The Marriage Priza

by Virginia Henley

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  an impressive property when she'd accused him of wanting to marry her for her landholdings. "I apologize for accusing you of acquisitive ambition, my lord."

  Rod grinned at her. "It's completely true. If an ambitious man has one castle, he wants two. If he has two, he lusts for four!"

  Rosamond gasped at the audacity of the man. "How very flattering! You openly admit you want me because I'm an heiress?"

  "I'd be a bloody hypocrite if I didn't, but you have much more to offer than castles, chérie."

  "Such as?" As soon as she asked, she knew the question revealed her vulnerability.

  "You have an ancient noble name; you are educated, intelligent, and trained to be a competent chatelaine. You are witty, proud, innocent, and breathtakingly beautiful. A rare prize indeed."

  Her violet eyes widened. She had never received such compliments before and didn't know how to respond. "May I remind you I am a prize you haven't yet succeeded in claiming?" Rosamond's reply was as challenging as the cold wind.

  When they had ridden five or six miles, he raised his voice above the wind to inquire, "Are you warm enough, Rosamond?"

  If she said no, would he take her before him to protect her from the harsh elements? She shivered at the thought of their bodies touching. Which would serve her better, to cling, or be provocative? She chose the latter, and threw back her head to laugh at the weather. "I love the wind, it exhilarates me!" Her fur hood fell back and her hair streamed out like a golden banner.

  "You know you are more tempting when you are disheveled, and you are too damned proud to admit that you are freezing cold!" he said. "I think we should stop at Tewkesbury for the night."

  So that was his game! Nan's warning came rushing back to her. If she agreed to spend the night at his castle of Tewkesbury, it would be tantamount to inviting him to take whatever liberties he desired. "I think not, my lord." Her reply was as icy as the wind. She urged Nimbus forward to take the lead. She was uncertain of the way, but hadn't he said they just had to follow the river?

  Tewkesbury Castle loomed before them at the juncture of the River

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  Avon and the River Severn. Suddenly, Nimbus stepped on a wolf trap hidden beneath the snow, and it snapped closed on her hoof. The palfrey screamed in fear and took off across the ice of the river. Nimbus managed to shake off the iron snare, but kept on galloping at a frantic pace.

  De Leyburn knew the ice on the wider, deeper, fast-flowing Severn would not bear the weight of a horse and rider. "Rosamond! No!" he bellowed. "Halt, halt!" With his heart in his mouth, he watched Nimbus flounder as she went through the ice, disappear below the surface of the water, then resurface and plunge toward the riverbank. To Rod's horror, he saw that the saddle was empty.

  "Help! Help me!" Rosamond screamed, then the icy water closed over her mouth, cutting off her cries. She knew the water was deep as she sank down, down. The weight of her velvet cloak and boots was making her sink like a boulder. Her boots touched the riverbed, telling her she could sink no farther, and she began an exhausting struggle to the surface.

  The current had carried her beneath the ice, away from the hole her horse had made, but when the top of her head hit the frozen surface, it cracked the thin ice. Rosamond had no time to pray, nor even think coherently; sheer panic took over. The more she tried to grab on to something, the more ice broke from the edges of the hole until it gaped wide.

  Rosamond had never experienced cold like this in her entire life. It penetrated her skin, seeped into her blood, chilled her flesh and froze her very bones to the marrow. Her lungs felt so waterlogged, she couldn't breathe, yet somehow she was screaming.

  "Rosamond! Don't panic!" Rod thundered, pulling a rope from his saddlebag.

  "I'm sinking!" she screamed.

  "Remove your cloak!" he ordered.

  Rod's mind flashed about like mercury. He knew the ice would not support him, even if he flattened himself on its surface and crawled. He knew he had no time to waste; she could drown or die from the cold. Rod fastened one end of the rope to a tree and tied the other about his waist. Then he went into the river after her. The icy waters of Kenil-worth's mere were like a bathing pond compared with the Severn. Be-

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  fore he could reach her, Rosamond disappeared beneath the surface and he had no choice but to dive for her.

  As he swam about beneath the ice, Rod felt panic rise because he could not locate her. Ruthlessly he forced the panic to subside and came up for air. He knew the rope would let him go no farther, and was about to plunge down again, when he saw her head bob above the surface. "Rosamond! I'm here! Come to me!" His deep voice held total confidence, though Rod felt no such thing.

  He knew he needed more rope, so he untied it from about his waist and wrapped the end about his thick wrist. With ferocious effort, he stretched out through the icy current and fastened his fingers in the cloth of her gown. He heard a whimper. "Sweetheart, hold on! You're so brave!" Rod stopped shouting to conserve his energy. He would need it to get them both back to the riverbank.

  At that point, Rosamond was incapable of speech or even thought. The feeling in her arms and legs was long gone, and now the rest of her body had grown numb from the icy-cold river. She was on the brink of total exhaustion. She kept her mouth above water to gasp an occasional breath by sheer instinct alone, but she was dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness.

  Rod willed his arms to have the strength to hold on to her and at the same time swim toward the bank that seemed so very far away. He was totally focused—there was no room in his mind for failure. He would get her out, no matter what. The difficult part would be to get her out before she froze to death in the icy water. Suddenly he realized that her horse was beside them, floundering wildly in the water, and the turbulence it created pulled them beneath the churning eddy.

  He knew he could not let go of either Rosamond or the rope, so he clung to both doggedly. As he and Rosamond resurfaced he felt the cloth of her gown rip and knew he must anchor her body to his, or he would lose her. With one brutal pull that tore the garment in two, he managed to bring her close enough to grab her leg, then he wrapped his arm tightly about her waist.

  When Rod reached the riverbank, he hauled her up out of the water first, then clawed his own way out of the freezing river. As he knelt over her, gasping to refill his lungs with air, he saw that she was

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  unconscious and had stopped breathing. Refusing to panic, Rod turned her body face-down, straddled her, and splayed his large hands across her rib cage. He pressed and released in a rhythm that simulated natural breathing, and immediately Rosamond began to cough and gag up water. She didn't open her eyes, but he knew she was at least breathing on her own.

  Rod picked her up and held her pressed against his chest. She needed warmth and she needed it now. He whistled for his horse and felt weak with relief when Stygian obeyed. "Good boy . . . hold still," he murmured as he pulled himself into the saddle, clasping Rosamond to his side. He dug his heels into the stallion's flank, and it galloped forward toward the castle. As he shouted to the watchman in the barbican tower and thundered across the drawbridge, he was vaguely aware of hoofbeats behind him.

  Before he reached Tewkesbury's bailey, grooms were running from the stables to aid him. He slid from the saddle with Rosamond clutched to his breast and turned the horse over to a groom. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Nimbus's cream coat and was grateful he would not have to tell Rosamond her palfrey was missing. As he ran with her across the bailey toward the castle, he called over his shoulder, "Check the palfrey's leg—she stepped in a wolf trap!"

  Shouting orders, Rod strode through the studded oak portal, then headed for the stairs as his castellan and household servants stood gaping openmouthed. There had better be a blazing fire in my chamber, or somebody will be flogged, he thought grimly. He took the stone steps two at a time, strode down the hall, and booted open his chamber door.
He laid Rosamond before the fireplace, then dragged a fur cover from his bed and knelt beside her to strip off what was left of her sodden garments. Rod wrapped her naked body in the lynx fur, and only then did he notice his legs were trembling from muscle fatigue.

  Burke, his castellan, entered the room, bringing towels and a flagon of brandywine. "You'd best get out of your own clothes, my lord." He went to the wardrobe and brought forth a bedrobe. "I'll fetch you some hot soup from the kitchen. Is there aught else I can do, Sir Rodger?"

  Rod shook his head. "Thank you, Burke. I'll manage."

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  "You always do, my lord."

  As Rod gently wiped Rosamond's face with a towel, she opened her eyes, but closed them again without the least flicker of recognition. He was thankful she was starting to regain consciousness, and gathered her long, wet hair into the towel, wrapping it about her head as if it were a turban. Her skin was tinged blue with cold, and he knew he would have to restore her circulation or she would expire from her lowered body temperature.

  Impatiently he tore off his own wet, cold garments and flung them to the side of the hearth. Then, naked, he knelt over Rosamond and lifted the lynx far from her body. She was so slim, so fragile, it caught at his heart. A rush of protectiveness washed over him, and he realized cynically it was the first time he had ever felt any emotion for a woman other than lust or contempt.

  He poured warm brandy into his hands, then began to massage her body, starting at the shoulders. With firm, circular strokes, he moved down over her breasts, across her belly, to her hips. His fingers moved in firm circles, rubbing, massaging, kneading the brandy into her flesh so that her blood's circulation would improve. Rod poured more liquor into his cupped palm, then, lifting one of her thighs, he rubbed her leg with long, firm strokes. Her legs were even longer than he had imagined in his sexual fantasies, and suddenly he became highly aroused at the sight and feel of her bare flesh beneath his powerful hands. He had never done this to a woman before, but now it was brought home to him how pleasurably erotic a body massage could be. He promised himself to indulge in this pleasure in the future, once Rosamond was safely recovered.

  His cock went rigid as blood flooded quickly into his groin, and it began to throb as his hands lifted Rosamond's other thigh and started to briskly massage it. Rod did not lose his erection, even when Burke arrived with the soup, but his castellan didn't blink an eye as he set down the tray and laced the chicken broth with cream. Rod pulled the fur cover across Rosamond's nakedness to preserve her modesty. "I won't try to feed it to her until she fully regains her senses," he said.

  "The soup is for you, my lord, but perhaps you're hot enough."

  Rod flashed his castellan a warning glance, but Burke had learned

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  that de Leyburn's bark was worse than his bite. "You've never lost a woman yet, my lord. Who is she?"

  "She is Rosamond Marshal."

  "Judas Iscariot, why didn't you say so! Get on with reviving her, and I'll get a maid up here to attend her."

  "I want no bloody maid; I'll tend her myself. Get the hell out of here so we can have some privacy, man."

  After Burke withdrew and closed the chamber door, Rod lifted

  Rosamond into his lap. He pulled the towel from her hair and cupped her cheek in his powerful hand. "Rosamond, Rosebud, open your eyes!" After he had ordered her three times, her lashes fluttered, then her lids lifted. As she gazed up into the green eyes, her own eyes widened with recognition as she became aware of the man, then memories of the ordeal they had been through came rushing back to her. "I'm... so... cold"

  With one arm wrapped tightly around her, Rodger poured some brandy into the broth and lifted the bowl to her lips. "Slowly," he cautioned. As she raised her hand to steady the bowl, it trembled like an aspen leaf, and he quickly covered it with his own hand to warm her frozen fingers. Rosamond took a few sips, which seemed to exhaust her. "Rest for a minute." Patiently he held the bowl steady until she caught her breath, then once more he urged the bowl toward her lips. Again she managed a few sips, then turned her face away.

  Rodger laid her gently down on the bed, propped up the pillows to support her head, then tucked the lynx fur about her. He noticed that her color had improved only slightly; she still had a bluish tinge about her mouth. "You are going to be all right, sweetheart. Are you warmer now?"

  Rosamond stared up at him; her hands and arms, her feet and legs were like ice. "Colder..."

  De Leyburn made his decision instantly. He turned back the covers and climbed into bed beside her. Then he reached out and pulled her into his arms. He knew only one sure way to warm her. He began to rub her back with long strokes from her shoulder blades to her round bottom cheeks. His hands were large and calloused, and he knew they would feel rough upon her silken skin. When Rosamond began to make small mewling sounds, he knew the feeling was returning to her frozen flesh.

  His erection lay marble-hard against her soft belly as his hands

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  moved firmly up and down her back. Rod tried to ignore it, hoping it would diminish, but of course, the more he massaged her bare flesh, the harder he became. The continuous rubbing of his cock against her silky skin brought heat to his body, if not to hers. Rosamond whimpered as if she were afraid. "No, no, don't be afraid. Trust me, Rosamond. If you can feel what I'm doing, that's good. Give yourself up to me, feel it, feel it."

  "Hurting..." she gasped.

  Rod realized she had not cried out from fear, but from pain because his rigid phallus was like a sword thrusting against her softness. Quickly he turned her around in his arms, so that her back lay against his chest, and he nestled his stiff manhood in the cleft between her buttocks to cushion its hard length. Then his hands stroked over and between her soft breasts, brushing across her heart, then sliding to her belly, rubbing in circles.

  Without asking, Rod knew Rosamond was getting warmer. As her body heated up it gave off the scent of brandywine and woman, and he knew it was the most intoxicating aroma he had ever smelled. With her head tucked beneath his chin, he held her spoon-fashion to allow his body's scalding heat to seep into hers.

  Rosamond had neither the energy nor the desire to protest what he did. It was as if she had no will of her own, wanting only to yield her body into his possessive hands. As she lay curled against him she gradually became euphoric, drifting in a warm sea of delicious sensation. His hands were magnificent; she wanted him to go on stroking her forever. Her eyelids finally lowered and she gave herself up to sleep and the warm haven of Rodger de Leyburn's body.

  He felt her body totally relax against his, and finally knew that Rosamond slept. Rod lay as still as he could so that he wouldn't disturb her slumber, though he himself was highly disturbed. Gradually the light faded from the day, and dusk descended. Though he closed his eyes, he could not sleep, for his body raged with unspent passion and desire for the woman he held in his arms.

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  Nine

  Rod knew the moment Rosamond awoke, for she immediately withdrew her body from his and half turned so that her back lay upon the bed, rather than upon him. Silence stretched between them as she recalled what had led to this shocking intimacy. In order to warm her, de Leyburn was sharing her bed, and what's more, they were both stark naked! Though her modesty had been assailed, strangely, Rosamond wasn't angry; rather, she was thankful for his common sense. He had shared his body's heat with her, which had likely prevented her from becoming gravely ill.

  Though Rosamond wasn't angry, she was feeling uncomfortable,

  shy, and rather strange. She had no idea how long they'd been abed, but

  it was now fully dark, and they lay bathed in moonlight. Finally she

  found her voice and murmured, "My lord, I find myself in the most peculiar circumstances I am sharing a bed with a man; indeed, I believe I have actually slept with you! The world would call me a wanton, yet I swear I have never even been kissed."

  Rod sat up and bent o
ver her. "That is easily remedied."

  As his mouth sought hers, Rosamond drew in a swift breath, then yielded her lips to him. His lass was hungry, but not ravenous, at least not at first. The firm pressure of his mouth made her part her lips slightly, which encouraged Rod to deepen the kiss. Rosamond found the experience pleasurable and responded softly, warmly. That's when his mouth turned ravenous. Desire ran along his veins, turning his blood hot and demanding. His arms slid about her fiercely, and she felt her breasts crush against the dark hair on his heavily muscled chest. The sensation was arousing and Rosamond lifted her arms, sliding them

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  about his neck. The kiss went on and on, neither of them withdrawing from the hot, melting gratification of their senses.

  Their mouths parted at the same moment. "You may consider yourself kissed, Rosebud." Rod searched her lovely face. "How are you feeling after your ordeal? "

  "The ordeal of the river or the ordeal of the kiss?" she asked breathlessly.

  "The kiss was an ordeal?" he asked, amused, raising an eyebrow.

  She smiled dreamily. "It was as cataclysmic as falling into the river."

  "I doubt that, chérie; when I pulled you from the water you were unconscious. The kiss didn't even make you swoon."

  "Perhaps you should try again, I felt very close to fainting." He responded to her invitation immediately, cutting off further words. He was rampant with need, kissing her savagely, allowing the wildness in his blood free rein, until he cautioned himself that Rosamond was still a virgin. He knew he could seduce her at this moment, but if he took her maidenhead, she might deeply regret it and accuse him of taking advantage of her when she was completely vulnerable. Which would be completely true, he freely admitted.

  Gradually, Rod managed to curb some of his passion, though not all. He was still hard and throbbing and knew he would be so as long as they lay naked together. Being with her this way was a divine torment, one he was not willing to relinquish quite yet. With purposeful intent, he drew down the fur cover until it lay across her hips. "I want to look at you." Rosamond blushed in the moonlight as his eyes roamed over her face and her body.