by Holby Cindy
“When were the banns posted?”
“Two days ago.”
“Then the wedding is to be in the morning.” Renauld looked at Salisbury, who stood with his men beneath a thick stand of firs. It was too wet to travel, too wet for a fire, too wet to bed down, and it would be dark soon. If they pressed on, they could make Aubregate before midnight. The roads might be close to impassable, but he did not care. They had dallied long enough thanks to Salisbury.
“Tell the men to make ready for my coming,” he told the messenger. He grabbed the reins of his horse and swung into the saddle.
“Where are you going?” Salisbury strode forth from beneath his shelter.
“To Aubregate,” Renauld said. “I have no desire to spend another night freezing cold and soaking wet.” His men quickly followed suit. “You can do what you like.” He sneered at Salisbury. “You know how to find the place.” Renauld pulled his cloak over his head and rode into the rain.
Chapter Thirteen
Eliane shivered. It was not from cold, even though the rain that had begun at eventide had now turned to ice. Indeed, it was most warm in her chambers with the press of bodies and the fire popping in the hearth. Her shivering was due to fear. She could not seem to control the tremors that racked her body. Never in her life had she felt so vulnerable. She might be able to slay a man with her sword, or take down a deer with her bow, but nothing in her training had prepared her for this moment.
She stood naked in the midst of her father’s vassals while Madwyn held her hair up so that all could examine each and every part of her body. She would not think of them as her vassals. Not when their eyes were all upon her, searching her from head to toe for any flaw while smiling and laughing and making jokes about what was to come.
Eliane knew she was not as soft as most women. She knew her height was such that most men found her too tall. The man she had married…my husband…was used to the delicate creatures of court who were sheltered and pampered, not a redheaded hoyden who rode astride and climbed trees and hunted in the forest. Would he deny her because he found her undesirable? Her hands moved self-consciously to cover that most private part of her body and her skin flushed as red as her hair. She said a prayer of gratitude that Ammon and Han had chosen to stay below. Thank you, God, for their discretion. She would come completely undone if Ammon saw her thus.
“There is no doubt you will be warm,” someone said in jest. “With all that fire in your bed.”
“Yea, milord, watch that she does not burn you,” Madwyn rejoined loudly over the laughter that filled the room. Llyr’s confused barks joined in.
Rhys seemed to have no fear of being burned. If his erect state was any indication, he was most anxious to see the deed done. She could not help staring at the part of him that seemed most eager and realized with some relief that he did not find her hideous. Even Mathias and Peter’s squire, William, stared at her with their eyes wide and their jaws hanging open.
“My poor and much abused lady will freeze if we do not cover her,” Madwyn said, her eyes on Rhys, who nodded his assent. “The rest of you out,” she commanded. “You’ve had your fun. I am sure there is ale left below. Go see if you can finish it so that the only sound I hear is your drunken snores instead of your sorry attempts at humor.”
Madwyn guided her to the bed and pulled back the sheets to show that they were white and unstained. They would be checked again come morning for the telltale signs of her lost virginity. Eliane slid beneath the sheets and pulled them over her naked breasts as the room emptied. A maid quickly picked up the clothes that had been scattered during the ceremony while Madwyn handed Rhys a robe.
“Have mercy on the girl, please,” Madwyn said. Rhys cast a mischievous grin in her direction as he belted the robe around his waist. Madwyn ignored his look and went about the room, straightening things, stoking the fire, and blowing out candles. Llyr jumped into his place on the bed, as was his nightly custom, and turned three times before lying down.
Rhys cleared his throat. Loudly. Eliane, who had decided that the best course at the present was pretending she was someplace else, blinked innocently. When she saw the direction of his gaze, she surprised herself with a nervous giggle. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing out loud at the sight of Llyr sprawled across the foot of the bed so that there was barely room for Rhys to sit, much less take his place by her side.
Madwyn turned at the sound and saw Llyr. “Oh,” she said. “That will not do at all.” She patted her thigh. “Llyr! Come!” The dog grunted his disdain as he ignored her command. He rolled over on his side and raked a long leg over the sheets to arrange them to his satisfaction.
“Though I did not mind his presence during the ceremony and afterward,” Rhys said, “I am certain that I will mind it tonight.”
“Come, Llyr,” Madwyn repeated with more authority. A maid knocked, then brought a tray of food and a bottle of wine.
“Llyr,” Eliane said. “You must go.” Her heart was not in the command, and Llyr realized it. “Mayhap he could be persuaded to sleep on the rug instead?” she asked hopefully.
“And take a bite out of my arse when I am most vulnerable?” Rhys quipped. “I think not.” He leaned over the bed so that he stood over Llyr, who quickly moved to a sitting position. Rhys adjusted his stance so that he was once more over Llyr and stared him in the eye.
I imagine he was stubborn as a child…Eliane could see him as a small boy with his jaw thrust out and his arms folded across his chest.
“Down,” Rhys said firmly, and pointed to the floor.
Llyr growled. Rhys did not back down. He commanded the dog again. Llyr looked at Eliane, who merely shrugged, trying hard to keep from laughing out loud at the test of wills.
“I said down!” Llyr dipped his head and moved slowly and sullenly from the bed. Madwyn grabbed his neck and with the maid on the opposite side, they herded him from the room. Rhys shut the door firmly behind them as they left.
Eliane’s desire to laugh was suddenly gone. The look Rhys turned on her drove all thought from her head save one. He means to have me. The time had come to conquer her fear. Nay, the time had come for him to conquer her.
Rhys strode to her with quiet determination, his dark eyes glowing beneath the slash of his brows. There was one thing on his mind, and one thing only. He wanted her. His desire thrilled her, but it also frightened her. She must not let him know that it did.
He shrugged the robe from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. The fire behind him cast his body in sharp relief but left his face in shadow, his eyes hidden beneath his dark brows as he walked to the bed.
Warrior…His body seemed to be hewn from stone. From the tendons in his neck and shoulders, to the long length of his thighs, each muscle stood out as if chiseled with a sculptor’s tool. His left arm was scarred, right where the biceps dipped into the shoulder and she recognized it as an arrow track. Smaller scars were scattered about, including a sword wound on his thigh. They, along with his build, revealed an active life.
He had not a mark upon him from the earlier battle. She knew, after seeing him fight, this was due to his great skill. Her father had chosen wisely when seeking a protector for Aubregate. Time would only tell if she could say the same for Rhys as husband.
He was most willing to prove that part. His shaft stood straight out, as if leading him to where she lay, waiting…Just let it be over with. He wore a crucifix around his neck on a narrow silver chain. She let her eyes settle on it, focused on it, as if the Lord himself would step down and save her from what was to come. She knew she was not destined for the Church, but she suddenly wondered if mayhap it would be a more desirable choice than experiencing this fear that twisted around inside her.
The mattress dipped as he knelt on it. She scooted to the opposite side to give him room, yet she kept the sheet safely knotted in her hand and over her breasts as she leaned against the pillows. His hand reached out, took the sheet, and pul
led it away, his fingers grazing her breastbone and the softer skin beneath as he revealed what she hid.
“Did I not promise to keep you warm?” He knelt over her, with one arm on either side of her waist and his knees beside her hips. His dark hair fell forward, brushing his neck, curling about his ears, dipping over his brow.
She did not know what to do with her hands, which she held clutched against her breasts. She chewed on her lip as she looked up at his face. His lips brushed her forehead, moved down her cheek. With his nose and cheek he pushed her hair back over her ear and traced the outline of it with his tongue. A tremor ran down her neck, into her spine, and settled into a warm pool between her legs.
“Oh.” It was just a small gasp, but it stopped him. He moved his head back and looked at her with a bemused expression on his face.
“Does that please you?” he asked.
She looked down at her hands, which now rested on the sheet that covered her from the waist down. “Should it?”
He smiled. “I hope so. It was my intent.” He bent to her ear again and whispered, “Should I try harder?” His tongue traced her ear, and she could not hide the shiver of delight that overcame her.
“I honestly did not know what to expect,” she admitted.
“You will know all soon enough,” he said, and nuzzled her neck. His mouth settled in the curve of her shoulder, and her head moved back upon the pillow of its own accord. She felt his mouth move, as if he smiled, and she closed her eyes with a sigh. His hair was soft and brushed against her cheek. The crucifix pressed into her skin, making her wonder exactly how much of this night she would have to confess to Father Timothy. Her hands still felt awkward, so she moved them, her knuckles brushing against the heavy ridges of his abdomen. She felt them contract, heard his sharp intake of breath.
I did that…So strange that an accidental touch would have so strong an impact upon him. How much more would an intentional touch, a stroke, a caress? Still she did not know what to do, so she placed her hands upon his waist and marveled that there was no loose skin, only solid strength beneath her grasp.
Suddenly he was above her, his body stretched over hers. With his hands about her waist, he gently slid her down until she was flat on her back.
His lips seared hers with a kiss and his hand cupped her breast. His thumb flicked over her nipple and without thinking about what she was doing, she flexed her legs and felt her toes curl. She reached an arm back and grasped the edge of the headboard. She was afraid she would fly off the bed, even though he was above her, trapping her with his body. Her other hand moved up his back and carefully, cautiously, traced the line of his spine with her fingertips. Her hips flexed and he settled onto her. The sheet still lay between them from the waist down, yet she held no doubt as to what was going to happen. Her only questions were when and would it feel as wonderful and magical as this felt right now? His shaft settled into place between her thighs and burned through the sheet, igniting her. Did I not promise to keep you warm? There was a difference between being warm and burning with desire.
He swallowed her sudden gasp as his tongue plundered her mouth, twisting around hers and guiding her into the kiss. His hand continued its play with her breasts and to her amazement she realized that she moved against him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He broke the kiss and moved his mouth once more over her cheek and down the line of her jaw. His tongue made a trail over her breastbone and down until it swirled over the tight peak of one nipple. His hand teased the other until she thought she would scream.
He raised his head and looked at her. He moved his body up, sliding his skin over hers, pressing his chest against her breasts, his stomach against hers. His hands grasped her head, and twined into her hair. His gaze was dark and intent, fathomless. It’s as if he is seeing me for the first time. He studied her as if he searched for something within her, and her heart quickened a beat at the intense emotion that flashed between them.
“Milord?” she asked with trembling breath.
“Say my name.”
“Rh…Rhys.”
“ ’Tis lovely, the way you say it.” She closed her eyes in happiness at his compliment. “Eliane,” he whispered, and she opened her eyes once more. “It suits you. Eliane. Like music. Like a song. Eliane with eyes like emeralds. That’s what the troubadours will sing about when we go to court.”
A sudden fear flashed through her. “I will try not to hurt you.” He misunderstood her fear. “I will not lie.” It was not the act she feared, nay, she wanted it. Desperately. He had woven a spell over her and she was helpless against it. “It will hurt, but only at first.” He did not realize that it was the mention of court that frightened her so. She would not tell him now. She might not tell him ever.
Rhys shifted on his side and drew back the sheet. He flung it over his hip and moved his hand up her thigh. Her eyes widened as it trailed upward. “Eliane,” he said again, and bent to kiss her just as his hand found the moistness between her legs. Her heart raced. She felt it pounding in her chest as he once more nuzzled her breast. It wasn’t until he raised his head and let out a violent curse that she realized the pounding was on the door to her room.
“Milady! Milord! Lord de Remy!” The knocks became more insistent. “Eliane!”
“ ’Tis Han.” She looked at the door in trepidation. Rhys leapt from the bed and crossed to the door, still naked and most obviously still wanting. He snatched the door open wide, nearly ripping it from its hinges, and stared at Han, who brushed by him without any regard to Rhys’s condition or either of their state of undress. Eliane covered herself with the sheet and pushed back her hair with a trembling hand.
“Your father calls for you.” Han held out her robe, which had been conveniently left on a low stool. “The time has come.”
“He’s dying?” Eliane asked. Her heart jumped into her throat as she looked between Han and Rhys. Now?
Han turned to Rhys. Her husband jerked his robe on and tied the sash as if he wielded his sword. His face and every line of his body showed his frustration.
“He must see his daughter now.” Han turned once more to Eliane. “Before it is too late.” He turned his back so he would not see her nakedness. Once more she was grateful for his discretion.
Eliane looked at Rhys. He rubbed his forehead and ran his hand through his dark hair. She saw a tic in his jaw and realized that he was angry. Extremely so.
“Go.” His voice snapped, but the dark eyes he turned upon her were full of pain. He took a deep breath and his mien suddenly became calmer. “Go see to your father. Our time will wait.”
Without a word, she grabbed up her robe and followed Han from the room.
Chapter Fourteen
He did not know what was expected of him. Rhys sat in the chair by the fire and stared at the flames as he sipped the wine left by the maid. The food was untouched. He had no appetite for food. He hungered for something else. It was his wedding night and he was painfully alone, except for his throbbing cock, a constant reminder of his unsatisfied state
His thoughts were jumbled. Should he go to Eliane? Comfort her as her father died? Wasn’t that his duty as her husband? Or should he leave them in peace? After all, he was practically a stranger to them. If Edward had wanted him there, would he not have asked for him also? Or was he so far gone that the only name he could speak was his daughter’s?
What of Eliane? Should he wait until she sent for him? Would she send for him? How long did it take for a man to die? A man who had already been dying for years?
The keep was quiet. Unnaturally so. He knew the revelers from the wedding most likely slept where they’d fallen in the great hall below, snoring amongst the rushes and the hounds. The two squires, Mathias and William, were asleep in his former chamber across the hall. The servants had to be exhausted from their labors and deep in slumber. The only people who could possibly be awake at this late hour were those who watched for Edward’s last breath. Eliane, Cedric, and certain
ly Father Timothy. Were Madwyn and Han there also?
What was their relationship to Eliane? Were they related by blood as their ears suggested? They were people of the forest as Eliane’s ancestors were. They spoke a common language that was unlike anything he had ever heard before. What did it have to do with the secrets of Aubregate and the rumored treasure? What exactly had he gotten himself into with this hastily conceived marriage?
Rhys’s frustration became unbearable. He needed to do something, anything, to relieve it, yet he felt trapped, by the walls, by the weather and the circumstances. By the marriage?
She was so beautiful. So innocent, yet knowing. The way she’d responded, the way she’d moved, betrayed a great passion waiting to be revealed. He’d been so close to claiming her. So close to losing himself inside her.
How long had she been gone? How long until she returned?
He could sit no longer, so he got up and moved about the chamber. Everywhere he looked, he saw Eliane, especially when his eyes fell upon the bed. The posts were carved to look like tree trunks and the canopy and the drapes were shades of green, as if one were looking upward at the leaves. It called to mind the first time he’d seen her, standing over him in the forest, with her bow notched and ready.
On the wall between the window and fireplace hung a tapestry of exquisite craftsmanship. It showed a glade with a stream running through it and a stone portal beyond. There was a snowy white unicorn with a foal at her side. Both drank from a stream that was shot with silver thread as if to indicate the purity of the water. The portal caught his attention and he could not help wondering where it led. The dim light of the fire did nothing to show what lay beyond.
Tiring of questions that had no answers, Rhys moved to the window. The rain that had come with their wedding was now sleet. It covered everything with a sheen of ice. Only the torches beneath the overhangs still burned and they gave but a weak light. Anyone who went out in this weather would have to be mad. Or desperate. Renauld was out there, traveling this way, in hopes of getting his hands on Eliane. But he could not travel in this mess. Or would he? Was he desperate enough? Surely he’d taken shelter at his own estate. Was the ice enough to keep him away? There were no answers to be had by staring into the darkness, so he turned away from the window and once more saw the bed.
