by Lynn Kurland
Kendrick stood on the top step of the hall and watched as the procession drove off. He rolled his eyes as Nazir threw Genevieve one last pleading look from the back window.
“However many children we have, we may as well add one more to the number,” he grumbled.
“Nazir is hopelessly fond of you.”
“Nay, he’s fond of you. I daresay he thinks to have you wrapped about his little finger. If he wants something, he heads straight for the soft touch in the family.”
“Soft touch? How un-medieval of you, my lord.”
“You want medieval?” he asked politely. “Why didn’t you say so?”
Without warning, he dumped her over his shoulder and strode back into the house, pausing only long enough to lock and bolt the doors to the great hall.
“Kendrick, I’ll throw up on you.”
He hastily rearranged her in his arms. “You’ve a weak stomach, my love.”
“I’m starving. Have we eaten today?”
He smiled as he started toward the stairs. “I’m rubbing off on you. Let’s change and then perhaps we’ll come back down and have a second dinner. I could eat one without too much trouble.” Good, Seakirk. Distract her with food. The less she thought about what was to come, the better off she’d be.
Once they reached their bedroom, Genevieve made a bee-line for the bathroom. Kendrick stripped off his medieval garb, clothing that had been cleaned and mended just for the wedding, and donned his favorite pair of sweat bottoms. Exceedingly comfortable garments. He didn’t care for the way they left his feet exposed, but socks took care of that easily enough.
He waited for Genevieve to reappear. Then he waited some more. No water was running in the bathroom. What was she doing? He paced for another quarter hour until he could bear it no longer. He strode over to the door and knocked.
“Gen?”
“Coming,” she said weakly.
The water turned on immediately and he heard soft splashing noises.
“Gen, can I come in?”
“Sure,” she said. Her voice cracked on the word.
Kendrick opened the door swiftly, then caught sight of her white face. Oh, why had he never tried to seduce an unwilling virgin before now? It would have made the task ahead so much easier.
He left the door open as he approached. No sense in making her feel as if she had no escape. He stopped a foot in front of her and held out his hand.
“Come to me, wife,” he said soothingly. “You look chilled.”
She put her hand into his with all the enthusiasm of a woman digging into the garbage disposal for a lost earring. Kendrick knew that exact look because he’d seen her dig for one in the kitchen the week before. He tried not to let that wound his pride.
He drew her carefully into his arms and clenched his jaw when her icy fingers came into contact with his bare back. By the saints, the woman’s fingers rivaled ice cubes!
“Genevieve,” he whispered, pained, “I won’t hurt you.”
She nodded, her head jerking.
“Sweetheart, please relax.” He pulled back and tipped her face up, giving her his most winsome smile. It was a smile that showed off his dimple to its greatest advantage. He knew that, because he’d spent a goodly amount of time practicing while looking in a polished silver platter during his youth.
It had absolutely no effect on his wife.
He sighed, then swept her up into his arms. When words failed, action was the only recourse. He carried her to the bed, laid her down, then stretched out beside her. She sat up, her feet already moving down toward the floor.
“Genevieve—”
“I forgot something.”
“You forgot nothing. Come you here.” He tugged her back down. “Don’t move,” he ordered as he leaned down and pulled up the blanket. He covered them both, then drew her into his arms. “Genevieve, by the saints, I’ve no plans to ravish you. Let me warm you, then we’ll turn our minds to other things.”
Her trembles only increased. “What other things?”
Kendrick sighed in exasperation. “Food, for pity’s sake!”
She started to cry.
He started to swear.
“Genevieve, by all the saints above, get hold of yourself!”
“I can’t do this,” she wept. “Kendrick, I just can’t do this yet.”
“We don’t have to—”
“I’m so s-sorry,” she hiccuped. “I thought I c-could. R-really.”
Kendrick drew her closer, but that only made her trembles increase. By St. George’s bones, that wounded him! He was the one person she should have felt the safest with, yet his embrace terrified her.
He released her slowly and didn’t stop her when she turned away. Her tears wrenched at his heart, even more so because he knew he was the cause of them.
He listened to her weep far into the evening, then remained motionless behind her as she finally drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
Patience? He smiled grimly. He hadn’t possessed a smidgen of it. He’d been too eager to wed her to give her time to adjust truly to the changes in their lives. Aye, and he’d been eager to bed her. In fact, he was still eager. His body clamored for his attention, reminding him uncomfortably of just how pleasant making love could be. And to love Genevieve? Ah, that thought put him in agony. To feel her naked body pressed against his, her slender fingers tangled in his hair. To hear her soft moans of pleasure and her words of love whispered in his ear. Imagining it, when she lay only inches from him, was sheer torture!
But it was torture entirely of his own making. He should have given her time to adjust. He’d known just how little experience she’d had with men. Aye, she’d accepted him willingly enough before, but he’d been only slightly more substantial than the knight of her dreams. And now? Now, he was flesh and blood, bone and sinew, possessing desires that she didn’t understand and couldn’t help but fear. And instead of thinking with his head, he’d thought with another part of his anatomy and hurried her along through a wedding she’d obviously not enjoyed and into a wedding night she’d been terrified of. And now she lay exhausted from weeping.
Pitiful, Seakirk.
He waited until dawn, then rose and carefully gathered his clothes. With any luck, Genevieve would sleep far into the morning and not miss him until he was already gone.
If it was time she needed, then it was time she would have.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Kendrick?”
Genevieve put her head inside his study door. Empty. She entered the room and closed the door behind her. No reason to panic yet—just because she’d woken to find herself alone with no sign whatsoever of her husband. Maybe he was out riding. He hadn’t had time to do so since his return to life, and she knew he was itching to be back up in the saddle.
She walked into his private den and sat down at his desk. She leaned back and looked up at the portrait of his family. How happy they looked. And how content Lady Anne looked, in spite of the fact that Lord Robin looked every bit as lusty as his son. Genevieve felt herself blush uncomfortably. How had Anne managed to, well, do it?
Genevieve groaned and put her head down on Kendrick’s desk. What a disaster. Last night wasn’t how it was supposed to have happened. She had planned to be warm and loving, stoically braving any pain to give Kendrick pleasure. Somehow, things had gone horribly wrong.
It had started the moment reality had set in. She’d let herself be caught up in the fact that Kendrick was now a corporeal man and would expect things she didn’t think she could give. Even if she’d wanted to talk to him about it, which she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have had the chance. She knew Kendrick had lots on his mind—goodness knows he had his hands full just controlling Royce and Nazir. That couldn’t have been helped. She wasn’t particularly proud of her reaction once he’d woken her from her nightmare, but what did he expect? For her to jump in bed with him right away?
The more she’d thought about making love with him, the more nervous she�
��d become. Her wedding had been a joke. Her lips had been so tight with strain, she’d barely managed a coherent “I do.” And then last night! She had the feeling that her falling to pieces wasn’t exactly how Kendrick had envisioned his wedding night proceeding. It hadn’t been her ideal dream either. If only they’d had more time, just a few days to start over and get to know each other as two normal people did, with stolen touches and kisses building to intimacy, instead of merely a few words spoken over their heads and then instant union…
Unfortunately, there hadn’t been the luxury of time. She was just going to have to get hold of herself and stop acting like a child. She was a married woman, for heaven’s sake. She loved Kendrick. Making love with him would be wonderful.
And there was another, more startling revelation she had come to, a realization that had begun when she’d thought Kendrick had been turned back into a ghost.
Her dream hadn’t been taken away. It had been fulfilled. Kendrick, the knight of her dreams, had been made flesh. And for the first time since the change, she couldn’t have been happier about it.
She wanted him to know about it. Immediately. She rose from the desk, waved to his family and left the study. Maybe he was downstairs in the kitchen fixing himself a snack. If there was one thing the man could do, it was eat.
The kitchen was empty. So was the great hall. Genevieve felt her palms grow damp. It wasn’t possible that something had happened to him. Oh, not now, not after she’d come to her senses, not after she’d realized truly how deeply she loved him.
She checked the other bedrooms. Nothing. She even checked the door downstairs she still couldn’t open. It was a door off the great hall leading to a room she had seen only once, a smaller room, almost like a family room. It had been locked since before Christmas and Genevieve had heard all sorts of pounding going on inside, usually at night. Trying to get Kendrick to divulge all the details had been even harder than trying to get Worthington to do the same. She stood at the door and pounded, calling Kendrick’s name.
No answer.
All right, this wasn’t funny anymore. She ran to the front door, opened it, and sprinted down the steps. It was bitterly cold outside but it didn’t faze her. She ran to the stables. Nothing but horses. Not even the groom was there to answer her questions. She sat down on a bale of hay and thought about crying. She would have, too, if she hadn’t been so upset. It was impossible! She had had Kendrick long enough to marry him, push him away for a night, and lose him?
She couldn’t believe it. There had to be another explanation. Maybe he’d gone to the village for something. He had probably left her a note and she had been too distraught to find it.
The phone was ringing when she entered the hall. She ran to the kitchen and reached for the portable on the counter. The unit was there but the phone was gone. She followed the sound of the ringing through the kitchen and into the pantry. The shelves revealed nothing but food.
Aha! She shoved her hand into a pile of folded towels and came up with the handset.
“Hello?” she said breathlessly.
“Uh, Lady Seakirk, this is Johnny. At the outer gates?”
Genevieve’s chest tightened. Great. More thugs at the doors.
“Yes? What is it?”
“My lady, I doubt you’ll believe this…”
Wonderful. Maybe they were coming in by the truckload this time. It was tempting to hoist a white flag.
“But there’s a man here at the gates on a horse.”
A horse?
“A horse?” she echoed herself.
“Aye, milady. And dressed all in armor the man is.”
Genevieve put her hand over her chest; her heart thumped against it furiously. “Well, why don’t you ask him who he is?”
Johnny covered the phone with his hand and took her suggestion, except he bellowed his question. There was silence, then his voice back on the line.
“My lady, he says he’s come awooin’ and ‘tis none of my bloody business who he is.”
Genevieve felt a giddy relief flood through her veins.
“My lady, I hate to spoil the surprise, but I’m sure ‘tis His Lordship. There’s not another in the area with quite the same frown. And he threatened to send me packing if I didn’t open up to him right quick.”
“Then by all means,” she said, starting to feel light-headed, “let him in.”
She put the phone down slowly, not needing to hear any explanation for what Kendrick was doing. Damn him, he’d listened to her dreams that one day in his den, the first time she’d touched his hand. A blush of mortification warred fiercely with a blush of pleasure. So he was coming to see her as he would have in his time.
A dress. She needed a dress. She fled from the kitchen, across the great hall, up the stairs and down the corridor to her bedroom. Adelaide had given her a medieval costume as a wedding gift. Genevieve knew she’d have a heck of a time getting the dress on, but she’d do it. With any luck, Kendrick would ride slowly and she’d be ready for him.
It was a simple, straight sheath with a generous amount of material. She cinched the leather belt around her waist and let it fall down over her hips as she’d seen it worn in pictures. No time for something to cover her hair with. Kendrick would just pull it off anyway.
Shoes. Damn, where were her shoes? She searched frantically for the little slippers Adelaide had given her. Not to be found. She shoved her hand in the armoire and pulled out the first thing her hands encountered.
Her pink bunny slippers.
Well, they’d never show. She shoved her feet into them and slipped and slid as she ran for the great hall. Please let him ride slowly. She wanted to be at the top of the steps when he rode into the courtyard.
She came to a skidding halt a hand’s breadth from the front door. After panting for a moment or two, she pulled open the door and looked out. The portcullis for the inner bailey was just being raised and a lone horseman rode underneath it. Genevieve closed the door behind her and composed herself on the top step.
It was Kendrick. He wore his mail coif pushed back off his head, revealing his long, dark hair. She easily recognized the gray cloth of his tabard and the lion embroidered in black. She never would have mistaken that lion for another, especially with the color of its eye. The sunlight glanced off his sword, setting fire to the emerald in the hilt. Genevieve swallowed, wishing her mouth weren’t so dry. How in the world could any woman have resisted him? She felt terrible about having done it the night before. She had probably missed out on the night of her life.
Kendrick came to a halt near the bottom step, sat back and stared at her. For a split second, she wondered if he’d lost his memory again. Then the slightest of smiles crossed his lips. He lifted his hand and crooked his finger at her.
She walked down the stairs on shaking legs, stopping next to his horse. He looked down at her.
“I understand Her Ladyship has an abundance of dragons to be slain. I’ve come to do the deed.”
She smiled. “There are several, brave knight, and I think it will take quite a few days to do it. I don’t suppose you’d want to stick around, would you?”
“Aye, I would.”
He wasn’t moving. Well, perhaps he needed prodding.
“Should we seal the bargain with a handshake?”
“Something less personal, to be sure.”
Sweet Kendrick. “A kiss then?”
He scowled down at her. “Aye, that will do. Come up here, wench. ‘Twould take too much energy to dismount and ravish you.”
He held down his hand. She took it, then lifted her skirts and put her foot on his. Kendrick hauled her up and into his arms. Genevieve put her arms around his neck, then pressed her face in his hair.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “About last night.”
He pulled back to look at her. “For as well as we know each other, it hasn’t prepared us to be lovers, has it?”
She shook her head, slowly.
“Then we’l
l see to that, too.” He pressed his lips gently against her forehead. “Let me tend my stallion, then I’ll join you inside.”
“I’ll come with you,” she volunteered.
A wry smile touched his lips. “Then you missed me this morning?”
“Very much.”
He turned the horse around with his knees, then clucked his tongue. Genevieve wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.
“We aren’t galloping, my love.”
“No, but we’re a long way off the ground.”
“And here I thought you just didn’t want me escaping.”
“Kendrick, has anyone ever told you that you do a lot of fishing?”
“Fishing?”
“For compliments.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. All the time. Am I so stingy with them?” She looked up into his pale green eyes and groaned. “No, don’t start with the pouting again. I compliment you more than is good for you. You’re not suffering any.”
“A knight can never have too many compliments from his lady,” he said solemnly.
He swung down from his horse once they reached the stables, held up his arms for her, then stopped. He lifted the hem of her dress and caught an eyeful of her slippers. He grinned up at her.
“My wife, the fashion plate.”
His wife. Maybe it was just beginning to sink in, or maybe it was that he had dressed up in his uncomfortable mail to make her feel like a damsel in distress, or maybe it was his dimple peeking out at her so mischievously. Whatever the reason, his term sounded heavenly and she couldn’t stop smiling.
“I was in a hurry.”
