The Gentle Knight (The Norman Conquest Book 2)

by Ashley York

  “Step aside, sir.” She was aghast at his audacity. “You are a guest in my home, and I expect you to behave as such.”

  He stepped back, his hands raised in surrender. A great roar of laughter erupted around her. Her face flushed.

  “Ohhh, excuse me, my lady.” She didn’t miss the sarcastic tone or the way his eyes assessed her.

  “As lady of the manor—” He guffawed to the enjoyment of the men around him. “Can you draw me a bath?”

  She knocked his hand away before he was able to grab at her bodice.

  “How dare you.” Her voice roughened with outrage.

  In her own castle, she wasn’t even safe. Looking around at the eyes upon her, waiting to see the man’s next move, she realized these barbarians were enjoying making a laughing stock out of her. A cry of alarm from the outer bailey had the men scrambling through the door, swords at their side, leaving her alone once again. She didn’t hesitate but went directly to the safety of her room. She leaned against the closed door, and her heart pounded through her chest. Her husband had no use for her but apparently didn’t feel he needed to restrict his men. Bastard!

  What was she to do now? Her wayward husband had returned. Why? What did he want? Glancing down at her soiled gown, she was appalled at her appearance. She looked like a peasant. He couldn’t find her in this state. After pulling the service dress over her head, she stood in her chemise when a knock sounded on the door.

  “Who is it?” Her heart pounded so loudly she had to ask the question again, her hands holding the gown tightly to her chest.

  “Joan, my lady.”

  “Enter.” She turned around, throwing the gown to the floor. “Help me find something suitable to wear.”

  Joan went to the chest in front of the window and pulled out the brown dress. “The man said the tree was diseased.”

  It took a minute for Rowena to register what Joan was talking about. So much had happened in such a short period of time and the return of her husband had sent her into a maelstrom. She sat on the bed and faced her friend. “Why? Why would they need to chop it down?”

  Joan’s rounded eyes glistened, the gown crushed against her chest. “They said it was diseased and would kill everything else in the garden. We’ve had such a rough growing season…the drought.” As the tears spilled down her cheek, Rowena was moved by the woman’s utter desolation. “I didn’t even think about it being from your mother.”

  Rowena took Joan in her arms as she cried. “Shhh, it’s all right.” She stroked Joan’s long blonde hair. “I forgive you, my dear. It was probably for the best then.”

  Although her servant, this woman had been a solid friend to Rowena since before the Normans came. Joan had known and loved her parents. Their shared past made a strong bond between them. She hated to see her so upset.

  “No.” Joan pulled her blotched, red face away from Rowena. “No, my lady, the man lied.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That tree had nothing wrong with it.”

  Rowena stood a little taller. Someone had intentionally ripped the last piece of her parents away from her. No, perhaps someone just didn’t care for the tree and wanted it removed. “Who was the man?”

  “It was a Norman solider.”

  In her mind’s eye she again saw those brown eyes and for the first time they were accompanied by the knowledge of what the man looked like now. Had he ordered the tree removed? She hadn’t even known he was here. Clearly he hated her. That wasn’t news. When he’d left the same afternoon they were wed, she’d known how much he despised her.

  Shame flooded back to her. In this very bed she had waited, covered with nothing but her mother’s white robe from her own wedding. Rowena had been ready to receive her husband as was her duty as his wife. All night she waited, with time to think and imagine what it would be like. To be overcome with anxiety. She wanted to be repulsed by him but knew she was luckier than most. He was easy on the eye. Many women met their husbands on their wedding day but they had their wedding night. She did not.

  The memory of that total humiliation fueled the rage that shook through her body, the pain as fresh as if it had just happened. Now he’s entered her castle and gets to decides what else may live or die? Oh, no, that was not the way of it. Rowena had been playing dead long enough.

  “No, Joan, not the brown one. The blue gown.”

  Surprise widened the woman’s eyes. Rowena hadn’t worn the blue bliaut in quite a while. It used to be when she heard the king was making his rounds that she would dress according to her station. She’d be beside herself trying to look her best in the hope that her husband would be among his retinue. All her preparations were for naught. The king would politely acknowledge her and take the men aside to discuss business. Her husband was never with them.

  Except for his warm brown eyes, she hadn’t really remembered what John looked like. When she saw him walk into the kitchen, she was surprised at how it all came back to her. She had been horrified that the king would choose her husband even though she knew it was his right with her father dead. Up until that time, she had been left to her own devices. Although no longer allowed to act as chatelaine, she did what she could to see to the workings within the castle. Arthur had been given the duty that should have been hers. Admittedly, she didn’t understand the sudden urgency in seeing her marry and to a Norman no less.

  She had acted atrociously, and her cheeks burned at the memory. But John had been so kind to her. He had been patient with her outbursts and even protected her from the man who would have beaten her, the same man who threatened her just prior to entering the chapel. She knew now that the man had been telling her a lie when he said the Normans shared their women. She had certainly overreacted.

  No longer. Now she would prepare herself as the noble Saxon woman she was. She came from strong stock, and her husband should see her at her best rather than in turmoil afeared for what evil would befall her. He was blessed not only by the titles bestowed upon him at their joining but also by a generous and loving wife. If given a chance, she would be sure he knew that.

  Childish dreams of love and family that she’d shared with her closest friend while snuggled beneath the covers on cold winter nights, no longer brought her to tears. Kate had married a strong, handsome Saxon as they had each expected to. Rowena had not, but if she really needed physical love, Arthur had let her know that she need only say the word. Her strong faith, however, didn’t allow for such a thing as adultery. Vows made before God were to be kept.

  Naked in the middle of the room, Rowena decided she needed a bath and sent Joan off to accommodate her request. In the small mirror she assessed herself. She didn’t look her age, though still a maiden, nineteen was a bit past her prime. Her waist was still small and her breasts were firm. From behind, she saw her derriere was perhaps more womanly. The knock at the door sent her scurrying behind the intricately decorated wooden screen beside the fire.

  “Enter.”

  Joan moved through the door balancing a tub in her arms with a long retinue of strong, young boys carrying steaming buckets in her wake. The moment the door closed behind the last boy, Rowena submerged herself in the lavender scented water. Within a short time she was relaxing, enjoying the feel of Joan’s firm fingertips massaging her scalp.

  “The place is full of Normans this morning.” Joan had much to say.

  Rowena just listened.

  “They run very big.”

  Rowena laughed at that.

  “Your husband is here also.”

  Tensing at the statement, she waited but Joan had apparently run out of things to say.

  “Did he ask for me?”

  Joan sloshed the water over her head before she answered.”I didn’t hear anything like that.”

  “But you saw him? With his men?” Rowena spurted the water out of her face as she spoke.

  “He was going into the study with Arthur.” Joan dowsed her head again.

  Sitting up suddenly,
Rowena considered whether any good could come out of Arthur spending time with her wayward husband. No.

  “How did Arthur look?”

  “Arthur is a handsome man.” Joan scrubbed Rowena’s back roughly as she answered. “How do you think he looked?”

  Rowena turned slowly to face the irritating woman. She narrowed her eyes to make her point. “I do not believe for one minute that you do not understand exactly what I am asking you.”

  The blonde’s answer was to douse Rowena one more time. Sputtering through her hair now matted to her face, Rowena said, “Oh, you wait, young lady!”

  Joan, her eyes twinkling with the mischief she was causing, stood up at the same time as Rowena. Rowena just barely caught the towel thrown at her.

  “I will get you back!” Rowena called after her maid who quickly raced away, leaving Rowena to step out of the tub herself.

  Joan’s laughter resounded down the hall.

  Smiling to herself, Rowena was rubbing her body dry when the woman returned.

  “Back for more are you?” Rowena’s smile quickly evaporated when she found John in the open doorway. Crossing his arms about his chest, his frank appraisal caused her to hold her breath. The towel did very little to shield her nakedness from him as his eyes traveled the length of her, from her bare legs all the way up to her dripping wet hair. Feeling like a horse at auction, she bit her bottom lip while her heart pounded even faster. She glanced up. The appreciation on his face gave her a little thrill.

  “But I haven’t had any.” His eyes turned dark as he walked into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. “You seem to be left without assistance.”

  “My handmaiden just left.” Looking down at her toes, she could feel her body flush from his gaze. “If you would allow me a moment, I co—”

  “No, need.” His voice was quiet and low. His eyes on her breasts made her more aware that her own breathing had returned as her chest rose and fell. “If I may be so bold…?”

  Rowena could not refuse her husband, whatever he intended. “As you wish, my lord.”

  “Oh, yes, I do wish.” He licked his lips as he started toward her, a knowing smile spread across his face.

  “It will please me greatly to…assist you.” He stepped closer, reaching for the cloth she reluctantly released to him, leaving her completely exposed. “We wouldn’t want you to get cold.”

  She bit her lower lip. He couldn’t be expecting her to converse with him while he stood fully clothed and she was completely naked? A glance at his face confirmed his thoughts were not about conversing but of desire. His gaze moved along her body like a caress, no detail of her left untouched.

  Rubbing her shoulder with the thick cloth, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. Unexpectedly, her senses tuned in to him as if he were the only thing that existed.

  When she was just sixteen years old she had stood in the family chapel making vows before the French bishop and God, taking this man as her husband. Despite being forced into the marriage, she had taken those vows to heart. She had waited for this, waited for him to come to her and show her what it was to be a married woman. His consideration despite how she’d acted made her trust he would be gentle. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of finally feeling his touch.

  He worked the towel slowly down her arm but his eyes were now on her face, her lips. The heat from his body spoke of his need and she almost welcomed it. As he reached to dry the other arm, his hand grazed her breast. His gaze followed suit. Unwilling to look him directly in the eye, she fixed her eyes on his lips. He rubbed them together as if in anticipation.

  My husband desires me.

  It sounded sweet in her mind after so many years of his absence. So many years of endless nights. She’d longed to be made into a wife in truth, and this man, her husband, was beyond handsome with his broad expanse of chest, strong arms and firm body. Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden longing that surged through her.

  Rowena nearly jumped out of her skin when his rough hand slid down her bare side and pulled her gently against him. A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine and shot through her body like a bolt of lightning. When he finally kissed her, she closed her eyes, convinced she was running out of air.

  His mouth was warm and pleasurable, and his tongue insistently coaxed her to open up to its invasion. His caresses were hot on her skin where his hands slipped under her breasts, fondling, then slid around to grasp and lift the same derriere she’d thought just adequate. He seemed to think it was splendid, and molded her tight up against him. Her body melted into him in response. Heat spread up through her core and she moaned. For better or for worse, her husband had come to make good his vows.

  If he’d had aught to drink, John would have believed he was drunk. The sight of this sensual creature was making a mockery of his tightly held desires. He needed to leave not gawk at this stranger. This was unseemly. But he could not. Not knowing who she was seemed of little importance to his urgent need to have her.

  Wetting his lips, he was ready for whatever she offered with her Siren’s call. He wanted to take her and bury himself in her till morning. Her skin was slick and soft. Her full breasts begged for his attention, heavy in his hand. He pulled her close. Her taut nipples pressed through his tunic. He coaxed her lips apart, dipping his tongue into the warm recesses of her mouth. He teased her tongue, urging it deeper into his mouth, and at the sound of her moan, his own desire grew, his senses reeling.

  “Oh, my lady, you are like a ripe peach ready to be plucked.”

  Assaulting her with his mouth, he suckled her, grazing her with his teeth. Her quickening breath urged him on. He pressed her firmly against his length, molding her to him, her every curve fitting perfectly. Kissing her deeply, he rubbed her hips against him, conveying his urgency.

  “I want to fill you.”

  Bending slightly, John slid his hand along her satiny thigh and stroked her center lightly at first, then delving deeper and deeper. She was damp with desire, begging him to take her, but her tightness gave him pause. Looking down into her face, her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted. She was thoroughly aroused. Slowly he caressed her, mesmerized by the apparent pleasure she was taking from him. His own deep moan surprised him when his passion-numbed mind finally registered the implication of her tightness.

  “My love,” his voice was horse with the struggle to keep his passion from overwhelming her, “please tell me you are not a virgin.”

  Her eyes flew open and he was pierced by a pair of silver gray eyes, first confused and then accusing.

  “Of course I am a virgin.”

  His wife! How stupid could he be to not have recognized those eyes?

  She shoved him away and ran to the bed. Pulling her gown up to hide her nakedness, she turned on him. “Who did you think that I was?”

  John was near to bursting with desire for her, and the reality that this beautiful, passionate woman was his wife cut him to the quick. Her own eyes cried out in pain at his callous advances against her, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the screaming banshee he’d left alone all these years reared her ugly head. But she was his wife. He could have her if he wanted. The fact made him brazen.

  “I know you to be my wife.”

  “You know me not.” Her voice was tight.

  “I have been remiss.” John could afford to apologize, he was desperate to have her. “Let me rectify the situation.”

  He stepped toward her but stopped short his advance. Her supple lips, sweet as honey but a moment before, were pressed into a hard line. She dragged in a shaky breath. Her hand trembled where she clutched her gown tightly against her breasts.

  “Are you such a lecher to come across a naked woman and force yourself on her?”

  “Methinks you were not being forced.”

  “So you seduce naked women you do not even know?”

  “No!” He bellowed his answer, dragging his hand through his hair, but his
defense would not hold up. He didn’t know her as his wife…and he was seducing her. “That is not my way.”

  “Methinks your way is more than clear.”

  “No,” John’s voice was quiet again. How could he convince her he was not like other men? “You called out to me as sure as a Siren’s song.”

  She shook her head, her lips in a tight smile. “So now you are a hero that legends are written of?”

  He searched her face before he spoke, “I came across a beautiful woman I would rather die than not have.”

  Her lips parted with her quiet gasp, her silver eyes rounded with the longing he’d sensed in her response to him.

  John stepped toward her and continued, “I was a drowning man and you were refreshing water.”

  Rowena seemed to lean toward him as well.

  A knock at the door startled him, breaking the spell.

  “Who is it?” They responded at the same time.

  After a long pause, a woman’s timid voice answered. “It is Joan.”

  “Come in.” Rowena’s voice held a note of desperation.

  “Go away!” John commanded.

  At the sound of the retreating steps, a crest-fallen look swept across Rowena’s face. He had hurt her yet again. But she was not screaming at him or beating his chest. She glanced at the ground.

  John fought the need to take her into his arms and finish what he’d started. His hands clenched at his sides to stop from reaching out to her.

  Her eyes finally met his, the look of longing replaced by anger. “Why have you come back?”

  “I have come to be your husband.”

  “Why?”

  Because the king ordered me here... but now I want you in truth.

  “Because we are wed,” he said.