Lord of Hearts

by Gillgannon, Mary

  He braced himself. Whatever he did, he must not let her guess how much he wanted her. She must not know the utter helplessness he felt when he held her in his arms. In those moments, he would do anything to please her. Anything to make her want him. He was not stupid, but his body was. His foolish body would do anything to earn her compliance.

  She turned and came back to where he stood. “The truth is…I want to consummate our marriage.”

  He stared at her, stunned. Then suspicion kicked in. She was still toying with him. He raised his brows. “Your behavior says otherwise.”

  She batted her eyes and shot him a winsome smile. “I do.”

  The utter falsity of her manner almost made him snort in disgust. Then he decided to play along. He jerked his tunic over his head and sat in one of the chairs to remove his boots.

  “Nay, I…I didn’t mean…”

  He looked up, feigning bafflement. “’Tis an act easier performed naked.” He motioned. “If you need assistance with the lacing on your gown, I’ll help you as soon as I’ve finished.”

  She made a breathy, panicked sound. “But I…the thing is, I’m afraid.”

  This time he did snort. “You don’t strike me as a woman who is afraid of anything.”

  “But it’s true. I’ve heard there is pain. And blood.”

  He met her gaze, staring hard into her exquisite green eyes. “There are ways to minimize your discomfort. To make it pleasurable for you.”

  At the mention of pleasure, the atmosphere between them instantly altered. Gone was his bitterness at her deception. All he could think about was touching her cool, milky skin. Holding her slender form in his arms. Kissing those delicate, rosebud lips.

  Her mood also altered. Her false anxiety transformed to genuine fear. But he didn’t think she was alarmed about the physical discomfort of consummation. What panicked her was the thought she might enjoy it.

  He got up and approached her. She didn’t move away, but stood frozen like a hare as a predator approached. Well, he could be as ruthless as any predator. He took her in his arms and brought his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Nine

  Nay, I didn’t mean…the desperate, unspoken thought fluttered away, and all her clever plans vanished. She could think of nothing but the taste of his mouth. The firm, insistent pressure of his lips against hers. The feel of his bare chest, with its coarse hair and taut skin. His body, warm and hard. She could feel the power of him. His strength. She wanted to melt into that strength. Her arms reached up to encircle his neck.

  She clung to him as his kisses made her knees weak, and her body limp and boneless. He was an ocean and she drifted along on his power, giving herself up to his rhythms. The rise and fall of his chest. The tantalizing dance of his tongue in her mouth. The glorious life and heat of his body.

  Shimmering pleasure rippled along her spine. It curled tendrils around her breasts and belly. Aroused a fire deep within her. Made her mouth water and her whole being yearning and hungry.

  Still kissing her, he explored her body with his strong, calloused hands. He caressed her back. Stroked her buttocks. Gently squeezing. Pressing her against him. She could feel his arousal through his braies. A hard lance against her belly. She wriggled and felt his phallus come alive. Her body knew where that lance should be sheathed. What it was meant to do. Knew its purpose was to soothe the growing, desperate ache between her legs.

  He pulled at her skirts, dragging them up. His hands found bare skin. She moaned into his mouth and her body grew frantic. Need awakened her from her pleasurable, drifting trance. She wanted more. More contact, skin against skin. For their bodies to be joined. She would die if it did not happen.

  *

  Even in the mindless haze of pleasure, Gerard was aware of the decision looming. Did he bed her like this, half-clothed, her skirts rucked up? If he drew away so they could undress properly, he might rouse her from her wild trance of passion. Cause her to think about what she was doing and reconsider. Her ardor would turn to anger, and she would reject him as fervently as she now embraced him.

  He eased her toward the bed and disengaged to lift her onto it. Then he immediately climbed on top of her and began kissing her again. Between kisses, he managed to undo the drawstring of his braies and pull them down. He worked at the top of her gown and bared one creamy, silken breast. He nuzzled her nipple and then drew it into his mouth. Her answering moan of rapture almost undid him, but somehow, he maintained control. Even as he mouthed and kissed her lush, silken skin, he eased up her skirts and ripped off her loincloth.

  Free to explore her lower body, he gently slid her thighs apart and pulled back to gaze at her coppery curls and rosy, shimmering petal-like folds. The sight made him even more impatient. With a gasp, he dipped his head to taste paradise. Her body seemed to explode. He gripped her hips tightly as he lathed and licked and tongued. She tasted of salt and heat and sweet, yeasty femininity, and he drowned in her essence.

  When her moans became frantic, he sat up and moved his body over hers, his cock poised like an arrow over its target. But some vestige of reason recalled that she was a virgin. Instead of thrusting into her, he guided his cock to her opening and rubbed himself against her wetness, then pushed into her a bare inch. Enough to tantalize her but not breach her maidenhead. She cried out and writhed. He repeated the gentle assault, pushing deeper this time.

  “Please, please! Do it!” she screamed.

  Freed from the agony of holding back, he thrust deep. She screamed again and this time not from pleasure. He went still, giving her body time to adjust. Looking down at her face, he saw her eyes were closed and she was panting.

  “It gets better,” he murmured. “It does.” Then he brought his mouth to hers.

  *

  Intense pressure. Her body torn asunder. She didn’t want him to kiss her, but somehow his mouth, gentle on hers, eased her pain. He reached down between them, fondling near where his body impaled hers. Her body responded. Relaxing. Opening. His shaft pressed deeper and still deeper. Something inside her yielded and broke free. Something else tightened and rippled. Whirled and danced. Then he was moving inside her, and she was arching her back and giving into the roaring fire that rose up between them.

  A few moments later, it was over. He withdrew and his fierce lance turned back to normal flesh. Her own body felt weak and spent and yet trembled with delicious quivers of pleasure. She wanted him to kiss and hold her. Then she remembered he was her enemy. Her enemy, and she had surrendered to him. Completely. Utterly.

  The thought banished the lazy warmth seeping through her, and she felt empty and lost. How had he done it? How had he so suborned her will? There was no enchanted spring or mischievous water sprite she could blame. Her body had betrayed her. Not to mention, he was good at this. Very good. He’d known exactly how to make her yield.

  The thought made her furious. Not only at his cleverness, but also the idea he’d done this many times before. It enraged her to think of him with other women. Kissing. Coaxing. Teasing them until they gave him exactly what he wished.

  She opened her eyes and glared at him. “How many women had you done this with? How many other maids have you despoiled?”

  His eyes widened. He had obviously expected her to be subdued and meek. To purr and sigh and melt in his arms. To act like all his other lovers had. Well, not her. She would not do that.

  Stiff with outrage, she sat up and fought to rearrange her gown, bunched and tangled around her midsection. She scooted to the edge of the bed and got up. But her wretched garment continued to thwart her.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  She flashed him a look of fury and he froze. How compelling he looked, his dark hair mussed and his hazel eyes turned a dark, smoky hue. She drew her gaze away, determined not to seek out the beguiling lance of flesh that had taken her to paradise. He would be flaccid now, but that didn’t matter. Her body remembered what he had done to her and wanted to do it again. She hated him even more
for making her feel like this.

  “Stay away from me, you….you…” If he were a woman, she’d call him a shameless whore. But what insult did you hurl at a man who was a spectacular lover?

  She focused on taming her wretched gown, finally getting her bodice in place and her skirts untangled. Moisture seeped down her thighs. His seed mingling with her own secretions. She wanted desperately to wash, but there was no water in the bedchamber. And she wasn’t about to raise her skirts and give him any ideas of tumbling her a second time. Although her body quite liked the idea.

  Her miserable, stupid body. And him—the smooth, practiced lover. She wanted to glare at him and let him see her fury. But she feared her anger would weaken if she looked at him. Instead, she muttered the worst epithet she could think of: “Bastard!” and stalked from the room.

  *

  Gerard stared after his wife, feeling as if she’d slapped him. Even after all these years, the word still stung. And coming from her, a chieftain’s daughter, a princess, it hurt all the more.

  How could she possibly be so angry? What had he done…besides deflowering her with tenderness and skill and giving her pleasure in the bargain? Her changes in mood defied reason. She was the most infuriating, stubborn person he’d ever encountered. No one could please someone so prickly and defiant. So nonsensical.

  Why could he not have wed a normal woman? She could have been old or ugly. With rank breath. Half-bald. Missing a limb. He could have dealt with any of that. But this…to be bound to this whirlwind, this wild, untamed force of nature. He constantly had to be on guard. To weigh his every word and action. Even when he was as careful as he could possibly be, it didn’t matter.

  He rose from the bed and snatched up his clothing. He wanted to go after her and give her a piece of his mind. Remind her that he was her husband and she had no right to treat him like this.

  Nay, he didn’t want to do that. What he wanted to do was quiet her tart-tongued mouth with kisses, hold her in his arms and have her again. She might insult him and rage at him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing altered his yearning for her.

  He dressed, breathing slowly and evenly, forcing himself to think. He should be pleased to have consummated the marriage and secured the alliance with Caradoc. He was lord of a fine castle. He’d never dreamed of reaching such heights. His father would be so proud of him.

  The thoughts restored his equilibrium. By the time he left the room he was calm again. The only thing gnawing at him was the knowledge his wife couldn’t avoid him forever. Eventually, they would be alone in the bedchamber again. And then, God help him, he would end up as powerless and vulnerable as ever.

  *

  Marared paced in the garden. By the saints, she’d done it again. Failed to secure her husband’s permission to meet Aoife. Given him what he wished and gotten nothing in return.

  Not quite true. No matter what happened, she’d have the memory of their coupling. The feel of his body inside hers. Nearly unbearable. But also wonderful. She was still surrounded by the miasma of his scent, the reminder of his potent maleness. The tingling delight it aroused made her pause before a bed of gillyflowers. A tremor of remembered bliss passed through her body.

  She squared her shoulders to shake off the mood. Life wasn’t about pleasure. It was about duty and survival and prevailing against your enemies. She must not forget that. She’d missed her chance, but there would be another. Although she hated to delay setting her plan in motion, she had no choice.

  But how did she deal with him until them? Having exerted his marital rights, Malmsbury would expect her to share her bed from now on. She would have to make it very clear she’d done her duty and they were back to being enemies. But if she was stubborn and cold and refused to let him near, he might not agree to let her meet with Aoife. She’d have to think of something else.

  Perhaps for tonight she could avoid him by pretending to still be angry. Of course, it wasn’t really pretending. She was angry with him. She was furious he was such a skilled and tender lover. Outraged that he had taken what could have been an unpleasant and painful experience and made it so enjoyable. It was madness, but that was what she most held against him. She despised him for making her unable to despise him. It would almost be laughable if it didn’t reveal how pathetic she was.

  The scriptures proclaimed females as the weaker sex, and said males were superior in every sense. But most of the women she knew were every bit as strong as a man. They might not be able to overcome a male in a physical combat, but in terms of reasoning and strategizing, they were certainly the equal of any male. Or mayhaps they were even stronger. How else did they survive the travail of childbirth?

  But she was craven and worthless. An embarrassment to her line. All it took was a few kisses and caresses and she was at the mercy of her enemy. She found herself longing to see Malmsbury, to be near him. The thought made her queasy with shame. She needed to stay far, far away from him. But first, she must get what she wished, and do so without giving in to her shameful cravings.

  How would she ever manage it?

  *

  It took a while, but she finally felt she’d regained enough control to leave the garden. She walked to the castle, her body stiff with trepidation. She would have to sit beside Malmsbury at the evening meal. It would be torture. But it also presented her with another opportunity to ask him about going to Abergavenny. In the hall, surrounded by people, he would not able to suborn her will with kisses and caresses.

  First, she must tidy her appearance. She’d used the privy and washed after leaving the bedchamber, but not bothered to brush her hair or put on a headcovering. If she was going to pretend to be the meek, dutiful wife, she must look the part. She needed help.

  She found Edith in the weaving room. As soon as she saw Marared, she rose from the loom she was working on. Her eyes were wide with surprise. “Milady?”

  “I need your help with my hair.”

  Edith nodded and followed Marared to the bedchamber. Marared took a seat on the stool, staring straight ahead as Edith fetched her hairbrush from the coffer. She would not look at the bed, that potent reminder of what she and Malmsbury had done in this room only a short while before. Everything around her aroused memories that make her skin tingle and her heart beat faster. She could almost imagine the warm, musky scent of Malmsbury’s skin and the sweetness of his seed lingering in the air. Could Edith tell? Had she seen the mussed bedcovers and guessed what they’d done?

  Surely not. An innocent girl like Edith had no idea of the magic men and women could conjure between them. The potent, heady brew of lust and the way it could muddle your wits so completely.

  “Milady, are you well?”

  “Why would I not be?”

  “You are trembling.”

  Not trembling. Quivering at the memory of their passion. Her cursed body. The priests warned the temptations of the flesh were a powerful evil. They were right. “Perhaps I was outside in the sun too long.”

  “You do seem flushed. Your skin is so fair. Even this time of year, the sun can burn it.”

  “I should have worn a headcovering. Indeed, tonight I think I will wear a circlet and veil to the evening meal.”

  “Are we expecting guests?”

  “Nay. Why would you think that?”

  “Why else would you wear a veil?”

  How did she explain her sudden desire to appear modest and meek? She certainly wasn’t going to wear a headcovering to dinner every night. “I feel like it, ’tis all. Can I not dress as I wish now that I am Lady Malmsbury?”

  “Of course, milady.”

  Marared instantly regretted her sharp words. “I’m sorry to be so ill-humored. I do think I got too much sun.”

  “Do you worry milord will be displeased you’ve burned your fair skin? I don’t think he is like that.”

  “Like what?”

  Edith’s hands stilled in brushing Marared’s hair. “He isn’t the sort to worry much about appearances or make m
uch of being a lord. When he first came here, he let it be known he’d come from humble beginnings himself and that he intended to judge everyone on their work, rather than their rank or whatever history they might have at the castle. So he won’t care if you don’t always appear the refined and dainty lady.”

  Edith’s words reminded her how clever Malmsbury was. By allowing the castle staff to start fresh with him, as well as pointing out his own modest background, he’d sought to win the people’s loyalty. It looked like he had succeeded. He’d made them feel comfortable with him by pointing out he wasn’t a rich lord’s heir, but a bastard.

  Had she hurt him when she’d called him that? No matter. She would not worry about his feelings. He was the enemy.

  Edith finished brushing Marared’s hair, then went to the coffer and removed the clothing on top to uncover the smaller chest containing Marared’s jewelry and head coverings.

  “You seem to know where everything is.”

  Edith’s small hands rigid went on the carved applewood chest. “When you first arrived, I sorted through your things. To see what might need airing or to be hung on the clothing pole. I’m sorry, milady, if I did something wrong. I only wanted to serve you.”

  Marared shrugged. “The truth is, I know very little about dressing like a proper English lady. Perhaps you can advise me.”

  Edith opened the small coffer and began to sort through it. “Few gentlewomen visited here. But whenever one of them did, I took careful note of how they dressed and wore their hair.”

  “So, what do you think I should wear to dinner?”

  “The green veil.” Edith removed the length of shimmering silk and shook it out. “’Twill contrast pleasingly with your bright hair and rosy skin.”

  “You mean my sunburned skin.” Marared shot the maid a rueful smile. Edith gave a tentative smile back. The expression made her almost pretty.

  “With the gold circlet,” Edith added.

  It seemed very excessive for an ordinary evening meal. But Marared hoped it would help Malmsbury forget her harsh words and grant her request. Once she’d gotten what she wanted, she could go back to dressing however she liked.