Ginevra frowned. Looking over, she saw Wolfe at the head table. He filled his goblet with mead and took a long drink. He refused to look at her.
“To the bridal chambers!” Lora yelled when Ginevra said nothing.
Jumping violently at the loud cry, she heard it repeated over the hall until she had no choice but to force a smile to her face. Feeling a hand on her back, she was made to rush forward, lest she be pushed over. Then, reaching the table, she followed as the other women of the keep gathered Helena into their hands. They pushed the blushing bride to Robert’s bedchamber in the guest tower.
When they reached the stairwell, Ginevra dared a glance over her shoulder. She faltered, as she saw Sarra at the head table placing a pitcher before Wolfe. The woman leaned over, showing Wolfe a daring display of her ample bosom. Ginevra’s heart stopped. The buxom maid’s smile shined as she trilled in lusty laughter. As Ginevra was forced around the corner by the throng of noisy women, her last glimpse was that of Wolfe returning the maidservant’s naughty grin.
Ginevra felt numb as they left Helena in her chamber. Making her way through the guest passageway, she was forced to stop as the throng of men tried to pass with her brother. Seeing that Wolfe was not with them, she nearly retched in fear. The men moved past with agonizing slowness.
As she was finally free of them, she ran down the stairs. Then, skidding to a stop as she neared the main hall, she regally stepped out into the near empty room. Instantly, her eyes went to the head table. It was empty. Next, her eyes scanned over the remaining servants as they cleared a few of the pitchers and replaced them with full ones. Sarra was not amongst them.
Her heart thudded slowly in her ears. Her limbs moved as if they were filled with wet sand. She made her way to the stairwell leading to her tower bedchamber. Hesitating, she looked once more over the maids. A few of them stopped to wonder at their mistress’ strange pallor.
Closing her eyes to the fear and pain that welled within her, Ginevra fought for breath as she turned to go up the stairwell.
Wolfe felt the bitter sting of Ginevra’s public rejection like a slap in the face. He wanted the night to be perfect. But it wasn’t. His wife all but admitted she didn’t love him and was envious of those who might be able to choose a match of love.
And though she claimed to be content with him, it seemed she no longer was able to put on the charade. He read well the abhorrence in her face. In that he hadn’t been mistaken.
Making his way drunkenly up the steps, he stumbled into a wall. Then, pushing himself up, he fell into the stone on the opposite side. Wolfe cursed darkly. Lifting his goblet, he parted his lips to receive a drink. Only a drop trickled into his mouth. With a curse, he threw the goblet down the dark stairwell. The loud crash it produced behind him brought him little pleasure.
Suddenly, looking around, he realized he stumbled past his own doorway in his drunken self-pity and was by Thomas’ old chamber. He touched the lock on the door lightly. Staring at the hard oak door, he cursed again. He slammed the lock against the door. It clanged, but didn’t loosen.
“Wolfe?”
Wolfe froze. Looking up the stairwell, he took a few steps toward the tower. His eyes narrowed.
“Wolfe?” the feminine voice called again. A kind and playful laugh followed the sound. As he neared the archway leading to the top of the tower, he stopped. Outlined by moonlight were the naked curves of a woman.
“Gin?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Yea, Wolfe,” the voice called sweetly. “I have been waiting for you.”
The words were so light. They sounded like a far away dream, spinning in his drunken head. Wolfe stepped up the stairwell into the night air. Following the naked woman, he watched her body sway and blur in the moonlight.
“Ginevra,” he whispered, stepping to the apparition. Then, as the moon fell over the woman’s face, to bathe her skin in blue, he noticed her large breasts. Looking into dark eyes, that didn’t sparkle, he growled in disgust, “Sarra.”
Ginevra fell forward with a start. Looking down, she felt in the passageway for the offending object that stopped her progress. Finding an empty goblet, she let loose a small curse.
Angrily, she tossed it behind her. She heard it roll and thud down the stairwell as it bounced. Deliberately, she stood and brushed off her gown. Continuing with her quick pace, she neared her door. Stopping, she pushed it open and glanced in, as she had Wolfe’s chamber. Like his, it was empty.
She continued to climb. Nearing Thomas’ door, she didn’t stop, only lifted her fingers to feel for the familiar lock barring the door closed. Her steps purposefully lightened as she neared the top.
Horrified, Ginevra stopped before stepping out of the archway. She stayed hidden within the shadows, frozen in mortification. Her eyes rounded. Her head began to pound as she slowly shook it in denial. Her heart willed her eyes to be wrong. Defiantly the green orbs blinked, only to open again. The image was not gone. Wolfe was in the arms of Sarra.
“Sarra,” Wolfe stuttered in drunken confusion. Blinking heavily, he looked over the top of the tower. “Where’s Gin?”
Sarra placed a pout on her lips. Angling her chin toward the ground, she batted her eyelashes teasingly. Slowly, her arms lifted. She draped herself over Wolfe’s shoulders. His head snapped back around in surprise.
“Nay, Sarra,” Wolfe protested with a harsh frown.
“But, it’s been so long, m’lord,” Sarra preened. “Surely you have missed me--missed this.”
She leaned forward to press her lips to his mouth. Her naked breasts brushed up against his thick overtunic. Wolfe moved his head so that her kiss met only with the side of his hair. He pushed at her naked waist to get her off of him.
Sarra frowned. Melding herself more insistently against him, she looked over his shoulder. Through the strands of dark hair, she saw a pale figure move within the shadowed archway. For a moment, the moonlight glistened in a pool of emeralds.
“Oh, Wolfe,” Sarra groaned loudly. Her lustful laughter soon followed. “You have hands like no other.”
“What--” Wolfe began in confusion. A sharp gasp from behind stopped his questioning. Hesitantly, he turned. Ginevra stepped out of the entryway. Her eyes flashed with outrage. Her hands balled into fists.
“Oh, Wolfe!” Sarra exclaimed. The maidservant shot the nobles an expression of utter horror. “She has caught us!”
Wolfe roughly shoved Sarra away from him. The naked maidservant gasped in surprise at the harsh treatment before scurrying behind the protective shield of Wolfe’s back. She dared an obnoxious peek around his side. The nobles paid her little heed. Sarra grinned in wry satisfaction. She hid her laughter as she ducked behind his back.
Ginevra’s face turned from outrage, to horror and then to utter disbelief. Slowly, she shook her head making her curls bounce around her delicate ears. The gentle wind picked up her blonde locks and blew them gently behind her.
Wolfe’s gaze turned tortured as he watched Ginevra’s pale face. It hardened completely to him. He saw her stiffen. Prudently, she took a step forward.
“Gin,” Wolfe began. He lifted a hand and moved as if he would go to her.
Instantly, her hand shot up to stop him. Her lips tightened and she stiffly shook her head, unable to speak to him. Wolfe helplessly obeyed.
“Sarra,” Ginevra commanded after a long moment had passed. Her voice sounded every bit the noblewoman. “Come around here please.”
Sarra hesitantly stepped around. Standing proud in her nakedness, she lifted a wrist to rest along Wolfe’s shoulder. Cocking her hip to the side, she leaned against him. Wolfe pulled instantly away. Sarra stumbled. Looking at Wolfe in surprise, her mouth fell open in wonder.
“Wolfe?” Sarra questioned. She glanced at Ginevra and then back to the hard-faced nobleman. “Oh, I see. Now I’m not good enough for you!”
Wolfe’s scowl darkened into rage. He held still, afraid that if he moved he would strike the woman for hurting Ginevra s
o. His drunken mind reeled with the beginnings of an explanation.
“Now that you have your little lady wife,” Sarra spat, “you have no need of me. But when she turns you from her bed you will seek me out soon enough. Well, m’lord, I am tired of waiting for you. I know you had to marry her, that it was contracted so before you were old enough to protest. I understood that. But, now? You honestly would pick this little...”
Sarra walked forward to boldly inspect Ginevra. Looking down her nose at her, the maidservant shook her head in disbelieving laughter. The sound was cold and grating. Rudely flipping one of Ginevra’s curls into the air, she shook her head.
“You would pick this little half-woman urchin over me?” Sarra continued incredulously. “She wears breeches like a man. She can’t possibly know enough of the woman arts to please a man of your sordid tastes.”
Sarra walked past the silently stunned Ginevra to where her dress laid piled on the ground. Without bothering to pick it up, she said, “Tell me, m’lady. Has your husband shown you what he likes? Has he tied you up? Made you his slave? Has he played games with your naked body? Drank mead from your breasts as you both lay in a bath full of the heady drink? Leaned you over the ledge of the tower so that you feel like you’re falling as he takes you from behind?”
“Sarra, that’s enough! Your words go too far!” Wolfe shouted in horror. He watched Ginevra’s face pale as she looked at him. He imagined he saw disgust in her emerald gaze.
Ginevra gasped in dismay. Her eyes widened. She would have cried if she weren’t so angry. She didn’t know such things were possible, would never have thought of them. All she knew was what her husband taught her. Wolfe treated her like a lady in bed. Never had he even attempted to try anything unusual. Even as they repulsed her, the servant’s words caused a wave of curiosity to overcome her senses. But soon hurt and betrayal followed.
Stalking forward in blinding rage, Ginevra grabbed the servant by her hair. Unable to control herself, she dragged the struggling woman to the top of the stairwell. Sarra shouted in fear, “Nay!”
Wolfe didn’t move, frozen stiff as his mind sobered by small degrees. Sarra’s words and Ginevra’s horrified look stood like a slap against his face. It was true, he did have unusual tastes in bed, which Sarra hadn’t even begun to touch upon. But Ginevra was a lady. She was innocent. And whereas he enjoyed their time in bed together, he had thought of various things he wanted to do to her. His promise to Robert on the night of his wedding stopped him. He’d vowed to her brother to always treat Ginevra like a lady, to not do the uncommon acts he did with others. He couldn’t do those things with her. Had she not recoiled at his show of rougher passion that night in the forest?
Angrily, Ginevra pushed the stumbling maidservant down the stairwell. Letting go of her hair, she watched in grim satisfaction as the woman fell forward. Her bare arms flung around as she crashed into the unforgiving stone wall. Her foot twisted and caught on a step as she managed to keep from falling.
“My gown--” Sarra began with a wail, looking up from her place on the stone steps.
“Begone!” Ginevra hissed. The maidservant balked and hurried down the stairwell. She limped slightly, but didn’t stop.
Picking up Sarra’s clothes, Ginevra walked to the edge of the tower.
Closing his eyes tightly, Wolfe asked, “Why didn’t you dance with me?”
“What? You speak of dancing now?” Tossing the maidservant’s clothes over the side of the tower without a second look, Ginevra turned a skeptical stare at her husband. “Well, fine. It’s because I don’t know how to dance. I was never taught. My mother thinks dancing vulgar and I didn’t wish to make a fool of you or myself. Which is surely what would’ve happened had I even so much as tried. Is that why you went to her? Because I can’t dance?”
“Gin, I can explain,” Wolfe endeavored weakly. “Naught happened.”
In disbelief, she asked, “Naught happened? Naught happened! What of the mead baths? Of the games? How can you say that naught happened?”
“Gin, that was before I wed with you,” Wolfe frowned. He didn’t approve of her contrary tone. Placing his hands on his rigid hips, he embraced the emotion that was easiest to face--indignation.
“I care not!” she screamed. “You will always do this to me, won’t you? I should have realized it from the beginning. First, there was the night of our wedding. Then, there was the tournament and you flaunted one of your mistress’ tokens in front of me--”
“The tournament?” Wolfe shot in confusion.
“Yea, did you not think I’d see the token pinned to your armor?” Ginevra asked, disbelievingly.
“Gin,” Wolfe answered. Shaking his head, he reached around and pulled a piece of cloth from his pouch. He held it out to her. His voice softened, as he explained, “This is the only token I have ever worn at tournament. It has been my talisman of sorts. It has helped me to triumph every tournament I have worn it for.”
“What is it?” she asked, unable to stop the curious words. She took the material from his hand, noticing it was slightly stained from dirt. Its edges were ragged and even burnt in spots.
“It’s the piece of gown you sent me when you returned the necklace I gave you. I was so angry with you for throwing the gift back in my face that I threw the token into a fire. A page found it and sold it back to me for a gold piece. I’ve worn it to battle ever since.” His eyes softened. “If I wear a token, it has always been from you.”
“Well,” she began, stuttering to a stunned stop. His words took her by surprise. She would have never guessed. Then, remembering why she was angry, her features fell once more into an angry scowl. “That does not excuse your blatant infidelities!”
Wolfe stalked forward. Harshly, he barked, “Let me explain.”
“There is naught to explain, m’lord philanderer. I saw well what was going on.” Ginevra poked him in the chest with the end of her nail. “Tell me. Was she your slave tonight? Is that why she was naked and you are not? Did she strip for you? Did she act wanton enough for you?”
“Ginevra,” Wolfe warned. He took a step to stop her. Each of her words was like a punch to his gut.
“Is that what you want, husband?” Ginevra spat in outrage. Unmindful of her actions, she began tearing at her hair. She ripped the hairpiece off of her head, freeing the heavy bulk of her curls over her back in disarray. With a growl, she threw it to the ground. “Am I not eager enough for you, m’lord? What would you have me do?”
Ginevra stomped forward. Her eyes flashed wildly as she halted before him. Poking him again in the chest, she slowly backed him up against the edge. Whispering in a low tone, she hissed, “I only asked two things of you. I asked you not to take that woman to your bed again. But I understand. You think me failing as a bed partner. So I’ll give you what you want and then you will be able to give me what I want.”
Grabbing his tunic by the neck, she ripped the material with a hard jerk. Wolfe watched her through narrowed eyes. Her words stung. Her shaking body pushed him to the edge of the tower. With it, he met the edge of his sanity. Her words angered and excited him. All the control he held when he was with her slipped.
Wolfe growled. Grabbing Ginevra about the upper arms he pulled her to his lips. Hungrily, his mouth sought hers. She stiffened in surprise at his rough kiss. But soon the thrill of it caused her rage to turn into a powerful lust.
With a vicious intensity, she pulled his face away. His eyes shone with the wild light of a beast. Their breath met in ragged pants, their chests heaved. Wolfe’s hands instantly tore at her clothing. Taking the bodice of her gown in hand, he ripped it from her chest. Eyeing her thin chemise, he ripped through that barrier just as easily. Ginevra gasped. Wolfe gave her a lecherous grin. His eyes darted instantly to her chest.
Ginevra’s body shook at the intensity in his face. He seemed dark, foreboding, and incredibly handsome. Forgetting her anger, she pressed herself along his body. Their hands roamed with almost a violent force ove
r the form of the other. Wolfe forgot everything but the driving need to possess the woman before him.
Seizing Ginevra by the arms, he forced her to go with him as he made his way to the tower edge. Feeling the battlement at his back, he stopped. He tore her gown the rest of the way from her shoulders, thrashing at the material until she was completely naked before him. Wolfe’s hands untied his breeches just enough to free his hard manhood. Lifting her by the waist, he forced her legs to wrap about his thick waist. Her feet landed to rest on the side of the wall. Standing, Wolfe thrust solidly into her. He leaned against the battlements for support. Ginevra gasped in awe.
There was no time to question his will as he sank himself inside her. Ginevra’s eyes flew open, seeing naught but the angry movements of his features and the big orb of the moon shining in the night sky behind his head. Wolfe mindlessly possessed her with only the stars to bear witness. The rough stone stung his back, pressed into her feet. They didn’t care.
And, with a terrible cry of agonizing pleasure, the brutal trembling of their union drained them both of their strength. Ginevra clutched to Wolfe, her chest heaving with difficult breaths. Tears rimmed her lashes, but they were tears of pure ecstasy. The power of her husband thrilled her to no end. Never had she imagined that her body could sing with such sweet rapture. A nervous fear gripped her as she waited in breathless anticipation of his approval.
Sanity slowly returned to Wolfe’s eyes. Almost viciously, he pulled back to look at her. His head jerked to study her face. Seeing the moisture in her gaze and the frightened look in her eyes, he froze with self-loathing. Instantly, he lifted her off of him and set her on the ground. Timidly, she watched him from under her lashes.
“Gin, I,” he started. Unable to continue, he watched her helplessly.
Ginevra saw the vulnerable light in his eyes. Feeling the cool breeze against her naked skin, she shivered. Wolfe frowned, lifting his own torn tunic from his sated body to hand to her. Ginevra slipped it over her head.
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