“I vow, it sounds like the cunning wretch has already seduced you.”
“Don’t be silly. I would never dally with a man I’m not wed to.”
Marared’s whole body felt tight with shock and betrayal. She’d never imagined her cousin would get over her yearning for Rory and end up besotted with someone else. Especially one of the knights Malmsbury had left at Caer Brynfawr as part of the marriage agreement. And it had all happened so quickly, in the few weeks since the wedding. “No wonder you don’t want to do this. No wonder you keep finding excuses for why you should not to carry this message to Rhys.”
“I said I would do it, and I will.”
Weak. Her cousin was weak. That was the difference between them. Aoife might give in to the enemy, but she would not.
Marared forced herself to calm. She dared not reveal her true feelings to her cousin. Aoife’s cooperation was essential to her plan. “How is everything else at Caer Brynfawr?”
*
Gerard scrutinized Marared and Aoife as they left the priory, observing that neither woman looked happy. Marared appeared deep in thought, her eyes downcast and her mouth set in a grim line. Aoife also appeared discontent. For the dozenth time, Gerard wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake in agreeing to this meeting. But it would have been churlish of him to deny his wife an opportunity to meet with her cousin.
He should have insisted they meet at Caer Brynfawr. That would have been the normal arrangement. But he’d worried if she went back to her former home, it would make it even more difficult for her to accept her new life at Tangwyl.
He struggled to shake his gloomy mood, reminding himself that having done this favor for Marared, she had no excuse not to be intimate with him. Her courses must be over, so there was no reason for her to refuse him. If she tried to, he would remind her he’d done everything she wished and now it was her turn to accommodate him.
Although he didn’t want it to a matter of accommodation. The thought of her letting him bed her out of obligation or duty was distasteful. He wanted Marared to desire him as much as he desired her.
His passion seemed to grow stronger every time he looked at her. All he could seem to think about was getting his wife home and alone so he could kiss her and caress her and explore her beautiful body.
He hurried to help her onto her horse. “Did you have a pleasant visit?”
She smiled, although it appeared forced. “Aye. Very pleasant. Very satisfying.”
Chapter Twelve
Gerard tried to make conversation with Marared as he rode beside her, but her responses were terse. Aye, everyone at Caer Brynfawr was well. The weather there had also been wet, but not exceptionally so.
“And your father’s hounds? You mentioned one of his favorites had whelped.”
“Oh, aye.”
“How many males and how many females?”
She glanced at him, seemingly irritated. “What does it matter?”
“Don’t you recall that we discussed the idea of one the puppies coming to Tangwyl?”
She gave a distracted wave. “Aoife agreed to bring up the matter with my father.”
He felt certain she was lying; she and Aoife had discussed nothing of the sort. Why was she deceitful about the most trivial things? He considered confronting her, but decided there was no point. She’d only give him more lies, or grow angry and insulting. He didn’t fancy being called names.
Giving up on the conversation, he spurred his horse forward. There were times when he wondered if anything was worth enduring this miserable sham of a marriage. But he’d agreed to take control of Tangwyl, and that meant arranging this truce with Caradoc, which required him to wed Marared. He could not back out now, no matter how difficult things became.
He glanced around, hoping the spring scenery would ease his mood. After the rain, the vegetation was so green it was almost blinding, and blossoms were everywhere: white daisies, golden buttercups, purple madder, and delicate blue mountain pansies. The sweet fragrance of hawthorn and yellow root hung in the humid air. In a few hours they would reach the Tangwyl demesne. His lands, at least in the sense he was overlord.
There was no reason to be morose about his circumstances. He was very fortunate. How many landless knights, let alone bastards, ever had such an opportunity? He might bemoan his fate in being married to a difficult, exasperating woman, but a lot of knights never got the chance to marry at all. And while Marared might vex and frustrate him, she’d also given him the most transcendent sexual experience of his life.
The memory of their coupling instantly took over his thoughts. The feel of her silken skin. The delicious, beguiling scent of her, as lovely as the fragrance of any flower. Her silken mouth. Her passion, so intense and wild, it was like being carried away in a thunderstorm. He would give a great deal to have a chance to love her like that again.
Nay, he would not give up yet. As soon as she allowed him near, he would show her even perfection could be improved upon. There was so much left for them to explore. All he needed was a chance, and he would make her pleased she had married him.
*
Marared was very relieved when Malmsbury pulled ahead and she no longer had to make conversation with him. Being near him made her stomach churn. She couldn’t help thinking about what Aoife had said about the knight named Guy: He makes me laugh. Malmsbury had done far more than that to her. He’d given her intense pleasure. Made her moan and sigh with delight. What if Aoife was right? What if she was simply being stubborn? What if it would be better for everyone if she accepted her marriage and moved forward?
Back when Malmsbury had been an unknown, foreign-looking knight, it had been so easy to reject him. Now it became harder and harder every day. It took all her will. All her energy.
And it wasn’t merely the memory of their lovemaking that made things so difficult. In the past few weeks she’d learned what sort of person he was. Not arrogant and rude, but thoughtful and considerate. She’d never known him to be short or condescending with anyone: groom, page, or kitchen wench.
Maybe you’ve made a terrible mistake. Maybe you should turn around and go after Aoife. Tell her you’ve changed her mind. But then she’d have to explain to Malmsbury what she’d done. He’d never trust her after that.
But why did she want his trust?
Because he’d bedded her. Her feelings for him weren’t real. It was simply her lust suborning her will. Which meant she must not let him bed her again. The excuse of having her courses would no longer work. She’d have to come up with some other reason to keep him at a distance.
The dilemma gnawed at her, making her weary. By the time they reached Tangwyl, she was so tired she could hardly wait to get off her horse. Malmsbury saw how fatigued she was. They were barely into the bailey when he dismounted, handed the reins to the ostler, and hurried over to help her down. He settled her on her feet. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
His worried expression gave her an idea. She let herself wilt against him. “I think the food I ate at Abergavenny disagreed with me. I must lie down.”
“Can you walk? Do you want me to carry you?”
By the saints! That was all she needed. To have him hold her in his arms! “Nay. I am not that unwell. I can walk.” She straightened and gave him a quick smile.
He nodded, his hazel eyes dark with concern. “I’ll fetch Edith to tend you.”
She breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away. This was the means to get a reprieve from Malmsbury’s attentions. He was used to noblewomen who were sickly and frail. If he thought she was ill, he would never consider exerting his marital rights.
The plan should have soothed her mood, but it didn’t. Maybe she truly was ill. Or maybe she suffered from that dreaded disease the poets wrote about: she was heartsick.
*
Gerard paused before to the bedchamber door and gathered his resolve. It was time to confront his wife. When they first returned from Abergavenny, he’d believed her illness was real.
That the food at the Priory had been tainted or she’d taken a chill in the rain. But he’d soon become suspicious. Especially since Marared seemed to feel well enough to go to the garden when the weather was fair. It was at nightfall she appeared to decline. She would claim she was not up to joining him in the hall for the evening meal and then be in bed and asleep—or pretending to be—by the time he retired for the night.
He had a very good idea why Marared was pretending sickness. On the first night home from Abergavenny, when he’d attempted to join her in bed, she’d asked him to sleep elsewhere, saying she didn’t want him to catch whatever afflicted her. Later she spoke of sleeping restlessly and her worry she would disturb him if he tried to sleep beside her.
He’d quickly come to doubt her claims, yet remained reluctant to confront her. But he knew he couldn’t keep on like this. It was time to act. He opened the door and strode in.
Marared was seated on the padded window seat wearing a crumpled shift. As soon she saw it was him, she stiffened. “Milord.”
“Milady. How fare you today?”
A swift, calculating look crossed her face. “I thought I was better, but now I’m feeling faint again.”
He folded his arms and fixed her with a steady gaze. “I don’t believe you.”
“What?”
“I don’t think you’re ill. I think it’s an excuse to force me to keep my distance.”
Her eyes went wide, although he felt certain her shock was feigned. “I truly have been ill. If I shun you, ’tis because I don’t want you to catch whatever it is I suffer from.”
He approached the window seat and stood over her. “I accept the risk. Go back to bed if you wish. But I intend to join you there.”
“Now?” Her expression grew wild.
“Aye. Now.”
“But…I…” Her eyes narrowed and a hard look came over her face. “Of course.”
She rose slowly, her shoulders slumping, and made her way to the bed. He followed, wary. Did she guess his words were a bluff? If she refused him, he wasn’t going to force her. Even if the law said he had the right, he wouldn’t take her against her will. That was rape, a repulsive, cowardly act.
She slid beneath the blankets and lay flat on her back, eyes closed, as stiff and still as a corpse. A part of him could not help but be amused. So this was her plan, to pretend lovemaking was an onerous, unpleasant duty she must endure. His anxiety fell away, replaced by a keen sense of challenge. He felt certain he could get her to respond.
He removed his boots and undressed. When he was naked, he slid in bed next to her.
*
Curse him! He intended to go through with it! Well, she would not open her eyes. Or give him any sign she knew he was there. He could take her body, but he could not make her feel anything while he did so. She would be naught but a vessel for his lust. An empty shell. He could not say she’d denied him; he would get what he wanted, but it wouldn’t have anything to do with her.
She felt his mouth on hers and kept her lips tightly closed, resisting. He caressed her neck and shoulders. His calloused fingers were gentle and coaxing. She fought to control her response, but his touch seemed to leave a trail of fire in its wake. The smoldering heat grew more intense. It surged hotter when he fondled her breast and played with her nipple.
She told herself she was being tortured and willed herself to feel pain, to imagine the mounting pleasure as excruciating and miserable. But her body had a mind of its own. She struggled to hold back a moan.
His touch was delicate. Subtle. Enflaming. Unbearable. He seemed determined to explore every inch of her. His fingers lingered on body parts that should not have been sensitive: her arms, along her ribs, the curve of her hip, her belly. All the while he kept getting closer to the area she longed for him to touch. She would burst apart if he did not touch her there.
But, nay, she could not want that! She could not!
She took a deep breath, determined to quell her response. As her mouth opened, he took full advantage, kissing her deeply and using his tongue to tease and tantalize hers.
She jerked her head away. “Nay! Stop!”
“Why?” His breath was warm against her cheek. He kissed her again. She murmured her protest against his lips, then gave in and kissed him back. Even as she did so, she felt tears seep from beneath her eyelids. ’Twas not fair he could do this to her! ’Twas not!
He stopped kissing her. “You’re crying.”
“Aye.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“I think you do.”
“Nay, I do not!” She let out a sob. Her lower lip trembled.
With a sigh, he drew away. She immediately felt bereft. He climbed from the bed, his movements heavy and defeated. Her sense of loss and regret caused the words to slip out. “Nay, I didn’t mean…”
He turned to gaze at her, head cocked. Then, still staring at her, he climbed back into bed. He stroked her cheek. She closed her eyes and gave a little hiccup of resignation. What did it matter if she let him bed her? He’d already taken her maidenhead. There was no point resisting him now.
You’ll regret it. You’ll lose more of your will to fight him. Everything will be more difficult.
He silenced the warning voice inside her with another long, searching kiss. In moments she’d forgotten everything but the feel of his lips on hers. His taste, so warm and delicious. His kisses were leisurely. Tender. Exquisitely arousing. When she began to squirm and moan, he paused. “Mayhaps you should take off your shift.”
She nodded, lost in some mindless, languid haze. He helped her sit up, and she let him pull her shift from underneath her and over her head.
He eased her down on the bed and pushed the bedding aside. She shivered with expectation and her breathing quickened. Every inch of her seemed to pulse with excitement.
She struggled to remain still as his gaze moved over her, searing her skin with shimmering sensation. His caresses followed. His fingertips grazed her nipples, then he cupped her breasts, molding the flesh in his hands. His big, long-fingered, warm hands.
She pressed herself against the bed and tried not to writhe. Her breathing came hard and fast. If only he would move his tormenting hands lower, to the pulsing center of her body, the lodestone of her thoughts. She could feel wetness seeping out of her and she longed for him to fill the burning void inside her, the part of her that demanded to be joined with him.
He played lazily with her breasts, as if he had all the time in the world. Streaks of fiery need swelled inside her and overwhelmed her patience. “Please,” she whispered.
The slow, tender stroking halted. She met his enigmatic hazel gaze and knew he saw her desperation, her helpless desire. But she didn’t care. If he stopped now, she would surely die of frustration and regret.
His mouth twitched into a smile and a dimple she’d never noticed before appeared on his cheek. She held her breath, silently begging him. Would he reject her now that he knew how much she wanted him?
His eyes grew hooded and distant and his nostrils flared. He sat back on the bed and moved the covers away. She could see his erection jutting out. Now he would take her. They would be joined. Her womb stirred inside her, taut with expectation.
He ran his fingers along her thighs and they fell open, splaying wide. She closed her eyes in mortification, even as she waited breathlessly for him to continue. She gasped as she felt his mouth on her most sensitive parts. When her hips jerked, he grasped her thighs and held her still. She gave in to the sublime sensations as he used his lips, his tongue, even his teeth, to work magic on her sensitive flesh.
Quivers of delight raced through her. She felt the building pressure, the impossible spiraling need. She keened her helpless surrender and soared into the rapturous heights, flying wildly in a star-studded, magical realm.
Gradually, she floated down to earth. She sought to catch her breath and slow her racing heart. Then she opened her eyes an
d met the gaze of her lover. He looked pleased and satisfied, as if he’d been the one to experience such dazzling sexual pleasure. She should be angry that he’d won, furious over the unfair methods he’d used. But having been so deliciously gratified, she had no will to fight him.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she whispered.
*
Gerard hesitated. Would she twist his answer around and somehow find fault with his skill in pleasuring her? “A woman taught me.”
Her eyes narrowed. He could see the gleam of jealousy flickering in their darkening green. “A lover?”
“Not exactly. I paid her.”
Her suspicion turned to confusion. “Why?”
“Why? Why, what?”
“Why would you pay her to learn how to…”
“Please a woman?”
“Aye.”
He shrugged, trying to hide his amusement. “It seemed a worthwhile skill to acquire.”
She contemplated this. Then she looked at directly at him, her expression intent. “What else did she teach you?”
He let out a helpless laugh. Then he smothered back another guffaw and grinned at her. Slowly, warily, her lovely coral lips curved into a smile. Her radiant loveliness seemed bright enough to light the darkest gloom and bring hope to anyone who beheld her.
Her eyelids swept downward, then she coyly met his gaze. “Well?”
He pounced, pushing her back against the bed as he straddled her. “Well, what?” he growled back.
He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead he showed her the rest of what he’d learned from a patient, very skillful whore.
Chapter Thirteen
Marared sat up in bed and stretched. Her body felt delightfully content and relaxed. But in the back of her mind, the familiar doubts and guilt loomed. She climbed out of bed, as if that would help her escape the tormenting thoughts. But they followed her, reminding her of the message she’d sent to Rhys, and how it was in direct opposition to her amazing experience last night. How could she betray a man who made her feel so wonderful? How could she betray herself?
Lord of Hearts Page 12