The Pendulum (8 page)

"A little rose water." The old woman retrieved a bottle from the chest at the foot of the bed. She dabbed a little of its contents behind Airin's ears, then pulled the shift's collar forward and sprinkled a few drops between her breasts just above the brooch.

Airin shook herself.

Cerdwin turned her around, then began to loosen her braid.

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"Nay," Airin protested. "'Tis early, I will only have to plait it again later."

"Hush," Cerdwin commanded, and finished freeing her hair of the braid. She exchanged the rose water for a brush, then brushed through Airin's long tresses. The maid stepped back and ran a critical eye over her. "You will do well." She drew back the sheets and Airin climbed in. Sweet rose scent wafted up around her as Cerdwin pulled the sheet and blanket to her waist. Cerdwin glanced around as if expecting someone to leap from some obscure hiding place, then reached into her apron pocket and produced a small, silver vial. "Here." She pressed the vial into Airin's hand. "Keep this under your pillow for the right moment."

Airin squinted at the vial. "The right moment?"

"'Tis tricky business, but at that moment a man is not quite in his right mind. Ye have only two or three drops, so ye must be sure to get it in
about
the right place."

Airin frowned. "The right place?"

Cerdwin touched the middle of the bed. "You should be about here."

Airin leaned forward, peering at the spot, then looked again at the vial.

"Sir Deryll is no fool," the old woman said. "He knows the way of things, but this will keep the servants and men from talking."

Airin stared at her. "What is this?" She thrust the vial at Cerdwin.

"Dinna' fash yourself. I sneaked the blood from the hen slaughtered for the evening meal."

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"Chicken blood?"

Cerdwin frowned. "You didna' expect pig's blood?"

Airin's cheeks flamed. "You mistake me. 'Tis unnecessary."

"Stop your blustering. You need not pretend with me. A woman of twenty years is not expected to come to the marriage bed a maiden. Put the vial under the pillow." She glanced at the door. "Sir Deryll may return any moment."

Airin didn't move.

"Go on," the maid urged.

Airin slid the vial beneath her pillow. Her finger came in contact with another small, smooth surface. She paused.

"Is something amiss?" Cerdwin demanded.

Airin ran a finger along the item.
Another
vial. She shook her head.

The maid headed for the door. Airin started to pull the other vial out, then froze when Cerdwin turned. Tears moistened her eyes. "You are a grown woman. Soon you will have babes of your own. I had begun to despair of seeing this day."

Before Airin could respond, she turned and was out the door. Airin slid the two vials out from beneath the pillow. The second vial was clay.

Cook had slaughtered chickens for dinner.

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Airin slid the vials beneath the feather mattress and frame, then grasped the chain around her neck and pulled out the brooch. She turned it over and stared at the back. Her vision clouded. She should not have drunk so much wine. She ran a finger over the barely visible scratch. Deryll's surprise when he saw the brooch earlier still puzzled her. He had not filed the scratch as she had thought. He must be lying. But why?

Her mind wandered back to the great hall when Deryll was filling her cup and watching her.

Drowsiness crept through her. She lowered her hands onto her belly. She closed her eyes, surprised at her calm, how little she feared what lay ahead. After Madeline married, Airin had quizzed her about the marriage bed. Her sister told how a man grew in size before coupling, but this she knew from watching livestock.

Airin flushed at the memory of a coupling she and Madeline observed between a mare and stallion. Women, especially she and Madeline, were not allowed to watch, but the command to stay away only fueled their curiosity. They hid in an empty stall across and down from the largest breeding stall. When the men assembled, the stallion was led into the stall, then the mare. She and Madeline watched through the open door as the stallion neighed in a voice that seemed more a scream, then grabbed the mare's mane between his teeth and mounted her.

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Airin had clamped a hand over Madeline's mouth with one hand, and her own with the other, when the mare gave a piercing cry of pleasure. They had stared, unable to move, as he drove himself into her over and over. In a way, Cerdwin had been right. Airin had not shared her body with a man, but she was no innocent.

The door opened, and Airin's eyes snapped open. Deryll stood in the doorway.

He gave her a curious look as he softly closed the door.

"How is your head?"

"My head?"

"You drank much wine," he reminded her.

"I am fine." Though, in truth, she wasn't. While in quiet contemplation she was relaxed, now, her head throbbed and a loud rushing in her ears pulsated with each heartbeat.

"Then I need not offer you more wine."

She grimaced. "Nay."

A corner of his mouth twitched. Airin slipped the brooch beneath her shift as he walked to the fire and squatted in front of it. He picked up the poker leaning against the hearth and began stirring the embers. She frowned. What was he doing? He had insisted that no time could be lost in authenticating the marriage, yet, now he dallied with the fire.

She thought of the second vial. Had he placed it under her pillow? Mayhap he had secured the blood in order to create the illusion he had consummated the union—transaction, she corrected.

Deryll rose abruptly, startling her. His back to her, he grabbed his shirt collar and pulled the shirt over his head.

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Airin's mouth went dry at sight of his powerfully built shoulders and back. He was beautiful. Hard muscle moved beneath dark skin. She heard the light clink of metal and realized he was loosening the belt on his plaide. The plaide dropped to the floor as he tossed the belt onto the chair. Heat tinged her cheeks at sight of his tight, round buttocks gleaming in the firelight. He turned. Her eyes dropped to his groin. His jutting shaft pulsed as if in salute.

Airin jerked her gaze to his face. "I have done nothing!"

He threw back his head and laughed, then started toward the bed. She stared as he strode to her. She tensed when he lifted the covers and slid in beside her. He surprised her by turning on his side and staring at her.

"Have I displeased you?" she asked.

"Nay."

His gaze dropped to her mouth and the warmth that had started in her cheeks spread lower. He reached out and brushed back her hair, then stroked her cheek. His fingers trailed her jaw and along her neck to her shoulder. He slid his hand around her back and dragged her closer.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

She snorted derisively though she knew her rapid heartbeat must betray her. He traced circles on her back and goose bumps raced down her arms. What was wrong with him? Cerdwin had said he could finish the deed in minutes. It seemed he had barely started. He shifted and she startled before realizing he only meant to kiss her. He paused, his mouth an inch from hers.

"Not afraid?" he asked.

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She stuck out her chin a fraction. "Nay."

His dark gaze pierced her as he slid his hand down her back to her buttocks. He gently squeezed, then rubbed his hard length against her. Airin gave a startled cry, and he kissed her. Instinctively, she flattened her palms against his chest to shove him away, but paused when his tongue slid past her lips. Dizziness swept through her. His tongue slid over and around hers. Her nipples hardened. She threaded her fingers through the hair on his chest, kneading the muscles.

A low sound rumbled deep within him. He broke the kiss and dipped his head to her breast. She gasped as his lips latching onto a nipple and he suckled through the fabric.

Pleasure shot through to the core between her legs. His hand moved to her hip and he pulled up the shift. She jumped when his warm fingers slipped between her clasped thighs.

Deryll moved from her breast to her ear. "Do not fear, love," he murmured, and gently parted her legs.

He ran his tongue along her ear. Airin shivered. He slid a flattened palm up her hip and along her belly. She closed her eyes, amazed by a sudden need to feel his broad hands everywhere. He moved lower. She tensed, torn between a desire and fear. She had wanted men, had been kissed, had felt an ache, but not like this.

Deryll continued, slowly, gently, until he reached the blonde curls below. Warm fingers cupped her, then slipped between the folds. Her eyes shot open. Madeline had never spoken of this! What sort of depraved act was Deryll about to 79

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perform on her? His thumb slipped upward an inch and gently rolled her nub.

"Deryll," she cried.

"Aye, love,?"

He gently flicked as he bent his head again and took a nipple in his mouth. Airin gasped. The brooch shifted, settling onto the curve her breast beside Deryll's mouth. The feel of his hands on the sensitive place between her legs made her wonder what his mouth would feel like against her bare breast without the barrier of the shift. Intense pleasure shot from her breast to the spot he caressed. He withdrew his fingers and began rubbing her pleasure point. She arched, was shocked by her response, but could not stop. His caresses intensified. He rubbed harder, building to a rhythm her body seemed to understand. She needed this—needed him—and pressed into his hand

"So sweet," he whispered.

She felt the dampness between her legs. He ceased the torture and slipped a finger inside her. She gave a small cry of protest, but he pulled the finger out and slid it across the nub, moistening her with her own wetness. His fingers rubbed and flicked, slow then fast, until she thought she would go out of her mind.

"You are mine," he whispered and unexpectedly applied more pressure.

Pleasure burst from between her legs. She shuddered and cried out. Deryll rolled onto her, his shaft inside her before she realized it. Airin cried out again, pain and pleasure mixed.

She threw her arms around him as he drove into her. She 80

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was suddenly torn between awe and uncertainty. His large frame should have squashed her, his narrow hips, large compared to hers, fit easily between her slender legs. He seemed to fill every part of her. His thrusts quickened. His arms tightened around her as he buried his face in her neck, back arched.

"Airin," he whispered in a rasp.

He gave a final thrust, groaned deep, then collapsed on top of her.

* * * *

Afternoon? She sat up. The blanket slipped down and cool air washed over her. She pulled the blanket back up. Why had she slept—Recollection of Deryll's warm hands on her body flooded her memory. She swung her gaze onto the empty depression beside her, then scanned the room. Where had he gone? Then she realized the day was yet young and he would have much business, not the least of which, was her father.

She threw back the covers and started to scoot off the bed, but paused, the feel of Deryll between her legs still fresh in her mind. God help her, she liked the warmth of his dark skin against hers, the way his muscles pressed into her softer flesh, the intimacy of his shaft inside her, exciting her. A tremor rippled through her. What would he think of how she already ached for him? He would not be impressed. A man 81

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such as the Scarlet Knight had bedded many women. She would not be the last.

Ten minutes later, Airin stood at her father's door. She did not recognize the man standing guard. So, the son-in-law of Douglas Keith had already taken command of his lord's castle.

She nodded to the man and entered. Deryll and Cerdwin looked up. Airin's eyes met Deryll's and her cheeks flamed.

She wanted to go to him, gently kiss his lips, lay her head on his shoulder and feel his warmth once more before attending to her father, but his impassive gaze held no invitation, no memory of what had just passed between them.

She strode to her father. "How does he fare?"

"He has lost no more blood." Cerdwin covered him. She moved aside and Airin sat beside him.

"He is still so pale," she murmured.

"Aye," the old woman agreed.

The door opened and the guard entered. "A minstrel bears a message for my lady." He stepped aside and Airin saw Perry standing outside the room.

"What message?" Deryll demanded.

Perry stepped forward and bowed to Airin. "You have a visitor in the woman's solar, my lady."

"A visitor?" Deryll asked.

Perry looked at Deryll as if just noticing him. "Lady Hayes."

"Lady Bernadette?" Airin asked.

"Aye," Perry replied.

Airin remembered Deryll's departure eight years ago, when he kissed Bernadette long and hard in farewell. Airin had wished it was her he kissed, but it had not been so. "You are 82

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mistaken," she replied stiffly. "Lady Hayes comes to greet Sir Deryll."

"What?" her husband said.

"You cannot have forgotten Bernadette
Kincaid
."

Deryll frowned.

By the saints, the man didn't remember his former lover.

"You gave her a farewell no woman could forget." He looked lost, and Airin added in frustration, "The day you left St.

Buness."

His frown deepened, then recollection crept over his features. "Duncan Kincaid's daughter?"