Roger's Bride

by Sarah Hegger

  “Such deep thoughts.” Roger’s voice startled her. Large hands cupped her shoulders, slid down her arms and around her middle. He drew her back against him. “It is beautiful, is it not?”

  “Aye.” Kathryn rested against his warm strength.

  “I grew up here, saw this every day and I never get tired of it.” His chuckle hummed through her back. “Of course, my father saved the best view for himself.”

  They stayed in their simple embrace, breath drawing in and out in silent companionship, until the first stars winked awake and the night breeze bore a slight chill.

  Kathryn shivered.

  “Come.” Roger drew her back from the casement. “Let us sit by the fire for a moment.”

  “Is this you putting me at my ease?” Kathryn accepted a goblet of wine from him, and took one of the carved chairs.

  He poured himself wine with a wry grin. “Clearly, I am not too good at it.”

  “I am not afeared,” she said. “And I think you are doing very well.”

  “My thanks.” He toasted her with his goblet and propped a shoulder against the mantle. “I must confess to being at a loss how to proceed from here. I could simply hoist you over my shoulder and toss you on the bed.”

  Fool! Kathryn laughed and shook her head. “I would probably fight you.”

  “There is that.” He grimaced and sipped his wine. “What do you suggest?”

  Kathryn gave it some thought. They might as well begin at the part she liked. “You might begin by kissing me.”

  “An interesting notion.” He stroked his cheek and frowned. “Why should we start there?”

  His playful mood took any lingering trepidation away. “I believe it to be a good place to start.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because it is the part I like best.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” His warm look caressed her. “How would you suggest I go about this kissing business?”

  “Well.” Kathryn held out her hands. “It might be best to make sure the target of your kissing was standing.”

  “So true.” He took her hands and pulled her closer until his chest halted her forward movement. “And now what?”

  “Now bring your head closer.”

  “Like so?” He bent until his mouth lay a mere breath away from hers. His voice roughened. “And then what?”

  Her blood rose to meet the heated challenge in him, and it seemed easier to show him. Kathryn pressed her lips briefly against his. “Then you kiss me.”

  “And what do you do?” His lids hooded his eyes.

  “I put my arms about your shoulders.” She showed him. “Like so. And you put your arms about my waist.”

  “Tell me if I hurt you.” He slid his arms gingerly about her.

  “If I promise to tell you that, then you must promise not to be overly concerned about doing so.”

  “This I cannot promise.” He sucked on her bottom lip and released it. “You are my lady now. Mine to nurture and protect. Shielding you from hurt has become my life’s work.”

  Kathryn rose onto her toes and copied him, sucking his fuller bottom lip between hers. “And what has my life work become?”

  He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Why do we not begin in this chamber and discover the rest as we go along.”

  Her breath came a little faster as Roger applied himself to the business of kissing her. More like taking ownership of her mouth. Gentle pressure at her hips kept her flush against him while his kiss pulled her deeper and deeper into a heavy warmth.

  His rod pressed against her belly, hard and demanding, and yet he kept his kiss gentle.

  Kathryn learned from the motions of his lips and tongue, and sought to imitate him. She wanted to wrap him in the same heat that enveloped her. He had an essence, a taste uniquely his: cinnamon, sharp berries and mint. It awoke a craving in her.

  He broke away from her mouth. “Kathryn,” he murmured. Trailing his lips to her jaw he pressed them against the pounding pulse in her throat. “My Kathryn.”

  His Kathryn? Aye, she was that.

  His mouth moved hot down her neck. He buried his nose where her shoulder and neck met, and drew in a deep breath of her. His mouth continued its exploration. Her robe slid from her shoulder and Roger’s lips burned against her exposed shoulder.

  “What have we here?” The neck tie for her chemise dangled between his long fingers. “And what do you suppose it does?”

  One pull and it would fall, leaving her exposed. Now her nerves made an appearance in a great big roar. She would be exposed to his gaze, naked and vulnerable. Would he like what he saw? “Roger, I…”

  A half smile played around his mouth. “You are right, of course. It is rude of me to stand here still clothed.”

  First he pulled his tunic and then his chemise from him, and dropped them on the floor.

  He was beautiful, male and fully formed in a thrilling melding of muscle and sinew. She had seen his chest before, but not so close. He differed from her in so many ways. She wanted to touch and see if his skin felt as hers did, or would it be rougher.

  Hair spread between the raised slabs of his chest muscle and arrowed down the ridges of his belly, disappearing beneath his braies. With this body he would honor her, as she would cleave to him. Tonight they would become one flesh, and his body would be hers. His powerful male form, a warrior’s body, and all hers.

  She touched a small, blob-shaped scar across his ribs. “What is this from?”

  “That would be William’s first attempts at archery.” Head bent to watch her touch him. His glance dared her to explore further.

  Kathryn trailed her fingers down his flat, hard belly.

  Roger sucked in a breath, the muscles tensing beneath her fingers.

  She traced a diagonal scar running over the ridges of muscle. “This one.”

  “I did not get my shield up in time.”

  “Hmm.” Smooth, silky and so warm his skin made her fingertips tingle. She trailed up the ladder of muscle on his belly to beneath his nipple, and stroked a raised, crescent-shaped scar. “And this?”

  His breath came loud. He tensed beneath her touch. “A dagger I should have ducked.”

  A four-inch scar marred the perfection of his chest and Kathryn traced it. “This is very close to your heart.”

  “Too close.” His voice took on a raspy note.

  Emboldened, Kathryn traced the ridge of bone above his chest to his shoulder. Powerful muscle bunched beneath her fingers as she stroked his upper arm. She opened her fingers full width and still did not cover it all. “You are very strong.”

  “Right now, I am weaker than a kitten.” A soft groan followed his words.

  “Indeed?” She followed a thick, veined ridge to his forearm, and then journeyed back the way she had come. “Did you have too much wine at dinner?”

  “Nay.” His chest rose and fell on a deep breath. As she ghosted her fingers over them and down his chest, his nipples pebbled. “I have an inquisitive wench driving me out of my mind.”

  “Shall I stop?”

  He growled and his hands tightened about her hips.

  Kathryn giggled. She did this to him, and it was headier than the bride’s broth. She did what he had done to her and placed her nose in the crook of his neck. Wood, leather, and musk, he smelled of Roger, and it stirred something deep in her belly. Following the strong column of his neck, she trailed her nose to beneath his chin, and risked a soft kiss to the pulse pounding beneath.

  Her busy fingers stopped at his chausses. “What do you suppose I will find here?”

  On a half-groan, half-laugh, he shook his head. “A mighty sword.”

  “Mighty?” Her laugh sounded wanton, thrilling. She undid his belt and dropped it to the floor. “I am sure all the knights say that.”

  “Knaves and liars. The lot of them.” His clenched his jaw and dropped his head back.

  Kathryn presse
d her lips to his exposed throat. Then she pushed his chausses from his hips.

  He exhaled harshly. “You issue a challenge, my lady.”

  Aye, and she rather liked it. Still, she lacked the courage to take her game further. Instead, Kathryn pressed more kisses along the straight edge of his jaw. She stopped at his mouth.

  His stare burned into her, demanding she kiss him. Heart beating hard at her daring, Kathryn stood on her toes and kissed him. She swept her tongue between his parted lips to claim him as he had her.

  With a groan that rumbled right through her, Roger wrested the kiss from her grasp. Kissing her until her breath ran out, and until she could no longer think past the taste of him, past the thrilling duel of his tongue with hers.

  He pulled away from her, chest heaving as if he had run miles. “Now.” He tugged on the ties to her chemise. “We are more than evenly matched.”

  Silk slithered over her sensitive skin on its path to the floor. It snagged for a moment on her sensitive nipples as it passed.

  Roger stilled. His expression hardened.

  Suddenly chilled, Kathryn drew her hands up to shield herself.

  “Nay.” He gentled and brushed her hands aside. “Never hide from me. You are beautiful. It is not that.” Large, splayed fingers touched her skin. “Until now, I had not seen all of it.”

  Her bruises. Kathryn tried to bend and tug her chemise over herself again.

  Roger raised her, then swung her into his arms. “There will be no hiding from me, my lady.” He lay her on the bed, and came down beside her. With infinite care he made a thorough inspection of ever mark on her trunk. Touching her lightly so as not to hurt her, he traced each bruise, welt and mark.

  His careful touch awakened a deeper need for him. One that went past the base urge to couple, and made her need to experience the desire between them.

  Firelight played over the harsh planes of his face as he kept his gaze on his work.

  “It does not hurt so much now,” Kathryn said. The sensual mood of earlier had been overtaken by a tenderness that wriggled beneath her chest and made a warm place in her heart.

  “I am the worst sort of lout to foist myself on you when you are wounded,” he said.

  “Nay, you are not.” A lout would have taken from her what was his right by marriage. Instead Roger touched her as if he would commit each damaged place to memory. “And I wanted you to. I want you to.”

  “Kathryn.” He cupped her cheeks and pressed his forehead to hers. “Bedding is a lusty, lively business.”

  “Then do it gently.” She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him. “But make me your wife. Now. This night.”

  Indecision held him still.

  Kathryn took matters into her own hands, kissing him with all the ferocity she could muster. Imparting with her kiss the message that he would not hear.

  On a groan, Roger dropped onto his back, bringing her atop him. “If you insist, my lady.” With a smug grin, he dropped his arms to the bed. “You may have your way with me.”

  Being atop him gave her the command. His big, beautiful form spread beneath her. Her breasts pressed into his chest in the most delicious manner. At her thigh juncture, his rod pressed hard and hot against her. Kathryn wriggled.

  Roger shut his eyes and swore. Large hands spread over her bottom and held her still. He moved her against him, igniting a low burn in her woman’s place. “Like this.”

  Sensation clouded her thinking, originating at the slow glide of his rod against her core.

  Over her ass he slid his hand, and between her thighs.

  Nobody had ever touched her there, and Kathryn gasped.

  He parted the damp folds and slid his finger along. “Feel how wet you are,” he whispered. “This tells me how much you want me.”

  “It does?” Kathryn ground down until she found the perfect press on a spot that demanded more attention.

  “This is how you ready yourself for me.”

  She gasped as he slid a finger inside her. Shocked, she stilled and accustomed herself to the strange invasion. Not unpleasant but peculiar and new.

  Moving slowly, he allowed her time for the feeling to become enjoyable. “Aye, Kathryn,” he murmured.

  Heat built again inside her, driven by the dual attack on her senses of his finger inside her, and his rod rubbing her where she ached.

  Another finger joined the first, filling her to slight discomfort before her body eased the passage.

  “Sit up.” His voice growled in her ear.

  Kathryn obeyed.

  He lay beneath her thighs like a beautiful carnal offering. With his hands firm on her hips he raised her slightly.

  His organ nudged her entrance, and she tensed.

  Roger grimaced and lifted his hips while bringing her down onto him.

  “It will not fit.” Kathryn dug her nails into his chest.

  “Aye, sweeting, it will.” He eased a little more inside her.

  It stung for a moment and then she stretched to accommodate his girth a bit more.

  Sinew stood out in his throat from his clenched jaw. He slid further inside her. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Be easy, sweetheart. Let me in.”

  For her, he kept command of his baser instincts, and Kathryn breathed deep and pressed his rod deeper within her. Her maidenhead ripped with a slight tearing sensation, but nothing close to what her mother had described. Inch by inch they went until he was fully seated within her.

  He filled her in the wickedest of ways, and she rested atop him a moment and grew accustomed to him.

  “Now you move.” Roger showed her how with his grip on her hips.

  Uncomfortable at first, Kathryn moved on him as directed.

  He brought one hand to the place between her legs that still throbbed. That was what she needed, and she moved faster, racing for something her body craved.

  Roger flexed his hips in time with hers.

  Faster, deeper she moved on him, her being intent on him within her and where he touched her.

  “Dear God, Kathryn.” The taut ferocity of his face reflected her struggle. He needed the same thing she did. Sweat slicked his trunk to gleaming, flexing muscle. “Come for me, sweeting.”

  She had no idea what that meant, but she writhed on him, desperate to reach the end.

  Her completion rose in a rush. Sweeping her along its path and tossing her over the edge into a throbbing, sated stillness.

  Beneath her Roger thrust hard inside her, and then on a shout he tensed, his hands digging into her thighs.

  Time stilled, and there was just her and Roger in a perfect joining of man and wife.

  Kathryn collapsed against his chest, her breathing harsh, her heart racing.

  In the still that followed, everything dropped away but them. She pressed into his chest, connected to him in a manner that touched every part of her.

  After a time, he eased her to lie beside him with her head on his chest. His big arm wrapped about her waist and kept her close to him. “Are you well?”

  “Aye.” Kathryn burrowed into his warmth. Her heart slowed in time with the strong beat of his beneath her ear. She felt altered, complete, as if in this moment they had ceased to be separate beings. “But I am a little hungry.”

  Chapter 22

  Roger left Kathryn snuggled beneath the linens and clutching a pillow. Her hair snarled about her head in an unholy mess, but he would be back to help her untangle it before she awoke.

  This wouldn’t take long, but he could not rest until he acted. All night he had lain awake, committing every bruise and mark on her beautiful skin to memory. He was a knight, a warrior, a man of action, and his nature demanded its due.

  He dressed and let himself out of their bedchamber. The first touch of sun made roseate streaks across a lightening sky. Within Roger, the weather raged from storm to tempest.

  Rob, his father’s youngest page, headed down the passage toward
him with a welcoming grin on his freckled face. His started and faltered as he stared at Roger.

  “Good morrow.” Roger tried to arrange his features into more reassuring lines. “Have you seen Sir Royce?”

  “Aye, my lord.” Rob skirted him, keeping as much distance as he could between them. “I saw him in the stables a moment ago.”

  “My thanks.” Roger quickened his pace.

  Early morning chill still clung to the bailey as Roger strode across it. Two kitchen drudges staggered from the well with the massive black cauldron that would provide warm water to the keep. Roger waited impatiently whilst a goatherd moved his small flock out of the bailey to graze outside the walls. He wanted to run his quarry to ground before too many inquisitive eyes were about.

  The rich, pungent smell of horse met him as he entered the stables. A soft whicker of greeting came from his favorite destrier. Roger would make it up to him with a greeting later. Beneath his feet, straw muffled his boot heels as he followed the murmur of voices deep within.

  “Did you feed him the oats, as I instructed you?” Fabric straining over his gut, Sir Royce attempted to browbeat a stable boy.

  Peter stood his ground, chin raised. “We did not receive that instruction, my lord. But if you would like me to add more oats to his feed—”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Sir Royce shoved Peter’s shoulder.

  It seemed Sir Royce did not confine himself to bullying women. Anybody in a weaker position would do. Roger’s blood surged.

  Peter caught sight of Roger, and nodded. “Nay, Sir Royce. I did not say you did not give the instruction. I said I did not receive it.”

  “Is this how you treat a guest at Anglesea? With impudence? I shall speak to Sir Arthur about this.”

  Sir Arthur did not treat his people as insects beneath his feet. They knew their place and their value.

  “You are free to do so, Sir Royce. I will tell him the same thing I am telling you.” Peter smirked and straightened his tunic. “Or better yet, tell Sir Roger. He is standing right behind you.”

  Sir Royce whirled, and flushed. “Ah, Roger, my lad.”

  Cold, deadly, the predator within him howled for blood. “Sir Royce.”