‘Father Peter is on his way, sir,’ Alard said.
Eric took her hand. ‘Well, Rowena,’ he asked, his voice casual, relaxed. ‘Will you have me for your husband?’
Strong fingers caressed her palm and her stomach swooped. The lines of tension about Eric’s eyes and mouth told her that despite his relaxed manner, her answer mattered to him. That was no surprise, Eric was an ambitious man. He wanted her for her lands. And she wanted him because...because she wanted him. Yes, he was offering her an escape route after she had boxed herself into the convent, but that reason was fast becoming irrelevant. What she wanted now was Eric. She wanted him for himself. When he’d been a youth she had yearned for him, the man he had become was irresistible.
Rowena smiled up at him. ‘Yes, Eric, I will.’
The lines in his face vanished and she was conscious of an ache, deep inside. Was it too much to hope that one day Eric would value her for herself? And that one day they might share the kind of love that she had imagined she might share with Mathieu?
* * *
‘This way, my lady,’ Helvise said, leading Rowena across the minstrel’s gallery towards Eric’s bedchamber. ‘Sir Eric said that you are to share his bedchamber from now on. It is all prepared.’
Rowena nodded, glancing down into the hall below as she swept along the gallery. She hoped she looked calmer than she felt. Her wedding feast was coming to a close. She smiled quietly to herself and wondered what her mother would say when she learned of it. This was hardly the wedding feast Lady Barbara, Countess of Sainte-Colombe, would have expected for her daughter.
There had been no fanfare or entertainments. The minstrel’s gallery had been empty and silent throughout. She and Eric hadn’t been showered with dried rose petals and there had been no stuffed boar. Instead, the food had been honest rustic fare—half-a-dozen duck roasted to perfection, followed by apple pie. In short it had been nothing like the banquet her mother had told her she would have when she had been promised to Lord Gawain. Notwithstanding this, Rowena had enjoyed it very much. She might have been rushed into this marriage, but so far, she was enjoying it.
The evening had been refreshingly informal and it hadn’t taken long for Rowena to overcome her shock at finding herself married with such speed. The atmosphere in Monfort hall was warm. Friendly. Eric’s people liked him. They respected and trusted him. It was plain they enjoyed serving him.
At Monfort the household dined together, with everyone sharing a long trestle table. In honour of their knight’s marriage, a servant had unearthed the white linen they had bought at the Provins market and spread it on the board. The cloth wasn’t even hemmed. It hadn’t mattered, everyone had been far too fascinated by their knight’s hasty marriage to notice. Down the centre of the table, jugs of bluebells alternated with clusters of candles, a pretty touch that demonstrated the warmth with which Eric was held.
‘I like the bluebells,’ Rowena said.
Helvise smiled. ‘I hoped you would. Sir Eric doesn’t have any silver plate and they match his colours. I thought it would give it a festive look.’
Rowena nodded and they paused by the guardrail looking down into the hall. It made something of a contrast with the great halls at Jutigny and Sainte-Colombe. The rafters in her father’s halls were hung with the colours of the Sainte-Colombe household knights, rank upon rank of them. Here, there were just two sets of colours—blue for Eric and purple for Sir Guy. At Jutigny and Sainte-Colombe, the whitewashed walls were hidden behind displays of ancient arms. The tapestries had been worked by her mother and grandmother. Here, all was simplicity. Eric’s ancestry was unknown, there was no rusting weaponry. His forebears—whoever they might have been—were unlikely to have borne arms. Nor had his mother worked any tapestries for him.
Laughter floated up from below and Rowena’s throat tightened. Eric might not have any family, but he had a great capacity for making friends. At his right hand, Sir Guy was refilling Eric’s cup, the wine glowed ruby red in the candlelight. On his left, Alard was smiling at a comment from one of the maids. The pantry door swung wide, candle flames swayed and a slightly drunken roar of appreciation went up as the cook came through with yet another apple pie. It was the largest pie Rowena had seen. The air smelt of woodsmoke, roast meat and fruit.
They are like a family, Rowena realised. Eric has made his own family. She opened her mouth to say as much to Helvise and snapped it shut again. Helvise was staring at Eric with what could only be described as adoration. Rowena’s heart dropped. ‘Helvise?’
‘My lady?’
‘You love him,’ Rowena said, in a hollow voice. ‘You love Sir Eric.’
Helvise sent her a puzzled look. ‘Sir Eric has been kind to me.’ Her gaze sharpened and an expression of horror crossed her face. ‘Oh, no, my lady, it is not as you think. Sir Eric and I—no, no, you are not to think that.’
Rowena couldn’t help but glance at Helvise’s belly. Folding her hands protectively over it, Helvise shook her head. ‘My lady, I can see what you are thinking, and it is not true. You mustn’t let such thoughts spoil your wedding night. My feelings for Sir Eric are simply those of a loyal retainer. Please, come this way.’ Turning from the guardrail, Helvise led her into Eric’s bedchamber.
Rowena trailed after her, praying that she could believe her. She wanted to believe her, she really didn’t like the idea that Helvise and Eric might have been lovers. It shouldn’t matter, Rowena had contracted this marriage for convenience, not love. She had been ready to leave the convent and marriage with a man for whom she could feel liking, if not affection, was her best option. At last she would be following her parents’ wishes. They liked Eric as much as she did. And seeing him in the hall tonight, observing the way he commanded loyalty and affection from his retainers as well as obedience, made her see why he had risen so high in her father’s service. When the time came, Eric de Monfort would be the best of stewards. The County of Sainte-Colombe would be in safe hands.
Pulse thumping, she went into his bedchamber. It was roomier than the one Rowena had been sharing with Helvise. The shutters were closed against the night; candles were glowing on wall sconces; a small fire crackled in the hearth. The bed was certainly large. Rowena’s mouth went dry as she looked at it. Would Eric demand his husbandly rights? She felt ridiculously nervous. Much as she liked him, she wasn’t ready for that. She had really only known him for a couple of days. Knowing him as a boy simply wasn’t the same.
The oak headboard—it was plain and very masculine—looked new. The mattress and pillows were thick and the coverlet was turned down. On top of a heavy coffer, someone—Helvise most likely—had placed wine and pastries on a tray.
‘My lady, I hope you don’t mind,’ Helvise said, ‘I took the liberty of cutting up some of the sheeting you brought back from Provins to put on the bed. I didn’t have time to hem it.’
‘Thank you, Helvise.’ Hoping Helvise couldn’t see how nervous she was, Rowena forced a smile. ‘We will certainly have yards of hemming to do later.’
‘Miles of it, I should think,’ Helvise said drily. She stepped forward, a line between her eyebrows. As she reached up to unpin Rowena’s veil, her belly touched Rowena’s hand. ‘My lady, you mustn’t be afraid. Sir Eric won’t hurt you.’
Rowena took a deep breath, she had the uncomfortable feeling that Helvise was about to give her some motherly advice, and she wasn’t sure she could take it from her. ‘I don’t suppose he will, Sir Eric is, as you say, a kind man.’ And he will not wish to alienate the wife who brings him so much in the way of land and prestige.
Removing Rowena’s veil, Helvise folded it and placed it carefully on a chest by the wall. ‘I am glad that you have become his wife,’ she said. ‘Since Sir Eric took over Monfort he has often spoken of his time at Jutigny. He holds your family in great esteem.’
‘That is good to hear.’
‘Thank you for your help this evening, Helvise,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what we would have done without you.’
Helvise dipped him a curtsy. ‘It is my pleasure, sir. Will that be all?’
‘Thank you, yes. Goodnight, Helvise.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’ Helvise left them, closing the door softly behind her.
‘I thought you would prefer to forgo the bedding ceremony,’ Eric said, lifting a brow.
Rowena grimaced. ‘Bless you, I was dreading it. And thank you also for arriving when you did. I suspect that Helvise was about to educate me on what to expect from a husband in the marriage bed.’
Eric looked utterly bemused. ‘Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe, you are a fraud to tease her so.’
Rowena stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’
Walking up to her, Eric reached for her plait and untied the ribbon with uncommon care. ‘I believe you, my sweet, are more experienced than you like to pretend.’
Rowena touched his hand. ‘My experience, such as it is, is not large.’
‘Is it not?’ Eric smiled at her and gently unwound her braid.
Rowena gave him a startled look. ‘You know about Mathieu,’ she said. ‘How?’
Eric shrugged and went on unwinding her hair. His touch was surprisingly delicate. ‘I didn’t know his name. However, it seemed likely that an aversion to Lord Gawain wasn’t the only reason you secreted yourself away in that convent. There had to be more to it than that.’
‘Not much more,’ she said, frankly. A few stolen kisses didn’t amount to much.
‘What happened?’
She stared at Eric’s neck. ‘He was killed.’
Eric caught her by the chin, eyes intent. ‘I recall that a squire of the same name was killed in a tavern brawl in Provins just over a year ago.’
‘Yes, that was Mathieu.’
‘I’m sorry. You loved him?’ He released her chin. ‘No, don’t answer that, I have no right to ask. Of course you did. You loved him so much you couldn’t bear the thought of marriage to Lord Gawain.’
Something in Eric’s eyes tugged at her heart. ‘Yes, I loved him. His death was devastating. In retrospect, I don’t think we knew each other very well.’ She held his gaze. ‘He was the same age as me.’
‘So he must have been about seventeen when he died.’
‘Aye.’
‘It is young. Poor lad.’ He drew in a breath. ‘So that is why you turned down the Count of Meaux.’
Something—a hint of vulnerability in the way he was looking at her—made Rowena interlace her fingers firmly with his. ‘My father was furious, but I have no regrets.’
His face lightened. ‘I am glad to hear it.’ Taking her shoulders, he turned her to face away from him. She felt a warm kiss on her neck and those careful fingers began loosening the lacings at the back of her gown. As her gown started to fall away, another kiss was planted on her shoulder. ‘Love is unreliable, in any case,’ he went on, in that casual tone that she was coming to suspect meant he was hiding some unwanted feeling.
Smiling, she turned her head to look at him. ‘You are the expert in that, I am sure.’
His fingers stilled. ‘How do you come to that conclusion?’
She laughed. ‘Eric, you lived at Jutigny for years. Every maidservant in the castle had eyes for you. As I recall, you made the most of it.’ She paused. ‘You had quite the reputation.’
‘Did I?’
‘You know you did.’
Eric stroked her gown from her shoulders, pushed her hair aside and another kiss was planted on her shoulder blade. Another little tug and her gown fell to the floor leaving her clad only in her convent shift. Thankfully, the fabric was thick, it hid her body from his gaze and she could see that he was studying her. Cheeks hot, Rowena stepped out of the gown and bent to pick it up.
He swallowed. ‘Leave it,’ he said hoarsely, and offered her his hand. ‘Merciful heaven, Rowena, your hair—you—you are glorious.’
Heart in her mouth, Rowena slipped her fingers into his. Conscious of him looking her up and down, she sent him a shy smile. ‘Eric, I am not sure I can do this.’
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Of course you can. An experienced woman like you.’
Rowena felt herself frown. What did he mean? He must be teasing her. ‘I feel ridiculously nervous.’
Taking her by the waist, he pulled her close. ‘No need, we shall do very well.’ He nuzzled his way through her hair to her shoulder, and her body warmed as it had done each time they had kissed. Feeling herself weakening, she looped her arms about his neck.
‘That’s better,’ he murmured, nibbling her ear.
Twisting her head, she kissed his neck.
‘Much better.’
Whilst the sound of his voice in her ear weakened her knees, it didn’t make her any the less nervous. ‘Eric?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I don’t feel I know you well enough.’
His head lifted. His eyes were black in the candlelight. ‘We’ve known each other for years.’
She thumped his chest. ‘You know what I mean, I’ve only been here two days.’
‘Mon Dieu, is that how long it’s been?’ He grinned. ‘It feels like ten years.’
‘Thank you, sir. You are charm itself.’ She curled her fingers into his tunic. ‘Please, Eric, can’t we wait until we are better reacquainted?’
Smiling, he shook his head. ‘Rowena, we shall consummate our marriage tonight.’
Her pulse thudded. She searched his face and sent up a swift prayer, that one day their marriage might come to be more than a marriage of convenience. For both of them.
Cupping her face in his hands, Eric kissed her nose. ‘I don’t want to lose you, there must be no doubt that we are properly married. If you are questioned, I want you to be able to swear that we know each other in the full, Biblical sense.’ He pressed himself against her and she was in no doubt but that he desired her. ‘I want you, Rowena, and I will have you. Tonight.’
Rowena took a shaky breath and pushed doubt behind her. Eric was her husband, her future was with him. Her stomach was filled with butterflies, the sensation was unfamiliar and really quite pleasant. She knew it was desire. Her breasts felt heavy, as if they yearned for his touch. Whilst her mind might not be ready to bed with Eric, her body most definitely was. It was practically screaming at him to touch her. Everywhere.
She wasn’t ignorant, her mother had warned her what to expect when she had become betrothed to Lord Gawain. Rowena knew it might hurt at first. She also knew—and hoped—the pain wouldn’t last long. What she hadn’t expected was this screaming desire. It felt as though she had a fever and it was frightening in its power. Touch me, Eric. Touch me everywhere. ‘Very well.’
Eric caught Rowena’s head in his hands and gave her a slow, possessive kiss. He wanted her to know without any doubt that he wasn’t going to change his mind. They would become lovers tonight. His blood rushed through his veins. He nudged himself gently against her, took advantage of her sharp intake of breath when she realised what was pressing into her, and swept his tongue into her mouth. She tasted sweet. She smelt sweet. She was sweet. Insanely so. She drove him wild and all they were doing was kissing.
He listened to the small breathy gasps and edged her towards the bed, pulling back long enough to take in the rosy flush to her cheeks and the downswept eyelashes. He found her mouth once more and explored it. Much as he wanted her, he was afraid of rushing her. He should take it slowly. We have the rest of our lives together. The thought was new to him, it was both pleasing and humbling. He mustn’t let his haste ruin everything.
He took her hand and
placed it on his belt buckle. ‘Undress me, if you please.’ Lord, this was bad, he hadn’t imagined how eager he would be. He hoped he didn’t ruin things, he could barely speak.
Wide blue eyes gazed up at him. Her flush intensified. ‘If you wish, my husband.’
My husband. Eric’s heart lurched, he was moved beyond words. He’d never thought he’d be husband to a woman as precious and delicate as Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe.
He didn’t understand how she did it, she gave every appearance of being completely innocent. It was extraordinarily beguiling, even though he was certain she had already had a lover in her Mathieu. Well, Eric knew a little about pleasing a woman and he would do his utmost to ensure it wouldn’t be Mathieu’s name she would be gasping tonight.
Small fingers undid his buckle and his belt fell to the floor with a clack. She looked uncertainly at him, reaching shyly for his tunic. ‘This next?’
‘Please.’ Eric groaned, that teasing shyness would be his undoing, he was sure of it. He was almost bursting out of his braies.
Rowena took his tunic by the hem, lifted and gave a slight laugh. ‘You are so tall, you must help me.’
In a flurry of movement, his tunic and shirt went the way of his belt. She bit her lip and looked at his chest, her hands suspended a few inches away from his flesh. Near enough for him to feel their heat. Her breath escaped in a sigh before she carefully set her palms against his skin. A frisson went through him.
‘Eric...’ she breathed.
His gut clenched, sweet and agonising.
Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss in the centre of his chest. She stroked his chest and shoulders, leaving a trail of sensation in her wake. Pausing to snuff out a couple of candles, Eric wound his arm about her waist and sat with her on the edge of the bed.
She didn’t resist. Lit by the remaining candles and the fire glow, her eyes were enormous. Luminous and dark with desire. Nor did she resist as, with a rustle of linen and wool, several snatched kisses and a few nervous giggles on Rowena’s part, he encouraged her to shed her shift.
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