Medieval Ever After (12 page)

He dipped his head and kissed the scar, nearly bringing her off the bed. But his hands stilled her, his gentle words soothed her, and his kisses resumed on the interior of her thigh. His fingers, so big yet so gently, stroked her intimately and he could feel her wetness the more he stroked. He moved to kiss her belly and focused on her delicious breasts again as he slipped a finger into her tight, scarred passage.

Joselyn did nothing more than moan as he thrust into her with his finger, more distracted by his mouth on her nipples. When Stephen finally lifted himself and placed his enormous manhood at her threshold, she hardly noticed. In fact, he thrust so gently into her that she didn’t even realize he was inside her until he was about halfway seated.

Then she tensed again. But Stephen would have no part of it. He was so highly aroused that he would let nothing interfere with this moment and he gathered her close, kissing her deeply as he fully seated himself with firm, smooth pressure. Joselyn gasped and squirmed as he impaled her on his manroot, but to her credit she did not weep. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held fast, struggling to adjust her body to this invasive presence that was nothing as she had remembered from eleven years ago. Stephen’s sensual invasion was warm, seductive, tender and passionate. He had done everything possible to ease her. And, not surprisingly, all she felt was ease.

And then he began to move in her, slowly at first, using his powerful buttocks to thrust gently into her small body. But his pace grew faster, his thrust more powerful, and Joselyn felt a wildly pleasurable jolt every time he would thrust his full length into her. It was as if his manhood was touching a special area deep within her body, something that, within just a few minutes of Stephen’s measured thrusts, suddenly erupted in a burst of stars that rippled throughout her body.

A soft yelp escaped her lips and her body stiffened and pleasurable tremors raced through her. Stephen, feeling her release milking at his manroot, answered by spilling himself deep into her body. Even when they were both sated as their glorious tremors faded, he still continued to move within her, not wanting the experience to end. As he slowed his thrusts and caressed her silken skin, taking equal pleasure in the tactile as well as the emotional, words like Duty and Task popped into his mind. Into the dimness, he smiled; never in his life had he been given a duty that was less of a task and more of a pleasure.
She
was a pleasure.

They slept.

THE SAVAGE CURTAIN

CHAPTER FIVE

De Lara was
up before dawn, walking the battlements of Berwick. The sun was threatening to rise and the eastern sky was turning shades of lavender and pink. Just as he passed through the gatehouse arch along the castle walls, he ran straight into Stephen. He looked startled to see the man.

“I did not know you were awake,” Tate said. “I thought you would still be with your wife.”

Stephen was clad in pieces of armor and mail, not his usual full battle regalia. He was shaved and even combed, looking extremely relaxed. Tate had a difficult time keeping the smile of his face as he watched Stephen’s very contented expression.

“I have been up for a couple of hours,” he replied. “I had to see Edward before he left. Moreover, I would be a poor garrison commander not to have my finger on the pulse of the outpost. I have been making my rounds.”

“I did not mean to intimate that you were a poor commander and well you know it,” Tate lifted an eyebrow. “I simply meant that you are occupied with a new wife who quite obviously has your attention. There is no shame in that.”

Stephen cast him a long look, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “I would not be ashamed of her in any case,” he replied, his blue eyes moving to the eastern horizon. “In fact, I was probably a fool to have resisted this marriage at the first. It is a great honor.”

“Did you tell Edward that?”

“I did,” he turned to look at Tate again. “And I asked for another five hundred men to reinforce the city.”

Tate leaned against the parapet, his smoke-colored eyes watching the sunrise. “Did he tell you that I have already sent word to Henry of Lancaster for a contingent? I asked him last night when I could not find you anywhere. Assuming you were indisposed, I went ahead and made your request.”

“He told me,” Stephen replied. “It seems as if I will have a thousand men here in the next month to reinforce my ranks. Edward is leaving today, by the way. Are you leaving as well?”

Tate nodded. “I see no reason to stay since you have things well in hand,” he replied. “Moreover, I am anxious to return home to see my wife and children.”

“Give Toby my best.”

Tate straightened up and slapped Stephen on a broad shoulder. “I will.”

He began moving toward the tower stairs but Stephen called to him. “Would you please do me a favor before you leave?”

“Of course.”

Stephen crossed his massive arms and moved toward him pensively. “Will you ask Lady Pembury about the man who raped her before you go? If this man is still in your ranks, I would have him sent to me immediately.”

Tate nodded slowly. “I would be pleased if you would allow me to punish the man if, in fact, he is still in my ranks.”

Stephen looked at him, the cornflower blue eyes hard. “I appreciate the offer, but I must dispense punishment. It is my right and my privilege.”

Tate understood. He could also see that the husbandly right of punishment went beyond mere honor; there was a glimmer in Stephen’s eyes that spoke of something deeper. If Tate didn’t know better, he would suspect that Stephen was feeling something for his lovely new wife. It did not displease him.

“As you say,” he replied. “Shall I seek her out now?”

Stephen shook his head. “She is not awake yet. Perhaps when she breaks her fast.”

Tate was nearly at the tower stairs; the bailey was to his right, most of the expanse visible between the keep and the great hall. Movement down below caught his eye and he turned to see a small figure in a cranberry colored surcoat moving through the early dawn towards the great hall. Lady Pembury seemed to be in a hurry. Tate dipped his head in the direction of the bailey.

“Your wife is an early riser,” he said, watching Stephen make his way over to the parapet in time to see Joselyn disappear into the rectangular great hall. “She must have a great deal to do today if she is up so early.”

Stephen was heading for the stairs before Tate could get to them. They took the narrow spiral stairs quickly and emerged into the ward. Tate suppressed a smile at Stephen’s apparent eagerness to get to his wife; the man was practically running.

“There is one more thing, something I was thinking on this morning,” Stephen said as they crossed the dusty bailey. “Do you know of Ettrick Castle?”

“I do. It is held by the Earl of Buccleuch, Lord Alexander.”

“Do you know the man personally?”

“I have met him twice but I would not say that we know one another. He is allied with John Balliol. Why?”

Stephen paused when they reached the door leading to the great hall. He scratched his head awkwardly, as if still thinking through what he was attempting to say.

“I did not tell you everything about my wife’s rape at the hands of the English soldier,” he said in a low voice. “The rape resulted in a child. That was why her father sent her to Jedburgh; to be rid of both her and the baby. When the baby came of age, he was sent to Ettrick Castle to foster.”

Tate gazed steadily at him but not without some sympathy. He finally shook his head sadly. “Good Christ,” he muttered. “She has known much sorrow, has she not?”

Stephen nodded faintly. “From what Joselyn tells me, the lad was never told that she was his mother. He was led to believe that he was an orphan. She intends to tell the boy someday about his parentage, minus the part about his father, but I thought perhaps that now that we are married, I would adopt the boy and bring him to live with us.”

Tate considered that option. “A truly generous gesture, Stephen,” he murmured. “Does your wife know about it?”

“I have not mentioned it.”

“How do you think she will feel? That boy is the result of a brutal act. Perhaps she does not wish to be reminded of it on a daily basis.”

“She is his mother. I believe that is a stronger instinct than the horror of her attack.”

“Will you ask her at least?”

Stephen nodded. “I will,” he muttered. “If she agrees, I would like for you to contact the Earl on my behalf and request that the boy be sent to Berwick.”

Tate knew Stephen to be a deeply compassionate man but even he was surprised at the man’s selflessness. It took a very good man to do what Stephen was suggesting, accepting his wife’s child that was the result of a horrible crime years ago. Wanting to adopt the boy was a supreme gesture of benevolence. He clapped the man gently on the shoulder.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Very sure.”

Tate shrugged his big shoulders. “Then if your wife agrees, I will ride to Ettrick myself and retrieve him.”

Stephen seemed to be greatly relieved. With a weak smile, he led Tate into the great hall.

It smelled like smoke and old rushes. Joselyn was standing on the eastern end of the expansive room, speaking with an older serving woman who wore a severe wimple on her head. Her hair was pulled into a delightful braid, draping over one shoulder as curling tendrils of dark hair escaped it. Stephen and Tate approached her from behind and the serving woman, seeing the knights coming, fled.

“Lady Pembury,” Stephen addressed his wife as she turned to greet him. “You are looking well this morning.”

She smiled so radiantly at him that Tate felt as if he was intruding on a very private moment.

“Good morn to you, Husband,” she said sweetly, looking to Tate and nodding her head. “And to you, Lord de Lara. It is a fine day today.”

They were both so happy and cheerful that Tate fought off a grin. It was like watching two giddy children. “Indeed, my lady,” he said, clearing his throat softly when a brief pause followed. “Lady Pembury, I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”

“Of course,” she said pleasantly and Stephen took her by the hand, directing her to sit on the bench near the dais. He continued to hold her hand as she sat and Tate deposited himself next to her.

“How may I serve you, my lord?” she asked Tate expectantly.

Tate looked her in the face as he spoke, knowing why Stephen was so smitten with the pale-eyed, dark-haired lady. She was truly exquisite. He could also see why Stephen wanted justice for the woman; what happened to her was truly an offense. As Tate looked at her, he realized that he wanted justice for her, too.

“Perhaps there is something I can do for you,” he replied, eyeing Stephen as he carefully laid forth his words. “Your husband has confided in me of the brutal crime committed against you years ago by a man who presumably served the Earl of Carlisle. Both your husband and I are determined to seek justice for you and I would like to know what you remember of this man so that I may find him if he is still within my ranks.”

Her pleasant expression faded and she looked up at Stephen when he gently squeezed her hand. It was difficult for her to speak unemotionally on the subject and she struggled not to tear up as she thought on his question. Stephen had told her he would speak with Lord de Lara about finding the man. She simply had difficulty believing that, with all of the other priorities going on at Berwick, they considered her issue important.