The Unwilling Bride

by Margaret Moore

  Her husband wasn’t in the bed.

  She raised herself on her elbow and discovered that he was fully dressed and looking out the window. Wondering what he was doing, she wrapped the top sheet around her and started to get out of the bed.

  He turned and gave her the ghost of a smile. “There’s no need for you to rise so early. Stay in bed and rest.”

  There were dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks seemed drawn. Or maybe it was a trick of the early morning light. “Why don’t you come back to bed and rest with me?” she suggested. “You look tired.”

  That brought a more natural smile to his face. “If I am, it’s because of you.”

  “I’ll gladly tire you out some more. Or is there some pressing business that calls you from our bridal chamber? Did I not hear that you’d excused all but the most necessary watches and patrols today? A wise notion, my lord, considering that most of the men will be the worse for celebrating last night.” She patted the place beside her. “And you were so generous, many in the village will be the worse for celebrating, too. Surely there can be nothing vital to take you away from me this morning.”

  He took a few tentative steps toward the bed. Her body warming as she thought of his kiss, his touch, she smiled enticingly and pulled the sheet slowly from her breasts. “Take off your clothes, my lord, and come back to bed.”

  He hesitated, and a look of doubt crossed his dark features.

  “If you fear to hurt me again, I could pleasure you as I did that other day,” she proposed.

  With a low moan he scrambled onto the bed, grabbing her and pushing her back onto the coverlet. She eagerly welcomed his embrace, laughing and kissing him at the same time. “I know you’re a conscientious overlord, but is not leaving your bride at first light too extreme?” she said before he covered his mouth with hers for another passionate kiss.

  “I try to be conscientious in all things,” he said, his voice low and seductive as his hand moved down her belly.

  She laughed again. “Sit up a moment, my lord.”

  “Why?” he murmured, nuzzling her neck, which sent the most delicious shivers through her body.

  “Because you’re wearing too many clothes.”

  “Ah.”

  He sat back on his heels and allowed her to lift his tunic and tug it over his head. Then his shirt followed and she ran her hands over his chest. “Lie down, my lord,” she commanded.

  His eyes glowing with desire, he obeyed. She shifted closer and kissed his lips, letting her tongue swirl around his, then plunge inside his mouth as her hand eagerly explored his naked chest. She encountered his breeches and, still kissing him, tugged the knot of the drawstring loose. She slowly insinuated her hand inside, and found his rapidly swelling shaft.

  He gasped when she took hold of him, then sighed as she began to stroke him. Excited herself, Constance slid her leg over his thigh and inched closer. Her breasts, their nipples taut, grazed his chest as she continued to plunder his mouth. Her strokes increased in tempo and she pressed her body closer.

  There was no pain now, only that wondrous throbbing between her thighs. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if she were to take him inside. Perhaps it was worth finding out.

  She let go a moment to pull his breeches lower, freeing him. She eyed his engorged manhood greedily, remembering how it felt when he thrust inside her.

  As she straddled his hips, Merrick opened his eyes. “What are you…?”

  She leaned forward to brush her lips across his, and her breasts across his chest. “Loving you,” she murmured.

  She slid her mouth from his to kiss his collarbone, then tease and lick his nipples, all the while aware of his shaft hard against her and the few drops of moisture from its tip.

  He was more than ready, and so was she. She rose, took him in her hand and guided him to her.

  Worry clouded his face. “Are you—?”

  “Sure,” she confirmed, raising herself a little more. Then she lowered herself.

  Tight. It was tight and, yes, she was a little sore, but he felt so…good. She gritted her teeth to keep any sound from escaping her lips, lest he think she was in too much pain to continue. She didn’t want to stop, not now, as she rocked forward, her own desire propelling her and overcoming the remnants of the pain.

  Merrick emitted a low growl as he grabbed her hips, helping her to move, showing her how to increase his pleasure. His legs twisted and shifted, as if he were too aroused to lie still.

  Now completely caught up in their mutual excitement, Constance grabbed his hands and held them over his head. She wanted to be free, to move as she must.

  Merrick moaned, but he made no effort to pull his hands from her grasp. Instead, it was clear her action enflamed him yet more. His hips rose and fell, thrusting and bucking with her motions. His breathing grew hoarse, rasping in his throat, while she panted heavily. He was near the brink. She could feel that moment coming….

  And then it did. With a groan, his body spasmed, filling her, his seed spilling onto her thighs.

  His powerful climax sent her over the edge to her own ecstasy. As she cried out, the waves of throbbing release rolled over her, leaving her spent and sweating.

  She slowly, carefully climbed off him, to lie at his side and catch her breath.

  “God’s wounds,” Merrick muttered as he sat up and looked at her with both wonder and concern. “Did that not hurt you more?”

  She gave him a satisfied smile. “Perhaps, but I couldn’t help myself.”

  “I should have helped it,” he muttered as he got to his feet. He started to tie his breeches, then growled an oath.

  “What is it?” she asked, levering herself up on her elbows.

  “I’ve still got my boots on.”

  Although he was obviously annoyed, she had to laugh. “You only got a bit of mud on the coverlet. It will simply have to be washed.”

  Which reminded her that soon enough, the uncles and probably some of the other noblemen would be arriving to check the sheets for the telltale signs of her lost maidenhead. She was glad that there was plenty of evidence for them to find. She knew there were those who believed she’d managed the late lord of Tregellas with more than soothing words. Now they would have proof that she had not.

  His breeches tied, Merrick put on his shirt and tunic, then went to the wash table and poured water from the ewer into the basin. Bringing the basin and some linen, he returned to the bed.

  She sat up, intending to wash herself, but he shook his head. “Let me.”

  She bit her lip as she lay down and let him wash away the evidence of their passion, flinching at first when the damp cloth touched her skin.

  He glanced at her, worry in his eyes.

  “I’m not in pain,” she assured him. “It’s only that the cloth is cold.”

  He finished quickly. When he took away the basin, she rose and put on her discarded shift, then her bedrobe. As she combed her hair, she asked, “How long do you think it will be before the proof is sought?”

  Merrick gave her a questioning glance.

  “The sheets. I fear our uncles and the others may not be early risers after a night of such festivity.”

  Merrick let out his breath slowly. “I suppose I must stay here until they do their duty.”

  His tone dismayed her a bit. “Only if you wish,” she said, trying not to sound hurt.

  He came to her and ran his hands through her hair before raising a lock to kiss. “I would gladly spend all day with you, Constance, every day. And not just in bed.”

  “Then why not linger a little longer?” She thought of something else. “Are you hungry?”

  He smiled slowly. “Not for food.”

  As her blood warmed again, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “For conversation, then? About what, my lord? The king and his court? The hall moot in a fortnight?”

  They were interrupted by a tentative knock at the door.

  Constance wrapped her bedrobe about her more tightly and
stood by the window as Merrick went to the door. He opened it to reveal two very bleary-eyed, unsteady noblemen. Behind Lord Carrell and Lord Algernon were Sir Jowan and Sir Ranulf. There were more people, too, but she didn’t want to take an inventory of those who’d arrived to witness the evidence of her lost virginity, with one exception. She didn’t see Kiernan, and was glad. Casting her mind back, she didn’t recall noticing him in the party that escorted Merrick to his bedchamber last night, either.

  “We’ve come…” Lord Algernon began. He stopped, swallowed and swayed a little before continuing. “We’ve come to examine the…” He fell silent and turned a little paler.

  Merrick opened the door wide and gestured for them to enter, then moved out of the way.

  Although this was to be expected, Constance blushed and stared at her feet as they went to the bed.

  “Satisfied?” Merrick asked evenly.

  “Yes, absolutely,” his uncle quickly replied, shuffling backward.

  Still blushing, Constance let out her breath and raised her eyes—to encounter the unexpected, unwelcome, angry gaze of Kiernan. Pressing her lips together, she met his glare with one of her own. It wasn’t as if she’d done something shameful and dishonest. She’d made love with her lawful husband. She’d married in accordance with the betrothal contract, and she didn’t regret it.

  Kiernan’s face reddened, but he continued to stare at her until Merrick stepped between them. He ushered the men out of the door, exchanging a few quiet words with Ranulf.

  When they were gone, Constance sank onto the stool near her dressing table, wincing a little. Perhaps they shouldn’t have made love a second time so soon.

  “Are you unwell?” Merrick asked.

  “A little sore.”

  He went to the side table, poured a goblet of wine and wordlessly held it out to her.

  “No, thank you,” she said, picking up her ivory comb.

  “That was necessary.”

  “I know.”

  A strong, firm hand took the comb from her and, to her surprise, Merrick began to run it through her hair. She closed her eyes, enjoying this unexpected intimacy, as well as the gentle tugging sensation on her scalp.

  “Are you going to let that boy upset you?” he asked after a moment.

  “If you mean Kiernan, I was simply taken aback to see him here this morning.”

  “I was glad. Now he knows that we are truly wed and he has no hope at all. You are mine, in every way.”

  She opened her eyes and studied her husband’s reflection in the silver plate in front of her. “Yes, I’m yours, to do with as you will,” she said slowly, a sliver of her old fear returning.

  “Bound to me, for good or ill.”

  That, too, was true, and more dread filled her. “What ills are you expecting?”

  “Rebellion. War.”

  She stared at him, aghast, fear for her own fate submerged beneath a greater worry. She’d thought he’d meant conflict between them, or differences of opinion, not war. And although she was well aware that there were tensions and conflicts at court, she didn’t want to believe he was right. War was a brutal, ugly business that led to death and destruction, sometimes for very little gain. “Do you truly think it will come to open rebellion?”

  “I fear it might, and if it does, I’m tied to both the king and the earl of Cornwall. I’ll be forced to break my oath to one of them in favor of the other, and if my choice fails…”

  He didn’t have to finish. She knew the result. He would lose all, including his life.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but you wanted to know what ills I spoke of.”

  She rose and clasped her hands in the sleeves of her robe. “Yes, I did.”

  As it had last night, that haunted look came to his dark, intense eyes. “Now, are you sorry we’re married?”

  “No,” she answered firmly and sincerely. “I will only regret marrying you, my lord, if you treat me as if I have no mind or heart, that I am no more to you than a means to breed sons. I will be sorry we wed if you ignore me or belittle me, and especially if you treat me with disrespect. But if you treat me as a trusted friend and love me as you did last night, I will be more than content. As for your oath of loyalty to two different men, you aren’t the only nobleman in the kingdom to face such a dilemma. Sir Jowan is likewise sworn to both the earl and the king, and there are many others.”

  His expression changed to one that thrilled and relieved her. “I would have you more than content,” he murmured, kissing her tenderly.

  Sorry she had married him? If he was this way always, how could she be sorry? “I wish you hadn’t stayed away from Tregellas for fifteen years,” she said with a sigh of both regret and desire.

  “I wish now I had not. But I was afraid to see you again.”

  “Afraid?” she repeated incredulously, drawing back to stare at him in wonder. “To see me?”

  “I was afraid you’d tell me you didn’t want to marry me.”

  Still holding him loosely in her arms, she gave him a wry smile. “I didn’t want to marry you,” she confessed. “I hated you when we were children. But then you came home and were so different from what I expected.”

  “How am I different?” he asked, a furrow forming between his brows.

  “Your looks.”

  “I’m older.”

  “No, it’s more than that. You’re taller than I expected and your eyes…”

  His lips grazed hers. “You’ve changed, too. You used to be so timid.”

  “You used to be a horrid little brat,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him. “I could never love that boy, but I could love you. I do love you.”

  His dark eyes were questioning pools of limitless depth.

  She had said it, and it was the truth. “Yes, Merrick,” she said quietly. “I love you. If I didn’t love you, I would never have married you.”

  As he looked at her, his gaze unwavering, her heart sank. Had her revelation been unwelcome to him? Had he believed she felt something less?

  She could tell nothing from the glittering orbs gazing back at her. “I realize you may not love me,” she said as disappointment filled her, “that you married me because of the contract, but I hoped…I still hope that someday…”

  He grabbed her and held her close. “Oh, God help me,” he murmured, his lips against her hair. “Constance, sweet Constance, I’ve loved you since I was ten years old and saw you sitting in that hay field. I’ve only ever wanted happiness and good fortune for you, and if instead I cause you to be unhappy, if I bring misfortune to you, I will curse myself forever.”

  Joy and relief filled her as they kissed, tenderly at first, until passion flamed. “I hope to bring only good things to you, too, my lord.”

  “You’ve already made me happier than I deserve to be,” he said.

  He kissed her again, long and passionately, until he reluctantly pulled away. “And if I don’t go now, I may never leave.”

  “Perhaps that’s my evil plan, my lord,” she teased, no longer afraid of him, or the future. “Maybe I seek to ensnare you with my desire.”

  “Alas, I must resist,” he replied as he reluctantly started for the door.

  He gave her that small smile that made her knees weak. “For now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A FEW DAYS LATER, MERRICK looked up from the parchment he’d been reading and smiled as Constance peered into the solar.

  As always, his heart thrilled just to see her face but, also as always, that feeling was swiftly followed by guilt that could only be assuaged by pleasing her any and every way he could.

  “I thought Alan and Ruan were never going to leave,” she said as she entered the chamber. “You must have had much to discuss.”

  “We did. This is a larger estate than I remembered,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. He held out his arms and she, understanding his unspoken request, settled onto his lap.

  “Have you come any closer to discovering who set t
he fire?” she asked, toying with a lock of his long dark hair.

  He wondered if she had any idea how even that simple intimate action thrilled him, or how distracting the weight of her was on his thighs and shaft, but decided it was far too delightful a torment to enlighten her. “I’m sure Alan is doing his best to find out who set it,” he replied, caressing her cheek. “I’m less sure of Ruan’s enthusiasm, but it may be too late to learn much. The malcontent may be far away by now.”

  She brushed her fingertips across his soft lips. “Peder hasn’t heard anything, either.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I thought sharing such information with ‘them at the castle’ went against Peder’s notion of honor.”

  “This is different,” she said. “The fire caused trouble for everyone, not just the king or the lord of Tregellas.”

  He nuzzled her neck, inhaling the clean, warm scent of her. “How is the old fellow?”

  “Well, although I hope he’s not summoned to fight any more fires.”

  Merrick hoped so, too, and that Peder would continue in good health for several years yet. “Let’s pray we have no more such disasters.” Of any kind, he added silently, concern momentarily dimming his pleasure.

  “With my dowry, we have enough to pay for the repairs to the mill, have we not?”

  “Yes, thank God.”

  “Has Ranulf made any suggestions as to who might take his place?” she asked, pressing kisses on her husband’s cheeks and chin.

  He tried to concentrate on her questions. “One or two. It seems there was a Scot he thought would be a good choice, but when he suggested it to the fellow, he refused. Then, yesterday, the Scot and his woman left Tregellas.”

  Constance frowned at that news. “I wonder why?”

  Merrick shrugged, not particularly worried about a mercenary who decided to seek employ elsewhere, even if he was a good soldier. Thanks to the ongoing strife in the land, there were always plenty more. “Who knows? Perhaps he was not the sort of man Ranulf believed he was and didn’t like being singled out.”