Nothing Else Matters (8 page)

Stian watched the girl whose name he couldn’t remember with a trapped, rapt fascination. She seemed to be putting her charms on display just for his

sake. It was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

He was growing hard again. He wished he wasn’t because a girl who’d been a virgin not an hour before might not welcome being taken again quite so

soon. Or would she? He didn’t know much about virgins. He knew the sight of this woman with her soft brown skin, ful breasts and rounded hips was the most rousing thing he’d ever encountered. Perhaps he should ask her what she intended but he’d managed about as many words as he could just getting

her fed and cleaned up. He didn’t know what to do.

Final y, he jumped into the pool with her.

Eleanor screamed in surprise when Stian grabbed her around the waist. He dragged her out of the water and carried her to the furs inside the cave. He

covered her wet body with his, warming her skin with his heat. She stopped screaming when he kissed her. Her fear calmed as he ran his hands over her.

It was replaced with wonder at the tingling sensation left by Stian’s rough caresses. She’d brought this on herself, she realized. He was only reacting to her shameless posing before him.

Stil she pushed at his shoulder, turned her head away from his kiss. Never mind what she’d done to deserve this, she couldn’t go through with the act again. Not yet. It just hurt too much.

“Please, my lord,” she begged.

His answer was a grunt and his mouth descending around one nipple.

As he suckled and nipped at it, she continued to try to push him away. Her insides were beginning to ache and throb uncomfortably. She felt his hardness against her bel y. She just wasn’t ready to bear the pressure of having him inside her yet.

“I can’t. I won’t. Please, no. No.”

She had soft hands, did this wife of his, and a soft voice, but her words had the ring of iron in them. Stian wasn’t used to being told no. Peasant girls didn’t know the word nor did the castle servants, nor the tavern wenches who expected coin for a few minutes of their time. She was his wife, wasn’t she? She had no right to say no.

Stil , Stian sat up and glared down at the cowering woman. What was it she wanted from him? Why didn’t she want him? Why had she mocked him by

flaunting herself in the pool?

He pounded his fist onto the cave floor beside her. Frustration and hurt made his voice rough. “Damn you.”

Her dark eyes went wide with fear as he spoke. She squeaked with fear and scrambled away from the furs. She pul ed on a chemise while he sat on the

floor of the cave. He fought down both arousal and anger as he watched her hasty movements.

“Mouse,” he said, remembering what he’d cal ed her the day before. “Ugly little gray mouse.” By al the saints he’d been drunk indeed to see this lush-bodied creature as ugly.

Stian’s words struck Eleanor harder than any blow could have. She couldn’t bear to look at him. Her throat clogged with tears she refused to shed. Al she could do was cover the body that she’d so recently displayed in the ful light of day as if it were worth looking at. She could only pray her husband would speak no more of how ugly he found her.

She knew she was no great beauty like Edythe with her long slender waist and high round breasts. A Provencal poet had once compared Edythe’s

breasts to apples he longed to taste. Other poets cal ed her an angel, a creature of air and light. Eleanor was brown as the earth under Edythe’s dainty feet.

She was no mouse as Stian claimed but she was a creature of mud. Sometimes it was good for her pride to be reminded of her shortcomings. She

would have to remember her husband in her prayers for that, she told herself as she laced up her overdress.

Stian saw no more use sitting around the cave naked after his wife was dressed so he went outside to find his own garments. Once dressed, he saddled

the horse. He swung onto the horse’s back as she came out of the cave.

Stian was left shaken and breathless for a few moments as an image of the girl lifting her arms and letting the cape fal to the ground played through his mind. His body tightened with renewed need that he made himself ignore. Her face was expressionless as she came toward him. He tried not to let his

hunger for her show.

“My lord?” she asked, turning her face up to him as she reached the horse. She held up a hand in entreaty. “You would not leave me in this desolate place, would you?”

Stian looked around him. Desolate? This was the most beautiful place in al the Cheviot Hil s. Where had this courtier woman come from to cal his private place desolate? And why would she be afraid he’d leave her? It wasn’t a long way back to Harelby but he hardly expected a stranger to know the path.

He grunted and leaned down to grab her hand. It was easy enough to haul a smal thing such as her up behind him on the gelding. She waited until she

was settled behind him with her hands firmly clutching him for balance before setting off for home.

He spent the whole way back to Harelby trying not to think about the softly feminine body pressed against his back or the smal , clever hands at his waist.

* * * * *

Stian ignored Lars’ cackle of laughter. “I’ve things to do.”

“Wasn’t she worth your time?”

Stian looked past his grinning cousin to where his wife stood with her sister and the other women, warming her hands by the hearth. He could stil feel the pressure of those hands against his flesh. The ride back to Harelby had been silent. She’d pretended he didn’t exist.

Her wil ow-slender sister had run from the hal as the horse reached the inner bailey. The mouse was off the horse and in the wil ow woman’s arms before he’d even dismounted. The sisters had gone into the hal without giving him a backward glance. He’d been left to walk into the room ful of curious,

amused castle folk al alone. He wasn’t pleased that his wife shunned his presence on their wedding morning.

Lars’ question did nothing but rankle him more. “I’ve had her,” he said. That was al Lars needed to know.

“Good.” Lars clapped him on the shoulder. He passed Stian a wooden tankard of ale. “Welcome to the marriage bed. Let’s go hunting.”

Stian considered the suggestion while he gulped the strong new ale. Lars’ companionship was far more familiar than the silent, confusing company of his wife. He could be himself with his cousin. With his wife, he had no idea how to act from one moment to the next.

Better the devil he knew, he decided. “Aye,” he said after he finished the ale. “Let’s go hunting.”

* * * * *

Stian took a bel igerent stance in front of his father. “Why not?”

“There’s a shire court meeting here in two days. I need you here.”

“There’s a shire court to be fed as wel .”

“You’re stil not going anywhere.”

Eleanor tried not to listen to the argument going on between Lord Roger and Stian, though she stood only a few feet away. Edythe’s arm was around her

shoulder and she was surrounded by the other household women. This was her place, she told herself, among the women. Stil , her attention was

unwil ingly concentrated on the men who faced each other beside the high table.

“Not with king’s deer there isn’t,” Roger went on, his deep voice booming throughout the hal . “It’s a shire court, boy.”

“Then I won’t hunt deer.” Stian’s voice was just as deep and just as loud.

Eleanor found herself drawn to the conversation despite not wanting any further involvement with her husband. Her curiosity would always get the better of her sense. What was a shire court and why shouldn’t Stian hunt deer? She looked at Dame Beatrice, hoping the chatelaine would answer her questions.

But before she could open her mouth, Dame Beatrice tucked her hands in her sleeves and stalked over to where father and son were arguing.

“Oh let the boy go, Roger. Better he do something useful in the woods than stay stinking drunk at home.”

Eleanor slipped away from her sister’s gentle hold to watch as Roger broke away from glaring at his son to round on Beatrice. “He’s not getting stinking drunk either. Not under this roof.”

“Then we’l find another roof to get drunk under.”

It wasn’t Stian who had spoken. Eleanor vaguely remembered the young man standing next to Stian. He was shorter than her husband, more compactly

built with a sensual cast to his lips and had a very wil ful look about him. Eleanor looked questioningly at her sister.

“Lars,” Edythe answered with a sigh. “Something must be done about Lars,” she added thoughtful y.

Before Eleanor could ask what she meant, Roger roared, “Do as you like, boy. Stian stays right here.”

“Why?” Stian bel owed back.

“This!”

The next thing Eleanor knew, Roger had swept down on her. He grabbed her by the arm and thrust her toward Stian. She landed with a thump against his

hard chest. He caught her by the arms before she fel onto the rush-covered floor. She was so shocked by Lord Roger’s action that she could scarcely

breathe. She found herself looking up at Stian’s rage-reddened face. She was even more surprised by the concern in the quick flick of a look he gave her before he went back to the argument.

“You’ve never minded my leaving Harelby before.”

“You’ve never been a bridegroom before.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

Eleanor couldn’t help but notice that Stian was not letting go of her. In fact, despite his attention being concentrated on his father, he had shifted her so she was tucked close to his side with his arm around her shoulder. Edythe had been holding her the same way a few moments before, but that embrace

had felt completely different. Yet Stian’s touch felt no less protective. Eleanor didn’t understand it.

“Marriage has everything to do with it,” Roger told Stian. He pointed toward the stairs. “The only place you’re going is to bed with your wife.”

Stian’s arm tightened around her as he protested, “I’ve been to bed with my wife.”

“Wel , bed her again.”

Eleanor couldn’t help but stare at her husband as his face went from red with anger to brighter red with embarrassment. Her face flamed as wel and she cringed inside and out from Roger’s blunt words. Everyone in the hal was staring at them. Many were laughing, with Lars’ braying sounding the loudest.

“I want grandchildren,” Roger’s voice rose above the laughter and murmurs.

“I’l bed her in my own time.” Stian’s voice sounded composed and reasonable in contrast to Roger’s shouting. At least he sounded deadly calm. The arm around her felt like a band of cold iron.

Roger didn’t take any notice of Stian’s reaction. “You can’t bed your wife if you’re not at home.”

Stian growled a low, thunderstorm rumble. Eleanor felt the sound more than heard it. “Father.”

Roger pointed toward the stairs again. “Go on,” he commanded. “Spend some time with your wife.” He beckoned Edythe with his other hand. He offered

his son a wide smile as Edythe hurried to his side. He took Edythe by the hand. “Make love to your wife and I’l do the same with mine.”

Eleanor was amazed at the easy way Edythe smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at Lord Roger. Here she was burning with shame at the man’s words,

while Edythe looked eager for the act he suggested.

Stian stood planted in place, as unmoving as a piece of red granite. “Who’l mind Harelby while we frolic?”

“Dame Beatrice, of course,” Roger answered easily. He spared a fond look for the frowning chatelaine. “As ever.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “As ever.” She turned her narrow-eyed gaze on Stian. Her expression was annoyed but her words were gentle. “Mind your father, lad.

And you,” she said to Lars as she shoved him off the dais and toward the door. “You can go hunting. I’l have a dozen rabbits for the cook pot before I’l let you back in this hal .”

Roger spoke to the gaping household over the sound of Lars’ blasphemous protests. “Have you no work to occupy you? Come, my lady,” he added, “we’l

fol ow Stian and Eleanor up the stairs.”

Stian hesitated a few more moments. To Eleanor he stil looked like a thunderstorm preparing to break but he seemed to relax a bit as the people in the hal hurried away from the confrontation. Roger looked more amused than angry and Edythe looked sublimely serene.

Eleanor felt relieved just to have the confrontation over when Stian grabbed her hand and hustled her up the stairs. So relieved that she didn’t think to be concerned about what would happen once she and her husband were once more alone.

“Now what?” Eleanor asked, amazed that she was becoming more annoyed than frightened by the situation.

Stian put his hands on his narrow hips and glared, not at her but at the heavy wooden door. “’Tis al a jest to him.”

“Lord Roger?” she asked, and he nodded. “What is al a jest?”

Instead of giving her an answer, Stian laughed. The sound with very little humor in it. “Life is a jest,” he declared then threw himself onto the bed and said,

“Come here, mouse.”

She knew she should obey instantly, that she should cozen and cater to him, that she should continue taking Edythe’s sensible advice. Instead, Eleanor set about exploring her surroundings.

She knew that she should be used to the idea of living with someone other than Edythe by now. The fact that Stian and she had a room to themselves at

al amazed her. Privacy was hard to come by, a privilege Eleanor was neither used to nor expected.

It was so unexpected that she looked around her in wonder at the curtained bed, the chests, smal table and the chair that made up the furnishings. A

tapestry of faded green and white stripes covered the cold stones of the room’s outside wal . There was a smal window in one high corner and a thick

tal ow candle on a shelf next to the bed. A book, bound in red leather, lay on the shelf next to the unlit candle. Her bags were piled on her clothes chest beneath the window.