The Warrior's Reward (12 page)

With no chairs to sit on in the hall, Rosamunde had found herself sitting on a fur by the fire. She could have occupied one of the benches but the day had turned cold as the sun had dropped and she didn’t relish the idea of being by the hole in the wall. She shuddered and drew her cloak around her.

The fire cast great shadows about the room. Were she on her own she would be quite terrified. The ominous black creatures danced upon the wall, turning the few stone carvings into ugly beasts. Several large candles were impaled on spikes about the hall but to her that simply added to the sinister effect. Her heart ached for her comfortable home with its elegant candelabras and bright tapestries.

She glanced at the woman beside her, Gwen, who had taken on the role of her lady-in-waiting. The dark-haired woman was sweet and gentle but Rosamunde missed her friends. Huffing a breath, she offered the woman a smile. They were about the same age. Was she not meant to be proving to herself—and everyone else—she was stronger than she appeared? Why could she not make friends with the woman and create a new, comfortable life for herself? Mayhap the castle simply needed a woman’s touch.

And a new wall. And new windows. And...

Well, she would do what she could at least.

“Have you lived here long, Gwen?”

“Nay, my lady. Just since Sir Ieuan took the castle over. Before that it was empty. I used to live in the village with my papa.”

“You worked for him?”

“Aye, on the farm.” Gwen offered a smile and gave a sideways glance. “I prefer working here.”

Jealousy stabbed her insides until she realised where Gwen’s gaze was directed. One of the men standing by the table drinking had also been glancing their way all evening. He was handsome with fair hair and a neat beard. At least one woman did not seem to find her husband attractive. To watch the maids fawning over Ieuan was almost more than she could bear. Why it turned her into a seething, jealous wretch, she knew not, but the thought that mayhap he had bedded these women when he refused to touch her made her skin hot and her pulse pound. And not in the pleasant way his touch did.

“Who is that?” Rosamunde asked when Gwen glanced over at the men once more.

“Who, my lady?”

Even in the firelight, she saw the blush on Gwen’s cheeks. “The man you keep looking at.”

“Rhys. He is one of Sir Ieuan’s most trusted men. He runs the keep when the master is not here. At least, he did before...”

“Before I arrived.”

“Aye, you shall be taking on all those duties, will you not?”

“I suppose so. If Ieuan allows it.”

“He is a proud man but a good master.”

Rosamunde traced the floral pattern on the edge of her sleeve with a finger. “He is...” She sighed. “In truth, I know not what he is. I hardly know him.”

“Many a woman has done worse for herself.” Gwen laid a hand on her arm.

Stiffening, Rosamunde patted the stop of her hand. She could not discuss her husband with Gwen. She hardly knew how she felt about him and she certainly didn’t wish to reveal he hadn’t bedded her yet. Offering up a quick grin, she leaned into the woman. “And what of you? Shall you take a husband soon? Rhys, mayhap.”

“He does not look at me.”

“You are fair and kind. He should.”

“Aye, but men are fools, my lady. I have learned that much. They are stubborn and unable to see what is in front of them. He is more interested in Sorcha.”

She followed Gwen’s narrowed gaze and understood Rhys’s distraction. The young serving girl was curvaceous and eye-catching. Rosamunde recalled she was one of the women who had been looking at Ieuan as though she wished to jump on him then and there that morning.

“Give him time. If he is worthy of you, he shall see past her looks.”

“’Tis well enough for you, my lady. You are a fine beauty.”

“Much good it has done me. I have been treated differently my entire life and I knew not why until recently. Mayhap I should be more like Sorcha.”

“Nay, pray do not be.” Gwen giggled. “The woman has not the ability to laugh at anything and is not at all bright.”

Rosamunde giggled too but the sound was lost when the door swung open. Her heart thrummed in her chest as Ieuan stepped in and slammed the door shut behind him. He drew off his cloak and handed his sword to one of the men who carried it off to the armoury. Then his gaze settled on her. A great ache became trapped in her chest. With the exception of Gwen, she knew no one and, in spite of herself, she had missed him.

Before she could stop her, Gwen excused herself, darting an impish look between her and Ieuan. Clearly she thought they needed time alone. But what would she say to him when they had parted so angrily? She turned her gaze to the fire and tried to become lost in the licking, tumbling flames, but the sound of boots upon floorboards sent a shiver up her spine.

Then there was a creak, a rustle and he was beside her. She peeked sideways at him and had to fight to catch her breath. His hair was mussed, his clothes crumpled. He had slung an arm lazily across one knee, the other leg tucked beneath it. And he eyed her from beneath his brow with great intensity.

“I... I feared you would not come back.”

“Why would I not come back to my own castle?”

She turned her attention back to the edge of her sleeve, plucking at the embroidery. “You were angry with me.”

Ieuan chuckled and drew her hand into his, preventing her from touching the gold stitching any longer and forcing her attention on him. “You were angry with me, I believe. Besides which, you cannot force a Welshman from his home. He always returns, regardless of what troubles he faces.”

Rosamunde found herself smiling in spite of everything. There was some hint of that man she had met during the tournament, the one who had kissed and charmed her, and here he was charming her again. If only she understood him better, then she might know how to react to him and his ever-changing mood.

“Always? Even when his wife is angry with him?”

“Always. Especially when his wife is angry with him. A man knows never to leave an angry wife for long.”

“Are all Welshman that wise?”

“Most of us are, aye.” He twisted his fingers between hers and stared at their joined hands while she did the same. “Do you know the tale of Owain?”

She blinked at him for several moments but was loath to say anything to banish this playful side of him so she simply shook her head.

“Owain was a knight of The Round Table and an explorer. He met his love when he slaughtered her husband out of revenge.”

“That does not sound a good way to meet your love.”

“Hush, will you listen to my tale or not?”

She fell quiet, aware of the teasing tone behind his words.

“Laudine was the Lady of the Fountain. She commanded a castle and lands and the waters of the fountain held supernatural powers. Owain fell instantly in love with her and she agreed to marry him for protection. But, alas, adventure drew him away. Laudine did not wish him to go but she offered him a ring that protected true lovers from bodily harm. However, he had to return within a set number of days.”

“But he did not.”

“Nay, he did not. He took it upon himself to participate in many chivalric quests and when he did not return, Laudine sent a messenger to collect the ring and tell him to never return.”

“She must have been furious.”

He gave her a look and a lopsided smile. “Indeed. Owain spent time living as a wild man in the woods and became quite mad. You see, without his wife, he had no one to keep him sane. Without his love, he was lost. But after some time, he began taking part in exploits again. This time, however, they were not for his glory. He helped others and proved himself to be a better man. Laudine accepted him back into her life and her castle when she realised he had changed.” Ieuan twisted his fingers around hers again and lifted her hand to his lips. “You see, Welshmen always return home.”

“Only because she let him.”

“Will you let me back into your castle, Rosamunde?”

“This is your castle.”

“Then your bed?”

“’Tis your bed.”

He shook his head and stood, giving her no choice but to follow him as he still held her hand. “Rosamunde, you do not forgive easily, do you?”

She pondered this. Mayhap she did not. After all, he had married her under deception, told her she would have to stay a prisoner in his castle and turned her away from his bed on their first night. She couldn’t be sure what it would take to forgive him these things but for some fool reason, she felt herself softening to him after that tale. No doubt that was his intention. They were not true lovers or anything so romantic, but she suspected it was some sort of an apology and it might be all she garnered from him.

“Are we to away to bed then?” she asked.

His grin twisted sideways again, making her stomach dip and swoop like a starling diving about the air. “That we are. Come, lady wife.”

He led her upstairs and she was aware of the men and women of the hall watching them. They couldn’t know that he had not already taken her but while she might not understand men or... or bedding at all, she was fairly certain this night would be it. She would become his completely.

Her thighs shook as she and her husband continued around the spiral stairs. Air whistled through the arrow loops and outside she spotted bright stars and a half moon that painted the mountaintops in a pale blue. She gulped. Was she ready for this? Was any woman ever ready for this?

When they reached the top, he ushered her into the room and used his hands on her shoulders to turn her to face him. Ieuan ran his gaze from her head to her toes and his smile grew grim. Heaviness as bitter as iron weighted her stomach. He’d changed his mind. He didn’t want her after all. Mayhap he wanted Sorcha instead.

“Do I frighten you?”

Allowing her brow to crease, she shook her head. “Nay.”

“You are shaking.”

She swallowed, her dry tongue making the movement hard. “You wish to take me tonight?” His expression faltered. “Nay, you do not, of course you do...” She tried to turn away but he kept her facing him.

“I wish to take you, Rosamunde, very much. But you are innocent. I have no wish to rush you.”

After closing her eyes briefly, she drew them open and saw his sincere expression. Had that been why he had delayed their lovemaking? Out of concern for her? Mayhap. Mayhap she had misunderstood him more than she had realised. Mayhap her husband was a better man than she had realised.

“I am innocent,” she agreed. “’Tis why I shake. I know not how to please a man. My mother died when I was young. I k-know noth—” Her voice cracked with embarrassment.

“Worry not about pleasing me.” He drew her close and smoothed a palm across her cheek. “You please me already. Let me worry about pleasing you.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant. Was lovemaking not for a man’s pleasure? Aye, she understood that it was to bear children too, but men needed to make love regularly. As far as she knew, it was as essential to them as drinking ale or eating bread.

But those concerns were lost when he pulled her flush against him. Her nipples strained against the fabric of her gown in response. The need to rub herself against him grew quite unbearable. When he lowered his mouth to hers, she found herself rising up to meet his lips.

Time slowed, the air thickened. His lips were warm and soft against hers. The taste of mint leaves made her mouth tingle and when his tongue flicked over her lips, she parted them. Ieuan gained access and delved deep, as though drinking the very essence from her. A rumble rose up from his chest as he tasted her, and the sound seemed to vibrate through her to her toes. She trembled, but the primary emotion was no longer fear. It was excitement.

A palm to her lower back, he urged her closer still. Impossibly close. Her breasts were crushed against that solid wall of muscle and she was aware of his hard thighs against hers. His fingers worked under her hair, stroking the back of her neck and massaging her scalp. But while his caresses were tender, his kiss was not. There was something elemental and raw about it. If she let herself, she’d believe it was a meeting of two souls, but that wasn’t possible.

“Your hair...” he murmured, drawing it through his fingers. “Like silk.”

Ah, there was her charming knight again. Apparently he made a reappearance upon kissing her. She would have to kiss him more often, she concluded.

His fingers moved up her spine until he found the tiny buttons on the back of her gown. He retreated just long enough to press aside her hair and flatten his mouth to the side of her neck. She gasped when wet heat met her sensitive skin. Rosamunde tilted her head—an instinctive reaction—so that he could move his mouth up and down the curve. Tingles raced through her and she dug her nails into his shoulders.

Ieuan made quick work of her gown, pausing when he came to the leather around her waist. He stepped back and traced the girdle around to where it was tied at the front. His gaze clashed with hers while he untied it and her breaths quickened. It couldn’t be warm in the room—it never was—yet she felt as though someone had lit a thousand fires beneath her feet. The intensity in his gaze made her chest constrict and her heart pound at it like a hammer.