The musicians arrived, but before the trestle tables were moved back for the dancing, Lord Edward strode to the front of the dais and summoned young Henry de Montfort. A hush fell over the celebrants as the tall, dark youth attended the prince. Edward Plantagenet drew his sword from its jeweled sheath. "Kneel." When Henry went down on one knee, Edward touched the blade to each shoulder. "Henry de Montfort, I hereby bestow knighthood upon you for loyal and brave service. Rise, Sir Henry." When Edward presented Henry with the golden spurs, the hall resounded with cheers.
Rosamond watched the ceremony, feeling admiration for Edward. When the prince returned to his seat beside the bride, she said, "How generous of you to honor the de Montforts in this way."
"It was Rod's suggestion," Edward murmured.
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When she bestowed a look of surprise upon him, Rod felt a pang of guilt. The knighting had not been done from generosity; it was politic, done with calculation for a further fetch. His guilt vanished when he saw how happy and proud Eleanor and Simon were.
The day was a triumph for the de Montforts. Their firstborn son had been knighted by Prince Edward Plantagenet, and their lovely ward had made a good marriage with Sir Rodger de Leyburn, a royal steward who stood high in the prince's favor.
Simon took Eleanor's small hand in his and looked down at her tenderly. "Does this not bring back memories of our own wedding, my love?"
Eleanor glanced up at Simon with a teasing light in her eyes. "Indeed it does not. We were wed secretly, in the middle of the night, because you had pursued me relentlessly and seduced me shamefully!"
Simon took her hand and placed it on his muscular thigh. "And like a little wanton, you responded to every enticement."
"As I recall, my lord, we spent our wedding night apart."
Simon grinned down at her. "I shall make it up to you tonight."
Eleanor squeezed his thigh. "Arrogant Frenchman!"
He bent and whispered in her ear, "See? You cannot keep your hands from me."
Eleanor laughed up into his dark eyes. " 'Tis the wine; you know it makes me insatiable."
Simon winked at her and summoned a page to refill her goblet.
It was late afternoon when the dancing finally got under way. The bride and groom did the honors of the first dance, but then Rosamond was claimed by Lord Edward, Earl Simon, Harry of Almaine, and Gilbert de Clare in such quick succession, it made her light-headed. Or was the wine to blame?
And then she found herself swept away by the powerful arms of a dark knight with green eyes. "Sir Rickard, I thought you were my husband!" she gasped.
"You flatter me, Lady Rosamond. I envy him both his youth and his lovely bride."
She blushed warmly and lowered her lashes, unaware that her husband's green eyes watched every gesture, every sigh, every shy smile she
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bestowed upon the Irish knight. She only became aware of de Leyburn when she found him beside her. As Sir Rickard surrendered her to her husband, Rosamond's pulse beat a rapid tattoo and her breath caught in her throat. The words she had thrown at him came rushing back to her: You will never have my heart; I lost it long ago to Sir Rickard, as you well know!
Rosamond expected a rebuke or at least a taunting remark, but Rodger made none. His eyes and his touch, however, were completely possessive. "Don't look at me like that," she whispered icily.
"As if I'd like to bed you? But I would, chérie."
The teasing words he'd said the first time they'd met heightened the sexual tension between them. Her eyes flashed. "You are a devil, de Leyburn!"
" 'Tis said the new fashion of wearing trains attracts devils; they like to ride on ladies' tails."
Rosamond flung her hair back over her shoulders in a gesture of defiance, then picked up her train and gave it a sharp shake. "I am a match for any devil."
His mouth twitched with amusement, and he responded to her challenge. "As for these trailing sleeves—" Rod slipped his hands inside her wide sleeves, then, sliding his palms up her arms until he cupped her naked shoulders, he drew her close and kissed her.
Those about them who saw what the groom was up to laughed and applauded his boldness.
Rosamond shivered. His touch made her hot one moment, icy the next. She had told him that she feared nothing, least of all him, but now she admitted to herself that she was afraid of him. As Nan had once suggested, perhaps he had been tolerant with her because they were unwed, and he would treat a wife very differently. His friends thought him the best natured man of their acquaintance, yet beneath the polished surface, Rosamond had always sensed unplumbed depths that hid who-knew-what dark secrets.
As if the kiss were a signal, Rod's bachelor friends, led by Lord Edward, surrounded the newlywed couple and plucked the groom away from his bride. Rosamond, refusing to let panic sink its fangs into her,
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turned blindly toward the Demoiselle and Lady Eleanor. It was the first time that Demi had been allowed to attend a bedding, and Rosamond saw that she was flushed with excitement. The ladies spirited the bride from the Great Hall with much laughter and whispering, and escorted her to the nuptial chamber in the Clinton Tower.
The raucous male laughter from the adjoining room prompted the ladies to divest Rosamond of her wedding finery as quickly as possible. Nan took charge of the elegant gown while the other ladies removed Rosamond's petticoat, shift, and hose. Swiftly, Lady Eleanor scooped up the white silk bedrobe, embroidered with golden lovers' knots, and managed to slide Rosamond's bare arms into its sleeves just as the group of rowdy young men burst into the room.
Singing a bawdy ditty, the groom's companions pushed him, stark naked, into the bridal chamber. The ladies screamed, pretending to be shocked, but proved they were not by looking their fill at the bridegroom's virile body. To preserve her modesty, and quell the rising panic she felt, Rosamond turned her back upon the men, and Lady Eleanor allowed the silk robe to slide down the bride's spine, then swept aside Rosamond's golden hair, revealing her creamy back and buttocks to show that she went to her husband unblemished.
Rod immediately stepped to Rosamond's side and lifted Lady Eleanor's hand from his bride's hair, and like a curtain it swung back to cloak her naked flesh. He flashed a smile at the countess, but it held an unmistakable message that Rosamond was inviolate.
As Demi picked up the silk bedrobe and helped Rosamond to slip it back on, Edward and Harry filched the bride's ribbons to wear on their sleeves. Rod made no protest, but jerked his head toward the door in an unsubtle suggestion. Amid grumbling that they hadn't seen the couple abed, Edward rounded up his gentlemen to usher them out. The prince knew it would soon be his turn for a bedding and decided not to allow matters to deteriorate from bawdiness to lewdness.
Eleanor turned down the covers on the bridal bed, then kissed Rosamond. Impulsively, Demi clasped her arms about her friend and anxiously whispered, "Will you be all right?"
Rosamond's throat was so tight, she could only murmur a brief
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"Yes," but she managed a dazzling smile to ease Demi's anxiety. When the last celebrant departed, Rod threw the bolt across the door and turned to face his bride.
Rosamond averted her eyes from his nakedness and turned away.
"I wish it could have been a happier day for you," Rod said.
"I don't know what you are talking about, it was a lovely day," she said with icy sarcasm. She turned to face him, the brilliant, false smile still in place.
"You married me for the wrong reasons, Rosamond. It was more to please Eleanor and Simon than to please you or me."
She did not deny it. "And you married me for the right reasons?" she challenged.
"I am convinced that I did," he said quietly.
Her lashes swept to her cheeks as she remembered the words she had flung at him: You will never have my heart. When she recalled his reply, it brought a wave of dismay: I'll settle for your body... and your castles. These were his reasons!
> "Well, whatever the reasons, 'tis done, for better or for worse." She laughed to mask her hurt, and moved to the dressing table to busy her hands with the things Nan had brought. "That's odd." Rosamond picked up her brother's dagger that she had found at Deerhurst. "Why ever would Nan bring this? "
Rod approached her and lifted the silver dagger from her fingers. "Your woman thought you would have need of it."
Rosamond turned uncomprehending eyes upon him.
"Obviously Nan thinks you have already yielded your virginity to me." He moved to the bed and deliberately slit his thumb with the dagger; three drops of crimson blood fell onto the pristine sheets. "She doesn't realize you are willing to yield nothing to me."
"I have married you and yielded my property to you, but I won't yield my body to you. At least not willingly!" Rosamond tossed her hair back over her shoulder with a bravado she did not feel.
Rod pierced her with his green gaze. "I do not merely want you willing, as if it were a duty; I want you eager."
She avoided looking at his body. "I shall never be eager!“
Her insult mauled his male pride. "Oh, my love, you are quite mis-
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taken." He padded toward her like a raptor stalking its prey. He could see she wanted to flee, but her pride kept her rooted to the spot. Rod did not pounce upon her, but slowly took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Into her open palm he placed a kiss and closed her fingers over it, then the tip of his tongue traced across the pulse point in her delicate wrist and trailed up the inside of her arm where the wide sleeve of her silken bedrobe had fallen back. He felt her shiver and knew it was from fear.
"If you ravish me, I vow I will hate you forever!"
"I have more pride than to ravish any woman, let alone my own bride. Rather, I intend to woo you to a giving mood, chérie."
"Perhaps other women cannot resist your seduction, but I am not other women, my lord!"
Recalling Edward's recent advice he rejoined, "No, you are an ice maiden in need of a thawing, and a stubborn little filly in need of a firm hand and a touch of the spurs!" Rod made a conscious decision not to tell her she had nothing to fear from him. He knew it would add to the titillation of his seduction. "Look at me, Rosamond."
When she kept her eyes on his, refusing to lower them to his naked body, he moved closer and allowed his erection to probe the silk bedrobe as if it were seeking an opening. He heard the swift intake of her breath and watched her glance down. Her eyes widened as she saw, for the first time, the long scar on the inside of his thigh, that ran from groin to knee.
"Did you receive that in battle?"
"It is an old wound; we will not speak of it."
His hands reached out to her, but did not remove her bedrobe. Rather they glided around her and began caressing her back through the slippery silk. Rod could feel how stiffly she held herself in her resolve to resist him, so his hands then slid to the front, cupping her breasts, stroking, weighing, circling until the friction of the sliding cloth heated her silken skin. All the while his swollen phallus probed against her belly, touching and teasing in an erotic mating dance. Rod knew she could feel the heat of his hands and his cock through the finespun silk, just as he could feel her warm flesh.
Rosamond splayed her hands against the naked muscles of his chest to push him away, but she might as well have been pushing against the stones of the castle walls. She drew in a swift breath to steady herself
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as his fingers reached out to caress her woman's center. The silk acted as a flimsy barrier, sliding over her mons, arousing her against her firm resolve. Her traitorous body seemed to have a will of its own, separate from hers. She silently cried out against it as she began to feel a wanton hunger. The silk covering her cleft became wet, then slick, and her woman's scent lingered in the warmth her body gave off, telling him the secret of her desire.
She prayed that he would not kiss her. Her mouth, which had not tasted his since Deerhurst, began to ache. She tried to banish all thought of his kisses, but once imprinted, never forgotten, she realized with yearning. Her husband was dark, dominant, and dangerous, and he excited her so much she wanted to scream. Desperate to hide her arousal, Rosamond took refuge in anger. She pressed her mouth against his muscular shoulder and bit him.
When she lifted her mouth from him, she saw his eyes glitter with green fire, and when he raised his hand she thought he would strike her. Instead, Rod gazed down at her and traced her lips with his fingers. "That is the second love bite you have given me today. It tells me you have a passionate nature, mon amour,” he said. Then he cupped her cheek and stroked his thumb across her cheekbone, seeing and touching every feature of her face as if it were both lovely and precious. His fingers threaded into her hair, stroking it, toying with its tendrils, lifting it to his face to inhale its fragrance, and even drawing a golden tress through his lips to taste its texture.
Rosamond both loved and hated the attention he paid her. It was like nothing she had known before, but it had a narcotic effect, melting her resistance and making her crave more. She dreaded yet longed for him to remove her bedrobe, yearning for him to lavish attention upon her body, yet silently screaming her denial. Of its own volition, her body arched against him, displaying her need, and his knowing hands plucked her strings like a harp, awakening, arousing, and exciting her female sexuality.
Slowly he unfastened her bedrobe and slipped his hands inside its silken folds. Then he proceeded to start the loving all over again, but this time directly upon her naked flesh. He dipped his dark head and took possession of her lips, luring her to open so he could plunder her
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mouth. Her stubborn resistance lasted for long, drawn-out minutes in a mating duel she tried valiantly to win, but finally, inevitably, Rod's insistent tongue delved deep, tasting her honeyed sweetness, then it plunged boldly in and out, in a rhythm that mimicked what he really wanted.
Rosamond's will was almost completely eroded by the magic of his wooing. Her ability to think was being drowned by her body's need to feel. Desperate, she blamed it on too much wine. She had drunk so much, her inhibitions had vanished. Her last coherent thought was that she could either fight his desire or fight her own, but she could no longer fight both. Her hands slid up his chest, and her arms went about his neck, so that she could press herself against the hard length of him. His male power excited her, making her feel soft and female and utterly fragile. She went up on her toes to arch against him, and his hands went beneath her bottom cheeks to lift her onto his jutting sex. His shaft lay along her cleft, and when he slowly walked toward the bed, the hot sliding friction made her gasp as her desire mounted.
Rod lay back on the bed and took Rosamond down with him. He held her in the dominant position above him and shuddered with pleasure as her long golden hair spilled down onto his chest and shoulders. She was truly a breathtaking prize, one he had rendered both willing and eager to experience the mystical hymenal rite. When Rod saw something beautiful, he always had an overwhelming urge to possess it, yet he knew that even if he did possess her tonight, he would not experience the deep satisfaction of ownership. For although Rosamond was now willing and eager to yield her body, she was nowhere near ready to yield her heart.
Her violet eyes gleaming with witchery, Rosamond slowly lowered her lips to his and felt a thrill as he responded passionately, unable to resist her feminine power. She quivered with little tremors as her breasts pressed against the muscles of his wide chest and her nipples were abraded by his crisp black hair. The fragrance of sandalwood mixed with his own primitive male scent was such an erotic combination, it acted as an aphrodisiac upon her. Inflamed by desire and needing to be filled with him, she rose up ready to impale herself upon his manroot.
In a flash, Rod had her beneath him. He suddenly felt a perverse desire to keep her a virgin. His towering pride wanted all or nothing. He wanted her to love him totally and completely when he made her his
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wife in the deepest sense of the word. He pressed a marble-hard thigh between her legs and felt her grip him and ride up and down on it, with a small whimpering sob. "Hush, sweetheart, I know what you need." His fingers unerringly found her woman's center, and allowing only his fingertips to penetrate her, he stroked with a slow, firm rhythm, taking her higher and higher until she erupted and dissolved into a thousand liquid tremors.
Rod cupped her entire mons possessively with his palm and held her until the last pulsation stilled. "Rosamond, you are beautiful in your passion. Say my name, I want to taste it on your lips."
His words shocked her, bringing her back to her senses. She had allowed him to take complete control over her. Her resistance had melted like snow beneath the blazing hot sun. Was she so starved for love and attention that he could seduce her against her will? Now he was even telling her what she must say.
He touched his mouth to hers. "Rod," he whispered, his lips against hers.
"Devil!" she hissed.
He laughed wickedly. Then his lips trailed along the curve of her throat, burning a path to her lush breasts, now firm and peaked from her arousal. His hot mouth sought her belly, and his tongue dipped playfully into her navel, before it inched ever lower toward its goal. He knew she would cry out when he ran the tip of his tongue between her legs, but when he curled it about her tiny bud he had not anticipated her scream.
"Stop, you devil!" she cried, writhing beneath his wickedly beautiful hot mouth.
Deliberately he began to lick and tease her, knowing her arousal had already begun again. He set up a delicious rhythm and smiled knowingly when she joined her body to the tempo. He was careful not to thrust too deeply, though he could feel the hot, wet pull of her on his tongue. Then he stopped the pleasuring and held still. "Rod," he prompted, his lips against her fiery core.
Rosamond remained silent for a full minute.
The Marriage Priza Page 16
