This time, he was so close that she couldn’t keep herself from grabbing onto him. She didn’t know if she was hoping to control him or the rhythm or just anything about the ride he was taking her on, but at least he provided a solid point from which she was being catapulted about.
She lost count of the explosions he put her through before he threw his own head back and roared in a way she couldn’t and envied. And then he collapsed a top her, lungs like a bellows in her ear, his bulk forcing her deep into the furs, but even that wasn’t keeping her from suffocating.
“My … lord,” she could barely get out while tapping on his shoulder. “Get … off!”
Piers was stunned by the violence of his own release, and didn’t begin to listen until she began pounding on his shoulders.
Coughing and choking, Amber got up from the bed and nearly wretched all over one of the newer carpets.
That was a wonderful way to start a marriage, Piers thought, whacking his wife on the back to help her try to regain her breath. Try to kill her by your sheer bulk. That would be good. He knew better than to do that. He was a big guy, and she was a little woman. He usually had to make adjustments like that, simply moving a bit to the side as soon as he was done, so that she didn’t have to bear his weight when his arms weren’t supporting him.
But he’d been caught off guard by the violence of his orgasm. Stunned was the better word.
It didn’t help, though, if he killed his wife the first night they were married. He’d end up with Josette, and that thought was no longer appealing.
When she seemed as though she was going to live, he carefully lifted her off the floor and brought her back to bed with him, sitting up against the wall and curling her against his chest, examining her in minute detail to make sure he hadn’t done any permanent harm.
She was fine, but cantankerous, as usual, moving his hands and not being particularly cooperative. She seemed sleepy, and to his surprise, she curled up on his chest like a kitten and went to sleep.
* * * *
It was hours later when someone—that he was going to have strung up by their genitals —knocked on the door. When he found out it was one of the maids, sent by Mrs. Tulane with a tray of food from the ongoing feast, he retracted his thought, took the tray, and thanked the wide-eyed girl.
He’d hoped to keep from waking his wife, considering everything she’d been through today, but that was too much to ask for, apparently, because when he turned back to bring the provisions into the room—their room, no longer just his—she was awake. Still yawning, but sitting in the middle of his bed and looking at him almost accusatorily.
“I hurt,” she said bluntly.
Piers put the tray down on the bed and proceeded to feed her morsel by morsel, not allowing her to do it for herself and slapping her hand the one time she tried to grab some for herself. He liked the idea of feeding her by hand, as if he was training some wild animal to his hand. “I should think your bottom would hurt.”
“I didn’t say it was my bottom,” she informed him with a deep blush.
“Oh.” Piers reached over to the table next to the bed where Mrs. Tulane’s magic potion had taken up residence. “Perhaps I ought to put some of this on you now. It couldn’t hurt, I wouldn’t think, and it might help.”
Amber reached for the vial, but he held it away from her. Amber was indignant. “I can do it!”
“I’ve no doubt you can. But I will see to things like this for you from now on, Amber.” He tapped her on the shoulder, and she frowned, but lay back on the bed. “After all, I am your husband.” He tipped the vial and wet the tip of his middle finger, then transferred the liquid to that part of her that was most recently damaged in the course of their lovemaking. “Did it hurt terribly at the time?”
“Did what hurt?”
Piers had to smile. He guessed that was a good answer, if she didn’t even know that he’d hurt her during the process at all. He applied the potion liberally, frowning when he withdrew his finger and found blood on it. He kept that sight well away from Amber, lest it upset her, somehow. He knew she was a hunter and all of that, but one could never tell how a person was going to react to the sight of their own blood.
They were silent for a few moments, each eating thoughtfully, until Amber said something Piers never expected. “I’m sorry you ended up having to marry me rather than Josette. I know that she was the one you’d asked to marry you back in France, and she’s got to be unhappy with this turn of events.”
He was somewhat taken aback. He hadn’t expected to speak about the subject, much less receive an apology from his wife about the fact that he’d had no choice but to marry her. What could he have done? The king had decreed that they would be married. There wasn’t anything either of them could have done about it, one way or the other. The only thing they could do was make the best of it from here on out.
And that’s essentially what he said to her. He didn’t tell her that he was intrigued by her and half in love with her already, but then neither did she confess those things to him about herself.
In fact, he knew that she probably still considered that she was married to the enemy.
But what he said was, “It’s not Josette being unhappy that’s the problem. It’s her mother, and she’ll raise a big stink. Their family’s not that important, but they could cause trouble for the king if he doesn’t do something to make it right, especially at this delicate point.”
Amber took the mouthful of cheese he offered, thinking. “What about Fitz? Wouldn’t being married to the king’s son, bastard or not, be considered a coup? The king will see Fitz well titled, won’t he?”
Leave it to his wife to come up with the perfect solution. Lady Constance could hardly cry fowl about their arrangement not working out when her daughter was being offered a much better one. He’d suggest it to the king in the morning.
In the late, late morning …
Chapter Eight
It turned out that the king was in complete agreement with Amber’s idea. Piers did not put it to him as her idea, of course. He didn’t want to give him a reason to reject it. When the two had been married for a while, he might reveal its origins, but not until then.
The Lady Constance was brought to them in the great hall, and her face was as parched and pinched as Piers remembered as she sat down opposite them, but it lit up when Fitz’s newly created title of Duke of Umbridge was mentioned. Piers didn’t even think that she was dismissed or curtseyed to them before she turned tail and left to run upstairs to her daughter to share their turn of good fortune. The entire keep could hear Josette’s squeal of delight, and all Piers could think was that it was nice that she wasn’t too terribly heartbroken after losing him.
Luckily, King William had a sense of humor, and all he did was turn to Piers and laugh about the vagaries of women, as he was well known to be demonstrably in love with his wife, Queen Matilda.
But he wasn’t above teasing Piers about his wedding night. “So, was the English flower worth all your efforts, Sir Piers?” he asked with a sly smile.
Piers colored. Unlike most men, he didn’t, as a rule, discuss his women. But this was the king, and he, not unlike Amber in most situations with him, didn’t have a choice. He grimaced at the comparison that his mind had just drawn. “More than worth any effort, my liege.” And he was pleased to realize that he meant it.
“Good, good.” The older man rose and began to walk about the hall a bit. “I should like to see the site of the new fortress.”
Piers was going to protest, especially since the workers were still barely laying the foundation and there was very little to actually look at, to say nothing of the fact that that area wasn’t the most secure, but the king forestalled him.
“I know there’s not much to see, but it would be a chance to see more of my kingdom. Your wife hails from that area, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. She does.”
“Then we should bring her along. Perhaps s
he might have a chance to see her family. It might make a nice wedding present, and it wouldn’t leave you short of coin.” Having settled on an idea, King William wasn’t a man to dawdle about it, so it was settled that they would move out as soon as they could get things arranged.
The lady in question was pacing upstairs, having been given explicit instructions by her new husband that she wasn’t to leave their chamber until he returned to collect her, and he’d gone so far as to lock the door when he’d left. He’d even given her a mocking smile as he moved a huge wardrobe in front of the door to the secret staircase that lead down to her old room, so there was no hope of escape that way, either.
He’d told her last night that she would have new rules, and she’s suspected as much as soon as she found out she was going to marry him. She’d known from the time she was a girl that marriage meant the death of her freedoms, which was one of the reasons she’d carefully remained single. No man wanted a woman who was quite as uncomfortably wild as she was. Accomplished in the female arts was one thing. Accomplished in the male arts was quite another, especially if one was skilled enough to beat one’s husband at his own games.
She sank down onto the dusty window cushions, gazing out into the courtyard wistfully. Amber couldn’t imagine that countesses were allowed to roam the woods at will. She sniffed. Technically, she hadn’t been allowed to do so for a while, and disobeying Sir Piers had gotten her most severely punished. But she would have been content to have endured a thousand punishments and have gone right back to the safety of her beloved woods.
But as a countess, she would be more of a political and criminal target. She could be kidnapped and held for ransom. No one would have looked at her like that in the rags she normally wore. Oh, she could use her boy clothes, or even just the clean but tattered clothes she wore yesterday, but she wasn’t about to bring any sort of disgrace to Piers’ name. She knew he thought he had to educate her about these things, and that he must think she was going to be a distinct liability, with her strange compulsions and skills, but Amber was determined to be an asset to him, and she had resolved to be as obedient as she possibly could.
But she wasn’t at all sure how long her vow would last when put into practice, but at least she’d made it, and she would do her level best to stick to it.
If she let herself think about it, and she rarely did, she was beginning to realize that she was falling in love with this man, this one man in her life who was strong enough to exert his will over her, to hold her to account for her actions, to impose his rules on her and then his consequences when she chose to disregard them.
She shook her head to clear those thoughts away. She didn’t want to be in love with him, especially since he had had a previous love that was lodged somewhere under their own roof. She wasn’t exactly sure where Mrs. Tulane had squeezed them in, because as far as she knew, there were no bedrooms left, but the nasty thought ran through her mind that she hoped it was above the distinctly odiferous stables.
Amber heard the door being unlocked and stood, having donned her wedding dress, since it was the only clothing available to her in the room. She did not want to face him nude, with the reminders of his chastisement still rife on her posterior.
Just thinking about seeing her had his body ready to do that which he hadn’t the time to do, and actually seeing her had him aching to the point that he thought he would soil himself as he stood there, gazing at her like some love addled boy. “You must pack right now. You are to accompany the king and I to the site of the new castle.” Shaking himself out of his reverie, he strode into the room.
She was dumbstruck. Home. She was going home! She flew towards the door, only to be halted by her husband’s voice from behind her. “Where are you going, wife?”
Amber stopped instantly and turned. “All of my things are in my former chamber.”
Piers nodded his head. “You may go. I will have one of the servants move whatever remains up here while we’re gone.”
She took a step towards him, saying calmly, “If I may, I would like to do that. I need to begin to assume the task of running your household as your lady. Mrs. Tulane’s been wonderful at it, but that is my duty, and the servants should become accustomed to doing as I ask.”
He inclined his head toward her. “A wise thought, wife. Please do so.”
Inordinately proud at his praise, Amber dropped into a very formal curtsey, saying, “My lord,” before she turned to leave.
She didn’t make it there before she heard, “Come here,” and adjusted mid stride to end up at his side. His fingers cupped her jaw and brought her face to his for an ardent kiss. “I would more prefer a heartfelt kiss from you on parting than any graceful curtsey, but I did like the ‘milord’ touch.” He wore a rascal’s smile, and Amber realized he was teasing her at the end.
She wasn’t quite sure what to say in return, but dropped an impulsive kiss on his cheek and fairly ran to the door.
Piers watched quite avidly as she left, thinking it was nice to see her so happy.
* * * *
Traveling with the king was entirely different from traveling alone on a horse with Piers. They were surrounded by a contingent of the king’s guard, who were heavily armed. Regardless of the fact that the area they were going to was known to be somewhat insecure, the king liked to ride up front, and so that was where Piers was, also. Not to be left out, Lady Amber was right behind him, and, occasionally, when she jockeyed for the right position, she was next to him, although the men around them didn’t like to give way to a woman.
They were a huge contingent of men and horses, with pack animals at the back carrying all manner of supplies. Amber, of course, had her own pack full of notions and herbs and powders, as well as her bow and arrows, several knives, and, just in case she needed them, her boy’s clothes. She was also wearing a reasonable amount of discrete armament. She liked to be prepared.
The first day passed with few remarkable events, save their grand exit, during which Josette prostrated herself, yet again, but this time at Fitzwilliam’s feet instead of Piers. Amber made so bold at the time as to lean over to her husband and whispered in his ear exactly what she was thinking, “Fickle woman!”
And she was rewarded by his hearty chuckle. They were both thrown an evil glare by Lady Constance, who could not possibly have overheard the remark, but who none the less still thought ill of the two of them, somehow, as if by default.
Dinner that evening was plentiful around them, but when the men had their bows out, Piers happened to look around him and see that his wife had joined the hunting party, too. He hissed at her to get back to their small camp and see to the fire, which was what the rest of the men had assumed that she was doing. He heard her exasperated sigh and knew that she would much rather have been out hunting with them, but, to her credit, she did exactly as he told her to do.
Piers hadn’t had a chance to speak to her about what he expected of her now that she had had such a sudden change—and rise—in life. He’d intended on doing that this morning once he’d returned to their chamber, but the king had had other ideas. He made a mental note that hunting—especially with the king—was something she wasn’t allowed to do.
When they made it back with a brace of rabbits, it was to a beautiful fire and the smell of roasting rabbit. His wife was busily cleaning the skins, and King William was rhapsodizing about what a marvelous wife he’d gotten in the bargain. Bruce, who knew that Piers was none too happy with his wife’s abilities in this instance, piled their kills next to Amber, who smiled up at him. In a trice, all of the meat was cooked off, and they probably wouldn’t have to hunt again until the return trip, plus, once they got home, they would have new furs for several of the soldier’s beds.
“Amber, attend me,” Piers ordered, grabbing a fur and trudging into the woods.
She did as she was told, as quickly as she could, extracting herself from underneath the skins and grabbing her pack to follow him, wondering if he’d been wou
nded during the hunt and if she was bringing the right equipment to deal with whatever medical situation might have arisen.
They walked for a good ways. Piers, who was dealing with a wealth of anger but at the same time having to wrestle with his ever present desire for her, wanted to be well away from the king and their men before he spoke to her. Finally, he grabbed her upper arm and pulled her up against him. “What do you think you were doing back there? Didn’t I tell you just to tend the fire?” he hissed.
Surprised, she answered, “Yes, and I did. But it was taking you so long, I thought you might be having problems. So I stoked up the fire and went hunting on my own. I didn’t want the king to go hungry.”
Piers was incensed. “I will provide for the king, wife. Not you. No more hunting.”
Amber looked crushed. “Ever?”
“Not without my express permission, wife.” He couldn’t take it any longer, reaching for the hem of her dress and tugging it up, realizing it was one of her old ones, and noting that he needed to set the seamstresses to making her some clothes that reflected her new station.
But for the time being, he didn’t care much whether she was clothed or not—except when she was in front of other men. Right now, the less she was wearing the better, although for safety and discretion’s sake, he kept himself in check and simply made adjustments for himself and lifted her skirt. They were joined before she could say yea or nay, and it was the first time he’d encountered her being even the slightest bit dry.
Even so, she sank down on him through gravity’s assistance, slowly; feeling every inch of herself being devoured and claimed, and he couldn’t think that that was a bad thing, despite her low, almost anguished moan and the way her small fists pounded futilely against his broad shoulders. Amber was the kind of woman that benefited from the feeling of being overpowered and taken on multiple levels. And he knew, that during the natural course of events, she would moisten whether she wanted to or not. He was going to see to that.
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