Chapter Twenty
“D o you think she’ll ever get over the sight of me arse ?” McInness didn’t want to admit that he was embarrassed by the thought.
Genvieve giggled, snuggling closer. “I wouldn’t.”
He planted a smacking kiss on the top of her head. “But I’m yer husband, and it’s right that ye’ve seen me bare- arsed .”
“True.” She rubbed her toes lightly up and down the back of his calf, driving him to distraction.
“Ye’ll need to stop now, lass.”
“Hmmm?” she purred.
Purred, just like a cat! MacInness couldn’t believe it. “Yer ribs are tender and if they haven’t broken clean through yet, another bout of lovemaking and they will.” Just the thought of her ribs fracturing and spearing one of her lungs had him mad with worry.
She laughed—again!
“’Tisn’t funny.”
“Oh, aye.” She laughed harder. “It is.”
Capturing her questing hands in one of his, he held tight, bringing her hands to his heart. “I wilna be responsible when you’re lying in bed a fortnight because ye didn’t listen to yer husband, lass.”
That finally got her attention. “Two weeks?”
He nodded, and at the worried expression on her face relented. “But if ye’re good and do everythin’ I tell ye…”
Her eyes went round with wonder. “Everything?”
His words backfired, and he imagined her pleasuring him with her mouth as he’d taught her. He fought the rising need unfurling within him. He had to speak to Garrick, remembering that’s what the man intended earlier when he sent his wife up to sit with Genvieve.
MacInness pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose and first one eye, then the other. “Sleep, lass.”
“I’m not sleepy.” She closed her eyes.
“Good then, it won’t take much to wake ye when I return.”
MacInness hoped whatever Garrick had to say wouldn’t take long. As he slipped from the bed, he looked back at the flushed woman lying amidst the rumpled linens. Her sooty lashes lay against her pale cheeks, tinged with color from their loving. His gut knotted as he realized he’d never loved a woman the way he loved Genvieve—and he’d never give her up!
Bending down, he retrieved his plaid and quickly folded the pleats, securing them with his belt. Tossing the extra length over his heart, he took one last look at his sleeping wife and went to answer Garrick’s summons.
*
“What kept you?” Garrick demanded.
“The lass needed to relax and wasna cooperatin’.”
The other man chuckled. “She reminds me of Jillian.”
MacInness nodded as he walked over to the brazier and sat on the bench next to Garrick. “Tell me what happened.”
Garrick nodded and relayed the events leading up to and including the attack. When he was finished, MacInness did the same.
“Did ye notice how similar the attacks were?”
“Aye. Did you recognize any of the men?”
“Nay.” MacInness paused, then rose to his feet. “But you mentioned that my wife did.”
“Apparently, there were twins involved, Jean and Claude,” Garrick began.
“I’ll kill the bastards.” Augustin de Chauret boomed from the doorway to the hall. He stalked over to where they stood.
“Too late,” Garrick reminded him. “They’re both already dead.”
“Where did she know them from?” MacInness asked.
The older man sighed deeply, then folded his arms across his chest. “My uncle’s wife.”
“Genvieve’s mother?”
He nodded. “They were part of her personal guard.”
“Do you know of any reason why Lady Annaliese would want to see her daughter dead?” MacInness hated the way the question sounded, but he had had to ask it. He had to know what Augustin knew about his uncle’s wife.
“Up until she lost her babe five years ago, Lady Annaliese was both loving and giving.”
MacInness looked pointedly at Garrick. “Did Genvieve have anythin’ to do with her mother losin’ the babe?”
De Chauret shook his head. “I don’t know much about that time, mayhap we should be asking Genvieve,” he said. “She was there when Annaliese lost the babe.”
“She’s restin’ now, but I can ask the lass later.” MacInness inclined his head, spun on his heel, and left the hall by the side door. Walking down the steps, he followed the path through the herb gardens, hoping to find Garrick’s lady wife.
She was on her hands and knees pulling weeds from the neat little groupings of herbs.
“Lady Jillian,” he called out.
She turned and smiled.
MacInness asked. “I’ve somethin’ I need to ask ye.”
She brushed her hands, and pushed to her feet. When he offered his arm, she took it.
“If a woman wanted to rid herself of a babe,” he asked, “is there a way to do so, without makin’ it look like she did?”
“Aye,” she answered, “with the right blend of herbs.”
MacInness had thought so, but to have it confirmed eased one of the knots in his gut. “I’ll need to be askin’ the lass about her mother.”
Jillian’s expression was one of regret. “You don’t think her mother did anything to miscarry a babe, do you?”
“According to de Chauret, Lady Annaliese was a changed woman after she lost a babe about five years ago.”
“Why do you think she had anything to do with it?”
“I dinna know, just a feelin’.” And he wished he had more to go on. Proof would help if they needed to stand against Genvieve’s mother and father.
“I can ask Lady Eyreka if she knows the exact mixture,” Jillian offered.
MacInness paused and looked down at her. “I canna ask Genvieve,” he said. “She’s lost two babes of her own and it still hurts her to speak of it.”
Jillian’s eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t imagine the pain she must have suffered, losing one, let alone two.”
“Can ye think of a reason why a woman would want to rid herself of a babe?” He couldn’t, but he’d never had to gain weight, drag his overburdened body through the daily chores, and then there was the birthing…
“Only one,” Jillian whispered.
When she looked up at him, MacInness instinctively knew what she was thinking. “Rape.”
“How do we find out?”
Jillian shrugged. “We ask.”
“What if she lies?”
“We ask someone close to her.”
“Her husband?”
“If it’s rape, there is a possibility it was her husband, but from what I’ve gleaned from Genvieve, they were happy in their marriage,” Jillian said slowly.
MacInness’s jaw tightened. “Aye. It maun be someone else, but who do we ask?”
“Her maid servant.”
“Thank ye.” MacInness escorted her to the hall and left her with Garrick. “I’ve a task to see to,” he told the other man. “Will ye watch over Genvieve while I’m away?”
Garrick took his wife’s hands in his. “I’ll be right back.”
She drew in a deep breath and looked resigned. “You two don’t want me to know what you are going to do.”
They looked at her and nodded in unison. “Fine, then,” she said, walking out of the hall without looking back.
“I’m goin’ to London,” MacInness announced.
“Take Patrick, Eamon, and a small company of men with you.”
He agreed, then asked, “Do you think de Chauret would let a few of his men accompany me on the journey?”
“For his cousin’s husband?” Garrick asked.
MacInness nodded.
“Aye,” Garrick said without hesitation.
“Where is he?”
“De Chauret’s training with Henri in the bailey.”
MacInness found the man and made his request. Within the hour, MacInness and a mixed company of what was left of his Irish Contingent and a few of de Chauret’s Norman warriors rode out of Merewood Keep, headed for London and the truth.
*
“Did my husband say when he’d return?” Genvieve couldn’t believe that he’d left without saying goodbye…again!
“Nay.”
She wondered why Jillian wouldn’t look her in the eye and reasoned that the other woman knew something Genvieve didn’t. Something of import that involved Winslow.
Though her heart felt as if it were being squeezed of every drop of blood, every ounce of strength, she had to ask, “Is he meeting another woman, then?”
“Winslow?” Jillian sounded horrified. “Nay.”
“Then what?” Genvieve demanded, rounding on her with her hands on her hips.
“Walk with me,” Jillian bade her to follow along to the back of the herb garden.
Looking over her shoulder, Genvieve didn’t see or hear a soul. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know of any way to ask without hurting you.”
“Best just say it then,” Genvieve urged, biting the inside of her lip so she did not interrupt again.
“Did your mother regret losing her babe?”
The question had all of the air whooshing out of Genvieve’s lungs. When she could gather herself back together, she shook her head. “No.”
“Did you find that odd?” Jillian asked pointedly.
“Aye,” Genvieve answered. “As I’d been married for a short time myself and was looking forward to babes of my own.”
“Did you notice a change in her after the loss?”
Genvieve remembered the black depression her mother had fallen into after losing the babe. “Aye. She was despondent.”
“Did anything cheer her?”
Genvieve nodded. “The idea of going back to Normandy.”
“When did she?”
“We didn’t. Father was stationed here as part of the king’s council, and my mother as an attendant to the queen.”
“Did she speak of going back?”
Genvieve’s mouth felt suddenly dry. “Every day.”
“But your father, surely he would have tried to go home if it would mean so much to your mother.”
Genvieve shrugged. “Theirs is a marriage of convenience that never grew beyond that convenience, though I know they shared happy moments.”
“I see.”
“I didn’t as a child, but after being married to Francois, I grew to understand.”
“About the babe,” Jillian began, then hesitated. “I’m sorry, but there is no delicate way to ask.”
“I know you are only trying to help me, so just ask me. I won’t be offended.”
Jillian hesitated, then blurted out, “Is there a chance that your father did not sire it?”
Genvieve’s gut reaction was to say no, but something held her back. A conversation she’d overheard came back to her. There was a very good chance he was not the father.
“Aye,” she rasped. “But I don’t know if he is aware of that.”
“What would he do if he found out?” Jillian pressed.
“He wouldn’t lash out in a jealous rage,” Genvieve said. “If that’s what you mean.”
The other woman nodded. “If he discovered something had happened at the time that was not your mother’s fault, would he do something about it now?”
Genvieve thought about it, then took the other woman’s hands in her own. “Just say what is on your mind, Jillian.”
“Was your mother raped?”
Genvieve started to shake her head, then paused. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so.” She squeezed Jillian’s hands and let go. “How would I know?”
Jillian started walking back toward the hall. “If she didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t.”
Genvieve wondered. “Mayhap there is a way to find out.”
“I believe that is what your husband went to London in search of.”
“A rapist?”
Jillian shook her head. “Answers.”
“Why didn’t he ask me?”
“Would you have had all of the answers he sought?”
Genvieve knew she wouldn’t have and shook her head. “He still could have left me a note, or something.”
Jillian shook her head. “He can’t read.”
The truth hit her like a blow. “Why didn’t he tell me?” she whispered.
Jillian’s look was incredulous. “Surely you’ve noticed that Winslow MacInness is a proud man.”
Genvieve nodded. It all made sense now, the hesitation on her husband’s part to answer her questions when she prodded him for an answer.
“You won’t think less of him, will you?” Jillian’s worry showed on her face.
“I may be hardheaded, but I’m not stupid,” Genvieve said. “I love my husband. Whether or not he can read matters not to me.”
Jillian looked relieved.
“I can read for the both of us…or I can teach him.”
“His mother tried,” Jillian said slowly.
“How is it that you know so much about my husband?” Flickers of jealousy slithered through Genvieve’s belly.
“At one time, he was my only friend,” Jillian whispered. “We talked of anything and everything, and then when my husband—”
Genvieve held out a hand in supplication. “Don’t stop now, please.”
Jillian cleared her throat and said, “When I thought my husband was going to set me aside, Winslow was there to listen.”
“I have to ask,” Genvieve said. “Did he do more than listen?”
Jillian shook her head. “He kissed me, but I told him I loved Garrick.”
“And you still do,” her husband said, surprising both women as he walked over to where they stood.
Jillian’s smile blossomed from within. “Aye, husband,” she said rising to her toes to place a swift kiss on his cheek. “I still do.”
Garrick winked at Genvieve and swept his wife in an ardent embrace. When the kiss seemed to go on forever, Genvieve realized she wasn’t needed and retired to her chamber.
She’d need to rest. She had much to discuss with her husband when he returned.
A fortnight later, Winslow returned, but their party had increased in size.
“Mother?” Genvieve couldn’t believe her eyes. Her mother had not set foot outside of London since their arrival, except for one trip north, but that had been seven years ago.
Had Jillian somehow guessed the truth? Had her mother been raped on that one journey north? The timing was right, but something about her mother’s silence didn’t feel right. Genvieve would just have to ask her mother.
While Lady Eyreka was settling Genvieve’s mother into the solar, she went in search of her husband, finding him amidst the uproar in the bailey.
“And I say that ye lied,” she heard him shout.
“Winslow?”
He turned when she called his name. “Lass, what are ye doin’ here?”
“I wasn’t about to wait for you at Sedgeworth, when I knew you’d return here first.” When he made no move in her direction, she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He started to squeeze her, then stopped. “Are yer ribs healed, lass?”
She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his chin. “Oh, aye,” she rasped.
He hesitated before sliding his arms around her back and lifting her in the air, twirling in a circle. “’Tis cause for celebration…later, wife.”
She tilted her head back and laughed. When his lips met hers, she held on tight and kissed Winslow back with all of the pent-up desire she’d been feeling. He responded by kissing her breathless. When she sagged against him, he lifted her in his arms and turned to de Chauret. “The poor lass missed me. I’ve got to soothe her tender feelings.”
Patrick’s sharp bark of laughter echoed behind them as Winslow strode to the steps leading into the hall. Not pausing to greet anyone, he took the stairs two at a time. When they were behind closed doors, Genvieve whispered, “You take my breath away.”
“I’ll give it back to ye,” he said before covering her lips with his.
“I missed you, husband.”
“Ye’d best be showin’ me how much, then, lass.”
The gleam in his eyes had her belly fluttering in anticipation. “I don’t know if we have time,” she told him. “We’re expected for a feast.”
“ Och , lass,” he said, removing his belt and letting his plaid drop to the floor. “There’s always time for lovin’—’tis how ye use the time that counts.” He lifted her up and onto his erect shaft.
“Oh…I…” Words were beyond her as her husband walked over to the wall and leaned her against it, thrusting home again and again.
She shot to her peak and over before he’d broken a sweat.
“Aye, that’s it, love,” he urged. “But ye can take more of me.” He lifted her off, carrying her over to the bed. When she would have lain down on her back, he stopped her. “Do ye trust me, lass?”
She lifted her hand to his face. “You know I do.”
“Then let me love ye from behind.”
“I don’t think… That is, I don’t know. I mean—”
“ Och , ye’ve never been loved deep, then, lass.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Trust me to teach ye.” Winslow showed her how to kneel on the bed. When he knelt behind her, she tensed, but he rubbed his hands on her breasts and started to build the anticipation. When his fingers caressed her heat, she spread her legs a little wider to allow him better access. He let his hand rest on her womanhood and then tilted her at an angle and slid into her welcoming warmth, deeper than he had before, deeper than she’d thought possible. Her passage clenched around him.
“Winslow!” she urged him on, and he sank all the way inside of her, gloved in her tight, hot, wet heat. The fit was exquisite, the feeling decadent. And then he started moving, slowly at first, and then faster. She matched his pace, until he thrust in one last time and she screamed his name. He shouted hers. Instead of pulling out, he eased them onto their sides and held tight.
If she’d thought it possible, she would have prayed for their loving to produce a babe, one with red hair, freckles, and beautiful eyes the color of amber. But God had other plans for her. She’d already lost two babes, and didn’t think she could stand to lose another.
While Winslow nuzzled her ear with his lips, he splayed a hand across her belly, possessively, protectively. Did he want children? Would he change his mind and be sorry she was barren?
“Whatever has ye stiffenin’ up on me after cryin’ out me name so they heard us in the great hall isna worth the worry.”
“But—” she began.
He held her close. “I’m listenin’, lass.”
“It’s nothing.”
Winslow sighed. “Powerful bit o’ nothin’.”
Needing to distract him, not wanting to discuss her inability to have children, she asked, “So your mother is fine, then?”
Winslow kissed the top of her head. “Aye. I’m not sure who sent the missive, but the messenger was dressed in my clan’s plaid.”
“But the missive wasn’t from your family?”
“Nay. ’Twas all a lie.”
“I’m glad.” And she truly was. Her husband’s family ties were strong, though he was far from home.
“Now, lass,” Winslow began, “about that little bit o’ nothin’ earlier—”
The knock on the door had them both reaching for the covers. He pulled them up and called out, “What is it?”
“Milady ordered bathwater for your lordship,” a deep voice called out.
“Just a moment,” Winslow answered, sliding out of bed. He reached for his plaid and fashioned the pleats once more.
Rather than wait for her to join him, he carried her bliaut and chainse to her and helped her dress, insisting she remain on the bed. “Dinna move, lass,” he said. “I like the look of ye sittin’ there, all soft and warm from our loving.”
She blushed, and he grinned.
“Come in,” he called out.
While the servants filled the wooden tub they’d brought with them, Winslow sat next to Genvieve on the bed, unable to take his eyes off her, watching her with desire swirling in the depths of his gorgeous amber eyes.
“If ye keep on lookin’ at me like that, lass, we’ll no’ make it downstairs.”
Genvieve laughed, but waited until the servants had filled the tub and left before remarking, “You must be exhausted. Let me bathe you.”
“Ye can join me,” he offered.
She laughed. “If I do, we will not make it downstairs in time for the evening meal.”
“’Tis obvious ye didna miss me as much as I missed ye, lass,” he said, stepping out of his kilt and into the tub.
He eyed her like she was the last sweet on an empty table. “Are ye sure ye won’t join me, lass?” His gruff request and gleaming eyes had her changing her mind and reaching for the hem of her gown to remove it.
A short while later, more water was on the floor than in the tub, and the lovers finally got down to the business of washing.
“I never knew a bath could be so invigoratin’, lass.”
She blushed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Genvieve couldn’t believe the way she’d attacked her husband again. It was as if she couldn’t get enough of him.
He bit her shoulder, and she moaned. “I don’t think I could possibly—”
“ Och , lass,” he whispered. “I know for a fact that ye can.”
“We’ll miss supper.”
He gently lifted her, settling her onto his shaft. She tilted her head back and groaned. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Ye will be.” Winslow shifted and drove into her.
A long while later, snug and dry, wrapped in her husband’s arms, Genvieve drifted off to sleep, secure in the fact that Winslow had missed her and that he loved her. While relieved that she hadn’t had to tell him about the bone-deep fear she held tight in her heart, she still worried that he would grow to hate her because she was barren.
“Sleep sweet, lass,” Winslow whispered as he pressed his lips to her temple.