The Rebel Heiress and the Knight

by Melissa Oliver

And when they had been dancing, the warmth of her scent...flowers and spicy soap...had wrapped around his senses and he’d had the strongest urge to kiss her, but again he’d restrained himself. When he’d lifted her into his arms he had been overcome by a need to explore her body, yet naturally he had not.

  Damn!

  It was not just her captivating beauty that he was attracted to, but her quick intelligence as well. She was strong, resilient, and from all accounts extremely capable. She certainly challenged and intrigued him.

  Yet, for all that he knew she hid a vulnerability that made him feel the need to protect her, even though he barely knew her. Eleanor had been hurt in her previous marriage—that much was evident from the haunted look in her eyes. All of which would make this night far more difficult.

  Hugh needed to reassure her that she had nothing to fear in him. He wanted Eleanor’s trust, even though trust was something he found not just difficult but impossible—especially with a woman.

  After all, the woman he had loved body and soul all those years ago, Alais Courville—the woman he had hoped to spend the rest of his life with—had played him false so completely that all his hopes for their future had been burnt to dust. Her betrayal had been so breathtaking and so devastating that it had left him with a bitterness that could never be erased. Never again would he allow anyone to get close enough to trample on his heart as Alais had done.

  Though of course that had nothing to do with Hugh wanting to bed Eleanor. But once he had done so he would take a step back and leave her to her own devices. It wasn’t as though she wanted any real intimacies, and he certainly didn’t want to get too close to her.

  He would be the kind of husband Eleanor would welcome—respectful, yet distant, courteous, yet remote. He didn’t want anything more. Then he could get back to business, serving King John by capturing Le Renard and his outlaws.

  Even the missive that had arrived earlier from Lord Balvoire, with its serious implications, had not really penetrated his mind. His thoughts were solely on his new wife and this night. Yet how to proceed?

  He tossed back the ale in his goblet, swiped his mouth with his hand and jumped to his feet. He must proceed slowly and with care...

  Hugh knocked on the wooden door of his new chamber and ambled in just as Brunhilde was drawing the heavy curtain around the bed, leaving only a small opening visible, Eleanor evidently behind it. He stood against the stone wall with his arms crossed over his chest and nodded at Father Thomas as he swung a censer, blessing every corner of the room and wishing the married couple joy, fertility and much happiness.

  The guests who had staggered behind Hugh to the solar were outside in the antechamber, craning to catch a glimpse, but Father Thomas and Brunhilde ushered them away, closing the door.

  Hugh and Eleanor were finally alone, and this was their wedding night.

  Hugh drew the curtain around the bed slowly and found Eleanor sitting upright in the large feather bed, wrapped in a deep blue coverlet. She looked up at him and stole his breath.

  If he had thought her lovely before, it was nothing compared to how she looked now. He had never seen her luscious long hair unbound, framing her face. He watched, entranced, as her lips parted and she bit her bottom lip nervously. Her brown eyes held flecks of gold and amber in this light, but also a veil of anxiety and barely disguised fear.

  Hugh had two choices here. He could get into bed and make Eleanor his in every way imaginable, as was his right, blotting out all vestiges of the man who had been there before. Or... Or he could do something for her.

  He could wait.

  He knew what he wanted to do. Lord above, he knew what he should do—if only to legitimise the marriage—but then, this proud, terrified woman was like no other. He sensed that her past experiences, whatever they were, could not have been good, and if he wasn’t careful they would determine their future...badly.

  Hugh gave himself a mental shake and smiled. ‘I hope it has not been too exhausting a day for you, Eleanor?’

  ‘I am well, as you can see,’ she said in a flat tone. ‘Are you well, my lord?’

  ‘Mmm? Yes, of course.’

  No, he damn well wasn’t. He dragged his shaky fingers through his hair and swallowed hard.

  ‘Are you sure, my lord?’

  ‘Yes—and call me Hugh. I cannot get used to anyone “my lording” me—especially you.’

  He sighed, trying to drag his gaze away, then sat at the edge of the bed and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, as he watched her. He caught a tendril of her loose, unbound hair and wrapped a silky lock around his fingers.

  ‘You seem more nervous than I... Hugh.’

  ‘I am.’ He smiled. ‘Tell me, what do you want to do?’

  ‘Do?’ Her eyes widened in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘This is our private time together, Eleanor, and what we do is no one’s business but our own.’

  She frowned, meeting his eyes. ‘This is our wedding night. It wouldn’t be legally binding if we didn’t...’

  ‘True... But no one need know. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’

  He watched as Eleanor’s jaw visibly dropped and she pushed forward, meeting his gaze.

  After a moment she shook her head, looking away. ‘No... I thank you for your consideration but, no. I’d rather get this over and done with, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Very well.’ He cautioned himself to proceed slowly. ‘But remember you promised you’d be gentle with me, Eleanor.’

  She rolled her eyes as he slid his hand to cup her face, tilting it and tracing her soft pink lips with his thumb. He bent his head to hers, his lips so near that there was only warm, wet air between them. He let the moment stretch agonisingly, allowing Eleanor to pull away if she wanted to. Hugh’s mouth curved into the ghost of a smile as she moved closer, before he pressed it to hers and kissed her softly.

  He noticed from the corner of his eye that her hands reaching out from beneath the covers were still gloved.

  ‘You wear those even in bed?’ he whispered against her lips.

  ‘What?’ She looked up, dazed. ‘Oh, yes. These allow the applied balm to...to make my hands soft.’

  ‘Fit for a lady.’

  ‘I suppose...’ she murmured, and she pressed her lips to his, surprising him.

  She was like sunbeam and silk, his prickly, haughty wife, and she was very tentatively kissing him back.

  Hugh felt her gasp as his tongue gently coaxed the seal of her lips apart. Every part of him, every sinew of his body, was aware of her—the feel of her, the delicious taste of her. Spurred on by her response, he deepened the kiss. It seemed the lady was enjoying this as much he was. And he clamoured for more.

  * * *

  An unexpected yearning grew in the pit of Eleanor’s stomach and moved deep into her core as Hugh’s mouth covered hers, kissing her in a way she could never have imagined.

  This was madness!

  She felt the touch of his fingers along her collarbone before his lips left hers to kiss the column of her neck. He lifted his head, desire blazing in his eyes. A wordless question. It was a question Eleanor could not answer even as her wayward body craved more.

  Hugh dipped his head and claimed her lips again, his hands cupping her jaw gently. Saints above, what was happening to her? Eleanor felt as though she was losing herself, gradually and slowly losing sight of everything around her.

  Yes, indeed, madness!

  She longed for more...longed to explore this sensual pleasure she had never known existed. Her previous experiences had centred on cruelty and dominance. This was nothing like that, but even so a voice from deep inside her was warning her about the loss of control...how things could spiral quickly into the unknown.

  This was happening far too quickly and it had to cease.

 
Eleanor opened her eyes and slammed the palms of her hands onto Hugh’s chest, untangling herself and scrambling to the other side of the bed before he had a chance to grasp what had happened. She sat with her back to him, listening to his breathing from behind her.

  Dear God, what had she done?

  She screwed her eyes shut and groaned inwardly. Yes, she had felt her body betray a thrill of excitement, and in her muddled head she knew that she had actually enjoyed kissing Hugh—unbelievable as that was—but Eleanor couldn’t do it. It repelled her, frightened her... And yet would it...with Hugh?

  She shook her head. No, she didn’t want to know. And what could she do anyway? Her body was not hers. Hugh had every right to make his demands and force her to submit, even though he had suggested they might wait.

  Her back stiffened and her fists clenched as she waited for his inevitable outburst of anger.

  It didn’t come.

  Instead, Eleanor heard him sigh deeply, get up and walk around to the ornately decorated coffer. She glimpsed Hugh from under her lashes as he tapped a tattoo on the surface with his fingers before grabbing two silver goblets and pouring ale from the silver jug into each. He was there in front of her in two big strides, pressing a goblet into her hands.

  ‘Thank you...’ she muttered. ‘I... I prepared the wedding ale myself, with added spices and honey,’ she said, looking at her feet as she turned the goblet in her hand.

  ‘It’s delicious,’ Hugh said as he took a large gulp.

  Tension crackled between them as the silence stretched.

  ‘Eleanor, look at me, please.’ He gently lifted her chin with his fingers. ‘I apologise for my...eagerness.’

  She pulled away from his hold and took a sip from her goblet. ‘There is nothing to apologise for.’

  ‘It seems there is—and it also seems that I’m making quite a habit of it.’

  She shrugged, hoping her expression was one of indifference, but her head was in a haze of confusion. It was both unexpected and puzzling that Hugh should apologise for her woeful lack of wifely duty. Yet here he was, apologising to her again after doing so yesterday. Could she remember any man—knight or nobleman, least of all her husband—ever apologising about anything, ever? And yet Hugh de Villiers didn’t think it beneath him to do just that.

  ‘Eagerness on one’s wedding night is natural, Hugh. My reaction is not.’ She sucked air through her teeth and continued. ‘But you should know that...that intimacy disgusts me.’

  There—she’d said it and now he knew. Perhaps he would find other women to warm his bed whilst she looked the other way.

  He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, willing her to say more.

  So she did. ‘It’s...it’s not your affliction, but mine. I told you yesterday that I’m not fit to be a wife. I’m unnatural, Hugh.’

  ‘I take it that is what Millais said to you?’ he said. ‘Well, I want you to know that he was wrong. Very wrong.’

  ‘Even so I... I’m damaged. I carry terrible scars.’

  Eleanor left those words hanging between them, feeling so uncomfortable talking about the past that it made her squirm.

  Hugh looked at her with compassion, without a trace of pity, as if he understood how deep those scars ran.

  ‘I appreciate your honesty, Eleanor but I am not Richard Millais. You must understand that you should never have experienced what you did with him. And if anyone was unnatural it was Millais, not you.’ He lowered himself slowly to one knee, placed his goblet on the floor and took her hand in his. ‘Listen to me, I have never forced an unwilling woman into my bed, Eleanor and I’m not about to start now. I want you to give yourself freely to our union. And until then, if I have to wait...well, then I will wait.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’ He shrugged. ‘My hope is that you might come to realise that the intimacies you find so disgusting may actually be the opposite.’

  Eleanor shook her head in disbelief but said nothing.

  ‘We need time...time to get to know one another.’ Hugh smiled before continuing. ‘So from now on I will sleep on a pallet that I will ask my squire to smuggle in from somewhere. I will make him swear an oath of secrecy. No one need know.’ He stood up and stretched out his arms.

  ‘You believe I will come to your bed willingly when I can never give you my heart?’ She shook her head. ‘My castle, my lands and my wealth may now be yours—even my body—but my heart will never be.’

  She watched as Hugh froze, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. This was exactly the sort of outspoken behaviour that had incensed Eleanor’s first husband, leading to the punishments he’d inflicted on her.

  ‘I don’t believe I have ever asked for your heart, and nor shall I be offering mine in return.’ He took a deep breath before softening his voice. ‘You are a shrewd, intelligent woman, and we both know that our alliance has been brought about against our wishes by King John. But it has happened and we must make the best of it.’ He paused before continuing. ‘So allow me to court you. Properly this time.’

  She gaped at him in disbelief, not quite trusting anything he said. Hugh de Villiers seemed kind, and understanding, and apparently nothing like her late husband—but he was still a man used to getting his own way.

  Could she trust that he would not force her when she didn’t come to him willingly? Until she knew him better there was no way of knowing. She was not so naïve as to swallow all his rational words now, when they might become irrational later, once he’d realised she would not change her mind about coming to the marital bed. What then?

  Eventually she nodded cautiously. ‘Very well, my lord.’

  ‘Good.’ He took a sip from his goblet. ‘And I think I have just the thing for us to do—unless you’d prefer to go to sleep?’

  Sleep?

  Did Hugh de Villiers really believe that she could sleep easily knowing he was sharing the room with her? Even on a separate pallet, with the bed curtain shut tightly, he would still be there...sleeping in the same chamber...near her.

  She gulped. ‘No, I’m not ready for sleep yet.’

  ‘Good. Well, in that case, we shall do something else.’

  She blinked several times. ‘Do something else?’ she repeated, confused.

  He smirked as he strode to the coffer and pulled out a medium-sized rectangular object covered in woollen cloth. ‘Apart from my horse, my sword and gaining my spurs, this is my most prized possession.’

  She watched, intrigued, as Hugh placed the object on the bed in front of her.

  ‘Have you ever heard of chessmen?’

  She frowned, shaking her head. ‘You want to play games? At this time?’ This wedding night was getting stranger and more unexpected at every turn.

  ‘Ah, but chess is far more than just a game, Eleanor,’ he said, pulling the cover off a beautifully crafted black and red two-toned board. From another woollen sack he pulled out intricate mini-statues and placed them carefully on the board. ‘It is about strategy, skill and outwitting your opponent. King Richard was a patron of chess, as were his father and grandfather before him.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘It’s true, nevertheless. And the Earl of Oxford encouraged all of us to engage in the game, believing that it was one of many skills a good knight should acquire.’

  She met his eyes and smiled despite herself. Now this was a challenge she would certainly welcome to test her mettle.

  She brushed her hand across the smooth chequered board. ‘It’s beautiful. Where did you get it from?’

  ‘More like who did I win it from!’ He winked. ‘And, before you ask, it was from an over-confident Poitevin knight who claimed to be the best player in Christendom, and he had won it from a Moor in Granada. Naturally I had to repudiate that claim.’

  ‘Nat
urally...’ She bit back a sudden urge to laugh at the absurdity of this evening.

  ‘Are you ready for a challenge, my lady?’

  ‘Certainly—how do you play?’

  He sat on the bed opposite her, on the other side of the board, and crossed his legs. ‘Now, pay attention, Eleanor. These are lowly pawns and they can move one square forward and capture one square diagonally and only ever other pawns. Never anything else.’

  She smiled. ‘Very lowly indeed.’

  ‘But very useful, which is why they’re often referred to as the infantry. And they can be successfully promoted.’

  ‘To King?’

  ‘No piece can do that, my lady. There is only one King.’

  ‘Indeed...’

  He placed a further four pieces on each side of the board. ‘These here are two rooks, two chevaliers—or knights—and two bishops. And naturally only one King and Queen apiece.’

  Eleanor listened intently as Hugh explained the way in which each piece could move forward.

  ‘And the aim of the game?’ she asked.

  He chuckled. ‘The final aim is, of course, to trap the King and check him—a checkmate. I believe it comes from the Persian phrase shah-mat. Meaning the King is ambushed.’

  She looked at him with disbelief. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Well, if one wants to become a master at something it is imperative to gain as much knowledge and understanding as possible, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes... But are you? A master?’

  ‘You’ll just have to find out, my lady.’ He winked. ‘All I will say is that even King John has not found a way to pass me, and he has been playing since boyhood.’

  Hugh played chessmen with the King!

  ‘Is that so? Well, we’ll have to see about that.’

  ‘Fighting talk.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘I like that. But I warn you... This can be a very slow game and it can take days for an outcome.’

  ‘Surely we have the time?’

  ‘We do.’ The corners of his lips curved. ‘And while I think of ways to outwit you at night, by day I can focus my mind on the thankless job of finding the outlaws and The Fox, on top of getting better acquainted with Tallany. Your move, Eleanor.’