Bride for a Knight
His hand slid up her body toward her breast, cupping it gently, then kneading it, the action unfamiliar and surprisingly arousing, and oh, so different from those other fumbling hands that once or twice had tried to touch her there.
Her need increased yet more when he began to untie the knot of the lacing of her gown and, succeeding, slipped his hand into her bodice. The pads of his fingertips brushed across her taut nipple and a sudden flood of heated longing ran through her, and down, to where the blood began to throb.
She must do something, too. Breaking the kiss, she lifted his hand away and his expression turned to wonder as she kissed his fingertips one by one. Then she reached for the knot at the neck of his dark tunic, untying it swiftly so she could pull the tunic and the shirt beneath over his head to reveal his naked torso.
She ran her fingers over the raised ridges of several scars. “You’ve had so many wounds,” she murmured with awe, and pity, too. “Have you been in many battles?”
“Most were not the sort you mean,” he answered, his voice husky.
She bent to press her lips upon the scar nearest his shoulder. “Tournaments and training, too, I suppose.”
“Some,” he gasped, pushing her gown and the shift beneath lower, exposing her bare shoulders.
There were a hundred other things she wanted to ask, to learn about this man she’d married, but as his lips grazed the bare and rounded curve of her shoulder, she forgot them. All she wanted now was more of his lips and touch. With bold encouragement, she shoved her gown and shift lower, stepping out of them to stand before him as naked as Eve in the garden. She tugged the ribbons from her hair, letting it fall down around her.
She had never seen such a look in any man’s eyes as the one in Roland’s as he stared at her. It was more than admiration or lustful anticipation. Again she saw the expression that set him apart from every other man she had ever met—a yearning wistfulness that tugged at her heart.
Reaching out, she took his hand and led him toward the bed.
She was a virgin, and he was from a family not noted for gentleness, yet she still felt no fear when she climbed into the bed and held out her arms to him.
He swiftly tugged off his boots and now the wistfulness was gone, replaced with an ardent desire that matched her own.
She turned away when he began to take off his breeches. She had seen him half naked. To see him completely naked seemed...unseemly.
He put out the candle and the chamber went dark. Then the bed creaked as Roland got in beside her.
He began to stroke her hair. “I won’t hurt you, Mavis,” he crooned in the same soft, gentle voice he had used the first time she had ever heard him, in the stable when he was talking to his horse. She had been fascinated by it then, and she was fascinated—and soothed—by it now. No man she’d met before had sounded like that, as if his throat was made of honey.
Relaxing, she lay still while his hand moved to her cheek, down her jaw and throat, to her shoulder, her arm, her hip, her thigh and back again, the motion teasing and as seductive as his voice, his fingertips barely grazing her warm skin.
She felt the urge to do the same with him, beginning with his hair that curled over his shoulders, to his strong jaw and throat, his powerful shoulders, muscular arm, slender waist and the length of his thigh.
He shifted ever so slightly closer. His hand brushed over her breast and across her belly. Lower. And lower still.
Biting her lip, she slid her hand across his chest, realizing with some surprise that his nipples, too, were taut. Perhaps her attention there could be just as arousing for him.
She lowered her head to flick her tongue across his chest and he moaned softly, proving that he enjoyed that, too. Eager to learn more, she pressed her whole body against him and kissed him deeply. Yes, he was as aroused as she.
He continued to kiss and caress her until she was so full of need, she was ready to beg him to take her.
She didn’t have to, for just when the excited anticipation became almost unbearable, he maneuvered her beneath him and then, with almost agonizing slowness, pushed inside her.
She had known there would be pain, and there was—a twinge, quickly forgotten, as he began to thrust inside her. Every motion increased her longing and excitement. Made her feel as if she was seeking some unknown realm of pleasure and passion...seeking...seeking...
Suddenly, abruptly, as surprising as falling from a cliff she hadn’t seen, she was there, a place where only sensation existed and all else fell away. She cried out, her body arching with throbbing release, a sensation so powerful that only when the pulsing ebbed and Roland laid his head upon her breasts did she recall that he had groaned at nearly the same moment.
Panting, he moved away from her and lay on his back while Mavis reached for the coverings that had been kicked or pushed away and drew them over their naked bodies. Amazed, delighted, relieved and happy, she lay still awhile, then wondered what was expected of her now. To speak? To remain silent and wait for him to say something? To roll over and go to sleep, or try to?
“Roland?” she said softly.
His only answer was his slow, even breathing. The groom had fallen asleep.
* * *
What was that sound? Roland vaguely wondered as he began to wake.
Opening his eyes, he realized at once that he was not at Dunborough. His chamber there was larger than this, and more barren. At home there were no candles on his bedside table, and no chests of clothing save the one...and no beautiful woman wrapped in a cloak standing at the window looking out at the dawn sky.
Mavis. His wife. The woman who had loved him with such passion, such excitement, although they had barely met. Who gave herself so freely, in spite of how this marriage had come about.
He had not come here expecting to find a bride. He had come here to tell Lord DeLac that any plans for an alliance between their two households had died with his father and brother. He’d been about to refuse DeLac’s proposal that he marry the man’s daughter instead.
And then Mavis had come into the solar.
The moment he had seen her, he had wanted to have her for his wife more than he’d wanted anything in his life, including his family’s estate.
Smiling, he was about to get out of bed when he caught that strange sound again, a sort of gasp. It was Mavis, and now he saw that her shoulders were shaking.
She was weeping.
The sudden sharp shock of realization was worse than a blow from a mace or sword. Worse than anything he had felt before. Worse than the beatings he had endured at his father’s and older brother’s hands. Worse than the worst of Gerrard’s mocking torment.
No woman will ever love you unless she’s paid. You have no wit, no charm, nothing to recommend you except our father’s wealth and title.
Wealth and title and an alliance that her father so clearly desired, now purchased with his daughter’s maidenhead?
He was a fool. A simpleton, like the most green country lad come to an unfamiliar town. Despite her blushes and smiles, she must have been forced to marry him, or why else would she be weeping? Shame and humiliation, hot, strong and agonizing, tore apart his joy and hope.
Long ago he had learned to hide his pain. To mask his shame. To pretend he felt nothing, that nothing could touch and wound him, and he would do so again. But first, he had to get away from her, as a wounded beast goes to ground to nurse its wounds in private.
Rising from the bed, he yanked on his breeches, then sat and tugged on his boots.
“Did you sleep well, Roland?” she asked.
He glanced up to see her watching him, her eyes red rimmed and puffy from crying, but a bright and bogus smile on her lips.
Even now, and despite the tears, he wanted to believe she had chosen him for himself alone.
Fool!
If she had been coerced or threatened, he hadn’t been aware of it, and it had been done without his consent. But the wedding was over and consummated. He and Mavis were bound to each other by the church and the law, and nothing could be done.
Their marriage still meant a valuable alliance and a considerable dowry, although his father-in-law was a drunken oaf who would likely never heed a call for help. And Mavis was also Simon DeLac’s only child, so he would gain more when the man died, while DeLac had the powerful ally in the north he wanted.
Roland reached for his shirt and drew it over his head. “I trust you can be ready to travel as soon as you’ve broken the fast,” he said, speaking as he would to any underling.
“Yes, I think so.”
“I expect so,” he replied. He put on his tunic and belted it around his waist with his sword belt.
She hadn’t moved, but when he raised his eyes again, he noticed that her feet were bare. So were her ankles.
Was she naked under that cloak?
Desire, hot and strong and vital, surged through him. Memories of the night they’d shared rose up, vivid and exciting.
He must not betray this weakness, for that would give her a hold over him and the power to shame and humiliate him. He had to ignore the feelings she aroused. He must put a distance between them. She must be ever and only just a woman who ran his household and sometimes shared his bed when the need grew too strong to ignore.
His hand on the latch, he spoke without looking back at her. “Since the necessary consummation has taken place, I shall leave it up to you, my lady, to invite me to your bed in future. Otherwise, I shall leave you in peace.”
Chapter Two
After Roland had gone, Mavis went to the bed and sat heavily. A lump formed in her throat and her eyes welled with tears, only this time it wasn’t because she was leaving the only home she’d ever known and the cousin she loved like a sister.
What had happened to Roland? Where had the kind, gentle lover gone?
She could think of nothing she’d done to anger or upset him...unless he felt she’d talked too much last night. Or perhaps her father’s behavior had disturbed him.
It could be that, despite her belief otherwise, he had seen this marriage only as a bargain with her father. He had done what was necessary to consummate the marriage and cared for her no more than that.
As for the tender, gentle way he’d loved her, perhaps that was only because she’d been a virgin.
Maybe he’d found her lacking in their bed.
She knew nothing of a man’s pleasure. While her wedding night had been extraordinary for her, perhaps it hadn’t been nearly so wonderful for a man of experience. Given her husband’s handsome features and powerful body, she was surely not his first.
Then another, more terrible explanation came to mind. She had heard there were men who, having taken their pleasure of a virgin, lost all interest.
No, that could not be so with Roland. She would have seen some hint that it was only her body he wanted. She had encountered that sort of lust often enough before, including from his older brother, and would certainly have recognized it.
She glanced at the bed and noticed the small spot of blood on the sheet. Yet another explanation leaped into her mind, one much more in keeping with her perception of the man in the solar. If he thought he’d hurt her, he might be angry with himself, not at her, and that would explain his parting words to her, too.
Although she was a little sore, the experience had been no more painful than pulling a hangnail, and she must find a way to tell him, once they were alone.
And she would know, by how he acted then, if he had married her because he wanted her, as she fervently hoped, or if he saw the marriage only as a means to make an alliance with her father.
* * *
A short time later, Roland stood in the courtyard with his arms crossed and his weight on one leg. The wagons were loaded with Mavis’s dower goods, the ox to pull it was in the shafts, his horse and her mare were saddled and ready and the morning meal concluded. The clouds parted to reveal the sun, which began to burn off the remaining frost on the cobblestones. A light breeze blew, enough to ruffle his hair and the pennants on the castle walls, and redden the noses of their escort as they, too, waited to be on their way.
“You’re a lucky man.”
Roland half turned and found Rheged of Cwm Bron at his elbow. “I agree,” he said, meeting the man’s gaze steadily, keeping his voice even.
“Mavis is a kind and sweet young woman,” Rheged continued. “My wife loves her like a sister and we both want Mavis to be happy.”
The man’s deep voice was genial, but there was a look in his eyes that told Roland this was something more than placid observation. Nevertheless, he replied in the same manner as before. “As do I.”
“I’m glad to hear it. We’d be upset otherwise.”
Again there was more to the Welshman’s comment than just the words. But wordplay and hints and insinuation were the language of cheats and deceivers, and Roland would have none of that. “If you have something of import to say to me, my lord, speak plainly.”
“Very well,” Rheged replied. “Tamsin tells me you gave Mavis the choice of accepting the betrothal or not, and she accepted. That’s all to the good. But Mavis is young in the ways of the world, and she’s had enough trouble already with her father, so I hope you’ll treat her with the kindness and respect she deserves.”
The Welshman spoke as if he were a brute, no better than his father or older brother. He had hoped for better from Rheged, and he wondered what the Welshman might have said about him. If Mavis had been forced to accept the marriage and her cousin’s husband had said derogatory things about him, no wonder she’d been crying.
“Considering that you abducted the woman you have taken to wife,” he said with a hint of the ire he felt, “it strikes me that you are hardly in a position to offer any man advice on how to treat a woman.”
Rheged’s eyes flared with annoyance, but his tone was still genial when he replied. “Then don’t consider it advice. Consider it a warning. If you or your brother hurt her in any way, you’ll have me to answer to.”
“I do not take kindly to threats, my lord, even from relatives,” Roland returned.
The door to the hall opened and Lord DeLac came reeling out of the hall, barely able to stand. He wore the same clothing he had the day before, but the finely woven tunic was now stained with bits of food and wine and his beard was dotted with crumbs. His hair was unkempt, his full face florid, and he was clearly the worse for wine. Again.
Nevertheless, for the first time in their acquaintance, Roland was glad to see him, for his presence silenced Rheged. He didn’t take kindly to being threatened and he didn’t want to come to blows, not in his father-in-law’s courtyard.
“Ah, Sir Roland!” Lord DeLac cried. “There y’are! Time to go, eh? Now you’ve got the dowry and my daughter, off you trot!”
As if all he’d wanted to do was conclude a bargain. No doubt that was how Lord DeLac thought of the marriage.
Roland had to suppress the temptation to dunk the greedy, drunken lout in the nearest horse trough.
“Mavis!” DeLac bellowed, turning around in a circle and looking up as if he expected to see her on the wall walk. “Where are you, girl? Your husband is waiting!”
“Here, Father!” Mavis answered, appearing at the kitchen entrance and hurrying toward them with her cousin at her side.
His beautiful young wife wore a simple brown traveling gown and was shrouded in a thick brown cloak with a rabbit fur collar. Her attire was almost nunlike and her demeanor that of a fresh young maiden—quite different from the bold wanton in his bed last night.
He’d never experienced such thrilling excitement, such perfect satisfaction, in any woman’s arms. He had been sure she felt the same, until he’d seen those devastating tears.
Surely, he told himself, if she’d been forced to take him for her husband, she wouldn’t have been so willing and wanton—but why then had she been crying? He couldn’t think of anything he’d said or done to otherwise upset her, except make love to her, his exciting, virginal—
She had been a virgin. No doubt there’d been some pain, something he hadn’t yet considered, and perhaps enough to cause her tears.
Mavis came to a breathless halt beside his horse and gave him a bright smile. “I’m ready now.”
His gaze searched her face as he tried to discern if she was sincerely happy, or only pretending to be.
If she was pretending, she was very good at it.
“About time, too!” her father exclaimed. “Take her, Roland, and safe journey to you both. God’s blood, it’s freezing out here!”
With that, Lord DeLac hurried back inside without so much as a backward glance at his only child. Meanwhile, Rheged’s wife hurried to embrace Mavis while Rheged continued to regard Roland with a look that might have frozen the very marrow of a man’s bones, if it were anyone but Roland. He had been subject to intimidation his entire life, and by men harder and crueler than Rheged of Cwm Bron could ever be.
“Godspeed and may you have a safe journey!” Tamsin said to Mavis fervently. “Never forget you will always be welcome at Cwm Bron.”
Mavis hugged her cousin tightly. “I’ll remember.”
“Come, my lady, let us go,” Roland said, moving to help her mount her horse.
“As you wish, my lord,” Mavis replied, giving him another brilliant smile.
He doubted anyone could feign such sincere happiness so well. He must be right to think that her pain was merely physical, and if so, that hurt would soon heal.
If only there were some way to find out if that was the sole cause of her tears! He couldn’t talk to a woman with ease, as Gerrard did.
Once Mavis was in the saddle, Tamsin ran up to his wife’s horse and placed her hand on Mavis’s boot. “Remember what I said!” she cried. “Anything you need, you have but to ask! If you require our help, send word at once.”
She made it sound as if Mavis was going to her doom, and his hope began to fade that he’d found the cause of her tears. Yet whatever the reason for this marriage, he thought as he raised his hand to signal the cortege to depart, he was still Sir Roland, Lord of Dunborough, and his bride would make him the envy of any man who saw her.
Especially his brother.
* * *
The day continued to be fine, if chilly, and Mavis would have enjoyed the ride, save for two things: her husband rode several paces ahead as if he didn’t want to talk to her, and the men of their escort riding behind her talked far too much.
“S’truth, I wish I was back at Castle DeLac,” Arnhelm muttered. He was a tall, slender soldier, bearded and the leader of the escort. “Look at him, riding like he’s got a spear up his arse. What kind of lord comes all the way from godforsaken Yorkshire by himself, anyway?”
“One from Dunborough,” his short, stocky brother and second in command, Verdan, answered. “And now, God save us, we got to go back with him!”
“This is a bad time to be heading to Yorkshire, all right. At least we don’t have to stay there. Mind you, she does, poor thing,” Arnhelm said, nodding at Mavis. “It ain’t right, this marriage.”
“Aye, he don’t deserve her. He’s a hard man, and her as sweet and gentle as a lamb.”
Mavis kept her gaze on her husband and tried not to listen, but it proved impossible. Arnhelm had too loud a voice. For his sake, she was rather glad her husband was so far ahead, so he couldn’t hear the men’s conversation. And Roland did sit in the saddle as if his back would break rather than bend if he tried to lean forward.
Determined not to listen to Arnhelm and Verdan anymore, she moved her horse forward until she and Roland were side by side. He might not want to talk to her, but she would speak to him.
She also didn’t want the soldiers returning to DeLac with tales of a silent bride and a brooding groom. While her father might not care, Tamsin would worry. “How much longer will we be traveling today, my lord?”
For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he did.
“A few hours.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Unless the riding is too tiring or uncomfortable for you.”
“Oh, no. I have spent many a happy hour in the saddle. I’m not sore at all.”
He glanced at her again, then looked away just as quickly, and she wondered if he understood what else she was saying. She didn’t want to come right out and tell him he hadn’t hurt her much, not with the escort so close. Instead, she tried a different subject. “If we make good time, how long until we reach Dunborough?”
“Six days.”
“As long as that?” She had been anticipating three days, four at the most if the weather turned bad.
“The ox cannot go quickly.”
She should, of course, have taken that into consideration. “And your castle? Is it as large as DeLac?”
“Larger. It’s one of the strongest in the north,” he replied, and although his expression didn’t change, she could hear his pride.
“The household must have many servants,” she ventured, wishing she’d taken on more of Tamsin’s duties in DeLac before her cousin had married.
“Enough.”
“Come, my lord,” she gently chided. “Can you not be more specific? I am to be chatelaine, after all.”
He frowned. “I’m not certain. Eua can tell you. Or Dalfrid.”
“And they are?”
“Eua has been serving in the household since before I was born, and Dalfrid is the steward.”
While Roland’s answers were short and to the point, at least he was talking to her, and she took that as an encouraging sign. “I understand you have a twin brother. Does he live in the castle, too?”
“Gerrard is my garrison commander.”
“I look forward to meeting him. How fortunate you are to have someone you can trust in that position.”
“I trust him to look after his own interests, and that means protecting Dunborough. And the men like him.”
“Then I’m sure I’ll like him, too.”
“Most women like Gerrard,” Roland brusquely replied. “He can be a very charming fellow when it suits him.”
Given the slightly hostile tone of his response, Mavis answered cautiously. “I have sometimes wished for a brother.”
“You are close to your cousin, are you not?”
“She’s like a sister to me.”
“You set some store on her opinion, then.”
“Of course, as your brother’s must influence yours.”
“I don’t care what my brother thinks.”
There could be no denying that Roland was absolutely, grimly sincere. And yet... “Except in matters of defense of the castle, I assume.”
“Should Dunborough need to be defended, I will take command.”
“What, then, does Gerrard do?”
“He assigns watches and trains the men.”
She was about to suggest that wasn’t much responsibility for the lord’s brother when Roland said, “I should perhaps warn you, my lady, that my brother’s favorite pastime has always been to mock me.”
She simply couldn’t imagine anyone mocking Roland. “No one likes to be teased. Some of the young men who came to DeLac were apparently under the misapprehension that I would enjoy such cruel sport. I quickly let them know that if they mocked anyone, and especially Tamsin, I wouldn’t even look at them. I would never make sport of you, my lord, or think kindly of anyone who did.”
When Roland didn’t answer, she decided it might be best to speak of something other than his brother. “I didn’t think my father was going to let me take Sweetling. That’s my mare. Don’t you think she looks sweet, my lord?”
“She’s a fine horse,” he allowed, his tone somewhat lighter, although his expression was still grim.
“Yours is beautiful. Hephaestus is his name, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“That’s unusual. Wasn’t Hephaestus a god?”