Sinful Passions Read online

  “Please don’t raise the alarm. I’m not stealing anything. These are my clothes. I thought to wear them one last time.”

  A glint of something in her cousin’s eyes—despair, mischief, rebellion—touched Grace’s heart. Why not? Here was a taste of adventure for them both. She grabbed a pair of shoes from the trunk and relieved her cousin of the chemise. “You’ll need help. Come to my chamber.”

  She scurried back to the door, opened it cautiously, and signalled to Suannoch. Giggling, they ran to Grace’s chamber, their arms full. No sooner had she shoved her cousin through the door when Bronson appeared, coming down the corridor. Her throat constricted as her lungs stopped working. She tried to control it, but a loud laugh escaped. She gripped the undergarment and shoes to her breast, sweating with excitement. “Ladies’ things,” she gurgled. “Just ladies’ things.”

  He looked at her as if she’d lost her wits as she stumbled backwards into her chamber and slammed the door.

  Still puzzling over his cousin’s strange behavior, Bronson entered his chamber. Women were odd. A man never knew what they might do next. He stripped off the shirt he’d worn all day and decided to rest for a few minutes before dressing for the evening meal. He was on the point of dozing off when a perfume he’d noticed somewhere else wafted into his nostrils. It was the scent of a woman. Grace?

  He sat up on the end of the bed, inhaling deeply. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. The Earl’s daughter wouldn’t set foot in his room. Would she? For what purpose?

  Attributing his suspicions to fatigue, he lay back down, putting off getting changed until his unexpected arousal had subsided.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A handful of dissenting barons left the castle immediately after the decision, but a greater number rallied to support Ellesmere and Leicester. By the time everyone gathered in the Hall for the evening meal, the two Earls had managed to calm most of the fears of those who remained undecided. Rodrick marvelled at his father’s ability to smooth ruffled feathers.

  He was confident he could follow in his father’s footsteps in that regard. It wasn’t only Gallien’s physical features he’d inherited, though praise be to the saints his hair hadn’t turned white like his father’s.

  But then Rodrick had never suffered the extreme misadventure that had befallen his father in his younger days. If he ever married and discovered on his wedding night he’d already been cuckolded, his hair might turn white too. Fortunately, the shrew had died and Gallien de Montbryce had been betrothed to Peridotte de Pontrouge.

  Rodrick considered he was outgoing, affable, a good conversationalist. People generally seemed to like and respect him. He furrowed his brow, suddenly recalling the scene in the gallery when his Northumbrian cousin had ruffled his feathers. He hadn’t handled the situation well. He’d allowed a chit to get under his skin, a girl who might have the body of a boy under the voluminous white material—though he somehow doubted it.

  Espying two young noblemen of his acquaintance searching for seats, he hastened over to welcome them, intending once they were settled to speak to Steward Bonhomme. The servants needed to let the fires die down. The stifling heat was making him sweat.

  He noticed his brother William and Bronson FitzRam conversing confidently with Robert of Leicester. It was generous of his father to have welcomed the northern cousins to sit at the head table. He hoped Suannoch wouldn’t be seated next to him. Where was she anyway? Evidently Bronson hadn’t accompanied her to the Hall.

  Normally there’d be no danger of getting stuck next to her, but the arrangements had been changed to allow for Robert of Leicester to sit at the head table. Rodrick had ceded his place at his father’s right hand.

  Of the two, he’d prefer to be paired with Bronson. At least then he might enjoy an intelligent conversation.

  His mother entered in the company of Grace and his younger sister, Aurore. He wandered over to join William’s little group, watching with pride out of the corner of his eye as the three beautiful women were greeted by visiting barons.

  Leicester slapped him on the back. “Well spoken today, young Rodrick. You’ll make a fine Earl when the time comes.”

  William laughed. “Aye, but let’s hope that time doesn’t come too soon.”

  Rodrick feigned a blow to his brother’s belly. “Right!”

  Bronson offered Rodrick his hand. “I agree. It took courage to declare your opinions when you didn’t—”

  He withdrew his hand quickly, seemingly choking on his words and his face reddened considerably as he stared in the direction of the entry doors. Rodrick frowned, worried his cousin was having an apoplectic fit. He turned to look at what had stunned Bronson into silence.

  A young woman had entered the Hall. No wonder his cousin had been struck dumb. She was easily the most alluring blonde he’d ever seen. Her fair hair was covered with a modesty veil, but its transparency revealed luxurious tresses that fell around her shoulders.

  She held the copious skirts of her deep red gown in long, delicate fingers. He licked his lips as his hungry gaze traveled to the bodice that clung to perfect breasts then continued to her incredibly long elegant neck. She was a majestic swan, smiling regally at the handful of noblemen who fluttered around her like courtiers wooing a queen. Her smile sent blood rushing to his groin.

  Bronson suddenly catapulted himself in the woman’s direction. Rodrick would be damned if he was going to let his cousin claim her attentions. He hurried to catch up.

  The beauty frowned as they approached. There was something vaguely familiar about the frown, the flashing amber eyes.

  “Suannoch, what is the meaning of this?” Bronson spluttered.

  Rodrick’s feet were suddenly stuck to the stone floor, rendering him immobile. This vision of female beauty was Suannoch?

  A maelstrom of conflicting emotions ran rampant through his brain, churning his gut. He wanted to fall to his knees and tell her she was lovely, then pick her up and whisk her off to his bed.

  But she was a nun. Wasn’t she?

  This was a travesty. Here was a woman of great beauty who exuded passion. He would move heaven and earth to spare her imprisonment in a convent.

  But then the sky fell in on his head. This incredible creature was his cousin. It was wrong to desire her, a sin in fact.

  She stared at him, obviously enjoying his discomfort, while Bronson continued his tirade through gritted teeth. He had to do something. Teetering on the edge of a precipice, he reached for her hand. “Swan,” he murmured, brushing his lips across her warm knuckles, inhaling her fresh scent. A jolt of desire turned his already hard shaft to granite. Without thinking, he entwined his fingers with hers and in a raspy voice he barely recognised, said, “It would be my pleasure to sit beside you at table.”

  When Rodrick whispered Swan, his husky voice echoed from her hand into a very private place in her body. It was startling. She’d certainly never experienced such a jolt of desire with Hiram. The servants should douse the fires in the hearths. It was much too warm in the overcrowded Hall. Perhaps the red velvet hadn’t been a good idea. Still, it was preferable to the habit.

  However, she was confused. “Bronson has obviously revealed the nickname my closest family and friends call me.”

  He frowned as if she was speaking Greek, so she babbled on. “It’s a sobriquet bestowed upon me since childhood because of my long neck and the coincidence of the sound of my name.”

  His mouth fell open, his gaze fixed on her neck.

  “My Scottish mother suggested they baptise me Suannoch because as a newborn I slept a lot. They evidently hadn’t enjoyed such good fortune with the rest of their brood.”

  At last something she had said seemed to penetrate his addled wits and he smiled. Was he making fun of her?

  The possibility of sitting with Rodrick had loomed like a jagged rock before a listing ship. Yet it was as if her dearest wish had come true as he escorted her to the dais, his warm fingers entwined with hers. What had happened to
the prickly cousin who apparently couldn’t stand her when she was shrouded in a nun’s habit? Her outspokenness had offended him, but he craved her attention now he’d seen her clad in her favorite gown.

  She chuckled inwardly, recalling the expression on his face when he’d first noticed her in the doorway. Had he drooled? Then it was as if he’d been struck by lightning when he realized who she was.

  She had to admit to a sense of relief that he hadn’t turned away. Ignoring her spluttering brother, he’d shooed away the other noblemen clustered around her like pesky flies.

  Poor Bronson followed them to the dais, still scowling. She had put him in an awkward position. But he would forgive her. He always did.

  However, his irritation sobered her. Rodrick would probably be like most men, with the exception of her father and brothers, who thought women should be seen and not heard. Well, they’d see.

  What was she thinking? This attractive, well-muscled man with the smoldering ice blue eyes was her cousin. It was a sin to feel drawn to him that way.

  She had no choice now but to sit beside him. This was her last night of freedom and she intended to relish it. Outspokenness would soon curb his interest. This wasn’t the time to fall in love with a man, especially one she could never have. Being shut away from her family would be hard enough.

  She missed his warmth when he withdrew his hand once she was seated, but was relieved not to be reliant upon her trembling legs when he twirled his finger in a curl at her temple and said, “Your hair is fair.”

  Given her dark eyebrows, Rodrick had daydreamed of his cousin as a redhead, as a brunette, as a raven haired beauty—never as a blonde. Yet now he couldn’t understand why he’d thought she’d be anything other than fair haired. Without the confining coif, her face had transformed into a vision of stunning beauty—high cheekbones, long eyelashes, a perfect nose, and that neck! It begged for his kisses. He would start at the top under her chin and work his way down over her throat to the pulse throbbing—

  Bronson’s whisper in his ear brought him back to earth. “My sister has appeared dressed this way without my permission or knowledge. I trust your father has guessed this?”

  He glanced along the table. His father, seated in the lord’s chair, was indeed eyeing them curiously. His mother had a strange smile on her face. It seemed the attention of everyone in the Hall had been drawn to his behavior, including Robert of Leicester. He was drowning in the oppressive heat. He smiled weakly at Swan, cleared his throat loudly, and took his seat, suddenly regretting the impulse to have her sit next to him.

  Bronson evidently intended to sit on the other side of his sister, but William appeared from nowhere and elbowed him away with a wink.

  “Mind if I sit with Suannoch?” he asked innocently.

  Bronson frowned but moved to another seat.

  Rodrick was grateful for his brother’s quick thinking. Two Montbryces flanking a beautiful woman would seem normal. But woe betide William if he thought to court the lady.

  This insane spurt of jealousy convinced him he was losing his mind. Conversation normally came easily. Now not a single word emerged from his parched throat. He took a swig of wine from the goblet a servant had filled, then felt badly; he should have offered it first to Swan.

  “My apologies,” he stammered, wiping the lip of the goblet with his napkin then holding it out to her.

  Instead of taking the goblet, she leaned forward with a smile and sipped, turning her amber orbs on him as she drank. The pleasurable ache at his groin intensified. The slow movement of her throat as she swallowed drew his rapt attention back to her neck. He was doomed.

  William coughed.

  Swan seemed to become aware of what she was doing and her face reddened.

  “Thank you, Rodrick,” she whispered, her voice thick with wine.

  Was she flirting with him, deliberately trying to make him look foolish in retaliation for his earlier behavior?

  He shifted his weight on the bench to ease his discomfort, but she moved restlessly at the same moment. His thigh grazed hers. She looked away quickly as her blush deepened, seemingly as confused at what was happening between them as he was.

  “You are very beautiful, Suannoch. I apologise for my rudeness yesterday.”

  She kept her eyes fixed on the table. “I understand. Sometimes I forget women are not supposed to express opinions to men. You were preoccupied with what might transpire at the meeting.”

  He suspected her forgetfulness was more deliberate than not, but for some reason he didn’t fully comprehend, he acknowledged with regret the truth of her words. Men resented women who spoke their mind. Yet Grace had proven on many occasions to have been the one in the right when they’d argued. He was a twin, born minutes after his sister, but he would be the one to inherit the Earldom because he was a male, whereas she’d been obliged to marry a man twice her age.

  In hindsight, if Maud had been crowned Queen eighteen years ago, it was improbable she would have made a worse job of it than Stephen had.

  “You were right, of course. It’s more than likely Henry Plantagenet will be our next king.”

  She finally looked up, her eyes full of concern. “We cannot overlook Eustace, however. King Stephen has groomed his son to succeed him.”

  Rodrick leaned back to allow a servant to place a platter of roasted chicken on the table, then sliced off a piece of breast and offered it to Swan. “Saints preserve us if the murderous prince becomes king. He has grown up knowing nothing but division and war. His appetite for blood does not bode well for England. The argument between Stephen and the Pope has resulted in Eustace not yet being anointed as co-king, which is a good omen.”

  She bit into the meat while it was still in his hand, smiling self consciously as the juices trickled down her chin. He handed her a napkin, his errant tongue slipping between his lips, ready to lick her face clean.

  “Grace told me he is pillaging towns and villages near Bury St. Edmunds,” she said.

  “Yes. He claims he’s acting in retaliation for his father’s rain-drenched and demoralised army refusing to fight Henry at Malmesbury in January, but it’s generally believed he enjoys killing and burning. It’s one of the reasons I’ve leaned towards Henry for a while.”

  Her eyes widened. “And yet you mocked me when I made my remarks concerning him.”

  Rodrick chuckled. “I’m a man. What can you expect?”

  Her mouth fell open. “I know you are a man, Rodrick.”

  The heat of her thigh pressed against his, but he caught William’s slight shake of the head. He looked around the Hall. They had again attracted attention. “Swan, I’m drawn to you,” he whispered. “I’ve enjoyed our discussion, but we are causing a stir. I don’t want people to think—”

  A cloud darkened her bright eyes. “We are cousins, Rodrick. Cousins are permitted to be friends, to laugh, to share good times. Nothing can come of our friendship anyway. You are safe. On the morrow I am to be shut away.”

  Suddenly safe was the last thing he wanted to be. Inexplicable anger rose in his throat. “Do you want to go to a nunnery?”

  “Of course not,” she said through gritted teeth. “I want to live, to ride across the open moor with the wind in my hair, to hug my family, to love a man and bear his children. But such is not my destiny. Hiram sealed my fate when he fell, mortally wounded. This charade tonight was to be my final act of defiance. When the meal is done, I will return to my chamber and don the robes of a novice.”

  A dangerous idea came to him. “Would you like to ride once more before the dawn?”

  Grace had been disappointed not to sit with Bronson. It would have been a chance to get to know him better. After all, they would be neighbors—practically. She could have teased him about assisting Suannoch.

  If William hadn’t butted in and taken their cousin’s place—

  Her little brother might want to impress Suannoch, but he’d have a difficult time getting her attention away from Rodrick.<
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  Who knew the novice-to-be was such a beauty! Certainly her brother hadn’t guessed until tonight.

  Her Northumbrian cousin was destined to be shut away in a nunnery, a worse fate than what she had endured at Cullène Hall. And Suannoch would never be free. They’d had fun together and it had been amusing watching Bronson and Rodrick fall over their tongues. Her cousin would have made a much needed friend.

  She poked William. “It’s a pity Bronson had to drag his sister away on her last evening of freedom.”

  Her brother eyed her curiously. “I suppose.”

  Something in his tone alerted her. “I would think she’d rather be here than tucked up in bed. She and Rodrick seemed to have taken a liking to each other.”

  William flushed—a sure sign he had a secret to keep.

  “Speaking of Rodrick, where has he got to?”

  Her brother put a finger to his lips. “Hush. They’ve gone for a short ride.”

  Without me?

  She struggled to control the rapid beating of her heart. Why hadn’t they asked her to go too? She and Rodrick used to ride together all the time. In her absence had he forgotten the good times they had together, what they meant to each other?

  She was being silly. They were no longer children. Rodrick was a man, with a man’s needs—but with Suannoch? Or had he simply taken two cousins riding to show support? Had Bronson gone along as a chaperone, or was it a friendly threesome? Then why not a foursome?

  She came to her feet, then sat down again. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been gone. Dangerous to follow alone, in the darkness.

  As she sat dithering, she noticed a messenger enter the hall. He’d ridden far by the look of him. He made straight for Robert, Earl of Leicester, bowed, and handed him a parchment.

  Robert unfurled it, scanned the contents, then leapt to his feet with a loud “Hah!” that caught everyone’s attention. He brandished the document. “Wait till you hear the news from Scotland.”