Defiant

by Jessica Trapp

  He had been in complete control of himself. He had fed her people. He’d spoken to her kindly. He’d combed her hair. He’d backed away when she’d shown the slightest amount of fear.

  All this past week, he had been teaching her to read.

  Moisture trickled down the tanned skin of his shoulders. He sat very still, knees bent in the small tub. His member bobbed in the water, large and mesmerizing, but not terrifying.

  She made a few more swipes with the rag, then squeezed the water from it. The room felt overly warm. She needed to get up, walk around, get some air.

  He stood and water ran down his torso in thick rivulets. His chest was wide, breathtaking, and she found it difficult to do aught more than stare at him. Despite her earlier vow to pretend indifference, she sucked in a breath.

  His manroot, slightly purplish, stood at attention. It was thick and long, and she recalled how it had felt when he had slammed it inside her. Unbidden, a tremble started up her spine and her stomach clenched. She took slow, deep breaths to keep herself stable.

  “I would ask you to be gentle with me, my lord. I swear I will not fight you. ”

  Silence filled the bedchamber as if he was contemplating her words. As if he had not even been considering copulation although his body was truly awake and ready.

  “You need not fear me, Gwyneth. I require your respect, but I am not interested in your degradation. I think despite our beginnings that somehow we will forge a reasonable relationship.”

  A reasonable relationship. The promise was more than she expected, but how could a relationship with a man ever be reasonable?

  “I do not believe that is possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Most men are …” Her voice trailed off as she thought of the various men she knew. They didn’t take responsibility for their families, cheated on their wives, seemed ready to rut with any female who would spread her legs or pay them any attention.

  “I am not ‘most’ men.”

  She blinked at his assertion. The way he’d insisted on hunting for meat for the peasants and been responsible for her people had impressed her. “Of a truth,” she murmured.

  “We will take things slowly. You will enjoy it.”

  A lick of heat caressed her sex. “Enjoy it?”

  One corner of his mustache lifted in a tantalizing half smile.

  She had been enjoying touching him. But ‘twas time to bargain. “I thought that perhaps you would allow me to go about my duties.”

  He laughed.

  Laughed!

  She propped a hand on her hip as annoyance rose up her cheeks. “I cannot imagine what you are laughing at. ”

  “For a woman who frequents whorehouses and dresses to provoke men, you certainly know very little.”

  “There is naught pleasant about the act of copulation. You’ve proven that to me already,” she retorted, lifting her chin.

  Something flashed in his eyes. As if she’d just thrown down a challenge.

  “What about the kiss we shared in the woods? I think you should surrender to feelings of pleasure rather than power, Gwyneth.”

  Surrender? Pleasure?

  “Copulation for women is about duty.” “Oh?”

  She touched his face with her fingertips. “But I am ready.”

  Like a snake striking, he snatched her hand. “Why do you want to do this?”

  “I was trying to seduce you so I would not have to spend every bloody minute of the day by your side,” she blurted out, then wanted to kick herself for the confession.

  ‘Twould be much better if he was hauling her to bed like a beast—that is what a woman expected. The calm mannerism he used to talk of pleasure and enjoyment flustered her. Usually with men, it was they who blushed and stammered and blurted out ridiculous confessions.

  With a firm hold, he held her hand away from her side so that she was fully exposed to him. His gaze raked down her body. She fisted her hands to keep from shivering but was unable to stop butterflies from forming in her belly. He wasn’t just looking at her as if he saw beneath her clothing, but as though he saw something deeper, darker—all the way to that secret part that wished to surrender to desire and belong fully to a man.

  Fully to him.

  She hated feeling vulnerable and out of control. And she definitely didn’t want to feel pleasure from him … did she?

  He released her.

  “Truly, we should not discuss this anymore.” She swiped the washing cloth off the floor and folded it neatly.

  “But I think we should.” His voice, low and husky, sent heat spiraling through her.

  She imagined his hand roving over her skin. The thought was not nearly as unpleasant as she would have liked it to be.

  “You enjoy how it feels when I comb your hair.”

  Not wanting to look at him, to experience how exposed he made her feel, she darted her gaze to the mantel. It was clean and bare—cold. She had dusted it this morning, and nothing decorated the surface to make it inviting or homelike. She took a step toward it to wipe it off again just to verify that no dust remained.

  “Nay,” he said, “'tis not time to clean the chamber, but time to—”

  She whirled.

  “—clean yourself.” He indicated the tub as he reached for a linen towel and dried himself.

  Breath seemed hard to draw as she realized that he intended for her to be undressed for him the way he had been undressed for her. Somehow the power had shifted again, and she felt uneasy.

  “You did say you wished to please me, to seduce me, yes? So that you might take your place as lady of the keep.”

  Her heart pounded hard and fast; her chest quivered. But, he was offering her a bargain. Just the bargain she had wanted.

  “You need to get used to being naked in front of me.”

  She gasped. “Naked in front of you? There is no need for that. The church says—”

  “Do you wish to walk freely about the keep or not, Gwyneth? Surely there is some compensation for me for such a boon.”

  She shot him a glower, but he only laughed.

  “And I find it pleasurable for you to be naked,” he continued, completely ignoring her objections.

  Irritation at his high-handedness flicked over her. “I offered to do my marital duty,” she huffed.

  “We’ll see to that later,” he promised darkly.

  This seduction was not going at all as she had envisioned and she wondered how on earth Irma managed to keep so many men begging at her knees.

  Tamping down the urge to resist, to race around the room and adjust any items that were out of place from the exact location she had left them in this morning, she reached for the bodice of her gown. She had wished to show him she could be a wife in truth, and she would not lose her nerve now.

  Her kirtle fell in a heap at her feet. Quickly, she stepped into the tub, eager to cover herself with something, anything. She did not glance up at him; she did not wish to see his reaction. He was just sitting there, watching her, and likely trying to find something else to say or do to make her nervous.

  “Not so low in the water, wife, I enjoy seeing your—”

  Crumpling up the washcloth in one hand, she flung it at him. It landed with a soggy splat against the mattress.

  Aeliana ruffled.

  Jared’s eyes flashed with dark amusement.

  Curses! How did he vex her such that she lost control of her temper? It was not like her at all to throw items.

  “Pick it up,” he said softly.

  “You mean, get out of the tub?”

  “I do not know any other way for you to do such,” he drawled as if she were a simpleton.

  “I’m naked.”

  He shrugged. “Excellent.”

  “Hand me a towel. ”

  “Nay. Absolutely not. ”

  His mustache twitched with mirth. “But I’ll allow you to go about the keep unhindered …”

  Moments ticked by as a silent battle of wills clas
hed in the room.

  Ire rose inside her. How dare he sit there demanding her to parade around in exchange for a simple freedom that all wives should have! ‘Twas barbaric.

  One corner of his mouth lifted into a half smile. He was enjoying this. The rogue.

  “Fine!” Thumping her hands down hard on the sides of the wooden tub, she lifted herself upward. If he wanted her to walk around naked, she would do so. Mayhap it would make him stammer, act the imbecile as so many men did when they saw a leg or arm exposed.

  Determined, she rose and stalked toward him, fully aware of how most men responded to her.

  An inferno blazed in his eyes, but he did not stammer or reach for her. In fact, he sat perfectly still, very much in control, and if she had not known that he harbored lust for her, she would not have believed it.

  Deftly, she reached down and picked up the cloth. Past caring what he would do, she stuck out her chest and held the cloth out to him, wanting a reaction. This calm, controlled, domineering exterior was intolerable. Irksome. Even his wild, beastlike self had been better than this.

  “Satisfied?” she sneered.

  “Mind your tongue.” His eyes flicked to the scold’s bridle on the table beside the bed.

  So they were back to that. Blast it all.

  In a deft swirl, she spun on her heels, stalked to the table, and picked up the brank. With a heave, she lunged it into his lap, sank to her knees at his feet, and glowered defiantly at him. “Do your worst, barbarian. I won’t fight you.”

  He blinked at her, clearly startled, then his hand raised and cupped her chin. The gesture was gentle, tender even.

  A tremble shuddered through Gwyneth’s body. Of all things she had expected him to do, that was not one of them. She pulled back.

  His hand caressed her back, not controlling, but comforting.

  She frowned up at him.

  He tossed the brank across the room. It landed on the floor planks with a clank, then rolled several more feet.

  He leaned down so that his lips tickled the fine hair on her ear. Heat licked her core.

  “W-what are you doing?”

  “My worst. ”

  Chapter 25

  Run, a voice beckoned in her mind as Jared’s lips softly slid over her ear and warmth flooded her body. For all her lessons from Irma, she had no clear idea of what she was doing. His breath sent tingles of heat down her spine. Gooseflesh popped out on her arms. She pulled back, wanting to put space betwixt them, to think straight, assess the situation, properly plan a course of action.

  Unlike before, Jared’s arm tightened around her back in a cagelike grip.

  She gasped, the feeling of being trapped rising in her throat.

  “There is unfinished business here, wife.”

  She forced a deep breath into her lungs, determined to remain calm. Surely seduction could be organized the same as managing the kitchens.

  “You’re trembling.”

  He wasn’t supposed to notice!

  “Fear or desire?” he asked.

  “I’m"—water dripped from her long hair and trickled down her thighs in soft slithers as she became all too aware that she was unclad—"chilly,” she lied.

  His teeth grazed her ear. “Do not lie to me, Gwyneth.”

  “I-I’m not,” she stammered.

  He did not contradict her lame reply but instead trailed his tongue down her neck.

  A shiver went through her, her nipples peaked, and a bead of sweat dripped down her temple.

  “I—” She struggled to think of something to answer, to put distance between them, but no words came to her mind. She should have wrapped herself in a towel! Then, at least, he would not be able to clearly see her reaction to him.

  She turned toward the garderobe, thinking that perhaps she could hide inside. He drew her close. Their bare torsos touched, skin grazed against skin. White-hot sensation speared her.

  Somehow her plans of seducing him into allowing her freedom had been turned against her—she was acting the part of blushing bride, a nervous ninny, not a victorious vixen.

  “There is no reason to be uneasy.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not uneasy.”

  He nibbled her ear. “Liar.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  His hands slid down her body, leaving trails of sensation in their wake. “Speak the truth.”

  One hand cupped her beneath her knees and the other wrapped around her shoulder, then, at once, she was lifted and placed onto the mattress.

  His biceps, the size of small trees, danced as he braced his arms on either side of her torso and leaned forward.

  A shudder ran through her as she realized how fully at his mercy she was. Her breath hitched in her throat.

  He was strong and had lifted her as if she weighed only as much as a handful of leaves. How could she have thought even for an instant that she felt any desire for him whatsoever? Of course all she felt was fear!

  But she didn’t.

  She felt safe.

  “You’re trying to frighten me apurpose!”

  “Is it working?”

  “Nay!”

  A slow, knowing smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “If ‘tis not fear you feel, it must be desire.”

  “Of course I’m afraid. Terrified.”

  “Nay, you are not.” His voice was low, calm. Knowledgeable. Too knowledgeable.

  Embarrassed at her response to him, she resisted the urge to cover her breasts and quim with her arms. Could he see the trails of heat that still lingered from where his tongue had been?

  “Speak truth rather than cover it with female lies and manipulation, Gwyneth.”

  “I am not manipulat—”

  “To make a marriage, there must be honesty between us.”

  Honesty? With a man? Impossible.

  “Fine,” she huffed, frustrated with the turn in conversation, with how the situation had escaped from her control, with how vexed he made her feel. “I do not wish to be married to you. How’s that for honesty?”

  She pushed her shoulders back as if she were a soldier going to battle. “I’m ready for the act. Desire runs rampantly through my veins for you.” The sooner they started, the sooner the deed would be finished. “I’m ready to earn my freedom to walk about the castle.”

  His intense gaze slid casually down her body. “You are as stiff as yon hearth poker.” He made no move to bring their bodies closer together.

  “Nevertheless.”

  To distract herself from her turbulent, confusing emotions, she began making lists of things she would do if Jared ever allowed her to manage the keep. Organizing always relaxed her.

  Clean the great hall, change the rushes, sweep the cobwebs, and organize the pantries.

  Jared’s palm cupped her shoulder, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Clean the hearths. Wipe the tables.

  “Relax, wife.”

  Her eyes popped open. “You cannot command me to relax,” she said tightly. “I won’t fight you.”

  “I am not interested in tupping an iron slab.”

  “Then get off of me!”

  “I thought you wanted to seduce me.”

  She glowered at him. “I have changed my mind.”

  “But I haven’t changed mine about wanting to be seduced.”

  Faith, the man irritated her.

  “I only wanted to seduce you because the servants run over each other and it looks as though the rushes have not been changed in two years.” And she needed to see what was wrong with Irma. Her voice sounded defeated even to her own ears.

  “Gwyneth, the feelings you are having do not have anything to do with the servants.”

  She swallowed. It would be easy to claim he did not know what he was talking about, but he would likely only see through her lie. “I did not start out thinking that I would want to couple again, but—” Heat crept up her cheeks and she turned her face away, not wanting to see the victory in his intense eyes.

  His fingers
lifted to her cheek and he ran his knuckles from her hairline to her chin.

  She flinched, not sure what to make of the gentle movement.

  “I am truly sorry about what happened on our wedding night. ”

  Sorry? His words hung in the air. Unexpected. His voice was rough, like something scraped his throat, and she wondered if he had ever apologized before.

  “'Twill ne’er be thus again, I swear. The desire you felt earlier—I can make it grow so that there will be only pleasure between us. Of a truth, I have felt so much guilt I could scarcely live with myself.”

  She tilted her head back. A haunted look lurked in his eyes.

  Guilt?

  He felt guilt over his treatment of her?

  “I’m so sorry, Gwyneth. Let us start over.”

  That a man would feel remorse over the act of copulation intrigued her. All she knew of men was they cared little for the feelings of women around such matters. Their lusts were self-centered, selfish, and self-seeking.

  During war they raped at will and during peacetime they preyed upon women in the forests and alleys. Even supposedly “good” men satisfied their base desires at stench-filled brothels. From what she knew, naught mattered to them save their own greedy lust.

  But since their wedding night, he’d shown no interest in copulation.

  Was his restraint the result of guilt?

  “This marriage is not what either of us intended,” he said, “but, truly, we should try to make it as amicable as we can.”

  There was a very long pause.

  “I can’t seem to think straight when I’m around you, Gwyneth. Your skin, your voice, the way you walk … You leave me breathless and I was afraid I would spend the rest of my life tormented with wanting to touch you and afraid of frightening you. Your desire to seduce me tonight was a welcome relief. ”

  Warmth spread inside her chest.

  “I made you something.”

  “Something for me?”

  His shoulders hunched slightly and he looked … vulnerable. Picking up his leather pouch, he untied its string. “I think I’ve wanted you since I first saw you at the faire.”

  She sat up slightly.

  “Close your eyes.”

  She hesitated, unsure what he was about.

  “Trust me, Gwyneth.”

  Trust him? There was so much between them. But she closed her eyes.