Rebellious Love Page 5

  A smile lit his eyes as he regarded his friend benevolently. "She's incredible, isn't she?" he asked innocently.

  "Incredible doesn't come close to it!" Curran blurted before he could catch himself. Ruefully he added: "I don't understand how she survived, and I blame myself and the whole stupid system for subjecting her to such danger in the first place. I knew months ago John would give in and cede this land to me, to try to win my father's support. I could have done something. . . at least looked for her. . . . But I never even thought. . ."

  "You thought she was dead, or sheltered somewhere with people of her own class," Sir Lyle said gently. "Exactly what any of us would think. You can't be blamed for not guessing the situation."

  "Maybe not," Curran muttered doubtfully, "but it's my situation now. I've got to figure out what to do with her."

  "That," Sir Lyle suggested, "should not be too difficult." He smiled encouragingly at the young man, who scowled in return.

  " 'Course it is. She's a noble woman, in the best possible sense of the word. But she has no legal position, no wealth, no protection. She's completely vulnerable, and the worst thing is she knows it. I half suspect she thinks I may punish her for stabbing me, though the Lord knows it was deserved under the circumstances. Doesn't take much to figure out what she thought was going to happen to her. Greater courage and spirit I haven't seen from any man. D'you know, she actually asked me to let her go back to the forest."

  "You didn't agree!"

  " 'Course not! Think I'm crazy? I can't understand how she survived this long, but I'm not about to see how much she could take. No . . . I've got to come up with something else. . . ."

  Long ago Sir Lyle had mastered the art of hiding his innermost feelings, a trait useful in all sorts of negotiations. But this present predicament almost undid him. Struggling against the almost overwhelming urge to laugh, he suggested: "A convent, perhaps? Surely that is the logical solution."

  Curran choked on the wine he had just swallowed. "That's ridiculous! Verony, a nun? You'd condemn that beautiful, spirited girl to a life of prayer?"

  "She might not look at it that way," Sir Lyle insisted placidly. "After all, what alternatives does she have?"

  "Plenty!" Curran growled. He knew he was being deliberately provoked but was unable to prevent his response. "You know perfectly well she isn't meant for that sterile existence. She's warm and lovely and brave. Any man would be privileged to call her ..." He broke off abruptly, stunned by what he had almost said.

  "Yes ..." Sir Lyle drawled encouragingly.

  "Never mind! All I'm saying is that something has to be done with her. She needs a position . . . protection ..."

  "She needs a man."

  "Don't let her hear you say that!" Curran advised vehemently. "I've got the idea she likes to take care of herself. Oh, she accepted help from the peasants, but that was only because she had helped them in return. Let her know you think she can't manage without a man and I hate to imagine what she'd do."

  "I knew a lady once," the old knight began pensively, "beautiful, intelligent, courageous . . . the loveliest thing anyone could look upon. But fiercely independent. Until the right man came along. Then she was glad enough to share her life."

  Curran sighed, knowing the reference was to his mother, who had led the greatest nobles of the kingdom a merry chase before being swept off her feet by his handsome, determined father. But their marriage had brought about the union of two great families, to the advantage of both. Lady Emelie had a vast dowry, which she still administered with a firm hand, only occasionally deigning to ask her loving husband for advice. Verony had nothing, and that meant it would be hard to convince her that she was marriageable.

  That she must be made to see the sense of his plan, he had already decided. Marriage was the best solution to both their problems. After all, if Verony had remained on the manor and they had met in the natural course of events, he would undoubtedly have wed her when he took over the lands. Aside from her intrinsic value as a strong, courageous woman who would breed fine sons and her proven ability to keep the estate running smoothly, their union would go a long way toward legitimizing the transition of power in the eyes of rival nobles and peasants alike.

  Pride, Curran knew, was the sticking point. Without property or position, Verony would be loath to come to him. He had to devise some means of

  making her want their union as much as he did. "It's not going to be easy," he muttered disconsolately.

  Sir Lyle shrugged. "I'm sure you'll work it out."

  Curran didn't reply. He was sunk in bleary thought as the old knight took his leave. An hour later, still thinking and still drinking, Curran sighed heavily. He was no nearer a solution than when he began. From time to time, he thought he had hit on something that might work, only to have been misled by the effects of raw wine dulling his reason.

  He leaned back, remembering almost too late that he was perched on a bench, and just managed to catch his balance before toppling over. That struck him as funny, and he chuckled. Such good humor called for another drink, which he downed un-hesitantly. What small portion of his brain had continued to warn he was going to regret such behavior ceased to function. Verony occupied all his mind, although that was by no means the only part of his body concerned with her.

  Damn but she was beautiful! He couldn't remember when a woman had so affected him. The memory of her softness clasped against him lingered sweetly. His hands had told him no lies, he realized as he considered how she had looked dressed in clothes appropriate to her station. For all the hardships of the last months, her body was ripely slender, combining the lithesome grace of a young girl with the lush promise of womanhood. It wasn't difficult to imagine how she would look ungarbed. Not even all the wine he had drunk could suppress his body's natural reaction to that thought. Knowing that she lay just upstairs, within easy reach, brought an ache to his loins that made Curran groan.

  He had not been with a woman in weeks, being too busy with his new lands and not inclined to take advantage of the peasant girls who would have all too willingly obliged him. But even if he had just tumbled half a dozen wenches, he would still have desired Verony. She was under his skin, in his blood, everywhere but where she belonged: joined in the delights of love.

  And she was his, Curran told himself fiercely. After all, she was part of the demesne, wasn't she? Everything and everyone on it belonged to him. Why should she be an exception? With her brutish father and her closeness to the serfs, she was certainly no innocent. Virgin, most likely, but not unaware of what passed between a man and woman. If the truth were known, he advised himself sagely, she was probably lying up there right now wondering why he hadn't tried to take her.

  That was it! Curran exclaimed to himself, smacking himself on the forehead with what would normally have been sufficient force to floor him. Why had he needed so long to see it? With Verony thoroughly compromised, it should require little effort to convince her to become his wife. Should pride still force her to refuse, he would simply set himself to getting her with child, a pleasant task the mere thought of which made him grin. Once carrying, she would drag him to the altar. Doing some swift if foggy calculating, Curran decided he could have her safely wed by Christmas.

  Highly pleased by this plan that would achieve his ultimate aims while giving immediate release to his ardor, he rose unsteadily.

  It was very dark in the corridor. Curran had to find his way largely by touch, not particularly effective in his present condition. He walked into one pillar and stubbed his toes twice before at last locating Verony's room. Easing the door open, he peered fondly within.

  The braziers had been allowed to go out, and the shutters were firmly closed, so there was little light. But he could make out the silhouette of a slender shape on the bed, nestled under piles of covers. Moving closer, he gazed on the silken strands of red-gold curls spread over the bolster, half hiding her face from his amorous appreciation.

  The delicate rise and f
all of her breasts beneath the blankets held his attention for several moments. Only with effort did he manage to refocus on the thick fringe of lashes fanning over her apricot-tinged cheeks, and the generous mouth parted slightly in sleep. Longing to touch those fender lips with his own, Curran leaned forward. Too far. He lost his balance, toppling across the bed, tangling in the covers, waking Verony, who sat up with a yelp.

  "What! Who is it? Oh! Help . . . !" Drawing breath to scream, she was stopped by Curran's hand covering her mouth.

  "Ssshhh . . . it's only me," he advised kindly.

  She was not reassured. The huge male body sprawled over her filled Verony with terror. She began instinctively to struggle.

  Curran misunderstood her movements. He laughed deep in his throat. "I'm not usually so dense with women, sweetling. But you . . . you do things to me I don't understand." Hot, moist lips trailed down the ivory column of her neck, lingering at the vulnerable pulse points. "Ver'ny ... so beautiful . . ."

  "H . . . umph . . . what' . . . m'lady . . . ?"

  Curran stiffened, abruptly aware that the old nurse had resumed her traditional sleeping place on a pallet beside Verony's bed. Damn! This was hardly the setting to convince her of his passion. "C'mon," he said thickly, "we'll go to my room."

  Verony opened her mouth to protest loudly, only to be stopped by Quran's impassioned kiss. Without releasing her, he lifted her easily and carried her from the chamber.

  For all Curran's speculation about the degree of her experience, Verony had in fact never been kissed before. She was, however, rapidly discovering the sensation to be everything she had imagined and then some. By the time he kicked open the door to his room and deposited her gently on the bed, her heart was racing, and her mind whirled.

  Even befuddled by drink, Curran was a highly skilled and considerate lover. As his hands cupped her breasts through the thin sleeping robe, his thumbs brushing over her rapidly hardening nipples, his mouth trailed a line of fire from her delicate earlobes to the corner of her mouth already aching for his touch.

  Verony gasped as his tongue darted out to caress the tiny mole set at one corner of her lips. "I've wanted to do that since the first time I saw you,"

  Curran groaned, his fingers unsteady as they began unlacing her robe.

  Whatever this was, Verony thought dazedly, it could not be called rape. Having succeeded in stripping them both, Curran set himself to igniting every cell of her body into a fierce blaze only his possession could ease. With his hands tenderly stroking her hips and thighs, his mouth raining kisses from her erect nipples down to the very center of her womanhood, his strong, hard body pressed intimately to hers, Verony could only wonder at what she had feared.

  She knew her behavior was wanton, but Curran's caresses managed to make that seem singularly unimportant. She should be fighting him, screaming for help, risking everything to preserve her honor. And she did try, at least a little. But the slightest movement brought her into even greater contact with his hair-roughened length and her traitorous body arched in pleasure. A moan broke from her when he gently parted her legs, his skillful fingers stroking upward as he murmured love words against her breasts.

  Abandoning all thought of struggling, Verony embraced him passionately. Her hands caressed the bunched muscles of his back, each separate finger tip savoring the pure male beauty of him. She breathed in the crisp, sun-warmed scent of his hair, her tongue tasting the faintly salty smoothness of his skin.

  A tiny dart of fear shivered through her when she felt the huge shaft of his manhood carefully probing her tiny entrance. But the gentleness he showed, and her own raging need, banished Verony's last hesitation. All pretense gone, she acknowledged that she wanted him completely, wanted to understand at last the mystery that lay between a man and woman who came to each other tenderly.

  Her body arched to his, her slender legs parted, Verony breathed in deeply. All her senses more alive than they had ever been, she yearned for his possession.

  Nothing. One moment Curran's fingers were gently opening her, the next his hand was stilled, his great body slumped over hers as all the strength and passion abruptly left him. Verony did not at first understand what had happened. She waited through several long breaths made difficult by the weight of him, before cautiously murmuring his name.

  "Curran . . . ?"

  Still nothing. He lay like one dead, utterly immobile and unresponsive.

  Managing to free a hand, Verony shook him tentatively. "Curran ..."

  His answer was a faint snore. Disbelievingly, she stared at him. Vast quantities of wine far beyond any amount he had ever drunk before had at last done their work. The battle-toughened warrior lay blissfully unconscious, with Verony trapped under him.

  Torn between hilarity and chagrin, she tried vainly to free herself. It took no great experience to know that come morning, Curran would not be fit company for anyone. Added to which her situation was more than a little embarrassing. If she should be found there . . .

  Verony banished that thought. Better to concentrate all her energies on getting away. The waist-length tresses of her hair were caught under his torso, her breast still cupped in his hand and her legs pinned by his. Attacking one problem at a time, she tried to release her hair. After long, futile minutes during which she managed only to hurt herself, Verony gave up. Perhaps she could move Curran's arm....

  Conditioned to lift and wield a forty-pound battle sword for hours on end, the limb was corded from finger to shoulder by heavy muscle and sinew. Not for the life of her could Verony budge it. By the time she gave up, she was gasping for breath.

  Her legs then, she thought. Free them and she could get better leverage for releasing the rest of herself. But the moment her thighs moved against Curran's, he muttered pleasantly in his sleep and drew her even closer.

  "Ver'ny ... so beautiful. . . have to take care of you ..."

  And a fine job you're making of it, she thought waspishly. Aroused to a peak of pleasure almost painful in its intensity, Verony was in no mood to sleep. But she had no choice. She certainly wasn't going anywhere, and morning, with all the problems it would bring, came quickly enough. Sighing, she snuggled more comfortably against him and drifted off.

  A nasty sensation in his stomach woke Curran shortly after dawn. He opened an eye gingerly, unsure of where he was or what was happening to him. The movement was a mistake. Pain of a kind he had never before known slammed in at him, swiftly accompanied by nausea. Groaning, he hung his head over the edge of the bed and retched.

  A cool hand stroked his forehead. "Easy . . . you'll be all right. . . just take it slowly . . ." The voice was soft but had an unmistakable edge of impatience.

  He must be wounded, Curran decided, when with eyes once again safely closed his head was lowered back down on the bolster. The injury must be grievous to cause such agony. Yet he could remember no battle. . . .

  He did, however, recall a tussle of a far different sort. Verony! Blocking out all other considerations, he sat up abruptly. The room spun, or perhaps it was the inside of his head revolving in the jellied mass his brain seemed to have become. His stomach twisted dizzily as someone hammered on his skull.

  "I told you to take it slowly," Verony snapped. Wrapped in a blanket and crouched beside him on the bed, she looked little more than a child. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glinted angrily. Glancing down, Curran could see her discarded night robe on the floor beside them.

  "Oh, God! Verony ... I'm sorry—" He broke off. How on earth did one apologize to a lady for taking advantage "of her? That he had done so, Curran had no doubt. There was no boastfulness in the certain knowledge of his virility. From a rather precocious age he had enjoyed the company of women, and they had seemed at least equally

  pleased by him. But his mistresses were unfailingly experienced and wise in the ways of the world. Never had he forced an innocent, vulnerable young girl to share his bed.

  Shame surged through Curran, blotting out at least
for the moment his physical discomfort. What he had done was beneath contempt. He was lower than a worm. It required no effort to imagine what his father and brothers would say if they learned of his dishonor. Raised to respect and admire women, he had nothing but disdain for men who used physical strength or intimidation to enforce their will. Yet he was compelled to believe he had done just that.

  Cursing himself for a drunken fool, he searched desperately for some way to make amends. "Last night... the wine ... I got some crazy idea I should ..." He shook his head sorrowfully, almost welcoming the pain he did not doubt was well deserved.

  "Curran . . ." Verony began, feeling a bit more kindly disposed toward him as she witnessed his anguish.

  "Let me finish," he entreated. "Don't worry about what happened. Believe me, I'll take care of everything. If I had been in my wits last night, I would have simply explained to you what must be. This only makes it more urgent." Meeting her eyes hesitantly, he repeated: "Don't worry, everything will be all right."

  What was he talking about, Verony wondered? It was clear he sincerely regretted his behavior of the previous night for more reasons than simply the painful aftereffects he must be suffering. But she could not imagine what he meant to do.

  "I'll talk to Sir Lyle," Curran continued. "He'll arrange for the necessary documents and the priest. That Father . . . Dermond, was it? He can perform the ceremony. We'll waive the bans, if you don't mind. I don't think we should wait any longer than we have to."

  Ceremony? Bans? Verony's mouth dropped open. He was talking about getting married, To her. The two of them. Man and wife, just as though the events of the last year had never happened and she was still the eminently marriageable daughter of a noble house. Torn between the desire to laugh or cry, Verony exclaimed: "You're crazy! That wine curdled your brain. Just lie still. I'll get something to make you feel better."

  She tried to slip off the bed, but Curran, even in his sad state, was too quick for her. A powerful hand grasped her wrist as he said: "I don't blame you for being upset. It couldn't have been . . . very pleasant for you. But Verony, I promise, it will be different when we're married. I'm not an . . . inconsiderate man. . . ."A dull flush darkened his high-boned cheeks as he struggled to convince her that however brutish her initiation might have been, he would make sure she found lovemaking a pleasure.