Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart)

by Alyssa James

  Again his thoughts returned to the kiss he’d sampled on the stairs outside the chapel. That had whet his appetite for more. He’d sensed her initial shyness at the prospect of his kiss, then her surprised, responsive reaction. Despite her initial cool reserve and apprehension, their kiss had kindled a fiery passion that had been reflected in the smouldering need in her eyes. All he needed to do now was fan those flames.

  ’Twould be no chore bedding this beautiful maiden. His body stirred every time he considered the task that lay ahead. The male beast within him had been awakened with an urgency he could not remember having ever experienced. Mayhap ’twas the urgency to reaffirm his manhood and ensure it had not been robbed from him forever.

  “Lord Rowan, when I awakened this morn, I did not expect for you to be my husband.”

  “’Tis true and I can only hope you are well pleased by the turn of events.”

  “I am...There is something...something I need to...” Her throat worked up and down, her eyes held desperation in them and a pleading light.

  Rowan took her hand in a gesture meant to comfort and she jumped at his touch.

  “Mayhap you fear the bridal bed?”

  Her pure white skin flared red.

  “You have no mother, my lady. Do you know what awaits you this eve?”

  “My guardian...Lord Blake...” She faltered and Rowan heard the distress in her voice, saw the agitation in the stiffness of her body and the way the knuckles of her free hand whitened as her fingernails bit into the edge of the wooden bench.

  He felt his brows draw together in a frown. “Your guardian discussed the marriage bed with you?” ’Twas most unseemly if it were the case, but then Rowan had disliked the man on sight. The current Lord Blake was a man not befitting the title.

  “Nay. My maid, Ysabel told me...but my guardian...” Lisette shuddered and raised her head. “I beseech you not to allow my guardian or any others into the chamber to witness my...to watch...”

  Indignation heated the blood in his veins as he guessed at the words she could not voice. “My lady, despite what you may think, that is not common practice and even if ’twere, ’tis not something I would tolerate.” Not tonight. Not ever.

  “My guardian, he...he said that—”

  “Fear not. It matters not what he said or what he believes and he is no longer your guardian. The door to our chamber shall be barred. ’Tis enough that the linens are displayed tomorrow in the hall to prove your virtue. There is no need for anyone to witness the act that has been blessed by the church and will bind us together as husband and wife.”

  The red stain of embarrassment bleached from her skin, leaving her unnaturally pale. The palm of the slender hand he held in his was suddenly clammy. His virgin bride shrank back into her seat, increasing the distance between them.

  Rowan released her hand and drained the contents of his goblet, giving her some time to compose herself before he turned back to her. “Lisette, I have vowed to honour and protect you. ’Tis maidenly fear you have and further delay in consummating our marriage will serve only to draw out your ordeal.” And his own. He took both of her hands in his own and noted that she was as stiff and cold as a corpse. “I will treat you well. ’Tis time to be my wife in truth.”

  Drawing in a deep breath he rose from his seat and pulled her up with him. Duty must be done, and ’twas not duty alone but desire that drove him to their bridal bed. He craved his bride and needed to feel like a man who was fully in control once again.

  Yet while she possessed a feminine body that made the fire leap through him and his shaft stiffen, he would find no pleasure in bedding a virgin who was clearly frightened witless. He wanted her willing, and he would make love to her with such finesse that she would beg him to join with her as one and fulfil all the passion he would awaken within her. The thought of what lay ahead made his cock hard and aching.

  Their movement from the dais set off a round of cheers from the hall and some bawdy advice.

  “May your lance be strong and straight, my lord,” one reveller cried.

  “May the tip of your sword be sharp enough to do the job,” another joined in amid ribald laughter.

  Rowan saw Lisette square her shoulders and tilt her chin proudly, but her cheeks reddened. She drew closer to Rowan as if in need of his protection. In response he placed a supportive arm around his lady wife. Surprisingly ’twas the most natural thing in the world to draw her to his side. He would always protect her. ’Twas her right as his wife, and as the daughter of the man who had saved him from the consequences of his own sin.

  “Bury it to the hilt, Lord Romsey!”

  “May your—”

  The fourth piece of advice was unfinished as Rowan shot a quelling look in that reveller’s direction. The man closed his mouth and sat down as quickly as he’d stood.

  Rowan’s message was clear to all but one.

  “Come on men! Who’s to join me to witness the deflowering?” Lord Blake cried. Staggering a little, he lifted his goblet of wine in a toasting gesture to the gathered guests. “We’ll soon see just how the fair lady handles her lordship’s stiff lance and hear her cries when he thrusts it home and makes her bleed!”

  Aware of a small, anguished gasp from Lisette, Rowan gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Even as his frame stiffened in outrage at her guardian’s lewd remarks, he admired the way she held herself proud.

  Her guardian was the only one who laughed at his own crudity. An uncomfortable silence descended around the hall. People shifted their gaze from Blake to Rowan, no doubt waiting to see how the Earl of Romsey would respond.

  ’Twas several moments before Blake—clearly the worst for having drunk too much of the fine wine—looked at Rowan.

  Heat shimmering off his body in waves, Rowan glared at Lisette’s guardian. Surely Blake must see that Rowan seethed at the disrespect shown to his lady?

  “Lord Blake,” he bit out, “You will apologise to my wife.”

  Blake turned a mottled red and spluttered, “Apologise? You mean to deny us the sport of watching you take her maidenhead?”

  “Sir, you are no gentleman. ’Tis no sport but the consummation of holy matrimony. If you are wise, you will make your apology and depart.”

  “But—”

  “Apologise. Now.” The words were quiet but they carried steely menace which reverberated around the entire hushed hall as surely as if two steel sword blades had crossed.

  “She’s just like her mother. She’s a har—”

  In a flash Rowan was off the dais and in front of Lisette’s foul-mouthed, filthy-minded guardian. Anger added strength to Rowan’s already powerful arms as he grabbed a handful of the older man’s tunic and lifted his portly body up off the ground.

  “You have offended my wife and you have offended me.”

  Blake suddenly sobered as if he realised the threat Lord Romsey posed to his physical welfare. “I...I apologise my lord...”

  “And—to—my—wife,” Rowan growled.

  Blake looked over at Lisette, “My lady...’twas the wine. Far stronger than I’m accustomed to.”

  “If our paths ever cross again, I advise you to ride in the opposite direction, Blake.” The words Rowan uttered were not a threat, they were a promise. Dropping the Lord of Bridlemere to the ground, Rowan swung around in time to see Lisette’s maid at her side, whispering into her ear. Lisette shook her head and pushed the maid away slightly but not before the older woman slipped something into his bride’s pocket.

  Still needing to deal with Blake, Rowan paid the incident little heed and swung back to address the group of knights who’d travelled with him from Normandy.

  “Two of you escort Lord Blake out of the keep and make sure he returns this night to Bridlemere,” he ordered. He nodded stiffly to the rest of the assembly. “This has been an unfortunate incident and one my honourable wife and I wish to forget. We pray those of you who remain shall enjoy the rest of the festivities.”

  The tension in
the room eased and a cheer went up as the musician took up his lute and the juggler re-commenced his entertainment.

  “Come, my lady,” he urged Lisette. Together they made their way up the narrow, wooden stairs and to the chamber that had been prepared for them.

  When they reached the chamber Rowan was true to his word. He barred the heavy, wooden door and hoped that would erase some of the anxiety on his lady wife’s countenance. There would be no drunken interruptions when he breached her maidenhead and taught her the secrets and pleasures of the marriage bed.

  He hesitated as he saw that she had crossed the chamber and stood as far away from the bed as possible. She was incredibly lovely, but still appeared deeply troubled. The smile he sent her was one he hoped would convey kindly reassurance. “Your hands will soon be chaffed and calloused if you continue to wring them in such agitation.”

  “My Lord Romsey—”

  “Rowan. You must call me by my name when we are alone.” He extended a hand. “Come hither.”

  She stayed where she was. Her straight, white teeth gnawed relentlessly at her lower lip. “We must talk.”

  Not such a biddable bride as he had anticipated.

  Rowan felt his lips draw into a gentle smile as he lowered the hand he’d offered. “The wedding night is not made for talking, Lisette.” He took a few steps until he stood before her. “We have the rest of our lives to converse with each other.” And now he needed to claim her and reclaim the man he was.

  “Sir, I beseech you—”

  “You are my wedded wife,” he told her firmly. “Our marriage must be consummated this eve and proof of our consummation displayed in the morn’.”

  “But—”

  “Although our joining will most likely be painful for you this first time, I pledge to be as gentle as possible. I will make you as ready as possible for my possession.” He’d never bedded a virgin before...

  He corrected himself. Strictly speaking, that wasn’t true. If his suspicions were correct, his rapist had been untouched. His lips tightened and his fists clenched. It took all his will power to stop the direction of his thoughts. The last thing he needed was a memory of that time. That woman would not intrude into his wedding chamber.

  “I truly need to talk to you, my lord. I need to explain that—”

  He raised a finger and set it against the soft lushness of her lips. “No more words, Lisette. Let me show you how pleasurable it can be.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head from side to side, her wavy blond tresses tossing in her denial.

  He quirked an eyebrow but his patience grew thin and his words, this time, were more forthright. “No more nerves. Be thankful you have a patient husband who cares about your well-being. You have been saved this day from what could have been a very different experience in the bridal chamber.”

  Another violent tremor wracked her slender frame.

  In response he reached out and drew her up against his warrior’s body. One hand trailed through her blonde tresses, the other smoothed the fabric of her gown at the small of her back. The feel of her silken hair and her feminine form made his erection throb painfully.

  ’Twas a long time since the mere vision of a lady had ever made him feel this fierce need for release.

  Lowering his head, he captured the surprised gasp of her honeyed breath against his lips and set about discovering the texture of her lips, and the taste of her mouth, with his own. She tasted as sweet as an exotic, forbidden fruit. He savoured her flavour with every trace of his tongue tip along her lips and then into the interior of her mouth. ’Twas only seconds before he was lost in the exploration of the sweetest kiss he’d ever experienced. Upon hearing her feathery sighs his sex thickened more and throbbed unbearably between his thighs.

  Initially she held herself still and unresponsive but, as his hands dipped down to shape her rounded buttocks then up to trace the womanly flare of her hips and measure her hand-span waist, he felt her yield against him. Her body lost some of its rigidity. Her arms crept up around his neck and she began kissing him back in between soft mewls of desire. Her tentativeness lessened. Suddenly she was as hungry as he, eager to experience all he could teach her.

  “I dreamt not I could feel like this,” she murmured huskily as his lips trailed a fiery path of kisses along her jaw line and his head dipped to caress the tender spot of skin where her neck joined her shoulders.

  He gave a growl of satisfaction at her speedy submission.

  His blood pounded past his ears, slightly out of rhythm with the crashing of his heart against his ribcage. Heat flooded his groin. The turgidity of his rod pulled his skin painfully as though the force of his lust for his lady would burst forth before he’d even had a chance to undress her.

  Carefully he took off her mantel, found the fastenings of her gown with his fingers and began undoing them without stopping their kisses. It took some skill to release all the damnable fastenings. At last he was able to slide the silky fabric down off her shoulders and run his palms under her shift and along the smoothness of her bare flesh, stripping her bare to the waist.

  Her first reaction was to cover the naked flesh of her breasts with her hands, but he would have none of that. Shackling her wrists with his fingers, he pulled her hands away.

  “You have beautiful breasts. Do not be ashamed of your body, my wife. Let me appreciate you. Let me drink you in.”

  He proceeded to do just that. Releasing her wrists, he saw the puzzlement and panic in her expression. He pressed a heated kiss to her lips as his hands sought to cup her breasts. She jumped a fraction at the touch of his palms, then relaxed and moaned as he began to caress the firm, fleshy mounds. The raw sound of her need against his lips as he drew on her nipples with his thumb and forefinger, had his own arousal jumping.

  Her head tilted back allowing him easier access as he kissed down the slender column of her neck. She shifted restlessly and inhaled sharply as he reached his intended destination and licked over one of her dusky, pink nipples. Her flesh was softer than the petals of any English rose and without the hazards of thorns to prick his fingers. Drawing her nipple sharply into his mouth, he sucked hard. Lisette buckled under the onslaught of his mouth. Her knees caved and he smiled as he realised her body needed the support of his arms to keep her upright.

  Rowan lifted her to him and marvelled at her weightlessness and the feel of her petite form in his arms. Without releasing his mouth from her breast, he carried her the short distance to their marriage bed and laid her down with reverence.

  He would love her slowly and tenderly in respect of her maidenhood, but, on his vow, he would also love her thoroughly this night.

  Intent on stripping her completely and laying her naked before him, Rowan tugged gently at her skirts. The material had some sort of fastening and caught at her waist. Rowan’s fingers sought the clasp and stilled as his hand encountered something he didn’t recognise—something soft and spongy concealed in the pocket of her gown.

  Instantly the image of the maid placing something in Lisette’s pocket flashed through his mind and his curiosity was piqued.

  A little dissatisfied protest sounded from his bride as he broke from his suckling of her. He suppressed a groan as she looked up at him with a dazed expression. Lisette was extremely feminine and utterly sweet and appealing. All things considered, he was a fortunate man. Henry may have enforced a political marriage with another maiden who had far less compelling attributes. Aye, he was truly lucky to have such a beautiful wife who stirred his lust to such hot intensity.

  Moving his hand he found the opening of the pocket and reached in to retrieve the mystery object. Where, moments before, desire had made his blood run like molten lava, ice now instantly froze his bloodstream and made him paralysed. Rooted to the spot for several long moments, he regarded the object.

  Stunned, he turned it over in his hand. The full meaning of his find was like being ambushed by an unseen archer. Each deadly tip found its mark as a volley of ar
rows destroyed his trust in her and pierced his pride.

  “Explain this,” he bit out in a quiet voice as he struggled to maintain his calm. Bitterness pounded through him like waves from a stormy sea onto rocks as he registered her betrayal. His mind tried but was unable to deny the evidence.

  The shock in her expression could not have been greater had he doused her with a pail of ice-cold water. Her jaw dropped so her lips parted, but she said naught as she scooted up the bed away from him and pulled at the material of her garment to cover her naked breasts.

  “Tell me what this is,” he demanded, closing the distance between them once again.

  Her head fell forward, her golden tresses hiding her expression, but not before he’d seen wretched misery reflected in her eyes.

  ’Twas well she should feel misery, but her remorse did not lessen her guilt.

  With a little more pressure than was necessary, he placed his fingers under her chin and forced her head upright, insisting she look straight at the offensive parcel he held up with the other hand. “The truth, my lady.”

  “You know what it is,” she whispered, her eyes still as wide as trenchers.

  “Aye. A pig skin filled with blood,” he ground out in disgust as he let her go. “And I know the reason for it.”

  “Rowan, I told you I needed to talk—”

  “And what were you planning to tell me, lady wife?”

  “The truth,” she said as she turned her head away from him.

  “What is this truth you speak of?”

  “I...”

  “Speak up, Lisette,” he almost snarled, unable to believe that yet another woman—a woman he’d sought to protect, a woman to whom he was now bound through matrimony—had betrayed his trust. God’s teeth! She’d portrayed the part of an innocent maiden so well. Those initial kisses, her trembling responses...