He pulled her closer. “A fool because you’re going to say yes?”
Though he jested with her, she heard the edge of doubt in his voice.
She cupped his beloved face in her hands. “I will be your wife, Alexandre de Montbryce, and that makes me a very wise woman.”
He let out a long slow breath, smiled then kissed her lips, coaxing them apart with his tongue. He tasted of the sweet wine served at luncheon and his warm skin smelled clean, wholesome. She ran her fingers through his silky hair, imbued with a sense of peace she hadn’t felt for many a year.
He nibbled her bottom lip, grinning as she teased him with her tongue. “There is only one problem,” he whispered.
A shiver of apprehension skittered up her spine. “Problem?”
“We cannot marry—”
Fear turned her thighs to lead weights as she struggled to get off his lap. He held firm. “Listen. You’re like an angry cat. Let me finish. We cannot marry until Laurent returns.”
She sagged into him, instantly regretting her misunderstanding. “Of course, both brothers must be here, and your sisters.”
He groaned. “But it might be months before we can get everybody to Montbryce safely.”
Wanting Alexandre and not being able to have him would be intolerable, especially in a castle crammed to the rafters with people and animals. Perhaps, there was a solution.
“In the Scottish Highlands they have an ancient tradition of hand-fasting. The bride and groom pledge to each other before God as man and wife. Originally, it gave the man the opportunity to determine if the woman was suitable or not. If, after a year, he didn’t think so, he was allowed to end the contract. We could hand-fast until we can marry.”
He smiled, sending tiny winged creatures fluttering in her womb. “So, if we hand-fast, you’re my wife and I can make you mine?”
She nodded, afraid if she spoke she might sob with happiness.
He tapped his chin. “Seems to me my mother told me she and my father did much the same thing shortly after they first met.”
He set her on her feet as he stood abruptly and strode towards the door, her hand firmly gripped in his.
“Where are we going?”
“To the chapel.”
TWO FLICKERING CANDLES on the altar cast their meager light. Alex and Elayne remained motionless in silence for several minutes, their heads bowed, kneeling on the plush red cushions of the prie-dieus.
“I feel I’m in the throes of a mystical experience,” he whispered. “I’m aware of the gulf between us, but none of that matters at this moment.”
Though his parents had pledged to each other in a chapel far away from the one in which he now knelt, Alex was filled with a satisfying sense of the past repeating itself. He squeezed Elayne’s hand. “Look at me.”
A bolt of desire rocked him as she turned, her green eyes full of love and longing. A faint trace of incense tickled his nostrils. He smiled. “I am yours forever, Elayne. I’ve never known such feelings as I feel for you. I pledge myself to you.”
“Forever, Alexandre, I’ll be yours forever. I give you my pledge,” she echoed, her voice shaking.
They stared at each other for long minutes. He squeezed her hand again. “It’s a man’s right to kiss his bride,” he murmured, suddenly feeling shy and uncertain.
He leaned to kiss her on the lips and her mouth parted. She raised her hand to touch his face and he placed his hand over hers. It was a moment of deep contentment unlike any he had known before as their tongues mated.
They broke apart and he helped her rise from the prie-dieu. “Come to my chamber,” he whispered hoarsely, pressing her hand to his arousal. “I have a wedding gift for you.”
He lowered his head to swipe his tongue over one of the nipples pushing against the fabric of her bliaut, savoring the sharp intake of breath as she pressed his head to her breast.
But his hopes were dashed when she pulled away, shaking her head. “I want nothing more than to hasten to your chamber, but my children will worry if I don’t escort them to the evening meal.”
He breathed again when she said, “I will come tonight, when they are asleep.”
Passion Shared
THE SERVANT WHO’D LIT the dozen extra beeswax candles left Alex’s chamber with an expression on his face that indicated he thought his master had lost his wits.
Alex had never paid much attention to the furnishings of his bedchamber, but now he cast a careful eye over everything. He’d ordered the candles to make the room brighter. A hearty fire roared in the grate. After an intensive search, a lone bottle of mead had been unearthed in some dim cellar and now sat on a small table beside two goblets.
This was his wedding night, but his bride was being denied the traditional celebrations. It was up to him to make sure she didn’t feel the lack.
He debated whether to remove his clothing, but Elayne would arrive fully dressed. He’d have the opportunity to undress her—slowly—and the notion of her removing his clothing was more than appealing.
The garments would remain on his person for the time being, though his leggings were becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the pleasurable erection that anticipation had brought on. He’d already discarded his doublet in the Great Hall during the evening meal.
He chuckled, recalling the confusion on Romain’s face at the unusual behavior, but it had become stiflingly hot waiting for the interminable meal to be over while watching his wife eat with servants.
He and Elayne had agreed not to divulge their secret union until arrangements could be made for a formal wedding.
He sat down to await his bride in his favorite chair by the fire, his ankle resting atop his knee in an effort to stop his leg shaking. In his youth he’d imagined that, if he married, his wife would be a virgin. He regretted he wouldn’t be Elayne’s first lover and it filled him with anger that her husband had been a brute. But he was elated to be the one who’d show her the pleasures to be found in the marriage bed with a husband who cherished his wife. He sensed great passion in Elayne—a passion he longed to release and satisfy.
She didn’t wait for him to answer after tapping lightly at the door. To his dismay, she’d covered her hair with the playd. But she came to him quickly, brushing a shy kiss on his lips. “I thought you would enjoy removing it,” she whispered.
The caress of her lips sent more blood rushing to his groin. Her words were a balm to his soul. He reached up and gently slid the wool from her head, revealing the flaming beauty of her thick hair. He pressed his hands to her shoulders as he gathered up the fabric and lifted it from her body. He kissed it reverently before placing it on the bed.
She fixed her gaze on his face as he ran his fingers through her tresses. “I love your hair. I’ve dreamt of touching it like this. You must clip a lock or two and I’ll carry it with me, next to my heart, when we’re apart.”
She reached up to touch the hair at his temple. “Good idea. I will take this little curl as my memento.”
He put his arms around her waist then cupped her derrière, gathering her to his arousal. “My need for you is great, Elayne.”
Her hips responded. “I never knew what it was to want a man until I met you, Alexandre,” she breathed.
He put his forefinger on her lips. “You are my wife. Please call me Alex.”
“Alex,” she whispered. “Alex.”
His name on her lips, whispered with sultry longing, exhilarated him.
He broke them apart and led her to the table with the mead. She eyed him curiously as he poured a little in each goblet, handing one to her. “We have a tradition that a man and his new bride drink mead on their wedding night. We are supposed to do so after getting between the sheets, but I fear I won’t be able to stop to drink mead once I have you in bed.”
Elayne laughed. “We have the same tradition in Scotland,” she said, taking a sip. “Mead is well known there. This tastes very good.”
The sparkle of mischief in her eyes d
rew him. He traced his tongue lightly over her wet lips, savoring the honeyed wine. “You taste very good,” he crooned. “I want to lick all of you.”
He put down his goblet and bent to raise the hem of her bliaut, gathering it up to ease the garment over her head and outstretched arms.
She stood before him in her linen chemise, blushing like a maiden, arms folded across her breasts. “I am no longer a young woman, Alex. I’ve had children.”
He took hold of her hands, easing her arms apart to reveal nipples pushing at the thin fabric, pouting to be suckled. “You are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever met. Don’t hide your body from me. I want to see all of it. Take off your chemise.”
ALEX’S WORDS heated her body. Dugald had never uttered words of praise, only grunted with ill-disguised lust and a brief jerk of his head when he wanted her naked. His clumsy filling of her body always left her feeling degraded, empty, cold, and often bruised.
Even during her difficult pregnancy, he’d treated her like a chattel.
Alex would be different. His touch promised love, warmth, a shared passion.
She lifted the chemise from her body, resisting the temptation to cover her naked breasts. His smile and the flare of his nostrils as he inhaled deeply told her he liked what he saw. He cupped one breast with his hand, reaching for the goblet with the other. He took a sip of mead, then cupped her other breast.
She gasped when he swiped his tongue over one nipple, then suckled, hard. Indescribably delicious sensations travelled rapidly through her body from her nipple into the back of her thighs and thence to her most intimate place where a pulse throbbed. “Alex,” she murmured.
He pressed her breasts together, then looked up at her and smiled. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”
She gripped his scalp, desire rippling through her body as he repeated his tender worship of the other nipple.
When she thought she might go mad with the pleasure of it, he removed his mouth, then rolled both nipples at the same time between his thumb and forefinger. “Mmm, mead never tasted so good,” he rasped.
A need was building inside, a need she couldn’t name. “Alex,” she growled.
“Soon, my love, soon,” he reassured her as he tore off his shirt, though she wasn’t sure what he meant.
Seeing his bare chest for the first time stole away her breath. He was everything a woman could desire. Well-muscled but lean, his neck strong, but not thick, a torso that wouldn’t flinch if you struck it with a soule stick a thousand times. And beautiful, copper brown nipples she wanted to lick.
He had dark curly hair on his chest, which she supposed many men did, but its softness took her by surprise when she touched it. “Maybe this is where I’ll claim my curl,” she whispered.
She murmured a little oh of surprise when he dropped to his knees, nuzzling his nose into her mons, his hands on her hips. “You have curls in other places too. You smell wonderful.”
As quickly as he’d knelt, he straightened, gathering her into his strong arms. “Time for bed, wife.”
He raked his hungry eyes over her body after laying her on the bed. She’d never felt so beautiful, so loved. She thought the aching hunger couldn’t get any more insistent, but then he parted her nether lips with his thumbs and suckled. She arched her back, digging her heels into the mattress.
She cried out his name as the relentless need built and built. Something was coming. She didn’t know what until he slid a finger inside her. A wave of euphoria spread into her womb, stealing the breath from her lungs. It cascaded through her body like a thousand stars strewn across the heavens by a divine hand.
Alex gently moved his finger in and out of her throbbing sheath, prolonging the ecstasy. She felt her inner muscles clenching on him.
But something was lacking. Her body craved more. “I need you inside me,” she murmured breathlessly.
ALEX FEARED HIS HEART MIGHT BURST out of his chest as Elayne convulsed with the pleasure of what he suspected was the first release she’d ever experienced. The exquisite taste of her had almost been enough to make him abandon his determination to bring her to ecstasy and simply plunge his aching shaft inside her. But now he was glad. He wanted to beat his chest with his fists.
However, there were more pressing needs, rendered more insistent when Elayne fluttered lazy eyelashes at him and growled, “I want to see you.”
He’d never shucked his boots and leggings so fast in his life. Breathing heavily, he knelt between her open legs, his engorged shaft bucking at the sight of her intimate place, coated with juices, ready for him.
Her eyes widened and she sat up, reaching for him. “You are magnificent,” she rasped. “Truly Alexandre the Great.”
His arrogant cock took over, now too big for its breeches in more ways than one. Seemingly finding her opening on its own, it plunged into the sweet, wet heat of her passage. This was right. It was good. He had come home.
She locked her legs around his, tucking her feet under his calves. “I have you now,” she declared as he thrust deeper and deeper.
She was tighter than he’d expected, but if he let his thoughts wander in that direction, he’d come too quickly. He wanted the incredible sensations to go on and on.
The warmth of her sensuous smile caught the attention of his busy couilles, and the love in her eyes confirmed what he already knew. He was more whole than he’d ever been.
His essence rushed from his body into hers as intense pleasure raced up his spine and exploded into his brain.
He might have called out something. Or perhaps she had? He wasn’t sure, but he savored the certainty she’d released again—with him. He collapsed on top of her, unable to summon the strength to support his sated body any longer.
She twirled her fingers in his hair. As sanity returned he became aware she was breathing heavily, and he was drooling into her neck. He raised his head, making an attempt to move off her. “I’m too heavy.”
She held him fast. “I love the feel of your weight on me.”
Slowly, his contented cock slipped from her sheath. He rolled onto his side, pulling the linens over their sweat sheened bodies. He drew her against him so they were nose to nose, his hand on her derrière. “I’ll never let you go, Elayne. We fit together perfectly.”
Her blush charmed him, but what she said next resurrected his earlier urge to beat his chest.
“What you did, Alex, the wonderful pleasure you gave me…I never…”
He pressed his forefinger to her lips. “You are a passionate woman, Elayne. All you needed was a man who loves you to make your body sing.”
With a contented sigh, she snuggled into him, humming a lullaby.
They drifted off to sleep. He wondered if she was hoping, as he was, that they’d made a child this night.
Travesty
TWO DAYS LATER, as the first light of dawn crept into the sky, Alex quickly climbed the ladder to the battlements, exchanging greetings with his soldiers. Each bowed in deference.
“Any change?” he asked Brodeur as he came to stand beside his Capitaine, looking out at the tents and pavilions of Geoffrey of Anjou’s besieging forces camped in the distance on the edge of the apple orchards.
“None. No movement. Only smoke from their cooking fires wending its slow way to heaven. They just sit there, as they have for a fortnight.”
“He’s trying to set us on edge,” Alex replied, but didn’t add that Geoffrey’s plan might be working.
The daily gossip among the servants revolved increasingly around when Anjou would attack. Bets were laid. Arguments erupted. Tension and uncertainty filled the air, adding to Alex’s turmoil.
He was a newly married man who longed to share the news of his happiness with his brothers. He wanted more than a few stolen hours in the dead of night. Waking up each morning without Elayne intruded on his contentment.
It rankled that he wasn’t free to come and go around his own lands. Even the old orchards on which Montbryce depen
ded for its famous apple brandy were out of reach. The crop would be lost if serfs didn’t harvest the ripening apples soon. Not only would there be no brandy distilled, the fruit was an important source of food they might need.
He longed to stroll through the familiar trees with Elayne and her children. He’d reach up and pluck a rosy apple and give it to her—a token of his heart.
They could wander down to the lake where his grandparents had first met. He’d wager she’d enjoy the story of his grandmother picking bluebells, though the tale of his grandfather coming upon his future wife lying almost naked in the grass would have to wait until they were out of earshot of Henry and Claricia. His body heated as he imagined her reaction.
He had a vague recollection of his grandmother, Mabelle, but it was a source of regret he’d never known the great Ram de Montbryce.
“Autumn’s chill is already in the air,” Brodeur declared, jolting him out of his reverie. “We must be careful with the wood supply.”
Alex nodded. “Bonhomme has it in hand. People are grumbling about some of the rationing, but they understand why it’s necessary.”
Brodeur gripped the hilt of his sword. “I hope that holds true when winter wraps its cold hands around their bodies, and freezes the fingers and toes of their children. I hate this waiting. I’d rather be fighting.”
They’d discussed launching an attack on Anjou’s men, but uncertainty as to the enemy’s numbers had led to a decision to wait. More of his forces might be camped out of sight. Geoffrey could come and go at will. It was unlikely he was sitting in one of those distant tents, warding off the chill.
Romain bounded up the ladder. “Bonjour, mon frère. Brodeur.”
Alex thanked le bon Dieu every day of the standoff for his brother’s ability to maintain his good humor. He regretted hiding his marriage from the closest member of his family, and suspected the perceptive Romain knew very well what was going on. He was seemingly everywhere that grumbling, uncertainty, and fear surfaced, spreading his laughter and joviality, calming frayed nerves.
Jeopardy (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 10) Page 11
