Always

by Lynsay Sands

  "Come to bed, Rosamunde," Aric ordered as the door closed behind his father and friend.

  Patting Black one last time, Rosamunde moved reluctantly to the bed.

  Satisfied that she was obeying him, Aric removed his belt and sword, then started to work on shedding his tunic, only to pause when Rosamunde reached the side of the bed. She began to undo and remove her gown. She caught the hem of her gown, lifting it slowly upward, and Aric's eyes drank in each inch of skin revealed, her delicate feet, her ankles, her calves, knees, thighs--but then her shift intruded. Still, his gaze slid over the thin material, following the curves of her hip, waist, breasts.

  He nearly sighed as she lifted the gown over her head, her breasts lifting and pressing against the thin linen as she did. Then he caught himself and shook his head, tending to removing his own tunic as she lightly shook her gown out, then laid it carefully over the chest on her side of the bed. Dropping his shirt to the floor, he reached for the waist of his brais, then paused to frown at Rosamunde as she began to slide into bed. "Your shift."

  "What of it, my lord?" She was busily tugging the linens up to cover herself, but he recognized her attitude for the nervousness it was. He felt himself stiffen slightly, knowing there was trouble afoot.

  "Are you not going to take it off?"

  "Well, I...er..." Giving up on the linens, she sighed miserably and met his gaze. "Bishop Shrewsbury said 'twas a sin to sleep or--anything else--unclothed, my lord."

  "Oh, he did, did he?" Aric asked slowly, feeling his temper begin to rise at the old man's interference.

  "Aye." She nodded unhappily.

  Aric remained silent as he considered how to approach this problem. He knew the Church's stand on such matters. Nudity was a sin. People were even expected to wear their undertunics in the bath, lest they be espied naked. But he liked his wife naked. He liked to see her that way, and to touch her that way, and to press his naked body against hers, and....

  Feeling his manhood perk up at his wandering thoughts, Aric forced himself back to the matter at hand, getting his wife out of her clothes. He wasn't foolish enough to think it would be an easy task. After all, she had been raised in an abbey, and the Church's opinion on such matters no doubt meant a great deal to her.

  Sighing, he pushed his brais down and stepped out of them. Leaving them on the floor, he got into bed beside Rosamunde, then turned to consider her. She was lying on her back, her eyes closed--no doubt in hopes that he would think her sleeping and let the matter lie, he supposed.

  He couldn't do that. Wouldn't do that.

  Smiling slightly to himself, he slid his hand under the linens and moved it to cover the soft mound of one of her breasts, through the cloth of her tunic. She stiffened, her breathing suddenly increasing in speed as he ran his thumb lightly over her already protruding nipple.

  Rosamunde squeezed her eyes tightly closed for a moment, fighting the pleasure that flooded her at his simple touch, then swallowed and opened her mouth to tell her husband that Bishop Shrewsbury had told her that fondling was a sin, too. But the moment her mouth opened, her husband covered her lips with his own, his tongue taking advantage and slipping inside.

  Oh, this was too wrong, she thought, panic sweeping through her. The bishop had also said lewd kissing was a sin, and she was pretty sure that he would consider this lewd. Worse yet, she realized with dismay, was the fact that she was enjoying it--and he had claimed that that was a sin, too. Oh, Lord, she would surely burn in hell if she did not stop him.

  Bringing her hands up, she pressed them somewhat frantically to his shoulders, trying to push him away so that she might tell him, but he was large and heavy and seemed not even to notice the pressure on his shoulders. Then he tilted his head, his mouth shifting and moving, doing things with his tongue that were guaranteeing her pleasure and a place in hell.

  Rosamunde groaned in combined agony and ecstasy as his hands skimmed over her body, fighting her enjoyment even as she wanted to clutch him close and arch into his caresses. When he pressed a hand to the spot between her legs, grinding the cloth against her, she whimpered pleadingly into his mouth, silently begging God to save her from her own carnal desire. But He was busy elsewhere, it seemed, for her mental plea went unanswered; she was left to handle the matter on her own. Aric dipped his hand between her legs, moving her shift with it, and seemingly oblivious to her efforts to squeeze her legs tightly closed to prevent his touch.

  As Aric broke the kiss, then, she took a breath and opened her mouth to warn him of his soul's peril. Instead, she gasped as his fingers burrowed into her, sliding the material of her gown against the sensitive bud of her pleasure. Rosamunde promptly bit down on her lower lip, trying to deny the sensations that shot through her then, clamping down hard enough to draw blood when his mouth suddenly dropped to one of her breasts, closing over her hardened nipple through her linen gown. His teeth, toying with the sensitive tip through the damp cloth of her shift, were such exquisite torture that it left her breathless and panting.

  It wasn't until he drew his hand from the damp cloth now gathered between her thighs to tug her gown up her legs that she was able to speak. Rosamunde immediately tried to voice what she was compelled to say to save both their souls.

  "My lord husband." She gasped. "Bishop Shrewsbury--"

  Lifting his head from her breast, Aric covered her mouth with his free hand and shook his head. "Hush."

  "But--" She gasped again against his hand, only to be silenced by the application of more pressure.

  "Nay. I will not hear any more of Shrewsbury's nonsense."

  "But--"

  "Nay," he repeated firmly. "I know the Church's views on being unclothed. I also know their views on the marital bed. I need no instruction from either you or Shrewsbury on the matter."

  Rosamunde stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth closing on any further argument. There was no sense to it; he had just admitted that he knew the Church's views. There was little use in telling him what he already knew. Now what was she to do? The bishop had made it quite clear that to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh would jeopardize her soul, yet her father had ordered her to obey a stubborn man who seemed to care little for his own soul or hers.

  Her thoughts were distracted when he suddenly took her hand and pulled her upright until she was sitting. When he then instructed her to shift to her knees, Rosamunde did so without argument, but couldn't keep herself from covering his hands with her own, trying to stop him when he started to pull her gown up over her hips. She didn't say anything, just peered at him, silently pleading with him.

  Aric took in her expression and felt his impatience build, then firmly crushed it. He glanced away, his gaze moving around the room as he considered his options. Finally he relaxed, a small smile twisting his lips briefly before he forced it away to eye her solemnly.

  "Rosamunde, do you recall your vows on our marriage day?"

  She blinked in surprise at his question, her body relaxing somewhat. "Aye, of course I do."

  "Of course." He nodded slowly. "And was a promise to obey not one of them?"

  Her expression turned wary again. Though she did not look pleased to admit it, she nodded. "Aye."

  "So if I were to order you to allow me to take your shift off--to fulfill your vow before God and man to obey me--you would have to allow it, would you not?"

  She frowned slightly, considering, then nodded. "Yes my lord. Since I vowed before God and man to obey you, I suppose I would."

  "Then I order you to do so."

  Rosamunde hesitated the briefest moment, then removed her hands. She remained silent and still as he tugged the gown up past her hips, over her stomach then her breasts. When he paused there, she raised her arms for him to lift it over her head, but he suddenly seemed to lose interest in removing the gown. Instead he leaned forward, his mouth finding and fastening on the same nipple he had toyed with through the linen undertunic. The garment dropped suddenly to cover his head, draping across his shoulders a
s he snaked one arm around her waist, bending her back slightly as he suckled one breast, his free hand shifting to cup her other.

  "Oh, God." Rosamunde breathed the words like a prayer, her fingers closing and her nails digging into the flesh of her palms. She tried to fight the sensations suddenly flooding through her. Then Aric shifted, slipping one of his legs between hers, pressing it against her womanhood, and she decided she could stop worrying about going to hell. How much worse could it be than to feel all the wonderful things you weren't allowed to and being too scared to enjoy them.

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she began to pray again as Aric shifted his mouth from one breast to the other, then let his hand drop down over her stomach and between her legs. Her eyes popping open as he found the center of her pleasure, she dug her nails into her palms a little deeper and began to bite her lip viciously to avoid bucking and thrusting under his touch, but there was nothing she could do to stop the warm, damp heat that he stirred with his caress.

  A moment later, Rosamunde released a breath of relief when he left off his touch, but then she realized it was only so that he could finish removing her undertunic. Dragging it over her head and off her arms, he tossed it to the floor. Then Aric dropped to his haunches with one leg still between both of hers and pulled her forward; fully upright on her knees as she was, his face was level with her breasts.

  Rosamunde clamped her teeth down hard on her lower lip again, silently reciting the Lord's Prayer. It was a desperate battle to ignore the sweet joy he was giving her as he licked, nibbled, and kissed his way from breast to breast, then down over her stomach, and when he nudged and rubbed and shifted his leg between hers, he ignited a fire she feared would consume her.

  Just when she thought she could stand it no more, he tugged her down to sit on his thigh, his fingers delving into her hair and holding her head still as he devoured her mouth with his own. Rosamunde remained quiescent in his arms, neither fending him off nor participating, only gasping in surprise. The small sound was caught in his mouth as he turned and lowered her to the bed, coming down on top of her and sliding himself into her with one smooth movement.

  Tugging his mouth away, Aric remained still as he gazed at her face, taking in her swollen lower lip and the tense, almost pained expression on her face.

  Frowning slightly, he withdrew, himself from inside her, then slid slowly back in, noting the way she sucked her lip between her teeth again. She bit down almost viciously, he noted with confusion, and her gaze was focused on something over his left shoulder. When he repeated the movement, she remained stiff and silent, though her teeth seemed to bite harder. Her sighs, moans, and passion from before were gone. She was like a different woman entirely in his arms, and he did not understand why. And he bloody well didn't like it. "What are you doing?"

  Rosamunde's eyes shot to her husband. "My lord husband?" she asked uncertainly.

  "You are biting your lip, and you seem hardly even to be here! What is wrong?"

  Rosamunde sighed unhappily, but turned her gaze away. She merely said quietly, "You ordered me not to talk about it."

  "Shrewsbury," Aric guessed irritably, knowing he had spoken correctly by her apologetic expression. "What else did he tell you?"

  "He said it was a sin to enjoy this," she admitted quietly, and Aric felt himself relax somewhat. At least that explained her stillness and silence. He had begun to fear...

  "What else?" he queried, now determined to get to the bottom of it all.

  Rosamunde bit her lip and glanced away, then sighed and began to list all the prelate had told her. "Never during my woman's time, never while with child or nursing, never during Lent, Advent, Whitsuntide, or Easter week. Never on feast days, fast days, Sundays, Wednesdays, Fridays, or Satur--"

  "Enough!" Aric bellowed, then pressed his face into the crook of her neck. He stayed like that for a moment, then took a deep breath and lifted his head again. "Listen to me carefully," he demanded quietly. "I order you to forget all of that and to enjoy my touch. Do you understand?"

  "Aye, my lord," she said with relief, making Aric smile.

  Just to be sure they understood each other, he added to that. "And my kiss, you must enjoy that, too."

  "As you wish, my lord,"

  "And anything else we choose to do together that feels good to you. Do you understand?"

  "Oh, aye, my lord."

  Rosamunde smiled, but tears were pooling in her eyes and Aric frowned. "What is it?"

  She remained silent for a moment, struggling briefly with the feelings that were overwhelming her. He was giving her permission to enjoy the pleasure he gave her and taking upon himself the burden of her guilt, and she knew that this was something special. He could have simply continued to do as he had been doing, leaving her to suffer alone under her fear of being a sinner. Or he could have taken his pleasure and not concerned himself with hers. Instead he had found a way for them both to enjoy it--without her having to bear the burden of the guilt the church would attach to it.

  "Wife?" Aric murmured uncertainly, caressing her cheek. Rosamunde's smile widened tremulously and she reached out to touch his face. "I am so very glad that my father chose you to husband me. You are truly a wonderful man. So clever and sweet and--" Her words halted as he covered her mouth with his own, but the feelings inside of her did not, and Rosamunde knew that eventually she would have to examine them. She very much feared she was falling in love with this grumpy, stubborn, bossy, jealous, wonderfully sweet man. It was something she hadn't expected to happen--and really didn't wish to suffer if he did not love her back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Well?"

  Aric wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, and turned to glance at the man behind him. His father had come to see how the work went on the stables. And just in time, too. Aric had just finished hanging the doors with Shambley's help. Other than clearing away the bits of wood and stone left over, it was done. Finally.

  He smiled silently at himself with the thought. It could have been done earlier had he pushed the men as he had originally intended. But the day of rain had delayed it, and then the attempted attack upon Rosamunde in their bedchamber three nights earlier had convinced him to move a little more slowly at the work--at least until he could find a replacement for Black to guard their bedchamber. And Aric had found that replacement just that morning.

  With that worry out of the way, he had set to the stables with a vengeance, driving the men hard to complete the building. Tonight Black would rest in the new stables. No offense to the horse. Aric was as fond of the animal as any man was of his steed, but while the horse had been recovering nicely from his fevers and his wound, Rosamunde was still feeding him soft food. She claimed it taxed his body less and helped the healing process. Unfortunately, that meant that while Black made a great guard horse it was rather hard to tell if it was due to him or the stench that surrounded him.

  Nay, this was better. He'd put Black back in the stables with the other horses, and place the dog he'd bought with Rosamunde. Also, the dog could trail her around during the day, whereas Black could not. The horse was left in the keep by the great hall fire during the day while she worked in the stables.

  When she had refused a human guard, Aric had tried to convince her to take the horse around with her. But she had peered at him as if she thought he had lost his senses, then simply walked off. Rather than push the point, Aric had trailed her around again that first day after the attack. But that had not gone well at all.

  Rosamunde had worn a blue-gray gown that accented her fair coloring and emphasized the shade of her eyes. But it had also obviously been a touch old, probably a gift from her father during one of his visits over the years, Aric had decided. While the gown was obviously expensive and well cared for, it was also a touch tight. Everywhere. Her breasts had pressed eagerly against the material, looking more fulsome than usual, thanks to being a bit squished, and while the gown had barely glided over her waist, it had pulled slightly around the h
ips, seeming to emphasize their curves and the way they swayed when she walked.

  Recalling the king telling him to buy her some gowns, Aric had been annoyed with himself for neglecting to do so. He should have seen to that first thing! He should have seen her fitted out with at least a dozen gowns, all of them big and roomy, so that the material would not seem to threaten to burst its seams every time she stretched or reached for something. And nice, sedate colors like brown and black would be better, too, he had decided as he watched her flit around in her old gown. She had seemed a bright and colorful bird in the bailey, the stables, the keep, and everywhere else she had been that day.

  Unfortunately, he had not outfitted her, and Aric had grown increasingly surly throughout the day as he stood by watching her. It seemed to him that there were an inordinate amount of men coming to her with their injured animals as opposed to women. Surely men should be too busy for such a task? They should have sent their wives or daughters in their place, he had thought with disgust, glaring and glowering at anyone who peered at her with anything like a smile or a look of appreciation. Never mind that it was likely gratitude for her abilities and charity. Nay. Aric had been positive that every look and glance was one of lust, and he had grown more and more short-tempered and irate throughout the day.

  Rosamunde had put up with his behavior without a word, but he knew they had both been relieved when the dinner hour had rolled around and they had returned to the keep. At least, until they had approached the trestle tables and Lord Spencer had spoken.

  "Ah, my lady Rosamunde," the blind man had murmured appreciatively. "It never fails to amaze me how you can spend the day working around the foulest of smells and yet still manage to smell so sweet yourself at the end of the day."

  Aric hadn't even thought; he had merely snapped, "Keep your nose to yourself, old man."

  As soon as the words had left his lips, though, he had wished he could bite his own tongue off. Good Lord, he had just been beyond rude to an old blind man! And out of jealousy, he realized with dismay and regret. But before he could apologize and make amends, Rosamunde had slammed the mug she had lifted back onto the table. She'd turned on him furiously.