My Gallant Enemy Part 8

"After tonight you will be," he stated as he lifted her heavy hair from her shoulders.

Lilliane did not try to run, but she could not prevent flinching when his hand drew near, and it darkened his features. Then slowly and deliberately he cupped her face in his broad palm and bent down to her. For a long trembling moment he stared deeply into her eyes until Lilliane closed her lids in self-defense. When his lips captured hers it was in a kiss of pure possession. She wanted to resist him, but Corbett would not relent. His lips moved over hers with an expertise that left her gasping for breath. He seemed to envelop her: with his body, with his very will. He was as hard as granite, his arms were like steel bands, and his hands would not give up their hold.

And yet his lips were soft. In spite of her wish to deny him, her mind still registered that fact.

When his tongue traced a sensuous path along her lips she felt weak; if he had released her she knew she would have collapsed. But it was not a part of his plans to free her from his embrace, she thought even as she grew more and more pliant beneath his kiss. He planned to precede the wedding ceremony with the wedding night. He would have her and plant his hated Colchester seed within her and love be d.a.m.ned.

A sob caught in her throat. Even worse, respect be d.a.m.ned. She'd not expected to find love with her chosen husband, at least not at first. But surely respect!

Yet despite all logic, Lilliane could feel herself responding to him. Without warning he swept her off her feet and crossed to the sheepskin bed. She tried to twist away as he lowered her, but it was futile. He flung himself down on the pallet and trapped her at once beneath his long, heavy frame.

"No! No, don't do this," Lilliane protested as she tried to evade his quick hands. But he was swifter than she and he easily removed her loose kirtle from her. She heard his sharp intake of breath when he flung the kirtle aside.

All the fight left her then. Her only concern was to hide her nakedness from him. But Corbett would have none of it, and he quickly captured her hands.

"I hate you!" she whispered as he planted a kiss on the side of her neck. Her soft tone did not disguise her heated emotion, for she sought to convince herself of the truth of the words as much as she hoped to hurt him.

"You may very well hate me. But beneath your coldness I have seen your fire. It is your choice, Lily. Stay cold and unresponsive, doing only your minimal wifely duties. Or be a true wife and meet me with all the pa.s.sion I know you have within you."

But she was not his wife, she told herself. Nor would she admit that she felt any pa.s.sion for him at all. She closed her eyes tightly, willing herself to feel nothing. But when he gently caressed her cheek then slid his fingers down her neck, she could not control the terrible trembling that shook her body. Nor could she prevent the two tears that squeezed from beneath her dark lashes. It was the final humiliation, and her throat constricted with her effort not to sob.

Then she felt a tender kiss on first one eye and then the other, and she came completely undone. Like a torrent the tears came, hot and salty, and seemingly endless. She felt the s.h.i.+ft of Corbett's weight as he drew a little back from her. With his thumb he tried to wipe her tears away. When that did not work, he used his s.h.i.+rt. Yet the more he tried to banish her tears, the harder they came.

She heard his soft muttered oath, then he lay down beside her and pulled her close against him. With hands at first awkward he began to smooth her tangled hair and gently stroke her back.

"Hush, Lily. Hush," he whispered in her ear. "It's nothing to fear."

When her weeping did not abate, he tried to make her face him. "You must stop this crying. You're making yourself sick."

But she did not want to hear. She was afraid of him and the way he made her feel, first so angry and then so weak and warm. Like a miserable child she tried to hide her face from his astute scrutiny. Corbett, however, would not allow it. With hands that were gentle but firm, he rolled her onto her back and positioned himself above her. Then he began to kiss her.

First her eyes. Then her cheeks and forehead. Her chin was next, then down along her jawline in small nibbling kisses. And all the while his hands played with her thick, waving hair.

Beneath her the curling sheep's wool tickled her skin while above his weight was disturbingly warm. Her hands were no longer imprisoned, and yet she did not think to fight him off. Sensing her new pliancy, Corbett moved his kiss to her throat. Lilliane felt a quiver inside her as his lips slid down her tender flesh. At the small hollow of her throat his tongue made a small wet circle and her heart began to beat more rapidly.

The thought occurred to her that she should end this utter madness, and she squirmed in mild protest. But that only brought his weight more firmly against her belly and sent the most alarming sensation coursing through her. Then his mouth moved in the most enticing patterns to her ear. Around the delicate pink edge his tongue licked and explored as his hot breath set her atremble.

Suddenly Lilliane was no longer chilled at all. Instead she was hot and restless and tense with antic.i.p.ation. A small part of her recognized that he was seducing her. He knew exactly what to do and he'd probably done it many, many times before. But she could not make herself stop him.

When his hand found her bare breast, a small cry escaped her. But just as quickly his lips were on hers to quiet her, to please her, to make her forget her fear. His tongue slid along her lips, gently forcing entrance into her sweet mouth and making her quiver with delight. On two fronts he pressed his advantage, teasing her nipples with agonizing patience even as he coaxed her into returning his kisses.

The feel of Corbett's tongue against hers was staggering. Deep within her feminine core something wonderful and terrifying was happening. She fairly ached with some unknown need that heated her through and through, and made every inch of her skin sensitive beyond belief. She was not aware of his knee forcing her thighs apart, for she was too intoxicated by the exquisite feel of his tongue dancing with hers. She did not protest when his hand swept heatedly across her belly, for that was when he began to kiss her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

First down the smooth valley between them, then slowly up to one aching nipple and then the other. Lilliane was arching off the sheepskin bed, offering herself to him fully as she felt the excitement building within her. Somehow her hands had found him, one tangling in his hair while the other moved shakily over his shoulders and back.

Then she felt his hand move between her thighs. As if he knew precisely where this need of hers was centered, his finger slid along her wet woman's place, driving her nearly to madness. Around and around his finger circled the sensitive nub until she was mindless with the sheer pleasure of it.

She was trembling; her skin was covered with a fine sheen of dampness, s.h.i.+ning gold in the fire's light. She wanted more of this wonderful terrible madness, and she groaned in agony when he paused to remove the last of his own clothing. Then she felt the heated length of him press hard against her. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid his body down along hers, letting her feel the thick shaft of his masculinity. Her breath caught and she stared into his face, suddenly alarmed at what was happening.

But it was far too late for her to try to stop him. She felt him, hot and probing, as he sought the entrance to her most feminine and private place, and she started to protest. But his mouth silenced her even as he slid into her. His kiss was exquisite, deep and pa.s.sionate, drawing all that was sweet from her and giving her back pa.s.sion and fire. But even that was not enough to block out the sudden tearing pain of his complete entry.

"No!" She twisted her face away, unaware of the tears that sprang to her eyes. But it was useless. She could not escape the heavy weight of him, nor the painful reality of his complete possession of her.

In vain she pushed at him, trying to drive him away. But he did not even flinch at her attack; indeed he began to move over her in a slow, rhythmic cadence that she was sure would rip her asunder.

"Oh, please!" she cried weakly, reduced to pleading with him. "Please, don't do this."

"Hush, my sweet," he replied as his lips found hers in a long, lingering kiss. "Don't fight it, Lily. Don't fight me. Just let yourself enjoy it."

"No ... I cannot." She gasped as she tried to avoid his searching mouth. But she should have known better than to oppose him. As he slowly increased the tempo of his movement within her, so did he begin to draw her into the kiss. It was deeper than before, more heated and pa.s.sionate, and it seemed to touch something primitive within her.

She was not at once aware of the changes happening to her. All she knew was that where she had felt only fiery pain a new sort of heat was building. Long and slow, it grew and grew until she could not find it in her to resist any longer.

Corbett's hands were in her hair, holding her face between his callused palms. She arched eagerly into his kiss, welcoming the sensuous lick of his tongue against hers even as she welcomed the increasing thrusts of his lovemaking. Her hands slid over his back, glorying in the strange slick feel of his hot skin beneath her touch. She found the three ridges on his shoulder, the scars of some beast's claws upon him, and in mindless ecstasy she slid her fingertips along them.

She was dizzy with exhilaration and frightened by the way he pushed her beyond her own control. But still she could not deny him. She felt as if she must burst from pure bliss. Then she felt his movements increase to a furious tempo as he seemed to touch the very center of her. His body, so strong and well muscled, tensed over hers, and she felt, then heard, the deep groans of his satisfaction. In a gradually easing pace he slowed his rhythm. His breath was fast and hard in her ear, yet she sensed that he would soon be ending their lovemaking and she felt a stab of intense regret.

She was so close to some elusive, enticing answer. She did not know what it was or how she even knew it existed. But she did not want him to stop. Her arms wrapped tightly around him as if by sheer willpower she could prolong this moment forever. He was like some magnificent, mythical creature sent down to earth for her pleasure. Yet she feared some jealous G.o.d was taking him back now, and she was not ready to let him go.

Lilliane's eyes were tightly closed. Reality was not something she wanted to accept just yet. But when Corbett pulled a little away from her, she could not prevent a small cry of disappointment from escaping her. Still, when he rolled onto his back, bringing her to lay on top of him, she could no longer ignore the fact that she had just behaved like a wanton with this man-and that she had not wanted it to end.

She was in a quandary. Her body still ached with a need she did not at all understand, but her mind was horrified by that very need. She was disloyal and sinful, she told herself as she lay still trembling in his arms. Disloyal to the people who had suffered for five years for the Colchesters' hatred, and sinful to have enjoyed an act so clearly forbidden by the church outside the boundaries of marriage.

She tried to push away from him, but his hand moved possessively down her bare back to rest at her waist. His other hand held her head gently against his chest.

"Be still now," he murmured. "Be still."

His voice was a low rumble in her ear, deep and strangely comforting. When he pulled another of the sheepskins over them, she did not protest. Her mind was whirling with contradictory thoughts, and she fully intended to slip away from his intimate embrace once he fell asleep.

But as his breathing slowed to normal Lilliane relaxed as well. By the time he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her ringless finger, she was soundly asleep.

8.

LILLIANE AWOKE TO A m.u.f.fled curse and the chilling wash of crisp morning air across her bare skin. For one moment she groped for the source of heat that had kept her warm all night. Then an impatient pounding at the door brought her fully awake, and she scrambled for some cover for her nakedness. Sir Corbett was already up, pulling on his braies as he called out to their noisy visitor.

"Hold, man! Give me a minute!"

"Be quick, Corbett," came the voice of Sir Dunn. "Aldis rides not far behind me. He is none too happy with your marriage to begin with. It will take very little to push him to violence if he should find out you've-" The man cleared his throat as he considered his words. "If he should find you abed."

Lilliane's cheeks flamed in embarra.s.sment at his words, and she pulled her meager cover tighter beneath her chin. Across the room Corbett grinned at her rose-flushed features and tangled chestnut hair. With quick efficiency he pulled on his hose and boots.

"Rouse yourself, Lily. Your brother-in-law will soon be upon us, and he's itching for a fight." He paused and let his eyes roam over her. "It would not do for him to find you thus, as appealing as I'll admit you are."

Lilliane had no reply nor did she appreciate his poor attempt at humor. She was too mortified by the memory of her pa.s.sionate response to him, and too awestruck by the vision of him in the early-morning light, to think clearly. He was bare from the waist up; every muscle was lovingly outlined as he bent to pick up his chainse and slip into it. His black hair was falling in his face and curling at his nape, but he was obviously not concerned with his appearance. As he shrugged into his stiffly dried tunic, he turned to face her.

"Dress quickly. I'll wait outside, but not for long," he warned, his expression turning stern. He wrapped his girdle about his waist then paused. "You may tell your tale of woe to your father, but no other. Is that clear? You're to keep any complaints about me to yourself when we join Sir Aldis. I'll not have my men endangered because of our differences."

Lilliane wanted to rail at him as he stood there so calmly preparing to face this day, as if nothing of any importance had happened in this cottage. And to further insult her, he expected her to be silent. To save him from Aldis's wrath! Lilliane's eyes glittered with anger as well as pain when Corbett moved the trunk away from the door and left the cottage without a backward glance.

For several long seconds she just lay among the wool-covered hides, petulant in her need to disobey him. But the thought of Sir Aldis and his men finding her completely unclothed quickly drove her to rise. Although her gown was somewhat damp, Lilliane was forced to don it on top of her poor kirtle. That pitiful garment had been tossed unceremoniously into a far corner, and she blushed to remember everything that had happened after that.

She was without hose or shoes, having lost them both during her failed flight. She managed to lace her gown with what remained of her laces, then tried to put her hair into some order. But when she heard the distant sound of horse hooves, she gave up on that task and hurried outside.

The early-morning sun was so bright as to blind her. The ground was still wet and very cold on her bare feet, but the sky was a clear and vivid blue. In the brilliant morning light the ma.s.sive Middling Stone rose huge and forbidding beyond the shepherd's fields.

Near the shed Corbett was speaking to a small group of his men. They were all mounted save for Corbett and an older man who was examining the injured Qismah. It seemed a calm enough scene, but as Sir Aldis and his group of eight knights rode into the small yard, Lilliane sensed the tension in the air.

"I see you received word of my safe recovery of Lady Lilliane," Corbett began. His tone was friendly as only one who truly does not fear his opponent can be friendly. There was no threat in his words, and yet his very size and confidence seemed to make Sir Aldis hesitate. The contingent from Orrick outnumbered Sir Corbett's men by half. But even Lilliane was sure they were not anxious to cross swords with the more experienced knights.

Sir Aldis glared at Corbett then shot an angry glance toward Lilliane. "And has she been, thus, safely recovered? Has there been no ... no damage done her?" he asked with a sneer.

Corbett stiffened. "Do you cast doubt on the honor of that fair maid-sister to your own wife-that I intend to marry this very day?" This time the menace in his quiet words was unmistakable.

For a long tense moment the two men stared at one another. It was Sir Aldis who broke the silence. "It is not Lady Lilliane's honor I question."

"Then perhaps mine?"

On both sides the knights were alert, and Lilliane was certain they would erupt into battle. It occurred to her as she ran across the yard to them that she was once more succ.u.mbing to Sir Corbett's will, but she knew she could not bear to have anyone's blood spilled over her.

"Hold, Sir Aldis. I beg you!" She placed a hand on the bridle of his horse as she stood, a small, slender figure in the midst of the mighty knights. "I am unharmed, as you may well see. And I want no more than to return to my father's house."

She knew Sir Corbett's eyes were upon her, but Lilliane refused to look at him. She kept her wide amber-gold gaze locked upon her brother-in-law's ruddy face, determined that he should back down from his belligerent position. She knew she looked very much the wanton with her bare feet and wildly tangled hair. Never had she appeared in public so, and Sir Aldis did not miss that fact. But thankfully, he seemed to reconsider the situation and he finally relented.

"As you will have it, Lilliane. But your bridegroom has much to answer for."

"His horse was lamed," Lilliane explained, at last glancing toward Corbett. To her chagrin, a small smile was curving his mouth and she bit her lip in vexation. She was playing right into his hands, and he was enjoying it immensely! She was irked to no end that she must play mediator when she would like nothing better than to see him put in his place. Still, if she did not calm Sir Aldis, she risked seeing bloodshed, and that she would not do. "We were fortunate to find shelter here," she finished weakly.

Sir Aldis only grunted, then signaled one of his men to lift her up behind him. But it was a quiet group that made their way up the turnpike to Orrick.

The sun was past its zenith when they finally made Orrick Castle. Lilliane was mortified to be returned thus: sitting sideways behind an aging knight, her bare feet dangling, her derriere sore beyond belief, and her hair a wild tangle of chestnut and gold. The fields were empty, and the village little better. It wasn't until they entered the castle walls that the full extent of her shame was driven home. Every last citizen of Orrick-from tradesman to servant, freeman to serf-was dressed in his finest, prepared to celebrate this great wedding of two of the old lord's daughters and to witness the introduction of the new lord. And once she ran this humiliating gauntlet, she still must face her father and all their highborn guests.

As they rode across the bailey, a low hum of whispers followed them. Lilliane's cheeks were stained with color and her eyes were bright with the threat of tears. But she would not cry. Her head was high and her back was straight as they rode to the entrance of the great hall.

Her father was not there to greet her, and she could only wonder at his terrible anger with her. But Odelia was there, and her horrified expression cut Lilliane deeply. She and the other women guests drew back in seeming distaste as the knights halted before them with the recalcitrant Lilliane.

Lilliane was not sure what to do. She was almost ready to slide from the high rump of the old war-horse without waiting for a.s.sistance when a hand reached out to her.

Sir Corbett stood respectfully before her, the epitome of courtly manners and gallant behavior. Lilliane's breath caught in her chest as she stared down at him in surprise. Indeed, the entire company seemed to wait with bated breath for her response to his gesture.

A part of Lilliane wanted to ignore him, to slap away his hand and throw his manners back in his arrogant face. But there was still the long walk to be made through the disapproving throng. She was sure they all knew of her disobedience, and although many might privately disagree with the decision her father had made, they would be united in their conviction that a daughter must always obey her father's will.

Her face must have reflected her indecision, for Sir Corbett stepped nearer until his chest brushed her bare feet.

"If you would truly be mistress here you must pa.s.s this test they set before you now," he murmured quietly, for her ears only. "Take my hand and let us present a strong and united front before this company."

She did not want to take his hands. She did not want to touch him or be near him or ... or present a strong and united front with him. All through the long uncomfortable hours of the ride back she'd been haunted by memories of what he and she had done in that humble cottage. No matter how she had wanted to forget it or pretend it had not been real, she had only to look at the broad-shouldered knight who rode at the head of the column of men to know how very real it had been. And a strange quiver would snake through her, leaving her insides trembling and her emotions tied in knots.

Now as she looked down at his dark unsmiling face she wondered what thoughts were hidden behind those slate-gray eyes. With a sigh Lilliane -squared her shoulders. Her eyes swept the watching crowd one last time before she hesitantly reached her hand to him. For one electric moment they remained thus, seeming to meet in truce yet fully aware of the terrible hostility-and powerful attraction-between them.

Then with one easy motion he moved his hands to her small waist and she leaned down to him, her hands braced on his shoulders. He did not lower her quickly to the ground. Rather, he seemed to linger at his task until her heart was thudding in her chest. When at last he did set her on her feet, he deftly tucked her hand under his arm and led her into the great hall.

Neither of them looked at the gaping a.s.sembly save to ascertain that Lord Barton was not among them. Corbett led her directly to her chamber, his expression defying interruption from anyone. Once there, however, he turned to her and placed a hand on each of her shoulders.

"I will speak to your father directly. You shall prepare for our wedding." One of his hands moved to stroke her thick, wind-tossed hair. "Although it is no longer the fas.h.i.+on, I would have you wear your hair loose, Lily."

Lilliane's emotions were too tangled for her to respond to his words. He was her enemy. And yet he was to be her husband. He was arrogant and greedy. But he had seen to it that no one should belittle her for her ign.o.ble return. She hated him. Yet they had been lovers.

The weight of his hands on her was warm. But his touch disturbed her, and she quickly escaped into her room. She heard him descend the stairs, no doubt in search of her father, and her heart sank. What would he say to her father? she wondered. And what would she say?

Lilliane leaned against the door, her forehead against the hard, grainy surface. A dull ache pounded in her temples. She had never felt so weary. Every emotion seemed to have been drained from her so that now only numbness remained. Against her will she had been betrothed and bedded. Now she was to prepare for her wedding, and she felt nothing at all. No anger, no despair. Not even fear. She held no control over her own life-she never truly had, she admitted. Her stay at Burgram Abbey had created the illusion that she might not marry until she so chose, but the truth was clear now. Her father had let her stay there because it had suited him to do so. Now it suited him to have her wed Sir Corbett of Colchester.

She was roused by a quiet knock at her door. In short order a large tin bath was filled with scented water, her skin and hair were lathered clean with the finest hard soaps, and her best gown was laid out across her bed. Two maids patiently worked her long damp tresses free of any tangles, then brushed her hair before a hearty fire until her waving locks shone with copper glints and golden highlights. After her long night and miserable drenching, it was the most wonderful luxury she could have wished for. If she'd then been able to crawl into her bed, bury her head beneath the covers, and sink into sleep, she would have been truly content. But this was the day of her wedding. Much as she would like to have ignored that fact, she could not.

She was sitting upon a small upholstered bench clad only in a pure white kirtle. The linen was woven of the finest thread and was soft and light upon her skin. Yet she seemed to feel every single place it touched her. Her nerves were on edge and her heart was racing at a fast, fluttering pace. When one maid picked up the heavily figured silk gown, Lilliane waved her away.

"You may both go now. I can manage the rest on my own."

But the women did not make a move to obey, and Lilliane looked up crossly. "I said you may go. Now," she added for emphasis.

"Lord Barton ..." The one woman looked at her mistress apologetically. "Lord Barton, he said we must stay with ye until he sends word for ye to come to the chapel." She smiled timidly at Lilliane, then gestured to the gown in her hands.

Lilliane did not balk at the rest of their offers of a.s.sistance. With her lips tightly compressed, she allowed them to slip the sapphire-embroidered gown on her then lace it snugly about her waist. A gold-and-silver tooled girdle was fastened at her hips, its end symbolically free of any keys. It had been her mother's, and Lilliane felt a stab of intense longing for her.

A pair of rare silken hose were gartered at her knees, and she donned a pair of open-backed slippers that matched her gown. But she was wooden and without emotion as she let the serving women dress her.

It was only when the older woman began to arrange her hair that Lilliane showed a spark of interest in her appearance.

"I'll do that," she insisted as she took the combs away from the woman. A bitter smile played at her lips as she brought her hair up to her crown, twisted it into a heavy coil, than tucked it into a silver caul. The thin metal was cunningly designed and was pierced in an intricate pattern that showed only hints of the rich color of her hair.

She pinned an embroidered linen wimple to drape under her chin, then finally added a small square head veil. When she was content that her hair was completely covered and that she looked the picture of feminine respectability, she nodded to the two baffled servants.

"Now I am ready."

Lord Barton collapsed into his chair with a heavy groan. Thomas was at his side in an instant, and Lord Barton chuckled despite his obvious pain.

"How is it that you who are so scrawny and stooped-and older than I-can still be so quick and spry? While I-" His face contorted in agony and he placed on hand on his stomach. "I appear hale and hearty yet daily feel the loss of my health."

Thomas filled a tankard from a pitcher of goat's milk then brought it to his master's lips.

"Be glad your son-in-law Aldis does not see your illness," he commented dryly as he watched his lord slowly drain the tankard.