Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I know who I am,” he removed his fists from his hips and crouched next to the bath. “But you chased off Lucy and Frances. They are most distressed. They think you do not like them.”

  She looked genuinely concerned. “I did not mean to distress them,” she struggled for the correct words. “I am simply unused to bathing with help, much less with the help of women I do not even know. I am more comfortable alone, ’tis all. Please tell them not to be distressed. It was not my intention to upset them.”

  He smiled faintly. “I am sure they know that but I will remind them,” his smile faded as his gaze trailed to the linen covering her chest, the soapy water. “I told you that they would be your ladies-in-waiting. You will have to get to know them sooner or later.”

  “I will. But right now, I would simply like to bathe without the assistance of strangers.”

  His eyes lingered on the peaked nipples showing through the linen. “May I help you bathe? You know me, after all.”

  The sheer tone in his voice made her blush to the roots of her hair; she may have been fairly naïve but she had heard that tone before, before he made love to her. “I am finished bathing, my lord,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

  He leaned forward and took her in his arms, pulling her wet body up against his damp and dirty tunic. She shrieked.

  “You are sweaty and filthy,” she pushed against him. “Now I will have to bathe again.”

  He laughed softly, released her, and yanked off his tunic. The gleam in his eye was strong. “Exactly.”

  The tub was big enough for two; before Devereux could protest, Davyss pulled off his boots and breeches and plopped his enormous bulk into the tub. Water sloshed all over the floor and Devereux yelped as a tidal wave engulfed her. As she wiped the water from her eyes, there was a white bar of soap thrust in her face.

  “Here,” Davyss said. “You may wash me so I am not so offensive.”

  She blinked the water from her eyes and hesitantly accepted the soap. “But it smells of flowers,” she cocked an eyebrow at him. “You are going to smell like a woman.”

  “Would you rather me smell of horses?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then wash me.”

  After a few moments of reluctance, she did as he asked. Davyss closed his eyes as she crept forward in the tub, planted herself between his massive legs, and began to soap him. She started with his dark hair, rubbing soap into it and creating white froth with her fingers as she worked it in. As Davyss sat there, still as stone, he could tell she was very hesitant. Her fingers were unsure, as she had never done this sort of thing before, and he could tell she was somewhat embarrassed and uncertain. But at least she was willing to try. He felt a good deal of confidence in that, confident that their new beginning was working. After the bumps of the past day, he sincerely hoped so.

  He lifted his head, eyes still closed, as she soaped his face and neck. The more she worked, the more sure her fingers became. By the time she reached his hairy chest, she was soaping him quite vigorously. He grunted when she came to his belly, twitching, and she abruptly stopped and looked at him.

  “What is wrong?” she asked, concerned. “Did I hurt you?”

  He grunted again and shook his head, his eyes still closed. “Nay.”

  She eyed him as she went back to work, watching him twitch again as she soaped his ribs. She paused, he stopped twitching. Then she started again, stronger than before, and watched him shudder uncomfortably. It took her a moment to realize that he was very ticklish. She stared at him, the mere notion that the most powerful knight in the realm was ticklish overwhelmed her thoughts. She fought off a grin, then laughter, as realization dawned. Suddenly, she dug both hands into his ribs and tickled mercilessly. Davyss groaned and grabbed her by both wrists in his iron grip.

  “You evil little wench,” he growled. “You will not exploit that, not ever again. Do you understand?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her, seeing that her face was red and she was struggling to hold back the laughter. When their eyes met, she erupted into great peals and yanked her wrists free, digging her fingers into his ribs again. Davyss responded by throwing her in a big bear hug, holding her tightly enough that she couldn’t move. She laughed uproariously as he held her tight, cradled against his mighty chest, his face mere inches from her own.

  “Do that again and you shall pay the price,” he growled, although a grin played on his lips. “Well? Swear you will never do it again or you shall feel my wrath.”

  Her laughter faded as she gazed up at him. “It is my secret, my lord,” she said as if she held a great weapon against him. “I promise I will only use the knowledge in times of great need.”

  His eyebrows lifted as his loins grew heated; she was warm and soft and slippery against him and his lust bloomed full force.

  “Times of great need?” he repeated, having a difficult time focusing on something other than her sweet body. “What on earth could that be?”

  “I am not sure yet.”

  “I see,” he lifted an eyebrow, pretending to be properly worried when all he really wanted to do was kiss her. “So you intend to abuse your power, do you?”

  Her smile bloomed. “Not at all. But it is a good thing to know, don’t you think?”

  He just shook his head, completely charmed by her playful manner. “You are a horrible woman.”

  She laughed softly. “You knew that when you married me.”

  He nodded his head as if in complete agreement. “I know,” he murmured. “How utterly fortunate I am.”

  His lips slanted hungrily over hers before she could reply. This time, she didn’t stiffen in his arms. She remained cooperative and pliable, and Davyss could feel passion exploding within him such as he had never known. His mouth quickly left her lips, moving over her neck and shoulders as he captured a full breast in his grip. Soon his lips were on her nipples and he could hear Devereux gasping with awakening desire. He had her out of the tub and onto the floor before she could draw another breath.

  He moved her to a cow hide rug that lay on the floor near a softly glowing bronze vizier. His massive body covered her, his mouth on her breasts and torso, suckling her delightfully damp skin that smelled strongly of flowers. Beneath him, Devereux continued to gasp and pant. He suckled her lower belly, her right thigh, before grabbing hold of her hips and flipping her onto her stomach.

  His massive hands massaged her shoulders, her back, and finally her smooth buttocks. He gently pulled her legs apart, wedging himself in between her knees. Devereux lay there, acutely aware of every sensation, aware of his hands on her buttocks, her thighs, before he gently grasped her by the pelvis. He lowered his enormous body down atop her and carefully entered her from behind.

  It was a completely different sensation from anything she had experienced with him thus far. Devereux groaned as he thrust into her, her slick body drawing him deep. He thrust again and again, covering her with his massive body as he supported his weight on one elbow. His free hand roamed her body, his lips on her head, her neck and shoulders. Then the hand moved to her pelvis again and he pulled her slightly onto her left side as his hand snaked underneath and began to play with the fluff of dark curls between her legs.

  Davyss knew how to make a woman scream; that much had been clear from the beginning. Within seconds of the thrill of his expert fingers, Devereux buried her face in the cow hide rug and cried out as he manipulated her into a powerful climax. When her convulsions died down, Davyss flipped her onto her back and drove into her again, kissing her deeply as he thrust into her. After a few more thrusts, he spilled himself deep into her body but continued moving, not wanting the moment to end. Every time he took the woman, it was better than the time before. There was such power and desire between them that he could hardly comprehend it.

  They lay on the cow hide rug for some time, feeling the warmth from the vizier and each other’s bodies. Davyss shifted so his weight wasn’t crushing her but he
refused to let her go. Holding her sweetly and tightly was the best possible thing he could imagine, creating this warm little haven of flesh and beating hearts. But there was something more than just physical contact; there was something odd stirring in his chest that he didn’t yet understand yet. All he knew was that it grew stronger by the moment.

  “I am afraid I disrupted your bath,” he murmured, kissing the side of her head. “My apologies.”

  She gazed up at him with her bottomless gray eyes, studying the lines of his handsome face. Moment by moment, day by day, the man was growing on her and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that still. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to have any resistance at all to him. She was becoming swept up in whatever was developing between them, something she’d never even known to exist. It was magical.

  “No need,” she said softly. “You are my husband. You may do with me as you wish.”

  The warm expression faded from his face and he abruptly pushed himself up. His hazel eyes were glimmering with confusion, perhaps disappointment, as he stared at her.

  “Will you stop saying that?” he demanded, though it was without force. “I know I am your husband. I am well aware of what my rights are. I do not need you to remind me every time we have any manner of physical contact.”

  Devereux sat up, watching his frustrated face. She began to feel some confusion as well. “But it is true. I… I am not sure why you are….”

  He waved a big hand at her and stood up. “I know it is true,” he almost snapped. “But you say it so coldly, as if … oh, hell, I do not know… as if you are removed from the situation. Is that what you truly wish? That you remain removed from this marriage in every way?”

  She eyed him with some shock, digesting his words. Silently, she rose from the cow hide rug and collected the white robe that had been laid out for her. Wrapping it around her body, she seemed lost in thought as she turned to Davyss. He was still standing naked in the middle of the room, looking for an answer. She was struggling to supply one.

  “I am not sure what you mean,” she said honestly.

  “Do you not feel anything?”

  She seemed shocked by the question but just as quickly, he could see that she indeed knew what he was asking. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

  “Davyss,” her sweet voice was low, firm. “You and I were married a little over a month ago and to say that we had a rough beginning is an understatement. You have acknowledged this. Until two days ago, I had resigned myself to the fact that I had married a man in name only. But then this man reappeared and seemed to be nothing like the one I remember from my wedding day. He was kind, considerate, generous and attentive. He was completely different from the Davyss de Winter I married on that turbulent day. Do I feel anything? Of course I do. Am I terrified? Absolutely. I am terrified that I am going to wake up and this all will have been a dream. I do not want to become attached to a dream.”

  He looked as if he was pained somehow by her answer. His hazel eyes flickered and he hung his head for a moment. Then he made his way over to her, putting his massive hands on her upper arms in a labored, if not thoughtful, gesture. His fingers caressed her as he thought on his reply.

  “I will confess something,” he whispered. “It was never, under any circumstances, my intention to become attached to anyone, least of all you. I do not know what it is about you that draws me to you, but something does. Whether it is what my mother said to me on our wedding day, or simply what I feel, I am not sure. All I know is that I feel something for you, something that terrifies and puzzles me. But it is the most wonderful feeling I have ever had.”

  By this time, he was looking at her. Devereux met his gaze; she could feel something from him, something warm and fearful. She understood the feeling well. After a moment, her expression softened.

  “I understand completely,” she smiled faintly. “I am experiencing it myself. But you scare me.”

  “I know. You scare me, too.”

  She sighed thoughtfully. “We simply cannot go through this marriage afraid of each other.”

  “What do we do?”

  She cocked her head. “We should add something more to our list.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Ah, yes, the list. I’d almost forgotten. What should we add?”

  She sighed again, thinking. “We should add that we promise to never intentionally hurt one another. Maybe that would help.”

  His smile broke through. “It might,” he agreed. “I swear upon my oath that I will never intentionally hurt you.”

  “So do I.”

  He laughed softly. “You swear on your oath?”

  She grinned as he chuckled. “And why not? My oath was my marriage vow.”

  His laughter faded as he looked her in the eye. There was something deadly serious in his expression. “So is mine.”

  She continued smiling and he kissed her on the cheek, then on the lips. He put a big hand on her head, stroking her hair as he gazed into her lovely gray eyes.

  “You are such a beautiful woman,” he murmured. “I cannot believe that I am so fortunate.”

  “Nor I.”

  “You have me afraid to utter sweet words, you know. I am afraid you will think them insincere.”

  “I am coming to know the difference.”

  “Good.”

  He kissed her again and with a final stroke of the hair, went to the screen that blocked the door and moved it aside. He strolled into the master chamber beyond, stark naked.

  Devereux followed, torn between embarrassment and pleasure at the sight of his bare buttocks. She wasn’t used to men parading around nude and struggled not to stare as he went to one of the enormous wardrobes and threw open the doors. He began pulling garments out, throwing them around the floor and tossing a few up onto the bed until he came across what he was looking for. As Devereux watched, he pulled on a pair of leather breeches and a pale linen tunic with short sleeves.

  “Sweetling,” he turned to her as he fussed with the neck of the tunic. “My boots are in the dressing room. Can you get them for me?”

  Devereux nodded and returned to the room with the big tub in the center of it. His boots were scattered on the floor and she picked them up. They were massive, heavy and dirty, and she struggled not to get dirt on herself as she carried them back to him. She handed him one and he took it with a grateful smile. He took the second one with a kiss.

  “Now,” he faced her, fully dressed, with his hands on his hips. “Do you wish to see the rest of the manor?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot. My hair is wet and I must dry it first.”

  He nodded shortly. “Do you require help?”

  Again, she shook her head. “I can do it myself.”

  “Will you be ready for the evening meal?”

  “I will.”

  “Very well.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her sweetly, his lips lingering on her cheeks before pulling away completely. “I will return in a while.”

  Cheeks flushed with the power of his kisses, Devereux could only nod. He winked at her as he left the chamber. She stood there long after he was gone, going over their conversation, the encounter in general. Thoughts of the man made her feel giddy and warm, growing worse by the moment. And something additionally odd was occurring; thoughts of him seemed to suck every other idea out of her head. She found that didn’t want to think of anything other than him.

  But she forced herself to move, to focus on something other than his beautiful hazel eyes or amazing physique. She retreated back into the privy chamber where the tub still sat, the water now cool, and the cowhide that had cushioned their lovemaking lay. She stared at the hide a moment, a chill running through her as she thought of his hands on her body. It was still somewhat embarrassing to have such sexual thoughts, being a lady who had led a relatively sheltered life, but they were not unpleasant thoughts. She knew she could come to like them.

  Pulling up a small stool, she sat
next to the vizier and flipped her head over, running her fingers through her hair in front of the heat. As she did, her mind began to wander again to the massive knight who was her husband. She couldn’t seem to get him off of her mind.

  She didn’t try.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The evening meal was the first introduction into what kind of man Davyss de Winter was, at least prior to his marriage and pledges of faithfulness. It was during this meal that Devereux began to see what Lady Katharine had meant about the numerous women in her son’s life. It started with the serving wenches.

  Seated next to her husband in the center of a very large table in Wintercroft’s enormous great hall on the first, windowless floor of the structure, Devereux was dressed in a beautiful yellow surcoat with gold embellishment. Her hair was braided over one shoulder and she looked positively angelic; Davyss’ reaction when he had first seen her and his constant attentiveness told her that he appreciated the effort she put forth in dressing. She was truly enjoying his company when the parade of serving wenches started.

  She didn’t notice it at first; she simply thought the servants were bringing the meal. Every time Davyss would take just a few sips of wine, a woman would immediately fill his glass. She noticed one of them at one point as she bent over her husband’s left hand with a pitcher. All she could see were white breasts, spilling out over the top of a leather girdle. The woman brushed them against Davyss’ arm as she poured his wine. Shocked, Devereux looked at her husband’s face; he was focused on his meal.

  Although they were surrounded with his knights and their wives, Davyss seemed to have eyes only for Devereux. He made sure her cup was always full by the same wenches who were so intent to seduce him and he also made sure she had the first serving of everything. He was attentive and sweet in spite of the parade of whores who were vying for his attention.

  Lady Frances was sitting on Devereux’s right hand. The woman hadn’t said a word all evening, instead, sitting silently with her meal and responding to her husband on occasion. But Frances noticed the steady flow of serving wenches challenging Devereux for her husband’s attention; that was a normal occurrence at Wintercroft. She was frankly curious how Lady de Winter was going to handle the situation and unsure how to feel about it. At some point, she caught Devereux’s eye when a particularly busty wench brushed against Davyss. Devereux smiled weakly.