"Cease!" Garrick called. "If you wish to spill you lust, it will no longer be done in this hall."
Several men began to protest, while others did not hesitate to begin pulling the women from the chamber. "Roland!" Garrick said in an authoritative voice, as the one man continued pounding away at the red head. An instant later he spilled himself into her and immediately pushed her away, and the look upon his face disgusted Ryann. He turned, as he put himself away and smirked at Garrick, before sliding onto the bench beneath the table, where he had just abused the woman.
"We will have ladies among us now, and I will have none uncomfortable with the acts of you men. If you do not like it, leave now."
With no other words spoken, he seated himself in his chair, and looked out across his domain. She studied him, his pride and confidence. He knew no man could unseat him, it was in his every line. He proved himself, fought for his kingdom, one he ruled with an iron fist. No, no man could compare to such as he.
The meal was atrocious, no flavor was added, and everything was either overcooked or undercooked. The wine was a horrid experience, she did not know how one could go so wrong with wine. The ale she found however was perfection, and the servants were quick despite the hands that were constantly reaching out to grasp a breast or a thigh. One young woman was grabbed by Roland, and began to cry when Garrick’s fist slammed down upon the table shaking it, and every person in the room jumped to attention. Roland glared at Garrick but released the girl, who scampered away with sobs.
"Marcus," Garrick said, his voice authoritative. "Bring the girl to me."
Without a word Marcus stood and left the table. What did her husband want with her? It made her uneasy. She had found if a servant caught Garrick's attention was usually because he or she had displeased him. Within moments he was back, the girl appearing as if she feared for her life, trailing him.
"What is your name?" Garrick asked, turning to look the girl over as Marcus had to shove her forward.
"Sara my lord," the girl replied, her hands clinched in front of her tightly, her eyes downcast.
"My lady wife requires a personal servant. Would this be a task you would care to see to?"
The brightest turquoise eyes shot to Garrick and then beyond him to Ryann, stark against her dark brown hair, slanting eyebrows, and full lashes. She was quite an attractive young woman, and Ryann felt herself suddenly on edge that Garrick had noticed this too. No, his tastes ran to whores, the thought did not help.
"I would be pleased to serve your lady," she said with relief and gratitude in her voice, as well as more than a hint of apprehension.
"Your first task is to see this young one to a wet nurse," he said, turning to lift the content baby from Ryann's lap. "Knowing my men, I'm sure there's more than one mother who would accommodate her. Her name is Spring, and she is to be cared for as well as if she was our own child, do you understand me Sara?"
Unable to see her husband’s face, Sara's told her plainly what expression was upon it. It was the stern look, the one that promised retribution if his bidding was not done to its fullest. It sent fear and uncertainty across Sara's before she turned, baby gently in her arms, and hurried away.
"Why did you choose her to be my maid?" Ryann asked, after the meal progressed a little longer.
"She is a virgin," Garrick said, turning to her.
Ryann felt the blood drain from her face. "You wish a virgin my lord?" she whispered, her voice lost to anything beyond that.
"No," he looked appalled. "She is a virgin who would no longer be after this night, if she were not under my protection."
At her horrified look he said. "They have done worse," he explained, as if this was information she should already know. "I have done worse things. She would have already found herself having been tasted by several men if I had not put an end to their activities." What kind of place had her husband brought her to? What a terrible existence these women must live. She had seen what mistreatment could get, and to know these women had no one to protect them from Garrick's men, left her cold inside.
"I don't know if I am to thank you for stopping them, or be angry that you allowed them to do such things." Ryann heard the words come out before she could stop them.
"I do not seek your thanks, or your anger. The only women I knew throughout my life have been whores. Throughout my life, I have treated them as such."
She smiled up at him. "Then you have my thanks."
A short time later Sara returned, and Garrick stood from his seat. Immediately quiet prevailed throughout the hall. "This is my lady wife, the Countess Ryann Fenton. She and her servants will be treated with the respect befitting their stations. Any deviance from this and the offender will have me to face. As the lady of Fenton she is welcome to make improvements to our lots in life, and will not be denied."
He resumed his seat, and it took a few more breaths before others went back to their meals. Indeed she could find something here she liked. Here there was Garrick.
"Get out of my way," the voice was furious, and all eyes turned toward its source. Roland stood between two trestle tables, his path blocked to the door by three soldiers who had just entered, and were wishing to seek their places and trenchers. It would have been far easier for Roland to step aside and let the three pass, but the man obviously would not, and expected them to yield the way.
She heard Garrick sigh beside her. "I see now why Damien has sent him to me," he said, and with his tone of voice she was inexplicably sorry for the man causing the scene.
"He will not get special treatment here," he said, but shook his head at the man in front of the three, and they quickly stepped to the side to let Roland pass.
"Why would he receive special treatment?" Ryann asked, apprehensive about prying into her husband's business.
"His wife was dragged from their home, in front of him and his two children, then King Richard killed her."
"The King did that?" she asked, her stomach suddenly churning with bile that threatened to come up.
"She served as an example to some of us that we were to do his bidding, no matter how distasteful we found it. Roland was once a good knight, level headed, a good husband and doting father. He blames himself and will have nothing to do with his children."
"I see you do give him special treatment," she replied, nodding to the three men who were wolfing down the food on their trenchers.
"That was not for Roland, he could have easily killed those three men." Ryann looked up at her husband with disbelieving eyes. "He is a man much like myself."
He left the words to hang over her as he stood. "I must see to my men. I will find you later."
The words held a promise and left her blood pumping loudly through her veins. Very soon she would submit entirely to her husband. She was filled with anticipation for the lust he had already shown her, and fear, because he was a man with deadly abilities.
She filled the rest of her day meeting the wet-nurse Sara found, and seeing to the unloading of the wagons. At one time the old castle must have been grand, for it was quite large and the details of the stone and woodwork were intricate, but apparently Garrick was not mindful of the things that would make it grand once again. Garrick left instructions she was to put her things in his own chamber, and it was explained to her Marcus and Alena shared the second largest chamber, which would typically be for the lady. She was giddy with this news, for she found Garrick's chamber very cold and empty. If she was to live in it, she was comfortable transforming it to fit her desire.
~ ~ ~ ~
Garrick climbed the steps to his chamber. In the back of his mind he hoped she was not angry over putting her in his chamber, and another part said she would deal with it because he was the lord here. He did not want to fight with her, he had already gone a tough round with Roland. That man was on a destruction course, and Garrick did not think there was anything anyone could do to stop him. At one time he had surrounded himself with men like Roland, no conscience and full of a
nger, he still had those men, but now his mind was working on a way to get them out of his ranks. He did not feel comfortable with Ryann among them.
Roland was different. Garrick knew a great deal about Damien LeForte, and knew before his brother Cyrille was his closest confidant, it was Roland. He knew of the loyalty the men had for one another. That he was here now, told Garrick that Damien had all but washed his hands of him. Garrick tried to approach the knight with patience, but that was something foreign to both of them, and Garrick had no patience for the other man's insolence, and so it had come to blows. In the end Roland was blissfully unconscious when it was over, and Garrick had a ringing headache and ribs that ached from the man's powerful and quick blows. It solved nothing between them, at least Garrick did not think it had. It only accomplished what he suspected Roland wanted, to be blissfully unaware of the world around him, even for a short time.
Garrick stopped in his tracks, staring at the intricate tapestry that now hung over the doorway to his chamber. He studied it for a moment, the great warhorse depicted on it was entangled in vines that threatened to overtake it, but a warrior was hacking away at them with his sword. Overhead a hawk flew, its beak open as it cried out, avoiding the vines itself. Along the edges were smaller depictions of the same scene as horse, knight ,and hawk fought the vines. In some they were trying to grab the knight, others the hawk, but always the knight was hacking away until he reached his horse's side. The last in the far bottom right corner was the knight cutting the last vine from his horse, and the hawk settling onto the giant animal's back. That this hung outside his chamber pleased him, and he slipped behind it.
The chamber he stepped into was nothing he would have recognized as his own. The fire burned low in the hearth, and the tapestry over the door helped hold the heat in, so the room was invitingly warm. More of the tapestries hung on the walls, insulating the room further, and brightening it with all of their colors. A table had been placed on one side of the room, with chairs boasting of brightly colored cushions, the table top glowing to a polished perfection. The bed he had once slept in was now transformed with all the colorful pillows he had once seen on Ryann's bed back at Kilkenny. Standing on the bed, intent on the veil like material she was hanging from overhead to shroud it, was his wife, the lacy material wrapped around her as she stretched upward, her breasts pushing against the fabric of her bodice, her feet bare as she teetered on the edge of the mattress. Sarah stood on the floor below her, holding one end of the fabric as her mistress tied it to the tall posts of the bed. It would do very little to hold the warmth of the bed in with all the holes in the lace, but he had to admit there was something provocative about the fabric, perhaps it was just that his wife was wrapped up in it.
Sara's head snapped toward him as he entered the room, and immediately obeyed when he nodded toward the doorway of the chamber indicating she was to leave. Taking her place by Ryann he stared up at his wife, her delicate features intent on her task so he was free to peruse her small frame.
"Sara, I need more," Ryann's voice said, tugging at the lace. Garrick did not know how long she had been trying to free the fabric from beneath his boot, but he quickly stepped off it. "Thank y..." Her voice trailed away as she looked down in surprise at him. Garrick' breath caught in his chest. He had not taken note of the color of the gauzy fabric, but it was a deep blue that seemed to magnify the blueness of his wife's eyes, as she gazed down upon him.
"My lord," she said, dropping the end she had and working her way free.
"My lady," he replied, watching her as she fought with the lace. He could imagine his wife wrapped in the folds of the lace with nothing else covering her body. He immediately hardened at the thought.
"I hope you do not mind my changes," she said behind him, when he fled to the hearth.
He gazed around him before directing his gaze down to her. "I like the changes," he said, his mouth going dry. Just a moment ago he swore he would not touch her, the evening meal was waiting their leisure, and his thought was only on the evening ahead and the joy he would find between his wife's legs. Yet, the cobweb that hung from her golden locks was too much of a temptation he was reaching for, before he could stop his hand. He touched her soft hair, pulling it from its golden perfection. Her trusting gaze as she looked up at him made him swear, and then he grabbed her, pulled her to him, and fused his lips to hers. She tasted so good, like a feast for a hungry man.
His fingers entwined in her hair, trapping her, tilting her head back so he had full access. When his tongue stroked into her mouth, she groaned and he felt as if he would explode. His arms tightened, his fingers pulled, and a small gasp escaped her lips. That gasp made his control teeter precariously on the edge. What pushed him over were her fingers entwining themselves in the cloth covering his chest, and digging through until he felt on fire where she touched him.
He needed her pressed against him. He needed something that would not yield beneath her, and the closest thing was the table or the floor. He chose the table and thrust her toward it, her legs scrambling backward until her delectable rear came up against it. The force she hit made another gasp escape her, not so soft this time. He moved his hands from her hair, yanked her skirts up to her waist, then lifted her quickly, sat her with a jolt upon the table. Through his pants he pressed himself into the warmth between her legs, and he wanted so badly to sink himself to the hilt inside her, but he could not bring himself to part from her lips. His hands went back to her hair, and with a hard jerk she cried out as he pulled her head back. His lips trailed down her neck, his teeth tasting her, savoring her every gasp. He knew he brought her pain, but when a moan of pleasure left her lips, his head shot up to look down into her blue eyes clouded by passion.
"Don't stop," she pleaded.
"Look at me," he said harshly, as their blue perfection tried to drift closed. His fingers dug into her scalp, and she opened them on command. Untangling his one hand, he roughly pushed her thighs wider where they rested against his. Deftly he sunk two fingers swiftly into her warm and wet depths. She was ready for him, her body told him as well as her cry as soon as he penetrated her.
Her head fell back on her shoulders and she moaned loudly as he circled his fingers within her tight sheath. Her eyes drifted closed, and he yanked again on her soft hair.
"Look at me," he ordered. Her eyes flew open and there was such need mirrored there he wanted to die. While he worked his fingers in and out of her wetness, she continued to hold his gaze as the moans escaped her. "I am going to bury myself so deep within you tonight," he said, doing just that with his fingers, her head fell backward and a throaty moan escaped her.
"Look at me," he ordered again. She was a little slower obeying this time, as her body quickened with his touch.
"Now," she panted, as her eyes locked with his.
"No, not now. We have an entire household waiting for our arrival down below." With that he swirled his fingers within her again, then plunged them deep.
"Oh Garrick," she called, her head falling backward again. His fingers dug even more roughly into her scalp, as he pulled it back up.
"Look at me," he said, but his voice held a tone of desire and not a demand.
Her eyes opened and he saw something within them he recognized. She was close to a release, but he wanted it to come as he pounded himself inside her, not with his fingers. Suddenly he slipped them from her silky wetness.
"Please Garrick," she said, her thighs clamping against his as her fingers clutched at his arms.
"Not now. Tonight, we will finish this." He turned away, then because the keen disappointment in her blue depths beckoned for him to finish what he started. "I do not wish to rush. I intend to enjoy being buried in you for a very long time."
Her lush mouth formed an o, and he nearly raced back to her side. "Come," he said instead, calling on the strength he fought for all the years of his past. "Let us eat, then I will bring you back here and I will make you my wife truly.
~ ~
~ ~
Ryann felt the disappointment keenly as she snuggled into the blankets of Garrick's bed. How could one evening go so wrong? She knew deep down her husband would not be joining her, as he said he would. If only she knew his intentions when she went to take her seat. He pulled the chair from beneath her and she fell into the floor, banging her head against the seat so hard she saw stars.
She had not heard Roland's comment or Alena's. Apparently they had been enough to make Garrick angry, because he stormed from the hall leaving her in the floor. He did not come back to eat his meal with her, and as darkness settled over the land, she sought the warmth of their chamber, and waited for him there. But he would not be coming. She knew him well enough to know his anger would win out over his lust. She felt her own anger build, but she was not the kind of person anger ruled. It quickly fled, leaving her with lonely sadness in its wake, and eventually she dozed.
Chapter 12
"I need to talk to you Countess," Alena said, sliding into Garrick's chair next Ryann the following morning, as she just began to eat.
Ryann laid her stale bread to the side, this food really wasn't fit for pigs. Today she would begin to correct that problem. When she turned to look at Alena she had to school herself quickly so her mouth did not fall open in astonishment. The burgundy gown Alena wore hugged her curves to perfection. Her hair artfully designed so it fell about her slender neck giving her a completely seductive look, even on the scarred side of her face.
"Okay Alena," Ryann said but her temper was on edge from the previous night and her absent husband. The fact of the matter was, she just didn't like the tone of Alena’s voice.
"What are you doing to Garrick?"
"What do you mean?" Ryann asked, not liking it one bit Garrick's pouting was her fault.
"I mean he is growing soft. He's sulking for God's sake," she said with disgust. "I know the signs well."
"I have done nothing that put him in his current mood."
Angie Arms - Flame Series 03 Page 16
