Rogan closed the door softly. With no mother to guide her, he doubted that anyone had counseled her as to what the sexual act entailed. Somehow, he could hardly imagine Catherine doing it. Such acts of kindness were likely foreign to her. Exhaling, he approached Lily.
“Do you wish something, my lord?” she asked, nervous.
He looked at her stiff posture, her anxious expression. Where was the spirited nymph who had lifted her skirts like a peasant and dangled her bare legs into the garden pool? He was determined to have her back.
“Nothing, wife,” he answered and watched for her reaction to the title. It came in a gentle suffusion of color. Yes, there was Lily, raw emotion clearly written on her face, without pretense, without guile. He chuckled as he moved closer. “How does the sound of that seem to you?”
“It pleases me well,” she replied. It was a dutiful answer, but the light in her eye spoke of how much those words were true.
She was so very beautiful. He studied the warm glow of her skin in the firelight, the gentle curve of her high cheekbones, that noble arch of her nose. And mostly, the full, pouting lips that could part unexpectedly to a brilliant smile. They were lips full of sensuality, and suddenly the longing to taste their promise was nearly unbearable.
He drew closer, approaching carefully. He was oddly touched by the demure casting-down of her eyes. “Why are you so quiet?”
Her gaze lifted to his. “I do not know what to say. What does one say to one’s husband?”
“Lily, I am your husband, but I have not ceased being Rogan. You have never been lacking in conversation with me before.”
He could see the tension in her spine relax slightly. “This is all so sudden and strange,” she said in way of explanation.
He paused. “Do you regret it?”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “You must not think that. It is just that we are married.” She said it with so much awe that he suddenly felt contrite at his lack of understanding.
“I suppose it has all happened fast. Perhaps too fast.”
“I didn’t mind. It didn’t seem fast enough. It felt as though it took forever for today to arrive. But now that it is here, I admit I am…”
“A bit overwhelmed?”
She responded to his kindness with a conspiratorial smile. “Yes, perhaps that. It is such a large thing, marriage. It is done, and now we are bound together. Forever.”
“You make it sound like a sentence of doom!” Rogan laughed, though he, too, could confess to a certain degree of shock over such an unlikely event as his marriage.
“I didn’t—”
“Lily, I was only teasing you and do not apologize again!” He was exasperated, but also more than a little amused. She looked at him, confused, and he held his hand out to her. “Come here.”
She stepped forward, slipping her hand into his. He pulled her to him with a playful jerk, hoping to tease her out of this recalcitrant mood.
“It is all right for you to be nervous. I understand it is a common condition among new brides.” He studied her face, as open to him as a rose in full blossom. She really was just a child in so many ways. Yet at the same time, he was acutely aware of her slender body, only inches from his own and that it was the form of a woman full-grown. She had the power to stir his blood and his tenderness, and no woman had ever been able to do that before. “Do you remember the day by the practice field, when I fought the Dane and found you hiding? Do you recall that we kissed?”
Lily bit her bottom lip as she nodded. Rogan drew her closer so that their bodies brushed lightly against each other. Not too close, yet every inch of his flesh tingled in awareness of her proximity. “I got the distinct impression that you did not find that unpleasant.”
“No,” she said. A tender smile curved her lips as she relaxed against him. His own tension mounted.
“Tonight,” he murmured as he bent his head toward her, “we will start there.”
He saw the thick lashes flutter down as he touched his lips to hers. She did not stiffen, nor did she hesitate, but leaned hungrily into the kiss. He almost laughed. He should have known to expect an unaffected response from Lily.
Her fears seemed to be dispelled. The little flower was not as fragile as she looked. Giving in to the pressing need gathering in his loins, he pulled her tightly into his arms, bringing her full length against his body. The feel of her supple form yielding to him sent a wild pulse slamming through his veins and thundering in his ears.
The madness of unleashed passion was claiming his control. He plumbed the depths of her mouth, honey sweet and as intoxicating as spiced mead. She made a small sound, reaching up to entwine her arms around his neck, touching her own tongue hesitantly to his. The contact shot a bolt of pleasure through his trembling core, leaving him ravenous.
He dipped his head, pressing his mouth along the ridge of her collarbone, tasting her in small nibbles as his teeth teased her heated flesh. Her hands threaded into his hair, then fell to his shoulders, clinging to him tightly as he moved up the column of her throat to press soft, faint kisses into the hollow at the base. When he claimed her mouth again, her ardor matched his own with a raw sensuality sparked to life.
“Come to the bed, love,” he whispered hoarsely. She nodded, dazed, breathless, with lips swollen and eyes heavy lidded with passion. He led her to the pallet piled high with plush furs, kissing and nuzzling her on the way. He felt for the bed with his knee, then gently he eased her back, leaning over her so that his mouth never left hers.
When she was fully reclined, he pulled back, studying the alluring vision before him. Her golden hair fanned out like a shimmering cloud. Her eyes gazed up at him, those brilliant blue-green orbs that took him to places lost in memory, as she watched him grab his shirt by the back collar and pull it over his head. She flicked her tongue over her parched lips, and the simple, unconscious gesture sent his pulse into a frenzy, making him grind his teeth together in determination. Slowly, he cautioned, reminding himself of her inexperience.
“Do not be frightened,” he said softly. “I will move slowly, gently.” He rose and shucked the rest of his clothes, then doused the candles, casting the room in the rosy glow of the dying fire.
He lay down beside her. Her eyelids drifted down as he drew her into his arms again. The gesture was vulnerable and demanding at the same time. When had he ever had a lover like this—so open, so giving? She was like a flower, indeed, this Lily, delicate and beautiful and intoxicating, begging to be touched.
The ribbon holding her gown in place at her neck unraveled with only a small tug and the soft, prim lace fell open, revealing the smooth skin that seemed to glow, bathed in the flickering light of the fire. He ached to savor the silken flesh, test the texture, the taste of it against his lips.
She was his, he thought, and something lurched in his chest. Rogan bent to indulge the desire, kissing her neck, her shoulder, her throat, nibbling gently as he moved down farther to the soft swell of her breasts. She gasped a quick inhalation of delight when he gathered the supple flesh into his hands and took each taut peak into his mouth and sucked. His tongue he swirled enticingly, teasing the sensitive nub until she arched, making tiny sounds of pleasure that fanned the flames of his lust until it was an inferno raging out of control.
He was mad for her. Each cry, each moan, each sensual writhing inflamed his blood to an unbearable pitch. Slashing his mouth over hers, he slipped his hands over her buttocks, ridding them of the thin barrier of the delicate linen nightdress.
Impatient to feel her flesh against his own, he pulled her in tight and lifted her hips up to brush against his arousal. Groaning, he pressed her down into the furs. He would have waited, preparing her for the intimacy, but he could manage restraint no longer. Murmuring tender, breathless words of reassurance, he rolled over her eager body. Easing her legs apart with his knee, he paused a moment before slipping into the moist heat. The feel of her inner flesh around him, a tight sheath of sensation, was an explosion
of pleasure that tore away the shattered remnants of his reserve. He pushed on and felt the barrier of her maidenhead just before it yielded to his thrust.
She recoiled, letting out a small cry only once. He tried to wait for her to recover, but she moved against him. He did not hesitate to oblige, marveling at her abandon. Over and over again he drove himself inside her. She clung to him, moving to match his rhythm. He could feel her tensing in his arms.
“Let go, Lily,” he rasped, joyous that she would find such pleasure this, her first time. Controlling his strokes, he pushed deeper. A soft moan escaped her and he covered her mouth with his, his body continuing to coax her to the brink of fulfilment. At last, he felt her stiffen, gasp and her eyes flew wide for a moment before she buried her face in his neck. He held her tight, able to feel the tremors shudder through her slight form just before the waves of pleasure lifted him up and bore him aloft for an endless moment.
He drifted back to his body slowly. Rolling to his side, he gathered Lily tight into his arms, not wanting to let her go. God, she was a wonder. She snuggled against his chest like a cat nestling in a comfortable bed. He smiled at the artless movement, so innocent and sensual at the same time.
“I had no idea it was like this,” she said. Her breath fanned across his chest. “Now I see, I understand. If this is the way it is between a man and a woman, I know what all the fuss is about. ’Tis wonderful. But why does everyone refuse to speak of it?”
He smiled against her hair. “This is the best of what lies between a man and woman. We are lucky, love.”
Her voice was full of amazement. “I never even knew that such feelings existed.”
Nor I, Rogan thought, but he did not say it. Instead, he tilted her face up to his and kissed her again.
“If this is what the marriage bed is about, it is a wonder anything else gets done,” she said after a while.
“’Tis a problem for some.” Rogan chuckled. “Much of this world’s problems are the worse for desire and passion.”
She curled tighter against him. He gritted his teeth, wanting her already yet knowing that it would be awhile before she would be ready for him again.
“We should sleep,” he said unenthusiastically, “for we have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”
“Yes, we should sleep,” she agreed. “Good night, Rogan.”
“Good night, wife.” Rogan closed his eyes, but it was a long time before he found sleep.
“I shall go mad, Phillippe, I swear it”
The swarthy Frenchman took a long sip of wine. “The little one will not do it?”
“She refuses. Damn her! She was my only hope of stopping the wedding, and now it is too late for that But I am not through, Phillippe. I will not be thwarted.”
Catherine sat stiffly on the edge of a tufted chair. From his position lounging on the bed, Phillippe thought she never looked more desirable. Or exciting. The look in her eyes sent a thrill through his slender frame. He loved her like this, brittle and dangerous and capable of anything.
He rose from the bed in a fluid movement and went to refill his cup. Gazing down at Catherine as he drank, he felt a surge of power. He savored it, smiling into his cup. He could give her Rogan.
“I know your obsession,” he stated. “Another man might be jealous, but not I. See how well I know you? I would even find a way to deliver him to you.” Placing the chalice on a nearby table, he went to kneel before her. “And I can.”
Ah, the flicker of rabid interest in her eyes was like an aphrodisiac, sending his body into thrilling stimulation. She reached out two hands to grasp his tunic. “How?” she whispered.
“We shall go visit your sister, together this time. Perhaps there is something I can say that will persuade her, eh? She loves Lily. She would never harm her, nor would she wish to see her harmed. That is why she will lie for us.”
Laughing, he rose and grasped her hands, pulling her upright. “Let us be off. We go to her tonight—now—and inform her that if she does not do as we wish…”
He paused, relishing the way the gleam of anticipation lit his beloved’s face. “Then, I shall be forced to take Lily’s life.”
“Kill Lily?” A slow, brilliant smile spread on Catherine’s face. “Oh, yes, Phillippe. Let us go!”
Chapter Eight
Lily awoke the following morning to a sudden awareness of the warm press of Rogan’s body full against her side. In the silence of the room, his soft breathing seemed loud. She turned to gaze at him and to study his handsome face in repose. Still heart-stoppingly handsome, he looked different. Somehow boyish. His hair was tousled, that errant lock falling near one closed eye. If she dared, she would have smoothed it away, but she didn’t want to wake him.
How lucky she was to have married for love. Oh, she had known for quite some time that she was in love with Rogan. Under the tender nurturing of his kindness, her attraction blossomed into that deeper emotion almost immediately. And surely his gentleness and admitted enjoyment of her was the same thing, though he had not exactly said so. Yet he was kind and passionate and always attentive. She concluded men just took longer to realize these things.
Since the death of her mother seven years ago, Lily had not really known happiness. The closest she had come was contentment, and that only in the moments she shared with Elspeth. Now she felt the sheer euphoria of it welling inside her, obliterating the years of struggle under Catherine’s harsh yoke. She felt free. She felt reborn. She felt distinctly, unmistakably and incredibly…happy. Just then, Rogan’s eyes opened.
“Good morn, husband,” she said warmly.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Rogan answered, stretching. “Do you know the hour?”
“No, but I believe it is early yet.”
“We should rise. If we are to leave by noon, there will be much to do.”
“I cannot wait to see Kensmouth,” she said.
Rogan smiled and reached out to touch her face. “It is not nearly so grand a place as this. It is a much smaller household.” His lips moved closer to hers. “You may find it boring.”
“I do not imagine anything in my life with you will be boring.”
He gave her a look that made her belly flutter. “You always say the most startling things.”
It was a compliment, she could tell by the lovely way his eyes caressed her and by the appreciative tone of his voice. That he liked all the things about her she had been taught to suppress amazed her. She giggled, leaning forward impulsively to kiss him.
He looked taken aback at first, then immediately his hand slipped behind her neck and brought her down to kiss her again. Lily felt the spark of hunger flare to life as his hand closed over a breast. “They are waiting below,” she gasped.
“Let them,” Rogan answered roughly, rolling them both over. Lily laughed. It was starting again, every delicious sensation he had brought upon her last night. Liquid fire poured through her veins and her mind clouded as his mouth descended once again to hers.
When the pounding sounded, Lily thought it was merely the blood pulsing in her head. It was not until the voices started calling that she realized someone was pummeling their door.
“What the devil?” Rogan muttered, rising quickly and pulling on his leggings. They had bolted the door against any addlepated pranksters who would get it in their heads to harass the newly married couple on their wedding night.
Rogan looked over his shoulder as he headed for the door, waiting as Lily pulled on her dressing gown. She gave him a brief nod to indicate she was ready and he threw back the bolt.
“What is going on here?” he demanded roughly. Lily skittered behind him to peer at the intruders. She had a brief glimpse of several soldiers, four or five, all in chain mail and armed with swords. Two of the men lunged forward and grabbed hold of her husband.
Rogan looked at them contemptuously and snarled in a low voice, “Kindly tell me what this is all about before I set the lot of you on your arses.”
The men fr
oze, looking at one another for mutual support. Most certainly, they had seen Rogan’s prowess on the practice field and they were intimidated by the threat.
One, apparently a leader, said, “We are to bring you to Lord Enguerrand immediately.”
“Why?”
The soldier stood solid. “Those are my orders.”
Rogan paused. He looked to Lily. “Stay here. I will return when this has been sorted out” Turning to the men, he said, “No need to maul me, I am going willingly.”
The soldier who had spoken shifted uncomfortably. “Still, my lord, we have to do our duty.” He paused, obviously daunted by the gaze of steely gray that held him. Reconsidering, he said, “Lionel, William, Kenneth, let him go. Keep your weapons trained. Lord Rogan, I suggest that you keep your word. My men will not hesitate to act should you try to break away.”
Lily would have thought Rogan would laugh at the threat, but he nodded his head solemnly. He left with them, not giving her another look.
It took only a few moments to find a suitable gown and throw it on. She did not fuss with accessories, pausing only to put on a pair of slippers and run a brush hurriedly through her hair before she was out of the chamber and down the stairs. She had no intention of sitting calmly in the room, even if her lord and husband did command it.
The hall was all but deserted. A chorus of voices led her into the bailey. Darting outside, Lily saw a large crowd gathered. Shoving aside those who blocked her path, she reached the center to find her father and Rogan facing each other. Her husband was still held at sword point by the soldiers. Without hesitation, she stepped forward to stand at his side.
“You deny it?” Enguerrand boomed. His face was florid crimson. She had seen her father in fits of temper to shake Charolais’s foundations, but never had she seen him like this.
“Of course I do, Enguerrand,” Rogan snapped back, not as cool as he was before.
“My daughter does not lie.”
“And yet she has done so.”
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