The Everlasting Covenant Read online

  She shrugged her shoulders, modest in her victory. “I put sleeping herbs in wine for the guard and used my own key on the door.”

  He put his hands under her thick shawl at her waist and brushed her lips with his. Her hands caressed his chest. “Anne, they will kill you if you’re found here.”

  “They will not find me. I have studied their habits. My family sleeps soundly, their good fortune brings them sweet dreams. But they are not careless – all doors to the keep are bolted from within to keep us safe from attack, and to keep the guards posted outside from coming within the hall to swill ale in the dark, boring hours.”

  He thought for a moment and then he smiled at her. He touched her face. “My clever vixen. I would not have expected so much.”

  Anne retrieved the chalice, now only half full, for she had extracted a few swallows of courage for herself. She passed it to him and watched as he greedily swallowed the wine. The empty chalice dropped to his side and he closed his eyes in new-found comfort.

  “Would that I could put a legion of guards to sleep, Dylan, and give you freedom.”

  “Nay, you have dared too much already. I am a madman for want of you, Anne, but I want you to live! It is the only comfort I have in these last days.”

  “You may yet have freedom, Dylan,” she said, her eyes cast down so that he would not see the pain there. “My father has somehow taken pity on me and has gone to appeal to Brennan, Lord Forbes. Brennan does not approve of your captivity or ill treatment. He would have had you kept with Edward’s other prisoners. Perhaps he will come.” She shrugged lamely. “Edward has not called for many executions. Just attainder when he is king, and exile. Only the highest nobles ...”

  “I saw my father fall, ma chere. And I know why Wayland did not join me here.”

  “At least my family did not deal those blows. Brennan will free you, if he comes. He, of all, gives credence to Edward’s desires.”

  Dylan laughed at the irony. “He will not help me if he knows what I am to you.” He lifted Anne’s chin with a finger and looked at her seriously. “You must never tell him. He will care for you and keep you safe.”

  Tears threatened again and she nodded as bravely as she could. She knew their love was doomed and she would go to Brennan. There was no other way. But, determined not to discuss their torment in these few precious moments, she leaned toward him and took comfort in his embrace. “Hold me, Dylan. For just a little while.”

  “Like so many other times,” he sighed, kissing her brow and stroking her back. “Do you know the number of times you have crept through the night for a few stolen kisses?”

  “I know each moment, each touch, each time I had to leave of you.”

  “There has been so little, yet so much. Oh my Anne, I failed you. I should have come for you sooner, then I would not have been with the others at Mortimer s Cross.”

  “Nay, I failed you! If only I could run with you now--I would make no excuses, I would not delay. Oh Dylan, I’m so sorry.”

  He was quiet for a long moment and when she lifted her head from his chest she found his eyes on her face. “We’ll take whatever comes,” he whispered. “And we will not live only to lament what we cannot have, but let what we have had give us joy. Private, secret joy ... perhaps ... you promised me, Anne. Promise again that you will never let this love we feel ...”

  “Dylan,” she whispered, her fingers on his lips. “No more promises need be spoken, Dylan. I love you now, and I will love you until I die.” She replaced her fingers with her lips. His wine sweetened breath was warm and moist on her face, his lips opened hungrily over hers. She met his tongue as she caressed his chest with her cool hands. Her small tongue darted between his lips as her fingers opened the worn linen shirt that he wore.

  His kiss drew the life from her, yet filled her with life. While his hands moved over her back, over her hips and thighs, his mouth captured hers with a desperate hunger, yet commanding power. She leaned toward him, closer and closer, until her chest lay against his, the sheer cloth of her nightdress barely concealing her flesh. She heard him moan, felt his quickened heartbeat, tasted his wine and lust. She knew this time she would belong to him and her body ached to be full. Her arms tightened around him, drawing him closer.

  Dylan’s breath caught and sudden passion engulfed him. He pulled her against him, feeling her fingers knead his well-muscled back. Her shawl slipped and the press of her full breasts against his chest stirred him wildly. He was filled with her: her smooth skin, her sweet scent. He had wanted her desperately for so long, and now, when he faced death, never to taste the sweet joys of her body, he knew his control to be lacking. His lips moved from her mouth to her neck, then her shoulder – he bit her loose, silky hair. She tasted of honey and wildflowers. He slipped her bedgown down to expose a firm breast, greedily filling his hand, then his mouth. He heard her gasp as his tongue brought the small bud of her nipple to erect hardness. She pressed his head harder against her bosom as if to hold him there forever.

  He raised his head to look at her. “It is dangerous for you to be here,” he whispered.

  “They will not find me, Dylan, I--”

  “The danger is in my arms, my Anne. Before, when we talked about our someday, I had more to live for, a reason to protect you from even my desire. Now--”

  “Dylan,” she whispered, her hand on his cheek as she looked deeply into his eyes, “now is all we have. Perhaps all we will ever have.”

  His lips covered hers again. Anne’s mind reeled with desire and she welcomed the feeling of the cold, clay floor against her back. Only her woolen shawl came between their bodies and the ground. As he lay gently atop her, she could feel his maleness rock against her sex and she strained against him. She felt as if her body was flooding downward toward him, welcoming and inviting. Her skin was never more alive than under his fingers and lips. She craved a deeper taste, a deeper drink.

  The candle flickered from a draft and the scent of bodies and lust mingled with the odor of ale and wine. He pulled away to draw her bedgown lower, to raise it higher, to look at the beauty of her young body. He spread her long hair out to her side, lifting a handful of the thick, straight mane to his lips. She closed her eyes as his lips and tongue titillated her breasts, her waist, the inside of her arm.

  She opened her eyes to the sound of his voice. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. With eager hands she reached for the drawstring at his waist and loosened his chausses. He had been reduced to very little clothing, and only his worn hose and a loincloth covered his straining member. Instinctively, without a single thought of modesty or reservation, her small hand closed around his throbbing erection. He moaned low in his throat, his eyes closing briefly. She trembled from the sheer power she felt.

  Dylan rose above her. His eyes were a hardened blue, much like what she had seen as they led him into Raedelle as a prisoner, but this time the stony quality came from passion. Again, his jaw pulsed with tension. She deftly pulled the chausses down to his thighs as he knelt above her. His hands touched the outside of her thighs and she opened her legs to him, inviting him into the secret softness within. Her eyes were locked into his as her hands gently caressed him, enjoying the sensation of having so much of him in her small hands. He moved slowly, carefully, until he knelt between her legs.

  “Anne,” he whispered, his eyes earnest, almost stern. “Anne, my beloved, are you sure?”

  She rose slightly, locking her hands behind his neck to draw him down to her. “Never more sure, Dylan, my love. Never more sure.”

  He slowly lowered his mouth to hers and planted small kisses on her lips. “You must not cry out, love.”

  She clung to him, answering by holding him hard against her mouth, opening her lips beneath his. She felt him as he gently probed and then moved into her. Dylan hesitated, holding still for a moment, her lips captive in his, and then with a single, abrupt thrust, he ended her virginity. She jumped in surprise, in pain that was as sudden as it was glorio
us. Her eyes opened wide – she saw his blue gaze, serene and controlled. One of his hands rested under her neck, the other under the small of her back. Her body slowly relaxed, her eyes closed. And he moved in a rhythm--a slow, even thrusting that grew to a rapid frenzied pace that engulfed her, possessed her, until she moved with him. They rocked together, every motion in unison – one mouth, one body. And very soon there was a rising tide that swept Anne away to another place and time. Her body shook with a fiery spasm of rapture, a fine mist of perspiration gathered on her upper lip, at her temples. Tears swelled again. Such beauty, such ecstasy. She had never doubted that it would feel so. She always knew this coupling, with Dylan, would hold incomparable joy.

  * * *

  Their minds returned to the cold, dirt floor of the cask room. Anne rested in Dylan’s arms. It was odd that it should feel so natural when they risked certain death for this. Anne would not move. She wished to keep this moment, this union forever.

  “It is a rare thing for a virgin to have that joy ... the first time,” he whispered.

  “Is it? I had never doubted it would be joyous.”

  “What are we to do? I love you so.”

  “Hold me,” she murmured. “Maybe dawn will have the decency to stay away.”

  “Nay, my Anne. We will surely face the dawn.”

  When Dylan withdrew she closed her legs, holding his seed within her protectively, praying a life would be conceived. She did not tell him so. She had already said everything with her body.

  “If he has ever had a virgin, he will know,” Dylan said. She silenced him with a whisper. “You make love to a dead man, Anne.”

  “Dylan, do not despoil me with sadness. It is pointless.”

  “Aye. Should I regret? ‘Twas a selfish act.”

  She felt a laugh rising in her throat, choking her. And then she felt ridiculous. There was no humor in this, yet she wanted to laugh. “Selfish?” she said, looking at him, her eyes shining. “Oh yea, Dylan, we two are so selfish. We have asked God for so much.” The feeling of laughter failed her completely to tears, but she would not indulge. Not now.

  “I am afraid for you to be here. Please go.”

  “There is yet time, Dylan. I will go long before sunrise. And if it is possible, I will come again.” Every night, she thought, until the twentieth day ... unless Brennan came back to her and could amend this atrocity. “Dylan ... my love ... I know that everything has changed – I know there is no possible way for us to plan ... but Dylan, believe me when I tell you my love for you is eternal, even when I wish it otherwise for both our sakes. I still believe we will be together one day. I will never lose faith.”

  He kissed her lightly. “Someday, then, my only love.”

  Chapter Six

  She returned to her chamber, Anne passed the guard. He still slept soundly in the predawn hours. She hurried to wash and change her clothing and sat on the edge of her bed until the first faint rays of sun began to lighten the horizon. Then she returned to the common hall and gently shook the guard.

  “Delbert. Sir Delbert.”

  He roused slowly, sighing in his sleep, a smile on his lips as if some maiden of his dreams tickled him.

  “Delbert,” she insisted, shaking him more roughly. “Wake up!”

  He opened his eyes, blinked as if to place himself, and then the chalice fell to the floor as he shot to his feet in embarrassment. “I ... ah, only nodded off for a moment.”

  “A poor moment,” she said, shaking her head. “Lucky for you I was the first to come downstairs. Return the chair to the common room, Sir Delbert, and mind your post before Quentin finds you thus.”

  “Aye,” he said absentmindedly, still groggy and a bit wobbly on his feet. “Worse ... Sir Bart ...” She made a mental note to check the guard’s size before again administering the herb to the wine. “I ... I just nodded off for a moment ... just a moment ... Quentin will ...”

  “He won’t know, Sir Delbert. I certainly won’t tell him, it would do neither of you any good. Just be careful from now on.”

  “Thank you,” he said, dragging the chair back to the common room. Anne stooped to pick up the chalice and kicked a few reeds and rushes back over the path the chair had made. “Thank you, my lady. I am in your debt for your silence.”

  “I’m pleased to help you, Sir Delbert,” she smiled. “You’re one of my favorites. Just don’t tell anyone that I cover your tracks--word would reach my brothers in no time at all. Silence on the matter, then?”

  The next night did not go so well. The guard, an older man, had sleep on his mind from the start, and had not neglected his comfort either. He had already pulled a chair, stool, and a heavy fur to cover himself from the common hall. He accepted the offered wine and leaned his chair against the cask room door. Anne frowned her displeasure, checked him several times before finally giving up, and then listened to Quentin’s rage in the early hours when the guard was found drunk and sound asleep. He denied having had a great deal to drink, and, thankfully, for some reason he did not mention having seen Anne or accepting wine from her. Perhaps he did not remember. Anne was fairly certain he would not be guarding Dylan again.

  On the third night she found another new guard had been posted, and the trick she used on Delbert worked equally well on young Stephen. She was in Dylan’s arms once more. On the fourth night it was Delbert again, for he had been successful in guarding the prisoner. It helped immensely that the guards were becoming more relaxed. It was a pleasurable duty to drink wine and sleep the night away without incident.

  “Every night I hold my breath, waiting for the sound of that door opening,” Dylan said. “And then when I hear you come, I tremble with fear that you will be discovered. It is not fear for myself, love, for my death will come or not, as God wills it. But for you. I could not bear it if any of them hurt you.”

  She smiled, dropped the heavy fur and her gown to the floor, and lay in his arms. “Something has changed, Dylan. Trenton has left Raedelle – he opposes your execution, and when he saw that he could not convince my mother or brothers, he left to find our father. Perhaps ...”

  “You must not betray your heart, Anne,” he said passionately. “Promise me you will not try to argue for my life.”

  “Dylan, I--”

  “Promise!”

  “I will not. But I will hope. You cannot ask me to stop hoping.”

  “Until Lady Gifford leaves Raedelle in protest, your hopes are useless.” He sighed and nuzzled her neck. “The price you pay for this may be too high.”

  “I accept whatever fate brings – I have seen how powerless I am to direct it. Once I thought it was all a matter of how cleverly we could plan, but now I see that we are puppets. If death is the worst that can befall us, perhaps we’ll have each other in the afterlife.” She snuggled close to him. “The only thing in my life that I lament is that I cannot recall the day you said, ‘flee with me now.’” She sighed. “If I ever hear those words again, I will not hesitate.”

  “Love me now, Anne.”

  Every time could be the last time – the impending danger only made their loving richer, deeper. Once it was every kiss that could be their last. Now, as lovers, they met each union of the flesh both famished and fearful. Every touch tingled until it glowed and became hot and savage, covering them in a shower of spiraling embers that led them to blissful ecstasy.

  They made love out of hunger and fear, but also to empty their heads, to escape their doomed destiny. Both would have luxuriated in their being together, talking, sharing their dreams and then making them come true, had things been different. But when they spoke, if apprehension and torment began to color their words, they tempered each other. If Dylan spoke with worry about Anne’s marriage to Lord Forbes, her hand slowly moved to touch him in a way that drove all worry from his mind. When Anne trembled in fear over his imprisonment and impending execution, he knew the way to touch, to kiss, so that her trembling was of another source. Every night they forgot their troubles thu
s, each becoming half of a single body that swayed in passion.

  They thought they had found a rare and enduring love when their lips had first touched two years before. Now they knew.

  ***

  Lord Gifford stripped off his armor and approached the gates of Heathwick on foot, leading his destrier. His shield was attached to his saddle, his spurs were removed, and no weapon hung from his belt. The castle was dark in the setting sun – they should have been lighting torches or cressets around the wall.

  A single guard looked down from the parapet above the gate. Heathwick had no moat, but only the heavy double doors. Their protection appeared minimal. Had they lost so many? “Who goes there?” the guard shouted down.

  “Ferris Gifford, Lord of Raedelle. I come alone and on peaceful terms. I must confer with Lady deFrayne.”

  The guard paused. “And if I open the gate and there is an army in the brush? Why does a Gifford approach a deFrayne unarmed?”

  “I have news of the capture of Sir Dylan. If you doubt my word, lower a single rope and I will scale the wall. Alone.”

  “Wait,” he instructed. And the wait was a long one. Finally there were some torches lit around the gate, but not in the parapets surrounding the outer wall. Ferris had seen the old deFrayne keep before, but he had never been within. He shuddered with apprehension. If Daphne had already fled to safety, whoever was within might slay him instantly. Or perhaps take him prisoner and offer a trade with Marcella. Then he sucked in his breath as the great gate began to squeak and move.

  Daphne stood with only one man at her side. She was dressed in black, in mourning, and her head was covered with a shawl.

  As he approached her he could see a faint smile on her lips, a sad smile, and from under the shawl he could make out wisps of her light auburn hair, just beginning to gray at the temples. Her eyes were the same, still the deep sparkling blue of her youth, unchanged, perhaps even enhanced by the hardship of her life. She was not so very different from the way he remembered first seeing her, thirty years ago. Oh, he had seen her since – but they kept their eyes averted. They had not spoken. He fell to one knee before her. “Madam, I am sorry for your grievous losses.”