The Shattered Rose

by Jo Beverley

  And yet the feelings were different, and the excitement within her became a shiver.

  He rubbed her arms gently, as if she had shivered from cold, speaking to her in a voice so soft, she felt she picked up words from his breath on her skin rather than from sound in her ear.

  He spoke of his arrival at Heywood and his first sight of her, of the progression of his feelings from curiosity to interest, from admiration to obsession, from obsession to love. It was a devastating assault, melting any lingering resistance into aching tenderness for him, for her beloved.

  And all the time his hands worshipped her without ever doing anything that could be considered improper at all.

  Had he stolen her from her bed to talk and cuddle?

  And how could cuddling be so unsettling?

  Restlessly, she shifted so she was closer, so her left hand could touch his chest, stroke him as he was stroking her, learn him through touch in the dimness. Such a mighty chest, covered only by a light linen tunic. Such broad shoulders so well layered with muscle. Such a hard belly. She suspected that she could bounce on his belly and he'd hardly notice.

  He shifted too, moving his leg over hers. So she explored the hard, well-trained muscle of his thigh through the cloth. At the hem, however, she encountered naked flesh, roughened by hair. In her mind she could see golden hair on golden skin. She hesitated only a moment before sliding her hand under the cloth, her mouth suddenly dry, her heartbeats clear to her, every one, even though she didn't dare explore higher.

  "I've wanted to feel your hand on me like that, Aline," he murmured, shifting a little so his hand found the edge of her shift, and her naked thigh. She felt calluses as he worked up to cup her buttock.

  Aline sucked in a breath and swallowed. "I thought even the tortures of the damned wouldn't make you dishonor me."

  His tormenting hand did not move. "We are to be married. There is no dishonor in this. But even so, I will not make love to you tonight."

  "Oh." She hoped she didn't sound disappointed. "What will we do, then?" His hand had moved to the small of her back and circled there. She could have purred.

  "Just test your defenses, my green cadet, and show you a little of what you're missing." Breath warm against her neck, he whispered, "Your defenses are totally inadequate, you know. See the army now, massed around you, pennants flying, blades glinting in the sun. Hear the drums of your defeat."

  He must mean her thundering heart. "I'm not sure about this," she said.

  "Do you fear surrender to your rightful lord?"

  "I fear being discovered here like this with you."

  He chuckled. "No one is likely to find us unless you cry out."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Remember Dame Helswith's house?"

  She stared at his shadowy face. "Are you going to hurt me, then...?"

  "I will do my best never to hurt you, Aline. But it is possible to scream with pleasure."

  Before she could express her skepticism, he covered her mouth in a powerful, conquering kiss that reminded her strongly of Waltham. Just from curiosity, she felt for his scabbard, and found it empty.

  He chuckled, but didn't stop kissing the wits out of her.

  A part of Aline—the well-bred, well-trained almost-nun—urged that she struggle and scream just to prove that she was a good woman. The sensible part said she could struggle and scream if it got to the point where she really wanted to.

  Scream the alarm, that is. She didn't believe she could ever be brought to scream with pleasure when it would bring people out to catch her at this.

  She settled to learning this business of kissing, mouths open, tongues engaged. When his hand found her breast, it enhanced the pleasure of his hot mouth and she kissed him even more enthusiastically, running her fingers into his hair to hold him close to her.

  He disengaged and moved her a little. That's when she realized she'd scrambled on top of him like a child climbing a rock. If she was trying to appear to be a reluctant conquest, she was failing miserably.

  He cupped her breast, raising it so his mouth could play with her through the fine linen cloth. From stroking, her fingers in his hair turned to clutching. "What are you doing now?" But she kept it quiet.

  He raised his head long enough to ask, "Don't you like it?" Since his hand still pleasured her other breast, Aline managed only an inarticulate noise.

  He seemed to interpret it correctly, and returned to his labors.

  The sensations were quite extraordinary. Rather like a high fever in the nicest possible way. Still, Aline thought smugly, she was not even tempted to scream.

  Then he slid her shift off her shoulders and down so his mouth found her naked flesh, just as his hand found the place between her thighs that was even more sensitive than her breast. Aline did almost let out a squeak of astonishment, but managed to control it.

  It wasn't that she was surprised to be sensitive there. She'd heard talk of the pleasure to be found by rubbing between the legs. She'd tried it, though, and it hadn't seemed exciting enough to sin for. Clearly, she thought, clutching at his sleeve, she'd been doing something wrong.

  For an assault on a castle, his stroking hand was remarkably slow and gentle.... Except inside her, where something hot flared.

  "Mining," she murmured.

  He raised his head from her breast. "Yes, I'm yours."

  "No. Yes. I mean, mining. You're mining me. Undermining my walls."

  He laughed softly. "I've been undermining you for weeks, little castle. Burrowing under your walls. Placing tinder there ready. Tonight I'm putting torch to tinder so that heat will crack your bastions, and you'll be defenseless before me."

  "I think I already am...."

  "Shall I stop, then?" She heard by the laughter in his soft voice that he knew the answer.

  "No, but..."

  "Shhhhhh," he said, his lips fluttering against hers. "Just remember to be very quiet. You don't want your overlord to ride to your rescue at this point, do you?"

  Then, returning to the pleasuring of her breasts, he used his thigh to spread her legs wider and stroked more firmly so she had to clutch on to him for fear of falling. Which was ridiculous, when they were already on a solid surface.

  Then, at the peak of a stroke, he sucked hard on her breast and slid his finger into her so that a jolt shot right between the two points.

  "Ah!" She managed to swallow it, but only just.

  "Bite me if you want," he whispered circling gently again.

  So Aline filled her mouth with the cloth and muscle of his shoulder, wondering if perhaps she should scream for her overlord after all.

  Raoul's big hand summoned the fire that would destroy her, and like an encircling army, his thigh would not let her evade the attack. She almost felt as if she were fighting for her life as she stiffened, hands gripping him, teeth clenched in him.

  But she wasn't fighting to escape, even though he was destroying her. The inarticulate sounds she was choking against his shoulder were not cries for help.

  Then the tinder caught, the wood burned bright, and her walls shuddered, cracked, and fell.

  Through them she saw light.

  No. Light was too weak a term.

  Through the broken walls, she saw heaven. A momentary glimpse of the infinite wonder of heaven.

  His hand. His slow and gentle hand held her suspended there until she thought she'd faint, but then, part sorrowing, part relieved, she felt the wonder fade, felt herself float back down to the wooden landing like a tuft of thistledown on a very still day.

  He moved to hold her in his arms, smoothing down her shift, then continuing to stroke her gently in a way that made her never want to part from him at all.

  "I don't think I screamed," she said at last.

  "Can you be sure?"

  "No one's raised the alarm."

  "True. I'm not sure I'm not scarred for life, though." But she could hear a smile in it.

  She touched a damp patch on his tunic where
her mouth had been. Underneath, she felt the indentations left by the teeth. "Oh, dear."

  "A warrior expects a little pain in so conclusively conquering a castle. Are you now my vassal?"

  She didn't answer that, but instead said, "Perhaps, in time, I can learn to undermine your walls."

  He laughed softly, laying his head against hers. "I'm already rubble, love, but I look forward to your attempts at further destruction."

  She stroked him, and that was sweet, to be able to cherish him as he had cherished her. "I can see now why you were reluctant to promise to do without that pleasure for a whole year." There was a question in it, and she blushed to hear it. She was begging for more.

  He looked up at her. "I won't deprive you. Once we are married."

  "Once... !" She'd almost spoken at normal volume and returned to murmuring. "You mean, you won't...? Until we are married?"

  "Self-restraint, remember?" he teased.

  "Oh, you! But it is good for the soul."

  "Our souls are going to be very healthy, then." He gathered her into his arms and she cuddled there, giving thanks for finding this one man in the huge world. It was terrifying to think that they might never have met, and frightening to part with him, even for the few remaining hours of the night.

  Perhaps he felt the same, for in the end it was she who pulled away, stood, and led them both back to her sleeping chamber.

  "Good night," she whispered, wanting to say so much more but not quite comfortable with the words as yet.

  He, of course, was more at ease. "Sleep well, beloved. And when you dream, dream of me."

  ***

  In the next days, Aline decided that a strong, resolute man could be a pain in the neck. Or in other places. Tease him as she might, Raoul would give her no more than a sisterly kiss, and generally, he avoided her. Aline went through the days in heated frustration, though that could be attributed to the fact that southern England was baking under a heat wave.

  For distraction, she threw herself into work. When she wasn't preparing for the journey home, she was pestering Hugo and his friends for any and all knowledge of Guyenne, its people, its agriculture, and its trade.

  From being fearful of the adventure, she now couldn't wait to marry and sail to a new land with her husband. The marrying was the important part, however. Why did they have to go north to be wed?

  When her father rode into Hugo's yard, therefore, she threw herself into his arms with ecstatic delight.

  "Hey, hey!" said Lord Hubert, staring at her. "What's up, chicken?"

  Aline was suddenly tongue-tied, and it was Galeran who said, "She's hot to marry Raoul de Jouray."

  Aline went brick-red and wailed, "Galeran!"

  But Galeran just grinned. "It's the truth. You two are probably responsible for this heat wave. It'll be a relief to the south of England to get you calmed down a bit."

  Lord Hubert scratched his head as he was led into the house. "I thought you wanted the church, chicken."

  "I've changed my mind, Father. He has land," she said quickly, getting to the important part.

  "Has he? Well, that's something."

  It was soon clear that Lord Hubert had decided he, too, should come to pay homage to Henry. He listened carefully to his daughter's adventures—a somewhat edited account—then took Raoul aside for a long talk.

  Aline was left suddenly fearful. She'd never considered that her father might refuse the match, but now she wasn't sure. He clearly felt all the qualms she first had, and he wasn't at all swayed by charming smiles and broad shoulders.

  Raoul came out of the room and just raised his brows. "He wants to speak to you, Aline."

  "What does he say?"

  "Go and talk to him."

  Raoul was being infuriatingly uncommunicative, even by expression. Aline went in, rubbing damp palms on her skirts. "Yes, Father?"

  Lord Hubert just looked at her. "Do you want him?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "Do you trust him?"

  "Yes."

  He shrugged. "So do I, though he might just be a fine trickster. You've always had a head on your shoulders, though, lass, so if you're sure, I'll not stand in your way."

  Aline ran into her father's arms. "Thank you! He is honorable, and I do love him."

  Her father patted her shoulder. "And you're like your mother, God rest her. Sensible and warmhearted at the same time. He wants to marry you here and now, chicken, but I'll make him wait if you'd rather."

  Aline blushed. "Oh, no."

  He chuckled. "Aye. I judge he'll serve you well in bed at least. We can get the contract drawn up today, since I gather you've already settled most of it, and you can be married tomorrow if you want."

  "Tomorrow?"

  "Don't say you're going to change your mind now!"

  Aline leaped to her feet, "No! Oh, no. But what should I wear?" She ran out to find Jehanne.

  * * *

  She wore her best red tunic and a girdle set with a ruby. Raoul had given it to her that morning, along with a chance to escape.

  "It's not so long since we met, love, and not so long since you had doubts. I will wait if you want."

  She looked down at the lovely gift. "I don't want. I know my mind. If you have doubts..."

  He raised her chin. "None at all." And she saw in his eyes the same devotion and hot need that burned in her.

  "Then we'll have no more nonsense, please."

  They walked to nearby St. Stephen's Church to take their vows at the door, accompanied by as many friends and connections as possible, future witnesses to their words. They were considerably startled however, when a trumpet blast cleared the way for the king, crown on head surrounded by nobles and guards.

  With a mighty crowd now gathered around them, Henry declared, "I heard rumor of this event and thought I'd best witness it myself. We don't want more uncertain marriages in the family, do we, Sir William?"

  Hugo and Mary looked as if they would faint with excitement, and the crowd was like a swarm of buzzing bees, but Aline could think only that the king's presence might slow things down.

  The ceremony went off smoothly, however, and soon they were returning to Corser Street in a much more magnificent procession.

  "Is the king coming back?" she whispered to Raoul.

  "Looks like it." He gave her a rueful smile. "Many hours before we can be alone, love. Remember, self-denial is good for the soul."

  "My soul's so healthy, it glows!"

  "Ah, is that the light in your eyes?"

  And she laughed up into his shining eyes, deciding it didn't matter if the king was here. She was married to Raoul. She could wait.

  Showing sensitivity, Henry didn't stay at Hugo's house longer than it took to toast the couple, speak to the most important people, and place a large order for wine. Then he rode away, leaving family and friends to relax and celebrate. Hugo, however, was still in a daze and planning to rename the gate into his yard King's Gate.

  They still couldn't, with decency, rush off to be alone. Aline tried to talk coherently as she sipped wine and nibbled cakes, but all she really wanted to do was eat her husband. He, however, didn't seem impatient at all. He even found an instrument and entertained. He did sing the song about almond blossoms, however, smiling into her eyes.

  Most of the women were dabbing their eyes when he'd finished.

  When the vesper bells sounded evening, Aline could at last hurry to the corner room that would be theirs alone tonight. Laughing women followed to help her prepare. Their jokes were as suggestive as the men's, and Aline was pink with blushes when she was ready, gowned only in her hair.

  Raoul came in then, clad only in a cloak, which he discarded.

  Certainly his short hair provided no cover, but then, who'd want to obscure his magnificent physique?

  He smiled at her, unselfconscious even though he was already coming erect and both men and women were making scandalous jokes and appreciative comments. For the second time in her life, Aline stared
at his private parts, knowing she was turning a deeper and deeper red, but not caring a jot.

  "Go away," he said to their companions, drawing her into the protection of his arms.

  She was dimly aware of laughter and a closing door, then only of silence.

  Silence, and Raoul, and her own growing lust.

  "Nervous?" he asked.

  She looked up at his darkened eyes. "Not at all. I warned you I was unnaturally stimulated by men's naked bodies."

  He laughed. "I don't see anything unnatural about it, love. But it's perhaps as well that you're about to surrender to a suzerain able to satisfy your needs."

  "I'm holding you to that promise." Her hands were already wandering over him hungrily.

  "And I'm suddenly terrified...." And perhaps it was true. She noted with delight that his hands trembled as they slid around her neck to lift her hair high, then let it drift down again around her. "You do remind me of a juicy grape."

  "Plump?"

  "I adore plump. And sweet. And juicy. Touch me more, love. I hunger for your touch."

  She pressed closer, hot skin to hot skin, soft curves to hard muscle, exploring his chest, his flanks, his back, with her greedy hands and lips.

  As his hands and lips wandered her in turn, smoothing, squeezing, exploring, and raising her desire to even higher heat.

  His erection pressed hard against her, and he was surely desperate, so she moved back a little to touch it. "Isn't it time for the conquering warrior to enter the captured citadel?"

  Despite the need she could sense in him, he gently moved her hand. "Impatient to surrender, are you? Tush-tush. There is a proper procedure for these things, you know." He swung her into his arms. "For example, I need to be cautious. How can I be sure you have truly surrendered? That you don't have an ambush planned?"

  "Ambush? I'm completely weaponless!"

  He laughed at that, swinging her around. "Your armory is astonishing. Your hair, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips, your breasts... Ah," he said, looking lovingly at her breasts, "indeed, those could bring a strong man to his knees." And he lowered his head to suck at each nipple in turn, making her clutch at him.