Rebellious Love Read online

  Her privacy proved shortlived. When the bedroom door swung open a few minutes later she looked up, intent on telling the serving woman or whoever else it might be that she wanted only to be left alone.

  The words died in her throat. Curran crossed the threshold silently, closing the door firmly behind him and shooting the iron bolt into place.

  Without a word, he went over to the low wooden stand where his chain mail and weapons were kept to await his squire's attention. Verony's throat closed achingly as he stripped off the shirt of metal links and unbuckled his longsword, laying it carefully aside.

  Flames from the copper braziers glinted off his burnished skin as he removed the rest of his clothes. Naked, he walked to the bed where she lay and calmly slid under the covers.

  Verony observed him in mingled disbelief and anger. After all his cruelty and coldness, he couldn't seriously expect to share her bed?

  Indignation won out over caution. "Just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

  One gray-green eye opened to regard her balefully. "Just what it looks like, sweet wife."

  Determined not to shame herself in a childish display of temper, Verony hissed: "I don't want you here."

  Curran let the words lie between them for a moment before he shrugged. "Too bad."

  "Too bad? Why you . . . you unfeeling cur! How dare you come in here? When I think how you've treated me after I . . ."

  Rearing up on the bed, Verony clenched her small hands as she faced him furiously. She held that position barely an instant before Curran's steely arms shot out. Grasping her shoulders, his fingers digging into the satin-soft skin, he turned her flat on her back under him.

  Looming over her, his sinewy body pinned her to the bed. One powerful leg, thrown over hers, held her firmly in place as Curran snarled: "It's rare for a man to be given a second chance to start his marriage. I intend to take full advantage of it. Tonight you will learn once and for all what I should have made clear four months ago. There will be no more rash displays of independence when I'm through with you!"

  Dark pools of sea-deep blue stared back at him in disbelief. "You c-can't mean to . . ."

  "Enjoy your charms? Be assured, I do." Tauntingly, he trailed a hard finger down her ivory throat to the shadowy hollow between her breasts. "Your spirit may be unwomanly in the extreme, but your body is quite another matter. That pleases me, even if nothing else about you does."

  His words stabbed her brutally, turning her voice thick with unshed tears. "I won't. . . not like this ..." Desperately, her head tossed back and forth across the pillow, trying to evade his mocking lips.

  She did not succeed. Curran's mouth found hers, closing on the soft flesh cruelly. His tongue stabbed inward, fully tasting her sweetness without thought to her comfort or pleasure.

  A low moan tore from Verony. She could not struggle for fear of harming the child. But neither could she bear his contemptuous use of her body. "No! Don't . . . Curran, stop! I won't. . ."

  She got no further. A hard hand tore open the laces of her surcoat. Through the thin tunic and chemise that were her only other covering, he fondled her breasts roughly.

  At the same time,,his other hand tugged at her skirts. Before she realized what was happening, the fabric was bunched around her waist and her womanhood was bare to his lustful gaze.

  Verony shivered with revulsion as she realized he meant to take her like a whore crudely tumbled without thought or feeling. His heavy, hair-roughened leg was forcing its way between her slender thighs when her cry of anguish stopped him.

  Sobbing helplessly, Verony was only dimly aware of Curran looking down at her. Nor did she guess at the losing battle he fought to hold on to the all-consuming rage that engulfed him when he learned she had deliberately endangered herself and their child.

  As a further example of her unseemly insistence on making her own decisions and acting for herself, it was the last straw. He vowed to bend her once and for all to his will. But not all the fury in the world could cause him to truly harm her.

  The coldness drained slowly from his face as he gathered her into his arms. This time his touch was gentle, offering only comfort. Nestling her against him, his hands tenderly stroked her back and hair.

  Verony struggled for control. When her sobs finally died away, Curran raised her head. She could not see his eyes, but there was no mistaking the rueful line of his mouth as he said: "You defeat me, my lady. I cannot hurt you."

  Profoundly relieved, Verony was nonetheless still torn by confusion over why he should ever have wanted to do her harm. Hesitantly she said: "I don't understand your anger. I know I should have told you about the king's demands when he made them, but surely that failure was not enough to cause . . . this?"

  A deep sigh escaped Curran. He turned on his back, away from her. "Of course not. I was hurt when you didn't confide in me at once, but I understood it sprang from your habit of depending only on yourself. I had hoped that by now you would have overcome that, learned to trust me, but I had no idea you would go so far beyond simply failing to tell me something."

  "What choice did I have? When John sent that message, every moment was precious. I had to at least give the appearance of obeying to protect you."

  "But if you were only willing to trust people more, to rely on someone other than yourself, you would have told my father of the message and let him respond as he thought best. Instead you went racing off, deliberately leaving word of your action where you knew it would not be found for hours." Lifting himself on one arm, Curran demanded: "Why, Verony? Why put yourself in such grave danger when there was no reason?"

  "How can you say that? John threatened to kill you! There was the ring and that horrible . . .f-finger "

  Curran sighed deeply. "The finger came from a cadaver, and as for the ring, ... it was a copy. Several weeks ago Isabella made a show of admiring the original. She even insisted on making a sketch of it. I thought it just more of her senseless flirting and ignored her. Little did I guess she intended to order an exact copy and give it to John, to help him trick you."

  "S-so you were never in his hands?"

  "Never," Curran affirmed quickly. "I went to Canterbury, spoke with Stephen, and we agreed that to be on the safe side, you and I should go through another marriage ceremony. He accompanied me back here, arriving just in time to find the house in an uproar and my father threatening to tear the tower down and strangle the king himself if he didn't reveal my whereabouts. Naturally, they were all relieved to see me until we realized that you were still missing."

  "I was at the tower waiting to see John. It was hours before he finally came and when he did . . . he . . ." Her voice broke, the king's monstrous lie returning to haunt her.

  Curran's eyes closed slightly, hiding his expression. "What happened, Verony? What did John do?"

  The barely controlled rage in his voice alerted Verony to what he believed had occurred. Swiftly she said: "He hardly touched me, Curran. I swear it. He had no chance to do more because ... he told me you were dead. ... He described . . . how you were killed. . . . Something snapped inside me . . . I didn't care about anything then. I just had to hurt him somehow. ... So I picked up a stool. I hit him . . . over and over. ... He wasn't expecting it, and I was too quick. He fell on the floor . . . but I kept hitting again and again... I couldn't stop. . . ."

  There was no mistaking the depth of her pain and torment. It stabbed through Curran more savagely than any weapon. He could think only to gather her tight into his arms, holding her fiercely to him until the storm of her horror dimmed.

  When she was at last able to speak again, Verony looked up fearfully. "I may have killed him, Curran! I hit him so hard."

  "John lives," he assured her firmly. At the questioning wonder in her eyes, he explained: "The men we sent into the tower to demand your return saw him. Granted, he's covered with bruises and his head is bandaged. But he was sitting up, and he spoke to them directly, so he can't be all that badly injured." A
n appreciative laugh escaped him. "The word is that he fell down the stairs while drunk. And John is saying nothing to refute that. He's the last man on earth to want it known that a woman overcame him. Don't worry, sweetling, he can do nothing against you now."

  The last of Verony's fear slipped from her. Safe in her husband's arms, she curled against him. His embrace was warm and gentle, his body a shelter from any storm.

  For several minutes he held her tenderly, offering the comfort he understood she needed. But then Curran moved slightly away, looking down at her. "Much as I appreciate what you tried to do, Verony, I must leave no doubt in your mind that I do not approve. Your actions were impulsive and dangerous, to yourself and our child. Surely you can't believe I value my life more than both of yours?"

  Verony met his eyes reluctantly. She resented his censure, for she still thought she had acted properly. "I could not run the risk that John would grow impatient and kill you. If I had gone to the earl..."

  "He would have handled the situation better, in keeping with my own best interests and those of our family."

  A deep sigh escaped him. "You have many good qualities which I admire, but your stubborn insistence on independence is a danger to us all. This business with John is a perfect example. Your initial refusal to confide in me paved the way for him to challenge our marriage. And your lack of faith in my father put you and our child in mortal peril."

  Tipping her head back, he gazed deeply into her eyes. "You are a beautiful and brave woman. I am proud to call you mine and to know that my children will come from you. But until you learn to accept your proper role, I will feel you are not fully my wife."

  Verony did not answer. She was deeply hurt by what seemed like a callous lack of appreciation for her courage. His insistence that she submit her will to the control of others rankled. It went smack up against the fierce pride and self-reliance that had sustained her life for so long.

  Moreover, his suggestion that she was not completely the wife he wanted wounded her deeply. It appeared he was demanding she give up all of herself to become merely a vessel for his expectations.

  Moving away from him, Verony turned on her side with her back toward her husband. The distance between them did not narrow as they spent an uneasy night in light sleep and sorrowful thought.

  CHAPTER 14

  The spring came late that year. At the end of April, frost still lay on the ground. By May, the first wildflowers were just beginning to appear. The long wait for fair weather, after the harsh winter, further strained the nerves of those tensely anticipating the confrontation that could not be delayed much longer.

  In London, Verony watched the snow melt, the frost disappear and the rivers swell. From the window of the solar, she could see the fields surrounding the d'Arcy compound. Serfs brought from the family's main holding in the south moved through them, preparing the land for new crops. Others were busy tending the newborn sheep, cows, pigs and horses who crowded the stables around the bailey. Still more could be heard hammering and sawing as the inevitable toll of winter was repaired.

  It was a busy time, but one in which she took little part. Her swollen belly was heavy and cumbersome. The child moved often, most frequently at night when she tried vainly to sleep. Her back ached and even the effort of climbing stairs or rising from a bench required assistance.

  Verony sighed. She longed for the baby and loved it already, but she had to admit that pregnancy was even more of a trial than she had expected. With Curran's constant absence she had to look to Lady Emelie and Arianna for help and encouragement. They did everything possible, but she still missed her husband keenly.

  Even the few times he was at home, he seemed more like a stranger than the warm, loving man she had briefly known. Since the night they were wed, he had not spoken again of his pain at her inability to be completely the wife he wanted. But there seemed no doubt his feelings had not changed. They observed a wary truce that did nothing to bridge the gulf between them.

  Verony deeply regretted their lack of closeness, but had no idea how to end it. Even as she privately admitted she had acted impulsively in the matter of John, she knew she could never be the docile, malleable wife Curran appeared to want. Nor did she believe for a moment such a woman would be truly capable of sharing his life. He would quickly tire of her, whether he cared to acknowledge it or not.

  A compromise was needed. But with the great political events of the day rushing to their conclusion, private problems had to wait.

  Verony sighed, making forlorn stabs at her bedraggled needlework. She was sick to death with waiting. To one accustomed to strength and agility in both mind and body, her present state was irritating in the extreme. While everyone else was gainfully occupied, she could do nothing but sit in the sunlight and confront her uneasy thoughts.

  Certainly there was no opportunity to take part in the sweeping political machinations going on all around her. She had no choice but to rely on the other d'Arcy women for the latest news. As busy as they were, Lady Emelie and Arianna still found time to sit with her, sharing her solitude and bringing a breath of the wide world into her confinement.

  "John is in Windsor this week," the countess was saying. "He's trying to convince the lords there to support him, but without success."

  Verony shook her head bemusedly. Since abruptly leaving London four months before, the king had crisscrossed the country trying to convince his recalcitrant nobles to stand with him. Wherever he went—from Wessex to East Anglia, Northumbria to Mercia—he found at best cold refusal and frequently outright rage.

  The d'Arcy's were doing their job well. Like the king, the Earl Garrett, Mark and Curran spent the late winter and early spring in constant movement around the country. Within a matter of weeks, they met with every nobleman of consequence in the kingdom, assuring that the barons remained firm in their struggle for reform. Everyone knew that the day was fast approaching when even John would no longer be able to deny their success.

  "A few barons still follow him," Verony reminded her. "Though I cannot imagine why."

  "Because he pays them," Arianna averred. "They are no more than mercenaries."

  Lady Emelie nodded. "He won't be able to keep that up for long. All revenues due him from the lords are being withheld until he agrees to meet with them again and reach some accord."

  Putting down her needlework, Verony asked: "How much longer do you think he can hold out? Surely he realizes that if he tries to delay much further, he may spark outright rebellion that could topple him from the throne."

  "I think," the countess mused, "John's whole strategy these last months has centered on wearing the nobles down. He knows no one wants civil war, which is what we would come to if the monarchy is overturned. Every baron in the kingdom would be vying to take John's place, and the result would be bloodshed beyond anything we have ever seen. So there was a certain twisted logic about believing that the confrontation could be brought to a choice between accepting the system we have now or facing long, destructive conflict."

  "But he counted on our determination being less than it is," Arianna said. "Surely John is incapable of anticipating the degree of fortitude and selflessness our own family has brought to this struggle. Throughout, the Earl Garrett, Mark and Curran have all said we will gain nothing but freedom from the abuses of the throne."

  "Unfortunately, few barons were willing to accept such assurances on face value," Verony pointed out ruefully. "Each believed the earl secretly wanted to put himself in John's place. That's why it has been so hard to keep the coalition firm."

  None of the women wanted to say that the goal had finally been achieved, but the smiles they shared and the ease of their talk showed their conviction that the long struggle was almost over.

  Certainly the earl's message that he and his sons would be back in London at any moment had not come as a surprise. The time was fast approaching when the rebel forces would meet to decide on final terms.

  Cut off from the rush of eve
nts, Verony chafed at her idleness. The day, which had begun slowly enough, seemed to drag on endlessly. When Lady Emelie and Arianna returned to their household tasks, she found some occupation in the weaving rooms but could not sit comfortably for any length of time and had to leave.

  A walk in the gardens soothed her somewhat, until the activity all around her reminded Verony of everything she could not do. Seeking the quiet of her own room, she indulged in what had become an almost daily ritual, going lovingly through the blankets, shirts and swaddling clothes prepared for the baby.

  Seated beside the window, pillows piled at her back, she relaxed at last as she stitched yet another petal-soft chemise so small it was difficult to believe anything could ever fit into it.

  Touching her belly, Verony smiled. Curran was certain the child was a boy. Lady Emelie agreed, saying that the infant's frequent movements and the fact that Verony was carrying so low indicated she would bear a son.

  She prayed it was true, and that Curran would be pleased. Anything that might help close the distance between them was welcome. Thinking of her husband, she frowned. She knew he was well because he said so in his frequent letters. What she knew of the most recent political developments indicated he was actually in less danger than earlier in the year, when the king had tried to provoke what could easily have been a bloody showdown. Certainly everything she heard pointed to a peaceful conclusion by summer. She could look forward to spending the most pleasant months of the year with her husband and child back on their own estates where she prayed their differences would finally be resolved.

  Yet still she worried. There were rumors filtering up from the streets of London that concerned her deeply. The citizenry, tense with the long wait and made reckless by the conviction that the king would be forced to give up some of his power, showed signs of hoping to take advantage of the situation for themselves.

  For the more intelligent and reasonable, it was enough that any diminishing of royal authority would open up freedoms that could not help but benefit them, whether or not they were explicitly mentioned in the final agreement.