too.

She was aghast when the ache inside her began. In a panic she fled the room to dispel his influence. She closed the door with a soft thud to return to her own chamber, but as she passed the doorway that led up to the barbican tower, she came face to face with Sir Bryan. He was carrying a shuttered lantern, which he quickly set down, and he drew her into his arms. “Oh, Roseanna, my heart bleeds for lack of you.”

She reached up to caress his face tenderly. “My sweet Bryan, don’t pine for me. It breaks my heart.”

He pulled her into the shadow of the doorway lest anyone see them. She glanced up the stairs to the barbican tower. “What were you doing up there?” she whispered.

“I go up there to be alone—to compose verses to you.” She felt his breath upon her cheek; he sounded so young and sincere that she almost melted. “It must be freezing up there. What manner of lantern is that?” she puzzled.

“The shutters are for closing so the drafty winds cannot blow out the light.”

Roseanna accepted his explanation, yet in the recesses of her mind she knew shuttered lanterns served a dual purpose.

When he whispered, “May I kiss you?” her heart nearly burst with pity. He demanded nothing but the crumbs that were left over from Ravenspur’s table. She lifted her mouth to his and found his lips cold. They remained fused together until her warmth entered him.
She wanted to take him to her cozy chamber where they could be warm and private and share their precious thoughts, but she knew she must not. “Go down to the kitchens for something warm to eat and drink. I’ll meet you there as if by accident. We can talk before the fire. None can deny us such a small pleasure.”

They shared a high-backed settle before the enormous kitchen fireplace, sipping slowly on warmed ale and gazing into the flames.

“Does Ravenspur hurt you?” he asked.

She was startled at his question but answered truthfully, “No. Why do you ask?”

“He murdered his last wife, and I’ve learned the unspeakable way he did it. She was raped with his dagger!”

Roseanna recoiled, horrified at his accusation. “Nay, Bryan, I’ll not believe it. Where did you hear such foul slander?”

“One of his own men told me. Ravenspur was arrested for the murder, and only the fact that the King intervened on his behalf saved his neck.”

“If the King believed him innocent, then so do I,” she said firmly because the alternative was unthinkable.

“Roseanna, the King didn’t give a damn if his best friend was innocent or guilty. The woman was unfaithful and got what she deserved, or so most men would think.”

Roseanna shuddered. She had given herself up totally to Ravenspur in the night, to do with as he willed! She blocked the dark memories and looked around to see if they were observed. What she was doing now with Sir Bryan could be construed as faithlessness by tale-carriers.

Bryan touched her hand tenderly, “Best go now, Roseanna. I won’t approach you again unless we are chaperoned.”

Bless him,
she thought.
He knows exactly what danger he puts me in and would protect me

That night as she lay in bed, she worried that her dreams would be filled with unspeakable horrors because of what Sir Bryan had told her. But as she hovered on the brink of sleep, a deep longing began, a need to be enfolded and held by a pair of incredibly strong arms. Then as she slipped into sleep, she felt her husband’s big body cover hers. He filled her with his long, thick manroot and covered her with kisses until she almost drowned in his overpowering love.

When Roseanna awoke, she lay in her lonely bed, and Sir Bryan’s accusations washed over her. Damn it, she’d not let her mind go over and over it, filling her with sick dread.

She threw back the covers, dressed quickly, and sought out Mr. Burke. Although the hour was early, he had been about his duties since dawn. She found him in the small room he called the steward’s office. She closed the door quietly and sat facing him across his desk.

“Mr. Burke, I beg you to answer my questions. No one else can help me.”

Instinctively he knew what was coming, and knew he would not resist her appeal.

“Ravenspur’s wife Janet was murdered. Is it true she had been raped with a knife?”

He nodded slowly. “She was mutilated. The knife was found beside her body.”

“Ravenspur’s knife?” she pressed.

He nodded again.

“He was arrested for the murder?” she asked.

Mr. Burke said quickly, “The verdict was not guilty!”

She looked deeply into his eyes and asked softly, “Mr.
Burke, was he guilty? I need the truth. Tell me what you know.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve told no one this—you are the first and the last. I caught a glimpse of a man leaving her chamber late that night, before I went in and found her. I do not know who it was. It could have been Roger, or it could have been Tristan. If it was Tristan, what could have been his motive? I’ve asked myself a thousand times.” He shook his head and said low, “And if it was Roger, I prefer to think he found her like that and delivered a merciful coup de grace.”

“You truly cannot be sure of the identity?”

He shook his head. “He was tall and dark and coming from her private chamber.”

She shuddered. “Thank you, Mr. Burke. I appreciate your confidence, especially since I know that your loyalty to Ravenspur rules your life.”

Suddenly she had to get outside into the cool fresh air or faint. She went blindly down the main staircase, past the great dining hall, out into the courtyard. Pigeons and dogs scattered before her as she sought a place where she could be alone to sort out her thoughts. One voice inside her head screamed that the man they had bonded her to for a lifetime could not be a vicious murderer.
Why not? Why not?
another voice mocked.
You know nothing of him!

She had not noticed that it had begun to snow. All at once she looked down at her hand and saw very clearly one perfect snowflake. Then as surely and as clearly as she saw its perfection, it came to her that she knew everything there was to know of this man Roger Montford, Baron of Ravenspur. His touch had told her that her body was precious to him. He had truly honored her with
his body, as he had pledged in his marriage vows. His body was strong and powerful, but there was no cruelty in him, no evil. For the first time in the clear light of day, she allowed herself to relive their nights of love together, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that those loving hands could be trusted with a woman’s body. Not with just her body but with any woman’s body; she would stake her life on it.

A weight was suddenly lifted from her heart. She was no longer afraid of him, and it was a wonderful feeling. They could fight and argue, have totally conflicting views, and drive each other to madness with their willful pride, but she knew she had nothing to fear from him— except that he might be able to make her love him. She pushed the thought away, regained her composure, and returned to the castle.