The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

His decision where to spend the last two days had less to do with catching up with the Hainfroys, than avoiding Lenora while she was recovering from a head injury. When he had insisted she share his bed, he had not anticipated how bloody difficult he would find restraining himself. He rubbed his brow and huffed out a frustrated breath.

  If anyone had told him this time two weeks ago that his marriage would still be unconsummated at this point, he would have laughed them to scorn. But the fact remained, he’d barely touched her. And that needed to change. Soon. He was not a considerate man, and the strain was starting to tell on him. She barely seemed to leave his thoughts these days and other women didn’t even register with him anymore.

  What the hells was it about Lenora Montmayne that had him chomping at the bit? He couldn’t remember a partiality for one particular woman since the days of callow youth. The one that sprang to mind had been a black-haired barmaid with a lusty laugh and ample charms. Absolutely nothing like Lenora.

  Not to say that Lenora did not have a nice laugh, he conceded, rolling out of bed, for she did. In fact, for a spoiled court beauty, she was easily entertained. He doubted many high-born wenches would have been content in that tent at Kellingford, with the mud and having to piss in a field, but she had seemed almost sorry to leave it.

  Most of the time, she seemed to make up her own amusement, he reflected as he upended the half-jug of leftover cold washing-water into the empty basin. Quite often, at his expense, he thought with a wry twist of his lips as he leaned down to plunge his face straight into the water. That damned guard at the palace and the priest who’d wed them sprang to mind. He stood upright, cold water trickling down his neck.

  She’d had a lively disregard for his wrath from the first, he thought as he scrubbed a cloth over his wet hair and shoulders. Despite his ugly reputation, she hadn’t flinched. His throat went dry as he remembered her standing up in that damn bathtub at the inn, letting him look his fill at her naked, dripping body.

  Then suddenly, her words from the previous evening came back to him. I had a bath this evening and hoped you might return for it. His eyelids flickered. She couldn’t have meant that the way it sounded… could she?

  Pulling his tunic over his head, he tried to remember what his own response had been. What had he said to that? He couldn’t even remember. Cursing himself for a fool, he dragged on his braies and fastened his chauses. Below stairs seemed strangely deserted. It was only when he entered the kitchens that he found Hawise humming tunelessly as she prepared vegetables for a stew.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked, glancing around.

  “Berta accompanied the master and Lady Lenora into town,” she answered smartly.

  “Town?”

  “Wednesday is market day,” she reminded him. Garman frowned. Why the hells did Lenora want to go to a provincial market, he wondered with irritation. “Would you be needing something, sir?” she asked, setting down her knife and wiping her hands on a cloth.

  He shook his head distractedly. “What time did they set off?”

  “Straight after breaking their fast.” She glanced at the window. “And should be back before ere long.”

  He grunted and waved a hand, indicating she should carry on with her stew. She beamed at him and took her knife back up to commence chopping onions. “How is Berta getting along?” he found himself asking, propping his hip against the table.

  Hawise frowned slightly. “She’s a hard worker,” she said lightly. “And never needs to be shown any task more than once.” He nodded at this, guessing there was more to come. In the silence, he reached for a round loaf and cut himself a thick slice. Hawise cleared her throat. “No doubt, leaving behind her old life and her family hasn’t been easy.”

  Garman paused in the act of slathering on some butter. “No doubt,” he repeated.

  The old woman directed a shrewd glance his way. “Relations ‘bain’t always the easiest to get along with. I know when my Jem married his Annie, there were a few ruffled feathers at first. Soon blew over though,” she remarked sagely. “All water under the bridge now. Folks just need to learn how to get along.”

  Garman raised his piece of bread to his lips, then lowered it again. For a moment he had a sharp suspicion she was speaking directly to him. He narrowed his eyes.

  “Look over there,” Hawise recommended, nodding in the direction of the kitchen fire. He glanced over to the hearth where the Lenora’s white cat was curled up next to his grandfather’s old hound. “Kolby’s reconciled at any rate,” she said with satisfaction.

  As if disturbed by this mention of his name, Kolby stretched out by the fire and yawned, rolling onto his stomach. Grizelda fussily rose and re-settled herself against him. Almost apologetically, the dog smacked his lips together and lowered his head onto his front paws. “We’ll all learn to rub along together in the end,” Hawise said with satisfaction. “You’ll see. Mind, I have no clue where the little gray is this morn.”

  Garman cleared his throat. “He’s still a-bed,” he admitted.

  Hawise‘s eyebrows shot up her head, but she said nothing on that score. “I daresay he’ll find his way down here when his belly starts rumbling,” she said comfortably.

  “Very likely,” he agreed and wandered back out of the kitchen toward the front of the house, still eating his bread and butter. If the party had left at first light, they should be returning any minute. Cofton Warren was a small town and if Lenora was hoping the marketplace would rival those of Aphrany or Caer-Lyoness, she would be sadly disappointed.

  On impulse he made his way down to the stables to check on Bria’ag who seemed none the worse for their midnight ride home. “End up in a ditch indeed,” Garman muttered as he stroked the horse’s gleaming flanks. He felt a flicker of annoyance that Tybalt had felt no impulse to bond with his own destrier yet was now inseparable from Huw’s stallion. “Pollux is nothing compared to you,” he assured his horse.

  “Was you wanting something, Master Garman?” a voice asked doubtfully from the next stall. Garman exclaimed and Bria’ag stamped a mighty hoof. Glancing over the partition, he saw a wide-eyed groom peering up at him, clutching a broom.

  “No,” he responded shortly. “What time are you expecting your master home?”

  “Oh, any time now like as not,” answered the groom. Garman nodded briskly and exited the stable.

  His head was not sore for he rarely suffered, and the bread had settled any slight queasiness. Still, he felt irritable and out of sorts. Where the hells was his wife anyway? Should she not ask his leave before sauntering forth here, there, and everywhere? He kicked a pebble and scowled.

  He should have stayed longer at Cofton Grange, instead of haring back here to her side. Huw had been most put out by his insistence on leaving, though Ivo had merely laughed as though he were in on some grand jest. “She won’t vanish into thin air if you stay another night!” Huw had snapped. “What’s so special about her anyway?” he’d jeered. “Certainly not her looks. And by your own account she’s no heiress either.”

  Garman frowned, he hadn’t fought with either of the Hainfroy brothers in earnest since they were lads, but Ivo had been forced to step in at that point, for Garman had Huw by the throat.

  Brawling, his old master would have called it, and either knocked their heads together or emptied a bucket of water over them. But old Sir Bernhadt had been dead now for over four years and their boyhood fights were long behind them. Doubtless the vast quantity of drink was partly to blame for his loss of control, but not all. No, he thought clenching his fist, not all.

  The sound of hooves and voices had him wheeling around to see the approaching cart. Lenora’s laugh drifted over and he started forward to meet them.

  “Ah, you’re back then, my boy,” his grandfather hailed him, pulling on the reins. He looked to be in high spirits for once with a flush on his cheeks and a sparkle in his eye.

  “Aye,” Garman said grudgingly, and reached up for Lenora to climb down. She gazed down
at him somewhat quizzically. “What?” he asked, sounding surlier than he’d intended.

  “How’s your head?” she asked archly as he swung her down.

  “Fine, how’s yours?”

  “You needn’t snap,” she reproached him as she turned to reach back up to take some parcels from Berta. Garman grasped her upper arms and moved her bodily to one side as he took the boxes in her place.

  “I can get down meself!” Berta said sharply when he held out a hand to her. He rolled his eyes and reached into the back of the cart for the bulging sacks.

  “Allow me to take some of those,” his grandfather protested as Garman slung them over his shoulder. He sent a withering look in his grandfather’s direction. The old man was only half his size and he was more than equal to the task.

  “Here comes Johnny now,” said Lenora brightly. “He can carry some of them.”

  Johnny came hurrying over, hands held out. Then he caught Garman’s eye and visibly quailed.

  “I’ve got these,” Garman glowered, and the crestfallen lad hastily retreated.

  “Um, very obliging of you, my boy,” his grandfather murmured. “You needn’t worry that I’ve let her overtax herself. We’ve kept a careful eye on her the whole time, isn’t that right, Berta?”

  Berta hitched an irritable shoulder, which everyone seemed to take as an affirmative.

  “I feel absolutely fine,” Lenora assured him, taking the older man’s arm. They smiled at one another in perfect accord and Garman fell in step behind them with Berta, his mood a good deal more akin to the sour old woman’s.

  “Soused, were you?” Berta asked with a sidelong look. “I know that hangdog look.”

  “I feel perfectly fine,” he retorted.

  “They do say,” Berta mused. “That a good cure for morning fog is to wash your pizzle in salt and vinegar water.”

  Garman glared at her. “I haven’t got morning fog,” he said coldly. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t be putting my pizzle anywhere near such a concoction.”

  “Actually I might have got that wrong,” Berta admitted, tapping her chin. “It might have been to dip your ballocks in it, not the pizzle.”

  Mercifully, Hawise flung open the door for them at this point and they were divested of cloaks and purchases.

  “We managed to buy cloves,” Lenora told her sadly. “But the Spicerer had only limited stock today and no nutmeg whatsoever. He did say that by this time next month he should have received a shipment.”

  Garman snagged Lenora’s arm when she would have followed both Berta and Hawise to the kitchens. “It’s time for you to rest now,” he growled.

  “He’s quite right, my child,” his grandfather interrupted when she would have argued. “You’ve been on your feet all morning.”

  “But I feel quite recovered now,” she protested as Garman maneuvered her toward the stairs.

  “An hour or two’s rest before supper would doubtless be most beneficial,” Gerard called up after them. “I’ll have Ada bring up water for you to wash.”

  Lenora twisted around to look back at Garman over her shoulder. “Your grandfather has not yet finished today’s instruction.”

  Garman propelled her firmly up the steps with his hands on her shoulders. “Instruction?”

  “Household management,” said Lenora smugly. “I’m proving a most apt pupil.”

  “Oh?” He gazed down at the top of her head. “You’ve started on that, have you?”

  “We started yesterday, actually,” Lenora sniffed. “While you were dallying with your friends.”

  Dallying? “I see.” He closed the door firmly behind them and steered her toward the bed. “Sit, and I’ll take off your boots.”

  Lenora sat on the edge of the bed while he unfastened her ankle boots. A knock on the door heralded Ada’s arrival with a steaming pitcher of hot water. Lenora thanked her and rose to set about her ablutions. “Why are you taking off your boots?” she asked in surprise, catching sight of him as she dried her face on a cloth.

  He didn’t answer, simply crossed the room to stand beside her, washing his own hands. Lenora shrugged, but when she went to walk to the bed, he caught her elbow. “Let me see,” he said, putting his hands carefully to her brow and parting the hair there. She waited patiently, head bowed as he inspected the small cut and the slight remaining redness. “It’s healed well.”

  “I told you,” she said. “I’m a good healer. It’s my secret talent.”

  He grunted, releasing her. “You are surprisingly resilient,” he admitted, watching her climb onto the bed.

  “I’m not really tired,” she said, flipping onto her back.

  “No?” He walked to the edge of the bed. “Then maybe it’s time I continued my instruction.”

  “Your instruction?” She gazed up at him. “And what are you teaching me, pray?”

  “How to please me,” he answered shortly.

  She turned rather pink at this. “I’m already learning how to be a good housewife. There are limits to how much I can learn at any one time.”

  “Then I give you permission to drop the household duties for now,” he said arrogantly.

  “Oh, you do, do you?” she spluttered as he lowered onto the bed beside her. “How good of you!” He wasn’t fooled though. Under the bluster, she was nervous. He frowned absently; didn’t she know by now that she had no need to be nervous around him? Reaching for her, he drew her close. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t like,” he said, almost surprising himself.

  Her eyes met his. “I thought I was supposed to be learning what you like?”

  “We’ll both be learning each other’s likes,” he corrected, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Now, if I remember correctly, you like my kiss.”

  She caught her breath and he lowered his mouth to hers. The burst of pleasure he felt at the simple touch of her lips against his shocked him. He had got that wrong, he realized dazedly. He was the one who liked her kiss. More than liked. He loved it. Especially when she made that sound, deep in her throat.

  Why had he not been doing more of this? He drew back his head, breaking the kiss. “Wrap your arms around me,” he demanded. And what else? Oh yes. “Run your fingers through my hair, like last time.” He had only just a chance to see her eyes widen in surprise before he crushed his lips to hers again. He felt her hands press against his back, clasping him to her. Then one slid up to his neck and into his hair and he lost it, deepening the kiss, turning it into a carnal mating of mouths.

  Was he being too rough? He eased up his bruising grip, the hard press of his lips and rolled onto his back, taking her with him, so she was now in the superior position. He couldn’t trust himself to be considerate, he realized too late. He’d let her dictate the pace.

  Immediately, Lenora scooted in closer, pursuing his kiss. Her fingers tugged at his roots, she opened her mouth over his and moaned. Ah gods. She liked it. His head reeled. Perhaps she knew she could trust him after all? When her tongue lapped at his, he growled deep in his chest, his hands sliding around to grab her ass. Her legs were on either side of him now and she was practically astride him. He wanted her naked and grinding on top of him. The feel of her skirts reminded him he’d left her clothes on for a reason. Right. She was a virgin. He shuddered. Gods, he needed to be gentler. He lifted up his hands to ease her head back from his.

  “What is it?” she panted, eyes glazed, her hair coming loose from its arrangement and tumbling loose about her face. His cock pulsed hard seeing her like this for him. Fuck, she might not be beautiful, but she was desirable as hell, and his.

  “Lift up your skirts.” There was only a moment of hesitation before she released him and began bunching up the fabric. “Show me,” he said shakily.

  Her head jerked up. “What?”

  “Bring it up here.” He licked his lips and Lenora’s face flamed.

  “Um.”

  “We did this before too,” he reminded her unevenly. “Remember? In the tent.”


  “Yes,” she squeaked. “But… but I was…” She made a helpless gesture.

  “Facing the other way, I know. It makes no difference. Come and sit on my face, Lenora.”

  “Garman!” She was shocked, but he was past caring.

  “Now!” he rumbled deep in his chest, and with a muffled sob, she fell forward, edging up his body inch by inch, the tangle of skirts preventing her from moving faster.

  He reached down and started unlacing his crotch. The dull, almost painful throb of his cock needed relief. He took himself in hand and groaned as she hitched up her skirts, parted her knees and showed him her pretty slit.

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “Perfect.” And it was. So perfect he had to close his eyes an instant or he would have released at the sight of her. He slid his hand up his throbbing shaft and squeezed the tip hard. He didn’t want to spend himself on the sheets. He wanted to release deep inside his wife.

  “Garman?”

  “I can’t wait,” he groaned earthily. “Have mercy and give me a taste.”

  She whimpered as one of his hands grabbed her hip to urge her up and over his chest. “What if you can’t breathe–oh!”

  Then I’ll die happy, he thought, moaning against her slippery, pink cunt. So good. He could have been sampling this divine honeypot between her legs for the last two weeks. What the fuck had he been thinking? He dragged his tongue between her slick folds and over her pretty pearl, again and again, delving into her tight sheathe in a tease that had his cock twitching in anticipation. Her wetness maddened him. His cock jerked in his own tight grip, but still he couldn’t drag his mouth away. He strained his ears to catch her hitched breathing, his hand clasping and unclasping on her trembling thigh. He still hadn’t had his fill when he heard her wail and felt her convulsing around his swirling tongue.

  Only the overwhelming impulse to spill his seed made him disentangle her limbs and roll her under him. “Open wider,” he grunted, sliding his hips into the cradle of her thighs. Her blue eyes blinked up at him. “Wrap your legs around my back.”

  Her eyelids drifted closed and he bit back a short laugh. “Lenora, I’m about to take you,” he warned.