The Gentle Knight (The Norman Conquest Book 2)

by Ashley York

  Ruth placed her head alongside Brighit’s for the same angle. “She is, isn’t she? My sweet, little bundle.”

  “Please, friends and sisters. Thank you for coming and enjoy the feast but I believe we have duties to see to first. Namely - the marriage bed must be assessed. Follow my friends.”

  Martha swept her hand over her head and all followed. Brighit was taken aback at the announcement but Ruth pulled her forward.

  “I believe I’m needing to make this trip with my husband.” Her voice sounded as small as she felt.

  “Here I am.” Peter stepped up as they walked through the open doors.

  Mort waited for the group to pass by, giving her a kind smile as she went.

  With great care, he took the bundle from Brighit’s arms and handed the babe back to its mother.

  The cheering erupted around them once the group passed Ruth with her child. Ribald comments come to them from the men and the women giggled and rolled their eyes.

  Brighit felt her face grow hotter with every step down the hallway and not knowing exactly where this “bedding” was to take place. She looked at Peter whose eyes were steadily glancing between where they were being led and her face. Did he measure her trepidation? His sudden responsibility? Or how long it would take before he could go to see John?

  She swallowed the fear that swamped at the reality of having just made the biggest error in judgment of her short life. A fool’s error. She had allowed herself to believe that somehow this was a good thing but it was truly a farce. She was not compromised. She was not taken advantage of. Yet she was wed.

  Just as she readied herself to halt right there and proclaim this marriage nothing more than a big lie, they reached an oak door. Martha pushed it open to reveal a huge chamber of exquisite elegance. Brighit’s mouth dropped open. It was a chamber fit for the King with a huge platform in the middle of the room which held a bed like none she’d ever seen before. Long drapes hung around the posts supporting the bed. A gentle fire burned to the far side of the room that was big enough to heat the entire Great Hall.

  “What is this place?” Brighit asked.

  “Martha told me this is the Bishop’s private chambers.” Peter looked around him, a slight nod to his head as if assessing something that has met approval. “I believe Odo will not mind if we use his chamber in this instance.”

  He turned back at her with a knowing look. Her heart dropped to her stomach.

  “Our marriage bed will be the bed of the King’s half-brother?”

  “Hmm, I’m surprised you know that.”

  The clamor interrupted their discussion. Peter smiled and turned toward the smiling faces that pushed against them in their eagerness to get inside of the room.

  “It is not with great reluctance that we bid you goodbye. You may not be entering nor witnessing the bedding. As you believe the bedding has already taken place.” He shrugged his shoulders and pulled the door closed.

  Peter closed his eyes, leaned back against the door, and blew out a breath. His irritation quite apparent and Brighit felt the tears at the back of her throat. The sound from the crowd outside diminished as they returned to the feast.

  He suddenly opened his eyes and pierced her with his look. “Ah, my lovely Brighit. I could eat you up!”

  Brighit’s eyes widened.

  “Do not be afraid. And I promise to make it a pleasurable experience.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Peter pushed away from the door and walked toward Brighit. The look of fear on her face surprised him. She had shown herself to be quite passionate. He glanced around the room. All had been provided for them. Food. Drink. Water. Bed. A fire that could easily make the room extremely warm... for anyone who was dressed. Brighit would need to lose the dress. He pressed his lips together, remembering what was hidden beneath. Libations may be the best approach.

  “Come.” He took her cold hand. The room was expansive and he led her to the bench. “Sit.”

  The mead warmed beside the fire and he offered her a cup before sitting beside her. Taking a sip himself, he said, “Mead always tastes best at the Monasteries and Priories.”

  She brought the cup to her mouth, a slight tremble in her hand. “This is the only one I’ve been to but I would agree it is good.”

  No one would be interrupting them this time and he had time to ease any nervousness. He also knew no one would ever know what they did or didn’t do.

  “They think we have already done the deed.”

  “That is true enough,” Brighit said.

  “If we choose to consummate this tonight or not, it is our decision alone.”

  He dare not breathe. He wasn’t sure what he would do if she decided she required more time.

  Brighit thoughtfully sipped her drink before answering. “Waiting creates more jitters. Fear of the unknown.”

  She searched his face and swallowed down her mead, returning it to him for more.

  “I prefer not to wait,” she said.

  He exhaled his relief, refilling her mead. He’d prefer she not become drunk. Making love was not usually an event requiring drunkenness.

  “Are you afeared now?” He traced his finger along the side of her face. “I would die before I ever hurt you.”

  She took the last swallow. He took her empty cup then placed his hand against her flushed cheek.

  Brighit turned her face into his palm, closing her eyes. Her skin was as soft as he remembered. All her skin was soft. He pulled her face toward him. Her lips were soft and inviting and tasted of mead. She placed one hand against his chest and returned the kiss. He traced his tongue along the seam of her tightened lips.

  “Open your mouth to me,” he whispered the words.

  After the slightest hesitation, she did, shifting closer to accommodate him. The honey sweetness coated her tongue. The warmth of the mead spread through him as he was sure it was her. She wrapped one hand tentatively around his neck, still reaching her head toward him. He needed her much closer. Pulling his head away, he let his gaze sweep over her body. He lightly traced the outline of one breast with his fingertip, running along the nipple when it pearled in response to his touch, then around again as his tongue longed to do.

  “I remember these beautiful breasts.” His voice was quiet. He glanced at her when her breath quickened. “Reveal yourself to me.” In his mind he saw her naked again and he needed to touch her. He looked into her eyes. “Let me touch you.”

  She searched his face before standing in front of him. With crossed hands, she pulled the material up with what he’d swear was slow deliberation. He dare not breathe. His eyes remained fixed on her rising hem as each part was revealed to him. Dainty ankles and graceful knees followed by lovely thighs that he longed to drag his hands along, ending with his fingers buried between them.

  He glanced at her face again. Her eyes were hooded, her breath shallow. She may be nervous but she was enjoying this. When she pulled the gown over her head, her breasts were caught by the chemise and they shook with the movement, nearly setting him off. Out of sheer desperation, he stood and grasped the under curve of each delectable swell, cupping their heaviness, kneading them against his hand.

  “I’ve dreamed of doing this.”

  Her nipples were hard against his palm. Her eyes fluttered shut in response. He dropped his mouth and suckled her. Sliding one hand lower, he slipped it between her legs. He caressed her with light strokes. She relaxed against him, her hands moving around his head, pulling him more fully against her.

  He placed a hand on either hip and took her mouth in a passionate kiss. Turning her away from him, he ran his hands along every inch of her, getting her accustomed to his touch. With one hand grasping her breast, his other hand slid over her lovely derriere.

  “You’ve a mouth-watering arse,” he whispered into her ear.

  He felt her shiver and he pulled her back against him. He wanted to be driving into her now. To hear her panting in his ear as he thrust into her. To g
et his release. He steadied himself. When she rubbed against his hardness, he was lost. He turned her in his arms.

  “I need to take you. Now.” His hands grasped and pulled her closer.

  Brighit reached down to cover his manhood with her palm, grasping as he had her. He pulled her hand away, struggling for composure.

  “No. It’s your turn to be touched and I’m not nearly finished touching you,” he said.

  He lowered her across the bed then followed. With slow deliberation, he released the material tied back at the four posts of the bed. One by one, the outside world was closed off, leaving them in a haven of solitude.

  With his lips on her mouth, he worshipped her body with his hands. Caressing. Fondling. Tugging. She opened her mouth to him as she did her body. He ravaged both. When he slid his hand down her stomach toward the apex of her legs, she hesitated only slightly before parting her knees to grant him access.

  “Ah, woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

  With gentle strokes he touched her lightly at first but dipping into her wetness, his breath hitched. He wanted to go slow but he was not a saint. He stood to remove the rest of his clothing but her intent gaze made him wonder about his own ability to pleasure her first. Covering her with his body, he slipped between her legs. His hardened shaft eagerly pushing against her slick surface.

  “Sweet Lord.”

  “I need... more.” She sounded breathless.

  That was all he needed to hear. With one firm thrust, he entered here. A gentle burst of air was the only sound she made as her maidenhead was breached. He stopped to kiss her deeply. She kissed him back.

  “You’re mine now.”

  “I’ve been yours forever.”

  At a different time or place, Peter would have wondered about that cryptic message but his body had other ideas. Slowly he began to move in the sweetest tightness he’d ever experienced, gently rocking in and out until his body demanded more. To his surprise, she moved against him, spreading her legs, deepening his thrust.

  “We fit perfectly,” he whispered, his mouth against her ear.

  He slid his hands beneath her and took her arse in both hands, lifting her. She made pleasurable noises deep in her throat.

  “Can you feel? We are one.”

  She nodded. Then her muscles pulsed against him, a needy sound from her lips. He moved with long, slow strokes prolonging her pleasure until he could wait no longer. She held him tight, accepting each thrust until his seed was spilled. He dropped alongside her, panting. They were covered with sweat. He pulled the blanket over them both, tucking her close against him. Brighit sighed as if she’d just seen paradise. Kissing her lightly on the head, he’d have to agree.

  Brighit awoke to her husband’s lips on her neck. His tongue stroking against her ear.

  “Are you awake yet?”

  She turned into his arms. “I am.”

  He had loved her again last night then took great care to help her wash. His gentle ministrations turned into another opportunity for him to bring her body to life. She was enthralled by his ability to give her so much pleasure. And he had assured her his own pleasure was being satisfied as well.

  He positioned himself between her legs and looked down at her, brushing her hair away from her face. “You look well-ravished.”

  “Oh, I have been that.”

  “Mayhap I can do better.” His crooked smile sent her stomach into quivers of excitement with the promise of even more.

  He positioned one breast to his mouth, suckling it into a firm bud and sending scorching heat to her core. She closed her eyes.

  “You are unquenchable,” she said.

  He ran his hands along her sides sending ripples of pleasure through her exhausted limbs. When he slid his hands beneath her bottom, she spread her legs to him.

  “I am,” he said then turned his attention to her other breast. “Would you have me cease?”

  She opened her eyes. He was watching her while the tip of his tongue licked at her nipple. Her breath quickened. He sucked it into his mouth and she arched her back, pushing her breast more fully into his warm mouth.

  “No.” Her word was more of a groan.

  He continued his assault, moving down to the flat of her stomach. The rough hair on his face sending shivers over her skin. She squirmed beneath him.

  “My love you are going the wrong way.”

  “No, I do not believe that I am.” He slipped his finger into her wetness, stroking her. “Or is this more to your liking.”

  Her eyes were closed again, experiencing sweet sensation after sensation. She felt his eyes on her. Watching her seemed to give him great enjoyment. She’d have preferred to be beneath the covers and unseen. He told her he wanted to see her pleasure. When he slipped his finger into her tightness, she gasped at the exquisite pressure. She cantered her hips toward him, giving him better access.

  He dipped his tongue into her naval, keeping the same rhythm as his finger burying deep within her. She giggled.

  Peter lifted his head, a frown creasing his forehead. “I make love to my wife and she laughs?”

  She struggled to keep focused on his face when his hand was demanding her total attention. “No. I won’t laugh.”

  He licked her abdomen with long, searing strokes of his tongue, moving ever closer to where his hand was giving her such pleasure.

  “I’m sure your mouth is going the wrong way, my love.” She pointed to her lips. “I want your lips on mine.”

  She gasped at the sensation when his mouth found its target, her eyes flying open. When she reached to pull him away from her, he held her hand. His passion-filled eyes watching her over her dark mound of hair and he dragged his tongue through her most intimate space. He stroked with insistent pressure that sent ripples of sensations through her. Her hips began to move against him almost of their own accord. His finger was joined by another and she was racing toward her release.

  The groan exploded from deep in her throat. He moved up to cover her and entered her with one swift stroke. Ever so slowly, he moved with long, deep strokes, pausing before withdrawing. When her climax came again, he lifted her legs and buried himself deep inside, thrusting harder and harder. She gasped and moaned. She was unable to hold back. The feelings washing over her, through her, were overwhelming her. She called his name.

  When he stilled inside her, she opened her eyes to a look of pure ecstasy on his face. He collapsed on her.

  Their breathing was labored and he gave a little laugh. “We are well suited.”

  “Mmm.” She nodded, exhausted. Caressing the soft hair covering his chest, she waited for her breathing to ease.

  He blew out a breath then pulled her close. “Rest. It’s almost daybreak.”

  She stilled her hand. “What will happen at daybreak?”

  He kissed her head. “Rest.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As they walked down the narrow hallway, Peter felt near to bursting with pride, the hand of his beautiful bride resting lightly on his arm. He glanced at her and she returned his gaze. Her look was one of a woman well-cherished. Or was it well-bedded?

  “How do you feel?”

  “A little sore.”

  That wasn’t the answer he’d expected.

  “Did I wear you out?”

  She looked at him sheepishly. “I would say not.”

  “You have been well-loved.” He stopped to kiss her on the nose before taking her again in his arms. She fit so perfectly against him as if her body were made for his.

  “I believe this is what pushed me to the sore stage,” Brighit whispered against his chest then lightly nuzzled against him. “Are we returning to the room again, my lord?”

  Her eyes were closed. Her body yielding against him. She was certainly willing.

  “Perhaps—”

  “Peter!” John’s loud voice boomed through the quiet hall.

  Brighit tensed, her eyes flew open and she jerked away. Peter kept hold of he
r elbow so she was not able to completely detach from him. His eyes stayed on hers.

  “Fear not. We are allowed to touch each other. We are married.”

  A deep blush covered her features and she glanced away.

  Peter turned his irritation on his good friend. “John! Could you not wait until I came to you?”

  John struggled to keep from smiling, nodding his head. He glanced at Brighit then back at Peter.

  “I understand you’ve been wed?”

  Peter wrapped a loving arm around Brighit but not too tightly. If she was uncomfortable with him touching her in public, he could cool his ardor. Her responsiveness in bed was more important and he wanted to do nothing to jeopardize that pleasure.

  “So Mort has explained it to you?”

  John pulled back in surprise. “You appear nettled with me.”

  Peter gave a deep sigh. “No, John, but I was on my way to the hall. Methinks it would be best to keep my wife well nourished.”

  John dropped his gaze to Brighit. “An honor to meet you, Lady Brighit.”

  She curtsied. “My pleasure.”

  John looked back at Peter. “She doesn’t have three heads.”

  “Who said that she did?”

  “Then why would you keep her holed up with you? I assumed she’d be hideously disfigured. She’s lovely.”

  Peter’s irritation was rising in direct proportion to the tightness he could feel in Brighit’s body. “Have a care, John. My lady is not use to your insensible comments.”

  “My insensible comments? Never!” John turned to Brighit, took her hand to his lips for a light kiss, then asked, “May I have a word with your husband?”

  “We’re headed for the hall and breaking our fast, John. Allow us to proceed.”

  “Am I such a bore as to stop you?” John effectively blocked the way.

  He seemed unaware of that fact. Peter waited. Brighit cleared her throat.

  “Oh, yes, allow me.” John took Brighit’s other hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. “I’m not sure how this all transpired but you have my deepest sympathy for the situation you now find yourself in.”