Lord of Hearts

by Gillgannon, Mary

  The heedlessness of Marared’s nature probably came from her upbringing. She’d never had any reason to learn to guard her tongue and dissemble. She’d grown up protected and cosseted, with the assurance of a safe, comfortable future. She had no idea how cruel and harsh life was for most people.

  It startled him to think how little they had in common. He thought constantly of the consequences of his actions, always focusing on the future, rather than what was happening at the moment. To be wed to this impetuous woman felt like being tied to a whirlwind. Somehow, they must reach some sort of agreement. He didn’t want to have to be on his guard in his own home. He must get her to accept him and this marriage.

  He turned to look at her. Marared had thrown back the hood of her mantle, revealing hair as bright as polished bronze. The rich color of her tresses set off her pale face and made her green eyes gleam like jewels. Combined with her pert nose and full rosy mouth, the effect was breathtaking. Heat immediately filled his groin at the thought of finally sharing a bed with her and possessing her beautiful body. He had every reason in the world to consummate the marriage. Every reason.

  But how to go about it? How should he initiate lovemaking with a woman who was as prickly as hedgehog? He’d never had a virgin before, but he knew they must be readied. Unless great care was taken, she might experience pain during penetration. Then she would really hate him.

  A band of apprehension tightened around his chest. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this. It was like meeting his deadliest enemy, but instead of seeking to defeat them in battle, he had to charm and cajole his foe to agree to terms. What weapons were appropriate in this situation? He’d tried pleasant words and expressing concern for her welfare. But she appeared angered by his every attempt to please her.

  Maybe he should fight fire with fire. Perhaps she only understood coercion. That must be how Caradoc dealt with her. He should have asked the Welsh chieftain’s advice for dealing with his daughter when he’d the chance.

  As they started down the trackway to the drawbridge, Gerard made his decision. They were entering his realm and it was time he enforced his will upon his wife. He would not be cruel, but he would be firm. He was her husband; she must accept that.

  Chapter Four

  Marared suppressed a shiver of foreboding as they neared Tangwyl. She’d lied to Malmsbury. The castle was impressive. Formidable walls of gray stonework, crested with the jagged teeth of the towers, loomed up from the river valley. Compared to Caer Brynfawr’s low, wooden walls and sprawl of dwellings and storage buildings, this place seemed overwhelming. She wanted to turn her horse around and gallop back to the mountains.

  But there was a whole troop of knights behind her, blocking her way. She could only go forward, into the menacing maw of the castle entrance, the portcullis gate like huge jaws ready to snap shut behind her.

  Malmsbury glanced back at her. She told herself to breathe deeply and steadily so he would not guess her fear. If she maintained a defiant façade, he might decide she was too much trouble and leave her alone.

  Either that, or he might demand his rights with brutal force. She felt both dread and relief at the thought of being raped. Dread for the pain and humiliation. Relief at the thought it would make her hatred of him even fiercer and more unquenchable. As it was, although she despised him for being a Sais, she couldn’t quite hate him as a man. He’d done nothing to arouse her personal animosity. Perhaps he was right and true enemies had to have something personal between them. Mayhaps being from different races wasn’t enough.

  They clattered across the drawbridge and entered the bailey of the castle. Ostlers and squires came forward to take their mounts. A boyish, fair-haired youth helped Marared off her mare. She wondered if he had Saxon blood. Their race had also been terribly oppressed, yet they had learned to live with their conquerors. Perhaps that was because the Saxons were not that different from the men of William the Bastard, the brutal knight who had led his army across Britain near two centuries ago.

  The Saxons were farmers and lived in lowland settlements, while the Cymry primarily grazed livestock and hunted. And the Saxons were obviously not as bold and proud as her people either. Otherwise they would never have given in.

  Malmsbury approached. “Aubrey, take milady to the solar.” He motioned to the young man who had helped her off the horse. “Then fetch Hilda and tell her to make certain my wife has whatever she requires.”

  At the word wife, the youth jerked around to stare at Marared. His expression of surprise made it clear the household hadn’t known their lord was to be wed. Young Aubrey quickly recovered himself and bowed. “Milady, if you would follow me.”

  He led her into the castle, and Marared had a glimpse of a vast hall filled with trestle tables as she followed Aubrey to a stairwell. They climbed and climbed, finally reaching the level where the solar was. Once there, Marared had to suppress a gasp of pleasure. This place was nothing like the drafty living quarters of her uncle’s keep in Ireland. It was almost cozy, with sheepskin coverings on the floor, bright tapestries on the walls and a variety of cushioned stools and benches for sitting.

  And light, glorious light. Four windows along one side let in the pale daylight, while their greenish glass glazing kept the cold and damp out.

  “Lady.” Aubrey bowed again. “I’ll fetch Hilda to serve you.”

  As soon as the young servant left, Marared began to explore. On one end of the large room, there was a heavy damask curtain. Pulling it aside, she beheld a great bed. She swallowed hard. This was obviously where the lord of the castle slept. And where she would be expected to yield her body to his. The size of the bed intimidated her, reminding her of the tall knight she would share it with.

  She jerked the curtain back in place and paced around the rest of the room.

  *

  “Yea, my lord. She’s settling in. I helped her wash and change her clothing, then had food sent up.” A smile brightened Hilda’s lined face. “’Twill be good to have a new mistress here, and a young and lively one as well.”

  “Was she…did she seem content?” He worried Marared had already revealed her animosity. It would be embarrassing to have the whole castle know his wife had been forced to wed him.

  “She was very quiet, as if caught up in her own thoughts. No doubt she is homesick.” Hilda clucked sympathetically. “Must be hard for her to leave her home to live among strangers. At least she speaks our language. ’Twould be miserable for her if she did not.”

  Gerard silently breathed a sigh of relief. Marared could not have behaved too badly or Hilda would not be so sympathetic. Perhaps now that Marared was here and faced with the reality of her circumstances, she would come to terms with the marriage.

  He asked Hilda to have bread, cheese and pottage brought to him in the hall. After eating, he went to the bathing shed and removed his garments, including the heavy hauberk he’d worn on the journey. He washed quickly in the tub of water servants had heated for him. Lady de Cressy set great store by bathing, so it seemed like a good idea to be scrupulously clean when he went to his bride. He didn’t want to give her any reason to shun him. That she thought he was a filthy Sais was bad enough.

  He dressed in a loose tunic and braies climbed the stairs to the solar. He’d thought she might be in bed. It was well past vespers and they’d made a long journey. But when he entered, she was seated on the window seat, staring out at the twilight sky. She rose as she heard his footsteps and turned to face him.

  She was clad in her shift, with a heavy woolen shawl wrapped around her upper body. Gerard guessed she was not so much cold as she was trying to keep the thin linen garment from being too revealing. Well, he’d have it off her soon enough. She could not hide her body from him. She was his wife.

  Her stance was wary, like an animal poised for flight. Her face, nearly expressionless. He remembered his resolve to be firm. She would not refuse him this night.

  “Milady. I think it’s time for bed.” He nodd
ed toward the curtained area.

  She raised her chin. “I’ll not sleep with you. Find me another chamber or fetch a pallet so I can bed down on the floor.” She glanced around the room. “Or, even a blanket. I could curl up on one of the benches.”

  “We are man and wife. ’Tis right and proper that we share a bed. At Caer Brynfawr, I offered you reprieve because we had scarce met. But you’ve rebuffed all my attempts at conversation, so we will have to proceed even though we are as yet still strangers. I promise I’ll be patient and gentle. There is nothing to fear.”

  “You think I’m afraid!” In the candlelight, her eyes seemed to throw off green sparks. “’Tis not fear that makes me refuse you. I’m simply not willing to offer my body to my enemy.”

  Gerard went rigid. This was not going to be as easy as he’d hoped. “You made vows before a priest and dozens of witnesses. One of those vows was to obey me.”

  “What else could I have done under the circumstances? I had no choice.”

  Gerard forced his voice to calmness. “It doesn’t matter why you wed me. The thing is done. You can’t change your mind now.”

  “Truly?” Her tone was dangerous. “What will you do? Force me?”

  He took a step nearer, trying to intimidate her. “’Tis my right.”

  She raised her chin. “Seize me, then. Throw me on the floor, or the bed, or wherever it pleases you. I’ll fight you.” She smiled. “I grew up with three brothers. I know a trick or two.”

  Dear God, what had he gotten into? The idea of grappling with a woman was utterly foreign. All he could think of was how easy it would be to hurt her, and his mind recoiled. “Why are you doing this? You know you can’t prevail. Even with a weapon, you’re no match for me.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I win. My goal is to keep my pride intact. I’ll not willingly surrender my maidenhead to my enemy.”

  “We’re not enemies. Your father and I have an agreement. You can’t hate me simply because I’m English. Such reasoning is childish. Witless.” He was losing patience. What did she hope to accomplish? Did she mean to provoke him into raping her so she could justify her dislike of him?

  “Ah, so now you insult me. How typical of your kind.”

  “I’ve also complimented you, treated you with courtesy, afforded you every comfort.” He gestured to the cozy, well-appointed room.

  “I’ll not change my mind. You can’t tempt me with gifts and empty flattery.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, seeking to tamp down his burgeoning frustration. What did he do now? He’d vowed not to back down.

  He opened his eyes and lunged. Her response was quick, but not quick enough. He grabbed her by the arms. She flailed and jerked, but could not break free. He held her tightly, thinking he’d never been this close to her before, except for the brief kiss that sealed their marriage ceremony. With her face mere inches away, he was acutely aware of the flush of blood beneath her milky skin, the throb of the pulse in her throat, the tempting softness of her lips, parted to reveal white, even teeth. Jesu, he’d never had a woman half this lovely!

  He leaned forward to kiss her. As his mouth brushed hers, he felt her teeth and reared back. “By the Cross! You b—” He stopped before the insult escaped his lips.

  “Go on. Call me names. As if they could hurt me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then leave me be!”

  “I can’t do that. You know as well as I this marriage must be consummated.”

  “Then, force me. ’Tis the only way you’ll get what you wish.”

  She’s right. And that’s what she wants. He vaguely remembered overhearing some knight talking about his lover and how she liked it rough. Maybe Marared was the same. Although how could she know what sort of lovemaking she preferred? Unless she wasn’t a virgin. What if she’d lost her maidenhead previously and hoped that if he raped her, he would be too caught up in the struggle to notice her lack of a maidenhead?

  Something inside went him dark and cold at the thought. She was his! And he would have her!

  He tightened his grip and dragged her toward the bed. She flailed and fought. Once past the curtain, he dumped her on the silk coverlet, then immediately climbed up to straddle her. Forcing her wrists over her head, he glared down at his bride. The shawl was long gone and the thin fabric of her shift stretched taut against her body, revealing the soft contours of her breasts. His shaft was rock hard beneath his braies. Her scent was sweet, provocatively female. That, and the potent eroticism of her nearness, threatened to undo him.

  But there were awkward details to overcome. He’d have to release one of her wrists to pull down his braies and pull up her shift. And he really wanted to have the garment all the way off of her, so he could see her naked. He desired no quick, thoughtless tumble, but to love her at his leisure. To caress her soft skin and explore the graceful curves that so intrigued him. To kiss not only that bedeviling mouth, but the rest of her body. To taste the honeyed essence of her skin. Suckle her breasts…

  Abruptly, she began to thrash. All his heated imaginings were futile. This first time he would have to enter her quickly and get it over with. Later, when she was resigned to her circumstances, perhaps he could attempt seduction.

  He finally forced her to stillness by using his weight to stop her desperate movements. Now he could feel the full length of her soft, supple body pressed against his, and it was nearly unbearable. His heated flesh screamed for release. “Please stop struggling. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Of course you do, you puling whoreson! You’re an animal like the rest of them! A crude beast!”

  She was striking out this way because it was the only weapon she had left. He’d overpowered her, and now she was desperate. Why wouldn’t she give in? What sort of unholy determination drove her? If she were a man, he would admire her for being so tenacious. But under the circumstances, her behavior seemed absurd. She couldn’t win, so why wouldn’t she give up?

  Maybe it was a matter of pride. She might think giving in was shameful and cowardly. “Marared. I want you to know, if you surrender to me, I won’t think less of you. You’ve fought a good fight. Behaved as fiercely and valiantly as any warrior. No one can fault you for being weak.”

  “As if I cared what you think! As if I desire your regard!” The pupils of her eyes were huge. Her nostrils flared. Her fair skin flushed. Despite her fury, he’d never seen a woman so beautiful, so enticing. All that fire. To bed her would be like riding a river of flame.

  But there was still the problem of getting their clothing out of the way. And even then, he couldn’t simply thrust into her. That would be too brutal. He would have to ready her. Coax her body into yielding, even if her stubborn spirit would not. But how could he do that when he needed both hands to hold her down?

  He considered tying her to the bed. But that reminded him of trussing up an animal. He could not subject her to that.

  *

  Marared could feel her muscles growing fatigued from resisting. Why didn’t he get on with it?

  She could feel the hard weight of his body. The sensation of having him on top of her actually felt quite good. It made her want to squirm and rub up against him. He would think she was struggling, but actually she would be enjoying the pressure of his body against hers.

  She could not want that. She hated this man.

  It was only that he was so very near. She’d never observed a man this closely before. She could see the individual hairs of his whiskers. Rough dark stubble against the tanned skin of his jaw. Although she would never admit it, she liked that he did not have a beard or mustache. She could see his mouth and its shape intrigued her. It appeared both hard and soft at the same time.

  And his eyes. In some lights they seemed amber. In others, gray. Right now they were a light shade of green, with a wheel of smoky gold in the center. His eyelashes were surprisingly long. His brows had an elegant arch. It was the narrowness of his face and the hard look o
f his jaw that made his features seem so harsh and formidable.

  If he tried again to kiss her, she would only fight a little. And she would not bite this time…at least not very hard. Oh, how she wished he would get on with it! This was torture.

  Slowly, he raised himself, although he still gripped her wrists. He would have to let go to pull up her shift. Then she would struggle…but only enough to make him think she was still fighting him.

  He released her and rolled on his back. Marared was startled. Was he giving up? Had she truly won? He blew out the lamp on a table by the bed, then lay back and closed his eyes. “Climb under the covers.”

  When she didn’t move, he got out of bed, drew off his tunic and dropped it to the floor, He blew out the night candle on the table and climbed in bed. “Get under the covers. It grows cold.”

  She considered saying she would sleep on the floor rather than share a bed with him. But the stone floor, even with sheepskin rugs, would not be very comfortable. She wriggled her way under the coverlet, keeping a good distance from him. Staring up at the ceiling, she wondered how she would ever sleep.

  He turned on his side, facing away. “’Tis is only a continuation of our truce. The battle resumes tomorrow.”

  Chapter Five

  As he pretended to sleep, Gerard wondered if he was a coward. But what else could he have done? They’d reached a stalemate. Under such circumstances, a wise commander retreated. He didn’t want to force her. If he raped her, she would have won. He would have shown himself to be exactly what she accused him of being—crude and cruel. There had to be another way. Mayhaps he could slowly wear her down. Give her time to grow used to him and to her new circumstances, then try again.