For a long moment Beatrice stared at him, and then she smiled and would have laughed out loud if she had not feared he would misunderstand and take offence. But it was relief that made her want to laugh, not contempt, and quickly she hurried across the intervening space and took his large hands in hers, exclaiming, ‘How lucky it is then that you have a wife, Sir Remy!’ She reached up on tip-toe and kissed his cheek. ‘No doubt you think a wife is only for the pleasure of bedding, but we have other uses too.’
He turned then and looked down at her with a frown. ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’
‘Do not look at me with thunder upon your brow.’ Beatrice softened her words with a wide smile. ‘It means that I have been well taught to be chatelaine of a great estate like Castle Ashton, having learned at my mother’s knee, and since her death some months ago I have put to good use the knowledge she gave me.’ Then she giggled mischievously and pressed closer to him. ‘I will make you a deal, Sir Knight—a trade.’
Remy leaned back against the wall, the darkness in his eyes lifting and a smile, for the first time in days, touching his lips. ‘Indeed? And what might that be?’ His hands on her waist drew Beatrice closer, and she stood between the arch of his powerful thighs and leaning against his broad chest. His fingers reached up and toyed with several silky strands of long, honey-brown hair.
‘It means that we can learn from each other. You can teach me all there is to know about…’ here she blushed scarlet and lowered her eyes ‘…about bedsport. And I can teach you all I know about running an estate.’ She raised her eyes to him, with a shy smile, ‘Is it a deal?’
For a long moment he gazed at her, and then he glanced out of the window, thoughtfully. ‘Aye, my lady,’ he agreed at long last. ‘But these lessons, I give you fair warning, are to be held in private. Never try to, shall we say, instruct me in front of others. I do not care for the whole world to know that I am a fool and that my wife is wearing my breeches.’
For a moment a frisson of anger flashed through her, and then she considered his words from his point of view, which was male and so different from her own. Pride was so tender and valuable to a man, she decided, and she smiled gently and slid her hand around his shoulder. ‘Of course, my lord. Providing that you do not intend to instruct me in public places either.’
He laughed then. ‘My lady is growing bold now that she is wed.’ His eyes grew warm and lazy as they ventured over her slim form. ‘Shall we begin your first lesson now?’
‘But ‘tis daylight, my lord.’ Beatrice lowered her eyes demurely, hiding her delighted smile, ‘We should wait until nightfall.’
‘I cannot wait.’
Beatrice gave a small cry as suddenly his arms went around her and swept her feet off the floor. Carrying her across the room, he placed her on the mattress and was shrugging off his tunic before she even had time to glance up. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed to unwind his cross-garters and pull off his boots, throwing them with a thump upon the floor.
Beatrice observed his broad sun-tanned back as he leaned down to remove his chausses, muscles rippling with his every move, and she was astonished at how quickly he had made himself naked. He turned to her then, and his eyes roamed over her, ending on her boots, which he pulled off and tossed to the floor over his shoulder. His hand slid beneath her skirt and she shivered as she felt his fingers pull down her hose, withdrawing them one by one with a sensual smile and dropping them to one side. She watched his lean brown fingers as he began unlacing her kirtle and she made no protest as he stripped it off and threw it in the direction of her hose, but she did make a little murmur as he made to remove her shift.
‘It is cold in here,’ she whispered shyly.
He grunted, and pulled back the bedcovers, manoeuvring her beneath them and himself beside her. She quivered as his hand boldly covered her breast.
‘Kiss me,’ whispered Beatrice, tilting back her head and looking up at him. Battle lust warred with the tenderness that was part of his nature, the killing spree of the past few days bringing out the hard warrior in him. He bent his head and kissed her with passion, rolling her over on to her back and pulling down her shift. He groaned at the feel of her breasts crushed beneath his chest. Her shift tangled between them, hindering his access to her soft body. With a throaty growl he tugged at it, the fragile muslin shredding in his hands and he hurled it out of the bed.
Beatrice felt heat flush across her skin and she was awed by his power and his strength. He had taken command of her body and she was helpless to resist. She lay back and let his fingers move where they would, little gasps and shudders escaping from her. His mouth closed over her breast and she arched her back, seared by the sweet agony of his hot, wet tongue sucking on her nipple. She started when his fingers delved between her thighs, dipping and stroking, and she felt herself melt, felt moisture seep from within her, and she whimpered in embarrassment.
‘Do not,’ he admonished roughly, his voice a harsh whisper by her ear, ‘there is naught to be ashamed of. Indeed, it pleases me to feel your dew. It tells me that you are ready to take me inside you.’ Yet he reined in his urgency, wary of hurting her with his eager need, and gently he guided her hand to find the hot, hard length of his arousal.
Beatrice was startled by the feel of his manhood, rigid and smooth like a silk-covered lance. She blushed hotly as he closed her hand about him, whispering by her ear, ‘My lady holds me in her grasp, and may do with me as she wishes, when she wishes.’
Her breath escaped from her in ragged gasps, as her heart drummed a tattoo and a sheen of sweat glowed upon her skin. She felt dizzy with the heady whirl of sensual need, and while he kissed her she guided him to her with one hand. She shuddered with pleasure at the feel of him, and raised her eyes uncertainly to his. He took back the control then, and entered her. Her hips rose in response to the sweet joy of his maleness. It was a tight fit and he thrust again, deeper, harder. She cried out with desperate pleasure and clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist as he growled and groaned, and dug his elbows into the bed to keep his weight off her, while his hips strained and bucked. She said his name and clasped her hands around his muscular shoulders, holding on to him, adrift on a sea of ecstasy and seeking his anchor. He kept on with a steady impetus, lost to the bliss of being inside her and yet also waiting for her, his fingers sliding between them and helping her reach the goal he knew so well and she did not. At last she shuddered and wept his name out loud. At that he surrendered and knew it must all end, exchanging long moments of pleasure for a brief burst of sheer ecstasy. With one final powerful lunge he released his seed within her. Panting, he came to a halt and lowered his forehead to the curve of her neck, spent and satisfied.
Aware of his great weight and her slender frame, he withdrew with reluctance from the warmth of her silken sheath and rolled away. He lay upon his back and released a long, gratified sigh, yet tenderly connected to her still as he held her hand, his fingers laced intimately one between each of hers.
They dozed in the warm afternoon sunshine, murmuring softly to one another, and all the while Remy pondered if he dared make love to her again, or whether she would be too tender. Beatrice had other thoughts, and speculated when he would speak the words she longed to hear.
Remy was not a man to lie about idle for long and he soon suggested they get up and dress. He wanted to take a walk around their new home and when she agreed he rose from the bed and dressed. He discreetly turned his back and went to stand at the window, gazing out, allowing Beatrice some privacy while she rose, washed from a pitcher of water standing on a coffer, and dressed. Beatrice slipped on her hose and her shoes and followed him when he turned about and headed for the door, yet when she reached the threshold a sudden thought struck her. Thanks to Remy’s audacious statement earlier everyone would know what they had been doing! Her cheeks flamed, and she retreated, taking several steps backwards, and then moved to sit down on the edge of a chair beside the hearth.
‘Beatrice?’ Remy turned towards her, his voice gentle with concern, noting the flood of colour to her cheeks that drained rapidly away, leaving her pale. ‘Is aught amiss?’
‘I—I…’ She hesitated, unwilling to slight him with her shame. ‘You go on ahead, I am more tired than I thought and I think I will rest this afternoon.’
He groaned and dropped to one knee beside her chair, taking her hand in his palm and cursing himself soundly. ‘I knew it! You did not complain, but I knew I must have hurt you. It will not always be so, Beatrice, I swear.’
She smiled at him, her eyes exploring his anxious face, and while she was sore in that place where he had possessed her it was not greatly so, and in a way pleasant, the burning ache reminding her that she was now truly a woman. She stretched out her fingers and stroked his cheek whispering, ‘I thank you for your concern, but ‘tis what others think that troubles me more than any pain I may feel.’
He looked at her with a puzzled frown.
She sighed and patiently explained, ‘You more or less told everyone you were going to bed your wife. What will they think when we go downstairs now?’
He grinned wolfishly. ‘That I am a lucky devil.’
‘And of me? That I am brazen and without holy reverence to allow you to do such a thing in broad daylight, and on a saint’s day.’
He growled deep in his throat, his frown ferocious. ‘They will show you no disrespect nor utter a word, for if any did they know well enough that I would kick their backsides till their noses bleed!’
‘Remy!’ she admonished. ‘Violence is not the solution to every problem.’
He snorted. ‘You talk like a woman.’
‘I am a woman!’
He smiled, dazzling her with his blue eyes and his charm, as he murmured, ‘So I have discovered.’
‘Go you on,’ she urged him, ‘and see to your duties this afternoon. I will stay here, and Elwyn can bring me my things. I will set about unpacking them and later when you are free, we can look at them together.’
His eyes narrowed as he surveyed her in silence, and then he said quietly, ‘It seems to me that it would be ungallant to leave you alone on your first day in your new home and—’ here he gently stroked her cheek ‘—after such a sweet lesson in your…wifely duties.’
‘I do not mind. Indeed, I have hardly had a moment to myself these few days past and would welcome a little time alone. Go you on. I know well how you hate to be confined.’
As he held her hand, his eyes flitted briefly to the rumpled bed. ‘I am sorry if I have caused you embarrassment. It will not happen again.’
‘Indeed?’ She gazed upon him with speculation, suddenly gravely aware of his youthful impulsiveness. ‘What if, in the future, I should say you nay when with rough impatience you wish to drag me from the dinner table and take me to our chamber?’
‘I did not drag you from the dinner table! Besides, it will not be so. I have given you my word. It is only that we are newly married and I have missed you so these few days past that I could not wait a moment longer to have you alone.’
‘But what if it is so again, Remy?’ she persisted. ‘What will you do if I say you nay?’
‘Why would you? Did you not enjoy my lovemaking?’
She shrugged, aware of an elusive yet vital answer that he must give her. ‘Mayhap I have a cold. Or a headache. Or we have quarrelled, or I am merely contrary.’
He floundered then. He hung his head and shrugged helplessly. ‘I have given you my word.’ He rose to his feet and gave her a short bow. ‘You must trust me, my lady. That is all I can say.’
He left her then and Beatrice watched as he closed the door quietly behind him, and listened to the sound of his footsteps fading away down the stairs. A great wave of aching doubt washed over her, and seemed to threaten any vestige of happiness she had struggled to find. The years had been long and hard and lonely, and it seemed to her not easily forgotten. Was she so accustomed to loss that now she actively sought to achieve it? Did she deliberately seek arguments when happiness seemed too good to be true?
When Elwyn came to find her she glanced at the bed and the tear-stained face of her mistress and rushed to embrace her. She patted her and murmured, ‘There, there, my pet! All will be well. I feared waiting so long to become a wife might be hard on you.’
Beatrice laughed at that, wiping away the tears that threatened all too easily. ‘Do not think so badly of Sir Remy. That is not why I weep, Elwyn.’
‘My lady?’
‘We have quarrelled.’
Elwyn sighed. ‘Why?’
Beatrice shrugged. ‘Well, not exactly quarrelled. It is I who is at fault. I find it too hard to believe that so much happiness could be mine.’
‘What!’ Elwyn expostulated. ‘My lady, there you are vastly mistaken. If anyone on this earth deserves happiness it is you. Accept it, my lady, and find no reason to doubt.’
‘You think so?’ Beatrice looked up, sniffing, with a tiny glimmer of hope in her spiky-lashed eyes. ‘My husband has not yet said he loves me. Mayhap it is only lust that binds us together.’
Elwyn patted her shoulder. ‘Give him time. Some men are not wont to speak soft words. They fear it will undo their manhood.’
Her maid winked and Beatrice sighed, only slightly mollified. At Elwyn’s urging she set about unpacking her chests, as they were delivered one by one by several groaning serfs. On the table she set out the wedding gifts, and stood back to admire the silver plates and candlesticks, a jewelled mirror, several filigreed goblets, two bolts of silk, one in lilac and the other pale blue, a chest filled with tiny wooden bottles of spices. She wondered if Remy would join her, but the afternoon faded to dusk and he did not.
Piqued, Beatrice decided that she would not hide in her chamber and briskly tidied her hair and straightened her kirtle before running lightly down the stairs to the hall. Here she found Sir Hugh Montgomery, who had been the captain of her escort and would be the most senior of their hearth knights. He bowed to her politely and offered her refreshments and while they seated themselves beside the cosy fire burning brightly in the great hearth, sipped wine and nibbled on honey cakes, she looked about and wondered where Remy might be.
Sir Hugh cleared his throat uncomfortably at her enquiry and admitted, ‘He has gone out with a party of men to cut down the Gascons that were hanged, and to make sure that there are no other sights that would offend my lady should she choose to ride about the estate on the morrow.’
Beatrice fell silent, chewing on her lip. Then, with thoughtful quietness, she asked Sir Hugh, ‘How do you feel having Sir Remy for your overlord? He is by far the youngest man here and yet you and all the other knights must take his orders.’
‘And proud we are to do that. There is no finer knight and we bear him no disrespect because of his age. Why, there are many men twice his years and yet half his valour.’
It pleased her to learn that her husband was so highly esteemed. And yet, could a man so well venerated by other men be capable of loving a woman? Was it mere lust that attracted him so greatly to her? Would he ever declare what she so longed to hear? And if he did, would she have the courage to bear it? These questions plagued her. Then having inspected the kitchens and met with the cook and butler and several of the servants, and approved the meal to be offered for supper, she ordered hot water for her bath and returned to her chamber.
A wooden tub was brought up, smaller than the one at Ashton; she would have to sit with knees tucked well under her chin, Beatrice observed as it was placed before the warmth of a fire in the hearth. The serfs struggled up with bucket after bucket of steaming water, pouring these in until the tub was halfway full. Then, wishing to clear the confusion from her mind with solace, she dismissed all the servants, even Elwyn.
Beatrice stripped off her gown and shift and stepped into the hot water, fragrant with her favourite rose and lavender oil that Elwyn had sprinkled in for her. She sat down and the hot water lapped about her hips. She bent
up her knees and rested one cheek upon them, hugging them to her with her arms. In this comfort position she sighed, again and again, letting go of all the hurts and angers and worries that plagued her. And yet they would not leave her, swirling about her like the water in which she bathed.
The ends of her hair floated in the water and she watched it idly bobbing about, her eyes half-closed as she stared into the fire flames. She felt so much love for Remy welling up inside of her that she thought she might drown in it. How great and wonderful it was to love someone so much, and yet how vast and violent the fear of losing him! This was the knowledge that caused tears to drip slowly down her cheeks, splashing into the water one by one. This was the painful reality that she had sought to avoid when she had refused to marry him many months ago. Now she feared that a terrible mistake had been made! And if she should be made a widow she had a lifetime in which to repent it, in this strange place, amongst strangers. At that she began to sob in earnest, hiding her face against her knees.
She did not hear the door open, nor the soft footsteps that crossed the wooden floorboards. But she started when a hand settled on her naked shoulder.
‘Beatrice?’ Remy’s voice was infinitely gentle. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing!’ She sniffed loudly and turned her face away from him.
Remy squatted down on his heels beside the bathing tub, brushing back the wet strands of hair that clung to her cheek and obscured her face from him. ‘Come now,’ he coaxed, ‘tell me what is wrong and I will make it right.’
She shook her head and croaked in a watery voice, ‘You can’t.’
‘Has someone caused you offence? If so, I will have them flogged.’
The Knight's Vow Page 23
