Wildewood Revenge Page 14

  He looked about now in the dim candle light. The bed linen had been cleaned, as had his, and the room smelt of lavender. Unlike his mother however, Grace was untidy and clothes were scattered about, draped over the chest and hung over the posts at the end of the bed. He gently touched the flimsy garments suspended above the now dying fire. They were still damp; she had been washing her clothes. He noticed the tub in front of the fire and imagined her languishing in the water. Imagination...it would be the death of him.

  Leaving his thoughts along with her undergarments, he crossed to the wall opposite the window where she’d hung some pictures of her own. There were three, all painted on squares of linen. In the dim light he saw the image of Edmund his youthfulness captured perfectly. Although he could not make out the colours, he knew he was looking at the work of someone with great talent and despite of his discomfort at her irreverence, he found himself in awe.

  The second picture, of the filly, was full of movement and excitement, the pony an image captured in mid-flight. Nostrils flaring, mane and tail flying, the background a blur as the pony galloped through it. He reached out and traced the pony’s outline with his fingers. He could almost feel her flinch beneath his touch and the flickering candlelight served to animate the creature with movements which he knew were impossible but were nevertheless real. He drew a breath and crossed himself.

  The last could not be described as a painting, merely a collection of random charcoal lines. A nose, eyes, an expression, a taste of something to come, yet he recognised every line.

  “It’s not finished yet,” said Grace. Miles smiled, turning slowly.

  She sat up in bed, her knees under her chin the covers pulled around to keep out the cold. Her hair was messed as if she’d just woken but her eyes were bright and held a glint of mischief.

  “I thought you were sleeping,” he answered.

  “So you thought you’d sneak into my room?”

  Miles considered his position, why had he come to her chamber? It certainly wasn’t to talk. “Is this why you dined in your room, so you could continue to paint?”

  Grace shrugged. “Yes and no. I had things to do,” she paused and smiled. “I was washing my hair.”

  “You have a remarkable, if somewhat dangerous, talent,” he said as he approached the bed, “Who is the handsome knight on the left?”

  Grace narrowed her eyes. “Oh, just someone I met on the road, a bit too clever for his own good, you know the type. Thinks the world revolves around him, that women will fall at his feet.”

  “And will they?”

  “Perhaps...” She revealed her naked arm from beneath the cover and patted the edge of the bed next to her. “Sit down. You’re blocking what little heat there is from the fire.”

  Miles smiled, “Excuse me, my lady” and he stretched out next to her on top of the covers.

  “Are you going to finish the painting?” he asked.

  “That depends on whether I’m here long enough.”

  “Do you want to finish it?”

  “I like to finish everything I’ve started,” she replied as she watched him in the candlelight.

  He smiled and returned her gaze. The game was back on. “Does it matter how long it takes to finish?”

  Grace drew one slender hand through her hair, delicately taming the long strands of her unruly fringe. She twisted the hair slowly, seductively and Miles paused entranced. “I suppose it depends on what you’ve started. Some things are best over as quickly as possible.” She sent a smouldering glance in Miles direction, “But other things are so good...you don’t want them to end.”

  “Such as?” Miles swallowed with difficulty, watching as she pulled the tips of her hair across her lips. He remained transfixed as her tongue delicately swept the strands into measured obedience. Imagined the feel of her tongue on his skin and fought the urge to reach out.

  “Mm, I can’t think of anything right now, can you?” She watched him through lowered lashes. He heard her slight intake of breath, the whispered softness as she exhaled and his eyes were drawn down to the coverlet caressing her shoulders and the soft inviting swell of her breasts.

  “I can think of one at least.” He raised himself up on one elbow and turned towards her, resisting the urge to touch. “Trouble is, it takes two and some considerable effort, if you want it to last as long as possible.” He paused, fighting the desire which threatened to overwhelm him, determined not to make a move without her assent.

  Raising one brow she inched closer, allowing her hair its untidy freedom as she reached out an unsteady hand to gently caress his cheek. “Is this where you make me want, what you want?” she asked provocatively.

  Miles swallowed the groan that began deep in his chest and threatened to spill out. He turned into her palm, felt her fingers draw delicately between his lips, and tasted her briefly before pulling away with a ragged breath. “Only if you wish it...”

  She gave a slow smile, an almost imperceptible nod of her head and he lowered his head and kissed her. This time there was no hesitation, her lips felt familiar and they responded instantly to his. He held himself above her and moved his lips to her neck and the soft skin beneath her ear. She was fragrant her skin was like silk and he wanted more.

  He smoothed down the covers and groaned as he revealed her nakedness. She arched against him, and he drew back and gazed down at her in wonder. The candlelight danced off her skin, she was beautiful, bewitching and he was almost undone.

  He pulled himself up off the bed, trailing his hand gently across her skin as he stepped away. She watched him through lowered lashes as he dragged his shirt over his head to reveal a torso bearing evidence of many battles, he heard her soft gasp, as he kicked off his boots and slowly unfastened his trousers. He cocked his head and a slow smile escaped, as he watched Grace’s reaction as the rest of his clothes slithered to the floor.

  “Bloody hell...,” she muttered when the extent of his desire was no longer in doubt. She dropped her eyes and Miles grinned and pulled back the bed clothes.

  “Now where were we?” he murmured hoarsely as he slid beneath the covers and took her in his arms.

  The feel of her softness beneath him, the touch of her hands on his skin sent his heart racing, the blood pounding in his veins. She writhed against him and he took his fill. She kissed his neck, ran her hands across his back, and his muscles rippled in response to her featherlike touch. He dragged in a breath. He wanted to spend the whole night showing her just how positive his response could be, but she’d bewitched him with her sweetness and passion. He tried to pull back and take a breath, kissing her gently while attempting to regain control but the feel of her soft skin against his body as she moved beneath him, and the sound of her passion and soft laughter as she goaded him on, were his undoing. With his mouth on hers, he swallowed her sweet, velvet breath.

  Miles felt her gasp as they came together for the first time and was overwhelmed by the sense of rightness that buzzed throughout his body. He held her still in his arms, felt the rhythm of her heart matching his, beat for beat, her skin hot against his. Breathing hot and heavy against her ear he paused; allowed the moment to stretch tantalisingly, and then he dipped his head and with a lazy smile kissed her open mouth and the games began again.

  Later as she lay sleeping, curled in his arms; Miles considered the treasure he’d almost given away. He’d bedded many women but he’d never experienced anyone like Grace. She was a strange and wonderful creature, her mystery, her secrets both frustrating and endlessly tempting. She was the most delicious forbidden fruit and he couldn’t help feeling he might yet be damned for allowing himself so much pleasure. He held her, unable to let her out of his grasp, let alone his sight. She was beautiful, passionate and different, and they were perfectly matched. God help anyone who came between them.

  Miles slept eventually, entwined with Grace. The moon waned and still he did not wake. He finally stirred at the sound of insistent knocking at the door.

&nb
sp; Stretching languidly, the feel of Grace’s warm silken skin against him caused him to react before the reason for his waking registered in his brain. He came fully awake with a start and his eyes shot open. Light streamed through the window. He had missed his shift change with Edmund and there was someone at the door. He leaned over and kissed the tip of Grace’s nose. She was still sleeping and irresistible, but resist her, he must.

  He slid from beneath the bed clothes leaving her covered, and pulled on his trousers. Fastening them as he opened the door, he realised his appearance in her chamber in a state of undress would do little for her reputation.

  He found Edmund on the other side, hand raised for another round of knocking. The boy took in his master’s appearance without comment and Miles carefully shifted his position to block any view Edmund may have of the bed. No need to rub the boy’s nose in it.

  “Is there a problem, Edmund?”

  “Yer were meant to relieve me.”

  “I’m sorry...I became distracted.” He remained distracted. He kept a straight face with great difficulty.

  “Yer promised me.”

  “I promised you what?”

  “Yer swore an oath that yer wouldn’t sell her to yon bishop.”

  “And I won’t,” said Miles, confused.

  “Then why is yon bishop’s man at the gate?”

  Miles stared blankly at the boy and the boy glared back. “On my life, Edmund I have not done this.”

  He turned, grabbing his boots and shirt and followed the boy down the stairs. Pausing at the bottom he hopped from one foot to the other pulling on his boots before following Edmund out to the courtyard dragging his shirt over his head as he walked.

  John waited by the gate a heavy mason’s hammer in one hand, he nodded to Miles as he approached but instead of feeling encouraged by the obvious support shown by the man, Miles felt only guilt. What had he done? The whole of the household would now know he and Grace had shared a bed. Would they also believe he intended to sell her out to the bishop? The timing could not have been worse. Even he would have believed he’d taken advantage of her knowing she was to be handed over the next morning. God knows what she would think.

  “Open the gates,” he called to Edmund “and close them after I’m out.”

  Miles took a calming breath and stepped outside to meet his visitors.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Miles expected an entourage and was relieved they numbered only three. Two men at arms were mounted on heavy chestnut horses; they had a look of the plough about them, and were certainly not built for speed. The rider’s, young men in their early twenties looked bored, as if when told of escort duty they’d expected something a tad more exiting. He was momentarily distracted by the thought they seemed familiar, but they wore the livery of the bishop and he knew no one from Durham.

  The man whom they escorted sat astride a small highland pony, best suited to a child. The sight all the more ridiculous because the man was grotesquely overweight and his girth appeared to overlap the pony at either side, akin to fleshy saddlebags. Miles knew these mountain ponies were extremely strong; nevertheless he had sympathy for the beast. The man was without hair and wore a velvet cap which matched his crimson robe. The latter marred by a good deal of mud, no doubt thrown up by the horses as they progressed through the snow melt and muddy tracks of the forest. He wondered how they’d navigated their way through the dense woodland.

  “Philibutt of Mayflower,” the man announced himself with a flourish of spittle and an alarming ripple of blubber. The pony, dozing in the morning sun, awoke with a start and shied against the first escort, who in turn nudged the next. Miles waited for them all to topple, but by some fortuitous act of God, they managed to retain their seats.

  “Miles of Wildewood,” answered Miles formally. “What brings you here at such an early hour?”

  The man peered at Miles through cloudy eyes. “I represent His Eminence the Bishop of Durham. I have come to discuss the release of a young innocent whom I believe you have captive here. I demand you allow us entry, in the name of the church. We require vittals and repose and our horses need tending.”

  Miles stared at the man and considered his position. “Who has sent you? Where have you gleaned this information? I have no captive here.”

  Mayflower narrowed his eyes and sucked at his wet lips.

  “How I came upon this information is no concern of yours, what should concern you is the fact I am here to negotiate a ransom. A sizeable ransom if the girl is unharmed,” he added slyly. “Now, I demand entry.”

  Miles looked from the escorts to the odious bishop’s aide. He could see no real threat from them and it would be foolish not to allow them to rest before sending them on their way. He scanned the distant tree line, conscious this may be a plot of Gerard’s and there may be men hidden out of sight within the trees. He saw no one.

  “Edmund,” he called loudly. “Open the gates and allow our visitors entry.” As he passed through the open gates ahead of the trio, he pulled Edmund and John to one side. “Be watchful, this may be a trick. Edmund, take their horses; make sure they cannot make a speedy exit. John, keep watch across the park, something is amiss here. I sent no messenger, how has word of Grace reached the ears of the bishop?”

  Tom Pandy emerged from the kitchen. He glanced from the new arrivals to Miles and raised a curious brow.

  “Tom, see these men are fed and ask Martha to bring a platter for the bishops aide, we will be in the great hall.” He turned as Mayflower dismounted his steed in a flourish of velvet obesity. The pony gaining inches with the weight removed.

  “Come this way, Master Mayflower and you can tell me what it is you think you know.”

  He escorted him into the hall and bade him sit at the table. The fire was kept lit all night during winter and the flames were bright and hot. Mayflower declined his seat and stood instead with his back to the fire and toasted his behind. A pungent odour rose from the man and Miles used considerable will-power not to gag.

  “It has come to His Eminence’s attention that you have misappropriated one of the nuns from Kirk Knowe and are demanding ransom for her return.”

  “Who has made this declaration? I have demanded nothing of the sort.” The only person he’d spoken with, other than Edmund, was Alex Stewart and he’d not have betrayed him. Alex had however told him knowledge of the girl was commonplace. Perhaps word of mouth was responsible for this situation. He glanced at the stairs and willed Grace to stay in her chamber out of harm’s way.

  “I am not at liberty to divulge my source,” said the man with an accompanying spray of spittle.

  “Then you’ve had a wasted journey, there is no nun from Kirk Knowe here.”

  Philibutt of Mayflower scowled. “Do you not wish to know how much the bishop is prepared to pay?”

  Miles certainly didn’t want to know how much he was prepared to pay, how much he was sacrificing. If he’d been offered the money three days ago he would have accepted and shook the man’s hand, but not anymore.

  “I have no need to know the value of your purse, Master Mayflower, and if you continue with this, I will relieve you of your coin, regardless of whether I am able to fulfil my end of a ransom bargain.”

  “You would steal from the church?” The man was aghast and crossed himself piously with podgy fingers tipped by filthy finger nails. He settled himself precariously on a chair.

  “No, I would not,” replied Miles. “But I could, particularly if I thought you were not, in fact, acting on behalf of the church.”

  Mayflower fluffed out his ample chest like a bird realigning his feathers. He filled his mouth with a selection from Martha’s platter and glowered at Miles.

  “I know you have a girl here.” He spat food over the table as he spoke and Miles leaned back in his chair to avoid it. “I must see her and ascertain she is not from the religious order. I cannot in all honesty allow a defenceless innocent to remain unchaperoned in the home of an unmarried m
an. It is unseemly.”

  Miles knew she was neither defenceless nor innocent, nor did she require a chaperone, but even so the turn of events concerned him.

  “I have no nun here. The members of my household remain here of their own free will and none of them should interest you or His Eminence. I would ask that you enjoy my hospitality before it’s withdrawn and leave when your horses are rested.”

  “What of the ransom?” Mayflower withdrew a bag from his voluminous robe and clashed it onto the table. “Think what you could do with that, Miles of Wildewood.” The corners of his mouth were white with drool, the man was repulsive. Miles pitied the maid who would have to lay out his cold, naked body when it was time for him to meet his maker.

  Miles gritted his teeth, the bag was large the contents heavy. If only. If only she’d been ugly or stupid or cruel - or even a real nun. But she was none of these things and there would be no sale.

  “You may keep your ransom, Master Mayflower I have nothing to exchange.”

  A movement on the stairs behind the bishop’s aide caught Miles’ eye and he froze. Grace had paused on her downward journey to scan the room. She must have woken and wondered at his absence. She was wrapped in a coverlet which had slipped to reveal one bare shoulder. Her feet were also bare and he noticed distractedly how she hopped from one foot to the other on the cold stone. She opened her mouth as if to call to him and in that split second before a sound was made, he willed her to stop. She closed her mouth slowly and locked eyes with him. Over such a distance he wasn’t even sure she could see the warning in his.

  Mayflower began to rise. Fortunately his bulk made any movement laboriously slow and as he heaved himself to his feet and made to reclaim his loot, Miles tried to communicate across the expanse of the hall. Grace shrugged her shoulders questioningly and casually retrieved her cover as it slipped to almost reveal one naked breast.

  Mayflower dipped his head to give thanks for his food and Miles took the opportunity to run his finger across his own throat, an explicit warning for Grace. Grace either misunderstood or chose to ignore him for she merely smiled and continued down the stairs. Was the girl mad thought Miles wildly. She would be seen; any second, the odious whale of a man would turn and see her. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration and looked from one to the other.