World of de Wolfe Pack: The Duke's Fiery Bride (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Hildie McQueen

  He blew a heated breath over her sex and then suckled the center into his mouth with so much force that Beatrice cried out and everything spiraled out of control.

  While she floated in a daze of passion, Gavin thrust into her, stretching her until filling her deep and began moving in and out with long, leisurely strokes.

  He pushed her legs up so her knees were spread and pressed down to hold her open as he moved faster. Once again, she climbed, the room disappearing. Beatrice could not keep from calling his name over and over again. The longer he continued, the more desperate she became for release. At the same time, the sensations were so wondrous she hoped they never stopped.

  “Come with me, Beatrice.”

  She opened her eyes to see Gavin’s face above her, his body taut and beautiful. Already darkened eyes looked almost black as he peered down at where they were joined. His hips continued in a steady rhythm and he released her right leg to touch her center. It only took three strokes to bring her to a release so hard, she screamed.

  When Gavin collapsed over her, he shuddered and thrust twice more, his heated seed spilling.

  Beatrice could not gather her wits. Like a rag doll, her limbs were useless as her husband, lifted and settled her upon the pillow.

  Contentment like no other filled her when Gavin gathered her close.

  They lay together in silence while the night sounds serenaded outside the window. It was early still, Beatrice mused. She’d expected to have tea and discuss her responsibilities. After the discussion about their relationship, of course.

  “Gavin?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “I wish to know what you expect of me on a daily basis. Can I go to the market and such?” Her words slurred as sleep threated to take over.

  “Is this what you wish to speak of right now?”

  Beatrice pondered, her fingers tracing over his chest. “What else can we talk about?”

  His chuckle was deep. “I could show you more ways to make love.”

  The idea had merit. However, she wasn’t sure of her ability to muster any strength at the moment. “I don’t think I could do much more than be still for the lesson at this moment.”

  “How do you feel about what I did between your legs?”

  The question caught her off guard. Beatrice pondered. “I enjoyed it quite a lot.”

  “You can do the same for me.” He left the sentence hanging in silence.

  “Do you want me to do it now?”

  “No beauty. You are tired. We’ll leave it for another night.”

  Curious, she pictured his staff and how it was possible to give him pleasure in such a way. A thought occurred. Molly was married. She’d ask her and surprise him.

  “Gavin?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “What is your full name?”

  Once again, he chuckled and yawned. “My name is Gavin Alexander Tavish Mereworth.”

  “I’ve never liked the name Tavish,” she replied, barely able to keep her eyes open. “It reminds me of old man Tavish who used to beg for coin while trying to look under our skirts when mother and I walked to the market.”

  “Perhaps I should change my name. Although I do like the idea of looking under your skirt.”

  Beatrice giggled. “You may keep the name.”

  When she was about to ask him about Torquil, a soft snore broke the silence of the room. Beatrice smiled and studied Gavin’s profile.

  He was, indeed, handsome and a good man. Although she didn’t know her husband well, she knew, somehow, it was inevitable that she’d fall in love with him. The thought shook her to alertness. If she loved him and he never loved her in return, how would it feel?

  Someday, she hoped to have his children. She and Gavin would grow old together and live at Hardigg Castle for the rest of their lives. It was her deepest hope they did fall in love. She wasn’t so innocent to believe it would happen just because of a wish. It wasn’t always the case for marriages. But for her and Gavin, it was Beatrice’s genuine desire.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gavin strolled with a farmer on one side and Torquil on the other as he listened to the farmer’s complaints. It was the same one he’d heard from others. Someone from the neighboring Lord’s township had trespassed onto Mereworth lands. A few of his sheep were stolen and they’d accosted this man’s daughter. Although the lass proclaimed she was not hurt, Gavin could tell the father did not believe she’d been left untouched.

  “We should visit Lord Roberts,” Torquil said. “There is no need for further action on our part until we ask him first for recompense of some sort.” His green eyes went to the harried farmer. “Unfortunately, there are things that cannot be rectified. Would you agree to the scoundrel marrying your daughter?”

  “A Roberts?” The farmer’s alarmed exclamation was accompanied with bulging eyes. “Never.”

  Torquil nodded.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” the farmer stuttered. “I know you are from that family. But we do not consider you to be...” At a loss for words, the man left the sentence dangling.

  “No need to explain,” Torquil replied.

  They mounted and Gavin studied his friend for a moment. “Do you think your father will want to hear anything we have to say? You left your home over ten years ago. They no longer consider you a Roberts.”

  His friend scanned the area, a habit to always be on guard. “I know. Sometimes I barely remember my life there. However, even if they consider me a Mereworth, they must explain to me the why of their actions. They have no need of anything.”

  “Your father is not a fair man, Torquil. You know that more than most. Perhaps his people are in need. Hungry.”

  Torquil turned to a guard. “Go ahead to the keep. I will require a guard of twenty to travel to my father’s estate.

  Gavin considered accompanying him, but he knew any suggestion to it would be rebuffed. Relations between the two families had barely settled. There was no need to start up another war because of one young woman and some sheep. He considered the young woman. She was, no doubt, attempting to keep her father from getting himself killed. However, if she became with child, the consequences could be dire.

  Upon entering the castle walls, Gavin guided his horse toward the stables. Beyond them, the archers were lined up loosing arrows at targets.

  Amongst them was Beatrice.

  He’d not spoken to her about hunting as yet. She would never be allowed to do so. The lass had been wise enough not to mention it, especially after the debacle when traveling there.

  Beatrice was an amazing markswoman, her shot clean and precise. However, she was no match in strength to his archers who ribbed her about the depth of her arrows. Gavin’s eyes widened when she kicked one in the shin and the man hopped up on one leg cursing.

  He waited to see what would happen next. The archer hobbled to her and, with squared shoulders, pointed at a target. They took several paces backward and lifted bows.

  From where he stood, Gavin could not see how well the targets were hit. Beatrice and the archer moved forward as a unit while talking. Finally, near the targets, his wife’s shoulders fell. She nodded at whatever the archer said and they shook hands.

  Interesting.

  Afterwards, she shrugged at whatever the man said and both laughed. Still smiling, she looked to where Gavin stood and her eyes widened. No doubt, she’d been told Gavin would be gone all day and she didn’t expect to get caught with her bow and arrows so soon after being punished.

  Beatrice hurried toward him. “Your archer, Craig, is a great marksman.” Her eyes moved side-to-side and pearly teeth sunk into the corner of her bottom lip. “I was just checking the weather.”

  What could he say to her? There was much to learn about the feisty lass. As Lord and husband, his roles became complicated when dealing with Beatrice.

  “It is unusual for the lord’s wife to practice with the guard. I can have a target set up for you near the gardens.”

  Her brows fe
ll and her lips thinned. “Why?”

  “You could get hurt out there,” he motioned to the guard’s area where two men sparred with swords. “Beatrice, why am I pointing out the obvious to you?”

  “I am not so daft to get in the way of men involved in swordplay. I do find it insulting that you think me to be so.”

  Gavin stalked toward the gardens. “I will show you where it is safer. I don’t wish to argue.”

  “I don’t wish to be treated like a child.”

  “Then stop behaving like one.”

  They faced off, both with clenched jaws and glares directed at one another.

  Why did the woman have to try him so? It became a battle of wills. He’d not give in to her regardless of whether it was important or not. It was her safety he was concerned for.

  Beatrice hunched forward. “I tire of being treated as if I cannot think for myself.”

  “I tire of you proving it to be true.”

  “Good afternoon to the newly married lovers.” Sinclair appeared between them. He maintained a wide smile and placed his hands on their shoulders. “Everyone is watching. I suggest you kiss her, Gavin. Or laugh as if you were both playacting. Do something.”

  Beatrice’s eyes widened and she slid a look to a group of women who didn’t pretend not to be staring. She allowed her head to fall back and laughed. “Your brother is a selfish oaf.”

  “My new wife is a spoiled chit,” Gavin replied and leaned forward to kiss her curved lips.

  He took a step back, afraid she’d kick him or swing her bow. “I must go deal with other matters.” He turned and walked away.

  Gavin doubted the people were fooled. However, he’d ensure at the feast that night they behaved as if unable to keep from each other. In truth, at the moment, he’d pictured hanging his wife on a peg in the cloakroom until he could better deal with her.

  Seated in the great room, Gavin let out a sigh as his gaze traveled over the people assembled. His townspeople needed him.

  The day droned on, one family after the other appearing with need of his counsel or to arbitrate a disagreement. Ironic, since he needed the same thing when dealing with his own wife.

  “You should be in there with your husband.” Molly sat beside Beatrice in the kitchen. “It shows the people solidarity between you and the lord.”

  Beatrice let out a sigh. “I will go there now. Although I do believe Gavin dislikes me.”

  The kitchen was the most comfortable place for Beatrice. There with Molly, she could assist, request guidance and never felt awkward. Anytime she was around Gavin or any of his people, judgment was aimed at her from every direction, it seemed.

  The cook stirred a large pot. “I sincerely doubt it, Beatrice. I believe he is quite taken by you.”

  “Physically, yes. But our personalities are so different. I am forever doing what he considers unbecoming of a lady.”

  Molly laughed. “Like insisting I call you Beatrice, Milady?”

  “I want to be friends. I don’t want close friends to call me by a title.”

  “Understandable. However, you must assert yourself before the people. Stand by their lord, support him and do as he asks. If you show lack of respect for him, what message does that send the people?”

  At once, Beatrice felt horrible. Once again, she’d embarrassed Gavin. “I don’t know why he chose to marry me.” She let out a long sigh and hunched forward. “I was meant to marry a daft, brawny goat herder.”

  Their laughter rung out and Molly pulled Beatrice to stand. “Go now. See about your duties.”

  Every face turned to her as she walked to sit next to Gavin. She placed a filled tankard at his right elbow and settled into the chair, her chin lifted just right and a soft smile on her lips.

  Gavin leaned over. “Should I be worried, dear wife?”

  “Not at all. I am here to learn. If that is acceptable?” She batted her lashes and his eyes widened just enough.

  “Of course.”

  Immediately, Beatrice became lost in the many requests, pledges and introductions Gavin oversaw without seeming to tire. After an hour, she wondered how he remained so composed as two men hollered over one another over whether or not a young girl had agreed to marry one or the other first. The girl in question stood by with a finger on her lips as if enjoying the spectacle.

  “What do you think?” Gavin surprised Beatrice by asking. “Who deserves to win the girl?”

  Beatrice studied the young girl. “Neither. She is playing a game. Promised them both the same thing for attention. I believe it would serve her well to see them promised to others.”

  Her husband’s eyebrows rose. “Like whom?”

  “Those sisters over there with the beautiful red hair. They are both studying the men with admiration.”

  Gavin held a hand up and the men quieted, but continued glaring at one another. “Gilbert, come forward.” He motioned to an older man who stood beside the red-haired beauties. “Did you not come requesting proper husbands for your daughters?”

  The ruddy man with the same hued hair as the young girls grinned. “Aye, Your Grace, I do.”

  “Very well,” Gavin looked to the now frozen duo, who’d been arguing. “I do believe these two are available. Donald and Edward, I believe it’s best for you to be married off to others. This way the contest between you will end.” He looked to the now wide-eyed girls. “Anna and Flora, come forth to be betrothed.”

  Immediately, the four affected people began a study of each other and within moments, paired off and stood before Gavin. It seemed the girl the men had been arguing about was forgotten by young men, who were now obviously thrilled at the prospect of such beautiful brides.

  Gavin motioned for the clergyman to come forth and formalize the betrothal. Meanwhile, the girl the men had been fighting over fled from the room, wailing.

  “How do you remember everyone’s name?” Beatrice asked her husband while the clergyman rambled on about purity and such nonsense.

  By the way the newly betrothed couples kept stealing glances at each other, it would be a miracle if the young women would arrive as maidens on their wedding days.

  “The most important thing about a person is the name they go by. I make it a practice to memorize every one of my people’s names. Although it’s a difficult task at times, my father impressed upon me the importance of it. And I agree.”

  Beatrice continued to be impressed by Gavin’s ability to govern over the people. He was firm but fair. Yet at times, he laughed at strange requests until even the silly person joined in.

  Finally, it was announced that everyone should depart so the great hall could be prepared for the great feast to be held within hours.

  “I don’t know how you can possibly plan for a day of festivities after all this.” Beatrice stood and stretched. “I must speak to Molly. She didn’t seem too concerned with the amount of food to be prepared.”

  “Most of it is being prepared by the women of the village. Although the feasting will be grand, every family will bring food to share. It's the way we’ve always done it. There are two large boars being roasted by a group of men and once Torquil returns from his duties, he and the rest of the guard will see about setting tables out in the courtyard for those who do not fit in here.”

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Beatrice wasn’t sure what he could be grateful for.

  “Being here next to me. I know we had a disagreement earlier. It is probable we will have many more given the difference in our temperaments. However, it is refreshing to see you do not hold grudges.”

  “Is that what you think?” She narrowed her eyes, but smiled to let him know she teased.

  “Honestly, I am not sure.” He turned away as the future brides’ father neared to speak to him.

  Beatrice retraced her steps to the kitchen. Upon hearing her name, she slowed when nearing the study.

  “She is very stubborn. I am not sure it’s be
st for her to know. Gavin has enough to handle without her knowing she must produce two heirs in quick succession.” Oscar sounded annoyed, perhaps frustrated.

  Sinclair grunted. “However, if they argue, I am not sure how often they will join. He’s been instructed to bed her every night except during her monthly courses, of course.”

  “It will happen. I am sure of it. Once the first child arrives, and she heals, they can continue to join until she is with a second child. Once two boys are born, Gavin’s duty will be fulfilled.”

  Sinclair chuckled. “After, they can join for sport.”

  Moving quickly, she hurried to the kitchen and sunk into a chair. Gavin had married her to be a brooding mare for heirs. The men spoke of her as if she were nothing more than a cow, needed only to give birth to sons. Heaviness fell over her chest as if someone placed a huge stone upon it. Any feelings she hoped Gavin had were nonexistent.

  He’d spoken to her brother and his about how often they joined. She couldn’t process what to do. In all honesty, it was an impossible situation. If she were to be honest, it was what the Lord married for. To ensure his title be passed along, the seat of governing the people. In Gavin’s case, he had the added responsibility of a dukedom to pass.

  When Molly entered, Beatrice lifted her head and sat straighter. Her eyes flat, she scanned the counters. “Is everything ready for the feast?”

  “Aye,” Molly replied with an inquisitive look, but she didn’t say more.

  “Very well. See that the maids fill all the pitchers and ensure enough trays are filled with trenchers.”

  “Yes Milady,” Molly used her title noting the change in her countenance. Several maids rushed in and stood before Beatrice. “Instruct the lads and the chambermaids to see about replacing the rushes in the great room and scrubbing all the tabletops. Hurry, go.”

  Beatrice left the kitchen and walked past the great room toward the stairs. Gavin caught up with her. “Will you rest before changing?”

  “Yes. Unless there is anything else you require.”

  “No...nothing.” Gavin took her elbow and walked with her to the bottom of the stairs. “Rest well.”