“Yes, and hope to be happier still.”
“How?” he asked, and she saw again that wistful, yearning look come to his eyes, the same look she had seen in her father’s solar. That Roland did exist, and she had brought him back again.
“By getting to know you better,” she replied. “By becoming a part of your household and helping you as a wife and chatelaine should. By having children. By sharing your bed.”
She went closer still.
“I want to have your children, Roland. I want to share your bed,” she whispered before she took his face between her palms and raised herself on her toes to kiss him gently.
As always when she touched him, she was aware of the passionate desire lurking, ready to come forth—but not until she had shown him tenderness, something she now doubted he had ever known.
She moved her lips across his, as light as the brush of a feather. He stood still a moment, then his arms went around her and she heard his quick, sharp breaths as he pulled her close. Excitement raced through her, and she pressed more featherlight kisses along his jaw and neck. She wrapped her arms about him and slid her hands slowly up his back. Then she stepped back and took his hand to lead him to the bed. She drew him down to sit beside her and as he looked at her, she ran her fingers through his dark hair. “Husband,” she murmured before she leaned close to kiss him again.
At the same instant, a loud crack of thunder rent the air and rain began to pound against the wooden shutters of the chamber. Just as suddenly they heard shouts and voices raised in alarm from the yard.
Roland strode to the window, and she hurried to join him. Regardless of the rain, he opened the shutters and they both gasped.
A huge oak beside the stable had been split down the middle by lightning, sending a massive limb crashing onto the stable roof and setting the trunk ablaze. Despite the rain, the stable was on fire. Whipped by the wind, the flames danced and moved across the thatched roof like a starving creature seeking food.
“Stay here,” Roland ordered as he ran from the room.
Mavis couldn’t stay in the chamber. She grabbed her cloak and threw it over her shift, shoved her feet into her boots and hurried to the empty hall below. She opened the outer door and stopped, stunned by what she saw.
Arnhelm, Verdan, the rest of their soldiers and Sir Melvin’s servants ran back and forth from the well with buckets, pots or anything that would hold water, spilling half the contents in their haste to throw water at the stable. Geese and chickens squawked and flapped and got underfoot. Two huge workhorses stood quivering and neighing with fear near the gate. The ox bellowed not far away. Sir Melvin dashed from one side of the yard to the other shouting, “Oh, sweet Jesus! Oh, Mother Mary!”
Where was Roland? And Sweetling? And Hephaestus?
Before she could ask one of the servants running past, the stable door opened and Roland himself appeared leading Sweetling and Hephaestus. As soon as they were outside, he handed them off to one of the younger servants who might be a stable boy, with an order to take them to the far side of the yard. Then he called out to Arnhelm and Verdan, ordering them to make certain all their horses were accounted for.
He pointed to some other men. “You four, round up all the livestock and keep it out of the way. The rest of you, form a line from the well to the stable and pass the buckets! Now!”
Mavis rushed to the well. “I’ll turn the handle,” she said to the servant standing there, determined to do something to help as the men formed a line. “You fill the buckets.”
Roland, meanwhile, stayed close to the stable and threw the buckets of water on the burning building over and over and over again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sir Melvin, although still agitated, leading their ox to join the horses near the gate.
Then the rain stopped. There was a hush, a pause, as everyone looked up, but only for a moment, because the wind continued to blow. The fire blazed into new life, heavy smoke from the damp thatch filling the air. Although no one abandoned their post, they all began to cough and choke.
Nevertheless, thanks to their efforts, the flames finally lessened, and then the rain began again, putting out the last of the fire as it dwindled and ceased and turning the courtyard into a sodden morass of straw and mud and ash.
Exhausted, Mavis slumped against the side of the well. The men in the line likewise put down their buckets, pails and pans. Some collapsed on the ground, regardless of the mud.
“S’truth, I’m done in,” Arnhelm groaned. Verdan simply sat with his head in his hands, until Lady Viola appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.
“There’s ale and wine and bread ready,” she called out. “Come in, come in, all of you!”
Arnhelm, Verdan and the rest of the men obeyed at once. Mavis started to go with them, until she saw Roland, his wet tunic and breeches clinging to his powerful body, his boots caked with mud, his hair plastered to his forehead and his face black with soot. He was heading toward the far end of the stable, where the charred limb of the tree lay among the smoldering ruin of the building.
Although she was exhausted, wet and hungry, her curiosity was stronger. She followed him, stepping carefully around the growing puddles, skirting the downed limb from the tree that was probably centuries old. When she rounded the corner of the ruined building, she saw Roland standing motionless, his hands on his hips, looking at what was left of another, smaller building that had been close by the stables. Cinders and sparks from the stable had set it alight, too, and burned it to the ground.
She sighed to see such destruction.
Roland started and turned toward her. Frowning, he ran a swift gaze over her. “You should go inside at once.”
“As should you,” she replied.
With a nod, he took her arm to lead her around the stable and through the puddled yard.
“You should have stayed inside with Lady Viola,” he said as they skirted one particularly large puddle.
“I wanted to help.”
“Not at risk to your health.”
“You are just as wet,” she noted. “Were all the animals saved?”
“Yes, but not the wagon.”
The wagon? Their wagon? The one with—
“My dowry!” she cried, turning back.
“The coin is safe,” he said, blocking her way. “I kept it with me. As for the rest...” He shrugged. “There’s nothing to be done about it.”
She stared at him, aghast at his dismissal of this tragedy. “But I have nothing left to call my own except the clothes on my back and the few extra things in my little traveling chest. When we arrive in Dunborough, I’ll have no other clothes, no table or bed linens, not even extra undergarments.”
“You can get new clothes in Dunborough.”
“What will your household, your tenants, your brother, think if I arrive with next to nothing?” she cried with frustration and dismay as she started to shiver. “That my father didn’t value me enough to provide a dowry?”
Cupping her shoulders, his hands warm, he said, “If anyone wonders why I wed you apparently without a dowry, I will say...” He paused and let go of her and stepped back. “Enough of this. You’re cold and wet and you’ll get sick if we stay outside much longer.”
He took hold of her arm again and started toward the kitchen. She slipped in the mud and he immediately bent down and scooped her up in his arms.
She wanted to protest, but she was freezing and he could walk faster, so she didn’t object until they entered the kitchen.
“You can put me down now,” she whispered as Sir Melvin, Lady Viola and everyone else gathered in the large, warm room turned to look at them.
Either Roland didn’t hear her, or he chose to ignore her request as he continued through the kitchen. “I want a hot brick for our bed, more blankets and hot water to wash,” he
ordered. He spoke as if this was his castle, and she blushed with embarrassment.
She was even more embarrassed when they left the kitchen and entered the main room of the house lit only by a few spluttering torches that threw grotesque shadows on the walls. Two maidservants rushed past them. One carried what looked like a brick wrapped in linen, the other a ewer of steaming water and she had clean linen over her arm.
“Put me down,” she said more sternly.
Still he ignored her.
“I said, put me down!” she commanded, pushing at his chest.
“No. You’re wet, you’re tired, and the sooner you get in a warm bed, the better. I am quite willing to be pushed or pummeled or whatever you choose to do, but I will not put you down. And you should cease your efforts to prevent me. I’ve been beaten too many times, my lady, by my father and older brother to be affected by any efforts of yours.”
He had been beaten by his own family? Her father struck her rarely, but she vividly recalled the pain beyond the physical, the heartbreak and humiliation, and she said no more.
When they reached the corridor leading to the family apartments, the two maidservants who’d hurried ahead of them from the kitchen came out of their chamber. Seeing Roland and Mavis, they dipped a curtsy, then scurried in the opposite direction, taking another set of stairs.
Roland carried her over the threshold, then finally set her down.
The room was much as they’d left it, except for the extra blankets on the bed, a pile of fresh linen on a stool nearby and two more rushlights kindled. The shutters were closed, and the rain had started again.
Very aware of her husband’s presence, Mavis took off her wet cloak, laying it over the one chest of clothing she now possessed. When she straightened, she found Roland staring at her as if he’d never seen a woman before.
Her soaking shift was nearly transparent.
Mavis grabbed the top square of linen and wrapped it around herself. Holding her breath, her heart racing, she stood trembling as he came farther into the room.
He halted near the pile of linen. He pulled off his wet tunic and shirt, tossing them to the floor before he, too, reached for a square of linen. He began to rub his chest vigorously. “You should get out of that shift before you catch cold.”
He was right, so she did. Keeping the linen wrapped around her, she wiggled out of the shift until it puddled around her feet. He, meanwhile, stripped off his breeches and stockings and wrapped a square of linen around his narrow waist, then began to dry his long hair with another piece of linen.
As he moved it back and forth over his head, his eyes closed, she couldn’t help noticing his nearly naked body and the scars on his back and chest. He’d said he’d been in different sorts of battles, and she’d assumed some sort of armed skirmish with outlaws or practice battles. Now she suspected they were mostly from one-sided encounters, beatings administered by his terrible father or equally monstrous older brother when he was too young to fight back.
He suddenly opened his eyes and caught her looking at him.
No doubt blushing like an innocent maid, she went to get another square of linen to dry her own hair. She draped it over her head and began to rub, until she felt his strong hands cover hers and he said, his voice low and husky, “Let me.”
She swallowed hard and said nothing as he began to dry her hair, although she was well aware that save for two pieces of linen, they were both naked. And standing very close together.
The linen around her began to slip and she instinctively clutched it and pulled it back into place. At the same time, he stopped and stepped away without a word, going to the leather pouch in the corner and taking out some breeches.
She would not be sorry he was getting dressed.
Trying to ignore him, she sat on the bed and started to comb her hair, working through the damp, tangled mass of knots with her fingers.
As she struggled with one particularly troublesome tangle, the linen slipped below her breasts. She quickly reached for it, tucking it more tightly about her, and looked up to find Roland once again regarding her like a hungry man at a feast, his clean, dry shirt clutched in his hands.
His obvious desire enflamed her own. His need caught hers and held it. “I should see that the horses have been stabled somewhere. And the ox,” he said huskily.
Mavis went back to working on her hair, despite her trembling fingers. “If you think that’s best, my lord.”
“Best?” he repeated in a murmur.
It was the closest she had ever heard him come to doubtful hesitation. Did that mean he wanted to stay?
Despite her dread that she might be mistaken, encouraged by his kisses before the lightning struck, she rose and faced him. “I’m sure Arnhelm and the others will take good care of our animals. Do you not agree, my lord?”
He nodded his head.
“Then perhaps you ought to stay.”
Her husband neither moved nor spoke until she let the linen fall to the floor. Then he dropped his shirt and crossed the space between them in an instant. In the next moment she was in his arms, her naked breasts against his bare chest, their arms wrapped about each other, lips and tongues and torsos touching.
Her weariness dissolved. Her yearning blossomed. His throbbing heartbeat matched her own. As if they had one mind, they broke the kiss. She hurried to the bed while he tossed aside the linen that had been wrapped around his waist.
He joined her in the bed, and once again his caresses excited her beyond measure, although this time was like the first, tender and gentle. His tongue and hands teased and coaxed until she whimpered with unmet need.
Just before she was about to tell him she was ready, he pushed inside her. She arched toward him, seeking even more union, while his thrusts grew stronger and quicker, and their soft cries filled the chamber. A last, final, feral growl signaled the completion.
As her body slowly stilled, a great weariness overcame her, and after he withdrew, she fell asleep beside him.
* * *
Roland looked down at his slumbering wife in wonder.
No woman of any worth will ever want a cold stick like you.
Again Gerrard’s mocking words ran through his mind, but this time, he knew that Gerrard was wrong. Mavis wanted him, at least in her bed. That was not all that he wanted, but it would be a start.
And did her willingness to make love not prove that it had more likely been the physical pain of losing her virginity that had made her cry? And if so, why then should he resist the powerful urges of his body, and the desire of his heart?
He lay awake for a long time trying to think of a way to tell her how she made him feel. As no woman had ever made him feel. But the task seemed hopeless. He was not like Gerrard, who had an easy way with words and women both. Perhaps, in time, Mavis would come to understand that she was growing more precious to him every day, and every day he was thankful she’d agreed to be his wife. Or so he could hope.
Yet when he eventually fell asleep, he dreamed he was trapped in a burning building while his father, his brothers and Mavis stood outside and laughed.
* * *
Roland awoke with a start to find Mavis still nestled beside him. He had only been dreaming that harsh, mocking laughter. His father and older brother were dead. Mavis had never laughed at him. Neither would Gerrard when he returned with such a wife.
Who had lost much of her dowry to the flames.
Thankfully he still had the bag of silver coins that had been part of her dowry.
He gently moved away from her and got out of the bed.
He washed and dressed quickly and quietly, and hurried to the hall below where the men were stirring. Sir Melvin was there and already eating, much to his surprise.
“I barely slept a wink,” Sir Melvin confided as Roland joined him a
t the table. “How much do you suppose your wife’s dowry was worth? Of course, I’ll repay it all as soon as—”
“That will not be necessary,” Roland interrupted. “The loss was not your fault, so you owe us nothing.”
His host regarded him with genuine dismay. “But it was my shed and—”
“You gave us shelter when we were in need and you may have the ox, with my thanks.”
Sir Melvin’s brows furrowed. “Your wife’s dower goods and a wagon are destroyed while you’re my guest, and you’ll give me an ox?”
“My wife’s dower goods were destroyed in a fire that was not your fault, so I expect no recompense, nor will I accept it. And we can make better time without the ox.”
“But Sir Roland!”
“But Sir Melvin, I will not hear another word on the matter,” Roland firmly replied.
For once, Sir Melvin had nothing at all to say—for a moment, at least. “By God, you are a generous man, my lord!”
Roland smiled, just a little. “I am not my father, Sir Melvin.”
“From what I’ve heard of the man, no, I should say you’re not!” his host heartily agreed.
Chapter Five
Once again Mavis awoke to find herself alone, but this time, she smiled. Roland was proving to be an amazing husband and not only in their bed. He’d been so impressive taking command last night. How well he’d directed the men’s effort and, silhouetted by the fire, he’d looked like a well-formed Hephaestus.
Then she remembered that all her dower goods that had been in the wagon had been lost, and her joy lessened. What would the people of Dunborough say about her when she arrived with no fine clothes or other dower goods at all?
She rose and studied her traveling gown and cloak. She’d look little better than a beggar!
Unfortunately, as Roland had said, there was nothing to be done. She could at least take some comfort from Roland’s acceptance of the loss. If he’d married her for her dowry, he would surely have been more upset. Of course, he did still have the silver...
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