Winter Roses

by Anita Mills

  His hands moved over her shoulders, her back, her hips, exploring, pressing, molding her to him, urging her to respond to him. His fingers-gathered the stiff skirt of her wedding gown, drawing it upward, baring her legs as he’d done before. She twisted her head, tearing her mouth from his.

  “Nay,” she protested, desperate for time, “I’d not ruin my gown.”

  His breath rushed past her ear, sending new shivers coursing down her neck and spine. “I’d hae ye take it off,” he whispered hotly, when his hands found the bare flesh beneath.

  “Aye,” she croaked, closing her eyes as his palm cupped her hip, while his other hand slid between their bodies to touch her. She held her breath, afraid to move, until he found the scant wetness there. A sob rose in her throat. There was no more time. The sand was gone from the glass.

  Abruptly he released her, and her gown fell again about her legs. “I’d nae wait, Arabella.”

  Her eyes flew open as he reached under her arms for her loosened laces. “Nay, I’d do it,” she managed, backing away. Before he could touch her again she’d turned and lifted the hem of the heavy gown, pulling it quickly over her head. Aware that he watched her, she folded it and carried it to the chest beyond the bed. There, in the red and black shadows, she moved the undershift. “Bed me then, and be done,” she said, whirling around to face him again. “I’d not deny you.” Her gaze dropped from the naked desire in his eyes. He’d removed his chausses. “Sweet Mary,” she breathed.

  Her eyes were dilated, much like those of a filly about to be ridden the first time. For all his misgivings, he’d not expected her to be like this. “You have borne a babe,” was all he could think of to say as he approached her. “I’d nae hurt you.”

  This time, there were no clothes between them when he embraced her. Her whole body trembled. “Come to bed ere you freeze,” he murmured against her ear. His hands twined in her hair, holding her face between them, as his mouth possessed hers more gently than before. When he raised his head, his eyes were dark with passion. “I’d lie with you now, Arabella of Byrum,” he whispered.

  When she did not answer he reached for her hand, pulling her with him toward the curtained bed. She scrambled between the sheets as he eased down next to her. For a long moment he stared into her shadowed face, thinking she was the most beautiful creature of his memory.

  “I’ve nae had any but whores, but I’d try to please you.”

  “And you do not hurt me, ’tis enough,” she croaked.

  “It has been too long for me. But if I hurt you, you have but to tell me, and I will stop,” he promised, bending his head to hers.

  She could only make it worse by delaying and risking his anger. She forced herself to touch his face, to feel the reassuring warmth of his breath. He was, she told herself, no Elias, but rather a younger, more virile man who would please her if she’d let him. “And for me also,” she answered finally, her voice scarce above a whisper. “It has been long for me also.”

  “Hold me,” he murmured against her lips.

  This time, when he kissed her, her hands clasped his bare back, holding him, and she could not help marveling at the strength of him. Telling herself that it would soon be over, she kissed him also.

  Her touch sent fire coursing through his veins, heating his body beneath her hands. Having thought of little else for hours, he was ready. His hand moved over her hip inward to slip between her thighs, touching the softness there. Her body tensed, and she gasped at the suddenness of what he did. Telling himself that she was wet enough, that she was ready, he waited no longer. He rolled her onto her back, stifled her startled protest with his mouth, and sought her body with his own.

  She cried out as he held her hips and thrust within, then lay trembling beneath him. He tried to gentle her as he would a horse, speaking softly, “ ’Tis all right, Arabella …. ’tis all right,” holding himself still until she slackened to accommodate him. Then he began to move, tentatively at first, trying not to hurt her. When she did not cry again he thrust harder and deeper, moving rhythmically until he lost all rational thought of her. He was drowning in the exquisite pleasure her body gave him.

  She’d been unprepared for the feel of him within her, but as he moved her body tried to respond. Her hands clenched and unclenched, holding him, raking his back. Moving and twisting beneath him, she strained to match him, until she felt the hunger also. But she was too late: As the first primordial cries welled within her, she felt the flood of his seed, and he collapsed over her. He lay spent, while her body screamed silently for what it had been denied. It was over.

  Finally, thinking he crushed her, he rolled away. “I did not mean to pain you,” he said after a time.

  “You did not.”

  Her voice was flat and toneless, shaming him. He’d been but a clumsy dolt again, and he knew it. She was no whore who had to pretend for money that he had pleased her when he had not. He raised himself slightly, easing her tangled hair from beneath his shoulder, then turned to face her. His hand stroked the soft hair, smoothing it over her skin. “ ’Twill be better on the morrow,” he promised. “You were overtired, and I did not want to use you roughly.” She lay there, scarce breathing, saying nothing. “Nay,” he admitted, sighing heavily, “mayhap I know not how to please you. I am more used to swinging my battle axe than lying with a woman.”

  “ ’Tis all right,” she managed, trying to hide her disappointment, telling herself it was enough that he’d not hurt her. For all his size, he’d not hurt her.

  Her hair was like silk beneath his palm. He continued smoothing it, savoring the feel of it, stroking it where it fell over her breast. Her breath caught, and he could hear her swallow as the nipple hardened beneath his hand. A shiver he could feel rippled through her. Mistaking the reason, he started to draw away.

  “I’d cover you ere you chill.”

  “I pray you will not.” Even though he could scarce see her in the faint light, she closed her eyes to hide from him ere she dared to speak. “Nay,” she said, swallowing again.

  “I wanted more between us,” he murmured lamely.

  “ ’Twas good.”

  He knew she lied, for when ’twas good with Berta the whore had panted and cried, begging for more, and he could tell the difference. Mayhap he’d expected overmuch from this first coupling, mayhap ’twas different for a gentlewoman. Then he thought of Giles and Elizabeth, and the sounds of passion he’d heard between them. Nay, there was no higher-born woman than Elizabeth of Rivaux. If there was any fault in his marriage bed, ’twas his. And he’d not sleep if she lay beside him like this.

  He stared into the shadowed darkness of the curtained bed, trying to study Arabella’s face. Very gently, he pushed her hair back from brow, and leaned over her.

  “And ye do not mind it, I’d not wait until the morrow to mend the matter,” he said softly. “I’d try to do better by ye, I swear.”

  His breath caressed her skin, sending a rush of unexpected desire through her. His hand sought her breast, cupping it, and his thumb rubbed her taut nipple. And this time, it was as though her whole body quickened beneath his touch.

  “I do not mind it.” As she said the words, she closed her eyes to hide her embarrassment.

  Marveling that she could still want him, he eased closer and bent his head to hers, murmuring, “Aye, there is no need to wait for the morrow.”

  For answer her arms embraced him, pulling him down to her. This time, he was in no hurry. He tasted and teased her lips, her earlobes, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders, and finally each breast, exploring slowly, tasting, enjoying fully her response to him until she thought she could stand it no longer. Forgetting her earlier fear of him, she twisted beneath him, tormenting him wantonly, demanding more as his desire rose again. And to him, knowing she wanted him was far headier, far more intoxicating than the spiced wine he tasted on her lips.

  This time, when he entered her, she gave herself wholeheartedly,
moving with abandon, moaning as though she could not wait for him. This time, her response told him he did not need to fear hurting her. He drove harder and harder, urged on by the heat of her body, until all thought deserted him, until her moans became cries. Her hands raked his back, her nails dug into his skin, and still she would have more of him. There was no other time, no other place for either of them until the mindless rhythm carried them home.

  This time, she knew peace as she floated back to reality, her arms and legs still wrapped tightly around him. She held him, listening contentedly to his ragged breathing against her ear. He lay over her, making no move to leave her.

  “God’s bones, Arabella, but I’ve had an easier ride breaking a horse,” he panted, when at last he’d found his voice.

  Mortified, she turned her head away. “Sweet Mary, but what you must think me,” she choked. “ ’Twas but—”

  “Nay.” His finger stilled her lips. “I’d think you pleased me well.” Knowing he was too heavy for her he finally rolled away, then propped himself on an elbow to face her. Brushing her damp face with the back of his hand, he added softly, “I’ve never had the like.”

  She swallowed as the blood rushed to her face. “ ’Twas never …. Elias …”

  “Nay, I’d not think of any other. ’Tis us—William and Arabella—now,” he murmured, silencing her again.

  But later, as he listened to the even rhythm of her breathing, he lay awake. And for all that he would not think of that, he could not help wondering if she’d lain so for Aidan of Ayrie. It did not matter, he told himself resolutely, for only he had the right to have her from this night forward. Wrapping his arms around her, he forced Duncan’s son from his mind by reliving the feel of her beneath him.

  Chapter Eleven

  William wanted to linger abed, savoring the warmth of the woman beside him, but already the hunting horn sounded in the courtyard below. She slept soundly still, and he’d not waken her, not after the night she’d given him. He rolled over and lifted the curtain slightly, letting in the grey morning light.

  Jesu, but she was lovely. Her tangled hair was like a mass of pale, spun gold, the spiral pattern of her braids still visible where the strands fell across his pillow. His fingers stroked it lightly, feeling again the softness of it. And the faint fragrance of rosewater seemed to rise from beneath his hand. From this day forward, whenever he saw or smelled a rose, he’d think of her.

  For all that she’d lain beneath him the night before, she gave the appearance in sleep of utter innocence, and the thought crossed his mind that she looked as the priests described angels. He eased the covers from her bare shoulder to look on her again, and his mouth went dry with remembered desire. Unlike the whores he’d known, she was as fair of form as of face. But more than that, she was now his and his alone.

  The horn sounded again, and he could hear the shouts of men and the baying of Nigel’s prized alaunts. Reluctantly, he drew the covers up again, and rolled to sit on the side of the bed. The chill, damp air hit his legs, making him regret that he’d told Nigel he’d go. A man belonged abed after the first night of his marriage, not out chasing wild boars over the hills. The only rutting boar he’d meet, and he had the choice, was himself.

  Heaving himself up, he searched for his chausses and garters, then pulled the leggings on and sat again to wrap the leather bands, smoothing the knitted wool over his calves. He rose to rummage within the boxes that Arabella’s woman had already packed for his warmest tunic, for he suspected ’twould be damp and cold, if not actually rainy outside. He found it and pulled it on quickly. Curious, he unlatched the shutters and looked into the yard below. He’d been right: The early morning sky was overcast, and the mists mingled with the dew, leaving beads of moisture on the stone sill. The steam of his breath blew back in his face.

  The chill wind gusted across the room, blowing the opened bed curtains. Arabella stirred within, at first only dimly aware of the loss of warmth from the bed, then she knew she was alone. She stretched limbs still stiff from sleep and turned over, peering out into the faint grey light, seeing him silhouetted against the open window. Merciful Mary, but she’d survived her first night with him.

  Nay, ’twas more than that, she admitted, for not only had he not harmed her, but she’d been nearly as pleased as he to discover the passion between them. It had been far different this marriage night, for she bore no bruises. Unlike Elias, William of Dunashie had not beaten her for what she was afraid to do. Unlike Elias, he had wanted to please her also.

  He swung around and saw that she’d wakened. “Your pardon—I’d not meant to disturb you.” Leaving the window unshuttered, he walked back to the bed, smiling. “ ’Tis little enough sleep I gave ye., Arabella of Byrum,” he murmured softly, lapsing into the soft burr of the border. When she said nothing, he teased her lightly, “ ’Tis the morrow, and ye still live.”

  The warmth in his hazel eyes brought a hot rush of blood to her face, reddening it. He sank to sit on the edge of the mattress, his weight bowing the ropes beneath, then he leaned over her. His smile broadened into an almost boyish grin.

  “Ye canna know how loath I am to leave ye for the company of men and hounds.” As her blush deepened even further, he added wickedly, “Aye, I can think of a dozen other things I’d rather do with ye—and all of them right here.”

  “A dozen?” she croaked weakly.

  “Aye.” He bent low enough to brush his lips against her skin, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers coursing through her. “We have but begun, Arabella of Byrum,” he whispered against her ear. Abruptly, he straightened up and sighed. “But they wait below, and I doubt me they’d tarry enough for me to do right by ye.” He forced himself to rise, then walked to shutter the window. “Would ye that I laid a fire for ye ere I left?”

  “Nay. Ena or one of the scullery boys will do it.”

  She swung her legs over the side to sit, and when he turned back to face her she was acutely conscious of her nakedness. She grasped the bed curtain and pulled it to cover her, but not before she’d seen the desire in his eyes.

  “Bella, ye are as beautiful as God could make ye.”

  “I look a frightful creature, my lord,” she contradicted, blushing anew.

  He grinned again, and once more she was struck by how young he looked for his years. “Ah, but ’tis how I’d remember ye,” he teased her. Turning to the packed boxes, he found a plain blue wool gown for her. Holding it up, he asked, “Would ye wear this—or would ye that I called the woman for ye?” Then, before she could answer, he added, “And ye nae mind it, I’d hae your kiss ere she comes up.”

  “Aye.”

  His brow lifted, but his grin remained. “ ‘Aye’? Which is it: aye, ye’d wear this, or aye, ye’d hae the woman?”

  He was so big standing there before her that she could scarce imagine what they’d done in the night, she could scarce believe she’d lain unharmed beneath this huge stranger. That she had actually coupled with him not only once, but twice. She hesitated, but she knew what he’d have her say.

  “The gown.”

  He held it out, but made no move to bring it to her. For a long moment, he waited for her. “A kiss for the gown,” he offered. “And I’d even put it on ye.” When she still sat, he took one step closer. “I’d seen ye again, Arabella of Byrum—I’d see ye again ere I leave ye.”

  Despite the fact he’d looked on her before, despite what they’d done in the night, she felt suddenly inadequate. “I am too thin!” she blurted out. “Elias said I was naught but bones!”

  “Then he was blind.”

  There was no help for it: She had not the right to refuse William of Dunashie anything now, for he was her husband in fact as well as words. Reluctantly she let the curtain drop, and she stood before him. As his eyes traveled over her body, lingering on her breasts, then on her waist and her bared belly, she felt flooded with heat.

  “Come here.”

  His gr
in was gone, and what she saw in his face was hunger. Her heart pounding, she forced herself to walk to him. For want of anything else to say, she managed to mumble, “For your good fortune on the hunt,” as she raised herself on tiptoe to touch his lips lightly with hers.

  He dropped the gown and his arms closed around her, holding her tightly, molding her body into his, while his mouth possessed hers eagerly, tasting deeply. One hand reached to cradle her head, while the other moved over the bare skin of her back and hip. Somewhere in the distance the horn blew insistently, but she scarce heard it as she gave herself over to what he did to her.

  “Will! Will! God’s bones, but you are abed over long! Tarry any longer and Nigel himself will come up for you!” As Giles’ voice carried through the thick, wood-planked door, he pounded on it loudly. “And you’d eat, come on!”

  Reluctantly, William released her and stepped back. As he bent over to retrieve her gown she stood there, her body shaking from the intensity of her own desire. He straightened up and hung the garment over her neck awkwardly. His hazel eyes were almost gold as they met hers. “God knows I’d not hunt just now, but there’s no help for it.”

  She breathed deeply, then managed to nod. “Aye.”

  “ ’Twill be as good between us tonight as now,” he promised. For a brief moment he favored her with a crooked smile. “Until then I’d have you prepare the pits for roasting, for ’tis a big one I mean to bring you.”

  She waited until he was nearly to the door, then she called after him, “Have a care that you are not hurt, my lord!”

  He stopped and turned back momentarily, grinning. “Och, but ye behold one who can hunt with a lance as well as with an arrow, Arabella of Byrum.”

  After he’d left she pulled the heavy gown down over her body, then hastened to unlatch the shutter to watch. When he emerged into the yard she saw him bend down to scratch behind the head of her father’s favorite alaunt, a fierce dog not often tolerant of strangers. But this day the beast wagged his tail and rolled over, as though he would offer his belly as well. When William straightened up Malmet would have followed him, but for Nigel’s vicious jerk on the studded collar. The one called “Lang Gib” said something she could not hear, but she could see the others laugh. Then someone handed William a hunk of cheese and half a loaf of dark bread as he heaved his great body into his saddle.