It was hardly surprising, given the past few weeks of trials and journeys and anxieties, that they both slept deeply and soundly. Beatrice awoke first, the unfamiliar and heavy weight of a male arm around her waist drawing her out of the depths of slumber. For a moment she enjoyed the warmth that surrounded her, her senses attuned to the feel of the hard male contours pressed against her body. She stirred then, with a little sigh, and the arm tightened about her waist. A hand cupped her breast and one thumb idly stroked her nipple. Beatrice gasped, surprised and delighted by the stab of sensation that shot through her, her nipple hardening like a pebble.
She turned over then and faced Remy. He still had his eyes closed and appeared to be asleep. But a groan came from the strong column of his throat and she looked up at him for direction, her hands laid flat against his chest. Every inch of her could feel the weight of his body and the smooth skin of his chest was a marvel beneath her exploring fingertips. Instinctively, she pressed herself against him. His head moved on the pillow and came down towards her, his hand sliding up her back and into her tumbled hair, urging her closer still as he bent his head and kissed her.
Beatrice was startled by the ferocity of that kiss. His mouth pressed down hard on hers while his jaw worked with determination, forcing her mouth to open and give access to his questing tongue. As his teeth pressed into her tender lips she gave a little whimper, pushing him back. At once his eyes snapped open, with a soft cry of self-disgust, and he pushed her away. In his befuddled state of half-sleep he had known that he held a woman in his arms, but he had forgotten that it was Beatrice!
‘Oh, God!’ he exclaimed.
‘What is it?’ She was now genuinely alarmed.
‘I hurt you! I am sorry!’
‘No,’ she lied, trying to soothe him, ‘I was merely startled. I have never been kissed like that before.’
He groaned and remembered his vow from during the night. He realised that with one glance from her brown eyes and one touch from her gentle fingers he could easily forget every vow he had ever made. With a sigh of regret, he fought valiantly to be the honourable knight, and murmured, “Tis daylight. We should get up and dress.’
Beatrice blushed and lowered her eyes, yet finding the courage to murmur, ‘Do you not wish to begin the day as we would begin each day for the rest of our lives, by having…relations…with your wife?’
He frowned and his mouth tightened grimly. It was a serious question lightly cloaked, but he was fully aware of the implications of his answer. He suspected that she was still uncertain of her feelings for him, and thus he could not consummate their marriage and force her to submit herself to a lifetime spent with a man that mayhap she did not want. Now he sought to avoid the final denouement, hoping against hope for more time, a chance to coax her heart. Hating himself for hurting her with his palter, Remy prevaricated, ‘We should wait until the darkness of night.’
Beatrice eyed him warily, a little confused by the sudden change from hot passion to reluctance.
Remy met her puzzled gaze. ‘Besides, we have not yet been married for the prescribed three days.’
‘Other couples consummate their marriages straight away. Why shouldn’t we?’
He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Is it not a saint’s day?’
At that Beatrice shrugged and pushed away from him to sit up. ‘If you do not want me, then say so. I will understand.’
‘You know well enough,’ he said softly, ‘how much I want you. Have wanted to possess you for these many months.’
She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘There is nothing stopping you. Is there?’
Remy swallowed. He noted the pleading in her eyes, and then he too sat up and leaned closer. His fingers swept aside the long swathe of her honey-brown silky hair and he kissed the nape of her neck, murmuring, ‘You are right, Beatrice. There is nothing that could or should stop me from making love to you.’
‘Then we had better hurry, for the daylight is bright and Aunt Margaret will not tarry in her eagerness to inspect the sheets. And we have nothing to show them.’
He shook his head, ‘Nay. The door is barred. We have no need for haste.’
He pulled Beatrice into his arms and laid her back against the pillows. Her world was blocked out by a pair of very broad male shoulders. She felt the weight of his heavy body against her own slenderness. He gazed at her for a long moment, and then said softly, ‘You understand that if we do this there is no going back? We are wed for life.’
She lowered her eyes, and nodded. Silently she begged that he would ask no further questions, for she could not bear to consider her own thoughts and feelings for a moment longer. She wanted only to feel his body against hers, and to feel the passion and power of being made love to by a man. Nothing else, at this moment, mattered. At her nod of consent she felt his fingers pull at the drawstring of her shift. Suddenly she remembered why she had chosen this particular shift for her wedding night—it had long sleeves and hid her scars well. As Remy undid the ribbon bow and made to shrug aside the thin fabric covering her body, a small flicker of doubt fanned the warm and unfamiliar flames that were glowing deep within her. Oh, what a fool she had been not to agree to wait for the concealing shadows of night!
‘Wait!’ She clutched at his wrist, pulling his hand away. ‘It is not necessary to remove my shift, is it?’
He looked at her then, with a quizzical frown and a perplexed smile upon his warmly sensual lips. Then he answered slowly, ‘Nay, it is not necessary. I could just lift up the hem. If that is your wish.’
‘Oh.’ Beatrice sighed with heartfelt relief, and smiled up at him. ‘Aye, that is my wish.’
He shook his head then, his smile broadening as he shook off her fingers clasped about his wrist and returned to his task of removing her shift, ‘But it is not my wish, Beatrice. I want to see you. I have dreamed and ached and longed to see every inch of your lovely body for so long now.’
‘Nay!’ With a cry Beatrice again stopped him, this time using both hands about his broad wrist, ‘I am not lovely, Remy. My body is a sight you surely do not wish to see. Have you forgotten already my scars?’
For a long moment they stared at each other, engaged in a battle of wills. Gently he stroked his forefinger against the soft skin at the base of her throat and whispered, ‘I too have scars, Beatrice. In fact, many more and many that are more ugly than yours. Do you find my body repulsive because of them?’
‘Nay!’ She was swift to make a heated denial. ‘Of course I do not!’
‘Then neither do I find,’ here he bared her shoulder in one swift movement, and kissed the pink, puckered skin ‘—this tiny emblem of your courage repulsive to me. Your scars are part of you and I find no part of you repulsive.’
He slid the sleeve of her shift from her shoulder and kissed the velvet skin beneath it, while his other hand moved to her opposite shoulder and removed that sleeve too. Her shift fell down to her waist and his lips trailed kisses down along her chest and the valley between her breasts, until with a small groan of pleasure he found her nipple and covered it with his mouth.
Beatrice tipped back her head, baring her throat, gasping for breath and feeling a vivid heat prickle across her skin. She murmured her delight and closed her eyes, her heart picking up its beat as his fingers kneaded the weight of her breasts in both hands, his tongue circling hot and wet over one nipple.
Then he reluctantly abandoned the pleasures of her breasts and tugged her shift down past her hips, tossing it aside to the floor. Remy let his eyes wander at leisure over her naked body, resting for a long moment on the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs.
‘Remy.’ Beatrice blushed and squirmed uncomfortably beneath his examination and turned towards him, lifting her hands to his neck to pull him over her.
But he held her off and growled, ‘I want to look at you. You are so beautiful, like a goddess, that I fear to touch you.’
She gasped at that. ‘But I am only a woman.’
‘Nay.’ He shook his head. ‘You are more than that. You are my Beatrice. My wife.’
Then he lay down beside her and bent his head. Gently he kissed her, his lips moving sensually and drinking with reverence of her mouth. He felt her skin glow with warmth and her heartbeat drum against his chest, and he smiled. His fingers moved softly over her, exploring and arousing all at the same time. He leaned over her and pressed soft, delicious kisses to the scar upon her hip, hoping that with his touch she would be freed from all hurt and inhibition.
Beatrice sighed with pleasure, languorous under his gentle touch, awed by the sensations he was arousing through her skin. When he moved his lips from her hip and began to kiss her breasts again, his tongue sliding with magical effect around her hardened nipples, she gave a soft little cry, ‘Oh, Remy, this must be heaven.’
He smiled then at her sweet innocence. ‘Wait. There is more.’
‘More? I don’t think I can bear more pleasure than this.’
‘You can. You will.’
His hand slid down over the curve of her ribs, down past her waist and her flat belly, down even further and her eyes snapped open as he pressed his palm to the crisp curls of her female mound. ‘This is where,’ he whispered in a husky voice, ‘all the best pleasure is to be had.’ He tenderly brushed his fingertips over her, until she relaxed again, and then he searched with his finger and found her tiny bud hidden away, smiling as she gasped at his careful stroking. ‘My lady likes that?’
She felt faint as waves of acute pleasure rose from between her thighs and she groaned, turning towards him and pressing her aching breasts to his chest. With such a sensation pulsating from within her she instinctively reached out to him, her hand on the back of his neck drawing his head down to her. She pressed her lips to his and he responded with a deep and delving kiss.
Now it was he that groaned and his hand slid behind her knee, pulling it away from the other so that he could slide the bulk of his thigh between her legs. He noticed how she tensed, how her virtue caused her to hold him at bay. He intended to accustom her to his presence between her thighs gradually, moving slowly and gradually forwards, but wondered whether he had the strength to hold himself in check.
Beatrice trembled at his weight, feeling the hot hard length of his manhood against her inner thigh. She quelled the frisson of fear, comforting herself with the knowledge that Remy would not intentionally hurt her. She felt him moving against her, kissing her, his fingers stroking her tenderly and she tried to match him in his eagerness, but her uncertainty and her ignorance restrained her.
His lips kissed her neck and he murmured, ‘Do not be afraid, Beatrice.’ Gently his hand slid between her thighs, and eased them further apart. ‘I will not take you until you say I may.’
Beatrice gasped, her back arching at his skilful touch. ‘And how will I know, Remy? When should I tell you?’
He smiled at that, his eyes warm and dark with desire as he watched her body undulate beneath his touch, her hips lifting and her nipples hard and rosy. Her lips were dark and swollen and he returned again to them, kissing her again and again. At last he lifted his head and murmured, ‘You will know, and if you don’t then the fault is mine.’
She felt his hand warm and heavy between her legs and then the soft touch of his finger, delving deeper, sliding inside her and she gave a small cry as pleasure swelled within her. His mouth covered her nipple and his tongue sucked gently as his finger stroked her, exploring the tight confines of her womanhood, now slick and hot with the honey of her passion. Beatrice closed her eyes and instinctively shifted her legs wider apart, lifting her hips to the rhythm of his caress. Her breath came in small gasps, quickening as a heated flush spread over her skin and he answered her urgency with his own.
‘Beatrice.’ His murmur was a plea as he lowered himself between her thighs, the feel of her small hands clasping his back a torment he could hardly bear.
‘Oh, Remy, I want you!’ Beatrice exclaimed.
He smiled as her hands slid down his back and grasped his buttocks, urging him closer, and he cautioned her gently, ‘Easy, my lady. I would not hurt you with my haste.’
‘You could not hurt me, Remy…’ but her words were lost in a cry of delight as his manhood touched against her.
Carefully he eased himself inside her and Beatrice felt a stab of pain, quickly overcome by the sweetest of pleasure she had ever known as he moved slowly but surely within her. There was no awareness of thought in her mind, only her body that consumed all within its sight and senses. Beatrice opened her eyes to look up at Remy, as he removed her hands from his buttocks and linked his fingers between hers. He pulled their clasped hands above her head as he leaned over her and drove more deeply inside her body. His thrusting gathered momentum and Beatrice was lost upon a sea of such pleasure that she floated upon its rolling waves, buffeted and yet secure within his clasp. His broad chest rubbed against her breasts and his jaw scraped her chin as he claimed her mouth in a tender kiss. His body moved with hers, guiding, exciting, rocking her with his male strength. Her cry of fulfilment was lost between their entwined tongues and she clung to him as he thrust harder and deeper, until at last he too gave a muffled shout, and poured himself and his pleasure within her.
It was some long moments before they could both take control of their breathing and beating hearts, and then they quickly found each other’s tender gaze. He kissed her brow, her cheeks, and gently, so carefully, her aching lips. He whispered endearments and carefully eased himself from between her thighs, gathering her close in his arms as they lay side by side in happy silence.
After a few moments he murmured, ‘Beatrice?’
‘Mmm?’ She moved her head languidly, to look at him.
‘I did not hurt you too much?’
‘Nay.’
‘And…’ he hesitated, uncertain, bashful at his need to know her answer ‘…it was not repugnant for you?’
‘Nay!’ She looked at him strangely. ‘Should it be?’
‘I have heard men complain that their wives do not enjoy the act.’
‘Then it is the husbands who are at fault. Fortunately…’ she sighed and snuggled closer, pressing against him ‘…there is no fault with mine.’
He laughed then and grinned at her, ‘How would you know?’
Beatrice shook her head, gazing down at her delicate and supine body curled against his vast male frame, aware of the delicious languor that spread throughout her limbs in the aftermath of the most astonishing joy that had gripped her from within. ‘I just know. My body and my heart tells me so.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘Then I am glad.’
‘Remy?’
‘Hmm?’ His voice was lazy, content.
‘Will it always be like that?’
‘Nay, my love.’
‘Oh.’ Her disappointment was acute.
‘It will be better.’
She lifted her head from his chest and smiled up at him, digging her finger into his ribs. ‘How could it be any better than that?’
His smile was mischievous and full of promise. ‘There are many ways in which to make love.’
‘Indeed? And you will teach me all of them?’
‘If it is my lady’s wish.’
Beatrice opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a thunderous knocking upon the barred door of their bedchamber.
‘St Leger!’
They both started, and Remy lifted his head from the pillow. They stared at each other, and then at the door, and Beatrice tightened her arms about Remy’s waist.
Hammering erupted on the door, accompanied by a bellowed shout. ‘Lift your arse, St Leger! Now!’
Remy sighed and cursed, shaking his head. ‘What ails your brother?’ he demanded in annoyance. ‘I swear he is the most ill-mannered lout I have ever come across.’
Beatrice cleared her throat and shouted back, ‘Go away, Hal!’
‘Tell your husband to get off you and get dresse
d. I have need of him.’
‘Well, I have more need of him, and I was here first, so go away!’ Beatrice stared up at Remy wide-eyed and aghast at daring to speak so to her brother. When Remy grinned in support, she relaxed, with a mischievous smile of her own.
‘St Leger, if you are not out by the time I count to ten, I will call the guard to break down this door.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ shrieked Beatrice.
‘What,’ demanded Remy, in a deep, clear, calm voice, ‘is the problem?’
‘I have had word from Hepple Hill. The steward has been killed by a large band of Gascon mercenaries and they are now looting.’
Remy hung his head, muttering an oath in a pained voice, and then he disengaged her hold upon his midriff and said with regret, ‘I will have to go. Your brother is my liege lord and I cannot say him nay.’
Beatrice sat up, watching him as he rose from the bed and strode naked across the floor. The cold hand of fear, already, reached out to grip her. He stooped and picked up her shift from the floor.
‘Cover yourself,’ he said curtly, reaching for his everyday linen tunic and leather chausses, already the soldier returning to his duties.
The Knight's Vow Page 21
