Rebellious Love Page 13

  A low masculine chuckle was his only reply. Holding her firmly face down on the soft mattress, he carefully lifted her hips. Rubbing his hardness against the silken smoothness of her inner thighs, he tenderly parted her legs and slowly, cautiously entered her.

  One large hand cupped the swelling that sheltered their child as the other played over her engorged breast. A low whimper of pleasure tore from Verony before she gave herself up totally to her husband's impassioned care.

  Much later, lying snuggled in his arms, she drifted contentedly back to sleep marveling at her own boldness and its delightful results.

  That contentment remained with her through the early morning as she and Curran rose to dress, a process much prolonged by frequent pauses to touch and gaze at each other lovingly. Any lingering doubts she might have had about the wisdom of her plan were banished when Curran whispered against her ear: "My beautiful enchantress, you delight me! No man was ever more fortunate."

  Blinking back tears of happiness, Verony kissed him lingeringly. They broke apart with regret only when sounds from the courtyard alerted them that the family was ready to depart for court.

  Accompanied by her husband, whose eyes rarely left her glowing face, Verony entered the White Tower feeling far more confident and serene than she had the day before. Not even the sight of Isabella magnificently arrayed in cloth of gold could dampen her contentment. Let the queen ogle Curran all she liked. It was Verony's hand he held snug in his own and her body that still radiated the glory of his lovemaking.

  With pressing political concerns briefly calmed, there was time for the social courtesies. As the crowd of men around the king gave way for the d'Arcys, Curran led Verony forward to present her to their sovereign.

  "I have the honor, my lord," he said coldly, "to introduce my wife, the Lady Verony d'Arcy."

  Hooded black eyes set in a heavily jowled face regarded her speculatively. At forty-three, John was for removed from the sullen, thin-chested boy so overshadowed by his far more favored brothers. Youngest son of the great King Henry and his Queen Eleanor, he had always seemed an unfortunate afterthought to his dazzling siblings. Only the most sardonic of fates could have decreed that death would clear the way for John to inherit the crown. His predecessor, the illustrious Richard the Lion-hearted, had nurtured at least as many personal failings. But his glamour and daring made the darker side of his nature seem unimportant. The people had followed Richard gladly, but they felt no such infatuation for hapless John.

  His numerous shortcomings stood out painfully. They were the stuff of public gossip on every street corner and in every tavern. About the best that could be said for the spendthrift, deceitful, inept ruler was that he had matured sufficiently to at least look like a king.

  Of medium height and late but adequate muscular development emphasized by his carefully tailored brocade tunic and surcoat, he sported lackluster

  black hair trimmed low at the nape of the neck. A neat mustache and beard framed his sensual mouth, with his slumberous eyes the most clear-cut indication of his favorite pastime.

  Under his blatant scrutiny, Verony flushed. She felt as though her mauve silk chemise and azure mantle were stripped from her, baring the most intimate secrets of her body. John's leering gaze on the high, firm breasts Curran had so recently caressed sickened her. When the king's eyes wandered lower, to the ripe mound of her belly, she shifted angrily.

  Her distaste was shared by her husband. Taking a step forward, Curran put himself firmly between his wife and the king. John's swift, displeased look could not dislodge him. Curtly the monarch said: "You are welcome, my lady, although I will admit your presence is a surprise. We had no idea that you still lived, much less were married to d'Arcy."

  Turning to Curran, he went on: "It is customary, my lord, to consult with me before contracting any noble marriage. Much as I can understand your haste"—the leering gaze passed over Verony again—"I must reprimand your disregard for the proprieties."

  A muscle twitching in Curran's jaw was the only sign of the check he kept on his temper. Staring down at the king from his great height, he said: "Since Lady Verony's presence on my demesne put her within my care, I saw no reason to consult with anyone. Our marriage concerned no one but ourselves."

  John frowned, but he had the sense not to pursue the subject. At least not before he could think of some way to get Curran at a disadvantage. He hated all the d'Arcys, but this one in particular. Garrett and Emelie's second son was too virile, too noble and too compelling to be overlooked by his sovereign. He made John feel things he did not want to admit even to himself. For too long the royal thoughts had been distracted by the sight of raven hair and gray-green eyes, the sudden rumble of a deep voice and ready laugh, the flutter of women always surrounding the long-limbed, powerfully built young man. Now he judged it more than fair that the tables should be turned and Curran be the one discomfited.

  The opportunity came only a short time later. Feeling the pressure of her pregnancy, Verony excused herself from the ladies gathering in the solar and went in search of the garderobe. Her departure did not go unnoticed. Seeing her coming down the stairs, the king slipped away from his nobles and followed her.

  Ordinarily, John could not have moved about his court without being observed. But in the present concern and confusion, with everyone eager to talk to everyone else and the sovereign regarded as relatively unimportant compared to his opponents, it was possible for him to find some degree of privacy. The men who did see him go thought nothing of his departure. He might be off on any sort of mischief, and they had far more pressing concerns.

  Walking swiftly down the corridor, John chuckled to himself. He did not for one moment doubt that his suit would be successful. The only regal characteristic he possessed in full measure was vanity. Never averse to using his power and wealth to coax women into his bed, he had utter faith in his persuasiveness. The lovely Lady Verony, he was certain, would prove easy prey.

  A quick glance around the passageway assured him they would be alone, except for a man-at-arms who was brusquely dismissed. When Verony left the garderobe, she found only the king lounging insouciantly against a pillar.

  Instantly alert to the strangeness of his presence, she regarded him warily. His lazy smile and appreciative scrutiny did nothing to reassure her. Courtesy demanded that she speak. Attempting to edge around him, Verony murmured: "Good day, my lord."

  John moved quickly to block her escape. His gaze lingered on the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as his smile widened. "Don't be in such a hurry. I would speak with you."

  Verony managed a distant look of puzzlement even as she had a sinking feeling she knew why the king had pursued her. Searching quickly for some means of evading him, she could not prevent John from grasping her arm and leading her to a nearby bench.. When she was seated he joined her, so closely that his thigh pressed against hers.

  Trying to put some distance between them, she slid further down the bench, only to have the king immediately follow. With her back against a wall, Verony could no longer avoid his touch. John's eyes laughed cruelly into hers as his long, hard leg felt the full length of her slender limb.

  "Are you always so skittish, my lady?"

  For all the present difficulties with the king, Verony knew she had to tread a fine line. He was, after all, the sovereign. Though the man might deserve only contempt, his office demanded deference.

  "I am anxious to return to the solar, my lord," she said finally, "before I am missed."

  The hint of warning in her words did not go unnoticed. John knew the d'Arcys were fiercely protective of their own. No matter how preoccupied the Lady Emelie might be, she would quickly notice her new daughter's absence. The countess would not wait long before informing Curran.

  Taking a deep breath, the king spoke rapidly. "You must allow me this opportunity to tell you of my great admiration for you, my lady." His hand grasped hers, despite Verony's best efforts to wiggle free. "From the moment we we
re introduced, I was struck by your remarkable beauty. Never have I seen a lovelier woman, or one more courageous." He leaned closer, savoring the fragrant scent of her. "You deserve the best the world can offer ... the finest jewels ... the highest position . . . the richest garb ..." His beard tickled the back of her hand as he raised it to his lips. "... the most proficient lover ..."

  A shiver of repulsion ran through Verony as she endured the touch of his mouth on her palm. John felt the motion and chose to interpret it as excitement. A pleased laugh broke from him. "Ah, Verony, how enchanting you are. No woman has ever provoked me like this. You make me feel a boy again, but with all the added advantage of a man's skill." A small, pink-tipped finger was sucked into his mouth as he wrapped an arm around her slender waist.

  "I can feel the heat from you," John muttered thickly. "There's no doubt how you would be in bed . . . wild . . . tempestuous . . . insatiable ..." He trembled eagerly, passion mounting at the mere thought of her spread out naked beneath him. "A boy can't satisfy you, my sweet. You need a real man. Someone skilled . . . imaginative. I can show you delights . . . exquisite pleasures . . . your own capacity for fulfillment will amaze you. ..."

  Bile rose in Verony's throat. King or not she could not stand his pawing an instant longer. Desperately she began to struggle. "Let me go! You have no right! I will not listen to this!"

  "Verony . . . sshhh . . . don't take on so," the king murmured against her throat. Convinced she was merely playacting, he did not immediately take offense. "You don't have to pretend with me. I know women too well to be misled. Your husband won't be anywhere near as generous as I will... in bed and out. You will want for nothing. . . . Jewels, furs, the finest silks, they will all be yours. Those you befriend will prosper at court. With my favor, you will have power . . . real power, Verony. . . . You won't have to depend on your husband or his family. You won't be helpless like you were in the forest. You'll have everything

  you want. ..." He leaned nearer, intent on kissing her.

  "No! My God, don't you listen? I don't want you!" Vainly she tried to kick him. "Let me go! No man but my husband has the right to touch me."

  Mindful of the passing time, John was becoming impatient. It was all well and good for a woman to mouth reluctance. That gave the game added spice. But his experience was that they always yielded. Marriages founded on no more than property were notoriously lax. Invariably greedy and ambitious, women did not hesitate to reach out for wealth and power when they were offered. He had no reason to believe Verony was any different. Still, he thought irately, her refusal was rather overdone. When all was settled and they were alone together, he would have to teach her better manners.

  "Sweetling," the king crooned patiently, "remember you don't want to be missed. Much as I enjoy the chase, we must reach an understanding now. Come to me tonight, Verony. We will find a way. You won't be disappointed."

  Managing at last to free her hands, Verony lashed out at him furiously. "You dolt! You unfeeling cur! I said no! I do not want you. You sicken me!"

  This had really gone too far, John decided. The girl was completely out of line. Beautiful though she was, he was not about to tolerate such disrespect. "Madam," he snarled, "you have forgotten to whom you speak. I am your husband's liege lord. All that he controls is held in my name. His property is my property." Brutal hands closed on her hips, dragging her against him. "You will pleasure me, and be glad

  of it. If I am satisfied, I may still be generous. But your rudeness has angered me. It will require considerable effort from you before I will forgive."

  He meant it, Verony realized in horror. He actually expected her to go to him. Horror clenched her stomach. Her small hands clenched into fists. The mere thought of another man touching her as Curran did made her want to vomit. "Never! Never will you have me! You are despicable! Everything they say about you is true. Everything!"

  Rage turned John's eyes coal black. A dull flush spread over his heavy jowls. His temper, never under the best control, snapped. "You bitch! How dare you refuse me? You, your husband, his sly, conniving family are nothing! Dirt beneath my feet! I can crush you out of existence . . . turn your lives to hell . . . make you pray for death. I can . . ." His hand brushed across her swollen belly. John stiffened, abruptly reminded of her condition.

  Slowly, holding her eyes with his own, he tightened his grip. Fear stabbed through Verony. "Curran's brat sleeps there . . . helpless ... so easy to destroy. You wouldn't want that, would you? There are drugs, Verony, to slip into your food. Or ways of using you that would kill the baby. It would be so easy..."

  A scream locked in Verony's throat. She had no doubt he meant exactly what he said. John knew not the slightest compassion or remorse. He saw her not as a woman but as an object to be conquered and subdued. Alone with him in the empty corridor, she was helpless. If she could not placate him quickly. . .

  "Please, my lord," Verony breathed. "Do not . . .1 was wrong ... I am sorry. I should not have spoken so." Her small fingers tried unsuccessfully to pry his loose. John's grip continued to tighten until waves of dizziness washed over her. "D-don't. . ."

  "Are you sorry, Verony?" he rasped, pressing his full weight against her. "Really sorry?"

  His breath was fetid on her cheek, his free hand moving to cruelly clasp her breast. Through the thin silk of her robes, he squeezed and twisted a nipple until she moaned in anguish. "Yes! I am sorry! Truly!"

  "You will come to me?"

  "Please ... let me go .. . !"

  "When I summon you, you will obey?"

  "Don't ... the pain . . . p-please . . . !"

  "You will do anything I order? Anything?"

  "Oh, God, just let me go! You're hurting ... the baby ..."

  The king's hand clenched into a fist aimed directly at her belly. "Will you come to me?"

  "Yes! Oh God, please stop!"

  Satisfied at last that she was properly repentant, John let her go abruptly. Verony slumped against the wall, sobbing softly. Never in her life had she felt so vulnerable. Fear for her child had overwhelmed even her pride.

  "This needn't have happened," the king informed her coldly. "I was prepared to woo you gently. But you . . ."He caught hold of himself, knowing there was no time for a further tirade. Later, when he had her alone, she would know the full force of his rage.

  Thought of the child she fought so desperately to protect made him even angrier. The world did not need another d'Arcy. He would see to it that this one would never be born alive. But in the meantime, he would use the baby as a weapon to control her.

  Pulling Verony roughly to her feet, John warned: "If you want the brat to live, you will say nothing of this. Breathe a word of it to Curran or anyone else, and I will make your punishment tenfold." He shook her hard to emphasize the threat. "Do you understand?"

  Mutely Verony nodded. She did not for an instant consider such a promise given under brutal coercion to be binding. But neither did she have an immediate plan for avoiding the king's attention. With the political situation so delicate, she did not dare tell Curran what had happened. His inevitable rage and the terrible actions that might stem from it could destroy the family.

  Satisfied for the moment, John released her. He strode away grinning, anticipating the pleasure he would find in humiliating so beautiful and proud a woman.

  Verony watched him go with wide, horror-filled eyes. The king's touch seemed to linger on her skin, making her cringe. Instinctively she wrapped slender arms around her belly as the child moved within. Terror reverberated through her, equaled only by rage so compelling as to make her tremble.

  Never in her life had she felt so helpless. When she had only herself to consider, courage was second nature. But now that the fate of her babe, and

  perhaps even of the d'Arcy family, were tied to her own, she was powerless to act.

  A sound halfway between a moan and a snarl broke from her. John chose his weapons well. He sensed enough of her character to know she would no
t dare report this confrontation any more than she could risk the safety of her child.

  Repulsion at the mere thought, no matter how remote, that she might have to give in to him made her stomach heave. Waves of nausea washed over her as she slumped against a pillar.

  She was huddled there, weeping softly, when Lady Barbara found her. Heading for the garderobe, that good matron was at first startled and then horrified to discover Verony on the bench. Fearing that something might have gone wrong with the baby, she rushed to her side.

  "My dear! What is it? Are you in pain? Are you bleeding?" Gentle hands brushed back the spill of red-gold hair. At the sight of the young girl's ashen face, Lady Barbara inhaled sharply. "Don't move! I'm going for help. I'll be right back. Don't move!"

  Long years of coping with all manner of emergencies had trained the lady well. Her broad girth sped down the corridor as she called out to the first servants she spotted. The unmistakable authority and purpose of her manner sent them racing to obey her orders. Within minutes, Lady Emelie was summoned from the solar along with Arianna, and Curran was brought from the Great Hall.

  He reached her side first, steely arms engulfing her with utter tenderness as he drew her trembling body into the shelter of his own. "Verony, my love, what is it? The baby . . . ?"

  "No ... no ... the baby is fine," she managed to reassure him. "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to disturb anyone. ..."

  Unconvinced, Curran studied her urgently. He took in the total absence of color in her face, her wide, dilated eyes, the quivering of her mouth. A gentle hand brushed her skin, feeling its coldness.

  Determinedly he rose with her in his arms. Cradled against his massive chest, Verony hardly heard the swift words he exchanged with his mother, Arianna's anxious questions, the worried exclamations of the other lords and ladies who saw her carried swiftly from the keep.

  Laid across Curran's saddle, still snug in his arms, she buried her face against him. For the short time it took to cover the distance from the White Tower to the d'Arcy family compound, she allowed herself to luxuriate in a sense of utter safety.