The sound of horse hooves and a dull thud, roused him from his thoughts to the realization that the first challenge had been issued. Sir Jeoffrey’s shield was rocking from the lance buffet it had received. A cheer went up from the crowd.
“Oh dear,” said Eden. “Is that not poor Sir Renlowe again?” She turned to Roland. “But I thought he had been taken hostage after the melee.”
Roland shifted uneasily in his seat. “Someone must have paid his ransom already.” Damn.
“Why on earth is he challenging the white shield? Did you not say de Crecy was the best?”
“Because he’s a bloody young fool,” seethed Roland. “He must have suffered a worse injury than a broken nose yesterday. He must have had his brains scrambled!”
**
Eden gazed around the carousers with disfavor. The afternoon had passed in something of a whirl. Roland had sat beside her explaining who the various knights were in the Challenge to Arms. Not that she could remember any of the finer detail, save that poor Sir Renlowe had been rendered quite insensible again by Sir Jeoffrey de Crecy this time. It was evening now, and they were sat in Sir Aubron’s banqueting hall. The hostage ransoms had all been paid off, and the trophies awarded. Roland had won the prize for the most valiant member of the yellow side in the melee. Sir Kentigern had won the same accolade from the blue. Without his helmet on, Sir Kentigern somehow looked even more savage than with it on. He had the most dreadful scar down the left side of his face and the eye on that side was white as a boiled egg. It had to be blind. Was that why Roland had not struck him when he was dizzy and disorientated? He seemed a sullen and moody figure and stumped off as soon as he had received his winnings and the ransom for the four knights he had knocked from their seats.
Eden snuck another look at the terrible bruised and battered face of Sir Renlowe. She had no idea how he could look so cheerful as he supped his ale through a split lip. Both eyes were purple, and his nose was doubtless broken. Yet there he sat. She glanced toward the high table where the Payne family were sat dining on a platform well away from the common herd. She heartily wished she was sat among them, rather than the competitors where it was so rowdy. She noticed wryly that Gunnilde and the Lady Elizabeth gazed back rather enviously at her. Really? They’d rather be sat where she was?
The men were mostly drunk, and she suspected that the few women present on their long trestle table were not respectable. They sat on laps. Eden tried not to look at them. She glanced sidelong at Roland, who had an arm draped along the top of her chair. She felt sure he was testing her in some way. Did he mean to outrage her? To shock her prim sensibilities? She could see his friends darting looks at her every so often in silent appraisal.
“A toast to you, Sir Jeoffrey,” announced Sir Aubron loudly from the dais. “The victor of the Challenge to Arms!”
Sir Jeoffrey was a rather arrogant-looking male with a short blonde beard and very blue eyes. He nodded at the acknowledgement; though it was clear he thought it nothing but his due.
“The victor of the Challenge to Arms!” repeated the table obligingly.
“Hear, hear,” cried another.
Eden raised her goblet for the toast, when to her surprise, Roland leant forward and sipped from her own cup, tipping the bottom, though she held it still in her hand.
“A loving cup!” yelled one reveler, nudging his companion in the ribs. They laughed uproariously and Eden felt herself flush. She looked up at Roland in reproach. “Why do you drink from mine?” she asked. He shook his head, and pointed to his ear as if he could not hear her above the clamor. When Eden leaned forward to repeat her question, he surprised her by kissing her soundly on the mouth. She squeaked, but it was drowned out by the loud cheer that went up from their table. Eden sucked in a deep breath, to let him know what she thought of his antics, but Roland’s lips were suddenly at her ear.
“We’re newlyweds,” he murmured. “Tis customary to share plate and a cup for at least a month.”
“What?” she stared up at him confusion. “That must be peculiarly customary in this part of the country, as I’ve never heard of it.” She looked to his elbow, and sure enough he had no cup of his own. Had he not been drinking all evening? And if not, why not?
“A toast to the bride!” yelled Sir Aubron, holding his cup aloft. There was a deafening noise as the revelers dragged back their heavy chairs and stood with their goblets aloft. “To the Lady Eden Vawdrey!”
“May she be always warm and willing!” roared one of the uncouth northern lords.
Eden felt herself tensing as the raucous laughter turned to bawdy jests. Roland’s arm slipped round her waist and rested there like a heavy, warm anchor. She felt herself relax slightly.
“Shall we to bed?” he muttered against her brow. Eden had been shown the bedchamber she was to use earlier, when she had freshened up before the feast. Roland had not joined her then, and she did not know if he meant to join her later.
“Not now,” Eden replied tightly. “They’ll all think –,” she broke off wretchedly.
He squeezed her hip. “Let me know when you’ve had enough.”
“I could retire, and you stay down here with your friends,” she pointed out, but he didn’t appear to hear. It was very loud at their table, Eden thought despairingly. She didn’t like to lean in close to him again, in case he took it as another invitation to kiss her. Feeling flustered and out of place, Eden clutched at her skirts and hoped her smile wasn’t turning too glassy. Roland nodded meaningfully at her cup and before she’d even thought about it, she was raising it obligingly to his lips.
One of the knights sat to her right chuckled. “Thought you said his wife was a sour-faced scold,” he said over-loudly to his neighbor. “The lass seems amenable enough to me!”
Eden stared hard at Roland to see if he’d heard it too, but he just wiped his lip on his sleeve and smacked his lips in satisfaction.
The next hour was a very trying one for Eden. The roast meats were brought out and sure enough, she and Roland were expected to share a plate and feed each other. Her cheeks burned, but luckily, everyone seemed to expect a rosy-cheeked bride, so it was not remarked upon.
“Tis very different from the feasting at court,” she answered, when Sir Ned Bevan sat at Roland’s left, tried to include her in their conversation.
“A lot more lively,” he agreed with an uncertain grin.
Eden could tell Roland’s friends were ill at ease in her company, but what could she do? Their society would hardly be her first choice either! She racked her brains for some common ground, but in truth they had none, save Roland. “Have you known one another for many years?” she asked with an air of desperation.
“We were squires together, as youths,” Sir Ned told her.
“I see.” She glanced at Roland, who seemed content to simply sit back and watch her, rather than facilitate the conversation. “You must have had many adventures together I think,” she hazarded.
She watched an uneasy look flit over Sir Ned’s good-natured face. “Just boyish scrapes,” he assured her with an air of anxiety.
Roland rolled his eyes. “She’s my wife Bev, not my aged aunt,” he told his friend dryly.
Eden tried to not to react to the casual way Roland was slinging the word ‘wife’ around. He certainly seemed a lot more comfortable with the married terminology than she. Then she found herself worrying Sir Ned thought her too prim and stern to share boyhood tales with. “I am not so far removed from my own youth, I hope,” she joked feebly. After all, she was not yet three and twenty! Truth was, that she had been the most obedient and well-behaved child in all Karadok, and had never had a hair out of place, let alone put a foot wrong. She braced herself for Roland to guess as much, but he said nothing. Merely trailed a hand down in her side, in an absent caress that would normally have had her jumping out of the chair. He had given her a fair few swallows of wine this evening though, so she sat there and allowed it. She presumed it was for the benefit of hi
s companions in any case, so it would be a shame to ruin the effect.
Thus encouraged, Sir Ned launched into a lengthy and rambling set of stories involving apple scrumping, fist fights and youthful feuding which made very little sense to Eden, except to realize that squires at court were a lot less hemmed in than young noblewomen were. A couple of times Ned started a tale and then seemed to collect himself, breaking off to change his mind about telling it to her. Deemed them rather too colorful for her ears, she guessed. At one point, he got distracted by the way Roland was playing with her fingers, his eyes nearly starting from his head.
“Your tales are boring Eden,” Roland drawled, as Sir Ned lost his train of thought.
“No, no,” she said weakly.
“Well, he’s boring me,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. He kissed her fingers. “Let’s go to bed.” Sir Ned coughed and averted his eyes, as Roland stood abruptly from the table and all eyes swiveled in their direction. Before the first jest had even been uttered, Eden found herself scooped up out of her seat and into his arms. “Bid the company goodnight, wife,” he prompted her.
Eden held up her hand in farewell as he swept her out of the hall to the accompaniment of whistles and cat-calls. “Why on earth do grown men behave like that without civilizing company?” she puzzled aloud. Roland didn’t bother to answer her, simply scaled the staircase with seemingly little effort. “You can put me down now, you know.” Again, he didn’t give any indication of having heard her. Eden tipped her head back to look at him. He crooked a quizzical eyebrow in return. “You’re being very high-handed, this evening,” she told him, wondering why she wasn’t more incensed about it.
“Mayhap you should get used to it,” he said thoughtfully.
She frowned. “That’s not what you said before,” she reminded him. “You said we would not disrupt one another’s lives overmuch.“
“No, you said that,” Roland corrected her. “I just didn’t argue with you.”
“That’s commonly taken for agreement,” she pointed out, as he opened the door to their chamber for the night.
“And I’m not arguing now either,” he added mildly. “I’ve something else entirely in mind.”
Eden’s brow puckered as he shut the door behind them and walked toward the bed. She felt a twinge of apprehension. He laid her down on the bed and gazed down at her a moment. She couldn’t fathom the expression in his eyes which were dark and full of ... something. “Can you please lock the door?” she asked in a strangled voice. “I’ve never relished sleeping in strange places.” And if it was bolted, it would likely guard against her sleep-walking again.
He walked back to the door without a murmur and shot the bolt across. Then he crossed to the dresser and performed a perfunctory strip wash. Eden stared up at the ceiling, trying to remind herself that they had, in all likelihood done this before. Even if she could not remember it, and anyway it was far too late for maidenly nerves. She was glad she’d had some wine now, or she’d probably be tense as a block of wood. She had realized somewhere along the way, which was that Roland was not going to settle for marriage in name only. Even she, oblivious as she was to men’s foibles, had picked up on the fact he liked to touch her. Indeed, he couldn’t seem to stop. Tonight, at first, it had crossed her mind he was doing it to salve her pride, by letting it be seen that they were on terms of supposed intimacy. But after a while, that suspicion had faltered. Roland Vawdrey did not strike her as a good actor or hider of feelings. As mind-boggling a notion as it was, it seemed he was touching and stroking her because he actually wanted to. She swallowed as she heard his footsteps approach the bed. She should get up and wash, but suddenly she felt as heavy as if she were made of stone. The bed dipped and he climbed on the bed, but instead of settling on his side, he reached for her immediately.
“I should undress,” she muttered, as he rolled into her and began kissing her, running his hands up and down her sides.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” he said thickly. “I want to do it.”
Eden blinked. “You want to take my clothes off?” she asked uncertainly.
“Gods, yes,” he breathed, though he seemed in no hurry, his lips lingering on hers as he placed very soft kisses on her mouth. And not just kisses. He nipped her bottom lip, only gently, but she definitely felt his teeth. When he did it again, she jolted and tried to draw her head back, but suddenly, his tongue darted out and licked along the seam of her mouth and when she tried to draw a shuddering breath, he did that shocking thing where he slid his tongue right into her mouth! Eden squirmed under him, as he rolled right into her, his heavy body pressing into her and rubbing against her. Her head reeled. His hand was in her hair, tugging her head back as he thoroughly ravished her mouth. She heard a strangled groan, and wasn’t sure who had uttered it. She had a horrible feeling it might have been her! Her eyes flew open as she felt his hands at her front laces, unfastening her bodice. And not only that, his big warm hands were shaping and kneading her breasts, slipping inside the fabric and gently squeezing and stroking her sensitive skin there. Hurriedly, she closed her eyes again, unable to watch something so indecent! She panted and twisted as he tugged down the fabric to gain greater access. As he palmed her breasts, she bit her lip and realized she was not trying to escape his groping hands, but actually to assist them! What on earth was she doing? Now he had lowered his head and was covering her bosom with soft kisses. Was that even normal? When he added his tongue, she gave a cry that would have embarrassed her, if he had not simultaneously robbed her of the ability to think by taking her nipple into his mouth. She gave up. She was not in control of her own body’s reactions, let alone his. Collapsing back on the mattress, she simply gave herself up to sensation as he roamed over her with his shocking hands and wicked mouth. Roland Vawdrey was consuming her alive. His appetite was ravenous, but what was her undoing, was his consummate tenderness. He was being so careful with her, that it brought a lump to her throat. Why was he being like this? Acting like she was the most delicious and precious morsel that he’d ever tasted? It was bewildering. She couldn’t get her whirling thoughts together. Then he backed off a moment, throwing his head back to catch his breath, and his eyes glittered down at her. Eden tried not to imagine the view he was getting of her, on her back, her breasts spilling out of her unfastened gown, her face red, her chest heaving. Still, she couldn’t break eye contact as he reached for her skirts and started hitching the fabric up. Her legs fell apart as his fingers brushed the inside of her thighs, and when she hurriedly tried to correct this, it was too late as his hand was already between her legs, rubbing and fondling her there too, in a manner which shocked her so much, she could barely think straight. “R-Roland!” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Yes, Eden,” he murmured huskily, his fingers circling her and his thumb pressing against her so intimately that she felt herself violently trembling. Why did everything feel so… wet down there?
“W-wait!” she quavered. “Oh! Oh!” The last word was a shriek. Suddenly his fingers plunged so deep inside her, that she winced at the sensation. “Owch!” It wasn’t enough pain to stop her quivering, delicate flesh from luxuriating around the invasive press of his fingers though. She bit her lip, and strained against his big fingers as he moved them in such a way, that the tremors intensified, until pleasure shot through her, jolting her in waves, and she found herself moving against him, desperately seeking more. He gave it her, his circling thumb, his fingers deep, drawing out unspeakable gratification from her body until she gave herself completely over to the sensation, her head flung back, and her body taut like a bow. Finally, she collapsed, spent, her chest heaving, and her cheeks wet with tears. He moved back up her body, and kissing her again on her mouth, gently at first and then with his tongue. He moved his fingers inside her again and Eden whimpered, everything still felt so fluttery down there and sensitive. She winced again, as she felt him add another finger.
“Sore?” he asked huskily. She nodded, a
nd watched a pained look cross his face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Eden.” She blinked up at him. His expression was so regretful that she found she believed him.
She tipped her head and felt the oddest inclination. Reaching out, she hesitantly touched his cheek. He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. Eden watched with fascination as he closed his eyes briefly, and then re-opened them again. He shifted over her, urging her thighs apart. Eden’s arms fell to her sides. She clutched the bedsheets as he aligned their bodies, so they would fit. She felt his male appendage, heavy and bobbing against her stomach, then the tip of it was pressing at her entrance. Her eyes flew wide with alarm. One of Roland’s hands planted on the mattress by her shoulder. The other was still between her legs, guiding himself into her. She tried not to show her discomfort, her alarm as he pushed in. No wonder he’d been worried. His staff was monstrous huge and unwieldy! She wanted to push him away from her, but managed to stifle the un-wifely impulse. Her eyes watered as he sank slowly into her, inch by painful inch. Feeling his gaze on her face, she tried to make her expression a blank, but could not help but flinch, when she felt him lodged deep. Her depths burned, and she took a deep breath to fortify herself. Surely there could not be much more of this she was supposed to bear? Nature could not be that cruel! Then he groaned deep, as if in pain, and her eyes flew to his face. But it wasn’t pain, she realized, for Roland’s expression was rapt as if in the throes of some kind of ecstasy.
“You feel so-” he whispered. “I can’t stand it – “ He shuddered, and she had barely the chance to wonder what he was trying to express when she was shoved back into the mattress, his whole weight crushing into her as he bore down on her, digging his knees into the bed to brace himself against her. Eden’s hands flapped to his sides in alarm as she tried to hang on for dear life. His hips shifted over hers fitfully. Each time he jolted against her, she winced, feeling him deep within her. She could feel his manhood throbbing and the sensation was so strange it took her mind momentarily off the pain. “Eden,” he muttered thickly. Was she supposed to answer him? She felt scandalized that he should want speech with her when he was doing something so dreadfully intimate. To her discomfort, she realized he was looking directly into her eyes now. She turned her head aside, and to her dismay, he dropped his face into her neck and groaned against her sensitive skin there. She could feel his every breath as he cursed and moaned and even kissed her there as he thrust again and again. Eden found herself devoutly hoping no-one was in the bed-chambers on either side, he made so much noise! And the bed was nearly as bad, creaking and squeaking and knocking against the wooden paneling. How long did this act usually take for heaven’s sake?
An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3) Page 11