“Aye, Heldred.” She gave him one last look over her shoulder. “Until tonight.”
Eduard tilted a stick of sealing wax to the flame and let it drip onto the fold of parchment he held. When the liquid had accumulated to a thick, blood-red pool, he turned his hand and pressed his signet into it. There. ’Twas done. Nodding for his messenger to approach, he handed him the sealed document.
“I want this delivered posthaste. No delays. It must arrive at Ravenslock on the morrow. I myself will follow by no more than two days. See to it.”
The man nodded, fear etched in the tight lines of his face. The messenger’s expression pleased Eduard, made him more comfortable. His will would be obeyed, as always. Because if it wasn’t…
Smiling to himself, he strode back to his tent at the center of camp. His men, the nearly five score of whom he’d forced to join him for his travels with King Henry, were settling in for the night in their lesser shelters, dotted around him in circular formation. The very position of their tents protected him as their lord. ’Twas his right, as was his own sumptuous canopy, occupied by no one but himself.
Aye, ’twas his right—as Ravenslock Castle would also be his by right, before the week was out.
Pushing aside the flap to his tent, he ducked in and squinted at the thin veil of smoke hanging in the air. That blasted boy, Compton. He’d forgotten to leave an opening at the tent’s peak again. Eduard resolved to speak to him about it, to ensure that he’d remember next time. Just as soon as—
“My—my Lord Montford?”
The soft, dread-tinged voice tingled up Eduard’s spine like the stroke of fingernails.Ah, she was here.
At least Compton had obeyed one of his commands. He stepped further into the partitioned area of his tent and approached the mound of pillows and furs that served as his bed. A woman huddled beneath the coverlet, obviously naked. And trembling. Her auburn hair curled over her shoulders, spilling onto the blankets; her eyes followed his every motion, as a hare watches the approach of a wolf.
Eduard smiled again, excitement flaring in his blood. She was afraid. Deliciously so. As well she should be.
After disrobing slowly, so that she might gain full view of his impressive size and strength, he yanked the covers off of her and sat on the bed. Then, taking the back of her head, he pulled her hard to him for a deep kiss. She tasted of cinnamon. He delved deeper into her mouth, pleased. Again, his wishes had been obeyed.
Soon the woman—Juliette, was it?—began to struggle, whimpering and pushing against his bare chest as she fought for air. Laughing, he shoved her away and reclined on the pillows, flicking his wrist to indicate what she should do for him next.
Her lips looked slightly bruised from his kissing, her eyes wide brown pools, so expressive, so shocked at what he was demanding of her. And yet she did as she was bidden, crouching over him to grasp his erection and take it into her mouth. She moved tentatively at first, then with a choking cry as he dug his fingers into her hair, forcing her into a rhythm that pleased him.
He sighed and leaned back into the pillows, abandoning himself to sensation. Ah, yes, ’twas just what he’d needed. He craved release to soothe the tensions of this last week with the king. All of the bowing and scraping he’d been forced to do—it had sickened him, but he’d done it, done everything needed to ensure his continued privilege and rank in the kingdom. To ensure his high status with King Henry.
And yet even the mighty king didn’t know how much Eduard de Montford’s power was about to increase. Aye, it would swell by no less than a third of the cursed Camville’s estates. And after that he’d take the wretch’s latest plum on the vine—his imminent appointment as Sheriff of Cheltenham. Pluck it himself, once that milksop Catherine completed his instructions, as he’d directed her in his letter. Then it would all fall into place. Just a few more days…
His groin began to tighten, pleasure rippling into his belly, mounting and growing. He gritted his teeth, savoring his coming triumph as he watched Juliette’s head bob up and down on him with smooth, even strokes.
It was good to be obeyed. To know that those he commanded would scramble to do his bidding, would struggle to please him and serve his will. He closed his eyes, pressing into the pillows as the delectable tension began to overwhelm him. He felt it building to a fever-pitch…
Suddenly he exploded, releasing the hot flow from deep inside. Sensations swirled and throbbed, mixing with his angry thoughts until they were almost indistinguishable in his mind.
Blind obedience.So sweet, so necessary to the smooth progress of life.
And his right, by heaven and hell.
His bloody right.
As darkness fell over the land, Catherine stood in the torch-lit opulence of the bedchamber she’d shared with Gray, trying to put the constant, wrenching thoughts of him from her mind. She’d waged a silent battle against her emotions all day, her heart leaden at the thought of leaving, even knowing that she had no choice.
Setting her jaw, she twisted her plaited hair into a knot and paced to the window. Rain spattered the costly glazed panes and a chill seeped through the cracks between window and wall, but the storm seemed to be waning. Thank the saints that the foul weather had had little effect on the Punkie Night revelers beginning their celebration below. Bonfires winked merrily across the hillside, glowing in defiance of wind and weather.
With a sigh, Catherine turned away, resolving to make her final preparations. She’d already changed into her breeches and tunic, and strapped the sharp sword she used for training to her side.A cape. Aye, she still needed something dark and hooded, like Heldred wore, not only for warmth, but to hide her features and shield her feminine shape from the world.
Making her way into the small room attached to the bedchamber, she lit a wall torch. Gray kept most of his clothing here, stored in trunks or in the two tall wardrobes standing against the wall. Her garments were here too, though they weren’t what she sought now. Nay, all of her things were too feminine and colorful. She’d have to use one of Gray’s cloaks for her escape.
After rummaging a little while, she found what she sought. A hooded cape of thick, black wool, brushed soft, with no edging or braid to distinguish it. Taking it from the trunk, Catherine shook it out and draped it over her shoulders. It was big, cut for Gray’s powerful frame, but that would serve to hide her more effectively. She only hoped that her height and build would help her to carry it well enough to avoid suspicion.
Snuggling the fabric around her, Catherine closed her eyes. A biting pang stabbed her. Gray’s scent, fresh and masculine, drifted to her from the folds of the garment, teasing her as if he stood there with her, wrapping her inside his embrace. She breathed deep, letting the feeling wash over her, unable to stop herself from prodding the fresh wound.
Gray. Oh, Gray, my love.
Squeezing back tears that welled again, Catherine turned and walked into the main bedchamber. She forced one foot in front of the other, making herself keep moving. ’Twas time to meet Heldred in the stables. No more dawdling with childish hopes and memories.
