Master Of Her Heart

By

Dale Gomez

Copyright © 2012 by Bartholin Books

In the UK, Bartholin Books UK

This e-book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. Please store your files where minors cannot access them.

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

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Warning: This story contains scenes and language that some readers may find offensive. It uses explicit language to detail sexual situations that may include straight, gay, and/or lesbian sex; multiple partners and partner sharing; supernatural beings; BDSM; sex toys; consent/non-consent situations; body modification; and oral, genital, and/or anal contact.

If you are offended by, or it is illegal for you to possess, explicit descriptions of sexual interactions between and/or among persons of any race, creed, national origin, sex, or orientation, we ask that you refrain from downloading this story.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Master Of Her Heart

By

Dale Gomez

Chapter One

York, England

September 1194

"You cannot marry him."

The words, spoken in a deep growl, made Mariona jump and drop the bunch of flowers she'd just gathered. They were the last blooms of the summer, and she planned to carry them on the morrow when she wed Lord Alan Ranwyck.

Lord Alan's brother Roger stood before her, his handsome face cold and angry.

"My lord," she said carefully, stooping to pick the flowers from the dying grass. "You startled me." He'd done more than that. Seeing him, being alone with him, sent a very inappropriate thrill down her spine. In the few months she'd known the two brothers Mariona had decided she was glad Alan was her betrothed instead…but Alan did not make her feel warm and soft all over. Nor did he look at her the way Roger looked at her, the way he was looking at her now.

Alan was always kind to her, where Roger argued and sneered when he felt she wasn't being honest about something. She was never sure how he would behave, and Alan's recent warnings about Roger and his hard ways had frightened her. At first she had not wanted to believe them, but as Roger's behavior became more and more erratic she found herself trusting Alan's words. Roger seemed angry these days, as if at any moment the last thin veneer of civilization would break down and he would turn feral.

She tried to peek around his forbidding bulk. Perhaps Alan would appear, and save her from the discussion Roger obviously wanted to have.

"Good," Roger replied. "I believe you need to be startled, my lady. Startled enough to listen to me, and come with me now."

"What…I am sorry." Mariona finished picking up the blossoms and stood. "I fear I do not grasp your meaning. Why do we not go back to the keep, and you can explain."

"I cannot make it clearer." One long stride brought him directly in front of her, his strong hands grasping her upper arms. The shiver that ran through Mariona was not entirely fear. Too many nights in the last month she'd awakened in the middle of the night, her body trembling and Roger's strong features in her mind. Too many meals had been taken feeling his gaze following her movements, the knowledge he was watching making her limbs warm and fluid. "We must go, now," he said. "Ere he sees us. I am sorry there is no time for your goodbyes. After you are safe you can write—"

"Unhand me." She tried to pull away. He was too strong for her. "My lord, methinks you are in need of some rest. Your brother has told me—"

"Damn my brother!" he snapped. "Come."

His grip was painful as he started dragging her out of the walled safety of the garden. "My horse is ready," he said, ignoring her struggles to get away. "I've packed enough food and wine to get us to London."

"London!" Mariona gasped. "My lord, I cannot go!" Tears pricked her eyes. "Have you forgotten, I am to be wed on the morrow."

Roger stopped by the gate and pushed her behind a hedge. His broad shoulders cut off her view of the garden as he followed her into the space behind the branches. The cold stone against Mariona's back through the thin fabric of her gown made her shiver. "Hush."

"I will not. I see no—"

His lips cut off her words.

Mariona started to scream, trying desperately to push him away, but his arms held her fast and his kiss swallowed her choked sounds. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow pass by, someone walking past the gate. Roger must have heard the shuffling of leaves or the snap of a twig that alerted him to the presence of another.

The shadow disappeared. Roger did not stop kissing her, and after a moment, Mariona realized she was kissing him back.

Tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. As he sensed her acquiescence and responded, his grip on her arms lessened. His lips became less punishing, more tender.

She was breathless. Never having been kissed before, she was unsure what to do, but Roger showed her in the most eloquent way possible. His hands found her face, holding her cheeks in a firm but gentle grip. She gasped again when his tongue slipped between her lips and touched hers. It sent little shivers of delight through her entire body. The cement against her back was no longer cold.

Those hazy, half-remembered dreams were nothing compared to this, nothing compared to the way her blood ran hot and loud in her veins as she boldly circled Roger's tongue with her own. His body pressed against hers, his hard muscles against her softness. The sensation was enough to make her cry out in delight, but something stopped her. A vague memory that someone would hear, that if she wanted to continue sampling this forbidden fruit she must be quiet.

This grew even more difficult when his hands left her face to trail over her collarbones, exposed in her deep blue gown. His bare skin was hard, smooth and callused from years of swordplay. Heat radiated through the fabric when his hands continued their downward movement to stroke her breasts, cupping them, teasing the firm peaks of her nipples which poked against her dress.

Still his mouth stayed on hers, catching her eager, surprised gasp of pleasure. Mariona's head swam. Not even during those dark nights, when the only way to ease the fire that burned in her stomach and between her legs was to stroke her soft, wet skin until she shook and fell apart beneath the sheets, had she experienced anything like this.

"So sweet," he muttered, leaving her lips to kiss and nibble at her throat. Still his hands roamed, stroking the narrow lines of her waist, slipping over the curve of her bottom and squeezing lightly.

Mariona knew this was wrong. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was horrified at her wanton behavior, shocked at the way she pressed her pelvis against the hard ridge beneath Roger's clothing. She no longer cared. This was too delicious, too wonderful, and she had never felt as safe as she did hidden in the leaves while Roger grasped hold of her thighs and lifted her up.

Her back against the wall, she straddled him, cradled in his big strong hands. His hardness pressed more fully into her. She felt it even through the layers of her skirts, rubbing against that spot where she was so sensitive, so inflamed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and used her calves to pull him closer still.

Holding her with one hand, he used his other to tug the neckline of her gown aside, exposing one small breast to the cool evening air. Mariona gasped at the chill, then again when his hot mouth closed over the pebbled skin. This was beyond anything she'd ever known. Her eyes closed. Her arms wrapped around Roger's dark head, holding him close, while he suckled her, sending great waves of bliss through her entire body to converge between her legs.

A soft sound escaped her. She could not hold it back, any more than she could keep herself from slipping her fingers down the neck of his tunic to caress the soft, warm skin of his back. The muscles were hard and heavy under her palms. He shuddered. "Mariona," he whispered. "If you knew…oh, Jesu, "

She started to reply, but he cut her off with another kiss, his lips searching, demanding. His earlier control faded, and Mariona answered his wildness with her own. Their tongues entwined, their breath coming in simultaneous gasps. All Mariona could see was the blackness behind her own eyelids. All she could smell and taste was Roger, the musk of his skin combined with the sweetness of soap and the mysterious spice of his mouth. She was dizzy, her body throbbing and crying. The space between her legs burned, and when Roger pulled away from her slightly to slide one hot hand up her thigh she squeezed her eyes shut and gave a silent plea that he would touch her, stroke her where she begged to be stroked.

Her prayers were answered. She tensed, afraid he might pull away from her when he felt the wet evidence of her wickedness and aware that she herself should pull away, should stop this. She could no more do that than she could fly. An urge more powerful than her own mind froze her where she was, a slave to Roger's mouth and hands, as his fingertips found the tiny sensitive bud hiding in her folds and pressed gently against it.

Mariona bit her lip to keep from screaming as he started stroking her with a slow steady rhythm. She could see her breath in the air as the sun faded and the night cooled, quick hot gasps of air that came out as mist. Still he touched her, played with her, his fingers bringing her swiftly to a place she had never before visited with another human being.

"Roger…oh God…Roger…" she panted. Her hips began moving of their own accord, rocking forwards and back over his hand slick with her juices.

"Let me see," Roger murmured. His dark gaze caught hers, pinning her against the wall as effectively as his hand held her up. "Let me see, my beautiful Mariona. Let me see it in your eyes."

She wasn't certain what he meant, but it no longer mattered. Heat rushed to her pelvis, leaving her dizzy and shaking as her body shook and splintered apart, as waves of ecstasy pounded through her body. Her head flung back, her mouth opened in a silent scream of bliss. Faintly over the roaring in her ears she heard Roger growl her name, felt the hand that held her up clench on her buttocks just as her fingers dug into the skin of his shoulders and back.

Finally the waves subsided, but her passion did not. Roger's hand fumbled and moved below her hot center. It took her a moment to realize he was tugging at the cords that fastened his hose, pulling the fabric of his braes away from his cock. Something blunt and hard pressed against her opening, sending more shivers through her body. She wanted this, wanted him, wanted to feel him deep inside her body. She wanted it more than anything.

And yet…the part of her mind that had been so quietly accepting her actions awoke. She could not do this, could not allow him to do this. On the morrow she would marry Alan. Alan, who had every right to expect that his bride was a maid. Alan, who could annul their marriage if she was not. Who likely would annul their marriage if she was not, leaving her alone. Alone and possibly carrying his brother's child.

"No!" she cried, twisting her hips as best she could away from his pelvis. "Roger, no!"

"I will not hurt you," he murmured into her throat. "I swear it, my sweet. Just be still. Trust me."

His words were like water on the rapidly cooling flames of her desire. Already a freezing, hard horror at what she had just done built in Mariona's breast. She had allowed him to…touch her, to touch her so intimately. This man she hardly knew, her betrothed's brother, had violated her. And she had encouraged him, gloried in her degradation.

"Unhand me!" she cried, forgetting the danger of discovery, forgetting all but her own shame. "Jesu, Roger, what have you done to me?" Tears filled her eyes. She twisted again, freeing herself from his loosening hands and pulling away. Her breast was still exposed. Angrily, she readjusted the fabric, ignoring the hot droplets that fell from her eyes onto her cooling skin. "How dare you!"

He grabbed her, pulling her back. "Mariona," he began. "Please, do not…"

"Do not tell me what to do!" she cried. "You…you are less than a man, my lord! To take advantage of me, to betray your brother! I knew you were foul, knew you were not to be trusted, but I never dreamed—"

"You knew what?" She did not notice the disbelief in his voice, the hurt look in his eyes.

"Aye, foul," she snapped. "My lord Alan did warn me of your evil. He told me how you returned from the Holy Land a changed man, one who thought only of thievery and spite. But he did not imagine, nor did I, to what lengths your degradation would carry you. To seduce your own brother's wife, to use her in such a manner—"

"'Tis my brother who is foul," he said. "Mariona, you must come with me. Do you not see how I feel? Aye, I would seduce you, if you would have me. I would do anything to keep you from his clutches, and if it shames you that is the risk I accept. You must listen—"

"I must listen to nothing." She was panicking now, desperate to get away, to climb into a hot bath and try to wash away the cruel memory of what she'd just done.

"Please," he said desperately. "Please listen—"

Mariona could not think of any other way to end the conversation. She drew back her hand and slapped him, the sharp sound of skin on skin cracking in the still cool air.

His eyes blazed. Mariona shrank back as he leaned towards her. His mouth opened to speak.

"Mariona? Where are you, my dear?"

It was Alan's voice. Mariona had never been so glad to hear anyone in her life. Taking advantage of Roger's stunned expression, she yanked herself away from him and ran back into the garden.

"Alan!" she called. "I am here."

Roger shrank back into the bushes. Mariona had just a glimpse of his face before it disappeared back into the shadows. Its expression was so desolate she almost felt sorry for him.

Alan appeared. Guilt stabbed at Mariona's heart at his cheerful smile. "Where have you been, my lady?" he asked. "I did look for you everywhere."

She was suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance, of Alan's gaze taking it in. "I fell asleep," she said quickly. "Over there, behind the hedge." She pointed to the far wall, away from where she and Roger had shared their…moment. Where they had shared in her wickedness.

"Are you ill?" Alan was always so concerned for her. How could she have thought she was safe in Roger's arms, when Alan was so kind to her?

In truth, she was very lucky. King Richard had chosen well for her. Mariona was well aware that as a wealthy young woman with no living family, she was a highly valued prize for any man. Women in her position depended on the kindness and good judgment of their monarch, and if she was still a prize to be bought by a bribe in the King's pocket, Mariona could only be glad it was Alan who had offered the most for her hand.

She knew little about him, but in the last months she'd become certain he was a kind and generous man, handsome and intelligent, and he would make her a good husband.

So long as he never discovered that she'd almost allowed his wicked brother, the brother about whom he'd warned her so many times, to take the virginity that by rights belonged to him.

"You do look tired," he said sympathetically. "Come back inside. You can go to bed early. Tomorrow will be quite a day, indeed."

Mariona nodded gratefully and allowed Alan to lead her back into the keep. She did not look back over her shoulder to see if Roger was following them, but she could swear she felt his gaze on her back just the same.

Chapter Two

She did not see him again until a fortnight had passed, although she thought of him often.

Alan offered no explanation for his departure save to say he had matters to attend elsewhere. Mariona tried to accept this, but her guilt would not allow it. Had Alan seen something, suspected something? Had Roger betrayed her?

She did not want to believe it was so, but could not help but suspect it was. Alan had not said anything, but his manner towards her after their marriage was so changed.

He was still kind and respectful, but Mariona felt his disappointment, his disapproval of her, in the air around her. It beat against her skin, invisible wings of anger and regret, following her even into the bedchamber where he ignored her night after night. The disappointment was sharp and intense, especially after her experience with Roger. She'd been looking forward to consummating the marriage, but Alan seemed not to care. It hurt.

She banished such thoughts from her mind as she climbed into the saddle. Her horse, Bella, was one of the few familiar faces still in her home. Alan had sent away all of her servants and replaced them.

He must be very angry at her, she thought as she rode away from the keep. She would have to find a way to make it up to him, without admitting her guilt.

The ride helped to clear her head a little, but she was still no closer to an answer when she drew reigns and dismounted on the crest of a hill. Mariona like to picnic at this spot, and came here often. From this high point, the castle and the buildings in the village were small and insignificant. She could pretend the world did not really exist, an oddly comforting notion.

"Have you been thinking of me, Mariona?"

Once again, the deep rumble of Roger's voice made her jump. She recognized it instantly. Her heart beat faster in her breast.

He stepped out of the shadows of the trees, his bearing just as proud as ever but his clothing rumpled and a little dirty. A shadow of beard clouded the strong lines of his jaw.

"Have you?"

Mariona swallowed. Her throat suddenly felt dry. She had thought of him, more than she liked to admit even to herself. "I have not," she said coolly. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

His words sent a thrill through her body. Angrily, she fought it back. Roger was evil, a disturbed man. Alan had told her so, and she knew it to be true. Roger had used her, lied to her. She couldn't think of a specific lie but knew that to be true, as well.

"I fear you have wasted your time, my lord," she said. "I have not thought of you, nor do I wish to speak to you now."

"I wish to speak to you." He crossed to the linen cloth she'd laid on the ground and sat at its edge. "'Tis important, Mariona." He pulled his wineskin from his belt and offered it to her. She eyed him warily but drank, afraid to refuse.

"Nothing you have to say can be important," she said, handing it back to him. She wanted to leave but something stopped her. Fear, or pity. Or, if she was honest, arousal. Just having him near her made her blood race through her veins. It was intensely disturbing.

"Is your life not important?"

"What?"

"Your life, my lady." Roger leaned back on his hands and stretched his long legs on the grass in front of him. "Do you not value it?"

"Of course I do," she snapped. His nearness and her own reaction to it irritated her more than she'd ever thought possible. "I value it too much to sit here and discuss it with you." She started to stand, to pack her food back into her bag.

"He will kill you," Roger said.

Mariona continued packing. "I do not believe your lies, my lord."

"Damn it!" Roger lunged for her, knocking her to the ground. She wanted to scream but was too afraid of what he might do, so she just laid on the grass with a rock digging in to her side, looking up at him in terror.

The sun shone through the leaves on the trees and made a dappled pattern on his head. His black hair shone where the light hit it, giving him almost the look of an angel, but his face was set in such forbidding lines Mariona's fanciful impression was destroyed. Alan had been right about Roger, right in everything he said. She only wished she could get back home, where he could protect her.

Roger's hands left her as quickly as he'd attacked her to begin with. The fury on his face turned to shame. "I did not mean to hurt you," he said. "I am sorry. But you must heed me when I tell you—"

It finally struck Mariona that she was free to get up. She did so, straightening her clothing, refusing to look in his direction. "I will heed nothing," she said. "And I do not wish to see you again. Please leave me be."

"What must I do to convince you?" A hint of desperation colored his voice.

"You will never convince me of such lies," she said. She gathered up the last items from the ground and started stuffing them back into the bag attached to Bella's saddle.

"Mariona, I love you."

She snorted. Another trick, another attempt by a dishonorable man to degrade her.

He was behind her now. She could smell the soapy musk of him, feel the heat of his body through her gown. She shivered involuntarily when he placed his hands on her shoulders, caressing them. Already the space between her legs was warming, turning liquid at the memory of his fingers teasing her there, his lips on hers. "I love you," he whispered.

"Your heart cannot feel love," she replied. She'd wanted to say it loudly, spitefully, but it came out as a breathy murmur. She prayed he could not see the peaks of her breasts poking at her gown.

"It does," he said. "It beats for you. How can you not see? How could you not see, when I looked at you, spoke to you? When I touch you—"

"You should not touch me," she said. She was too afraid to move, to turn and look at him. Once before he'd tricked her with his eyes and lips. It would be harder this time to stop him from taking what he wanted. Especially when she wanted it too. Had wanted it for so long, even before that fateful day in the garden.

"How can I not touch you?" The brush of his lips on her exposed collarbone raised goosebumps on her skin. "When I have never been so close to heaven as I am when you are near. You cannot tell me you do not feel it, too, Mariona. I will not believe it." He nibbled at her earlobe, scraping the soft skin delicately between his teeth. Every inch of her body screamed to be touched.

She swallowed. "Any more than I believe your lies about my lord husband," she said. Summoning every bit of strength she had, she wrenched herself away from him and ducked beneath Bella's neck to mount on the other side.

In an instant he was at her side again, grabbing her arm, refusing to allow her to climb onto her horse. "I do not lie," he said. "Alan married you for your estates. He has no use for you. Please believe me. He will kill you, and soon."

Mariona struggled, wanting to slap him, to kick him. He was lying. She knew it, and yet…and yet she could not deny that the happiness she'd expected when she and Alan were wed had eluded her. Could Roger be telling the truth? Could Alan's changed demeanor be because he did not care for her at all, and not because he knew what had happened in the garden?

"Just tell me one thing," Roger said. "If you will not love me, at least do me the courtesy of replying. Has he hired a new maid for you? Perhaps named Hawise? A fair-haired woman with brown eyes?"

Mariona stared at him. How could he know that? "Aye," she said, before she could stop herself.

"Hawise is his wife, Mariona," Roger said. "Please, do not go back there. Please come with me, stay with me. Marry me."

* * *

She splashed cold water from the butts over her face before entering the keep, not wanting anyone to see she'd been crying. Roger had finally let her go after she'd promised to meet him at the clearing the next day. She did not intend to keep the appointment, but neither could she forget what he said.

Alan was waiting for her, sitting on the dais in the great hall with a smile on his face. "My lady wife," he said. "Did you have a nice ride?"

"Aye, thank you," she replied. She had no idea what to say to him. Every word out of his mouth seemed colored with what Roger had said to her. Every thought in her head was suspicious and scared.

"Come sit down," he said, gesturing to the carved wooden chair next to his. "I've been thinking. It has been some time since I traveled. I should like to go to London for a fortnight or so. Will you come?"

"Of course," she said, pleased he wanted her company.

"Good," he said. "We'll leave in the morning."

"But—" she bit her lip. She'd almost told him she needed to meet Roger the following day.

"What?" His eyes gleamed oddly.

"Nothing, my lord. I shall be most pleased to go with you."

"Excellent." He reached out and patted her hand. The feel of his skin on hers was pleasant, but Mariona could not help but think how Roger's touch had sent shivers through her entire body. Alan's did not.

"By the way," he said, pouring a goblet of wine from the jug next to him, "I've heard that my brother is back in the village."

Mariona swallowed. "Is he? Why has he not come here?"

"He tried. I sent him away." When she did not reply, Alan leaned forward. "Surely you did not wish to see him again. Did I not tell you what a liar he is? How he tried to hurt me at every turn? 'Twas he who killed our father, I swear it, with his betrayals and thievery."

"You…you did not tell me that before."

"I did not want to scare you. I'd hoped he had changed. Unfortunately, I learned ere we were wed that he'd been attempting to bribe your servants to speak against me. 'Tis why I replaced them all."

"I see." Her head swam. Who was telling the truth? Alan, who had never been anything but kind to her but ignored her, or Roger, who had never shown much kindness but had spoken so tenderly just an hour ago?

"You see, my dear, Roger has always hated me. He tried to hide it when we were young, but when our father died he stopped pretending. You know, of course, that he was baseborn? Although he is older by a twelvemonth he could not inherit our father's lands and title. I think he truly believed that had I not been born he might have had a chance."

"I did not know," Mariona said faintly. Alan's words seemed to echo in her skull. "Always hated me…his lies killed our father…"

"He has not tried to contact you, has he?"

"Of course not." She felt the blood rushing to her face and hoped Alan would not notice.

Alan paused, then handed her the untouched goblet. "If he does, please do tell me."

She nodded and took a large gulp of the wine. "I will."

His face cleared. "Good. Now finish that. 'Tis almost time to dine."

Mariona did as she was told, grateful to have some way to cloud her thoughts, and when he poured her another she did not object.

"Now I have had some thoughts about rebuilding the old stables," he said, standing and smoothing his tunic over his flat stomach. "Come look at them with me."

Mariona nodded and took his proffered hand to help herself stand up. She made it only a few steps before she stopped. Her head hurt. She must have drank her wine too quickly.

"Mariona? What is wrong, my lady?"

"I…I am fine," she managed. A fine mist of sweat broke out on her forehead and chest. Suddenly she was very dizzy.

Alan's hands were strong and hard on her arms. "You look ill, my lady. Come sit down."

His words barely penetrated the thick soup that seemed to have formed around her. Something must have made her ill…the wine…

But whose wine? Roger's, or Alan's?

The last coherent thought she had before blackness overtook her was to wonder if perhaps they were both trying to harm her.

Chapter Three

"Mariona."

Her eyes opened. Roger stood before her, the moonlight shining on his dark head turning his hair pale, casting his face into shadow. She knew it was he, though, knew it from his voice and the proud set of his shoulders.

"Roger!" she cried. "Roger, I needed you!"

"I know." He pulled his tunic off over his head, revealing the hard planes and smooth skin of his chest. "I am sorry." A jagged scar ran from his right shoulder to his stomach, straight down over his manly breast. She longed to touch it, to soothe the gnarled skin into smoothness with her fingers, even though she knew such a thing was not possible.

He took her hand anyway and placed it on his chest. She realized she was naked in the dim light, and just as quickly realized she did not care. Roger watched her, his gaze taking in every curve. "You are more beautiful than I imagined," he said. His hand, ghostly in the bleached light, reached out and stroked her breast. Shivers ran through her body as her nipple hardened under his palm.

"Roger, I—"

"Shhh." She wanted to tell him he still did not entirely trust him, did not know whom to trust, but his other hand reached between her legs to stroke her already wet skin. She moaned, her hips arching forward to meet him. He slipped one finger inside her, moving it deep in her heated channel.

"You know who to trust," he said, answering the comment she had not made out loud. "In your heart you know."

"I don't," she moaned. His words barely registered with her now, as his finger pumped faster and his thumb massaged her aching clit. Every muscle in her body trembled with the effort of staying upright.

"Trust the one who loves you," he whispered. "The one who'll give up everything for you."

"I don't know—aaaaaah!" she cried out as she came, her body shaking, her head thrown back. For what seemed like hours she throbbed, her pleasure too intense for words, until finally she fell back on the bed, exhausted. There were tears in her eyes. Roger was gone.

"Roger? Roger? Roger?"

* * *

She woke up then, his name on her dry lips, her body still quivering. The room was empty. Not even her new maid Hawise was there, which was odd. Usually the girl dogged her every step unless expressly ordered to leave. It took another moment for her to realize something else was wrong. The silence. There were no footsteps echoing up from the keep's great hall below. No bits of conversation drifted through the open windows from the bailey, no clanking of metal from the kitchens or the stables. The silence was so alien to her it was terrifying.

She struggled to sit up, the bright light hurting her eyes. Her head ached, as well. What had—

The wine. The poisoned wine. Who had tried to kill her?

She had no idea how to find out the truth. One of the men loved her. One of them hated her. Her only hope for survival was to find out which one.

She would try to go to Roger first, she decided, only because she knew where to find him. The silence outside told her Alan was gone, possibly even off to London without her. That she could believe him capable of leaving the city when she was, as far as he knew, near death, told her something she did not want to stop and analyze.

As stealthily as she could, she crept across the floor to the wardrobe and grabbed a gown. It was difficult to do up the laces by herself, but she would not call Hawise, or anyone else. She needed to get out, and hopefully even back, before anyone knew she was awake and alive.

She put on her slippers and veil and tiptoed to the door, thanking God she'd asked one of the serving boys to run goose grease on the hinge just a few days ago.

The small, narrow hallway outside her chamber was as deserted as it sounded. Mariona sneaked down the curving stone steps, pricking her ears for the slightest hint of footsteps or speech in the hall. Her heart pounded in her chest. Any second someone might see her and raise an outcry, or force her back to bed.

The rushes covering the floorboards swished under her feet. To Mariona the sound seemed to echo in the hall. She wouldn't have been surprised if it could be heard in France, it was so loud. She had a choice to make. Run, and risk more noise, or go slower, which would be quieter but leave her exposed for longer.

She chose to run. Forcing herself not to hold her breath, she raced to the open door and through it, catching only a glimpse of the empty bailey. She dared not glance around, instead heading straight for the stables. She would not be able to saddle Bella by herself, but she could ride bareback. She'd done it before.

The east wall of the stables was in shadow, and Mariona leaned against it, grateful for even that small bit of cover. It felt safer, somehow, even though she knew it was not.

A sound from within the building startled her. A low murmur, followed by a giggle, in a voice that sounded very much like Hawise's. Mariona froze, then relaxed when it became clear she had not been seen. But what was her maid laughing about?

Another voice joined Hawise's, and tears sprang to Mariona's eyes. It was Alan's voice. Her husband was in the stables, laughing and talking to her maid.

With a sinking feeling she walked along to the back of the building, where the top half of the doors were open on fine days. The half door was just low enough for her to peek over, and she did, knowing she was endangering herself but unable to resist. She had to see it with her own eyes, had to know for certain that she was right in her loyalties, right in identifying her true feelings.

Hay and straw was stored at this end of the barn, some of it baled, much of it forming a large, loose heap in an empty stall. It was on this heap that Hawise reclined, totally naked, while Mariona's knelt before her, his hard cock in his hand and a smile on his face. Mariona saw them there, saw Hawise fondling her own breasts while her gaze stayed glued to Alan's cock, and she knew then that Roger had been telling the truth. It was Roger all along who'd cared for her, who'd loved her.

Just as she loved him.

The realization slammed into her, making her gasp. It had always been Roger. Roger who teased her and made her laugh, Roger who knew her so well he could tell if she was trying to hide her feelings with those little lies all women learned early in life to tell.

Roger, who was waiting for her in the clearing…unless he'd given up on her.

No more wondering, no more waiting. Mariona turned away from the sight of her husband and his wife writhing naked on the straw, and ran for the gate and the woods beyond.

* * *

The clearing was empty, and even after searching for several minutes, fighting her panic, Mariona found no sign that Roger had been there. Had she been ill for more than a day? Had he given up on her? She stifled a sob. Going back to the keep was an impossibility, but she had no money, no means, to go anywhere else. She could not take refuge in the village, for no one would listen to her, and she was not certain where the King was…if he would even believe her, help her. If he was even in England at all. Richard was not known for his fondness of the land he ruled, preferring to stay at his lands in France.

There was nowhere to turn. Mariona sat heavily at the base of a large oak tree and started to cry.

She did not know how long she stayed there, tears pouring down her cheeks, her sobs mingling with the cries of birds and the rustle of the wind in the trees, but eventually she started to feel a little better. She had to. It was either try to think of a way to help herself, or throw herself into the nearest river.

The bells of the church rang, and with them came a flood of relief. The church! How could she have forgotten? Father Remes would help her. He'd baptized her, he'd known her all her life. He would believe her. Wouldn't he?

She stood up to run, and smacked right into Roger's broad, strong chest.

"Roger!"

Tears started in her eyes anew as she looked up at him, his handsome face so full of concern. He truly did care for her. How had she not seen it before? Why did she not go with him that day in the garden?

"Mariona," he answered, in a voice that shook. His arms closed around her. "What happened? I waited for you. I thought you would not come…then my spy in the village told me you were taken ill, not expected to live." He held her so tightly breathing was difficult, but Mariona did not complain. "I was about to storm the keep to get you, to see for my own eyes…"

"I am so sorry, Roger," she said, sobbing. "I did not believe you. I did not trust you, or myself. I knew what I felt but I could not admit it, I was so worried about what I thought I should need that I did not think of what I truly did need."

"Shh." He pulled away slightly and lifted her chin with the gentlest pressure of his fingertips, trying to catch her eyes. She could not allow it, not until he'd heard her apology. "It does not matter now."

"But I must tell you," she protested, the words spilling from her mouth like water over a cliff. "I must tell you, you were right and I was wrong, and he tried to kill me, Roger, I should have listened to you, oh how I must have made you feel—"She paused to take a breath, but before she could open her mouth again, Roger spoke.

"I should have been more clear," he said. "When I realized what he meant to do, I should have said something." He shook his head, his eyes full of a guilt she could not bear to see. "I have ever been one to rush in where caution is called for. I should have told you, not demanded you go with me, but I was so scared of what might happen to you…I felt time running out, and I wanted to steal you away from him."

"Nay, nay, you were right, you—"

He shook his head and placed his fingers on her lips, cutting off her next words.

"Do you know, Mariona, I do not even care," he said, caressing her cheeks with his fingertips. The touch echoed through her entire body. "You are here, and you are safe. That is all that matters."

"I love you, Roger," she said softly. "That is what matters most to me."

Something flashed in his eyes, a disbelief, a wonder, that she had never thought she would see in him. Roger had always been so self-assured. She'd never doubted he saw himself as perfect, as better and smarter than those around him. Now she realized how wrong she had been. In that one brief show of vulnerability, she saw how tortured he'd been, watching her, loving her, knowing she would never be his.

"I love you," she said again, winding her arms around his neck and standing on her tiptoes to bring her mouth closer to his. "Only you, Roger."

He hesitated. His tension and uncertainty hung in the air between them for a moment, then snapped as his arms went around her waist with bruising force. She gasped, but his mouth was already closing over hers in a kiss of pure passion and heat.

This time she did not even think of stopping him. She'd dreamed of this ever since the first kiss in the garden, had carried the memory of his lips on hers with her. He'd made her his in those all-too-short minutes behind the hedge, and she was ready, willing, to let him finish the task now. Her body burned, her pussy was wet and throbbing just from the touch of his lips on hers, the smell of his skin so close to her. She felt safe and hot and loved, loved more than she'd ever been in her life, and she was desperate to give that love back to him with her body.

They sank to the cool grass together, not stopping the kiss. Mariona was already light-headed as she tugged at the bottom of his tunic, pulling it up so she could run her fingers over the smooth muscles of his stomach and chest.

He gasped when she touched him, his skin rippling under hers. The gasp turned into a groan as she slid her hand downward to glance over the ridge of his erection. The sound made her bolder than she'd ever thought she could be. The memory of what his touch had done to her was so clear, the thought of giving him the same pleasure so tempting. She rubbed the back of her hand up and down along his hardness through the fabric of his braes, then shifted to stroke it with her palm, to feel the shape of it, thick and smooth.

He grabbed her wrist and moved it away, back up to the thin line of hair below his navel. "My love," he whispered, moving his mouth down to kiss her throat, to nibble the delicate lobe of her ear. "I fear you will unman me."

She wasn't entirely certain what he meant, but before she could ask him he tugged at the loosely tied lacings on the back of her dress. The neckline sagged, and he pulled it down over her shoulders, over her breasts, past her hips to puddle around her bent knees. She cried out, a tiny sound of shock as the air hit her naked body. She had never been undressed outdoors like this. It felt both wicked and absolutely wonderful.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you are, my Mariona?" he whispered, sliding his palms down the curves of her body. She shivered. His fingers brushed over the soft curve of her belly and dipped lower, sliding through the soft curls covering her mound, lower still to deep between her legs. Her thighs were already wet from the desperate need burning inside her, and he picked up some of her moisture on his fingers ere he touched her. Expertly he found the hard bud of her clit and stroked it, rubbing gently, then harder, then gently again. All the while his mouth caressed her, feasting on her neck and collarbone, tasting the hard peaks of her breasts. All the while she panted and sighed, clutching him more tightly to her. She'd thought, after their brief, intense meeting in the garden, that she knew what pleasure was. She'd been wrong. This was pleasure.

They tumbled to the grass, Roger's large body next to hers, his leg over her legs. His erection pressed into her hip and he started grinding gently against her while he took advantage of her prone position to further explore her pussy, inserting one thick finger. Mariona gasped. Roger pulled away.

"You are intact," he said.

She nodded, worried. "My lord Alan, he did not…I was not…" She wasn't sure what to say.

Roger kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose. His lips hovered over her mouth but she stopped him, one hand on his chest. "You are not angry?"

Smiling, he shook his head. "Why would I be angry, that I have the honor of being the only man?"

"You are the only man," she whispered, reaching up to claim him, to take hold of his tunic and lift it off, to feel his bare skin against hers. He was so warm and solid, so real, alien yet completely familiar in her arms. Her right arm was under his chest, her left hand free to feel the muscles tense under his skin, to play along the fabric roll of his braes and tug at the cord that held them up.

He pulled away, lowering his body so he could suckle her breasts and play with the taut peaks with his tongue. For what seemed like forever he stayed there, sucking, stroking, licking, until Mariona was moaning with pure abandon. The sunlight shone through the canopy of leaves over their heads, dappling his head with light and shadow as he moved still lower, dipping his tongue into her navel, scraping his teeth on the ridges of her hipbones.

His strong, sure hands parted her legs and he slipped between them. She blushed. As much as she wanted this, wanted him, she had never been so exposed to a man before. She feared he might run from her or find her ugly, as she'd been told once that her female parts were.

Roger obviously did not agree. "Beautiful," he said again. The word and the look in his eyes chased her fears away. She could feel his gaze on her wet, swollen skin, burning her. Desires she could not name raced through her body. All she knew was she wanted his touch on her, in her, wanted whatever it was he promised with his eyes.

His thumbs opened her. Before Mariona could even think to protest or question, his head was between her legs, her buttocks lifted slightly by his hands, and his tongue flicked gently against her hard little clit.

She thought she was going to explode, literally burst into flames and shatter in his arms. Her entire body tensed, her hips rising further to meet his tongue as he began a slow, leisurely circuit of her intimate skin. "Roger," she gasped. "Roger."

He did not reply, but pressed his face further between her legs. His tongue slid into her, then darted back out, circling her entrance. She lost track of the movements then, lost track of everything but the hot wetness of his tongue against her, the pressure building in her pelvis.

She felt her release coming, felt herself losing control. She wanted to cry out but the sound was locked in her throat. Roger seemed to feel her growing abandon. His hands locked around her hips, steadying her as her orgasm ripped through her body like lightning.

Chapter Four

A fine coating of sweat glistened on her skin as she collapsed back to the earth, panting. Sated, but not satisfied. Roger's lips kissing up her belly and ribs, tickling the undersides of her breasts, promised no respite from the passion that overtook them.

His hose and braes were off, leaving him naked beside her, a forest god in all his glory. Mariona couldn't take her eyes off him, off the smooth, defined muscles of his stomach, his narrow waist. The fine hairs on his stomach she'd felt earlier trailed down into a thicker patch of hair, surrounding and drawing her eye directly to a cock that seemed enormous to her, resting against her leg, radiating heat.

He watched her gaze explore him, not moving, just letting her study the lines of his naked body. Tentatively she reached out to touch him. The muscles of his stomach jerked as he gasped but he still did not move.

Mariona had always expected that a man's skin would be rough, hard like his hands. It was not. What she felt now was softer than anything she'd ever felt, slick with moisture from the beads of clear fluid at the tip of his cock. He groaned.

The sound made her look up at him, directly into his dark eyes. They caught her, held her, as he shifted his position, the tip of his erection just touching her still-tingling wet flesh.

Her breath caught. She reached for him, her fingers clenching on the strong muscles of his upper arms as he pushed forward and thrust his body into hers.

Mariona cried out. Her back arched. There was pain, a brief sharp shock of searing pain that made her feel cold and shaky.

Roger stopped. "It will not last," he said. "I promise."

She nodded. Already the pain was fading, easing. Roger seemed to see this in her eyes, because he moved again, driving the entire length of his cock into her, stretching her virgin walls, filling her with his incredible heat.

A yelp escaped her, but she did not know if the sound was pain or wonder or a mixture of both. All she knew was that as Roger kept moving, building a steady rhythm, more sounds came, noises she could not stop even if she wanted to.

She did not want to. Every time she moaned Roger joined her. The sound of his voice, so different from usual, raised her passion further. There was no guardedness in his tone now. He held nothing back. He drove into her again and again, sending shocks of delight tingling and sizzling along every line of her body.

"Mariona," he gasped. "Mariona."

She wanted to answer him, to say his name, but found her tongue was incapable of speech. There was nothing she could do but kiss him, hold him, as he moved inside her.

He sped up, increasing the slick friction between their bodies, and she raised her hips to meet him, finding his speed and matching it. All the while his lips stayed close to hers, occasionally dipping down to kiss her or to nibble at her throat. His hands caught hers, holding them above her head, their fingers entwined. When she leaned up to kiss his neck he tasted of salt, tangy and delicious.

Roger's groans increased, his pace sped still further, building the heat in her pelvis. She twisted beneath him, not sure if she was trying to increase or escape the incredible sensation coursing through her. It was more than she could take. She hovered on the edge of something she could not quite grasp, almost crying in mingled fear and triumph as her body reached the peak again.

She screamed, her fingers squeezing his as her body convulsed around him. His voice joined hers, rising into the trees around them as he lost control, thrusting frantically into her. He pressed his face against hers, their cheeks touching, their breath mingling as they came down together from the peak.

Finally Mariona took her hand from his and reached up to tangle her fingers in his dark silky hair. "You are a bit heavy," she said.

"Can't move," Roger replied sleepily. "Too comfortable."

"And you both do look so comfortable."

Mariona bit back a shriek as Alan stepped into the clearing, his sword drawn.

Roger did not move, but his body tensed next to hers. "My lord brother," he said. "How nice to see you."

Alan's lip curled. "You always did act the clever one," he said. "The smart and brave and honorable one. We will see how honorable you look now, when I tell the townspeople you raped and murdered my wife."

"No!" Mariona struggled to sit up, but Roger's arm pinned her down. She glared at Alan. "You cannot."

He smiled. "I can do whatever I like," he said. "The only person to dispute it will be him." He gestured at Roger with a look of absolute hatred. "No one will believe him, especially not when I bring forward a witness."

"Witness? I do not—"

Hawise stepped out of the trees, clad in one of Mariona's favorite gowns. A green silk, it looked wonderful with Mariona's dark hair. The effect was not nearly so attractive for the pale, wispy Hawise, who looked like a corpulent ghost behind the vibrant fabric.

The other woman bowed, her gaze taking in the entire scene. A wolfish smile played around her lips as she studied Roger's naked body. "My lady," she said, with a parody of a curtsy. "So glad you found someone to give you a good tupping ere you die."

Roger choked but did not move. Mariona could almost feel the wheels turning in his head. His sword lay on the grass where he'd dropped it, a few feet away to her right. Alan's sword was already drawn, and he stood half the distance again from the sword. She had no idea if Roger could get to his weapon ere Alan killed him.

"Better than you will ever get," Mariona replied, too furious to be embarrassed at her position.

"'Tis a matter of opinion," Hawise said.

"Aye, and one of taste." Mariona wanted to move, but Roger still held her fast. She was beginning to feel a little silly lying here in his arms while trading barbs with her former maid.

Roger's hand squeezed her left arm twice quickly. She thought she understood, and took a deep breath, sighing, hoping he would understand her reply.

"Enough of this," Alan said. "Get up, brother, let us end this."

"No."

Alan laughed. "What is the matter? Changed your mind? You were willing to help me two months ago."

Mariona ignored him. Alan lied, she knew Alan lied.

"I have never helped you," Roger said. "You or your whore."

Hawise gasped and made to leap forward. Alan's hand flew out to her, and at that moment Mariona felt Roger move.

She didn't intend to hold her breath as she rolled to her left, but she did. Roger's body rolled in the opposite direction, away from her, towards his sword. When she stopped rolling she looked back to find him standing with the blade in his hand, crouched slightly in an attack pose. His nakedness only made more pure the beauty of his body, the skin over his tense muscles smooth and gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

Alan, too, was armed and ready. Hawise had stepped away from him, back into the shadows, giving him plenty of room to attempt to slay his wife, his brother, or both.

"You may as well give up," Alan said. "I alerted the sheriff ere we left the village. He will be here shortly."

"You will not have time to kill her, then," Roger said.

"Mayhap not," Alan said, lunging forward to strike. Roger parried the blow, but Alan quickly recovered and swung again. "But Hawise might."

Roger glanced over at Mariona at the same moment that Hawise shrieked and left the shadows. Mariona barely had time to register the gleaming dagger the other woman held in her hand before Hawise was on her.

Mariona screamed and raised her arms to deflect the blow. She heard Roger yelling something, heard the clang of steel as the men began fighting in earnest. Her fingers closed around Hawise's wrists, forcing the other woman's hands into the air, further away from Mariona's body, but already she knew she was not strong enough to hold her off forever. She wished desperately for her clothing. To die was bad enough. To die naked in another woman's arms was a humiliation she hoped never to experience.

She heard Roger cry out in pain and knew he'd been injured. Fresh rage flowed through her body, rebuilding her waning strength. She screamed, the sound torn from her throat, and pivoted her lower body away from Hawise, then let go of the other woman's arms. Hawise fell forward, screaming.

Roger was backed up against the trees, blood running freely from a cut in his shoulder and another in his thigh. His face was grim with concentration as he started to force Alan backwards, his steel flashing in the air.

"Hawise is dead!" Mariona screamed. She did not think it was true but if she could distract Alan…

It worked. Alan glanced over to the side. Roger dove at him, slicing deeply through the muscles of his brother's thigh. Alan yelled and fell to the ground.

Hawise stood up slowly, blood soaking Mariona's gown from a wound in her side. She'd fallen on the knife.

Roger stepped forward and stomped on Alan's hand, then kicked the sword away when Alan released his grip on it. He started to speak, then stopped and looked into the trees.

"Mariona, get dressed," he said. "Now!"

Mariona did not argue. She ran for her discarded gown and threw it over her head, not bothering to pull the laces. It did not matter. She heard the sounds from the trees as well. The sheriff was coming, and with him came the law.

"Mariona!"

Roger's voice rang out through the trees, barely louder than the shriek she heard behind her. She spun around just in time to see Hawise bearing down on her, holding the dagger aloft, the front of her gown soaked with blood.

Mariona screamed and jumped out of the way, but not before pain erupted in her shoulder. Hawise was on her, her face like something from a nightmare, as she started to pull the dagger out of Mariona's arm. Mariona struggled, pushing against Hawise's chest with all her might. She finally managed to shove the other woman off of her just as the sheriff arrived.

* * *

"Mmmm," she sighed, leaning back in the tub. "The water feels so good."

"You should be careful of that arm," Roger said, smiling. The tub wasn't really big enough for two, but they managed it anyway.

"It doesn't hurt so much anymore."

"It's only been a fortnight."

"I'm a strong woman." She grinned. "Didn't you know?"

"I always knew," he said softly. "Even when you did not." The look on his handsome face brought tears to her eyes.

"You did," she said. "And you saved me."

His hands stroked her thighs under the water, moving in strong, sure strokes that made water swirl against her pussy in a very pleasant manner.

"I didn't do enough," he said. "When I think of how close you came to—"

Mariona put her fingers to his lips, stopping him. She didn't want to think about it anymore, about the sight of Alan and Hawise being banished, about the shock and sympathy of the townspeople. She'd felt so exposed, so foolish. How could she ever have trusted Alan? How did she not see who Roger truly was?

"No more talk of the past," she said. "We've a journey to plan."

"A journey?" She could see he wasn't really listening. His hands were creeping ever-closer to where she wanted them most.

"Aye, you promised to take me to London." His fingers found her clit, and she gasped. No matter how bad things had been, it was worth it to end up with this strong, fierce man who loved her so much. The outsides of her legs pressed against the walls of the tub as she spread them, giving Roger better access to the folds of her pussy.

"London? Oh, that will cost you, my lady," he said, slipping a finger into her. Little shivers of delight ran through her body. She reached down to find his cock, hard and ready, and gripped it gently.

"What price will I pay?"

He shifted in the tub, pulling himself away. Mariona moaned in protest. "First," he whispered, "you must promise to let me watch you come right now, here in this tub." He started making slow circles over her clit with his thumb.

"Aye." She closed her eyes.

Roger chuckled low in his throat. "Such a little vixen," he murmured. His lips brushed against hers, making her smile. "My Mariona."

She would have replied, but he slipped two fingers inside her, pumping them slowly in and out of her hot entrance. All Mariona could do was sigh in pleasure, soft sounds escaping her lips as her body started moving in time to her love's rhythm.

"Do you like that?" His breath was hot on her ear, water dripping from his shoulders onto her breasts as he leaned over her to whisper.

"Aye…"

He bent to kiss her nipples, flicking each lightly in turn with his tongue. Mariona gasped and arched her back.

"How about that?"

"Aye." Heat was building in her pelvis now. She started to tremble beneath him, still braced against the walls of the tub. He massaged her clit faster, lighter, letting the water swirl around her pussy almost like a third, incredibly delicate, hand. She cried out.

"Hmmm…" He kissed and nibbled his way up her throat. She turned to him, desperate to feel his mouth on hers.

Finally he let her, kissing her with bruising intensity which she returned as the first wave of tension rushed through her body. Her hips lifted completely off the bottom of the tub, shoving his fingers deeper into her, pressing his thumb more firmly against her clit as she cried out into his mouth.

He returned the cry, taking his hand away before she had finished coming and replacing it, in one smooth stroke, with the hard length of his swollen cock. He lifted her ass, slamming his pelvis against hers as he drove himself all the way into her.

Mariona screamed, spasming around him again and again as his movements swept her into another, more intense orgasm. "Roger!"

He didn't reply, but lifted her from the tub, propping her on the cushioned edge while he knelt before her. Her legs were spread completely apart, so wide she could look down at the space between her breasts and his hard, flat chest and watch as his cock disappeared into her body, then reappeared slick with her juices. The sight almost sent her over the edge again.

Steam rose from the surface of the water into the lavender-scented air now tinged with the heavier, musky aroma of their passion. The mist obscured the walls of the room, making it seem to her as if she and Roger were alone in a cloud, a dream-world where nothing else existed save the feel of his hands on her skin, his body deep inside her. Every dream and hope she'd ever had for her life came true at that moment.

She reached for him, running her hands over his firm body, every inch of skin and bone precious because it was his. Her fingers found the scar on his chest, tracing its pattern across his smooth skin, praying he would never be hurt again.

He must have known what she was thinking, because he looked up, catching her gaze with his. "I love you," he gasped. "Always. And I will always protect you."

She blinked back tears. "I love you."

He drew back, looking down to watch their bodies joining. His hand found her clit once more, stroking the sensitive little bud past the point of pain and back into pleasure again. "I can feel you tighten around me," he said. "God, Mariona, you feel so good."

Her reply was lost in the ecstasy that crashed over her, through, her, turning her into a creature of pure sensation. Roger was right there, with her, his gaze holding hers. The pleasure she saw in his eyes magnified her own until there was nothing in the world but pleasure, nothing but the knowledge that she loved and was loved, and that for the rest of their lives they could escape to this world together.

She would never be alone again. She would never be scared again. Roger was there. He was her love, her man, and she knew without a doubt that he always would be.

* * *

The End

* * *

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