Scoundrel of Dunborough

by Margaret Moore

  “I have a request, Father Denzail, that only you can fulfill,” Gerrard said with a broad smile.

  It might have been a fine midsummer morning for all the young man seemed to care about the darkness, the wind tugging at his cloak or the rain soaking his head.

  Or perhaps there was another reason he seemed impervious to the late hour and the elements. “Are you drunk?”

  “Not at all!” Gerrard replied. “Well, drunk with happiness, perhaps. I want to get married and I need you to say the blessing.”

  “Are you mad?” the mother superior demanded. “It’s the middle of the night!”

  Father Denzail said another prayer for patience as he tried to decide if Gerrard was being sincere or if this was some kind of jest.

  “I want to get married,” Gerrard repeated in such a way that, astonished though he was, Father Denzail believed him. “Celeste wants a priest to bless us.”

  “Celeste?” The mother superior shoved her way past the priest, nearly knocking him over. “You can’t mean that!”

  “I assure you, I do,” Gerrard replied. “Since her fate is no longer in your hands, you can go back to bed. Or to hell, for all I care.”

  Father Denzail nearly laughed aloud at the startled look on the woman’s face. It had likely been years since anybody had spoken to her in such a way, if ever, and for once, he sympathized with Gerrard. Nevertheless, she was a member of the clergy, so he cleared his throat and said with some severity, “That is no way to speak to the mother superior.”

  The young man who had led so sinful a life immediately grew remorseful, and spoke with such apparent sincerity, Father Denzail was amazed. “Forgive me, Father. And you, too, Reverend Mother, if you please. I can only say that my delight in having Celeste for a bride has made me thoughtless.” He looked at the priest beseechingly. “I hope you won’t hold that, or anything I’ve done in the past, against me, Father. With Celeste by my side, and with your help, too, I’m going to try to be a better man.”

  The fellow sounded as sincere as he appeared, and Father Denzail couldn’t ignore the appeal. Nor could he help thinking it would do Gerrard good to have a wife who’d almost been a nun. “I shall be delighted to say a wedding blessing.”

  He turned to the red-faced, irate nun. “And like Gerrard says, you should go to bed.”

  * * *

  Shifting his weight anxiously from foot to foot, Gerrard stood on the dais waiting for his bride. Soldiers and servants of the household had gathered in the hall, muttering with astonishment, confusion and suppressed excitement. Father Denzail, standing beside him, tried to stifle a yawn.

  What was taking the women so long? They’d had plenty of time to get ready while he’d fetched Father Denzail.

  Tapping his foot with impatience, Gerrard glanced at the little priest. He did have some backbone, after all, the way he’d stood up to the mother superior. Father Denzail was more familiar with the villagers and their needs, too, so he should treat the man with more respect, and ask him for his help if he was to govern the townsfolk and tenants wisely and well. Perhaps he should start going to mass. It would please Celeste and he had to admit that, resistant as he’d been, he’d experienced a certain comfort being part of the congregation.

  More important than being a good overlord or his own comfort, though, was making Celeste happy. He would try his best, he silently vowed. Surely the dread of losing her respect and love would help him stay on the righteous path he’d begun to walk before she’d returned.

  Nevertheless, doubts began to assail him. He was, after all, Gerrard of Dunborough, son of the loathed Sir Blane. He was no virtuous knight, but a man more familiar with vice and sin and the weaknesses of the flesh.

  The laughter of women interrupted his worrisome thoughts, and he turned to see his bride approaching, with Lizabet and Peg beside her. One holding each forearm, the women offered their support as Celeste limped closer, wearing that magnificent gown of embroidered silk.

  Then he noticed Bartholemew and Marmaduke behind her, beaming as if they were giving away the bride.

  Yet it wasn’t the gown, or her company, that garnered Gerrard’s attention after the first thrilling moment. It was the smile on her face and the love shining in her eyes.

  Somehow—and he could only think it must be through the grace of a merciful God—he had found this incredible woman who loved and trusted him. He would, please God, be worthy of that love and faith all the days of his life.

  His bride reached the dais. With the priest between them, he took her hand and made his vow. “I, Gerrard of Dunborough, take you for my wife. I will respect you and honor you, provide for you and keep you safe for the rest of my life. I will be faithful to you always, and I will love you forever.”

  She solemnly took both his hands in hers. “I, Celeste D’Orleau, take you for my husband. I will respect and honor you, and provide a loving home for you. I will be faithful to you always, as I will love you until the day I die, and in the life to come.”

  Arnhelm and Peg, Verdan and Lizabet likewise made their vows of love and fidelity, and when they were done, Father Denzail said a blessing over all of them. His final words, however, were drowned out by the rousing cheers and clapping of the soldiers and servants of Dunborough, as well as Bartholemew and Marmaduke, who seemed nearly faint with joy.

  Gerrard turned to his bride and spoke in her ear so that only she could hear him above the cacophony. “I believe you were ordered to rest. I don’t want you to fall ill.”

  “I am feeling rather weary,” she replied, although that was far from true. Rarely in her life had she felt more vital and alive. Nevertheless, she should rest, or at least go to bed. “I should retire. With you, if you wish it.”

  His expression was all the answer she required.

  He took hold of her hand and announced, “Thank you, one and all, for your good wishes. Since it’s too late for a wedding feast today—” he glanced at Florian, the cook, who couldn’t have looked more relieved if he’d been spared the rack “—and my brother and his wife should be here to help us celebrate, as well as Arnhelm and Verdan’s mother, too, if she’ll come, we shall postpone that happy event for the time being.

  “Now I believe we should all retire,” he finished, before he swept his bride into his arms and carried her up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Celeste thought it was like a dream come true as Gerrard carried her over the threshold and into his bedchamber, except for one thing: her sore and bandaged ankle.

  As he slowly set her down, that minor problem was quickly forgotten, overwhelmed by happiness and excitement and the sight of the bed made up with fresh linens. Lizabet and Peg, in spite of their own giddy delight, had seen to that. They’d also sent the spit boy rushing to the village to fetch Bartholemew and Marmaduke, and the red silk dress she’d hoped they hadn’t sold.

  Still in Gerrard’s strong arms, Celeste raised her face to kiss him. Yet when she saw the desire burning in his dark eyes, she suddenly felt shy. To be sure, they had shared some intimate embraces, but she had never been alone in a man’s bedchamber before. “What will you say to Roland about our marriage?” she asked instead.

  Gerrard smiled before he lightly kissed her cheek. Even that sent her blood racing. “That his reprobate brother achieved a miracle and wed an angel.”

  “That is casting me in rather a grand and blasphemous light.”

  “He likes you. You never called him names and, I seem to recall, always took his side when there was a difference of opinion.”

  “He was always right.”

  “Mostly,” Gerrard allowed. “He could be very stubborn, too, like someone else I love.”

  He kissed her then and would have done more, except that she turned her face away. “If Roland will accept our marriage despite my lack of wealth, th
en all I have to regret is that I’m not rich enough to persuade the bishop to move the mother superior.”

  Gerrard frowned. “Must we talk about her?”

  “I’m sorry.” Celeste leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s just that I’m so happy, and yet when I think of the other novices still at Saint Agatha’s under her thumb...”

  “Perhaps a few words from the master of Dunborough and the lord of DeLac to the bishop will prove persuasive.”

  “You’ll do that? You’ll intercede? And Roland, too?”

  “I think my brother will be willing once he hears why. Even on short acquaintance, I’m sure that woman should not be in charge of anything.” Gerrard tilted his head to one side and raised his brows. “Now, wife of mine, is there anything else you care to discuss?”

  “Not at present,” she replied, feeling more at ease. She gave him a mischievous grin of her own. “Right now I find I have other things on my mind.”

  “Really?” he replied, running his hands up her arms and sending shivers of delight across her flesh. “Such as?”

  “This,” she answered, rising to kiss him lightly on the lips.

  “And this,” she added as she splayed her hands on his chest.

  “Then this,” she murmured, sliding her arms around him.

  His lips captured hers in a passionate kiss, but she was not quite ready for more. Not yet.

  She pulled away and, her gaze holding his, reached back to untie the laces of her gown. It wasn’t easy with his hot, yearning eyes watching her, so she turned her back to him.

  His fingers took over the task. Once the knot was undone, he kissed the nape of her neck and slid his hands inside her dress, his palms grazing her shift as he reached around to knead her breasts.

  She had envisioned being in his arms many times, yet never like this. All she could do was close her eyes, sigh and relax against him at first, until the urge to feel his lips on hers proved overwhelming. She turned and took his mouth with hers. Then, still kissing him, she helped him push her gown lower, until she could step free. She took another moment to lift off his tunic and the shirt beneath, so that his chest was bare.

  She gasped when she saw the several scars. Although none were very large, there were many.

  “My father and Broderick,” he replied in answer to her unspoken question. “And some my own foolishness.” He pointed to a mark on his collarbone. “This one is from you.”

  “I’m so sorry, Gerrard!”

  He grinned. “I’m not. It was a reminder of you when you were gone, and one I’m glad I had.”

  “Otherwise you would have forgotten me.”

  “Otherwise I would have forgotten what I’d done to get it. I never again falsely accused Roland, or any man, of cheating. You see, even when you weren’t here, you were guiding me.”

  He frowned as he pointed at the scar on her own shoulder. “And that?” he asked. “Is that from that terrible woman at the convent? If so, I’ll—”

  She took hold of his hand and lowered it. “That was from my father before I was sent away, and one reason I was so glad to go, at least at first.”

  “I promise you, Celeste, that I will never lay a hand on you or our children.”

  “And I promise you, Gerrard, that I will give you the love you deserve, the love you have always deserved.”

  His breath caught and his eyes glistened with sudden moisture. He tried to laugh as he swiped at them. “Say no more or you’ll have me weeping like a child, and a man on his wedding night should be very manly indeed.”

  She touched his cheek lightly with her lips. “I know what you’ve endured, Gerrard, and it would be no weakness to me if you did weep.”

  “Let’s try to put those times behind us, and forget.”

  “I doubt we can, but we can begin a new life today, one with more joyful memories.”

  “I love you, Celeste D’Orleau,” he whispered as he gently pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the passionate longing of a loving heart that had been lonely for so long.

  “As I love you,” she replied.

  No more needed to be said as they kissed and caressed, letting the past retreat, overcome by the needs of the present and the yearning that both had tried to ignore and deny for so long. When their clothes became a nuisance, Celeste lifted her shift over her head and stood naked before him, one arm over her breasts, her other hand between her thighs. She was too modest to do more, until she saw the hunger in his eyes, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “To think you are my wife!”

  Yes, she was his wife, and his words emboldened her. She lowered her arms.

  His gaze upon her, he pulled off his boots and stockings and kicked them aside. He untied the drawstring of his breeches and tugged them off, so that he was standing naked before her, too. Magnificently, marvelously naked, from the top of his head with its shoulder-length hair, to his broad shoulders, flat stomach, narrow hips and long, lean legs.

  “You’re like a statue of a god,” she murmured. An aroused god.

  “I’m a man of flesh and blood,” he said, moving closer. “A man eager to love his wife,” he added before he took her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  She pulled him down atop her, welcoming the weight of him. Her hands slid over his naked skin, feeling its warmth, letting her own excitement guide her as they kissed deeply.

  Instinctively she parted her legs and gasped when he put his hand between them, stroking her. She gripped his shoulders as sensations she had felt once before began to overtake her.

  His finger slipped inside her and she raised her hips, wanting more. Needing more.

  When he withdrew his finger, she whimpered with disappointment, until he entered her. As her mind reeled and her body welcomed, he began to thrust, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. She broke the kiss to speak, although no words came, only panting breaths and gasps and little moans, while the tension built and excitement grew and she arched upward until...until... Release! Glorious, throbbing, rocking release, so powerful she didn’t hear Gerrard groan deeply before he laid his head upon her sweat-slicked breasts.

  “To think I didn’t know what I was going to give up if I left you,” she murmured, stroking his head as the pulsing ebbed.

  “To think I was going to let you go,” he said in return before he looked at her. “I’ve been a fool plenty of times in my life, but never more than when I thought I could live without you.”

  “Now you won’t have to,” she said, smiling, “and I won’t have to try to live without you...or this.”

  He raised a brow. “This?” He frowned. “Perhaps that’s why you married me, for this.”

  “If you think that, you’re very much mistaken. How could I miss something I’d never experienced before?” She grew serious. “There’s never been any other man I wanted to kiss, let alone do that with.”

  “If you think that was exciting, let me assure you, it’s just the beginning,” he said, sounding like temptation in the flesh.

  Then he frowned again. “What about your ankle?”

  “It’s only a little sore.”

  “The apothecary said you ought to rest.”

  “I’m in bed, aren’t I?”

  * * *

  The early-morning light crept into the bridal chamber like an unwanted guest at a feast. Celeste woke first and lay still, listening to the calm, easy breathing of the man beside her. Her husband. Her beloved husband sleeping as peacefully as a babe, with a loose lock of hair on his brow. He looked so much like the boy she’d known, she could almost forget he was the man who’d made love to her with such passion.

  Almost, she thought with a smile, brushing the lock off his forehead.

  She nestled closer,
wincing a little from the slight pain in her ankle. She wished they could stay this way all day, or even a few more hours. Unfortunately, the sounds of the castle stirring told her that was probably impossible.

  “Hmm?” Gerrard murmured, opening his eyes and smiling sleepily. He rolled onto his side and put his arm around her. “Is it morning already? I feel like I hardly slept a wink, while you look fresh as the morning dew.”

  “It is morning, and neither of us slept very much. We were, you may recall, otherwise occupied.”

  “Indeed, I do recall,” he said. “I recall a lot of things we did last night,” he added with a grin that made her laugh and blush and cover her face with her hands.

  He reached up and pulled one hand away, his expression unexpectedly serious. “You’re not ashamed of what we did, are you?”

  “Oh, no!” she hurried to assure him. “I just... I mean, I never knew that it...what we did...that it could be so wonderful!”

  He fell flat on his back and laughed. “Thank God! I feared you were going to tell me you didn’t like it and never wanted me to touch you again.”

  “I do want you to touch me,” she said, her voice low and sultry. She slid her hand below his waist, determined to do more than tell him how much she enjoyed making love with him. “I want to touch you, too.”

  “What about your ankle?”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him, inching closer. She leaned down to lave his pebbled nipple with her tongue while her hand stroked and aroused. When he tried to caress her, she gently pushed his arm away and told him to lie still.

  His eyes flew open and he couldn’t have looked more taken aback if she’d announced she was Venus come to call.

  “I want to pleasure you, Gerrard,” she whispered. “Let me pleasure you.”

  “As long as I get to return the favor,” he huskily replied.

  She smiled then, and nodded, and drew back the covers to expose his naked body. With tender, loving passion, she used her lips and hands until he was twisting and moaning and practically begging her to let him make love to her.