The Warrior's Reward

by Samantha Holt

  Rosamunde thought Ieuan had given up. He turned slightly. But with a sudden movement, he twisted his blade and slammed the hilt into the back of the man’s neck. He crumpled, knocked cold. The other men let up a cry of dismay and stalked closer. One held a small blade too, the other a large stick. Rosamunde clutched her hands to her chest and gaped. He’d moved so fast, so viciously. All to protect her honour. She didn’t know whether to be horrified or... or excited.

  When the dagger came toward him, Ieuan reacted with more speed than she imagined possible. He threw down his own sword, brought one hand down on the man’s arm whilst bringing his other hand up on the underside. The attacker had no choice but to drop the knife and clutch his arm in agony.

  She suspected the man with the large stick intended to retreat but he didn’t have time. Ieuan punched him in the gut and when he bent double, he brought a knee up to his face. Blood spilled out of his nose as he collapsed back.

  Swiping his hands down his chausses, Ieuan strode over to his sword and retrieved it. With barely a glance at the injured men, he sheathed his sword and held out his hand for Rosamunde. “Shall we?”

  Rosamunde expelled a long breath. Goodness. Exciting.

  Chapter Nine

  Candlelight glinted off Rosamunde’s hair as she ran the end of the braid through her fingers over and over. Ieuan clenched his fist at the same time his body tightened. She sat on the large carved bed. A more tempting sight, he had never seen. The maid had helped her remove her travelling dress and bathe, leaving her in nothing but her chemise. She was golden and white against the royal blue bedding and heavy drapes. A faint sheen of damp glistened on her forehead and cheeks.

  “You must be weary,” he said when she remained sitting, chewing her bottom lip. That lip slipped out from her teeth and the glossy plumpness sent a bolt of need through him. Sweat prickled on the back of his neck and his tunnelled a hand through his hair.

  He slipped off his mantle and drew his sword from his belt to hang them over the large chair in one corner. Ieuan strode to the window and peered at the rain-splattered glass. Travelling was going to prove difficult in this weather but he couldn’t spend another night here—not with her. Her breathing seemed to echo in his ears though he wasn’t sure how he even heard it. He didn’t think she’d moved yet every tiny rustle of linen and cotton vibrated through him.

  Shoving both hands through his hair again, he finally braved facing her back. Shoulders stiff, hair tucked over one shoulder, she remained. Why did she not go to sleep? The day had been long. He had no notion of what to do with her. Mayhap she feared sharing a bed with him? She had hardly spoken a word since his altercation with those blackguards. Mayhap he had terrified her.

  He could offer to sleep on the floor. His muscles ached from some of the injuries sustained during the joust and he didn’t relish the idea, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to share a bed with her either. Seeing those fragile shoulders and the back of her delicate neck made him want things he couldn’t have quite yet.

  He drew in a breath through his nostrils.

  Not yet. A few days and then he could claim his wife. In their bed, in his castle. He would take her as gently and as sensitively as he could. He hadn’t done a very good job of it yet but he would prove to her he was no barbarian Welshman.

  No matter the cost to him.

  “I am going to wash,” he declared to her back.

  She nodded but didn’t face him so he began to strip down to his braies. Removing his surcoat, then his shirt, he slipped off his chausses and flung them all in the direction of the chair. Most landed in a pile near the empty fireplace and he saw her jump at the movement. Standing in his undergarments, he stepped over to the coffer and poured some water from the earthenware jug into a bowl. He dipped his fingers into it and shuddered at the temperature. He hoped the maid had warmed it for Rosamunde. The girl had likely never had to suffer washing with cold water before. He smirked to himself. At least it might help erase any heated thoughts he was having.

  Ieuan worked quickly, using a linen cloth to scrub across his chest and back and down his legs. He tried to wash the rest of him with as much care for the delicacy of the woman in the room as he could, though he suspected her back was still to him.

  He dunked his face in the water and scraped damp hands though his hair. When he came up for air, he cursed to himself. He normally slept naked during the summer months and he’d flung his shirt aside. He’d have to walk past Rosamunde and into her view. Ieuan prayed his scar-riddled body didn’t send her into a swoon.

  “Hell fire.” He spat the words and they rang around the room. Her body trembled.

  Her naked, pale body.

  Lifting both hands to his face, he rubbed his eyes and stared some more. She was on her hands and knees on the bed. The golden glow of the candles flickered and danced over her milky skin. Her bottom was thrust up, round and ripe—practically begging for his fingers to dig into her flesh. Arousal speared through him and if he’d already been close to hard, he was certainly as hard as stone now.

  Shadows hid between her thighs but he saw enough. He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. Then, fearful of startling her, he spoke carefully, “Rosamunde, what...?”

  “I am not afeared, Ieuan. You may take me now.”

  If he hadn’t been so startled, he might have smirked at her words and the way they came out so shuddery and vulnerable. Oh, she was afeared all right. He drew in two deep breaths and reached slowly for his shirt. In spite of himself, he could not remove his gaze from her gently vibrating breasts or the curve of her rear or even the arc of her spine. He’d never been interested in a woman’s back before but the oddest part of him wanted to skip his finger down that curve and caress each inch of her silky flesh.

  And the barbarian side of him longed to line himself up behind her and thrust deep into her heat.

  God’s blood, hell fire and damnation. She was a maiden, he reminded himself. Innocent. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—take her that way.

  Punching his arms into his shirt, he dragged it over his head and by some miracle tore his gaze from her. He spotted her chemise at the foot of the bed and moved. Her skin had pimpled and she trembled with the sound of his movements while her face remained straight ahead. He didn’t know if her eyes were shut, but he knew this was not how he wanted to make her his.

  Slowly, carefully, he came around to her side and eased onto the bed. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut. The breath he released felt long and heavy, weighted with desire. Defeating Granville had been easier than not taking Rosamunde. He deserved another victory prize for his restraint.

  He touched her shoulder lightly and the trembles wracking her increased. He bit back a groan at the amazing view he had of her round breasts hanging down and swaying, begging for his hands.

  “Rosamunde, ‘tis late. Rest now.”

  Her eyes sprang open. “You wish not to consummate our marriage now?”

  As hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop his gaze from skimming over her figure. Why she thought she needed to be up on all fours, he knew not. Indeed, he had taken many women that way but they had not been maidens. He tried to remember ever taking anyone’s maidenhood but he couldn’t recall. Still, he would not take her this way. He’d have her on her back, her thighs spread wide. He would touch and lick her until she was ready.

  He handed her the chemise and stood abruptly before he changed his mind. Jaw tight, fists clenched, he waited to hear the bed ropes creak, but no sounds came.

  “Put on your chemise, Rosamunde,” he said through his gritted teeth.

  Several heartbeats and then finally, sheets rustled and ropes creaked. He waited longer than was probably necessary before turning around and seeing her in her chemise. Ieuan let his shoulders sag and rubbed a hand across his forehead. She stared at him with wide eyes for several moments before turning her head away and slipping under the sheets and blanket.

  “I shall sleep on the floor,” he told her, hoping he mig
ht get an offer of a blanket.

  Rosamunde lifted her head from the pillow long enough to bestow him with a cold look. “As you will.” Then she leaned over to blow out the candle near her bedside.

  Chapter Ten

  Arms folded, lips pursed, Rosamunde quietly seethed as Ieuan settled in the carriage next to her. Did he not want her? She really was nothing more than a large sum of coin to him, was she not? Shame warmed her cheeks. If only she could forget how vulnerable and foolish she had felt when he had turned her away. She had all but offered up herself, knowing he would wish to make their marriage official and he had denied her.

  Perhaps she was not so beautiful, after all. Was there something wrong with her body? She’d always been told she had a fine figure yet none of the men who had said as much had seen her naked. There had to be something wrong with her.

  The carriage set off with a jolt and she curled her hand around the edge of the window, ignoring her instinct to grab Ieuan instead. What made it worse was that every brush of his arm sent awareness through her. She hardly knew what to do with the sensations he created, the great ache that seemed to centre through her body and down between her legs, but she knew well enough she was still attracted to him. How humiliating.

  “A day’s journey and then we shall switch to horses in the morning. The land around the keep will not allow a carriage to pass,” he told her.

  She nodded, lips still clamped together.

  “If we are to spend all day in this carriage together, you will have to speak to me.”

  “I do not see why I should have a need to,” she replied archly, aggravated by the amusement in his voice. Good Lord, she amused him! Her naked body and her vulnerability amused him. What sort of a man was she married to?

  “You will need to, Rosamunde,” he told her in a voice that held a slightly smug tone.

  She narrowed her gaze at him, slipping it sideways to view the confident posture of her husband. He thought he had a full understanding of her, did he not? He thought her incapable of functioning without the aid of a man. Well, she would prove him wrong.

  Pointedly thrusting up her chin, she folded her arms and focused on the heavy fabric lining the bench opposite.

  By the time she had counted every tassel on the bench and eyed every polished piece of wood and traced every swirling carving, they were only about an hour into their journey and she had need of a break—most terribly. She squirmed, she shifted her legs, she tried to breathe deeply but it was no good.

  “When will we be stopping next?” she asked, the words spilling out.

  “Not for another hour at least.”

  Rosamunde didn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to see his smug smile again. Releasing a long breath, she mustered up as much dignity as she could manage and kept her expression placid. “I need to stop.”

  “In an hour.”

  “I need to stop now.” She winced as she heard her petulant tone. Lord, she would never prove herself better than her reputation like this. But she was beginning to become incredibly uncomfortable.

  Ieuan ground his teeth. The noise reverberated through the carriage and down to her very toes. Then he expelled a long breath before leaning out of the carriage window and calling for them to stop. The vehicle came to a slow halt and rocked back and forth on its wheels.

  He rose first, opening the door and stepping out before offering a hand. She hesitated for a moment before rising. For some reason, having to move past him to exit sent a very real thrum of apprehension through her. He didn’t scare her, of course not. Why should she be scared of her husband? It was just that... well, whenever she was close to him, her stomach did strange things like tie itself in knots. Sitting next to him had been hard enough but at least he hadn’t touched her.

  “Well?” he prompted, his eyebrows dipping in a way that told her he was feeling very impatient and annoyed with her.

  Why should he be annoyed with her? She hadn’t done anything wrong. She had thought she was doing everything right but it seemed that was not true. Apparently offering herself to him on their wedding night was wrong indeed. He must really dislike her.

  Rosamunde slipped her hand into his. There was nothing chivalric about the way he clasped her fingers. It was possessive and impatient. It surprised her he did not yank her forward and have her spill from the carriage in a pile of silk. She stepped out cautiously and blinked in the daylight. The interior of the carriage had not been all that dark but she felt a little like a prisoner having been released after years of captivity.

  Which she supposed she was. After what had happened to her mother, her father had kept her locked away. Now it seemed her husband was loath to let her leave even the carriage. She blinked up at the daylight that dappled in through the leafy canopy. Leaves rustled, making her heart stop and start in quick succession. Fingers of apprehension tripped down her spine.

  Ieuan kept her hand held tight and she went to tug her fingers away but he held firm.

  “I need to...” She gestured to the trees lining the dirt road. Warmth rushed into her cheeks. She supposed nothing could be more humiliating than the previous night but discussing her personal matters with Ieuan was not the best moment of her life.

  “’Tis dangerous in the woods.”

  “Do you intend to watch over me whilst I relieve myself?” she hissed the last part, aware of his men having dismounted around them. They all stood with tense awareness, their backs straight, their hands upon the hilts of their swords.

  A hiss of air escaped her husband and he released her hand. “Do not go far and return as soon as possible.”

  She didn’t try to respond. If she waited much longer, she feared she might explode. Scurrying away, branches snapped underfoot and she heard him issue orders to remove the horses’ harnesses to feed and water them.

  Her husband.

  “My husband.” She tried the words aloud. How odd they were? She had never thought it would happen. Her father appeared keen to keep her by his side forever. Yet something had to have occurred between these two men to persuade her father to give her up so easily.

  Of course for a few moments—perhaps even a night, she had entertained thoughts of what it might be like to be married to the chivalrous Welshman. Rosamunde huffed and hitched up her skirt as she stepped over a large root that crawled across the forest floor. Nothing like this, to be certain. She had imagined more flowery words and tender touches. Apparently he couldn’t even bring himself to touch her now.

  “Vile. Wretched. Dishonourable. Man,” she muttered to herself with each footstep.

  Pausing to peer over her shoulder, she deemed that she was far enough into the forest to offer enough protection from curious gazes. With great difficulty, she hitched up her skirts and relieved herself. When she had finished readjusting her heavy skirts, a crack of a branch made her stiffen. She rotated slowly and blew out a slow breath.

  “Oh thank the Lord, ‘tis you.”

  Phylip released a slow smile. “I came to check on you.”

  She found herself smiling back even though there was a faintly sinister cast to his expression. The smile looked like that of what she imagined a wolf’s face would look like before he went in for the kill. Icy trickles of fear shimmered through her.

  “Well, shall we return?” Rosamunde’s sugary tone did nothing to break the sensation that something was about to happen. Something horrible and untoward.

  He made his move. He stepped forward with one swift movement. The wolf pounced on his prey. Her instincts had been right and she’d been prepared for him. She ducked under his arm and fell into a run. Whatever the man had planned for her, she knew full well he intended to do her harm.

  Something caught her skirts and she nearly tumbled forward. With a curse, she yanked on the fabric but it was too late. His boots made light work of the uneven terrain and he looped an arm about her waist, tearing her gown from the snarling branch. Rosamunde filled her lungs, prepared to scream but a hand clamped across her m
outh before she had a chance to unleash it.

  “Shh.”

  You fool, she tried to say against the hand. My husband will be along at any moment. Surely he would wonder what had happened to her?

  “Ieuan is preoccupied with one of the horses. I made sure of that,” he told her, his breath hissing like a snake in her ear.

  She shuddered. It was foolish perhaps to worry for a horse, given her circumstances, but she hoped he had not harmed it.

  The hand upon her waist slid upwards in deliberate movements. She jerked forward but the hand around her mouth held fast, pinning her to him. Aware of the strong body behind her and the warmth radiating off him, she had no doubt what he wanted. Tears bit at her eyes. Only two days away from her father’s castle and it looked as though she might fall foul to the same fate as her poor mother.

  When his hand cupped her breast through her gown, she shuddered and renewed her struggles. Nay. Nay, nay, nay. This would not happen. She wanted to prove herself and so she would. Regardless of what he did to her, she wouldn’t submit readily.

  “I’m going to release your mouth,” he told her. “Do not scream or I’ll cut you.”

  Rosamunde saw no knife but knew he’d be carrying one. However, both his hands were occupied with her. Would he be able to draw it out in time to harm her should she scream? She took the moment before he removed his sweaty palm from her mouth to assess how far from the roadside they were and realised it would be a grave risk indeed. Should she scream for help, it was unlikely Ieuan would reach her in time.

  The fingers came away from her mouth, one by one. She drew in a gulp of fresh air and allowed him to turn her. Phylip must have been relying on fear to hold her captive now as his hands began to rove up and down her body until they settled on her rear, cupping her and drawing her close. She tilted her head away as he tried to kiss her.

  “Ieuan will kill you for this.”

  A smirk appeared on the fair-haired man’s face. “He will not. I know too many of his secrets.”