Trapped at the Altar

He nodded slowly. “Yes, to the next step, and every one after that.”

It was a promise. The ground was cleared, and each step they took upon it from now on would only make them stronger.

And when supper was done, Ivor pushed back his chair and came to Ariadne, drawing her to her feet. He cupped her chin in one hand, tilting her face upwards. His eyes glowed. “I want you now to put yourself in my hands, Ariadne. I know it won’t be easy for you, but so far, this night has been of your making, and it’s my turn now. Give yourself to me.” He laid a finger over her lips. “You will not speak; this will not be a time for words.” A smile touched his lips. “I’ll not insist on silence, though. You may find that hard with what I have in mind.”

Ari felt a deep quiver of excitement at the base of her belly, a quickening, a moistening in her loins. Lust, pure and simple, engulfed her, her nipples hardening already beneath the sable robe.

“Do you understand?” he asked softly, and she nodded, feeling herself melting into a liquid puddle of desire.

? ? ?

It was a long, languorous night. Ari wasn’t sure whether she slept in between the lovemaking or merely floated in a trance of delight. Ivor seemed tireless, moving over her, around her, within her, turning her this way and that, positioning her as he chose, and she gave herself to him completely, discovering the pleasure of passivity. He drew little murmurs of delight from her, and sometimes she heard herself moan with longing when he paused in his pleasuring, and more than once, she cried out, and he stifled her cries with his kisses.

Dawn was breaking when at last she fell asleep, curled against his body, and it was full morning when she awoke again, once more to find herself alone in the feather bed.

“Lord, Miss Ari, you’ve been abed half the morning,” Tilly exclaimed as she bustled in with hot water. “I had your breakfast taken away; it had gone cold.”

Ari struggled effortfully up against the pillows and blinked in the sudden sunlight. “Where’s Sir Ivor?”

“Oh, bless you, miss, he’s been up and about these two hours past. Told me not to disturb you but that he’d be back later when he’s seen to our new lodgings.”

Ari pushed aside the coverlet and swung her legs out of bed. Her body felt sore and used up in the most glorious way. She wanted to lie in bed all day, savoring the feeling, reliving the memories of those wonderful hours, but it wasn’t possible. She wasn’t ill, and there could be no other reason for lying abed all day.

“I’d like some small beer and bread and butter, Tilly.” She went to the washstand to splash water on her face. Her eyes wouldn’t seem to open properly.

“Why? Are you ill, Miss Ari?” Tilly looked at her with concern. “That’s no breakfast at all.”

“Maybe not, but ’tis all I feel like this morning.” Ari toweled her face dry vigorously. “I shall go for a walk and get some fresh air.”

She went to the window of the bedchamber as Tilly departed and looked out on the green below. It was alive this morning, black-clad lawyers hurrying by with their heavy tomes under their arms, clusters of them paused in earnest conversation across the green, their black gowns flapping in the brisk wind. Messenger lads raced in various directions, entering and leaving the tall houses lining the outer rim of the square. A trio of scruffy urchins kicked a bundle of something between them, and two washerwomen emerged from one of the houses, laundry baskets held effortlessly on their heads as they walked, skirts swinging with each step.

A figure came out onto the top step of a house just to the right of the inn. The man paused, looking around him, then hastily tucked something into the deep pocket of his long-skirted coat before coming down the steps and heading off across the green. Ari stared at him. There was something startlingly familiar about him.

Look for me in London.

Surely it wasn’t . . . it couldn’t be Gabriel? But it was. She knew his walk, the way he held his shoulders, the slender, reedlike frame, the fair head glinting in the sun. He kept looking nervously from side to side with swift, jerky movements, and his hand was on the hilt of his sword. Everything about his demeanor indicated a frightened man. But what could he be scared of? The scene on the green was peaceful enough.

The trio of urchins saw him and stopped their play. One of them yelled something at him, and they all laughed. Gabriel drew his sword, and Ari took a swift breath. There was no reason for that. He was making himself prey with his fearful attitude, his nervous walk. It was obvious that in this city, if you looked vulnerable, you would be. Surely Gabriel knew that. But then she thought of who he was, a gently bred country lad who had never faced anything more dangerous than a bull in a field. He knew how to use his sword, every young man did, but he seemed somehow stripped of any natural defenses. She ached to run down to him, to protect him, get him off the green, away from the threat of the urchins, tuck him away somewhere safe. But she wasn’t dressed, and besides, she was a married woman, trying to begin afresh in her marriage. Gabriel could have no part in her life now.

But she couldn’t bear him to be hurt, and no one was taking any notice of the little drama being played out amongst them. But then it was just part of the everyday scene in this unruly city. Passersby looked to their own business, not that of their fellows.

The urchins were taunting him now, unafraid of the drawn sword that he waved at them as they drew closer, encircling him. She noticed Gabriel’s free hand was clutching the pocket of his coat, where he had put something as he stepped out of the house. The boys had noticed, and their eyes were fixed upon his hand as they made little running darts at him.

Ari flung open the door to the corridor outside the bedchamber and shouted for someone. A servant in a green baize apron appeared instantly, looking startled. “Get out onto the green,” she instructed sharply. “There’s a man under attack by a group of ruffians. Chase them off.”

The man hesitated, looking even more startled, and Ari stamped a foot and shouted. “Now, I tell you.” He turned and raced down the stairs, and she went back to the window. The scene hadn’t changed, although the boys were getting closer, dodging Gabriel’s swinging blade, laughing and jeering, but there was deadly purpose now in their movements.

“For God’s sake, Gabriel, do something,” she muttered under her breath. “Don’t just wave the blade, use it. Frighten them. It won’t take much.”

The footman appeared and yelled at the urchins, marching across the green towards them, his fists bunched. They took one look at him and fled, racing away across the green. Gabriel bent double, catching his breath before slowly sheathing his sword. He looked anxiously around once more, then hurried across the green towards the inn.

Ariadne stepped away from the window. She was shaken by what she had seen, not just by the sight of Gabriel, not even by the thought that he was probably in the taproom below finding some Dutch courage, but by the revelation that he was so totally unable to take care of himself. It was all very well to live in that rosetinted world of soft colors and pretty poems, of lovemaking under the dappled shade beneath the wide-spreading leaves of a beech tree. But that wasn’t the world they had to live in.

She thought of the attack at the inn in the Polden Hills. What would Gabriel have thought if he could have seen her fighting like any one of the men? Filthy, sooty, bloody. It would have horrified him.