She arched a brow, looking suddenly mischievous. “I would wager that you will have to shed those, as well.”
“It is time enough that I had assistance.”
She flushed scarlet, but as he anticipated, she did not shy away. His heart fairly burst with pride when she closed the distance between them and her hand landed upon the lace of his chausses. She was intrepid, this bride he had claimed, she faced her fears with a valor he could appreciate.
“There are those who do not like bold women,” Madeline said.
“There are those who value women who are courageous.” Rhys smiled at her. “I count myself in their ranks.”
She smiled though the redness of her cheeks did not diminish. “Then perhaps we have wed well, Rhys FitzHenry. My forthright manner was oft considered a liability, until now.”
She stepped closer and he caught his breath when she claimed the end of one lace. She held his gaze, her own a violent sapphire, and slowly pulled the laces out of his chausses. His erection pushed the heavy wool aside, so desirous was he of this tempting woman. She glanced down and her valor seemed to desert her.
“There is no need for haste.” Rhys eased her hair behind her ear with a gentle fingertip. Madeline swallowed and summoned a smile, then slipped her hands into his chausses and eased them over his hips. The feel of her fingertips on his flesh coaxed the heat beneath Rhys’ flesh to a raging flame. He impatiently kicked the garment aside and stood nude before her, half certain he would lose control beneath her gaze.
He thought she might flee then, for it seemed to cost her dearly to hold her ground. He wondered how far matters had proceeded with Kerr and feared it had been too much for her, but his lady squared her shoulders. Her eyes snapped with such determination that he knew he did not have to tell her that this deed was of import.
“I choose this,” she said with vigor and looked him in the eye. “I choose you, Rhys, to be my lawfully wedded spouse.”
He was proud of her, but had no chance to tell her as much.
For the lady, against all expectation, touched him.
Rhys’ blood thundered in his ears, so astonished and aroused was he. He stood like a man turned to stone, not daring to move lest she be frightened. Her fingers explored him timidly, then with greater boldness, teasing and caressing. He did not know whether she knew how she tormented him, but he knew that he would spill her seed in her hands, if this continued.
“Madeline,” he said, fairly growling her name.
“This gives you pleasure,” she said, that wicked glint in her eye again. “I shall have to remember as much.”
Rhys could resist her no longer. “With good fortune, there will be much to remember of this night.” He claimed the end of the tie holding the neck of her chemise.
She trembled suddenly, not so bold as she had appeared, and he deliberately slowed his pace. He tugged the tie from the chemise one increment at a time. She held her breath, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Her nipples were pert.
Time seemed to halt and there was nothing beyond this chamber, nothing beyond the blue of Madeline’s eyes and the soft curve of her lips.
The tie slipped loose from the chemise and the garment fluttered over Madeline’s shoulders. She did not try to halt its descent, merely let it fall to pool around her ankles in a gossamer puddle. She straightened, aware of her nudity and his gaze, and Rhys did not hide his admiration.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and when she smiled, he caught her close. He kissed her, waiting for her to join his embrace, then deepened his kiss when she did so. When she twined her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to him with a soft sigh, he lifted her in his arms and laid her down on the pallet without breaking his embrace.
Only then did he slip his fingers between her thighs, his heart leaping at the slick heat he found there. He caressed her, holding her captive beneath his kiss and his teasing fingers. He coaxed her to a tide of pleasure and Madeline followed his lead without hesitation.
Indeed, Rhys’ chest tightened at the trust she showed in him. It was not long before Madeline writhed, she gasped, she pulled his weight partly over her. He felt her breasts pressed against his chest, that small velvet sack caressing his skin when it was trapped between them. He felt her flesh heat as he summoned the climax from deep within her.
“Rhys!” She parted her legs further and he slipped one thigh between her own. Her hips began to buck, her kiss grew more frenzied and then the lady Madeline convulsed beneath his hand.
She broke their kiss and shouted fit to wake the dead, her nails digging into his back. Her hair was wild against the linens, her lips were swollen from his kisses and her eyes were filled with stars.
When she caught her breath, she regarded him with amazement and whispered his name with awe. There were tears upon her cheeks, and he eased them away with his thumb.
“That did not hurt,” she finally managed to say.
“We are not yet finished.” Rhys eased his weight between her thighs and saw her eyes widen when she felt his heat against her softness. He let his thumb caress her again and the tension eased from her shoulders.
She smiled at him and took a deep breath. “Show me, Rhys. I would learn of all the deed this night.”
Rhys moved with care, fighting his desire to bury himself in her sweet heat. Madeline caught her breath as he entered her, and he paused to caress her again. He was fairly bursting with the need to possess her, yet aware that this night could poison all the others they would share.
Rhys fought for restraint. He struggled to be worthy of her sweet trust. He closed his eyes and leaned his brow upon the pillow beside her, welcoming the calming stoke of her hand upon the back of his neck. He eased a little deeper and she caught her breath, her kiss landing upon his ear.
“Finish what we have begun, Rhys,” she whispered, her other hand landing upon his buttocks. He turned his head, knowing he was large enough to injure her, and kissed her. His kiss was gentle, an attempt to express an admiration that he could not fully explain in words. He swallowed her gasp, her welcoming heat and sweet kiss making him dizzy.
And he kept his thumb between them, coaxing her response anew even as he sought his own release. She quickened beneath him, as he had guessed that she would, and he resolved to wait for her to find her release again.
Though he knew it might well kill him. He watched her pleasure mount, felt her pulse race, and the sight of her arousal nigh undid him.
And when she cried out, he felt like a champion. No sooner had Madeline clutched his shoulders again than Rhys fairly exploded within her heat. Satisfaction swelled his heart that he had claimed Madeline as his bride for all eternity.
It was some time before Rhys recalled that with this deed, he had also secured his suzerainty of Caerwyn.
Madeline had never guessed that people found such pleasure abed. To be sure, there had been some pain, but the delight Rhys had summoned with his fingertips had made it easy to endure.
And in future, she hoped that she would have no pain.
Indeed, this coupling left her with a splendid sense of contentment. She smiled as she stroked Rhys’ dark hair. He yet lay partly atop her as he dozed against her shoulder. His release had exhausted him, it was clear, though Madeline did not mind. She liked having the opportunity to study him, and found him far less daunting while he slept.
To be sure, Rhys was wrought more formidably than she had imagined. It was not armor alone that made his chest look so broad, nor was it his boots that made him stand so tall. His skin was tanned and covered in places with a dark tangle of curly hair; his muscled strength was considerable. There were scars upon his flesh, scars from battle wounds long healed. He was vigorous and virile.
And he was her wedded spouse. He had been tender with her, despite his evident desire, and he had pursued her pleasure as diligently as his own. Though she had initially been fearful that Kerr’s way was the sole way, she was glad beyond glad that she had found the fortitude to l
earn the truth. Rhys did not mind that she was curious, nor that she touched him of her own volition, nor that she welcomed his passion with her own. And he had not been censorious in those moments when her valor abandoned her.
Rhys was not James, to be sure, and he would never be the gentle-mannered man that James had been, but there was merit in this man she had wed. Madeline watched her fingers slip through his hair and considered that her match was made well enough.
She might never love Rhys as she had loved James, and Rhys might never love her, but she already felt a certain affection for her gruff spouse. It was no small thing that he appreciated her as she was, that he ensured her safety with such vigor, that he courted mutual pleasure abed with such enthusiasm.
Madeline might even find a certain contentment with this warrior. The prospect made her smile broaden just as Rhys opened his eyes. He regarded her for a moment with the same reverence that had lit his eyes when he had removed her kirtle, then his lips curved slightly.
“You are pleased?”
Madeline nodded, feeling herself flush.
He propped himself upon on his elbow, removing his weight from her with an apology. He was yet close beside her, seeming larger and warmer now that he had awakened. He looked disheveled as she had never seen him, almost boyish. The slow smile that kindled a heat in his gaze was not boyish, however, and made her tingle in recollection of what they had just done. “And did it hurt?”
Madeline shrugged. “A little, though the pleasure was worth the price.” She touched the marks her nails had left upon his back. “Did this hurt?”
He spared the marks no more than the barest glance, then granted her a smile so wicked that her breath was stolen away. “The pleasure was worth the price,” he echoed, then claimed her lips anew. He kissed her with leisure, his fingertips sliding lightly over her flesh, and reawakened her ardor with astonishing ease.
One touch from Rhys and her blood fairly simmered, one caress and she yearned to feel his strength within her again. His kisses at Ravensmuir had been a mere portent of the pleasure he could grant her. She returned his embrace, liking that his erection grew against her thigh.
Perhaps she had a power to please him, as well.
Rhys broke their kiss and rolled to his back, folding his hands behind his neck, as if to keep himself from touching her. “Once this night will suffice for you, I think,” he said, his tone so rueful that Madeline laughed.
She liked that she already had the confidence in his nature to tease him. She touched his erection with a fingertip and it lifted beneath her caress. “But not for you?”
He gave her a glance so lustful that her mouth went dry. “I suspect that once with you will never suffice for me, anwylaf,” he said, his words low and his eyes dark.
She assumed the Welsh word meant “wife”, for it sounded so similar, and she did not mind the sound of it upon his lips. “Then my caress is a cruel one,” she whispered.
Rhys shrugged, a slow smile claiming his lips again. “Perhaps the pleasure is worth the price.”
Madeline laughed and laid her hand upon his chest. Rhys rolled to his side, facing her, and snared her hand within his own. His thumb slid across her palm in a slow caress and she smiled at him, feeling a contentment beyond expectation.
“Perhaps we have wrought a son already,” he said.
“As quickly as that?”
“It is possible.” His gaze dropped to their entwined hands and his words slowed. “My father always said that sons were wrought in passion, while daughters were wrought in dutiful coupling.”
Madeline felt herself flush, for they had met with passion indeed this night. “What a notion! I should like to think myself wrought in passion, not duty.”
“Perhaps he only said as much to encourage me.”
Madeline was puzzled. “Why would that encourage you?”
“Because I am bastard-born, but a son nonetheless.” Rhys lifted a fingertip to her cheek, stroking her as if she were wrought of fine silk. “My father only had daughters by his lady wife.”
Madeline frowned and put an increment of space between them. She was more troubled by this confession than she could have believed. “Your father took a whore to ensure that he had a son?”
“Aye, he did. And it was a successful ploy, clearly.”
That Rhys could endorse such infidelity, and do so with such calm, infuriated Madeline.
All the same, it was more difficult to shun Rhys’ heat and his touch than she would have liked. She donned her chemise with hasty gestures and gathered her thoughts with an effort, well aware of the weight of his perceptive gaze.
“What is amiss?” he asked
Madeline put the width of the chamber between them, considering her course. She did not want secrets between them, nor fears, so she pivoted to confront him. “How quickly will you turn to another woman to have the sons you desire?”
“What do you mean?”
Madeline heard her voice rise. “How much time do you grant me to conjure your son, Rhys? How long will you frequent my bed afore you take a whore?”
Rhys sat up and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes narrowed, but Madeline did not care if he was irked. “You are vexed by this prospect.”
“My parents found pleasure solely with each other for the duration of their match. I expect no less of my marriage, howsoever it was wrought.”
Rhys shook his head. “But that is unreasonable. With Caerwyn beneath my hand, I have need of sons to ensure the preservation and protection of my legacy.”
“And you have greater need of the loyalty of your wife.” When Rhys did not agree, Madeline continued in haste. “What gain was made by your father taking other women to his bed? He had a son, to be sure, but I doubt that your place in his household was an easy one.”
Rhys’ lips set in a stubborn line. “It is a question of the law of inheritance.”
“You know as well as I that a daughter can inherit through her spouse, if necessary.”
Rhys looked grim. “I will not have it. Strife comes of such uncertainty; strife and war and waste. It is irresponsible for a man to not ensure that he provides an heir who is a son.”
Madeline regarded him in astonishment. On the very night of her nuptials, her husband was vowing to be unfaithful to her! How could she have imagined she might find contentment with him? “Swear to me that you will come to my bed alone.”
He shook his head, impatient with the very notion. “You ask too much in this. I will have a son, if not two. And if they do not come from you, they shall come from another woman’s womb.” He rose and donned his chemise, apparently untroubled that she was so furious with him. “Under Welsh law, their mother’s name is of less import than their father’s seed.”
“I care nothing for the law! I will not be mocked in my own household!” Madeline fairly shouted. Never had her concerns been so casually dismissed. “I will not be compelled to show courtesy to a whore who has usurped my place.”
There was silence in the chamber then, a silence broken solely by the quickness of Madeline’s breath. Rhys donned his chausses as if he had not a care in the world, then donned his boots and fastened his belt about his waist.
Only once he had checked his weapons did he meet her gaze steadily. “Then I would suggest that you conceive a son with all haste, my lady.” With that, he bent to pick up his cloak.
His dismissive attitude infuriated Madeline as little else could have done.
“You faithless wretch! I should abandon this travesty of a marriage now!”
Rhys spared a telling glance at the ruby stain of her lost maidenhead upon the linens. “And who would welcome you?” he asked, as if curious to know her answer. “Your brother will not surrender my coin, nor will he find another willing suitor for you after last night. I will not tell a falsehood about what has happened between us this night, upon that you may rely.”
Madeline glared at him, disliking the truth in his words. Indeed, her fury made her
shake. “I should deny you access to my bed!”
That dangerous gleam lit Rhys’ eye, though still he spoke with studied calm. “And how will that ensure that you conceive a son? How will it compel me to not take another woman to my bed? You are too keen of wit to not see the flaw in that scheme, my lady.”
Rhys was right and they both knew it, though that did little to soothe Madeline’s temper. His eyes shone, so certain was he that she was cornered, and Madeline yearned to prove him wrong. But any reluctance she showed abed would persuade him that they would not conceive a son, as he believed his father’s edict about passion.
She glared across the chamber at the evidence of what they had done. He spoke aright about her lost maidenhead. Madeline’s sole path forward was as Rhys FitzHenry’s wife.
Madeline drew herself to her full height and spoke with all the frost she could muster. “I salute your cunning, sir, for you have ensured that I have no choice but to grant your will to you. But your triumph is won at great cost.”
“I see no cost in ensuring that matters will be between us as they should be.”
“Oh! You are a barbarian indeed!” she cried. “You have lost my good will, which should be of import to you! What manner of Christian pledges to be unfaithful to his bride upon the night of their nuptials?”
Rhys’ lips thinned. “An honest man in need of a son.”
“You will not blame me for your cruel confession.”
“Nay?” For the first time, Rhys showed annoyance. He jabbed a finger through the air at Madeline as he crossed the chamber, his eyes flashing. “You were the one to demand honesty of me, but you complain at your first taste of the truth.” He shoved a hand through his hair and glowered at her. “Would you prefer that I lie to you about my intent? Would you prefer to be deceived?”
“I would prefer that you be faithful!”
He donned his tabard with curt gestures. “The remedy for that is within your own womb.”
Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels) Page 97