He finished stripping and began to undress Elizabeth. The small clasp on the back of her gown defied his awkward fingers but he persisted until he had it opened. Geoffrey paused in his chore to touch her soft, flawless skin, noticed that goosebumps appeared wherever he touched her, and most especially on the base of her spine. Elizabeth began to shiver and Geoffrey hurried to finish the task. He pulled the undergarments from her body and then had to pause once again. He grinned when he caught sight of the knife secured to her thigh, shaking his head at her precaution. She places great store in her own ability to defend herself, he thought, and wondered if she ever considered the possibility that the knife could easily be taken from her and used against her. Probably not, he decided. It pleased him that she thought herself so capable, but it made his work all the more difficult too. Weren't women prone, by their nature, to swoon at the sight of battle, and cling, with gratitude, to their protectors? Wasn't it a fact that they were weak and found their strength in their knights? Well, he decided, somewhere along the way, his Elizabeth had failed to learn this most important information concerning her nature. No one had instructed her, told her that she was weak and in need of constant direction. Odd, but that forgotten lesson pleased the lord. It was enough that he knew she needed him… even if she did not!
After talking with her grandfather, Geoffrey had a clear idea of just where his wife had formed her radical opinion of herself. Aye, Elslow was quite a character, in both his dress and his mannerisms, but filled with loyalty and other redeeming qualities too. It is good that I do not judge a man by his appearance, Geoffrey thought, praising himself and knowing it.
Geoffrey yawned for the third time. He was thankful that his wife slept, and had no wish to wake her. She would want her questions answered then most probably, and he was too fatigued to give her the long explanations needed. Under ordinary circumstances, he would not discuss such matters with his wife, but in this instance, it was her right, her family buried at the south end of the courtyard.
Elizabeth shivered again. Lifting her, Geoffrey pulled the cover back and placed her beneath the spread. He found he had to discipline himself against the urges filling his mind and body when he touched her. She needs her sleep, he told himself even as he trailed his fingers down her thigh. With a sigh of acceptance, he turned back to his fallen sword. He picked it up and stationed it by the other side of the bed and then joined his wife.
His back itched where the wound healed and he stretched back and forth several times before he got settled. He was about to pull his wife into his arms and let her sleep against him, but Elizabeth had the same idea and was quicker. She turned and snuggled up against him, throwing her leg over his thighs too quickly for him to dodge or protect himself. The result was a loud groan, as her aim was most accurate.
Elizabeth tried to stop the giggle but found it impossible.
"You are awake, wife?" The surprise in his voice made her laugh all the more.
"How could I not be?" she asked him.
"For how long?" he asked, pushing her onto her back so that he could look into her face.
"From the moment you opened the door, my lord," Elizabeth admitted. She grinned and tried to roll back into his arms but Geoffrey pinned her to the bed with his hands, a look of exasperation in his eyes.
"And yet you let me undress you when you should have undressed me?" he asked, his voice gruff.
"Is that another rule, husband?" Elizabeth teased.
"It is," Geoffrey announced. "And you have broken it." His eyes teased, as did his chest, rubbing against her breasts in slow motion.
"And the penalty, husband?" Elizabeth whispered, finding it difficult to continue with the teasing tone. His nearness was making her warm all over, and she found she wanted him to kiss her.
Geoffrey read the desire in her gaze and smiled. "I will let you decide the punishment, wife," he said in a husky voice.
"I shall have to kiss you, my lord," Elizabeth said with a mock sigh.
"And that is a punishment?" Geoffrey inquired with a raised eyebrow. His voice was gruff, his eyes full of golden chips.
Elizabeth did not answer, only continued to look at her husband with a look that made the fire in his loins explode into passion. Slow down, he told himself, go easy for her benefit. He took a shuddering breath and rolled onto his back, "Then give me a kiss, Elizabeth. But first, first you must call me Geoffrey."
"Why?" Elizabeth asked. She leaned up on one elbow and considered her husband.
"I like the sound coming from you, and you do not say it enough."
"As you wish, Geoffrey," Elizabeth whispered into his ear. She pulled back, saw that he smiled, and was pleased. "And now I shall kiss you," she told him. "Do I have your permission, Geoffrey?" she teased.
"You have it, Elizabeth," Geoffrey replied.
"Then come here, my lord," Elizabeth said, waiting.
Geoffrey did not move. Elizabeth began to drum her fingers on his chest, but that didn't get much of a reaction either.
"I am too weary," Geoffrey announced. "You will have to come here."
"Too tired to turn to me?" she asked, trying to sound irritated.
"Aye, that is the truth," Geoffrey said. "Besides, you are to come to me. Always, Elizabeth." His voice grew intense and Elizabeth puzzled over what he was trying to tell her.
Elizabeth sat up in bed and pushed her hair over her shoulders. Geoffrey had to stop himself from reaching out to touch her. He wanted her to be the aggressor but could not explain his reasoning, only that he wished her to take from him. He placed his hands behind his head and smiled at her.
The anticipation of touching him excited her. Still, it was best not to appear overly eager, she cautioned herself, for if he knew his effect on her, he would have another weapon to use against her. No, that would never do, she concluded. First, before she showed her emotions, she would make him want her as much. Perhaps, she thought with newfound confidence, even more.
She placed her hands on either side of his chest and slowly leaned down toward his mouth. But when she was just a breath away from touching him, she changed her course and kissed him on his chin. He was in need of a shave and his new growth of whiskers tickled her lips. She smiled to herself and kissed him again, on his chest, allowing her breasts to caress as her hands could not. Geoffrey did not say a word but his breathing became more rapid and Elizabeth knew he was not impervious to her. Her mouth moved lower, to the nipples hidden beneath the thick mat of hair on his chest, and her tongue circled each in a motion that caused her husband to flinch. But still he kept his silence, and Elizabeth let out a low, throaty laugh. She felt like a temptress and a nymph too, full of absolute power over the man responding to her. It was an exhilarating feeling.
Geoffrey's hands touched the sides of her face and he gently pulled her up. "I am still waiting for my kiss," he said, his voice deep and velvet.
"Here?" she asked with innocence, pointing to his lips. "Or here?" she suggested, touching the tip of his nose. "Or perhaps," she whispered, sliding her hand below his waist, "here?"
Geoffrey's gaze told Elizabeth he could not remain passive much longer. She was pushing his control away, touch by touch. He knew her game and was amazed by her uninhibited display; his mind would have allowed her to continue, to see just how far she would go, but his body was demanding with his need, becoming more painfully insistent with each passing second. "You will kiss me now," he ordered, caressing her shoulders to soften the harshness in his voice.
"As you wish, Geoffrey," Elizabeth whispered. She was no longer smiling as she reached up the length of him and touched his mouth with her own. The kiss ended the game for both of them. Her mouth opened for his tongue, her hands cupping his face to hold him still. And then the embers of passion ignited and Elizabeth too lost her control. She couldn't seem to get enough of him, tugging at the hair on the back of his head to keep him prisoner.
Geoffrey rolled her onto her back and covered her with his body while he c
ontinued to kiss her. The taste of her, sweetened by the ale, made him thirsty for more. His hands stroked and touched, rough in hurry, and when his hand slid between her thighs and he felt the wetness there, he knew her passion matched his own.
He could wait no longer. Nor could Elizabeth. She parted her legs and arched against him, eager to have him inside her. Geoffrey was breathing so heavily that he could not speak, could not form the words to tell her how very much she pleased him, could only groan with his need. He thrust deep, shuddering for control, and heard her cry out. Her nails scraped his shoulders as she tried to push him away.
"You hurt me, Geoffrey," she sobbed into his ear as she continued to struggle against him.
He heard her and immediately stopped all motion. Lifting himself on his elbows, he looked into her eyes, saw the tears streaming down her face. "Shhh," he comforted, "it will not last long, Elizabeth. The pain will be gone." He leaned down to kiss her but she turned her face away.
"I am too sore," she whispered, "you must stop." She was crying now, both from the pain and from the need so conflicting inside her. "But I don't want you to stop either, Geoffrey."
He could not stop, wanted to tell her he could not, and knew she would not understand. She was too innocent of men to understand. Sighing, he rolled with her to his side, willing himself to keep his patience, keeping inside of her by holding her firmly by her hips, whispering all the while words he hoped would soothe her.
Geoffrey pulled her leg up and rested it on his hip. "It will be better now," he said, and when the sobbing stopped, he knew he was right. He kissed her then, a long, intense kiss meant to melt away her resistance and rekindle her passion, and after a time, Elizabeth began to respond. Her hands quit pushing against his chest and began stroking again. And the soreness was gone, or unnoticed, with her renewed passion.
"It is better?" he asked, thinking that he could not remain still inside of her much longer.
Elizabeth moaned a reply and her hips began to move against him. It was all the urging that Geoffrey needed. His mouth covered hers, capturing her moans while his hands pulled her hips closer. He meant to move slowly but could not, thrusting again and again, deeper and deeper still. He heard her cry out again and thought that he caused her more pain, but still he could not stop until the explosion rocked him from the mountaintop he had just climbed. He felt her shudder beneath him and only then realized that he had rolled her onto her back and that her legs were clenching him with the force of her reaction.
When his breathing calmed and he felt her relax beneath him, Geoffrey said, "You are all right?"
She nodded against his shoulder and Geoffrey relaxed. He rolled to his side and pulled her next to him, glancing down into her eyes. They were still glazed with passion, causing Geoffrey to think that she remained unfulfilled. "I have not satisfied you?" he asked, concern in his voice. Elizabeth adjusted herself to his side and settled her head on his shoulder. "I am most satisfied, Geoffrey," she whispered. Her voice was full of wonder and sleepy pleasure. He worries that he does not please me, she realized, and felt a glow of contentment warm her. Soon, she thought, he will realize how much he is beginning to care for me. And one day, she considered, one day he will say the words.
"And have I satisfied you?" she asked, though she knew in her heart that she had. She had heard him cry her name and felt his strength explode into fragments just seconds before her own explosion. Aye, she had remembered calling his name too.
Elizabeth was sound asleep before Geoffrey voiced a reply. He chuckled to himself and closed his eyes. Contentment was here, in this room. It was there, whenever Elizabeth was by his side. He admitted it without argument and fell asleep with a smile on his face.
* * *
Chapter Eight
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Elizabeth opened her eyes the following morning with a thousand questions floating through her mind. Geoffrey was still sound asleep, one arm holding her prisoner against him.
She decided to let him sleep a while longer and took great pains not to disturb him as she slipped out of bed. Clothes were spewn about the floor, and once Elizabeth was wrapped in her robe, she quietly saw to cleaning up. She would have to tell him that he snored, she thought, smiling to herself. He won't like hearing that, she knew, and that pleasured her all the more. Ah, but she loved to tease her husband! Too much of her grandfather's character in her, she supposed with a shrug. And he was the master of the game. Geoffrey was such an easy victim, with such a serious disposition and an inclination to scowl most of the day. Why, his very personality made it most appealing to try to goad him, she admitted without guilt.
Elizabeth walked over to the window and lifted the piece of fur. Looking out, she saw that it was a grand day indeed, if the warmth of the air and the brightness of the sun were any indication. It felt as hot as summer, the gentle breeze upon her face.
Grand, she thought again, for today she would find some answers. Her gaze turned to the forest's edge, to where her uncle and his men camped. Today he would receive justice, she thought as she scanned the area. Something was wrong but her mind could not grasp what it was. She shook her head and cleared her thoughts. The men were gone! No, that cannot be, she argued with herself. She ripped the fur from the wall and leaned out for a better look. The facts did not change. Belwain and his men were gone, fled during the night.
Enraged, she turned to her husband. God but he would be furious, she predicted. Why didn't the warning sound when Belwain broke camp? Why wasn't her husband informed? "Geoffrey! They are gone!" she yelled the news. "All of them gone."
Her husband's reaction did not please her. He opened one eye, scowled, and rolled over onto his side, away from her.
He does not understand, Elizabeth thought. She raced over and knelt on the bed, poking him in the shoulder, and repeated, "They are gone, Geoffrey. Wake up and clear your head. You must get up now. You must… do something."
Geoffrey groaned, making a sound like an angry beast, and rolled onto his back. "Quit bellowing," he yelled.
"You do not listen. Belwain has gone, fled," Elizabeth said again, and still did not lower her voice. "You must get dressed. We have to go after him. We—"
"I know he has gone," Geoffrey said. At her look of astonishment, he sighed and got out of bed. "I sent him back to his home."
She could not believe what she was hearing. He had let Belwain leave? "And the soldier I pointed out to you last evening?" she asked in a subdued voice. "You let him leave also?"
"I did," Geoffrey answered, yawning. He walked over to the chest and bent to splash cold water on his face from the basin placed there the night before.
Elizabeth watched him. She tried to keep calm, thinking that Geoffrey must have had good reason. A rage was building inside her but she kept control.
"Will you tell me why you allowed this?" she finally asked. She was still kneeling on the bed but now her head fell forward with undisguised despair, the long strands of golden hair shielding her torment from Geoffrey's gaze.
Geoffrey heard the threat of anger in her voice, and never at his most pleasant early in the morning, he found himself yelling an answer. "Always you question me, woman! I know the import to you, and for that reason I will tell you what plans are being carried out." He came back to the bed and lifted her chin with his hand. "But you will calm yourself and let me wake up first? Do you understand this, wife?"
Elizabeth listened to the clipped speech, so cold and hard, and could only nod. She was too incensed to answer him. Well, the gentle warrior has turned into the angry beast again, she thought. So be it, she decided, and I will match him word for word, shout for shout, if his answers and his explanations do not appease me. There has been enough blind obedience and trust he so easily demands. Yes, he orders me to trust, yet he gives me no reason to do so. No more! I will conform to his will no longer. "I have given you my trust, husband, and I would know now if it was a mistake." Her voice was as hard and as cold as his.
/> Geoffrey ignored her outburst and continued dressing. She knew that he had heard her, he would have had to be dead not to have heard her, but his face was turned from her and she could not see his reaction to her demand. Well, she would have his reaction, his attention. She got off the bed and went to stand in front of the door, blocking it, and stood there with her arms folded in front of her. Let him see my defiance, let him taste my rebellion. I will have my answers!
When his sword was securely anchored at his side, Geoffrey walked over to his wife and gave her his total concentration. His expression hid nothing, for he wanted her to know just how furious her words had made him. Acting much like the hawk he was named for, Geoffrey's arms flashed out and grabbed her by the shoulders before she knew what he was about. He literally hauled her off her feet so that her eyes were just inches from his. "Never," he said in a harsh whisper that chilled her to the bone, "never demand." He shook her once and she could feel his hands trembling against her skin. He looked ready to explode, Elizabeth thought, noticing that the golden chips in his dark eyes now resembled chips of ice; yet she refused to use caution. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that it was her right to know what he intended, but Geoffrey shook her again. "Do not say a word to me unless it is an apology."
Elizabeth promptly shut her mouth. There would be no apology, save one he should rightfully give her, she decided.
"So be it," Geoffrey muttered. He knew from the look on her face and the angry glaze darkening her eyes that he would get no apology. He had never laid a hand in anger on any woman, but God's truth, this brazen wife made the thought less repugnant. He shook his head again, disgusted with his own thoughts. "You have the stubbornness of a mule," he muttered. He placed her back on the floor, out of the door's path. One final glare, and he was gone.
"So be it," he muttered on his way down the steps. The stubborn wench! Oh, but she could infuriate him like no other. He made the vow that she would pay the price for her stubbornness, her disobedience. He would keep her waiting all through the day before he spoke to her again. By nightfall, he predicted she would apologize.
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