Always Mine (38 page)

“She straddled a man. She combed her fingers through her lover’s ebony hair and fanned it over the pillow. I didn’t even know I drew my sword until I heard the rasp as it left the scabbard. Genevieve stiffened. Her head whipped around and she stared at me.

“I yelled at her to move aside. My voice quavered like someone ancient.” He looked down, shamed. “She screamed at me to get out. Called me a Scot’s whoreson and asked why I was not in Rouen mewling with my mother’s family. Hate filled each word she spat at me. She hovered over her lover, protected him with her own flesh.” Damron squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“I tossed her aside, then raised my sword high. When I spied her lover’s face, I froze. At the same time, another head popped up from beneath the covers beside them. My sword crashed to the floor.”

“By all the saints, Damron. Who were the men?” Mereck sprawled back, his legs stretched wide in front of him.

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“Nay. ’Twas but one man. Clasped between Genevieve’s legs was Danielle, the most beautiful, the most licentious woman in William’s court. Beside her, his eyes near bursting from his head, was Robert.” Seeing Mereck’s brows rise in alarm, he nodded.

“Aye. King William’s eldest son. Neither was an opponent I could meet on the field.” Damron drained his cup and held it out for Mereck to refill.

“I felt stunned. Heartsick. Serene as if she rose from a night’s sleep, Danielle rose and draped a sheet around her naked body, lifted her dainty hand and blew me a kiss, then sauntered out the door. A crowd had gathered there on hearing Genevieve’s screams.

Smiling, she passed through everyone there. She was unaffected by what had happened.”

“For God’s love, brother. Did you kill Genevieve?” Mereck swallowed, his stiff face mirroring Damron’s horror.

“Nay. By rights, I could have. Still, my humiliation did not end there. Not even with the shame of having half the court gaping into my chambers and chortling at my expense. That came when Genevieve spewed her hate at me. She screamed that I was a mis-begotten, wretched nithing of a man. Said I repulsed her with my gentle hands and soft embraces.

“Afore I knew what she was about, she swooped down and grabbed my sword. She slashed me from my groin down to my knee. She meant to geld me. ’Twas Robert who wrenched the sword from her.”

“Brother, ne’er did I suspect a woman gave you such a wound. How did you not die of it?” Mereck’s face paled.

“Aye, Mereck. Robert clamped hold of my leg and screamed for his father. The king was already sweeping into the room. William’s physician saved my life; William’s influence secured a speedy annulment.”

Mereck’s lips twisted in a bleak, tight-lipped smile. “Ah, Damron, ’tis a blessing I, and not you, am the one called Baresark. I fear I would have struck first and been drawn and quartered

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for killing the king’s son.” He leaned forward and shook his head.

“From what you told me afore about Genevieve, Brianna is nothing like her. Your little wife is gentle. Loyal. By far, too much in love to betray you.”

Damron’s gaze studied Mereck’s face, hoping he had seen into Brianna’s mind and judged her right.

Mereck swept his long hair back from his face with an impatient hand and stood. “Rest now, brother. I will gather the men and inspect each for scratches. All are loyal to you. I dinna think I will find any marks not caused by practice. We will get to the bottom of who plotted this.” He clapped Damron on the shoulder and left the room.

Damron leaned over Brianna to cover her bare shoulders.

At his touch, she cried out and tried to scramble from the bed.

“Brianna, calm yerself, ’tis me.” Her eyes cleared, and she grabbed his shirt in a frenzy of fear. She flung her arms about his neck, panting and shaking.

“Tell me what happened, wife. Did ye think ye welcomed another to yer bed?” Damron couldn’t shake the memory of Genevieve in bed with her lovers from his mind.

“You can’t believe that. Someone came in. He forced milk down my throat. When I tried to scream, he put his hand over my mouth.”

“Did he say anythin’? Do ye know who came to ye?”

Damron stared at her, waiting for her to admit she knew who had crept into her bed.

Brianna swallowed. “Someone whispered my name. I woke and saw a man in black clothing beside the bed.”

“And? Did he wear aught else?”

“A mask over his head. A cloak. He called me ‘little love.’

It didn’t sound like you. When I struggled, he cursed and said

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he had warned me at the waterfall that I would be his.” She shuddered when Damron’s gaze bored into hers.

“For a moment, I thought it might be Eric. I told him to get out. He grabbed me and poured milk down my throat. That’s when I saw his eyes and knew it wasn’t Eric. This man’s eyes were close-set. Nearly without lashes. His hands were scarred and calloused, his fingers short.”

“Had it been Eric, would ye have fought so hard?” Damron stiffened with jealousy.

Brianna shoved him away, clutched the sheet and wrapped it tightly around her swollen stomach. “You don’t deserve an answer, Damron. I vowed to be faithful to you.”

Guardian wobbled around the room, and when he sniffed the rug beside the bed, he bared his teeth and growled ferociously. The hackles on his neck stood up while he searched the room and over to the door.

Damron’s eyes narrowed, watching the wolf. He went over to hold him by the ruff, and opened the door. Mari waited there, her eyes fearful.

“Mari, stay with yer mistress. Dinna leave her alone, should ye need to fetch anythin’.”

Mari bobbed her head and scurried around the growling wolf. He glanced back to see her go to Brianna and grasp her hand, crooning as she smoothed Brianna’s hair back from her face.

He released Guardian and followed him down the back stairwell, through the rear courtyard, across the bailey and to the postern gate. The wolf sniffed the ground, savage growls rumbling from his chest. At each place the beast stopped, Damron searched the ground, hoping the culprits left a clue in their hurry. In a wooded area twenty paces outside the gate, Guardian whined and ran around in circles, sniffing. From the churned-up grass, Damron knew ’twas where the louts had mounted horses and fled.

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He ordered a patrol to enter the woods, though he knew whoever had been there was long gone.

After the sun set, Damron went to Eric’s room and found him awake. He squinted painfully from the candle Damron held close, and he groaned and grasped his head.

Damron leaned so close his nose near touched Eric’s. “How came ye to be in my bed, with my wife, naked as the day ye were born?”

“What! In your bed?” Eric struggled to sit up. “Naked? How?”

“’Tis what I am askin’.” Damron’s lips thinned to a hard line.

“Damron, the last I remember is climbing to the battlements to meet Cook’s daughter in the shadows of the barbican. Someone struck me from behind when I reached there.” He looked around, puzzled. “I was fully clothed. Where are my clothes?”

Damron snorted. “Where ye took them off.”

His face ashen, Eric tried to rise from the bed.

“I dinna ken how ye believe I would play ye false.” Hurt echoed in his voice as he rubbed his pounding forehead.

“Marcus said if Mereck hadna stopped ye, ye would have dealt the fatal blow afore learning the truth.” He struggled to reach a bucket as his stomach emptied its contents.

“My blade would not have struck ye, Eric. I would have come to my senses afore it reached yer flesh.” Damron held him about his shoulders until the last spasms quieted, wiped his face and coaxed him to drink more of the liquid Bleddyn had prepared for him.

He stayed with Eric until he rested. When Damron sought his own room, David and Guardian were outside his door.

Meghan sat beside Brianna, and he nodded and motioned for her to leave. The bed shifted with his weight when he slid between the sheets. Brianna cried out in her sleep. He put his arms around her, and she thrashed around until his murmurs

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soothed her. When he felt his bairn kicking and refusing to rest, he put his face against her stomach and sang, his voice soft. Soon, both Brianna and the babe quieted.

Brianna no longer sought Damron out by day, and during mealtimes, she was quiet and withdrawn.

At night, it was like a switch had turned off her passion.

His touch didn’t thrill her as it had before. He caressed and kissed her body, even whispered erotic thoughts, as he patiently tried to arouse her. She became slick and ready for him, but her passion did not mount enough to gain her own release. Finally, he could wait no longer.

Damron felt her mental withdrawal from him. She no longer caught fire at his lightest touch as she had before. Did she pine for another? Distrust ate at him and struck him where it hurt the most: his heart.

He still had not found who had attacked Brianna. He ordered Mereck to question the men, for Mereck had inherited his mother’s ability to hear another’s thoughts when he put his mind to it.

But Mereck could find no one who had seen or heard anything that could give them a clue who had attacked Brianna and Eric.

It preyed on Damron’s mind until it consumed him.

He watched the men around him, and he became angry over the slightest things. If the stable boy did not have Angel ready and waiting when Damron stepped out into the bailey, he yelled until the poor lad quivered. During weapons practice, if a warrior took mere moments to gain his breath, Damron took him on as an opponent. He battled with him until the man dropped from exhaustion. Damron knew he was being the Demon that Brianna had called him on first coming into his life, but he could not stop himself.

One night, his anger spilled over into the very worst place, his bedchamber. Brianna’s stomach had increased, and he had

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been entering her sweet center from behind to spare any pressure on the bairn. He wooed and aroused her, until she was ready to accept him. He guided his engorged shaft to her entrance and rubbed it around her nether lips, keeping up the gentle pressure of his fingers on her slick nub.

“Yield to me, love,” he whispered, his cheek pressed to hers.

She stiffened. He lifted his head and saw her eyes squeezed tight and her teeth clamped together. Though her body had yielded, her heart had not. He wanted all of her, not just her flesh—he wanted her very soul. Anger streaked through him.

“Ye give me only yer body, Brianna. Ye dinna want my love. I must thank ye for stirrin’ my blood enough to pleasure another, who will not hesitate to give me her all.”

He had not thought before he spoke. Pride had put the words in his mouth; pride kept him from taking them back.

Damron heard her shocked cry. His hands clenched at the sound, but he steeled himself not to relent. Pictures of Genevieve and her lovers pummeled his mind, followed by the images of Brianna and Eric sprawled on his bed. Within a couple of heartbeats, he was up and out of their room, his robe belted tight around his body.

He made his way to Angel’s stall, wrapped himself in a wool blanket, and sat propped against the hard wall. He would never go to another for solace, nor would he break his vows to her.

Why had Brianna not fought with him as she had before she began increasing with his child? The way he had baited her, she should have spat and clawed at him. It would show she had some feelings for him, some tenderness.

He needed proof Brianna loved him, that she needed him with her heart and soul. But she had ignored him as if he did not exist.

Miserable and hating himself for what he had done, Damron slumped there in a corner of the stall until the first bells of matins.

Chapter 23

Brianna’s soul was breaking. Dark shadows smudged beneath eyes that saw little, for they looked inward to her thoughts.

How could Damron have thought for even a moment that she could be as treacherous as Genevieve?

Suddenly, a glimmer of understanding struck Brianna. He did have good reason to doubt her. From the start, she had not been wholly honest with him. He had sensed her secrecy and thought she was withholding her love for him. How could she have told him she came from far into the future? Surely a medieval man would think her insane or possessed, like Elise’s great-grandmother Elyn. Or worse yet, believe she was a witch.

She grew listless and talked little. For the babe’s sake, she walked daily and willed all the nourishment and energy she had into the little growing body inside her. To comfort herself as much as the babe, she wrapped her arms around her swollen belly and smoothed and patted the babe nestled there.

One day, Bleddyn strode up to Damron, grasped his shoulder in a demanding grip and urged him toward a deserted corner of the outer bailey. He turned to face Damron, his face stern.

“Brianna cannot keep on in this way, Damron, or she will

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not live through the birthing.” Bleddyn’s lips thinned and his voice was deathly quiet. “If you had thrust a knife into her body, it would have been less painful than what you did that night.”

“How did ye know? Did yer mind intrude in our bed?”

Damron’s nostrils flared, his chin stuck out in defiance.

“Her soul was in such torment, how could I not know?”

Bleddyn lips curled in disgust.

“If Brianna was yer wife, would ye not do the same, if ye knew she did not love ye?” His voice rose and broke. Spasms crossed his face.

“Brianna would never break her vow. She would not allow another in her bed, and well you know it.”

“’Tis not her bed but her heart and soul that are not mine.

When I touch her, I feel her yearning. She has ne’er given me all of her.” His tone dropped near a whisper. “Though she denied it afore, I think ’tis Sir Galan she still loves.” He whirled and hurried away.

Damron made every effort to please Brianna. He neither left her bed, nor tormented her with his jealousy. She slept more soundly, and the shadows beneath her eyes began to fade. On clear days, she spent most of her time outdoors.