Her Dark Baron Read online

  “It is masculine, yet beautiful; foreboding, yet luring.”

  “That it is, Lady.”

  A swift prod to his mount's flanks sent Daegon charging across the turf for Ayleshind and the ring of Mariel's surprised laughter through the air as she called, “Do not let go of me!”

  No, sweetling. That I will not do.

  Her festive abandon, the joy of the wind in her hair atop the galloping steed, quieted, quickly morphing into uneasy self-consciousness as their arrival neared. Massive stone bastions encased the fortress' corners, and Mariel shuddered.

  Would this be her home, or her prison?

  Gervase guided the high-stepping, black beast through the open outer gates and then progressed further to the inner courtyard. Years of ladylike instruction allowed Mariel to take in her new surroundings though she turned her head neither left or right, and she saw the inhabitants of Ayleshind lining the courtyard. Nausea swept through her middle, knowing she was to be presented.

  More likely, inspected.

  Either choice tightened her stomach.

  “Ease your mind, Lady Mariel,” Gervase crooned in her ear, his fingers swirling over the material of her gown beneath her cloak. “As Mistress of Ayleshind – the wife of Hell's Hound – none will dare risk your displeasure.”

  Was her fear as transparent as that?

  “My lord,” she countered. “I seek only to be accepted and offered the respect I earn. I've no wish to cause strife or grief in...”

  She stiffened, her speech stifled, horrified at the sight before her.

  “Do not take offense at the gesture, Mariel.”

  He tracked her gaze's path to the second story window, where the bed sheets bearing the evidence of blood flapped in the breeze.

  “In their eyes, I do you honor.”

  She made no reply, her mortification complete. She was well aware it was custom, even expected, to display the irrefutable proof of a bride's purity and of the wedding's consummation. But the awful truth was that her husband had not lain with her, and her cheeks flamed in humility.

  Gervase dismounted and reached up to offer her safely to the ground. She accepted meekly.

  “Swear loyalty to the Mistress of Ayleshind,” he commanded, and all bowed or curtsied before her.

  One by one, The Baron introduced his staff, each displaying their deference to her position if not her person.

  “I thank you all for the kindly welcome,” she offered.

  Maude, the cook, was the first to respond.

  “I'm sure you are sore taxed after your journey, milady. Come inside and refresh yourself.”

  With that, Mariel was led away from her husband. Adjusting to the dim lighting of the cavernous hall, Mariel beheld an unexpected sight. The Baron of Ayleshind was clearly wealthy. Never had her eyes seen such finely crafted pieces. The great table with its intricately carved edges and legs shone, the dark wood flecked with deep amber tones. Arranged before the hearth were heavy chairs with cushions of crimson, edged with golden tassels. But her fascination was most fixated on the frightening, wolfish heads carved into the backs of each chair around the table's length. Their heads rose menacingly from the wide backs, carved with snarling jaws, and seated within the wooden beasts' eye sockets rested garnets the shade of blood.

  Hellish hounds they were.

  Mariel could not tear her eyes away from them until Maude reappeared with wine. Mariel gladly accepted the beverage, thanking the woman for her kindness.

  “It's no trouble, milady,” the cook responded warmly.

  Broad hipped and sturdy, Maude's stern countenance was not troubling, but lent the impression that the woman suffered no fools.

  “Now you rest here a spell, and I'll bring along some biscuits. Once you've gained yourself, we'll get you settled in your chambers and show you around.”

  Mariel feasted on the delectable treats brought to her before quite enjoying Maude's company as she was given the tour of her new home. Maude chattered on, pointing out objects of interest or beauty as Mariel followed behind, gaping at the beautiful treasures found within Ayleshind walls.

  “You know so much about Ayleshind. Have you been with the family your entire life?” Mariel questioned.

  “Oh yes, milady. I've been here a good many years.”

  “Are you content in Baron Daltrey's service?”

  The timid inquiry drew a sharp, studying gaze from the older woman. Her expression softened as she made a reply.

  “Take a word of advice from an old woman, milady. I cannot account for what rumors spread far and wide about the Master, and I don't want to know the business he tends to outside these walls. You shouldn't either. But he's been good to me and mine, and that's enough for me.”

  Mariel's blue eyes regarded the older, wiser, equally blue eyes that remained locked on her.

  “Thank you, Maude, for the wise words.”

  The cook made no reply to this gentle praise, but she patted Mariel's hand with her own, leading them on through the halls.

  The approach of a carriage raised a flurry of activity, and Maude halted their progression toward the bedchamber.

  “It's the Master's brother and his wife. Come, milady. You'll be expected in the great hall.”

  Was there a hint of distaste in the cook's voice?

  She had neither the courage, nor the opportunity to pry for information.

  Gervase entered the hall in the company of a well dressed couple. The man, she was certain, must be the brother. He resembled her husband in looks, but lacked the size of his older brother. Neither, she noticed, did he project the same presence as Baron Daltrey. His wife was quite beautiful. Pale and delicate with shiny hair of yellow blond pulled into a twist, she had a refined importance to her person.

  “Edmond, Lady Elizabeth,” Gervase spoke in a clipped tone, “My wife, Lady Mariel.”

  The formal way in which her husband addressed his brother led Mariel to believe the siblings were not especially close. Following his example, she greeted them in similar fashion as Gervase took up residence at her side.

  “This is certainly a surprise, brother,” Edmond returned stiffly. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

  “Yes, Baron Daltrey,” Elizabeth asserted. “We had no idea you intended to take a wife. Congratulations.”

  She turned to Mariel.

  “We are sisters now. Let us remove and allow our husbands to talk while we become acquainted.”

  Looking up at Gervase for a clue as to whether she should remain with him or follow Elizabeth, Mariel felt his arm at her back, and she was oddly comforted by the unspoken communication.

  “Forgive us, Elizabeth, but it has been a long day, and I am sure my wife is tired.”

  Gervase's tone brooked no further discussion.

  “Of course,” Elizabeth conceded, adding, “As new bride to the Baron of Ayleshind, I'm certain she is most exhausted and overwhelmed.”

  Mariel understood the woman's intent, and she blushed to the roots of her hair. Even so, she stared directly into the green eyes of Elizabeth Daltrey boldly. The Baron of Ayleshind may make her tremble, both in fear and in sinful longing, but he was her husband now, and she did not appreciate what she felt was a slight, however small, against him. Leaning into her husband's side, Mariel sought to put to rest even the smallest hint that she was anything other than a happy bride for his sake. After all, she reasoned, he had saved her from the hands of Harold Flanders, and had protected her reputation even after her rejection of him last night. She was grateful.

  “It is kind of you to understand,” Mariel addressed her new sister. “We arrived only today, and are wanting time to settle in and learn one another better.”

  Ignoring the heat that flooded her cheeks at the insinuation her bold words carried, Lady Mariel assumed the mantle that was now her life as Mistress of Ayleshind. Smiling sweetly at the stunned expression on Edmond and Elizabeth's faces, she trembled as Gervase tightened his grip around her waist.
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br />   “Perhaps when we've found our routine, then?”

  “Well, of course,” Elizabeth stammered. “We'll look forward to receiving a message from you.”

  Edmond offered his arm to his wife, and they departed as quickly as they had arrived.

  Chapter 4

  Standing in the hall with her husband, still locked firmly in his grip, Mariel wondered if it had been wise to act as she had. Perhaps he was angry with her. She inhaled deeply.

  “My lord, forgive my impertinence. I hope I did not shame you with my...” but his mouth covered hers, silencing her words.

  His tongue pressed between her lips, seeking entrance hungrily, and heat washed over her. Unable to deny the yearning he awakened in her, Mariel surrendered to his kiss, opening to his invasive caress, and she startled at the deep growl he poured into her mouth before he pulled away from her.

  “Did I do something wrong, my lord?” she wondered aloud, confused at what had just happened.

  His gaze was wild, harsh.

  “You play with fire, Mariel. I have business to attend to and won't return until late. Expect me, sweetling, to come to you tonight.”

  His words were all that remained in the great hall with her a moment later. Heart hammering in her chest, Mariel considered what lay before her this night.

  * * *

  The simple dressing gown dragged across the floor with each pass in front of the fire. Blazing brightly, the flames needed no attention, but Mariel shoved the long poker between the crackling logs, rearranging them to occupy herself. The minutes ticked by slowly, her anxiety building by the minute in the quiet of her chambers. Would he kiss her as he had this afternoon? She could not deny the thrill that passed through her at the thought. Nor the fear.

  Climbing into the feather bed, she squeezed her eyes tight, wishing she were once again within the Hayes fold, curled in her own bed. No devils were there. A troubled sleep blanketed her, foggy thoughts morphing into shadows and ghouls in the dark night. Terror filtered through into her dreams; she was running. Her legs pumped as fast as they could carry her. She must get to safety. Ahead, a tall figure loomed.

  Welcome home, sweetling.

  Home. Yes. She would be safe at home. Hurrying, she raced toward the beckoning voice, and nearing, she recognized her Baron. Extending a hand, he offered her passage into his home, protected from the fearsome night. Behind her, the howls of hounds closed in. She could not breathe! Taking his hand, she was pulled to safety as the snapping beasts nipped at her heels, and she melted into the strong arms of her savior.

  Baron Daltrey! Is that you?

  Alone in the great hall, she turned frantically in search of him. A soft growl lifted the hairs from her skin. Turning, all to be seen were the glowing eyes of those hellish hounds from the dining chairs.

  Mariel screamed.

  Strong arms enfolded her protectively.

  “Mariel...Mariel, wake up. It's a nightmare, sweetling. Nothing more.”

  She trembled, those garnet eyes still too real. Clutching his powerful form, Mariel slowly recovered from her dream. His steady heartbeat sounded in her ear, pressed against his chest on the bed's edge. It soothed. But as she settled, their close proximity and her lack of dress became almost as troubling as the dream.

  Pulling away, grasping the covers to her breast, Mariel attempted to extricate herself from the delicate position without giving offense.

  “Forgive me, Baron Daltrey,” she said, smiling faintly. “You must think me a foolish, childish creature.”

  She busied her hands, now clutching the blankets until he stilled her.

  “Fear is a powerful thing, Mariel.”

  His eyes captured hers, his hands drawing her near. Her heart leapt anew, beating a wild tattoo. He was too close, too real. Yes, fear coursed through her veins. But another emotion vied for supremacy in her being. Knowing that his lips were near, lips that had enticed hers expertly in the great hall, both frightened and fascinated her. Feathering breath washed over her skin, awakening carnal sensitivity, and Mariel yearned to taste him again. His earlier warning faded, overshadowed by his overwhelming presence.

  She closed her eyes as his lips brushed hers in soft caress, the thrill of his touch silencing all reason. She wanted him to kiss her again. With sensual languor his mouth closed over hers, and she soared, each lazy sip he took stirring the cauldron of her emotions until she parted her lips and welcomed him inside her mouth with reckless abandon. Gentle vibrations from his pleasured groan rippled through her, heightening the tempest's storm within her heart.

  Easing her against the bedding, Gervase drank deeply. The added weight of his powerful form over her added a new pleasure she did not understand, nor did she have the presence of mind to dwell on, for his hands began wandering, the heat beneath their path an agonizing joy of sensation. Through the linen, he stroked her arms and thighs until she could no longer contain the contented sighs in her throat, and Mariel found herself giving voice to the sheer pleasure of being touched by him.

  “Are you afraid now?” he murmured against the flesh of her neck.

  The pull of his lips upon her tender throat, the tingling warmth of his hand caressing her breast through the night dress, the liquid heat between her thighs drown out her fears.

  “Tell me what I want to hear, sweetling, that I have tamed you and your fears.”

  His words jarred her mind from the foggy haze of desire.

  “I...I,” she stammered, cursing his ability to make her body ache for a filling she could not describe. And his arrogance! She was nothing more than a conquest to him! Were his caresses nothing more than an attempt at taming her – as if she were one of his horses?

  “Leave go of me!” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. “Please...just go.”

  Turning away, Mariel buried her face in the pillow, holding her wracking sobs until she was certain he had gone.

  Gervase Daltrey could not imagine what he had done to elicit such a violent response from his new wife. He replayed the scene in his mind, her welcoming his mouth upon hers, his hands roaming, her sighs of pleasure. He may know nothing about bedding virgins, but she had been enjoying his attentions. He'd pleasured his share of women in bed-play. He'd purposefully gone slow, watching for any sign of fear or hesitation, not wanting a repeat of their wedding night. No man wants his lust to be met with tears or terror.

  The Baron of Ayleshind. The Hound of Hell! Yet here you stand, banished from your bed, rejected in your home. You are too affected by this woman!

  She had mistaken his intentions. Turning on his heel, Gervase slammed open the door separating their bedchamber from the sitting area, striding across the stone expanse, determined to discover what had changed her so.

  She straightened at his entrance, the tracks of her tears visible on flawless cheeks, her watery blue eyes wide with a mixture of sadness – and relief - that flashed across her beautiful face. It mattered little. His cock straining against his breeches, the ache to possess her, to destroy her fear of him and replace it with desire, with want – these mattered now. Enfolding her face in his hands, Gervase slanted his mouth over hers in a possessive, punishing kiss that stole her breath, releasing new tears.

  “Why, Mariel?” he rasped, releasing her mouth, but not his hold on her.

  She clung to him in the aftermath of his kiss.

  “I was traded to you as if I were of no more consequence than a head of cattle, Baron Daltrey,” she whispered against his chest. “And then you compared what happened between us to taming an animal...I could not...,”

  He silenced her, the softest brush of his lips over hers before taking a slow, deep taste of her.

  “I've no desire to leave you crying, Mariel. In your innocence, you misunderstand. You are of great consequence, else I would not have sought your consent to continue.”

  Mariel considered his claim, his words holding new meaning, and she melted in his arms.

  “Again, I have behaved as a child,�
�� she admitted quietly. “Forgive me.”

  “As I said earlier, sweetling, fear is a powerful thing.”

  He laid her back against the bed, wrapping the covers around her snugly.

  “It is not a matter of if you fear, I see, but that you fear – what you fear.”

  Rising, Gervase Daltrey headed toward the door.

  “Sleep, Mariel. Tomorrow is a new day.”

  * * *

  Sunshine warmed the grasses, which swayed gently in the breeze. The rippling flow and ebb reminded Mariel of waves on the ocean. Remembering the day Gervase showed her the shore brought a smile to her face. Never had her eyes beheld such majesty! Such power! For two hours she had stared out at the infinite expanse of water churning, shifting, rolling until it converged in sweeping, white foaming waves upon the shoreline. The images would be forever imprinted in her mind.

  Gazing over the rolling landscape, Mariel laughed delightedly at the frolicking lambs. Around the still and sturdy legs of the ewes they hopped, bucked, twisted, and reared, chasing one another joyfully. When one of the fleecy little babes felt insecure or tired, he or she would scamper back to a calmly grazing mother to rub against her affectionately before setting off anew.

  “And what amuses you so much that you do not even notice my approach?” Gervase chuckled. “You've not jumped out of your skin at my presence for days, Lady Mariel. Be careful,” he teased. “I may begin to suspect that you're developing a bit of fondness for the Devil of Daltrey.”

  “Suspect what you like, Baron Daltrey,” she laughed in return. “But first, watch the lambs on the hillside with me.”

  Sinking down beside her on the patchwork quilt, Gervase joined her in studying the antics of the flock's littlest ones. Clouds floated by lazily as they observed from a distance, and at last Mariel heard his deep, low laughter mingle with hers on the breeze.

  “Their shenanigans are irresistible, are they not?” she giggled, pulling a loaf of bread and block of cheese from the basket. “Care for something to eat, Baron Daltrey? Or perhaps something to drink?”