Gavin was unyielding. “I cannot allow that. Now I must go and gather my men. We will leave early tomorrow morning.” He turned and left the room.
Judith stood at the window of her bedchamber for a very long time. Her maid came and undressed her, putting her mistress’ arms into a green velvet mink-lined robe. Judith was hardly aware of anyone else’s presence. Her mother, who had sheltered her and protected her all her life, was threatened because of a man Judith hardly knew. She remembered Walter Demari only vaguely as a pleasant young man who talked to her of the tournament rules. She remembered clearly the way Gavin had said she had enticed the man.
Gavin. Gavin. Gavin. Always back to him. All roads led to her husband. He demanded, he commanded what she was to do. She was given no choice. Her mother was to be sacrificed to Gavin’s fierce possessiveness.
But what would she do if she had a choice?
Suddenly her eyes glinted gold. What right did that odious little man have to interfere in her life? He played God when he made others choose between what was not his to own. Fight! her mind cried out. Her mother had taught her pride. Would Helen want her only child to stand meek and quiet before the king and give in to some strutting popinjay merely because the man said she must?
No, she would not! And Helen would not want it so. Judith turned toward the door, not sure of her destination, but an idea, sparked by her new anger gave her courage. “So! Demari’s spies say we don’t sleep together, that our marriage could be annulled,” she murmured as she walked down the deserted hall.
Her convictions were firm until she came to the open doorway of the room Gavin used. He stood before the window, lost in thought, one leg propped on the window seat. It was one thing to make noble boasts of pride, but another to confront a man who every night found reasons for avoiding his wife’s bed. Alice Valence’s icily beautiful face floated before her. Judith bit her tongue, the pain keeping the tears from her eyes. She had made her decision and now she must live with it; tomorrow her husband would go to war. Her bare feet were soundless on the rush-covered floor as she went to stand just a few feet behind him.
Gavin felt, more than saw, her presence. He turned slowly, his breath held. Her hair looked darker in the candlelight, its rich color gleaming against the green velvet. The dark mink emphasized the rich creaminess of her skin. He could not speak. The nearness of her, the quiet room, the candlelight were even more than his dreams. She stared at him then slowly untied the belt of her robe and it glided languidly over her smooth skin, falling to her feet.
His gaze roamed over her as though he were unable to fully comprehend her beauty. Only when he looked back at her eyes did he see she was troubled. Was that expression fear? As if…he would reject her? The possibility struck him as so humorous he nearly laughed aloud.
“Gavin,” she whispered.
She had barely finished the syllable when she was in his arms, being carried to his bed, his lips already fastened to hers.
Judith was afraid of herself as well as of him. He could sense it as he kissed her. He’d waited a long time for her to come to him. He’d stayed away from her for weeks, hoping she could learn to trust him. Yet now, as he held her, he felt no great sense of triumph.
“What is it, sweet? What troubles you?”
His concern for her made her want to cry. How could she tell him of her pain?
When he carried her to the bed and the candlelight danced over her body, her breasts rising with each breath, he forgot all thoughts of anything but the nearness of her. His clothes were hastily thrown aside and he gently eased himself down beside her. He wanted to savor his skin touching hers, inch by slow inch.
When the torture was more than he could bear, he grabbed her to him fiercely. “Judith, I have missed you.”
She lifted her face to his to be kissed.
They had been apart too long to proceed slowly. Their need of each other was urgent. Judith grabbed a handful of flesh and muscle on Gavin’s back. He gasped and laughed throatily. When her hands clawed at him again, he grasped both hands in one of his and held them over her head. She struggled to free herself, but he was too strong. When he entered her, she gasped, then thrust her hips up to meet his. He released her hands and she pulled him closer and closer to her. They made love quickly, almost harshly, before they obtained the release they sought. Then Gavin collapsed on her, their bodies still joined.
They must have dozed, but sometime later Judith was wakened by Gavin’s slow rhythmic movement. Half-sleep, only half-aroused, she began to answer him with lazy sensual movements of her own. Minute by minute, her mind became more deeply lost to the feelings of her body. She didn’t know what she wanted, but she was not content with her position. She was not aware of Gavin’s consternation as she pushed him to the side, her hips never leaving his. Once he was on his back, she was astride him.
Gavin lost no time in wonder. His hands slid up her stomach to her breasts. Judith’s head arched back and her throat, so smooth and white in the darkness, further inflamed him. He clutched at her hips, both of them lost to their rising passion. They exploded together in a flash of blue and white stars.
Judith collapsed above Gavin and he held her close to him, her hair wrapping itself around their sweat soaked bodies, encasing them in a silk cocoon. Neither one mentioned what ran through their minds: Tomorrow Gavin would leave to do battle.
Chapter Thirteen
THE CHATWORTH MANOR WAS A TWO-STORY BRICK HOUSE with carved stone windows set with imported glass. It was long and narrow, and on either end was a stained-glass bay window. Behind the house was a lovely walled courtyard. Stretching for two acres before the house was lush lawn, at the end of which was the earl’s private hunting forest.
Three people were emerging from these woods, walking across the lawn toward the manor. Jocelin Laing, his lute slung across his shoulder had an arm around two kitchen maids, Gladys and Blanche. Jocelin’s hot, dark eyes were made even smokier by the afternoon he’d spent satisfying the greedy women. But Jocelin did not think of them as greedy. To him, all women were jewels, each one to be enjoyed for its own special brilliance. There was no jealousy or possessiveness in him.
Unfortunately, that was not the case with the women. At the moment, both were dreading leaving Jocelin.
“You were brought here for her?” Gladys demanded.
Jocelin turned his head and looked at her until she looked away and blushed. Blanche was not so easily awed. “It’s a wonder Lord Edmund allowed you to come. He keeps Lady Alice like a prisoner. He doesn’t even allow her to go riding unless he is with her.”
“And Lord Edmund does not care for a horse hitting his soft backside,” Gladys chimed in.
Jocelin looked puzzled. “I thought this was a love match—a poor woman marrying an earl.”
“Love! Bah!” Blanche laughed. “That woman loves no one but herself. She thought Lord Edmund was a simpleton she could use as sh