Lydia woke with the dawn, as always. A man’s naked body lay sprawled half on top of her, his weight crushing her into the mattress.
Max. She rather enjoyed the intimacy of male flesh on hers.
Will she, nil she, she was married. Well, she hadn’t repeated the vows, but she’d behaved as if she had, and now a child might come of it. So, yes, she was very married in her own mind. She’d chosen this uncivilized heathen as her mate for life. . .
Because his mother had said they were fated. That part didn’t make a great deal of sense, but the physical part. . . Yes, that made good sense. She’d never felt better. Well, she was sore, but she was curious and interested in exploring more. Her breasts seemed to swell with the need to be touched. She thought the manly part stiffening against her thigh might indicate Max was interested as well.
The tower rumbled as if it had just awakened too.
Max grumbled into her shoulder, kissed her cheek, and pried himself out of the pillow. “Thunder?”
Lydia gestured at the window. “No clouds. The tower.”
“Cripes.” He nibbled her shoulder and caressed her hair over her breast. “You are my sunshine, but I fear the tower is my mistress for now. I’m ordering the bricks. We’ll figure out how to pay for them later.”
“Such a romantic,” she whispered, daring to caress his broad chest. How extremely odd that she felt comfortable doing this, as if he’d always been in her bed. Is that what his mother had seen? That their souls were somehow connected? Or their bodies, anyway.
“I’ve never had to romance a woman, just swive them.” He leered down at her, rolling over her so his swelling sword pushed at the sore place between her legs. “And as much as I would like to repeat last night, I will respect your ravaged virtue. Will you allow me to come to your bed again tonight?”
“Could I stop you?” she asked with interest, lifting her hips to indicate a little soreness might be healed easily.
“No,” he answered succinctly, accepting her invitation.
Lydia closed her eyes and succumbed to the bliss of his powerful thrusts. He was a big man and filled her in ways she had never dreamed. She bit back her screams as he plunged deeper than he had the night before, igniting an explosion that rattled her more thoroughly than the trembling tower.
His muscled arms strained on either side of her head as he spilled deep inside her, shuddering with the power of his release. They both muffled their cries. They would need to move to the tower tonight, and send Lloyd and Bakari elsewhere. She wanted the freedom to explore this new adventure without condemnation from anyone overhearing them.
“Magical,” he grunted, collapsing on top of her. “I should have sought a Malcolm sooner. I will never want another woman again.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean other women won’t want you,” she warned. But his words warmed her as much as his body did, even if she knew this wasn’t a promise, just a wish.
The shuddering tower shook them awake again. This time, Max sprang out of bed, yanking on his trousers and shirt and hastily buttoning. “I’d better shore up that wall until the bricks arrive. I’d hoped to explore the underground foundation more.”
“Do I need to find out if it was built on the bones of saints or dragons?” Lydia asked sleepily, admiring muscled buttocks and lamenting when he covered them. She had never known she was a wanton.
“I doubt you’ll find thousand-year-old journals to tell you. But you might want to peek at the oldest books, just in case.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you. I need to practice saying that.”
“You need to practice feeling that,” she said dryly, pulling the covers over her breasts. “I am told that lust and love are not the same.”
“That is why I love you,” he crowed. “You are a sensible woman.”
He dashed out. She could hear him running up the stairs to his room. Lydia would like to hear him explain his state of undress to Lloyd.
She’d like to explain to herself why she had just agreed to share her life with a man who would forget her as soon as he sailed away.
She supposed, in a way, it made sense. While all was confusion and travail, she could pretend she was the Malcolm Librarian, and Max could pretend he was the marrying kind. For this moment in time, they could support each other’s fantasies. She would treasure this bliss she had never expected to know when the time came to part.
She bathed in the guest bath, wondering if she was eroding the foundation as she did so. She dressed in her plainest gown, prepared to tackle her chores and not reveal her new status as fallen woman. Besides the chafing between her legs, she didn’t feel fallen. She felt as if she glowed inside and the whole world would notice.
Richard was at the breakfast table alone when Lydia entered. That shook her a little. She’d have to learn to live with Max’s sons. Plural. She’d never even had a brother.
“Good morning, sir. Shall I call you Master Richard or just Richard?” she asked as she filled her plate.
“My mother just calls me Dick,” he said, somewhat diffidently. “But I prefer Richard. Lady Agnes says you are to be my stepmother.”
Lydia refrained from rolling her eyes and declaring the lady an interfering witch. Everyone who knew Lady Agnes knew that anyway. “We will see about that, but if you prefer Richard, then Richard it shall be. Where is Lady Agnes this morning?”
“Writing letters. She writes lots of letters. She brought her own paper with her. It has gold cherubs in the corner. She used to send me letters when I was at school.” Richard dug into his stacked plate of oatcakes and sausages.
“That was kind of her. I believe knowing she has a bright grandson like you has made her very happy.” While Max had made her very unhappy. Lydia didn’t see the need to mention that.
She carried her plate to the seat across from him. She had some understanding of why Mr. C had preferred eating in his tower. One never knew who would be at the table, and conversing with strangers was difficult. But this was Max’s son. She was Max’s wife, almost. She needed to remember how one behaved around family. It had been years since she’d seen hers.
The boy shrugged and lapsed into silence after his brief burst of speech.
“Have you met Bakari yet?” she asked, not knowing what webs Lady Agnes had been weaving.
Richard nodded. “He’s not British.”
“Your father is British. Bakari’s mother is Egyptian, which is a nationality even older than ours. So Bakari is the best of two fascinating countries. Admittedly, that might make it difficult for him in school since some people are not as worldly as your father.” Lydia tried to sound as if she were worldly too, but mostly, she read a lot.
Richard frowned a little as if he were considering this. “He’s small. He’ll be bullied.”
“I’m afraid so. I am hoping we may find him a tutor until he’s a little stronger. He must be very excited to have a big brother.” My word, the responsibilities for this family kept growing. Would she be able to manage?
Especially if she got booted from the castle.
The boy nodded uncertainly. “I suppose. I wanted brothers, but he’s pretty young. Are you really marrying my father?”
Lady Agnes shouldn’t be raising the hopes of young boys on the basis of prescience. But after last night. . . she and Max were for all intents and purposes, married.
“It does appear so,” Lydia admitted, not feeling as if the possibility were real quite yet. She’d only met the man. But she’d known him for years through his correspondence. She knew how Max’s mind worked, even if she often disapproved of its workings. But now she had a tiny glimpse of why he was the way he was. “Will that matter to you since you’ve just met him?”
Richard shook his head. “I’m going to university. I don’t need parents.”
Lydia wanted to laugh at that. “You sound like your father. Whether you need us or not, we still walk this world and would appreciate being acknowledged upon occasion. Although I understand why you would consider me insignificant. Still, everyone needs a home. This one will always be open to you. I shall try to be helpful and not too parental.”
He finished chewing his toast, then pushed aside his plate, obviously eager to be off. “Do you think I might see what my father is working on?”
“You have full run of the place, just as he has. But you might want to listen to his cautions. Some of the walls appear to be in a precarious state.”
Richard flashed a slight grin just like his father’s. “I believe I noticed. Thank you, ma’am.” He ran off.
Well, this past week had certainly been eventful. Now, if only she could learn how to make the books speak to her. . . She’d ask for information on marriage.
Under the tower, Max hammered a board into place to act as temporary brace. He’d just asked Lydia to marry him, and his mother was already notifying half the kingdom. He whacked the board again. His meddling mother might have been another reason he’d run away from home. He couldn’t run now.
Wiping his sweaty brow, Max watched his sons—his sons—hauling in more lumber. Richard was doing all the lifting, but Bakari ran after him as fast as he could go, steering the ends so they didn’t hit the walls.
He should have Lydia look up fatherhood in the journals, but he feared that would be a year’s worth of reading. Hands-on practice would have to do. “Don’t walk where I’ve marked,” he warned. “There’s an old tunnel under this dirt.”
They carefully stacked the boards where he indicated, avoiding the rope he’d hung to block off the crumbling part of the floor.
“How will we bring bricks down here?” Richard asked.
“Excellent question. We’ll need men and wheelbarrows. If we had time, I’d construct a track similar to ones used in coal mines. But we have more people than time, so wheelbarrows it is. You’ve done a good job, thanks. Did Lloyd promise you a riding lesson?”
Bakari nodded eagerly. Richard shrugged. He seemed more interested in the construction than horses, Max thought. Both were important lessons. He dusted himself off and set down his tools. “Let’s go up and see how those old animals are faring. Once we know how well you ride, we’ll look into fancier livestock.”
Bakari peered worriedly through the doorway into the black interior beneath the library proper. “I think a dragon sleeps in there, and we are waking him.”
Interesting insight. Remembering the ghost walking through that wall and Lydia’s question about saints and dragons, he wondered what fed their fantasies. “I hope not, but I suppose dragons guard hoards, and Miss Lydia has a hoard of books.”
“May I see them?” Bakari asked.
“You’ll have to ask Miss Lydia. These are very special books and not everyone can read them. That is why she’s the librarian, and we’re not.” Max hoped she learned to read them, anyway. He hated to see her fretting over her inability to find what she sought. He knew what it was like not to have access to vital information because his eyes and brain didn’t communicate.
Once he was outside in the fresh air and sunlight, Max enjoyed a few hours of testing the mares on country lanes with his sons. Bakari wasn’t big enough to manage mule or mare, but he bravely attempted it for a while, then settled for riding in front of Max so they could explore. Richard decided they needed a map to know their boundaries, and Max concurred. If this was to be his home now, he needed to know his parameters.
By Friday, Max had had more time to think about staying in one place with wife and children. It still terrified the stuffing out of him, but it probably wasn’t any worse than being fifteen and sailing away with strangers to foreign lands. He simply had more sense now and knew enough to fear.
Thinking about Lydia in his bed smothered common sense and fear. These last nights had been a revelation he savored—and wanted to repeat. In many different ways. Just imagining all the ways he could take Lydia. . . would cripple him.
When his work was done for the day, he led his troop back to the house to wash and change for dinner. His mother had rearranged his accommodations again, sending the boys to the main block and ordering Max to the guest room, where he belonged.
“Lydia needs her privacy,” Lady Agnes said sternly. “And she needs access to her library at all hours. You will simply have to learn to live with servants the way civilized people do.”
Lydia was nowhere to be seen to protest this commandment.
Since he’d be sleeping with Lydia, Max didn’t object, too much. Entering the guest chamber to change out of his filth, he found the cheerful, round-faced chambermaid theoretically tidying the bed. Instead of quietly departing, she immediately sat down and bounced on the mattress. “The sheets are clean, sir. Would you care to test them?”
“No,” he replied curtly, stepping back into the hall.
She pouted and swayed toward him, tapping him on his filthy waistcoat. “I could help you bathe.”
Well, so much for hoping that bonding with Lydia would end this magnetism. What did he have to do to build a bond with Lydia that marked him off-limits?
And was he fooling himself to think it might happen?
Perhaps he could persuade Lydia to hire only male servants. Or aging crones.
Rather than deal with the seductive chambermaid, Max stalked off in search of Lydia, hoping she might find insight to his predicament in the library. Maybe if he joined her in the stacks as he had last time. . .
He followed her voice to the guest parlor—where she entertained a gaggle of females. Max froze in the corridor to study the scene.
Lydia was wearing colors! And a dress so fashionable she outshone the other ladies. Light blue-and-white striped underskirts covered all but the toes of pretty, blue shoes. A dark blue silky tunic thing clung to her lovely bosom and curves. Shiny braid and bows adorned the long bodice lapping over the skirt, and Max wondered how in hell he’d get her out of it.
She sat there, sipping tea as if she were the queen in the company of her ladies-in-waiting, very much in command of her own household. Max didn’t even bother identifying her guests. In his muddy, reeking clothes, he backed away. Even so, one of the younger women glanced up eagerly and seemed ready to rise.
The patter of small boots warned the chambermaid was on his heels. Cursing, he darted into the guest bath and locked the door. If he ever needed proof that civilization was not for him, it rattled at the latch now.