Authors: Rexanne Becnel

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Medieval

The Maiden Bride (16 page)

BOOK: The Maiden Bride

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With an effort she quashed all the disturbing sensations his nearness roused in her and focused instead on the dagger he wore. She reached for the hilt, just beneath his elbow. It was a bigger weapon than the one she’d found in his cupboard that night, and when she slid it from the sheath, it bumped against his arm.

He shifted suddenly. His arm fell over her hand, pressing it against his hip, and Linnea sucked in her breath. St. Jude, but she was in for it now!

But instead of opening his eyes and pinning her with an accusing gaze, he mumbled something incoherent, then sighed and smiled. While her heart raced in panic, he was having sweet dreams!

She set her lips in determination. She would have his dagger and then she would wake him for his bath. He would see that she was a sweet and docile wife whom he could trust, and he would be lulled into complacency if it killed her—or him!

That thought gave her pause. Whatever happened in the coming days or weeks, she did not want Axton killed. She wanted Beatrix to find a suitable husband and to reclaim Maidenstone for the de Valcourt family. But she did not want Axton de la Manse to die in the process.

What if he chose to fight against Beatrix’s husband, though?

Linnea shook her head, banishing that thought. She had no control over that. Most certainly she had no control over Axton de la Manse. Why, she could not even awaken the man!

She shoved his arm roughly aside and drew the dagger all the way out, then hastily stepped away from him. It was fortunate that she did. No sooner was she beyond his reach than he lurched upright, swinging one of his arms in a wide, arcing blow. The fact that he met with nothing but air seemed to jolt him finally awake.

“’Tis only I, your wife,” Linnea said, backing as far away from him as she could. “Remember me?” she added, when he stared wildly about. He was not fully alert, though he stood upright now, tensed and ready for battle.

She saw as his eyes cleared, and as they did, his expression changed. The creases of his frown returned his face to its more normal appearance. To her shame, Linnea regretted that, and not because of her need to deceive him. There was a tiny, wicked part of her that longed for his full, relaxed smile directed at her. But he only smiled like that when he dreamed.

She forced an apologetic expression to her face. “I tried to wake you for your bath,” she explained. She set the dagger down on a small table. “You slept in your clothes, my lord. Here, let me remove your shoes.”

She moved right up to him, though she trembled with fear for his reaction. Would he remember what she’d said about being repulsed by him? Would he remember how angry he’d been? She decided that forthrightness would sit better with him than anything else.

“We quarreled last eve and I thought to mend things between us this morning.” She reached for his girdle and began to unbuckle it, staring at the golden clasp, not into his face. Her fingers shook so that she could hardly manage, but she was determined and he did not resist her.

“I hope … I hope you will not destroy our bedchamber every time I anger you,” she continued, praying her woman’s chatter would calm him. “While you bathe in the antechamber I will have the bed repaired and the cupboard put upright—”

“I hope you do not intend to anger me often.”

Linnea swallowed and pulled the girdle free. “I will try not to, my lord.”

With a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face up, then stared down into her wide eyes. He had come wide awake, but as to his mood, she could not determine it at all. “Where did you go last night?”

“To my grandmother. I was afraid of you,” she added, unable to hide the accusation in her tone.

He seemed to consider that, all the while studying her face as if he could see well beyond its surface and all the way into her mind. Then he sighed and his hand fell to his side. “In the future I will try to control my temper better. You must not argue with me, however, especially in matters pertaining to your family.”

“I fear then, that we have a problem, my lord. For I can no more abandon my family than you can abandon yours.”

For one long jangling moment she feared she’d really done it, for his brow lowered, first in disbelief, then in anger.

But just as she expected an outburst of furious temper, he threw back his head and laughed—and immediately groaned and gripped his head with both hands. He grimaced, then gave her a pained look. “Have I married me a warrior woman, then? A shrew who would battle me with her waspish tongue and beautiful face as her only weapons and yet expect still to hold her own against me?”

He groaned again and rubbed his eyes. But there was no outburst and Linnea sagged in relief. Confronting her husband head-on
was
the safest way to deal with him, it seemed.

She did not have to try hard to force a smile. “I called for a bath and meal for you, if you are so inclined.”

He tilted his head back and forth, as if testing whether it was still well attached to his shoulders, then gave her a wry grin. “I put myself in your hands, madam. Pray, impress me with your wifely skills, for I am sore in need of them. But know this,” he added, speaking in a huskier tone. “You have impressed me in other of your skills already.” He glanced at the bed in its tilted state, then back at her. “Once this chamber is put back to rights, we may well make a shambles of it again.” Then he frowned as if something had only just occurred to him. His gray eyes narrowed. “Or perhaps you do retch at the very idea.”

Linnea’s mouth went dry. She’d hoped he’d forgotten her hateful words. What was she to do now?

“I … I should not have said that,” she stammered. She wove her fingers nervously together.

“That does not answer my question. Do I disgust you? Do I make you want to retch?”

“No. No,” she repeated. “I was … angry. You had said cruel things to me and I … I wanted to hurt you as you had hurt me.”

They stared at one another, a long, unsettling look that did not ease her mind. She could not sense the direction of his thoughts behind the carved granite mask that was his face. Had she thought him boyish but minutes before? There was nothing of the boy in him now, only battle-hardened warrior, inflexible and distrustful.

“Perhaps,” she began, mindful of her grandmother’s instructions. “Perhaps we should begin this day anew, with neither grudges nor suspicions to darken it.”

His lips curved in a mirthless smile. “’Twould certainly be better for you, would it not?” Then he sighed and she felt a faint glimmer of hope. “I will have my bath, wife, and we will see where this day leads us. Pray that it ends better than did the last.”

Linnea let out a shaky little breath.
Thank you, St. Jude.
“I will check on the water.”

“No. Stay.” He caught her hand before she could slip away. “Leave the servants to their work. Your duty is only to me. And I would have a proper morning greeting from my wife,” he added, slipping a hand around her waist and drawing her up hard against him.

Linnea’s breath left her in a rush. She had thought the remnants of his drink would put an end to that, at least for a while. But it appeared not. Most certainly the rigid length of flesh pressing against her belly did say otherwise.

“Please, my lord,” she murmured, trying to grab his wandering hands. “The servants are just without—”

“So?” One of his fingers rubbed the length of the chain lying across her derriere, which sent a fiery shiver through her. “Tell me, my sweet Beatrix. Does my gift keep you ever in mind of me?”

Beatrix. In that moment of near surrender, Linnea wanted to throw off her sister’s shadow and stand before him as the woman she truly was. As Linnea. She wanted to forget her grandmother’s words and her sister’s name. Like some perverse demon, that insane urge gripped her, body and soul.

But what would that gain her? Or more importantly, what would it
lose
her?

The answer was easy. Everything.

The cold reality of that fact chased away any thoughts of surrender. She twisted out of his embrace.. “I did not take it to be a gift, but rather a threat,” she answered him in a voice that trembled with anger. That the anger was directed more at herself than at him did not matter. He assumed it was for him, for once more his eyes narrowed and his lips turned up in grim humor.

“You may make of it what you will, but again, that is not an answer to my questions. Does it keep you in mind of me?”

Linnea glowered at him, then caught herself. She was supposed to be compliant. She was supposed to barter her body if necessary.

She swallowed the bitter lump of emotion that caught in her throat. “Yes, my lord. It keeps you ever in my mind.”

That pleased him, if his smug smile was any indication. “I would see again how it lays against your skin.” He gripped the tail end of his soiled chainse and tugged it over his head, then tossed it aside. Clad only in his russet braies and black leather boots, he stared at her. “Come bathe with me, wife, and we will scrub each other very well.”

At her stunned expression he began to laugh, but Linnea could not marshal her features to either acquiescence or opposition. She was shocked by his preposterous suggestion and unable to pretend otherwise. It would have been hard enough not to stand slack jawed at the sight of his magnificent body. But to be told in the same moment that she must join him in his bath was more than her naive senses could cope with. Did he actually mean for her to bare herself as unashamedly as he did? To step into the water with him as naked as the day of her birth? Despite every intimate act they had already done together, this one seemed somehow even more intimate.

“The tub … the tub is … is too small,” she stammered. She picked up his shirt and began nervously to fold it.

At just that moment, the door fortuitously creaked open and Norma poked her head inside. She met Linnea’s anxious look with an anxious one of her own. “Milady, the bath is ready.”

Norma. Thanks be to the Holy Mother. At least Norma was on her side. “Come, my lord.” Linnea sidled toward the door, taking what advantage she could of the interruption. “Come while the water is still warm.”

He came without comment and Linnea held out the hope that maybe she had thwarted him for once. While she knew she must be agreeable to him, she also knew that she could never be so bold as to bathe with the man.

In the antechamber two young pages poured the last buckets of steaming water into a large, wooden tub. A maid entered with a heavily laden tray of bread and meats, while another carried a silver ewer and two goblets. Norma directed where all was to go, while Axton crossed without comment to the tub and tested the water. Then he sat on the edge and looked over at Linnea.

“Send the servants away. We have no further need of them.”

“But … but …” Linnea sputtered. She stopped when he raised one dark and imperious brow, however. If she was to be docile and sweet—and obedient—then she must begin now. With a strange knot of both dread and anticipation twisting in her gut, she slowly nodded her head.

“I will attend my lord Axton. Norma, see to the hall and any tasks that yet remain unattended. But do not stray too far,” she continued impulsively. “I will wish to confer with you once I am finished here. If it pleases you, my lord,” she added, staring back at Axton.

When he only met her gaze one long moment, she had to force herself not to bite her lower lip. Finally he gave a short nod, though, and she felt a rush of relief. Perhaps today she might find some bit of normalcy in her castle routine.

She watched the servants file out, conscious of the curious glances. Once again her husband kept all the upper floors of the keep for their exclusive use. She had no doubt that everyone knew precisely what sort of use he intended for it. And for her.

When she eventually did resume her daily routine, would they all continue to stare and speculate as they did now?

She did not want to think about it.

But while she could shove that unpleasant thought away, at least for a while, she could not avoid the impending bath ordeal. The antechamber had emptied save for the two of them. Despite the fact that there was no door to close off the stairwell, and the faint sounds of activity in the great hall drifted up to them, they were in every sense alone. No one would dare venture above stairs uninvited, not when the lord of the castle made his intentions regarding his new wife so clear.

Linnea took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Since he seemed to value forthrightness, she would be forthright. She would express her feelings and her opinions and be as honest as was possible with him.

But not in all things. Not when it came to her true name.

“What do you wish, milord? To bathe first or to break your fast?” she began. Her words were those of a coddling wife, but her tone was that of an efficient housekeeper. She waited expectantly, but still a safe distance across the room.

“No food,” he muttered, rubbing his head, then grimacing as if it pained him even to touch it. “I would bathe first.”

“I can have an infusion of lavender, pennyroyal, and sweet woodruff prepared to ease your pains,” she suggested.

BOOK: The Maiden Bride

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