Redemption (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  “Where are the others?” she asked.

  To her surprise, he blushed. “You and I will go to a nearby lodging house for our wedding night.”

  Now it was her turn to blush.

  “We’ll return here on the morrow and all travel south together.”

  As they rode away from the fledgling abbey that had been her sanctuary, Agneta turned to look back.

  “Tell me your thoughts,” Caedmon commanded softly.

  She fingered the coarse woolen cloak. Without emotion, she said, “The nuns gave me shelter, clothing, and sustenance, but it was a strict, spartan life, a life of poverty, without love and affection. The focus of a nun’s life is to be the Bride of Christ. But, working in the infirmary, I learned a great deal about healing, and it used to bring me special privileges. I was appointed Infirmarian after you left.”

  “Special privileges?”

  “I was often excused from the monotony of daily masses, prayers and rituals that usually started in the hours just after midnight.”

  Caedmon laughed. The deep rolling chuckle of his laugh warmed her.

  They rode in silence for a while. Once again, Caedmon’s husky voice broke into her reverie as he nuzzled her neck. “It’s a good thing we’re going a short distance to the lodging house today, Agneta. It’s sweet torture to feel your body pressed against me in the saddle. But, you seem preoccupied?”

  The heat rose in her face. She’d striven to ignore the evidence of his arousal by not allowing their bodies to touch, but that had become a back-breaking physical impossibility. She decided to face him with her concerns. “We may not have love between us, husband, but I hope we’ll have honesty.”

  He remained silent.

  “How did you know they’d turned me out?”

  “You’re right. We must have honesty. I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

  “An offer? I don’t understand.”

  Caedmon hesitated before continuing. “Every abbey, priory, and convent needs money to continue its existence. None of them have enough of it. Your abbey had something I wanted desperately. They wanted money more than they wanted you, so they can continue with their building.”

  “You bought me?” she screamed, swiveling round in the saddle to face him.

  He grimaced. “Agneta, did you want to stay there? Are you telling me you would rather stay there than live with me?”

  She turned away from him. “Where did you get the money?”

  “My mother gave it to me.”

  “Did she know what you planned to use it for?” she asked sarcastically.

  He reined the horse to a halt. “Look at me, Agneta. I’m not a man who lies to his mother, or tries to bilk her out of money. She has made many sacrifices for me and, only God knows why, but she loves me dearly. It was her idea. She gave me the money gladly. It was she who spoke to your Superior.”

  Agneta felt instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. Your mother is a loving person. I didn’t mean—”

  “Agneta,” he said, urging the horse forward again, “Be happy. I’m happy we’re married.”

  “So am I,” she conceded regretfully.

  Caedmon cursed inwardly, afraid what he’d told Agneta could interfere with his plans for their wedding night. As soon as the words about the abbey were out of his mouth he regretted them. They rode the few miles to the large lodging house where he’d made previous arrangements for a private room.

  “There are other establishments closer to the abbey,” he explained, after they’d climbed the stairs to their rented chamber, “But I wanted to make sure the room was spacious, the bed comfortable and vermin free, the food good and the linens clean.”

  Agneta took off her cloak. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It’s a nice chamber.”

  As he shed his warm jacket, he noticed she didn’t look at the bed. “My Scottish burr at first made the landlady cautious, but when I explained it was for my bride, she couldn’t do enough to accommodate us.”

  A buxom maid entered a few minutes later, carrying a tray laden with something that smelled delicious. She eyed Caedmon with appreciation, but looked at Agneta’s hair with undisguised scorn.

  Slumping into a chair, Agneta tried unsuccessfully to fashion a braid at the back of her neck. “I hope my hair grows quickly. It’s ugly, and I have only this one dress and chemise, as well as my cloak.”

  Caedmon stood behind her, took her hands from her plaiting, combed his fingers gently through her hair and inhaled the scent of it. “Your hair is the color of chestnuts.”

  It was as well she couldn’t see his body’s response to touching her. “We’ll get you more clothes when we arrive in Ruyton, if you can manage until then. Though, I’m hoping you’ll not be spending much time clothed.”

  She flushed at his suggestive remark. How to get through the supper without tearing off her clothes and taking her right away? The surcoat the nuns had given her wasn’t a flattering garment, but it revealed curves the habit had hidden. He sensed his Agneta had a body that would more than fulfill his needs and he longed to join it to his own. He only hoped he could satisfy the passion he was sure was part of her nature. He’d seen it in those incredible eyes.

  They ate the tasty food prepared by the cook. The roast chicken was tender and juicy and they had to lick the greasy goodness off their fingers. He looked away when she turned her gaze on him, sure his eyes would betray his burning need to taste her. He poured each of them a goblet of wine, hoping to relax her. She sipped it, peeking at him over the top of the goblet, her long lashes fluttering as she tested the unaccustomed taste. His heart raced and his arousal hardened. She was an innocent. He would have to be gentle. He’d never bedded a virgin and prayed he would do this deed right that he’d long dreamt of.

  He rose from the table and took hold of her hands, pulling her up to his body. He kissed her lovingly and she gradually responded by licking him tentatively with her tongue. He sucked it into his mouth. Slowly, he cupped his hands around her tiny bottom, and pulled her tightly to his body.

  She whimpered his name nervously.

  Go slowly.

  His hands wandered over her body, touching the curve of her breast, the contour of her hips. He kissed her neck, then her throat. He lifted the dress from her body, and she stood before him wearing only the thin linen chemise the nuns had given her.

  She was shivering, her eyes fixed on the wooden planking at her feet. “It’s not a suitable nightgown for our wedding night.”

  “I couldn’t ask for a more beautiful bride,” he whispered.

  He slipped the chemise off her shoulders and bared her breasts. She gasped as the garment bunched at her waist, but didn’t raise her eyes. He fought the desire to lick the dark nipples as he slid the chemise over her hips. It pooled on the floor. He stood back to look at her. She wrapped her arms around her breasts. His breath caught.

  She’s afraid.

  He took hold of her wrists and moved his hands slowly to coax her arms away from her body. He kissed the inside of each wrist, watching her face. She’d lifted her head, but now her eyes were closed. The enticing scent of female arousal invaded his senses.

  She desires me.

  He had an urge to put his fingers between her legs, sure she would be wet for him. He swallowed hard at the sight of her perfect breasts, the taut dark nipples with their large haloes, the flat belly and curvaceous hips. She was trembling, her eyes open now, but still downcast. “Oh, Agneta,” he murmured.

  She thrust her head back. Their eyes met for an instant then she looked away shyly and stared at his feet. “I don’t know—”

  He came close to losing control.

  My little nun is trembling because she’s unsure, not because she’s afraid of me.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll show you.”

  She nodded, and watched him, wide-eyed, as he tore off his clothes and soon stood naked, his need obvious.

  She whispered shyly, “I’ve glimpsed male parts before, Caedmon, in
the infirmary. But yours is—”

  Though she’d nursed him, she’d never seen his manhood! He wanted to strut like a cockerel. “Agneta, I’ll spill myself soon, like some green youth,” he groaned, but he could tell she didn’t know what he meant. He swept her up and carried her to the bed.

  Nudging her legs open, he knelt between them, cupped her face in his hands, leaned over and kissed her deeply. She arched her body to his. His hand found her breast and tenderly rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, teasing. A sound emerged from deep in her throat, and she arched again.

  He suckled one nipple and she screamed a loud throaty yell as her first release took hold. He’d not yet touched her most intimate female flesh and she’d released already. He’d been right in his assessment of her passionate nature.

  “My beautiful Agneta,” he rasped, his heart bursting with the knowledge he’d been the one to give her the first taste of ecstasy.

  When he stroked her female bud with his fingers, her eyes widened. She keened cries of pleasure. “You’re hot and wet,” he breathed. “I don’t want to cause pain, but I can’t wait. Open your legs wider for me.”

  She spread her legs and he slid his swollen phallus into her and pushed past the barrier. It felt right.

  This woman was made for me.

  There was fleeting pain, but Agneta’s blossoming need outweighed it and she curled her legs around his body to drive him deeper. He found his rhythm and she matched it stroke for stroke. She was as astonished at the force of her passion as he seemed to be. She felt the sensation of his essence pumping into her and knew, in her near delirium, it was the most fulfilling thing she’d ever experienced. She tensed the muscles of her sheath to hold on to him and pulsated involuntarily against him long after they’d both found release.

  He must feel it too.

  She twirled her fingers in his hair as he lay atop her, breathing heavily.

  “I’m surprised no one came to see what the screaming was about. The landlady must have warned everyone there were newlyweds upstairs,” he laughed. “I never want to leave this bed.”

  After a while he rose and went to fetch water and a cloth. He cleansed his own body then came over to the bed. “Would you like me to cleanse you, my lady wife?” he drawled.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “But I want to do it,” he replied, gently wiping the blood from her thighs. “You took care of my bodily needs. Now I want to do the same for you.”

  She tugged the linens around her shoulders, to ward off the chill. “I didn’t know a man and a woman could—share—something so—”

  She averted her eyes, unable to express her feelings.

  He put his arm around her shoulders, and smoothed her disheveled hair off her face. “We’re lucky, Agneta. Not every man and his wife experience what we’ve found. You and I fit together perfectly. You were made for me. I’ve always had the feeling my own mother didn’t share with my father the pleasurable passions we’ve shared this night.”

  Agneta’s thoughts went to her dead parents, and the love her mother boasted of fiercely. Had Ragna Kirkthwaite experienced with her Saxon husband the same heart-stopping ecstasy she’d enjoyed?

  No wonder she couldn’t bear the thought of life without him.

  This was dangerous. Agneta never wanted to be hurt again by the loss of someone she loved. Better to be detached.

  One Last Time

  “I want to go to Bolton one last time before we leave Northumbria.”

  Caedmon hesitated then cinched the girth around Wyvern’s belly. They were preparing to leave the lodging house. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “I have to go. You know I do.”

  “Very well.”

  She could tell he was none too pleased as they set off. She dreaded the idea of going back to the manor where her world had ended. She was entrusting her future to Caedmon in another border region where life might be as unpredictable as it had been in Northumbria. But Northumbria was her homeland and for some reason she didn’t understand, she had to see Bolton one more time. It wasn’t likely she would ever return to the north. Would she want to?

  Caedmon’s tension increased as they neared the village a short time later.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t betray you,” she murmured to the back of his head.

  His shoulders stiffened.

  She noticed with surprise that several cottages on the outskirts had been restored and rethatched. They looked freshly whitewashed. The gazes of a few villagers followed them as they made their way towards the manor house.

  “Lady Agneta?”

  Caedmon reined the horse suddenly and she came close to toppling off.

  Clutching her husband’s jerkin, she turned to see who’d spoken her name. “Desmond,” she cried in recognition, taking the hand the young man proffered. “It’s good to see you. I’m relieved you survived the raid. Your parents?”

  “The brutes killed my da’, but ma still lives. We thought you were in the convent, at Alnwick.”

  “I was—but now I’m married. This is Sir Caedmon I ride with, my husband.”

  The boy eyed the knight, and nodded, then looked back to Agneta. By now a crowd had gathered. “We wish thee well, then, Lady Agneta,” said Desmond’s mother. “It’s glad we are you’re still alive, after—”

  She looked curiously at Caedmon. “Your husband is a Saxon?”

  “Aye, I’m a Saxon,” Caedmon replied.

  “Huh. Ye sound like a Scot,” someone in the crowd murmured.

  Caedmon was about to reply, but Agneta interrupted. “We’re headed for my husband’s manor, in the Welsh Marches. I wanted to see Kirkthwaite Hall, one last time.”

  “Not much left,” Desmond said dispiritedly. “Earl of Northumbria came to look at it, but the Normans don’t seem interested in the ruin. They leave us alone, more or less, so long as we pay their taxes.”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Caedmon whispered, urging his horse forward to crest the rise. The villagers watched them go.

  Agneta steeled her body, sure he must feel her fingernails digging into his waist. Yet she gasped at the sight of what remained of her childhood home.

  Caedmon tensed.

  “Stay here,” she told him, sliding from Wyvern’s back.

  It wasn’t the charred timbers that bothered Caedmon. A host of bad memories swept over him as he sat atop his horse, watching Agneta pick her broken way around the outskirts of the ruined manor. Incredibly, the faint odor of smoke still clung, borne, he thought, on the swirling clouds of black dust whipped up by the wind. His wife fell to her knees beside the untidy mound where her family had been buried, the crude marker now overgrown. He would remember the faces of the gallant defenders interred there to his dying day.

  The hardest sight of all was the tumbledown barn he and Leofric had looked up at, full of regret and self-loathing at what they’d witnessed, what they’d been an unwitting part of. It still stood, a gaunt memorial of his sin. “What a naive, idealistic fool I was,” he said aloud.

  Agneta had lain hidden there, watching him, after seeing her father and brothers murdered. How could she not judge him to be like those maniacal Scots marauders? How could she ever come to love him? It was a forlorn hope. What was she remembering as she walked slowly around the ruin? Childhood games with her brothers? Love and laughter with her parents? Feasts in the Great Hall?

  “Thank God we didn’t burn the barn,” he muttered with a shudder.

  Agneta would never love him, though he loved her, burned for her with a passion he’d never known. He’d helped to destroy her life. Now he felt honor bound to ensure her future was secure, that she wouldn’t want for anything. Their future lay in Ruyton. She would never forgive him, but he would try his best to erase the terrible memories.

  I so swear, Agneta.

  As Caedmon offered his firm hand to help her remount the horse, Agneta couldn’t look into his eyes. Hers watered and burned with the windb
lown grit. She was afraid she would feel hatred when she looked at him again, but she didn’t. It was something else she felt as his strong fingers closed around hers and pulled her up. It was hope and longing, grief and fear, regret and expectation, all mingled together. But it wasn’t hate. She found she couldn’t hate this warrior she’d married, try as she might.

  She sat behind him, rigid as a post, her hands resting lightly on his hips.

  He made no move to set the horse in motion. “We won’t go until you’re ready,” he rasped.

  She felt the tension in his body, heard the deeper hoarseness in his voice.

  “I’m ready,” she murmured, leaning forward to rest her head on his back, looping her arms around his waist, pressing her breasts to his comforting warmth.

  “To Ruyton, then.”

  She heard the deep sigh he exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath, and felt his body relax as they rode away to the abbey where the others waited. She didn’t look back as the silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

  A Long Journey

  The journey to Ruyton was long. With two of them on the horse they didn’t want to tire out their mount. They rode slowly and every mile was pleasurable torture for Caedmon. His manhood rioted against her bottom when she sat before him.

  Occasionally she rode behind. “I love the feel of your arms around my waist, and your body pressed up against my back,” he told her. He didn’t tell her he’d money enough for another horse, hoping the enforced closeness might help ease the rift that yawned between them. Nor did he want to draw the attention of any ne’er-do-well who might judge them rich pickings.

  Their route took them south to the River Tyne.

  “I’ve heard the Normans have built a wooden bridge at the easiest point to cross the river,” he explained. “They have a fort there, but hopefully we won’t attract their attention. We aren’t carrying anything they can tax. My mother and Enid will cross with us, Leofric with the Brightmores. The others aren’t going west but continuing south from here. They’ll take the wagon, then we should make better time.”