The Queen's Lady (22 page)

Gwenyth was admired by all his men. Whereas he had been angry at the risk she had taken that day, they were deeply admiring.

They didn't argue along the road, he thought, but neither did they ride together. He kept his distance from her, for being with her was too painful. He had tried to speak with the queen, but she had wanted to talk about nothing except the English throne, her difficult situation and her orders for him once he reached England.

“She was quite incredible, was she not?” Gavin demanded from his seat before the fire, breaking into Rowan's morose thoughts.

“If one can call a fool incredible,” Rowan replied.

Gwenyth gasped. “Mary threatened to go out herself,” she informed him.

“Some sense might have been talked into the queen,” he said, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against a tree.

She lifted her head, smiling, refusing to be offended. “Playacting, my good Laird Rowan, is an excellent strategy.”

He nodded. “I shall remember that, my lady.”

She, too, nodded quickly, then looked away. She tried hard never to give away a hint of what had transpired between them, he noticed. He didn't believe it was a matter of shame but rather that they both conducted their lives according to the queen's will. And they both knew that she considered their trip to England crucial to the future of her realm and her rule.

“Gavin, play something will you?” Gwenyth asked.

“Indeed I will, and I know just the piece,” he assured her, and began.

 

Early one morning,

As the day was dawning,

I met a fair lady

Far along the way.

And so wooed her,

And so I kissed her,

And then so again,

I went along my way.

And when I came again,

She sped me on my way,

Singing ever so softly,

Please, for you will leave me,

Please don't deceive me

How could you use

A poor maiden so?

 

Gwenyth and Annie applauded, as did the rest of the men, who teased Gavin for being a musician and far too attractive, though their words were all in good fun.

Rowan would never have said he was jealous of the young man, exactly, but he often envied him his easy ways.

“Sing with me,” Gavin asked Gwenyth then, and so she did, their voices melding beautifully under the rich canopy of the forest.

“Best get some sleep,” Rowan advised when they were done. The women found a comfortable place beneath a spreading tree, and five men slept, while the other five took first watch.

Morning came, with the softest nip in the air. Everyone washed quickly and drank at the brook that bubbled through the trees nearby, and on their way to the next town, they found a farmer who was happy to make them a filling breakfast of bacon, bread, fish and eggs.

They traveled south through the Highlands, down to the border country, and finally reached Yorkshire, where Rowan made the decision not to enter the great walled city. They bypassed the city and traveled on until late at night—despite the fact that Annie allowed her grumbling to be heard.

“A fine lady, the queen's lady, travels in this party, and we might have stopped at a fine castle and been welcomed there—even if this be England,” she said.

“You'll like the castle where we're stopping, Annie,” Rowan assured her, riding back to disarm her with a grin. “Won't she, Gavin?”

Gavin solemnly agreed. “It's a fine place, Annie. I promise you.”

At last they came to a great walled fortification. Gavin had ridden ahead then, and the drawbridge was already down, providing safe passage above the moat. Within the walls, a stone castle rose several stories into the night sky. Outside the walls, the countryside they'd been riding through was lush and fertile, and there were numerous cottages. When they reined in, Gwenyth looked at Rowan with weary but curious eyes.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“It is called Dell,” he told her.

“I see,” she murmured, though she did not.

“It is mine,” he told her.

“Yours?”

“A gift from the Queen of England. I hold it through no one,” he added quickly, thinking she might surmise he had gained the estate through his marriage to Catherine. “I accomplished a small service once for Queen Elizabeth, and therefore, I am Lord of Dell.”

“I see,” she repeated, and this time her smile was dazzling.

They were greeted by his steward, an amiable man named Martin, a corpulent and cheerful fellow who was delighted that his lord had returned to his English land and quickly had a very fine meal prepared. The men joined them for the late supper, and there was much discussion about the storage of crops and the maintenance of the castle, so Gwenyth excused herself as quickly as she could.

Rowan had seen to it that Gwenyth was given the chamber kept in preparedness at all times for the ambassadors and nobles who often stopped here on their journeys to the north and south. The bed was vast, the mattress firm and not at all lumpy. The hearth was huge, the fire warm.

Shortly after he saw Gwenyth leave, Rowan excused himself, knowing his men might well enjoy his hospitality long into the night.

This time, he came upon Gwenyth in the bath. He slipped silently into the room, where she was resting her head on the rim of the tub, appreciating the hot water after their long ride.

“Ah, m'lady Gwenyth. I've brought towels,” he said.

“Annie is on her way back,” she advised him gravely when he entered. “She thinks that I must have some warmed wine, if I'm to sleep well.”

“We'll bolt the door.”

“And how will I explain that?”

“Simply say that you're already half-asleep.”

“You don't believe she'll suspect some…danger?” Gwenyth teased.

“Do you want me to leave?” he queried.

“Nay, m'laird, never!” she protested. “But perhaps you should hide in the wardrobe.”

“My dear Lady Gwenyth, it is far beneath my dignity to hide in a wardrobe,” he replied.

As he spoke, there was a tapping on the door, and Annie's anxious voice sounded softly. “M'lady? Are you all right? I thought I heard voices,” she said. “Should I send for the guards?”

Rowan turned and opened the door, despite Gwenyth's gasp.

Annie stood in the hall, her jaw dropping. Afraid she would also drop the tray with the pitcher of wine and chalice, Rowan quickly rescued it.

“Please, dear woman, I'm quite afraid some small spider might drop into your mouth. Close it, and do come in,” Rowan told her, setting the tray on a trunk.

Annie snapped her jaw shut and entered the bedchamber. She stared from Rowan, still resplendently handsome in the formal attire he had donned for dinner, to her mistress.

Gwenyth was afraid that the maid who had tended her so lovingly and so well for so long now was going to voice her sternest disapproval. She was equally afraid that their affair might be given away. Instead, to her astonishment, Annie grinned, and then she began to laugh outright.

“Well, well. So ye've both finally realized what all the rest of us have long seen,” she said.

Gwenyth frowned.

“Oh, nay, y'er not suspected of
this,
” Annie said, still laughing. But then her laughter faded, and she set her hands on her hips and stared at Rowan. “This is nae a round-heeled maid to satisfy yer fancy—m'laird.”

Rowan leaned against the wall, amused. “Nay?” he inquired.

“Nay,” she echoed a fierce frown.

Rowan gave her his deepest, most charming smile. “Annie, I have promised the lady I will wed her. Thus far, she has refused me.”

“What?” Annie's jaw dropped again.

“I have my reasons,” Gwenyth said.

“Well, not a one of them can be good enough,” Annie said with complete certainty.

Gwenyth did not have a chance to tell Annie any of her reasons, because Rowan stepped in and informed her maid, “The queen would allow no conversation about my second marriage until her own domestic situation is settled. She was quite fierce on that score. But, Annie, I am a man of my word. I am quite aware that Lady Gwenyth is no lightskirt.”

Annie stared at Gwenyth. “Ye will marry the laird, m'lady,” she said sternly.

Gwenyth had to laugh, then looked at Rowan. “We needn't wait for the queen. Annie says that we must marry.”

“Don't ye go mocking me,” the older woman said sternly.

“Never, Annie,” Rowan said solemnly. “I give you my most solemn vow that I will marry your mistress.”

He was serious, Gwenyth knew. Wrong reasons, right reasons. At that moment, it didn't matter. He was there. He had made a vow. And he would never give his word lightly.

Annie was shaking her head as she started from the room. “Don't ye be mindin' me. I'm off—minding me own business.” Then she paused and turned back. “There be a bolt on that door. I suggest ye use it.”

“It is my castle,” Rowan reminded her politely.

“Mayhap,” Annie sniffed, but happily. “I still say, bolt the door.”

“Thank you. I stand well-advised,” Rowan said.

He bolted the door as soon as Annie was gone. He set down the wine, walked to the tub and reached down, then, soap and all, pulled Gwenyth into his arms. If he had been ardent before, he was doubly so now. If she had longed for him before, it was with an ever-greater desperation now.

Now she knew what it was to feel the power of his muscles, the sleek ripple of his flesh beneath her fingers. Now she knew that his kiss would make her feel as if she had never really lived before.

It mattered not to either of them that she soaked his fine clothing through, for even as he took her from the tub, he had begun to cast it all aside.

She never knew where it went, only that she was touching him, unafraid to explore. She was half-maddened in her desire to stroke him, feel the vital contraction of his muscles and bask in the feel of her flesh against his. She cupped his hand in her palm, her lips upon his throat as she savored the drumbeat of his pulse. She was learning to play, to tease and taunt, and the taste of his flesh beneath her tongue was purely erotic. She could not be close enough to him, and as she pressed herself against him, she did so with the sole intent of feeling some part of his flesh along every inch of hers. She caressed him with her fingers, trailing them along his body as he had trailed his along hers. She was not so experienced a lover yet that she was not hesitant at times, but his ardent whispers urged her along, drove her to new heights. She grew bolder, feeling his hands always upon her, yet he let her play and experiment first, and she could tell from his response that she was instinctively learning all that was most seductive. She dared to let her fingers dance upon his erection, followed by a harder touch, a liquid caress. She savored the hoarse cry of surprise and pleasure that issued from his lips, the fierce ardor with which he grasped her to him, the trembling power with which his arms held her when he made love to her, when he was one with her, and it seemed the world itself shook with the wild ferocity of their passion.

He did not leave her in the night but lay by her side and held her.

When the morning's light broke gently through the arrow slits, she woke and was immediately aware that he had already wakened and still lay by her side, leaning on one elbow, watching her. “When you grow to be a very old woman, m'lady, you will still be a beauty.”

She laughed, her brow furrowing. “M'laird, when I grow to be a very old woman, I will be quite wrinkled.”

“The soul never ages,” he told her. “Did you know that?”

“Are you saying I have a beautiful soul?” she queried.

“Aye, that I am,” he said gravely. “But this morning, when I woke, it was your face, I must admit, that I noticed. That, and perhaps the way the sun's rays fell upon the length of your back…perhaps even how it made your hair catch fire.”

“My hair will turn gray,” she told him.

“It will. But no matter how you age, you will have beauty in your face, in your eyes and smile.”

She wondered if it was possible to be any happier as she curled closer to him and said, “You will be a very striking old man.”

“Muscles do not remain strong forever, and flesh sags. I will be stooped and possibly bald,” he told her.

“Ah, but you, too, will always have your face.”

“Not so delicate as yours, I fear.”

“I don't believe such a strong chin will ever go weak. And your eyes…even if the color begins to fade, they are so deep a blue that they are nearly black. They will always be fierce,” she said gravely.

He gently stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “And to think you had little good to say about me once.”