By Arrangement Part 9

"I want you and you want me. That is very real. But it doesn't rhyme with the song that you have composed, does it? You continue to live the lyrics that you wrote in ignorance about this man and yourself."

"I do not live according to some song."

"Of course you do. Duels and abductions are the stuff of songs, not life. Do lutes play when you think of the man who used you? Are your memories colored like the images on painted cloth and tapestries?"

She looked away, trembling at these harsh words that spoke an understanding of her mind that no one should have. She suddenly felt helpless again against the fears those words raised in her. He was horrible to say that Stephen only used her. Cruel. She hated him.

His voice sounded raw and angry when he spoke again. "I should send you to him and let you see how your song ends."

"Why don't you then?" she cried.

He stopped both their horses. His hand came over and took her chin. She resisted its guiding turn.

"Look at me," he ordered.

She deliberately turned away. His hand forced her head around to him. His blue eyes flashed with something dangerous.

"Because he would use you again before he is honest with you. The past is one thing, but you belong to me now. I will let no one else have you so easily. Do not ever forget that."

She suddenly realized that his mood had to do with more than her refusing him. It involved something bigger. It was about her and him and Stephen.

Was he jealous? Of Stephen? It was so unlike him to show his reactions, and this anger flamed hot and alive and visible. Was this emotion one that he was not accustomed to controlling?

Anger unleashed something frightening in this man, and it made her especially unsettled that the fear itself seemed touched with that other tension that always seemed to exist between them. Westminster looked like a haven from a storm when they finally arrived. She hopped off her horse before anyone could help her and ran inside without so much as glancing back at David de Abyndon. Chapter 7 Christiana lifted her knees and rested her head on the edge of the large wooden tub. The warm water almost reached the top, and positioned like this, she could float a little in the soothing heat. A circular tent of linen enclosed the tub and held in the steam, creating a humid, sultry environment that loosened her tense muscles.

The castle had been practically empty when she called for the servants to prepare this bath. A rumor spreading through Westminster that Morvan was to meet David on London Bridge had drawn the bored courtiers like flies to a savory. Idonia had stayed behind with her, but Isabele and Joan had attached themselves to a group including young Prince John and Thomas Holland. Not everyone approved of this duel. Some of the older knights considered it unchivalrous to challenge a mere merchant, but even they understood Morvan's anger. Since the duel was to be so public, everyone a.s.sumed that Morvan meant only to humiliate David, and that made it more acceptable, too. After all, these merchants often forgot their place. In overwhelming David, Morvan would be reminding all of London that wealth could never replace breeding and n.o.bility when it really mattered. She closed her eyes and tried to get the knot in her stomach to untie. She prayed that David had delayed his return to London as she had advised. She had offered a number of such prayers during the last few days as this duel approached. She wouldn't want to see David harmed. He had become a friend of sorts, and she had rather grown to depend on his presence.

She had been thinking about him a lot since that day at Smithfield. Sometimes she listened to the remembered quiet voice in the King's private corridor. The more she thought about it, the more it sounded like David who had been approached by Frans van Horlst that day. Other times her mind drifted to the two of them under the oak tree. Those memories were both compelling and disturbing, and tended to sneak up on her when she least expected them.

Which would be worse? If David had returned from his journey, he would face her brother in front of hundreds of people and be made to look a fool. If he had not returned, the whole world would know him for a coward. Morvan and the court would probably prefer the latter. The lesson would be taught without a sword ever being raised.

Her brother did this out of love for her and concern for the family's honor, but she really wished he had stayed out of things. He was only making a complicated situation worse, and he might well ruin her plans completely. Did Morvan think that the humiliation would make David withdraw? In all likelihood it would only make him more stubborn. He might even refuse to honor his promise to let her go with Stephen. Of course, Stephen wasn't here and the wedding was only twelve days away. She tried not to think about that, but it was becoming difficult. It was one thing to wait patiently and another to see the sun relentlessly set every day on your unfulfilled dreams. Lately she had found herself listening for horses whenever she went outside. Perhaps he planned some dramatic abduction soon. She imagined him riding down the river road with his boon companions in attendance, maybe on the day before the wedding itself. Would he wait that long? How would he get to her and get her out? There were always so many people about.

She sat up abruptly.

There were hardly any people about right now.

Morvan had been nowhere to be found this morning as the rumor of his duel on London Bridge spread. Who had started those whispers? Morvan himself? Or someone else who wanted Westminster emptied of all but the essential guard?

A heady excitement gripped her. Was Stephen coming for her today? If so, the plan was audacious and brilliant. She couldn't be sure, but it suddenly all made sense. If he had learned of the duel and its location from one of his friends here, he might well make use of it in this way. She hadn't realized that he was that clever.

Smiling happily, she quickly washed herself. She felt the knot of hair piled high on her head and considered whether she had time to wash and dry it.

Her arm froze at the sound of boot steps entering the wardrobe where the tub sat in front of a hearth. She couldn't believe it! Finally! She eagerly parted the drape to greet her love. Her gaze fell on beautiful leather boots and a starkly plain blue pourpoint. A sword hung from one belt and two daggers from another. Deep blue eyes regarded her, reading her thoughts like she was made of gla.s.s.

"You were expecting someone else?" David asked. He undid the sword belt and placed the weapon on the top of one of the chests that lined that walls of the wardrobe.

She let the drape fall closed and sank into the water.

"Nay. I just wasn't expecting you," she responded through the curtain of cloth.

"I said that I would come. But perhaps you thought that I would be dead."

"Badly wounded at least, if you were fool enough to meet him. Why aren't you?" That didn't come out the way she had planned, and she grimaced. It sounded like she was annoyed that he was whole.

"Edward stopped it as I knew he would. He is counting on that bride price, you see."

She heard him walk over to the wall by the door. He didn't leave.

What if she was right and Stephen came now? He would find David here. Morvan may not have drawn blood, but Stephen just might.

"You have to go, David."

"I think not."

"I must finish my bath. I will attend on you in the hall shortly."

"I will stay here. It is warm and very pleasant."

She splashed the water angrily.

"You are giving him too much credit for drama and intelligence, my girl. Stephen Percy is not in London or Westminster. His is not coming today or any day for a long while."

She sank her shoulders down under the water. He knows what I am thinking. He knows Stephen's name. Is there anything that he doesn't know?

"I sent the court to London Bridge, Christiana. I wanted no one to follow your brother to the place where we really met."

"Why? So that no one would see him best you?"

"Nay. So if he forced me to kill him, I could lie to you and you would never know the truth of it."

The chamber became very still. It was absurd, of course. David could never hurt Morvan. When it came to skill at armsa and yeta Footsteps came over to the tub. The drape parted and he handed her a towel through the slit. "Enough of this for now. The water must be cooling. Get out and dry yourself."

She grabbed the towel and jerked the drape closed. She waited as he walked away. The water was indeed cooling and the steam had disappeared. It was getting chilly in the bath.

"Call the servant, please. She is in the chamber."

"I sent her away."

She looked down at her nakedness. She listened to the silence of the empty castle. She thought of her clothes piled on a stool by the hearth. The bath was losing its warmth quickly, but the chill that shook her had nothing to do with the water.

"Idonia should be returning soon, David. It will embarra.s.s me if she finds you in here."

"Lady Idonia decided to take a ride with Sieg. A very long ride, I should think."

Her annoyance flared at this game he played with her. She grabbed the towel and stood in the water, drying her arms and body with hurried movements.

She would show this merchant what n.o.blewomen were made of.

She draped the large linen towel around her, catching its ends under her arm. She stepped out of the tub and kicked aside the drape. Water from her legs began pooling on the wooden floor. He sat atop a high chest next to the hearth, his back against the wall and one arm resting on a raised knee. His cool gaze met hers and then drifted down in a lazy way. She fought down the alarm that rose in her chest.

He had placed another log on the fire, and the small wardrobe, crowded with chests that held Isabele's gowns and furs, felt warm enough. She sat on a stool by the tub and patted the ends of the long towel against her legs to dry them.

She did not look at him but she knew that he watched her. She worked hard not to let him see that it unsettled her.

"How did you know his name?" she asked, proud of how casual her voice sounded. Almost as casual and placid as his did all of the time. Except when he was jealous. She groaned inwardly at her stupidity. Perhaps it would be best to avoid talk of Stephen Percy under the circ.u.mstances.

"I've known who he was from the beginning. Don't look so surprised. You all but told me his name that first night. I also know that you are not the first innocent girl whom he has seduced, nor will you be the last. Some men have a taste for such things, and he is one of them."

His words probed at forbidden thoughts buried deep in her heart, thoughts that tried to surface late at night as she lay in her bed and counted days pa.s.sing and days left. She had walled those worries into a dark corner, and she rebelled at this man going near them.

She glared at him. He sits there so d.a.m.ned calmly, she thought. He looks at me like he has a right to be here. Like he owns me. She braced herself against the feelings of vulnerability and tension which that look summoned.

"I hate you," she muttered.

His lids lowered. "Careful, girl. I may decide to encourage your hatred. I find that I prefer it to your indifference."

He hopped off the chest. The movement made her tense.

"You still wait for him," he said. "After all of this time and when the truth is so clear. It is well that Edward gave you to me. You would have spent your whole life waiting and living in a faded dream."

"Perhaps I still will." She spoke the words like a bold threat.

"Nay. You wake up today."

He stepped toward her. She rose from her stool at once, clutching the towel around her and backing up. He stopped.

She didn't like the way he watched her. Even worse, she didn't like the way that she was reacting to it. For all of her annoyance, that exquisite expectation branched through her. Sharp and vivid memories of the pleasure she had felt at Smithfield forced themselves onto her thoughts and her body.

"I demand that you leave," she said.

He shook his head. "Your brother is out of this now. So is Stephen Percy. There was no duel and there will be no abduction. Finally it is just you and me."

Her heart pounded desperately. "You are frightening me, David."

"At least I have your attention for a change. Besides, I told you before. It is not fear that you feel with me."

"It is now." And it was. A horrible, wonderful combination of fear and antic.i.p.ation and attraction and denial. Like the lines of a rope twined in on each other, they twisted and twisted together, pulling and stretching her soul. If he didn't leave, she was sure that something would snap.

"If you won't leave, I shall." Somehow she found enough composure to speak calmly. He gestured to the clothes on the stool to his right and the door to his left. "I will not stop you, Christiana."

She had to pa.s.s him to leave. Was it her imagination that his blue eyes dared her to approach? He is enjoying this, she thought, and the vexation surged in her again, vanquis.h.i.+ng those other feelings for a moment and making her brave.

The daughter of Hugh Fitzwaryn need not be afraid of a tradesman, she thought firmly. A n.o.blewoman could walk naked down the Strand and her status would protect her and clothe her as surely as steel. How many tailors and haberdashers of David's degree had seen her dressed in no more than a s.h.i.+ft as they waited upon the princess and her friends? This towel covered her more. Such men did not exist if one chose to have it so.

Aye. It would even be thus with David de Abyndon.

She lowered her eyes and collected herself. She imagined that he was a mercer who had come to show his wares. She let her spirit withdraw from him and from those strange feelings that he summoned so easily, and she wrapped herself in the knowledge of who she was and what he was. Lifting her gaze, she looked more to the hearth than to him. Holding the towel around her, she calmly walked over to the stool and bent her knees so as to reach the garments. Fingers stroked firmly into her hair and twisted. The clothes fell from her hand as he yanked her up. Gasping with shock, she found her face inches away from flaming blue eyes.

"Do not do that again," he warned. "Ever."

She was looking into the face of danger and she knew it. She did not move. She barely breathed. Slowly, as he held her and looked at her, the flames cooled and the hardness left his eyes and mouth. She could see when he regained control and the anger fell from his perfect face. The expression that replaced it was just as dangerous in its own way, though. His hand did not release her hair. If anything, it gripped a little tighter.

He looked over her face slowly and then down at her bare shoulders and neck. She watched his gaze drift to the damp towel clutched against her body. She had never been so thoroughly looked at in her life. His unhurried possessive inspection left her as breathless and tingling as a caress. He pulled her toward him. A tremor of fearful antic.i.p.ation quaked through her. Her legs almost wouldn't support her as her body followed her head. He lowered his mouth to hers. She fought the emotions. She battled them valiantly with every bit of her strength of will. But her defenses had never been very strong against his kisses, and as this one deepened and his other arm embraced her, she melted against him as those wonderful sensations took control of her. His mouth moved beautifully over her face and neck and ears and shoulders, kissing and biting gently, drawing softly at the pulse points. He played at the lines of tension stretching through her like they were the strings on a lute, luring her toward acceptance. She knew what was happening, but the pleasure of the heated shocks that spiraled from each kiss made her want more, and the gentle waves flowing through her from his caress on her back promised an ocean of oblivious delight. He tugged gently at the back of the towel. She fought to the surface of her sensual sea.

"Nay," she whispered.

"Aye," he said.

The towel's edge dislodged from under her arm and fell away from her back. That fear that wasn't fear shrieked and she clutched the edge of the linen tighter to her chest, her arms crossing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He did not try to remove it. Untangling his hand from her hair, he embraced her tightly so that her arms were imprisoned between their bodies. He lowered his mouth to the skin just above her hands while his embrace moved down her back.

The feel of his warm hands on her bare skin exhilarated her. Even her awareness of his kisses dimmed as all of her senses focused on those heated caresses. Her whole being waited and felt and savored the progress of that touch. Low and deep in her body that strange pulse began throbbing. He took her mouth again and his hands went lower, down to her hips and lower back, down finally to her bottom. She started in surprise but he kissed her harder and his hands stayed there, following the swells of her body. That secret pulse grew aching and hot, and she dully realized that it was deep in her belly near her thighs and his hands were very close to it.

The feelings were too exquisite, too delicious to stop him. The voice of her mind grew very quiet and weak. That rational awareness only observed, noticing the scent of the man who held her and the sound of her gasping breaths. The waiting expectation she had first felt at Smithfield obliterated any real thought and grew now into something demanding and impatient and slightly painful. His hands drifted lower. He cupped her lower b.u.t.tocks in a caress of commanding intimacy. She gasped aloud as that throbbing center of pleasure exploded with a white heat. His fingers rested at the very top of her thighs where they joined. She felt as she had when she waited for him to touch her breast, only the antic.i.p.ation had a frantic, desperate quality to it and the pulsing expectation possessed a physical reality that stunned her.

Suddenly the fear that had always been there when he kissed and touched her rose from the depths where the pleasure had banished it. The small voice of her mind considered that something was occurring here that had never happened with Stephen.

"Davida" she whispered, beginning a feeble protest.

He lifted his head and looked at her with a face transformed and more handsome than ever. The glowing warmth in those eyes left her speechless.

He pulled her hips closer to his. Her arms still held the towel to her chest, and she didn't stand of her own will now. The fingers near her thighs s.h.i.+fted as he moved her closer yet. Her belly pressed against him. She felt warmth and hardness. That hidden place, so full of ache and yearning and so close to his hand, responded forcefully.

Her eyes flew open wide.

He bent to kiss her again. "Aye," he said quietly.

A very peculiar notion teased at her mind and then forced itself on her. Outrageous, really.

Impossible.

As if reading her thoughts, he slid his hand between the back of her thighs and gently touched her. Effortlessly his fingers found that hungry ache.

She cried out from the shock of the pleasure. Twisting violently, she jumped out of his arms and just stared at him.

His own reaction was just as strong. She watched breathlessly as surprise gave way to perplexity and then finally to anger. Pulling the towel back around her, she moved away, trying desperately to sort her confused thoughts and emotions.

She didn't want him angry. She wanted to explain. But explain what? That a bizarre, unnatural idea of what he wanted from her had unaccountably lodged in her mind and suddenly seemeda logical? She was probably wrong, and if she spoke of this to him, he would think her perverted. All the same, she didn't want him touching her again, especially like that, until she found out for sure that she hadn't grossly misunderstood everything.

He just looked at her, the beautiful warmth dimming from his eyes and the placid expression reclaiming him. She felt like a fool standing there in her towel, but she didn't know what to say.

"Very well, Christiana. If you do not want to give yourself to me now, I will wait," he finally said, walking over to pick up his sword.

Her mind reeled. Give yourself to me, Stephen had pleaded that day on the bed. She thought he meant in marriage. But it meant something else, didn't it? Had she gotten absolutely everything wrong?

She needed to talk to someone. Now. Soon. Who? Joan. Would Joan know?

David walked back over to the door. Today you wake up, he had said. Dear G.o.d, but she felt awake now. Horribly so.