Conquest (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 1)

by Anna Markland

  Instead, he handed her the sword, placed her hands on the hilt, covered them with his own, and knelt on one knee before her. Staring at her intently, he gave his oath. “I, Comte Rambaud de Montbryce, in the name of the Lord, and in the presence of all here gathered, acknowledge that you, Mabelle de Montbryce, and de Valtesse, and d’Alensonne, and de Domfort and de Belisle, are my comtesse, and I am your loyal man.”

  The room filled with loud cheering as everyone resumed their places, and the feasting recommenced. Ram rose, took Mabelle’s hand and led her back, never taking his eyes from hers.

  Her tears had started as soon as he knelt before her. She recognized what the gesture cost him. Perhaps there was more to this man than she thought. He reached over as he took his own seat and, with a smile, wiped away her tears with his thumbs.

  Hours later, taking her hand, he whispered, “It will soon be time for the bedding ceremony, Mabelle. I’ve tried throughout this interminable evening not to recall the vision of you lying in the grass, your legs half open—inviting.” He pressed his thigh against hers again. Her nipples tingled and warmth flooded a very private place. Feverish heat washed over her.

  I must be ailing for something.

  They listened to the toasts given by Antoine, then by her father, who, to her embarrassment, rambled on about traitors and rights and redemption. Then Ram raised his goblet and toasted his bride. “I drink to the health of my beautiful wife, Mabelle de Montbryce. I’m confident she’ll be a good and willing wife.”

  He winked at her, and she thought he had probably drunk too much wine.

  Such arrogance. Good and willing? We’re back to that.

  She rose to her feet to return the toast, hoping her trembling legs would sustain her. She too had imbibed more of the excellent wine, not to mention a sip of the fine apple brandy brought from the cellars. She felt somewhat unsteady. She was also nervous about the journey they would undertake on the morrow to England, having never sailed before.

  “I thank you, mon seigneur, and I drink to your health also.” She sat down but not until she had winked at him, or at least tried to. Winking didn’t seem to be a skill she possessed at that moment.

  He looks disappointed. Good.

  She had heard gossip in many castles about bedding ceremonies, but had never attended one, being an unmarried woman. They could apparently be affairs bordering on mass hysteria, where the bride and groom were both stripped naked and forced to copulate in front of the whole assembly. Bloodied sheets were then hoisted up the flagpole.

  Or, they might be polite and discreet occasions. The bride’s maids dressed her in her nightgown, the groom’s men undressed him, and then the bishop blessed the marriage bed, the gathering tucked the happy couple up in bed, and left. She fervently hoped something along the lines of the latter would be the case now.

  Ram reassured her, “Don’t worry, Mabelle, there’ll be no running sheets up flagpoles in this castle.”

  He had understood her concern, and tried to make her feel better. Or was it that he had made sure there would be no public display, because he suspected she was no longer a virgin and there would be no bloodied linens?

  He still thinks me unchaste.

  Wedding Night

  The assembled gathering was merry but not bawdy as they lifted a broadly grinning Ram and a blushing Mabelle, and carried them to the bridal bedchamber. A carved wooden screen had been placed at one end, and she and Giselle stepped behind it so the maidservant could help remove her gown, chemise, shoes and hose. The veil had long since fallen away.

  She gasped at the flimsy nightgown that a gleeful Giselle carefully pulled over her head. Ram, and everyone else in the chamber, would see through it. But Giselle wrapped a warm bed gown around her, and pulled the belt tight.

  “Only for milord’s eyes, in my opinion. Not those who want to ogle,” whispered the feisty maid.

  Thank God for the loyalty and common sense of this serving woman.

  Giselle combed out her hair, then tucked her into bed and propped a pillow behind her.

  Ram’s friends and brothers were divesting him of his clothing, tossing it here and there; despite her determination not to peek, she caught a glimpse of a bare hip as he eased into a black silk bed robe held out by Vaillon. He cinched it lightly around his waist. Smiling and waving to the cheering crowd, he strode proudly across the room and joined his nervous new wife. The robe barely came to his knees, and she couldn’t help but be aware of his muscled thighs as he walked. She averted her eyes quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed her interest.

  The bishop intoned a brief prayer of blessing, and sprinkled the bed with holy water.

  Despite ribald urgings from the guests to “Get on with it”, Ram ushered them out with an imperious wave of the hand, and gradually they left.

  “Allez, tous!” he commanded with mock seriousness. “Be gone, all of you.”

  Their eventual leaving, urged out by Vaillon and Giselle, created an overwhelming silence in the big chamber. Ram slipped off his bed robe. Mabelle averted her eyes as he raised his hips to free the silk from under his body. He threw it nonchalantly to the floor. Turning onto his back, he stretched out an arm to the table for one of the two goblets of mead. She stole a glance at his well-muscled chest and the trail of black hair leading down to his navel and—he turned back to her and offered the goblet.

  “Something sweet for my bride?”

  She shook her head, her face on fire.

  “Too nervous?” he asked.

  “Oui,” she whispered, scarcely able to speak, her insides churning. She was aware of the long relationship he’d had with his mistress, though there was talk Joleyne had left St. Germain. Mabelle had never for one moment assumed Ram would come virgin to their bed, whereas she had no experience of men. Would she satisfy his male needs?

  Propped on one elbow, he took a sip of the honeyed wine and licked his lips. “You should try some. It’s bad luck not to.”

  He raised the goblet to her lips. His eyes seemed to darken as he watched her sip the mead, and he frowned slightly. “More?”

  “Non, merci,” she murmured as the lukewarm mead trickled down her throat.

  He smiled, took another sip, then replaced the goblet on the table, licking the stickiness off his fingers. A peculiar urge to taste his skin seized her.

  Turning once again on his side, his head propped on his arm, he said seductively, “Well, ma belle, will you let me see that irresistible body without my begging?”

  “You weren’t going to beg at the lake.” As soon as she uttered the words, she regretted them.

  He bristled. “Non, you’re right. Would I have had to beg? I got the feeling you were ready to give yourself up without much protest.”

  But my dream was of you—of your kiss.

  His words cut into her heart, but his next question raised her hackles.

  “What trick do you have in mind to hide your lost virginity?”

  “You think I’m not a maid?” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears. She wished he had choked on his mead.

  “Maids don’t lie half-naked in meadows, covered with flowers. But I don’t care. You’ve cast a spell on me, and you’re the one I must have.”

  Despite his cruel words, the smoldering need in his ice blue eyes made her heart race. She looked away, afraid her heart might break.

  Wiping away a tear with his fingers, he admitted, “My male needs threatened to control me, and I’m not proud of it. That’s what passion seems to do. I’m a Montbryce, an honorable Norman noble. I was tired after my journey. I thought you were a vision.”

  As he spoke, he gently eased open the bed robe and fixed his gaze on her breasts, which the diaphanous fabric of the nightgown did little to hide.

  “Two perfect circles on two perfect globes,” he murmured with a faint smile. He lowered his head and twirled his tongue lightly over each hard nipple, sending molten waves to the core of her being.

  Her heart was pounding and sh
e couldn’t swallow. He kissed her softly, then, as the kiss lengthened and deepened in intensity, she parted her lips and welcomed his tantalizing tongue, warmed by the mead. His lips were sticky and he tasted of honey. With a groan, he wrapped his powerful arms around her, accepting the silent invitation, licking the corners of her mouth.

  Sucking on her lower lip, he trailed one hand down her throat and cupped her breast. It filled his hand and he stroked slowly and rhythmically, his fingers straying closer and closer to the expectant nipple. His scorching touch through the silken fabric aroused feelings unknown to her before, and when he finally pinched the pert point between his thumb and forefinger, a spasm shook her. She arched up off the bed, wet heat flooding from a very private place.

  What is happening to me?

  With his other hand, he carefully peeled the nightgown from her trembling body. “I’ve longed to see you naked,” he whispered, “and to lose myself in you. You are as lovely as I imagined.”

  She moaned softly as his big hands cupped both breasts. He lowered his warm lips to them, suckling and licking as he tenderly squeezed the other needy nipple. She arched her mons and felt his manhood heavy against her thigh.

  His kiss then was slow and deep. She sucked his tongue into her mouth. Surrendering to an instinct that overcame the inner voice urging modesty, she opened her legs. With a deep grunt she felt in her toes, he used his hand on the top of her thigh to open her wider, pulling her leg over his. She felt the silken tickle of the hair on his legs, and the hardness of his manhood pressing against her. Still she was afraid to look at his nakedness.

  His long fingers found her most intimate place. The sensations were overwhelming, but she didn’t want him to stop. She couldn’t breathe and had to break away from his kiss. She looked into his eyes, expecting to see censure at her wantonness, but instead saw deep need.

  He smiled at her and whispered, “Don’t forget to breathe, Mabelle. Don’t be afraid.”

  The sound of his seductive voice calmed her. He kissed her again, continuing to stroke harder and faster, the other hand squeezing a nipple. Intense heat coursed through her belly, shooting down her inner thighs. She dug her heels into the bed, wanting the sensations to go on—and on.

  “Come for me, my lovely,” he whispered. “Come for me.”

  She didn’t understand his words, only half heard them, totally rapt in scaling a mountain of exquisite pleasure, and wanted to scream as her body cascaded from the peak and fell into bliss.

  “Your screams excite me,” he said huskily. “I want to see your face again when you reach ecstasy.”

  No man had ever spoken such words to her. She had entered a new world. She wanted to laugh and cry. She wanted all of him.

  Where have these thoughts come from?

  He bent his head to suckle, then ran his fingers lightly across her belly and slid one finger further inside, then another, curling them against the tender flesh, his palm pressed against her mons. She had never known such sensations and rapture came again quickly.

  Ram held her tightly as her body convulsed.

  Is that me screaming?

  She opened her eyes and plumbed his blue depths again. He smiled and whispered, “It’s time. You’re ready now.”

  He came to his knees and spread her legs wider. She finally summoned the courage to look at his male part and gasped, “Mon Dieu!”

  He chuckled and whispered, “I know. I’ll go slowly—if I can.”

  His hand guided the tip of his manhood into her throbbing folds.

  “I’m wet,” she stammered, in whispered apology.

  He groaned. “That’s a good thing. Put your hand on me.”

  He took her hand and curled it around his long length.

  “Silky,” she murmured.

  The memory flashed into her mind of how magnificent he had looked at the lake—a beautiful aroused male, his excitement barely concealed by his braies. Since that moment she had longed for him to join his body to hers. Surely he must see the lust on her face?

  “You’re beautiful, Mabelle,” he groaned. “I’ve ached to make you mine.”

  “Please…Ram…please,” she murmured, awash with desire, “possess me…take me.”

  He entwined his fingers with hers and pressed her hands to the bolster. Bracing himself, he held his breath as he pushed in.

  She cried out, startled by the sharp twinge when he breached her maiden’s gate.

  He stopped and looked into her eyes.

  “Dieu! I’m the first,” he choked. “You’re truly mine.”

  She should have been affronted at the tone of surprise in his voice but was too enthralled with the sensations building inside her. She tore her hands from his and grasped his hips, pulling him towards her, then reached up and brushed his nipples with her thumbs. His eyes glazed over as he gasped at her touch.

  He withdrew almost completely and plunged in again, then thrust deeply, over and over, faster and faster. She had never experienced such a feeling of possession.

  This man is mine.

  Deep within, exquisite pleasure blossomed. She raised her arms above her head, and he entwined their fingers again. The overwhelming sensations Ram had brought to her body earlier were nothing to what surged through her now, an inexorably intoxicating bliss. Ram’s skin sheened with perspiration. She wanted to tear her hands from his grasp and run them across his gleaming shoulders.

  She felt his essence burst from his body and rush into hers. He reared his head back and a strangled gasp emerged from deep in his throat. Euphoria filled her. A shudder went through them both, and she screamed out her amazement with a sound she had never made before. He collapsed onto her, his breathing labored.

  “Forgive me,” he gasped after a minute or two. “Too heavy—can’t move.”

  “You’re not heavy,” she whispered, her fingers lazily caressing his nape. His shoulders twitched. She loved the feel of his weight on her, his warm body covering hers completely, his heart beating in rhythm with her own.

  Rolling away several minutes later, he saw the tracks of tears on her face. “I’m truly sorry. I thought you were not a maiden. You should have told me,” he said softly. “Though you were a virgin, that was the most exhilarating…”

  Mabelle blushed, elated she had pleased him, that he too seemed to have been moved by the experience.

  “…you took all of me. You were tight, my lovely, but you were wet and welcoming. I could feel you throbbing around my shaft, and I wanted to stay inside you as long as I could.”

  How to respond? This man she barely knew, who had preoccupied her thoughts constantly, was saying intimate things that inflamed her. She wanted to arch her body to his, wrap her legs around him, rake her fingers through his hair—but then he would again judge her a wanton.

  He has eyes that can make women do foolish things.

  He went to the basin and poured water from the ewer on to a cloth. “Would you like me to cleanse you, Mabelle?”

  The deep tenderness in his voice brought tears to her eyes, and despite her discomfort at having a man, a warrior, wash her most intimate parts, she nodded. He smiled at her embarrassment over the bloodstained sheets.

  “It wasn’t a trick,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say.

  He kissed her nose. “I could tell.”

  She wanted to offer to cleanse him but was too shy to ask, and before she knew it, he had left the bed to take care of his own needs. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he walked around confidently and without embarrassment. He was so male, so muscled, so big, so dark, so naked, and so comfortable in this masculine room.

  “Do you like what you see, Comtesse?”

  A flush rushed to her face already heated by the stubble of his beard.

  “Oui, milord. I confess to being the wanton you already know me to be. It’s a weakness I didn’t know I possessed. You’ve unleashed something I’ve never experienced before. Despite my mistrust of you, I can’t say no to your passionate emb
races.”

  He sat beside her on the bed and took hold of her hand. “First of all, never call me milord. I’m your husband and my name is Ram. Secondly, I’m conflicted. The irony of our predicament strikes me. You did indeed behave like a wanton, but that aroused me. Your actions were inappropriate, but I wasn’t blameless. At least we have passion, if we don’t have trust. I’m elated no other man has possessed you. I’m also overjoyed to have been the one to bring you to your first experience of ecstasy.”

  She was puzzled. “How did you know that?”

  He traced a finger down her nose and laughed. “A man can sense these things. It was the look of utter surprise on your face. You’re not a wanton, just a warm, passionate woman. We’ll make beautiful children. I’m happy to have a wife who is passionate and lusty in bed. Passion is not a weakness.”

  “But I don’t know how to be lusty.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. Je serai ton maître.”

  His promise of mastery thrilled and dismayed her.

  “Let’s sleep now and perhaps in a while—”

  He turned her, encircled her with his arms and cupped her breasts in his big hands, nuzzling the back of her neck. Sleep quickly claimed them.

  Ram woke before dawn filled with an intense feeling of well-being, and slowly became aware of the naked woman sleeping beside him. His wife. Her back was to him, her breasts and belly pressed to the bed, one long leg straight beneath her, the other bent. One hand rested on the pillow next to her face. Her tangled hair lay like a coverlet over her back and shoulders. He had an urge to put his hands on her lovely round derrière but resisted. He wanted to watch her breathe for a few more minutes. They would have to rise soon to prepare for their journey, and he had already hardened at the sight of her.

  His first glimpse of Mabelle had ignited a fire within him, and yet the intensity of their passionate joining was overwhelming. He was usually a man of few words when he bedded a woman but recalled sharing intimacies with Mabelle he had never uttered before. What he had experienced with her was more than a bedding. She had claimed him, possessed him, just as much as he had possessed her. It elated him he was the first man to penetrate her. He had never made love to a virgin. Why had he been sure she was not a maid? Would she ever forgive his cruel words?