Unexpected Pleasures Read online

  That was because the cold was coming from inside her heart. She frowned and turned over only to hear the chain clinking when she moved. Frustration made her grumpy, but even having her temper aroused failed to banish her longing for the man who had shared the bed with her last night.

  If he was going to chain her to the bed, couldn’t he at least share it with her?

  It was an audacious question, one sure to gain her the displeasure of the Church if they ever discovered the direction of her thinking, but for the moment, she was quite alone with herself.

  She did long for Synclair, and that was a fact. Her body was softly yearning for his, the memory of how much she enjoyed his touch sending heat along her skin. The sheets were smooth and soft but her mind was centered on the way his body felt when they had shared the bed. Never had she suspected that she might enjoy sharing a bed so much, but she had with Synclair. Some doctors warned against couples sleeping too long next to one another, claiming that each heart had its own unique rhythm and that being too close to another might cause each heart to lose its beat.

  Justina doubted it. Being locked in the tower at Amber Hill and separated from him by stone walls had failed to keep her from dwelling upon him and affection growing inside her heart. The truth of the matter was, she was too weak to resist him and he too foolish to listen to her reasoning.

  Her sleep was anything but peaceful and the bedding proved it when dawn finally arrived. She had tossed and turned and kicked until the coverlet and sheets were pulled from the corners of the bed. Arlene and her staff put it to rights while Amy stitched her into a fresh chemise and the dressing gown after her bath. A morning bath was much wiser given the cold weather; her wet hair was less likely to cause her to catch a chill during the day than in the evening.

  But all too soon she was sitting at the table, waiting for time to pass while her mind ran in circles.

  Where was Synclair?

  “Right fine day for riding.”

  Synclair couldn’t help but snort at his captain in reply. The sky was growing darker and the wind had turned sharp, the icy claw of winter present. His armor breastplate was a welcome weight now because it kept that wind from slicing through his clothing. In the summer the thing was a torment that trapped heat against his body.

  However, no sane man took to the road without breastplate and helmet. An archer could put an arrow through a man from two hundred yards away. With the King in his last days, foreign assassins were a far too real possibility. Synclair kept a sharp eye on the area ahead of him because it would be simple to murder them on the road and bury them. With the beginning of winter upon the country, no one would notice him missing for months, and by the time anyone thought to ask after him, there would be nothing left to point the way to the shallow graves their bodies were tossed into.

  Henry had been a brutal king in many ways, but he had united a country on the brink of disintegration. His father, Henry the Seventh, had married Elizabeth of York to end the war of the roses. That had been a bloody time, two thirds of the nobles in England died during the battle to see who would finally sit upon the throne. Henry the Eighth only kept the crown by killing off those relatives who made the mistake of challenging him. It was absolute rule or a return to the war between noble houses. That was the knowledge that drove Henry in his quest for a son, a quest that had claimed the lives of three of his wives and seen him divorcing two more.

  It was also the thing that convinced men such as Viscount Biddeford that he might treat his ward in any manner he decided fit. Synclair felt his temper heating to a dangerous level. He knew his own limits, had seen them tested in France, and he felt his tolerance stretching thin. Chaining Justina to his bed was the only way to prevent him from challenging Biddeford and the consequences be damned.

  He wanted to kill the bastard. It was that simple. The urge was growing stronger and more uncontrollable with every day.

  The road in front of him offered him a diversion from his rising intolerance for Justina’s guardian. Killing Biddeford might still be his pleasure but he would make sure that there were no innocents left to suffer for his actions.

  There was also the lady herself. His lady. He planned to teach her that, in a manner that no man had ever tried to teach her before. Through earning her trust. She had passion for him, even affection that he’d witnessed in her eyes, but there was no trust in his ability to protect her and her child from Biddeford. That was what he craved, because love could not live without trust, and he needed her love.

  It was the thing he had dreamed of for two years. The single thing that he craved as his reward for persevering through years of training and service.

  Love. That rare thing that blossomed between only a few couples. He wanted it and he would do anything to keep it.

  Even chain up the woman who held his heart in her hands. He loved her and he planned to prove that he was worthy of her trust. Synclair leaned down over his stallion’s neck and gritted his teeth against the chill.

  Nothing was going to stop him.

  Nothing.

  A storm began gathering around the house two days later. Justina watched the sky darken with black clouds. They pressed lower and lower, until the tops of the trees were difficult to see. Arlene brought candles to the chamber and their light was welcome, but it also made Justina more aware of the chill. She felt drawn to the circle of light the flames gave off. The fireplace was too far away from the bed and what little warmth there was in the chamber was seeping out of the glass panes. She had enjoyed having the curtains open, after all, glass-paned windows were quite expensive. Her chambers at Whitehall did not have glass but iron-work screens that allowed fresh air inside. At night or when the weather wasn’t fair, wooden shutters closed over the screens. She was fortunate to have even those; many at court made do with rooms that had no windows at all because the palace had once belonged to the Church and monks had been expected to live in humble accommodations.

  So she sighed in lament as Arlene began to pull the curtains over the glass. It was nearing supper time, and she was not tired enough to seek her bed even if the thick coverlet looked inviting. Arlene had found the cape that she had used to ride to the house, but the weight of it over her shoulders made it difficult to sew or move her arms at all. She had it draped across her legs but the dressing gown was too thin for the winter. She still resisted having the windows covered. It would make the corner dark and too much like a prison cell for her taste. Every time she moved too much, the chain would give off sounds of the links hitting one another. Her left wrist was sore from lifting the weight of it.

  “Leave one open, Arlene.”

  The housekeeper turned to look at her in question. “But, mistress, you are shivering.”

  “Why is your mistress cold?”

  Two shrieks filled the chamber as Synclair spoke. Arlene’s was far louder, earning her a scowl from her lord. Justina lifted her right hand up to cover her lips because the sight of Synclair in the chamber again startled her a second time. It felt as though she had conjured him from her longings.

  “Oh my, you frightened me something terrible, my lord.” The housekeeper was still flustered, with one hand pressed over her heart, and she forgot to lower herself, too.

  “So I heard.” Synclair sounded exhausted, more so than Justina had ever heard him.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway, hurried heavy-booted footfalls of men running. The door burst in, drawing a disgusted sound from Synclair.

  “There is nothing amiss, Captain Repel, the women were not paying attention and my appearance startled them.”

  Captain Repel was just as dedicated to his post as Synclair had been when Justina first crossed paths with him. The captain scanned the chamber, his keen stare missing nothing before he aimed his attention at his lord and offered him a bow. Synclair placed his riding gauntlets on the table near the door and waited for his men to quit the room.

  The moment they did, he aimed his attention at her. He was still w
earing his spurs, and they tapped against the floor when he moved closer so that his eyes might inspect her.

  “Why isn’t your mistress dressed in this chill, Arlene?”

  Arlene gasped and began sputtering. “Well ... you see ... my lord ... ’Tis—”

  Justina stood up and the chain filled the chamber with noise. “Because it is impossible to put my arm through a sleeve, and everything that I am wearing must be sewn onto me each time I bathe, my lord.”

  Arlene snapped her lips shut with a small click of her teeth. Justina refused to speak in a smooth, respectful tone when talking about that chain. The man deserved to hear the frustration in her voice.

  “Arlene, fetch a gown for your mistress. She needs to dress, and I will unlock her now that I am returned.”

  The housekeeper lost no time quitting the room, ducking her head in a show of respect even while she was moving toward the doorway. The moment she was gone, Justina heard the unmistakable sound of male amusement.

  Synclair was watching her from eyes that were ringed with dark circles, but his lips were set into a grin.

  “You have always had a great deal of spirit. Something that I find irresistible in you.” His gaze traveled down her length and back up. “My apologies for not considering that you would be unable to dress in the clothing I had purchased for you.”

  “You should not have bought so many things for me.” She found herself struggling against the feeling of being cherished. She couldn’t help that she loved him but it would never do for her to allow him to know her feelings.

  “I plan to wed you, Justina.”

  She lifted her left hand and a soft growl came from her. “Is this designed to soften my heart toward you?”

  His smile brightened. “No, that was necessary to keep you from performing your duty, as you see it, by returning to your guardian.”

  He moved closer and she felt her breath freeze in her chest. All of the annoyance with the chain didn’t stop her belly from fluttering now that he was so close once more. She couldn’t keep herself from locking stares with him or halt the joy that flooded her.

  “Did you miss me, Justina?” He reached out and captured her left arm, raising it and fitting a small key into the lock. With a turn of his wrist, the thick iron opened and fell to the floor.

  Justina couldn’t help but sigh, and Synclair rubbed her skin where it had begun to discolor beneath the band of iron.

  “I missed you, very much.”

  His voice was dangerously low and dark. It reminded her too much of the way he spoke to her while they were locked together.

  “I missed being able to wear clothing.”

  One of his fair eyebrows rose. “You shouldn’t. It is a sin to cover your body with so many layers. I suggest you reform your ways and wear naught but a chemise inside this chamber.”

  He was playing with her, the boy hidden inside the body of the man who towered over her and winked at her. Heat surfaced in her cheeks, annoying her with the fact that he would see the blush staining her face.

  “Ah, the most perfect welcome ...” Synclair reached out to touch her face, gently stroking his fingertips along the sensitive skin.

  “It isn’t a welcome when you used a chain to keep me here, Synclair.”

  His eyes darkened. “I will do anything necessary to secure you, Justina.”

  “That is not chivalrous.” Her attention lowered to the gold knight’s chain he wore around his neck. For once, it was dusty, surprising her because he customarily kept it so pristine. It was his most treasured possession because he had earned it.

  A warm hand cupped her chin and raised her face so that their eyes met once again. Emotion blazed in his eyes, fierce and unrelenting.

  “I disagree, Lady. I spent many years following my king, and what I learned at his side of the arts of Knighthood makes that chain look soft.”

  His tone had sharpened until she winced.

  “That was war.”

  “It was an attempt at conquest, Justina, and I was trained to do anything necessary to bring home victory to my monarch. As far as I see, the court is very similar, so I will use whatever tactics necessary. I will have you for my wife. How long you wear that chain is your choice.”

  Arlene knocked on the door and Synclair called out to her instantly.

  “Enter!”

  There was a scurry of footfalls on the floor as several maids followed the housekeeper. Synclair stepped back but remained in the chamber with his attention fixed on her. The level of attention irritated her and she aimed a hot look at him while his staff began to dress her.

  First they removed the dressing gown that had been sewn onto her each morning. Her stays had to be unlaced and taken off so that a small hip roll might be secured about her hips to hold up the cartridge pleats of the skirts, keeping the weight of the fabric from giving her a backache. Over that went an under skirt, secured around her waist. There were no steel hoops in this one, pleasing her. The dress would be a more practical one and much easier to move in. The maids relaced her stays and then lifted the dress up and over her head. Justina lifted her hands to allow the dress to be slid down into place around her body. The maids made quick work of closing the back with a lace threaded through the eyelets. They brought her the sleeves and slid them up her arms before using silver-tipped ribbons to tie the sleeves to the bodice of the dress.

  She sighed as the chill she had tried to ignore for the last few days finally left her skin. The dress was made of good wool, finely spun and woven into a fabric thick enough to keep her warm, yet soft enough to not bind at her elbows.

  Arlene finished her duty by placing a French hood on her head. It was made of wool but lined with fine linen to keep it from irritating the skin of her ears and neck. The hood curved around her head to keep her warm. At court, such a hat might be decorated with gold and jewels; this one was simple with only a bit of knitted lace. She liked it full well.

  “Leave us.”

  Justina folded her hands together, dreading the possibility that Synclair meant to lock the manacle around her wrist once more. The maids all lowered themselves before leaving on quick steps.

  “I enjoy seeing you free of those court dresses.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I agree; I have no love for the necessity of fashion that court seems to deem so important.”

  Synclair moved toward her, and she pressed her lips into a firm line to conceal the sickening twist moving through her belly. But she refused to act the coward. She kept her chin level and her gaze on the man approaching her.

  “I wonder, Justina, would you tell me what you do harbor affection for?”

  The question shocked her, distracting her from her fears. “My son, you know that well.”

  He nodded and something flickered in his eyes that drew her attention. He lifted his hand and she flinched, her hands going behind her back, making a mockery of her intention to stand firm in her stance.

  He frowned but his hand remained between them with the palm facing up.

  “Come with me, my lady, I have something for you.” She stared at his face for a long moment, trying to read his thoughts, but his expression offered her no hints. Her curiosity needled her until she moved, placing her hand in his.

  Synclair curled his fingers around hers and turned to the door. His grip was firm and his pace quick. He opened the heavy door with one hand and joined her in the hallway before it closed under its own weight. Feeling the fabric of her skirts about her legs was a welcome sensation. Synclair took her through several hallways and she tried to memorize them. The house appeared to be built in a block, with two wings stretching back from the front of it. Synclair took her around a corner and down the length of one wing until they reached a set of double doors. The framing was decorated with carvings in the wood announcing a room that was reserved for an honored guest.

  Synclair reached out and pulled the door open.

  “Go on, Justina, and see what I have brought y
ou.”

  His voice was deep and sincere and full of tenderness. She was torn between the need to remain near him and discover what he meant, or enter the chamber and see what his newest gift was.

  “Look, Nan, it is beginning to snow now, just as Sir Synclair said it would, and he was most correct; it waited until we arrived.”

  The young voice drew a gasp from her. Justina ran through the open door and skidded to a stop only a few steps across the threshold. She felt the blood drain from her face as every muscle she had drew tight enough to snap. Her lungs refused to fill but she didn’t care. Brandon was kneeling on a chair near the windows, his nose pressed against the glass while he watched the snow falling in the evening light. She knew him more by the older woman sitting near him, for she had chosen Nan carefully to be her son’s nurse when she was forced to return to court. The middle-aged woman nodded to her while she reached out to gently tap her young charge on the shoulder.

  “Brandon, your mother is here to greet you.”

  Synclair pressed an open hand against her back, gently urging her forward. Her son turned and smiled.

  “Good evening, Mother. I am very happy to see you.” He offered her a polished bow that Nan smiled proudly at.

  Justina sobbed before running across the room and sweeping him off his feet.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Justina twirled around and around until her balance failed and she had to stop or tumble to the floor. Brandon wrapped his thin arms around her neck and placed a wet kiss against her lips. But he wiggled out of her embrace the moment his feet touched the ground.