Chapter 19

Nineteen

It would have been so easy for Lawrence to breathe a sigh of relief and think himself and Minerva safe, now that they had made it safely to Godwin Castle. He should have been deeply happy that Minerva chose to go straight to bed so that she might sleep off the lingering effects of her head cold. Being home should have resolved everything and settled his troubled spirits, particularly now that he had the statue with him.

Instead, Lawrence walked around the castle for the next two days jumping at shadows and mistaking every distant creak in the house for someone knocking at the door, announcing the arrival of Minerva’s parents, Lord Owen, and a parson.

“I do not know why you’re so worried,” Dunstan attempted to console him on the morning of their third day of being home. “Godwin Castle may be cursed, but Uncle Gerald is correct, it is our home territory. We are Godwins, and we will defend ourselves.”

Lawrence smiled affectionately at his cousin and clapped a hand on his arm. “You are the very best of men, Dunstan,” he said. “If there is any one of us whom the curse would not dare to affect, it would be you.”

Dunstan grew suddenly sober. “The curse has already destroyed my life,” he said, clearly believing that. His spirits seemed to immediately return to his prior cheer, and he added, “So perhaps it has already wreaked it’s havoc on our generation and will allow us to rest now.”

Lawrence huffed. “I very much doubt it. I have a terrible feeling deep in my bones that the moment the Llewellyns arrive with Lord Owen in tow, we will all experience the curse’s full effect.”

There was nothing anyone could do to convince Lawrence otherwise, even though his family attempted to assuage his worry with lively conversation, entertainments, and even parlor games.

Even Clarence was involved in the parlor games. Minerva was finally feeling more herself after two full days of rest and good care. She brought her skull down to the great hall with her after luncheon on the third day, much to Lord Gerald’s delight, and once introductions were made, the entire company fell into a game of hide-and-seek, where Clarence was hidden somewhere in the castle and everyone had to search for him.

It was childish, really, but the game also served the purpose of allowing the couples in the family to steal a few moments with each other away from the others without accusations of impropriety flying about. Lawrence suspected his father had arranged things specifically for that purpose.

He was beyond grateful when his and Minerva’s paths met in one of the tall, narrow towers at the northwestern corner of the castle, where archers had once fired out onto interlopers approaching from the mainland.

“Oh! Lawrence! I did not expect to find you here,” Minerva said, sounding far less stuffy and drippy than she had when they’d first arrived. “Alas, Clarence is not resting at the top of this small tower.”

“Oh, bother,” Lawrence said, his words sounding disappointed, but his expression as he continued the rest of the way up the spiral staircase to stand on a small landing one step down from her anything but.

Minerva’s responding laugh as she swayed toward him was low and throaty. The sound of it and the glint in her eyes as she slipped her arms over his shoulders was invigorating. He threw caution to the wind and circled his arms around her waist, standing flush against her. With Minerva one step up, it meant their faces were at exactly the same level, perfect for kissing.

He held back just a bit, though, smiling at her and enjoying the feeling of her in his arms.

“I trust your recovery is progressing well?” he asked in a soft, deep voice.

“It is,” Minerva said, keeping her voice at a rich, sonorous level to match his.

“And my family’s hospitality has been to your liking?” he continued, rubbing his hands across her back and pulling her closer.

“Your family has been magnificent,” Minerva said, bringing her sweet lips to within kissing distance of his.

“I see you have foregone your usual black today in favor of this delectable blue creation,” he said, using the excuse of brushing his hands across some of the more interesting details of the gown’s construction to touch her more fully. “Is it my imagination, or is this a Scandinavian style?”

Minerva’s cheeks flushed with desire, and she sucked in a breath as Lawrence traced his hand around some of the embroidery over one of her breasts. “I have determined that a change is in order,” she said with a catch in her voice as Lawrence’s tracing turned to gentle caresses.

“No more black?” Lawrence asked, dragging his eyes from the part of her he wanted to look at, particularly since the Scandinavian style involved low-cut bodices with only a thin fichu to cover the almost dangerous swell of her breasts, to her eyes.

Minerva laughed in a way that was so free it made his heart light and his groin tight. “I think I have dressed in black enough,” she said. “From henceforth, I shall have my seamstress construct all of my future gowns in the Swedish style. I think blue and silver would be attractive colors for me.”

Lawrence smiled, moving his hand to caress her heated face. “Any colors would be beautiful on you, my love,” he said, then arched one eyebrow. “Or no colors at all.”

Minerva laughed again, and at last, Lawrence slanted his head to take what he really wanted from her.

She moved easily into his kiss, tightening her arms around him as their lips played together, lightly at first, then with more insistence. That was not enough, and as soon as he was confident that Minerva wanted their kiss as much as he did, he parted her lips to slide his tongue against hers.

Minerva sighed and sagged into him even more, giving him the opportunity to use his strength to keep her upright and to stop the two of them from falling. He had never considered himself a strong man, in body or in character, but Minerva made him feel as though he could challenge Atlas himself. She had made him strong, and she had made him clever. With her, he felt as if he could either conquer the world or at least make up an amusing story about it.

“Minerva,” he sighed, shifting her to the side so that he could push her back up against the wall next to the arrow-slit.

“Lawrence,” she echoed, lifting one of her legs to hook around his hip.

Within moments, they were enjoying more than a simple kiss. The way their mouths mated turned ravenous. The sounds that both of them made echoed through the tower, most likely shocking the spirits of his ancestors. Lawrence did not care a whit for any of them. He tugged at Minerva’s leg to bring it higher and pushed up the soft fabric of her skirt so that he could slip his hand over her stocking and up her thigh.

Minerva let out a plaintive sound as his fingers stretched across the flesh between the top of her stockings and her thin drawers. He didn’t stop there, though. As his mouth continued to tease and tempt hers in possessive kisses, he delved his fingers under the cotton of her drawers to find her already wet sex.

“Dear God, yes,” Minerva sighed, rolling her head back against the stone wall behind her.

Lawrence growled in victory at her wanton manner, loving every wicked moment of it. He pulled aside her fichu with his teeth so that he could kiss and savor her breast. While one hand continued its work between her legs, his other tugged at the top of her bodice enough to expose one pebbled nipple.

He went right for it, kissing and suckling her and teasing her with his tongue as he slipped two fingers into her channel and used his thumb to rub her clitoris. The effect was stunning, and in no time, Minerva was writhing and panting and moaning as she rode his attentions hard and fast toward her pleasure.

She erupted with a deep cry, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her sex squeezed around his fingers, causing him to smile against her breast. If she thought his ability to bring her to orgasm in a drafty tower was exciting, she would be even more surprised and delighted by what he could do when they had the luxury of a soft bed and time to play.

As soon as Minerva began to relax and come down from the heights of pleasure, Lawrence recaptured her mouth, kissing her with a gentler insistence. Minerva melted into that, kissing him in return.

It was a beautiful moment, and Lawrence would have made the cheeky suggestion that they return to either her room or his and abandon the search for Clarence if the sound of a carriage arriving in the courtyard below had not drawn his attention.

“What the devil?” he muttered, pulling partly away from Minerva with a frown.

Minerva was still swimming in the aftermath of her pleasure and took a moment to return to the world, but as she shifted to stand on her own feet again and to tidy her fichu, she turned to peer out through the arrow-slit along with Lawrence.

The moment Lawrence had been dreading since they arrived at Godwin Castle was upon them. He and Minerva both watched with varying degrees of horror as the carriage stopped, the castle footmen stepped forward to assist, and as Lord Owen stepped down onto the cobblestones. Behind him came a grey-haired couple who looked around as though they had instantly decided Godwin Castle would be better off at the bottom of a bog.

“My parents,” Minerva said, suddenly anxious when she was crying in bliss just moments before. “And Owen.”

Lawrence reached an arm around her waist, holding her close. “They will not touch you,” he said. “I will not let them lay a hand, or a claim, on you.”

Minerva pushed away from the window and stared at him with wide eyes. “I do not know if you will be able to stop them,” she said. “Owen has the prior claim on me, and he has his special license.”

“Not if I get ahold of it he won’t,” Lawrence said, taking her hand and drawing her down the stairs. “I’ll tear it up and throw it into the fire, or I’ll scratch out his name and sign my own to it.”

“I do not think that would hold much weight in a London court,” Minerva said, a surprising amount of humor in her voice.

“Then I will run the usurping bastard through and we will escape to Sweden,” Lawrence said as they reached the ground floor and stepped out into one of the servants’ hallways. “You are already dressed for that life, after all.”

Minerva laughed. The sound was like a bolstering trumpet voluntary that spurred champions into battle. As long as he had Minerva with him, Lawrence could endure even the strongest claim to what he knew was his.

They hurried to the great hall, stopping along the way to freshen up enough so that no evidence of the mischief they’d just gotten up to remained, then continued on to the great room.

They were the last ones to arrive, which was, perhaps, fortunate. It meant Lord Gerald and Waldorf had already begun the battle.

“You cannot just walk into my father’s home in such a manner, demanding whatever you please,” Waldorf was in the middle of admonishing the three newcomers.

“You are harboring my bride,” Lord Owen argued in return. “She is mine by consent of her parents and by license of the Church of Wales. I have the license here to prove it.” He gestured for the bedraggled maid who had apparently come with them to produce the license in question.

“Lady Minerva is a woman,” Lord Gerald argued with an irritated frown, “not a business you wish to operate. A license means nothing in matters of the heart.”

The maid had successfully taken a roll of paper from the large reticule she carried, but as soon as she attempted to present it to Lord Owen, he shoved her back with a peevish look, as if she were impertinent for doing precisely what he’d asked her to do. He turned his focus to Lord Gerald instead.

“Perhaps you are too old and feeble to remember it, but the law of the Kingdom of Wales states that a woman’s parents have the right to arrange her marriage, and that their arrangements are binding.”

“That law is an abomination,” Minerva herself said, picking up her pace so that she and Lawrence could take place in the unfolding argument. “It is designed to turn perfectly capable young women into chattel, and it should be struck down at once.”

“Minerva!” Lady Caren Llewellyn cried out at the sight of her daughter, stepping towards her.

She seemed more relieved to see Minerva alive and well than angry that she had disobeyed her wishes, which Lawrence counted as a good thing.

“Mother,” Minerva nodded to her, then valiantly stared at Lord Owen as they finished their approach to the cluster in the center of the great hall. “I do not know why you’ve come here,” she told Lord Owen, with a short glance to her father. “I have said all along that I’ve no wish to marry Lord Owen. I went to great lengths, despite your attempts to force me, to escape the union.”

“You wickedly defied my wishes,” Lord Dilwyn said, turning to her with so much force and arrogance that Lawrence stepped forward to come between them.

That movement surprised Lord Dilwyn, thwarting his attempt to chastise Minerva.

Lord Owen, however, was not as easily cowed.

“I knew you were not dead,” he snapped, grinning darkly in a way that exposed his teeth. Lawrence thought the expression made him look like one of the vampires Minerva liked to read about. “You are a wicked woman to go to such lengths to deny your obligations and escape your fate.”

“If she is such a wicked woman, then why do you wish to marry her?” Waldorf demanded. He wore his most intimidating scowl and had pulled himself up to his full height. Lord Owen was a fool for not being terrified of him.

“It is none of your concern,” Lord Owen snapped, then seemed to immediately contradict himself by saying, “It is a business arrangement between Lord Dilwyn and myself. The merger of our families will bring immense prosperity to both of us.”

“Did I not just say that women are not commodities to be bought and sold and treated the same one might treat a market stall?” Lord Gerald complained, tsking and shaking his head.

“You stay out of this, old man,” Lord Owen shouted, pointing a finger at Lord Gerald.

Lord Gerald gaped, his face going red with fury. Lawrence could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his father truly angry, but he suspected he was about to add to that list.

“How dare you speak to a gentleman who has been so kind and considerate of me in such a manner?” Minerva demanded, primed and ready to hold her own in the argument, no matter how heated it might become. “The Godwin family has offered me nothing but kindness and care since my arrival. And I was most definitely ill upon arrival. They have cared for me. I’d wager that you, sir, would have found a way to force me to the altar, no matter how out of sorts I felt, and you would have found a way to bed me no matter how feverish I was.”

“Minerva!” Lady Caren gasped. “You cannot speak of such things in company.”

Lawrence caught the light in Minerva’s eyes half a moment before she blurted out, “Did you think I was a virgin that would go sweetly into this abomination of a marriage without knowing what awaited me? At my age?”

It was all Lawrence could do not to let himself laugh aloud. Like Minerva, he, too, glanced to Lord Owen to see if her confession of experience might turn him away from their proposed marriage.

“I do not care if you are the Whore of Babylon,” Lord Owen said, thwarting their hopes. “That only means I will enjoy getting an heir or two out of you.”

“Oh, dear,” Lady Caren said, slumping back against her waiting maid. “I cannot…I will not….”

Lawrence was concerned for the woman, but the way Minerva sent her a narrow-eyed look hinted that perhaps the woman was prone to theatrics and was not as shocked as she appeared.

Minerva turned back to Lord Owen and her father, who were now standing side by side, and crossed her arms in defiance. “I will not marry Lord Owen. That line has been drawn indelibly in the sand, and it will not be crossed.”

“Then you will be ruined,” Lord Owen seethed. He glanced around at all of the Godwins present. “You will all be ruined. I will take you to court and sue for my bride. Every wrong your family has ever done will be exposed. Every impropriety you have tried to keep secret will be revealed. I will have Minerva in the end, one way or another, and you all will suffer!”

“What a load of theatrical bollocks,” Waldorf snorted. When Lord Owen and Lord Dilwyn glanced to him with offense, he went on with, “Have you no idea who our family is and what connections we have?”

“My late wife was the sister of King Swithin’s wife,” Lord Gerald said, looking like he was building up a head of steam to lecture Lord Owen into his grave. “My son here,” he gestured to Waldorf, “has been in the employ of Queen Matilda of Mercia. My other children are connected to some of the wealthiest and most celebrated personages throughout all of Britannia. And you dare to speak to me as if I am a hall boy?”

He practically quivered with fury, but that did nothing to convince Lord Owen to mind his manners.

“I do not care if you are King Swithin’s cock-warmer,” he shouted, stepping closer to Lord Gerald. “You are a pathetic old man who hides behind his children to protect a whore of a woman whose only purpose is to increase my influence and bear my children. I will not allow you to stand in my way. If necessary, I will summon the full force of the law to get my way, and you will not stop me!”

Lord Owen had moved close enough that with each of his final words, he poked Lord Gerald square in the chest.

It was unforgiveable, and Lawrence stepped forward to drag the man back, as did Waldorf and Dunstan. Nobility or not, Lawrence had half a mind to pummel Lord Owen until his face was unrecognizable, both for his insults to Minerva and for laying a hand on his father.

But before he could do more than jerk the man back and spin him to face him, Lord Gerald let out an anguished cry. Worse than that, he clasped a hand tightly to his chest, curling in on himself, then collapsed to the floor.