The Knight's Bride

by Stone, Lyn

  The hall stood nearly deserted now save for a few of the women preparing the tables for the evening meal. Alan would be nearly finished with the archery practice about now. His father would be there as well, adding suggestions, offering advice.

  That old fellow might have the right idea. Adam simply ignored Alan’s frequent displays of ill humor and marched right along, playing the loving parent as though nothing were wrong. As a result, Alan did occasionally ask his father’s opinion. And she had even seen them laughing together now and again. Would that work for her as well? Should she offer smiles and sweetness to counter her husband’s wretched grumbling? ’Twas a thought.

  That grumbling grew worse each day. Honor longed for the happy, guileless knight who first came to Byelough. She feared she had disillusioned him completely where women were concerned, for he did not even seek another to replace her. He thought he had loved her, but he had only loved the false paragon she had presented to Tavish. Guilt ate at her, and self-directed anger took huge bites as well. Only fear of further scorn kept Honor silent on the matter of their marriage.

  “Well, you are not perfect, either, my fine honest fellow,” she murmured. “Not by a long mark. But I love you still.” Nothing would ever make Alan believe that, of course, so she might as well not say it, even to herself.

  She handed Christiana to Nan when prompted and rose to take her place at table.

  “Good even, my lady,” Alan said gruffly as he joined her at the board. His hair shone wet from its recent dunking and he smelled of strong soap and fresh air. “How went your day?”

  “Much like any other, sir,” she answered, determined to establish a pleasant conversation. “The men progress well?”

  “Aye, they do that,” he replied, still not meeting her eyes. He seldom did so these days. “Honor,” he began, sounding reluctant to continue. After a small pause, he did so. “’Tis time we met privately. I would settle this unrest between us if you would have it so.”

  He cleared his throat and fastened his gaze on something across the hall. Honor knew the offer had cost him a great deal in terms of pride. The least she could do was to abandon some of hers.

  “I would. Accompany me to the solar after we finish here.”

  He said no other thing, but busied himself with the food, offering her the choicest portions as a matter of course.

  “Sir Alan? My lady? There are players without begging entrance. Three of them,” David the Younger called out from the doorway.

  “Melior?” Honor cried happily. “He has returned?”

  “Nay, Lady, they be strangers. Mummers out of Edinburgh, they do say.”

  “Bid them leave,” Alan ordered, cutting into a portion of jugged hare. “We need no strangers in this keep.” He held a cube of it to Honor’s lips.

  “What can it hurt, Alan?” she asked, refusing his offering with a small shake of her head. “Look around you.”

  He glanced at the faces down the table wearing looks of disappointment. “Oh, very well, then. Let the jongleurs in, David, but mind you, only the three. If there are more concealed somewhere hoping to fill their bellies, make them wait without. We shall send food to them by their fellows when they’ve done here.”

  A cheer went up and everyone began speaking at once. Honor had not realized before now how glum Byelough had become these past days. Nay, weeks! “Thank you, husband!” she said happily and returned his grudging smile with one of delight.

  “We shall still meet later? Alone?” he asked impatiently.

  “Of course! Immediately after these three have lightened our hearts with a bit of music. La, I have missed it since our Melior remained with Ian Gray.”

  Alan’s expression darkened at the mention of the two men. Honor knew he felt they had betrayed him by helping her escape, but he should have gotten over that by now. “Do not scowl so, for goodness’ sake,” she admonished playfully. “Where is that merry knight who once made me laugh?”

  “I do wonder that myself,” he admitted wryly, at last meeting her eyes. She saw desire flicker there for an instant and it gave her courage.

  Honor placed her hand over his and gave it a squeeze. “Be that fellow this night, Alan. I do vow you shall not regret it.”

  His smile reappeared, widened, and became very real. “Done.”

  Just then, a motley trio of tumblers cartwheeled across the hall and landed in unison on bended knee before the dais. Applause drowned out their words of greeting.

  David rushed forward and handed the shorter of the three the gittern he had been minding for them. The player strummed it heartily and the other two burst into a rousing song familiar to everyone. Honor clapped with glee when Alan began to sing along. He had a deep, melodious voice which merged well with the others.

  Never could she recall a finer evening. Late into the night they played songs new and old, performed acrobatics, and even a play ridiculing the recently defeated English king. The tallest of the three wielded an imaginary sword and smote the others down, proclaiming himself Alan the True, hero of Bannockburn, a rather blatant attempt to flatter their host. Alan took it none too seriously, fully enjoying the farce.

  Next the newcomers sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Honor and blended their voices in a song of such sweetness it drew tears from her eyes. The chanson lauded a knight who had moved heaven and earth to win his lady love. A tribute to Honor followed, praise for her beauty and good nature ringing out most eloquently. Not even Melior could have done better. Honor felt charmed and thought Alan looked moved, as well.

  When their song ended, he rewarded them generously with coin and a goodly measure of the food left from the meal.

  “We entreat you, my lord, allow us space in your stables to sleep, for this night is a cold one.” The smallest man shivered for effect. The other two also beseeched with hopeful nods and smiles. “Tomorrow we shall entertain again and then be off,” the spokesman added. “What say you, sir?”

  “Nay,” Alan said. “There’s no freeze upon us, you’ll not suffer.”

  Honor thought his refusal might have to do with the fact that he slept in the stables himself and did not wish their company. She smiled, trying to appear provocative as she asked, “What harm can they do? The place will be empty tonight save for the animals, will it not?”

  He took her meaning. She could see the sudden heat flood his eyes at her oblique invitation.

  “’Tis clouding over, sir,” David announced. “Most likely will rain.”

  Everyone chattered at once, adding their pleas to those of the newcomers. Alan blew out a breath, and with a rather promising look at Honor, relented. “Very well. One night.”

  Gaiety erupted again, everyone jubilant over the idea of the mummers remaining a while longer.

  When the excitement had died away and all began seeking their beds, Honor strolled with Alan across the hall to the solar. Though she had instigated what she knew would happen shortly, her heart fluttered with trepidation. And eagerness, she had to admit. He would view her suggestiveness as a forward move, perhaps even wanton, but she wanted Alan to return to their bed. How else would she ever convince him that she loved him?

  She could feel the tension in his arm right through his sleeve and sought to soothe him with small talk.

  “Thank you for extending our hospitality to those three, Alan. They were very entertaining, were they not?”

  “They do know a fair lady when they see one. Described you quite well,” he remarked. “Though I do wonder where they heard of my exploits. A rough soldier, one of thousands? Not even a knight at that time.”

  She tilted her head, gazing up at him from under her lashes as she ran her palm along his forearm. “But you are legend, I am certain! Everyone twixt here and Stirling must be singing your praise. Alan the True—”

  He clasped a large hand over her own as though to still its movement and looked away. “Do not let us dwell on that. Most of our mean speech to each other centered on my clinging to that dis
tinction.”

  “As you say,” she replied in a small voice, resenting the rebuff. She sighed heavily. “Why is it you wish to speak with me, then?”

  He turned as they entered the room and carefully closed and bolted the door. When he faced her again, he approached quickly and took her by the shoulders. “Words have led us to this pass and I would have no more of them.” With that, he lowered his mouth to hers and took it without compunction.

  Honor struggled under his siege for only a moment until the softness of his lips registered in her mind. No anger. No punishment. Only sweet demand. She melted against him, offering up whatever he desired to take, perhaps more than he intended to exact. She opened beneath his gentle assault, welcomed the invasion, went out to greet the victor with velvet promises of treasure and comfort within the keep of her body.

  When he finally abandoned her mouth and moved to her neck, Honor experienced the strongest need to tell him how she had missed his embrace, how she had missed him. “Oh Alan, I—”

  “Hush,” he ordered, and enforced that with another mind-rending kiss that left her no choice. Never once did he relent, and soon Honor could not form a coherent thought, much less a word. Sheer pleasure filled her senses to bursting, the harsh rasp of his breath against her face, the fresh-washed scent of his skin, the urgency with which he grasped her to him.

  His growl of need reverberated against her chest, more potent than any plea, more persuasive than anything he could have voiced. Honor slid her fingers through his hair and held him to her while his own hands seemed intent on committing her body to memory all at once. She felt the links of her silver belt slide over her hips and heard them clunk on the floor. Before she could even think to assist, he had her surcoat unlaced and gathered up to her waist along with the supple gown she wore underneath. His lips left hers only long enough for him to tug both garments over her head.

  Again, he drowned her in a kiss so deep and heartfelt, she nearly swooned with the force of it. Vaguely aware of the bed at her back, Honor held fast to his shoulders as he laid her down and followed, covering her completely.

  For what seemed eternity, they kissed, parting only to gasp for breath and free him of his clothes. Impatient, Honor wished him clad in his breacan, which would require less time to shed. He yanked at the points of his hose and cast off his smallclothes. At last she felt the weight of his bared body press her down. She opened her mouth to tell him how glorious it was only to find her lips sealed again with his own.

  “French,” he rasped as he broke the kiss and his lips trailed down her neck. “If ye must speak.”

  “Tout à fait?” she gasped.

  “Aye, entirely!” he growled, obviously intent on driving her mad.

  “Pourquoi?”

  “Because I want no words I ken,” came his unsteady whisper. He nuzzled the underside of her left breast.

  “But you do understand me anyway!” Honor cried, pushing him away.

  Alan gave his head a small shake and then sighed as he looked down at her. “Nay. By chance, I recognize the few things you said, but I will never understand you.”

  If he had not sounded so sad about the matter, Honor would have shoved him off the bed. “You hate me still,” she said.

  “I never did so. Never! ’Tis just that I do not wish to hear you say...and not mean...” Slowly he rolled off her and lay back. He threw one arm over his face. “Ah hell, we are at it again.”

  “Never mind,” Honor said softly. “I could try Latin.”

  He raised himself up, propping on one elbow and leaning over her. “Honor?” he whispered, brushing her face with his hand. “You see? Every time we talk, it mucks up matters somethin’ fierce. All I want to do is hold you, love you.” He leaned over her then and brushed his lips across her cheek. “Instead I hurt you and I do not mean to.”

  “Then be quiet,” she advised him curtly. “Just say no more or use your Gaelic.”

  “I should have asked, before coming to your bed again,” he said, ignoring her suggestions, “but I feared you’d say me nay.”

  Honor cocked one brow and smiled at him. “Cold in the stable, was it?”

  He did not return the smile, but bit his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I could not keep from you any longer.”

  “Nor did I want you to,” she admitted, warming to that abject honesty of his, holding his face between her hands. She noted he must have shaved just after practice. She caressed the cool, taut smoothness of his skin. How she had missed touching him. “Now, will you cease conversing, or must I employ your own method of ensuring silence?”

  “By all means,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers. “Shut me up.”

  She complied. At the moment, Honor did not mind that he still mistrusted her. She did not care whether the chill of his bed in the stables or his grudging love of her brought him here. All she knew was that Alan’s body rested firmly against her own and would soon belong to her again.

  His hands surrounded her breasts, gently, almost reverently, as though they belonged to some person other than the one whose lower body seemed all eagerness. She shifted her hips and opened herself to him with a wordless plea.

  With unerring accuracy, he entered, measuring out the pleasure so slowly, she felt fit to scream with impatience. Once inside her, he stilled and sighed with such satisfaction, she shivered at sharing it. All the way to her soul he possessed her with that one inexorable thrust. Her body undulated of its own accord, encouraging him to seek an even greater depth, a greater oneness. He withdrew just as lingeringly and offered more sweet torture. Honor’s head swam, her heart leapt and her entire being seemed wrapped in such euphoria, she could not bear it.

  Suddenly, he plunged again, far more quickly, and she had no cause to plead for surcease. A soft wail escaped her as he moved with no attempt at pace or rhythm, only a frantic reaching she echoed without thought. Abruptly and without warning, her world fractured into starbursts of light and color the likes of which she had never seen. His roar reverberated in her own chest as though it had come from her. Once more he drove deeply and she felt the sweet liquid rush of his warmth fill her completely.

  How could she not love him? How could she not tell him so? But she dared not darken this wondrous moment by reminding him of his doubts. So she held him fast, her arms locked around him, her fingers dug into the muscles of his back, as they both struggled to capture a steady breath.

  All too soon, he eased his weight away from her and moved to her side. He brushed a kiss over her breast, her neck, and then his lips touched hers, softly as the flick of a butterfly’s wing. The candle had burned down to nothing, so she only felt the smile she could not see.

  Alan drew her head to his shoulder, his arm surrounding her and his free hand grasping one of hers. “Sleep now, sweeting,” he whispered. “All is well.”

  All certainly was not well and she knew it, but hopefully time would make it so. She would convince him, by deeds rather than words, most likely. But soon he would know without a doubt that she loved him beyond all reason. Somehow. For tonight, this wonderful, longed-for night, she would give all that he asked and more. Surely he would at least begin to believe a little.

  With that thought in mind, Honor waited until his chest rose and fell with the even breaths of contented sleep. And then, satisfied to remain silent, she began to touch.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hours later, a thunderous pounding on the door awakened Honor. Alan already had on his hosen and was reaching for his sword. “What? What’s amiss?” she asked, still sleep grogged and weary from their loving.

  “I dinna ken,” he answered absently, tossing her the bedrobe. “Put this on.” He strode for the door, shouting, “Cease th’ damned racket!”

  Honor arose and had just fastened the robe when Alan lifted the bolt. The door shot inward so swiftly, he stumbled backward toward the bed and fell against her. Before he could right himself, a scuffle ensued. His sword clanged to the floor, and th
ey were surrounded by men in mail shirts and helms.

  The tallest intruder clasped her arms behind her and held a knife to her throat. Alan shook off his captor and started to rush forward when another cracked him over the head with a sword hilt. He dropped to the floor at her feet.

  Struggling, ignoring the blade at her neck, Honor screamed, “Nay! Do not hurt him more!”

  As though oblivious to her demands, the men grabbed Alan beneath his arms and dragged him into the hall. Honor followed, and would have done so even had the brute holding her not forced her to it.

  They had been invaded. Some force had taken Byelough in the dead of night. Who were these people and what did they want here?

  She could not tear her worried gaze from Alan who drooped lifelessly between the two who had hauled him from the solar. She had never seen him vulnerable before and it frightened her witless. He wore no shirt or shoes, only his loincloth and the dark hosen he had donned to open their door. Blood dripped from the gash on his head, leaving a crimson trail upon the flagstones. Honor felt the warm stickiness of it wet the soles of her bare feet. A horrified moan broke from her throat.

  The men dropped Alan on the floor directly before the dais.

  Honor gasped when she looked up and saw the man responsible for this outrage. He sat in the lord’s chair, the loathsome beast, firmly ensconced there by means of treachery.

  He smiled. “Ah, so here is my betrothed at last! Pray how is your health, my lady?”

  Honor could not summon breath to answer. She looked again to Alan, who lay unconscious at her feet. His chest rose and fell softly so she knew he lived. The wound on his head still wept red, but did not look fatal as she had feared it would.