Yearning Heart (8 page)
Entranced, she moved past the bed, trailing her fingers over the soft cover of white lace. By the chest was a single door, its brass knob as shiny as though recently polished. She opened it, staring into a small room that had nothing in it save for a small wine-colored rug in the center of the floor. At its edge were long scratches in the wood where something, perhaps a tub, had once rested. A small stand was in the corner. On its marble top was a delicate crystal decanter.
She picked it up, sniffing at the top. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. It was the same scent Malvina had given her on her wedding night.
She replaced the bottle and, leaving everything as she had found it, made her way back into the hallway.
Malvina.
Were she and Stephen lovers? If so, why had he married Rebecca when he could have married Malvina? Or just continued as her lover. It was his home. He could do as he wished. Had Malvina given her the perfume so that Stephen would be reminded of her? Was that why he raged at her?
Inside her room, Rebecca leaned against the door and looked at the bed turned back for her to get into and rest. Rest. She had never been so rested. Her body was rested. Her mind could not.
The guest bedroom—with its single bottle of perfume, perfume Sir Stephen forbid her to use. Whose fragrance?
She started as the knock on the door vibrated against her backbone. She opened the door to look straight up into Stephen's dark blue eyes. She took a step backward and inclined her head.
“My lord,” she said.
His hair was plastered close to his scalp, drops of rain sparkled in his beard, and she could smell the wetness of his clothing.
He stepped into the room.
“You are well, Rebecca?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I am your husband, not your lord, Rebecca.”
His hands came up to yank her to him, and his mouth was hard against hers. His lips, wet and cold, ground into hers and his hard tongue forced her lips apart.
She didn't like to kiss that way. She struggled and twisted away from him. But Stephen was strong, and she had little chance to free herself if he wished to hold her. His mouth gentled on hers, his tongue withdrew as his lips brushed back and forth across her mouth, stirring an odd shivering within her. His big hands bunched the material of her dress under her arms, his thumbs resting beneath her breasts. She felt his warm breath in her mouth, the stiff brush of his beard on her chin.
She was suddenly free, and she stared at the man who was her husband.
“I have been hard at work, Rebecca. Surely it is not too much to ask for a kiss of welcome?”
“N—no, my lord.” She couldn't help the stammer.
“I will have to give lessons, I suppose, in teaching you my name.” He turned toward the door. “I am in need of a bath and food. Ask Malvina to see my meal is ready within the hour.”
“Would you desire help with your bath, my ... S-Stephen?”
His steps slowed, and then stopped. He turned, his gaze sweeping her slight figure, and a roguish glint brightened his eyes. He bowed from the waist.
“I would greatly enjoy it, Lady Rebecca.” He stood aside to let her pass. “This way.” He took her elbow and guided her across the hall through an open doorway.
“I have not asked Malvina to bring your meal,” she said, unable to meet the probing directness of his steady gaze.
“Food can wait,” he said and pulled her into his arms. His mouth descended swiftly, catching Rebecca's lips parted. His tongue darted into her mouth and, as though remembering her withdrawal, he slipped his tongue over the surface of her teeth, over her lips, and finally pressed his closed mouth firmly over hers. She felt the hard demand, and then over the demand, she sensed a restraint as though he would go easy with her.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Rebecca pushed her face against Stephen's and her lips parted without thought from her. A strange warmth like the path of a shooting star trembled through her stomach, fluttering beneath her ribs. Stephen's hands slid over her buttocks, pressing her into a body hard and irregular to her flat stomach. She gasped as she realized what the rock hard thing was between them.
“Ah, Rebecca.”
His mouth left hers to trace a moist path down her cheek, his tongue whisked lightly into her ear, and he nibbled at the lobe before kissing her neck. He shivered and held her more tightly.
Rebecca's eyes were wide open, staring at Stephen's thick hair ruffled over his collar. What else is there to making love? Is this all? She wondered. She sort of like it this way.
Stephen's voice snatched her away from such thoughts.
“Help me undress,” he said and pushed her far enough away that she could reach the hooks on his clothing.
Once she had helped undress Richard when an angry bull hurt him. She knew how the shirt came off, but she had trouble with pants. Impatiently, her husband pushed her clumsy fingers away and almost immediately, stood naked in front of her.
She gasped at the size of him. His shoulders were wide enough to block out the candle sputtering on the chest against the wall. His waist was narrow, flaring slightly to form tight-muscled hips. Fascinated, her eyes dropped, and she took a step backwards.
“Do not be afraid, Rebecca,” he said. “I will try not to hurt you.” He tipped her head back. “First, you must bathe me. Come. Aubin left water in the tub for me.”
Taking her hand, he led her into the small anterooms she had investigated on her own while Stephen was away from the big house. Without looking at her again, he stepped into the water, hunkering down with his knees drawn up so he could fit inside.
Kneeling beside him, Rebecca took the rough cloth and began to bathe her husband.
* * * *
She never knew how he got from the water, or picked her up and crossed to the big bed with fresh smelling linens on it. His hands ripped at her clothing, and she was vaguely aware that he wadded them into a ball and threw them across her into the floor. Then she was crushed in his arms, his mouth moving roughly over hers, his hands seeking parts of her body never before touched by anyone.
She whimpered but didn't pull away. Stephen whispered words she had not heard before. His breathing was heavy and rough, and then he was kneeling over her, spreading her legs with unsteady fingers. Gently, he touched her quivering softness.
He looked into her wide, frightened eyes and kissed her lids closed.
“I will try not to hurt you, Rebecca,” he whispered.
But he did.
His gentle probing changed into hard pressure, then into a frustrated struggle to enter her tight body. He pulled away for an instant, and then a sudden plunge brought forth a scream from her as pain tore through her body. His mouth muffled her cries as she felt the hot rush of his fluid inside her. He moaned deep in his throat, his entire body shuddered, and then went still.
Rebecca's breath came in short, quick puffs, her eyes moist with tears, fingers clenched into Stephen's ribs. She had never hurt so, not even when papa whipped her with a wet rope. This pain was inside, and she felt as though she were torn into small pieces, bleeding from all of them.
Stephen withdrew the powerful instrument from her body and sat up away from her. He turned away then back to let his gaze rest on her bare thighs. He winced and slowly let his eyes come up to meet hers, wide and dark in a small white face.
“I will send Malvina to help you,” he said and stood up to reach for his shirt.
“No.”
Rebecca sat up and almost cried out at the sight of blood on her belly and legs, dripping onto the white sheets. “I ... I can do it.”
“You should have help, Rebecca.”
Her head came up. “No. I do not wish to be helped by Malvina.”
“That is what she is here for. She knows what to do, and it is her duty.” Stephen brought her gown and draped it over her shoulders. “I am sorry, but it could not be helped. It is always so with a virgin.”
She turned away.
“I suppose you have had many such encounters.”
He laughed. “Not too many virgins, my lady, but I have a bit of knowledge about women.”
She climbed into the water he had left after his bath. It was cool, but it felt good to her aching body. She stiffened as Stephen's hands slid over her, bathing, moving down to her stomach to her thighs. Gently, he swished the water back and forth, and then lifted her to wrap her in the rough toweling he had used. He carried her across the hallway to her bed and placed her against the pillows and sat by her side.
“Now you are my wife in more than name only. Your body is also mine.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And if you say ‘my lord’ once more, I will thrash you roundly, my pretty one.”
She forgot his threat.
“Do you think me pretty?” Never had anyone described her thus.
Interest lit his eyes. It surprised Stephen to realize he did think her pretty. The crushed softness of her mouth, cheeks pink where his beard scraped, eyes a deep, deep blue, full of wonder at his words and at what he had done to her body.
“Do not tell me all young ladies think otherwise. But, pretty or not, I mean what I say about a thrashing. Remember that.”
With that, he pulled the cover up, kissed her mouth hard and turned to stride from the room. She did not see him again that evening. Instead, she lay staring into the darkness, thinking of the torment her body endured at Stephen's hands. It was certainly what every bride suffered according to her mother and Malvina. But Malvina said it would not hurt past the first time.
Still, it wasn't too unpleasant. There was something warm about Stephen holding her tightly, forcing himself into her, and crying out when he spent his seed inside her.
Would she be pregnant? It would be weeks before she knew since her flux had only just ceased.
* * * *
In the days that followed, Stephen came several times to her bed, to caress her body and to strain himself against her before giving in to his desire and plunging time and again into her. His appetite for love satisfied, he sometimes raised himself on elbow to look at her with questions in the deep blue eyes.
One night he asked, “Do you not enjoy my body, Rebecca?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Of course?” He looped her hair around two fingers and with those two fingers, lightly caressed her lips. “Tell me how you want me to love you to make it more than just ‘of course.'”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“Women have been known to enjoy the act as much as a man.”
Rebecca stiffened, not wanting to hear about other women Stephen had done the same things to as he did to her. She did not want to know of his intimacy with another female body. Even if it had happened long ago, she did not want to hear about it.
“I do not know how else to say I like what you do, Stephen.”
His features softened.
“All right, my sweet. If you say that is true, then I will believe you.” He kissed her on the mouth. “Goodnight, Rebecca.”
She lay in the dark by his side listening to his slow breathing. Oft times, he left her to cross the hall to his own room and she thought he went down the hall once toward the locked door. She did not hear his return, and she wondered if Malvina waited there for him. With the perfume Stephen did not wish Rebecca to use.
She thought of Grinwold, of Lady Elizabeth still a prisoner of Sir Oliver. She, Rebecca, had escaped. She might still be owned by a man but, at least, Sir Stephen did not use a strap on her. And he was as gentle as any man could be, she supposed, who demanded a woman's body for his pleasure.
Her biggest regret was not being able to see Richard, to sing to him, to recite silly poems to him—and sometimes, serious ones. Yes, she sorely missed her gentle brother, the only one at Grinwold who had truly loved her.
She sighed and turned her head on the pillow to look at Stephen as he slept only to see his eyes wide open looking back at her.
“Is something wrong, Rebecca?”
“No, Stephen. Nothing.”
His long arm slid across her to pull her close to him. He pushed her thick hair back and pillowed her head on his shoulder.
“Then go to sleep,” he said.
They slept all night in each other's arms and were still wrapped closely together when Malvina opened the door the next morning.
The maid stared at the couple a long time before she stepped closer to the bed.
“Sir Stephen, a messenger from King Henry awaits you in the great hall.”
King Henry's message summoned Stephen to London and after a fortnight, she had heard nothing. It was the first of many summonses, and Rebecca learned that when the king sent for Stephen, it meant immediate departure, sometimes for long periods. Surprised, she realized she missed him and did not like sleeping alone as much as she once did.
Impatiently, she awaited Stephen's return.
Chapter Five
Winter swept in cold and blustery, and the rocky cliffs rose bleakly through constant fogs. Rebecca roamed alone over the broad lands of Stephen's property, walking along the rough coastline, climbing the jutting rock cliffs at water's edge. She rode Tor who, after his first suspicious acceptance of her, became a loyal follower.
Bundy gave up trying to convince her she would come to harm with the unpredictable animal and watched as the two, girl and huge stallion, became close friends.
He envied Tor.
Rebecca rode Tor short distances at first, and then they ventured farther and farther until sometimes they returned home at dusk on the short winter days.
Malvina disapproved.
“Sir Stephen will come home one day and catch you riding Tor,” she told Rebecca more than once.
“Will he beat me?”
“No, my lady, he will not beat you, but he has a most fierce temper, and he will be angry.”
Rebecca had seen him angry.
“Anger does not hurt, Malvina.” She turned to look at her maid. “You were right that it doesn't hurt to sleep with Sir Stephen now. I like it.”
To her surprise, Malvina blushed and hurried away. Rebecca watched her go, and her heart felt funny. Malvina had been Stephen's lover, she was certain now, and plainly, was still in love with him.
