by Kris Elaine
Cedra felt bereft when Tuarl pulled from her to rummage through a trunk. A bundle of old red velvet and white fur tucked under his arm, he pulled her close with the other and kissed her again.
“We marry now, then.” His lips brushed against hers as he spoke and then he was on her again.
“Yes, now,” she giggled. She pulled away when he tried for another kiss. “It’s nearly suppertime. Are we going now, or after?”
“Now,” Tuarl growled at her and pulled her down the steps. He called through the castle as they made their way to the tiny chapel just off the courtyard. The servants followed behind them, Chip holding Adira and Clarence’s hands, Jane carrying a tiny baby, Master Owen escorting Rose and Arianne. Once before the altar, Tuarl hesitated. “I don’t know…” he mumbled before trailing off.
Cedra wasn’t completely certain either, having seen only a few marriages in her village, and those over ten years ago, when she was still young. What she did remember were the words didn’t seem as important as the intent. She took his free hand in both of hers. Later, she couldn’t remember the exact words she said, but knew she meant every one of them. Tuarl’s words were few and simple. When neither of them could think of anything else, he unfurled the bundle. Cedra saw it was an old, red cloak, a wide collar made of white fur draped over the shoulders.
“It was the one my father gave my mother,” Tuarl explained at her confused look. “It shows you to be the wife of a Duke.”
The fine cloth was draped over Cedra’s shoulders and she stroked it gingerly before turning back to Tuarl. It was time for the only vow she remembered being the same in every marriage.
“With this kiss I pledge my love.” She looked up through her lashes, suddenly, oddly, shy. “And take you for my husband.”
“With this kiss,” Tuarl repeated so softly only she could hear him, “I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.” His scarred lips gave the merest brush against hers and their witnesses cheered.
Because of her excitement, Cedra could eat little at supper. Tuarl also seemed unwilling to let her, stealing frequent kisses from her. The staff all ate in the Great Hall that night to celebrate and Master Owen stopped eating his own meal often to play. Chip had fallen asleep at the end of a table when Tuarl placed his hand on Cedra’s thigh and leaned close.
“What is your village’s custom for the bedding ceremony?” he whispered.
She felt her face warm. “Nothing. The bedding is private.”
“Good,” he growled before grazing his teeth against her throat. “I hate the nobilities’ custom.” He placed a kiss below her ear. “Difficult to please you with spectators in the room.” His lips worked against her neck for a time before he spoke again. “I want you in my bed.”
His words went straight between her legs and she felt a needy throb. Cedra nodded and Tuarl helped her to her feet. Without a word, he rested her hand in the crook of his elbow and escorted her to the corridor behind the Great Hall. When the door shut behind them, he kissed her. When they passed a torch, she kissed him. At the bottom of the stairs they kissed. At each landing they held each other close and kissed. When they reached the top of the west tower, Cedra knew her hair, already messy from her day-long ride, was a lost cause, and her dusty clothes where loose about her from his fumbling to free her from them.
Through the door, Tuarl lifted her by the waist and Cedra wrapped her legs around him. Despite his leg, he carried her easily to the bed. Her hair spread around her head like an auburn halo and he trailed his kisses to the neck of her dress. He gently tugged her dress down and his lips followed the fabric. He worked his way around the mound of each breast before gently sucking at the nipples and continuing down her stomach. Cedra pulled her hands free of the sleeves and threaded her fingers through his thin hair. He kissed back up to her lips again before pressing a deep lingering kiss and sat up. In one movement he pulled her dress of past her feet with her underskirts. He discarded her smallclothes as well before laying back over her, still fully clothed.
Cedra’s whole body tingled as he lay above her. The clothes he wore were rough, the clothes of a soldier rather than a lord, and they scraped against her in a way that made her writhe for more. One hand trailed down from his hair to his face, to his scars. They did not frighten her anymore and she caressed them dearly. They were a part of Tuarl, a part of her husband. The word made her smile. His lips on a particular spot at her throat caused her hips to buck against him. Something grazed between her thighs and she gasped at the pleasure it provided her.
He groaned her name into her hair before pulling away again. Cedra sat up and watched as he quickly rose and undressed. His broad chest, covered in course hair and marred with scars of old cuts, was not an unfamiliar sight to her, though she had not time before to study him. Now she memorized the placement of each scar, the path his chest hair took as it narrowed down his stomach. His back was to her as he sat to remove his boots and she learned the play of his muscles working just beneath the skin. Then he was standing from the bed, bending to pull off his trousers, and then between her legs, and kissing the inside of her thighs and her juncture.
Cedra sighed at the sensation. She threaded her tingling fingers back through his hair, silently begging him to continue. And he did. His mouth worked at her nether lips a few moments longer before his tongue darted out, tasting her. And then he flicked at a nub that had her moaning in pleasure. After a second swipe, though, Tuarl pulled away and rose above her. As he settled over her, he kissed her head, her cheeks, her nose, her lips.
The touch of his skin against hers set a flame in Cedra hotter than what burned from his kisses alone. She could not stop touching him. Her hands went to his shoulders, down his sides, resting at his hips, before traveling back up to his shoulders again. She marveled at how rough his hands felt as he stroked her sides compared to how soft the skin hidden by his tunic felt. He was a man of contrasts, the roughness of his face against the gentleness with which he treated her, the softness of his thin hair against the thick ropes of muscles in his thighs between her own.
Tuarl again found the point at her neck and she bucked against him. The feel of her slit sliding against his cock caused him to moan into her again. Propping himself up on one arm, he slid the other down her body. He cupped a breast, grazed the nipple with his rough thumb, and watched it peak for him. Then he slid lower, feeling her body dip in at her waist, seeing her stomach muscles twitch under his touch. At the gentle flare of her hips, he slid his hand under her, feeling her buttocks and trailing down the back of her thigh. At her knee, he lifted her leg up and hooked it over his hip, opening her to him. A touch to her nether lips made him groan again. She was soaking wet… For him.
He kissed her deeply as he slid a finger inside of her, in awe as she pressed into his hand. He quickly added another digit and pumped them in and out, feeling her artlessly grinding against his hand for more. Cedra pouted beautifully when he pulled away to grasp his cock. He gave her bottom lip a nip before giving her another deep kiss. Breathless, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead to hers, staring in her eyes. He wanted so much to lose control, to make her his in every way, but she had chosen to come back and deserved more than just a quick, hard fuck.
“Don’t let me hurt you,” he rasped.
Cedra nodded, eyes wide. She knew he would never intentionally hurt her. But the young women in her village had talked about the bedding, about how there had been blood and pain. And then she felt him sliding his manhood up and down her lips before pressing to her opening. And he paused. Her eyes darted to his and he looked… uncertain. Breathing deeply, Cedra nodded again. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he slid inside and Cedra gasped. The tiny pinch of pain was nothing to the delight at being filled so completely by the man above her.
Tuarl paused, every muscle in his body quivering, demanding that he plow into her and get his fill. But he waited a moment. A man’s cock would be a new feeling and he couldn’t frighten her now, not when she tr
uly wanted him. Slowly, too slowly for him, he withdrew and pressed in again. A grunt escaped his lips when his hips met hers. No whore in all his years had ever been as wet for him. At his third thrust, Cedra sighed his name and pulled him down for another kiss.
Cedra shuddered. Her leg was hooked over him, his hand gripping her hip. His chest rubbed against her breasts with each thrust, the hair tickling and scratching. And where they joined was too much, but it wasn’t enough. She clutched at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, trying to bring every part of him into her. Something started to tighten within her as his hips began to move faster and harder. She let out a gasping moan and held more tightly. Nothing anyone had ever told her about the wedding night had prepared her for this. She tried to match him thrust for thrust, needing more, needing something she couldn’t name. The tightening increased until she threw her head back with a gasp.
Tuarl watched as she flushed deeply, her eyes tight as she cried out at each movement of his hips. Suddenly, she let out a gasp and her cunt squeezed around him. The sight of her pleasure finally threw him over the edge and he could not stop himself from slamming into her. Her hands were soft against his face as he grunted and released. He kissed her again as the last of his seed spilled into her. Belonging to her and having her for himself was too good and he could not pull away. Just before his supporting arm gave out, Tuarl pulled from Cedra’s quim and rolled to lay beside her.
Cedra curled into his arms and traced circles into the chest hair next to her cheek. Warmth covered her and she felt the bedcovers settle over them. She hummed tunelessly as Tuarl played with her hair and held her against him. Their breathing soon matched and deepened and she slipped peacefully into sleep.
Midway through the night, Cedra woke to Tuarl’s large, rough hands gently sliding across her body again. His touch caused her to sigh and she pulled him in for a lazy kiss. Within moments, he was above her, inside of her, and she felt complete again. Their second coupling was slower than their first, in a sleepy, comforting way. When they finished, he rested his forehead to hers. She could not see him in the dark, but felt his eyes on hers.
“I love you,” she whispered.
His face was relaxed under her hands as he gave her a chaste kiss. The words hung in the dark between them until his nose brushed hers and he whispered, simply, “yes.” Yes, he loved her. Yes, he needed her as much as she needed him. Yes, he knew she was happy and wanted to stay forever. They curled together and fell into a deep, restful sleep.
A frantic pounding at the door and Clarence’s calls of “m’Lord” startled Tuarl awake. Cedra murmured sleepily as he rose and he pressed a kiss to her temple before donning a pair of trousers and circling around the partition. In the grey pre-dawn light, the old man looked unnaturally pale when Tuarl opened the door.
“M’Lord, the castle is under attack!”
Tuarl looked back at Cedra’s gasp. None of her things had been brought to his room, so she had pulled his tunic over her head. The sleeves hung past her hands and the hem only just covered her knees. With her hair mussed from sex and sleep, her lips still red from his kisses, she was the most beautiful sight he had seen. For a heartbeat, he wanted nothing more than to carry her back into bed and bury himself in her satin depths, castle be damned. Then he remembered the servants. Four women, a healer, an old man, a child, and a newborn. He was the only one capable of protecting them. He turned back to Clarence. He had once been the master at arms, decades ago, when a kinder man was lord of Beytill Castle. But now his hair was grey, his back hunched, and he barely had the strength to carry a tray of food up the tower steps. He was all Tuarl had.
“My mother’s drawing room, does it still have the strongest doors?” The old man nodded. “Get everyone there and bar the door. Don’t let anyone in.” Tuarl crossed to his new bride in long strides. “Dress quickly and go with Clarence,” he gently commanded. “The east tower is the oldest part of the catle, and the strongest. You’ll be safe there.”
Cedra felt her heart in her throat. “What about you?”
“I will protect you. But you have to do what I say. Get dressed. Go with Clarence.”
Tuarl was a blur through her tears. His large form moved about the room, pulling on a tunic, yanking on boots, dropping a chain mail shirt over his head, and strapping on a sword belt. Cedra let out a shaky breath when he approached her again and held her face between his palms. He wiped the tears from her cheeks before tenderly kissing each closed eye and her lips. Without a word, he charged out the door and down the steps. She ducked back behind the partition with her dress and clumsily pulled it on. Her body ached from their lovemaking and her fingers were clumsy from so little sleep.
As dressed as she could get, she followed Clarence down the tower stairs. Above the Great Hall, he led her down the corridor past Master Owen’s chambers. Everyone joined her and Clarence and they continued down the stairs of the east tower. Clarence opened the door at the base of the tower and waved everyone through. It was then Cedra heard the noises behind her.
Turning back, she saw the door to the Great Hall was open, light spilling into the hall. But it was what she heard that drew her away from the group. Over the clash of steel and wood, she heard voices. Too familiar voices. Looking through the opening, she gasped.
Tuarl stood before the high table, pressed back to it. He was fighting back four men simultaneously. Her father. Her brother Bruden. And Bruden’s friends Theo and John. Their attacks were random, coming at him from one side then the other. She saw clearly Tuarl was outmatched, knocking away blows with his sword while punching unprotected faces and torsos with his opposite hand.
And then she was grabbed from behind. Without realizing, Cedra had stepped into the Great Hall and a man from her village, waiting or raiding, caught her and pulled her to him.
“I found her!” her captor called.
That proved to be Tuarl’s undoing. At the man’s words, he turned to look, locking eyes with her. In a blink, Theo broke through his mail and cut him in the side as Bruden hit his head with a spade. And Tuarl, always so strong and powerful, crumpled in a helpless heap. Cedra cried out and struggled to get away from the man who held her. Remembering the knife Bruden gave her, she pulled it from her pocket, where it had been since she had left her family the day before. She dropped the sheath to the ground, and pressed the point into the man’s side. He let her go instantly and Cedra ran to Tuarl’s side.
“Leave him,” she screamed, too late. “Don’t hurt him!”
Theo caught her before she could reach her husband and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “It’s alright,” he cooed. He smelled like horse and sweat and blood, and it made her stomach turn. “You’re safe now, Cedra. You can come home. The Beast won’t hurt you again.”
“Tuarl never hurt me,” she sobbed, staring at his still body. Had it really been only hours since he had made her feel so alive? Now a great, gaping hole was opening in her chest and her knees gave out from beneath her. She dropped to the floor, eyes never leaving her husband of only a few hours.
“And he never will.” Theo still held her as another pair of shoes, large and worn stopped in front of her. She realized they were her father’s. Her honorable father, who always kept his word. Her loving father, who would never raise his voice when she was a child. Her gentle father, who would never hurt an innocent man.
“Cedra, there’s no need to cry.” Granen White knelt in front of her. “You can come home and never return to this place. We can forget this ever happened. Theo has even agreed to marry you, no matter what the Beast may have done.”
Cedra’s stomach turned again. Marry Theo? She struggled to pull away from the man she had only ever seen as a brother. “No,” she choked out, the only word she had the power to say. “No, no.”
Sounds of the rest of the world began to wash over her. Crashes, thuds, and muffled screams began to flood back into her ears. Heavy steps dashed back and forth, the strides out of place, not familiar in her
husband’s castle. The banging of overturned tables and the crashing of doors caused her to jump. So much noise in what had once been a place of solitude and quiet. Everything was wrong. There were too many men running in and out of the Great Hall, too many voices, too many and too much. Cedra could only cover her ears and close her eyes in an attempt to hide away from all the wrongness of it.
This had to be a bad dream. If she waited long enough, she would wake up. She would be in Tuarl’s arms. He would touch her gently; kiss her with a tenderness meant only for her. He would slip into her aching womanhood and complete her and everything would be as it should be.
When she opened her eyes, it was still wrong. She looked around and saw men from her village. The baker carried a bundle of embroidered cloth past the miller with fists full of glittering jewelry. The toymaker ripped down the tapestries she had spent hours cleaning and mending. Her home was being torn apart around her. And her lord husband, the man who promised to protect her lay just out of reach, motionless.
“Mayor,” a man spoke above her. “There’s a door in the east tower that’s heavily barred. We can’t break it down.”
“Leave them.” Cedra pulled away from Theo and rose. This was still her home. “The servants are innocent and are to be left alone.” She locked eyes with the Mayor, feeling numb to his surprise. “I will not marry Theo. I will not leave. This is my home. I have married Tuarl and am now Duchess Beytill. I want my staff left alone. I want you and your men out of my home.” She knew tears still spilled down her cheeks, but her words were steady.
This was no longer her father. He had broken his word; he attacked her home and lord husband. But it was too difficult to see him as her enemy as well. A vice grip closed around her arm.
“You will come back, Cedra,” Theo snarled in her ear. “No other man will have you now that the Beast has. If that beast put a child in your belly, I’ll even let you keep it.”