Weston put a reluctant end to it when he grasped her face gently, suckled her lower lip, and then kissed both cheeks before pulling back to look at her. His handsome face was lined with joy.
“As much as I could stand here and kiss you all day, I am not entirely sure that this is appropriate given that we are standing in the garden of a nunnery,” he murmured, kissing her lips once more before dropping his hands from her face. “Let us collect your belongings and return to Hedingham.”
She watched him, her kiss-swollen lips within her rather serious face. “Are you truly sure about this, Weston?” she asked softly. “I would not blame you if you changed your mind.”
He took her hand in his enormous gauntlet. “I will never change my mind. I am more worried about you changing yours.”
She smiled weakly. “I will not change my mind.”
“Then we have nothing to worry over.”
She shook her head, still rather dazed by the situation. When she attempted to reclaim her basket with the spilled cucumbers, Weston retrieved it for her and carried it in to the nunnery. He didn’t want her to exert herself any more than necessary, already the protective husband.
He found that the Mother Abbess had been more difficult to convince that his intentions were true than Amalie had been. The old woman was very protective of her young charge and Weston spent the rest of the afternoon stressing to the woman that he loved Amalie and would provide a good home to both her and the baby. Only with the greatest reluctance, and with Amalie’s approval, did the Mother Abbess finally relinquish her charge with the condition that a priest be sent for to perform the ceremony right away. A rider was sent to St. Andrew’s Church in Halstead for a priest.
It was close to midnight by the time Weston and Amalie return to Hedingham as husband and wife.
Chapter Ten
Heath and John were on the battlements of Hedingham when Weston de Royans and his new wife approached astride Weston’s big blond charger.
They admitted the commander and greeted the lady, who was clad in a rough woolen cloak as Weston lifted her down from the horse. They had all known that she had committed herself to the nunnery because of the rape, and not one of them blamed her, so it was a distinct surprise to see her return with de Royans after all of these months. They also knew that Weston had gone to the nunnery every day to see her but had always been turned away.
The gossips had been spinning rumors fast and furious that de Royans was in love with the woman and she had spurned his advances. The rumors had spread from the castle to the town and the peasants would actually turn out to see de Royans ride to the nunnery astride his massive warhorse, only to be sent away when the lady would not see him.
It had become something of a sad love story and the talk of the town, which was ironic considering Weston had finally claimed the lady and returned her to the castle under the dead of night. No one in town had been awake to witness it but there was little doubt the news would spread like wildfire come the morning.
Heath greeted the lady kindly, trying not to appear too surprised, and unstrapped her satchel from the horse’s saddle, handing it to her with a respectful smile. Weston removed his weapons from the saddle, turning the beast over to a sleepy groom as he faced his men.
“You were gone a long time,” Heath commented. “We were about to send out a search party.”
Weston lifted an eyebrow at him. “You knew where I was.”
Heath’s grin broadened. “We thought that perhaps the nuns had their fill of seeing you day after day and had finally taken you hostage.”
Amalie giggled as Weston shook his head in disapproval.
“Dolt,” he growled, although it was good natured. “As if I could not fight off a gang of nuns.”
“The brides of Christ are frightening, West.”
Weston fought off a grin, indicating Amalie standing next to him. “As you can see, I finally brought the lady home,” he said. “But I married her before I did. Meet the Lady Amalie de Vere de Royans.”
The smile vanished from Heath and John’s faces as they stared at Amalie in shock. After an odd, uncertain silence, Heath was the first one to react.
“Congratulations, Lady de Royans,” he said, eyeing Weston. “I hope you know what you have gotten yourself in to.”
He meant it in jest; Amalie smiled timidly at Weston. “I am not entirely sure but it is too late now,” she said, looking at Heath. “I do hope you will tell me anything that you feel I need to know.”
Heath’s smile was back but Weston cut him off, putting an enormous arm around Amalie’s shoulders and leading her in the direction of the keep.
“He will keep his mouth shut if he values his life,” he cast Heath a long look. “Secure the posts for the night. I will sleep in the keep tonight.”
Heath and John nodded, watching the pair fade off into the darkness of the upper bailey. It was shocking news and a swift announcement. Weston wasn’t wasting any time with the young lady he had just rescued from the nunnery. When the couple was out of sight, and earshot, John turned to Heath.
“He married her?” he hissed. “God’s Beard; what possessed the man to do that?”
Heath shrugged. “You know he is in love with her,” he pointed out. “What did you expect when he was going to the nunnery every day, trying to catch a glimpse of her? Did you not think he was serious about her?”
John just shook his head, baffled. “But… Sorrell took the woman. He used her. What does West want with Sorrell’s leavings?”
“He must not look at it that way.”
“How else could he look at it? She is soiled.”
Heath’s expression grew serious. “I would not say that if I were you. Keep it to yourself. If West is in love with the woman, then he will likely take your head off for it.”
John put his hands up in supplication. “I realize that,” he said. “But the Weston we know would have never looked twice at an unchaste woman. Has the man changed before our eyes and we did not realize it?”
Heath simply lifted his shoulders and began heading off towards the gatehouse. “Men in love are known to do strange things,” he said. “It would be best if you kept your thoughts to yourself on this subject.”
John nodded in agreement, watching the red-haired knight move off in the darkness. He had duties he had to attend to as well, going about them with his mind lingering on his liege and the woman he married. Maybe Heath was right; maybe love did do strange things to men. But he couldn’t imagine the pious and moral man he knew as his liege having changed so much that he would marry a compromised woman.
It was an appalling prospect.
Esma and Neilie wept when Amalie roused them from their beds in the alcove of her bedchamber. The old serving women hugged and kissed her, so very glad to see their young lady. When Amalie told them that she and Sir Weston had been married, the women had wept harder.
The purpose of waking the women from their beds was not to announce the marriage; it was to get them out of the chamber. Under no circumstances was Weston going to allow the servants to sleep in the chamber he shared with his wife, tonight of all nights, so he carefully suggested to Amalie that the women might be comfortable in another chamber.
Amalie had no idea what he meant until it gradually began to dawn on her that the bridegroom might like to have his bride alone on their wedding night. She eventually chased Esma and Neilie from the chamber and bolted the door behind them, but by the time she turned to face Weston, she was quivering with fear.
The fire in the hearth popped now and again as the two of them silently faced one another. Weston wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she was nervous, probably more than a normal bride would be given the circumstances, but he tried to keep his manner calm and comforting, hoping that would ease her.
He began to remove his tunic, his mail, piece by piece as Amalie remained by the door. When he shirked off his mail coat and realized she was still standing there, shielded by the shadows of the roo
m, he put his mail coat on a chair near the hearth and held out a hand to her.
“Are you going to stand there all night?” he asked softly. “Come in and make yourself comfortable.”
Amalie took a few steps away from the door, her green eyes wide with fear. Weston didn’t even realize how terrified she was until she came into the light of the glowing hearth and he read the panic on her features. He reached out a hand, gently cupping her beautiful face.
“I swear there is nothing to fear, my angel,” he murmured. “I will not make you do anything you are uncomfortable with, I swear it.”
She gazed up at him, smiling gratefully, but he could see that her eyes were starting to water. Then she removed the heavy woolen cloak that had concealed her condition from everyone, tossing it onto the floor. Slowly, she began to untie the bib-apron that was layered over the rough woolen surcoat.
“I know you will not,” she whispered. “You have always proven yourself to be sweet and gentle. But my last memory of a man in this room was not a pleasant one. Even as I stand here, my heart is thumping and fear grips me, yet I know that what I share with you tonight will be completely different from my only experience with such a thing. I… I am so ashamed.”
She hung her head and he could see fat tears running down her cheek. He moved to her, gently, cupping her face with his two enormous hands and forcing her to look at him.
“We do not have to do anything you are uncomfortable with,” he reiterated, kissing the end of her nose. “It would be best if we simply go to sleep and deal with the rest of this when the time is right. Is that acceptable?”
She looked up at him, his extraordinarily handsome face, and the kindness of his dark blue eyes. The man was trying so hard to make things well for her; he’d been doing it since nearly the moment they had met. He was always going out of his way to make things easy for her when all she did was make them difficult. She put her hands on his, feeling his firm warm flesh beneath her fingers.
“Nay,” she shook her head after a moment. “It is not acceptable. This is our wedding night and it is my right to come to know my husband as a wife should. I cannot live with silly fears for the rest of my life.” She suddenly pushed up against him, her hands moving down his enormous forearms, gripping at him. Her eyes were fixed on his full, smooth lips. “I would ask a favor of you, West.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her luscious face, feeling her soft and supple body against him. “Anything, my angel.”
“Would you…?” she paused, swallowed, and started again. “All I have ever known of the ways of men is horrible brutality but I know it is not always this way. Even as I stand here with you, I am almost paralyzed by fear and I do not want to be, not with you. Would… would you show me what intimacy between a man and a woman is truly meant to be like, as to erase these horrible memories?”
He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “It would be my pleasure,” he said softly. “Unless you have any objections, may I take the lead?”
She nodded her head, hesitantly, and his smile broadened. Dropping his hands from her face, he turned her around and deftly untied the apron she was fumbling with. He began to talk as he undressed her.
“You and I spent a great deal of time together before you went to the nunnery,” he said as he pulled the apron over her head. “I hope you have not forgotten about everything we talked about.”
She watched the apron end up on top of the old cloak as he went to work on the fastens of her surcoat.
“We did not speak on anything truly significant during that time,” she thought about it. “I remember that you are a very poor planner and complain if you have to spend the slightest amount of money on me.”
Weston rolled his eyes. “And you, madam, are a slave to a sticky bun. If I were baker, I could rule your world.”
She laughed, pulling her hair over one shoulder as he finished with the fastens on the surcoat.
“You already rule my world,” she said softly, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I am not the least bit sorry, either.”
He smiled at her, pulling away the top of her surcoat and realizing her soft skin was now exposed. He leaned down, delicately kissing the top of her shoulder.
“Neither am I.”
The laughter faded and Amalie closed her eyes as Weston slid the surcoat off her body. It landed at her feet, leaving her clad in only her shift, as he came up behind her and very carefully wrapped his big arms around her.
She kept her eyes closed, head bowed, as his mouth moved to the tender nape of her neck, kissing her softly as his big arms hugged her carefully. It wasn’t long before his hands moved to belly, feeling the gentle rise of it through the linen shift. He rubbed his hands over her stomach, acquainting himself with her, as his lips feasted on her neck.
It was thrilling, erotic and pivotal. Weston was already so consumed by the woman that he could hardly think straight and he struggled not to let his excitement veer out of control. With his considerable power, he didn’t want his lust to overtake him enough so that she was frightened by his onslaught. So far, he’d set a slow pace of discovery and she was responding in kind. He was determined to keep her calm as he explored her blossoming body.
He took her over by the fire and sat her down on the warm furs in front of the hearth. He pulled off his tunic, revealing his spectacular muscular shape as he knelt down in front of her. With them both on their knees, they faced one another. Weston studied her beauty in the firelight, swearing that he had never seen anything so beautiful. He could hardly believe she belonged to him. After several long moments of pause, he reached out and began to unlace the front of the shift.
Amalie watched his fingers, closing her eyes as he moved forward and kissed her cheek, her neck, as the lacings opened wider. He was so gentle about it that she felt no fear when he lifted the shift over her head, leaving her naked. Weston didn’t stare at her or make her feel self-conscious. His lips returned to her neck, her shoulders, gently grasping her hands and kissing them when she lifted her arms to cover her bare breasts.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his mouth on her collarbone.
Amalie genuinely felt no fear, only excitement that made her heart race and her breath come in harsh little pants. Weston still had hold of her hands and somehow managed to pull her down onto the furs. Before she realized it, she was on her back gazing up at him. It was then that he paused to take a good look at her.
She had magnificent breasts, swollen and round with pregnancy, and a beautiful shape to her hips. Her legs were slender and lovely, and her belly tight and rounded within the cradle of her pelvis. Weston began to kiss her neck and shoulders again as he unfastened his breeches.
By the time he reached her cleavage, he had slipped out of the leather pants entirely and tossed them aside. Completely nude, he lay down beside her on the furs, the light of the fire illuminating their bodies as his big hands moved very gently over her. One hand was behind her head as the other began to roam.
Her belly, slightly rounded, drew his lust. He’d never been with a pregnant woman before and wasn’t hard pressed to admit he found it wildly arousing. He couldn’t even think that the child wasn’t his; it didn’t matter. It was part of Amalie and Amalie was part of him.
When he was finished kissing her cleavage, he moved down to her belly and began to gently kiss it, acquainting himself with both her body and the child she carried. His free hand began to move to her silken thighs, becoming acquainted with the feel of her skin. She had such beautiful skin. But the moment his hand moved to her pelvis near the dark junction of curls, he felt Amalie stiffen up beneath him.
Startled, he lifted his head to see her laying there with her eyes tightly shut, tears streaming down her temples. He lifted himself up, looming over her in the firelight.
“What is wrong, my angel?” he whispered, concerned. “Have I hurt you somehow?”
She opened her eyes and burst out sobbing, as if she had been holding it back for days
. “Nay,” she wept. “’Tis that… only that the only person who has ever touched me there… God, it hurt so badly. I am so frightened.”
He gathered her up against him, their naked flesh touching for the first time, and held her tightly. She was unbelievably soft and warm, and he could feel her swollen belly against his abdomen. He’d never felt closer to anyone that he did to Amalie at this moment; it went beyond the physical. He felt as if their hearts were somehow intertwined. His lips were by her ear as she wept softly against him.
“I am sorry,” he murmured, kissing her ear, her cheek. “I told you I would not make you do anything you were uncomfortable with. I meant it.”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she struggled to overcome her weeping. “I do not want you to stop. You promised you would show me what it was supposed to be like, Weston. I will hold you to that.”
He gazed into her wet green eyes, dubious. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, trying so hard to be brave. She swallowed the remainder of her tears. “Aye. Please do not stop.”
He held her hand as he returned to her pelvic region, stroking her growing belly, feeling her soft skin beneath his touch. He moved lower, feeling the soft mat of curls against his finger tips and feeling Amalie start as their hands drifted over her dark thatch. But that was as far as she was willing to go and she pulled her hand away, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him down to her. Weston held her body against him with one arm as his hand began to roam more freely now.
He began to kiss her mouth, his kisses gentle and passionate, as his hand became bolder and began to finger her Venus Mound. He began to stroke her, gently, whispering sweet words when she tensed until she gradually relaxed again.
His stroking grew bolder and he encouraged her to part her legs so they weren’t so tightly clamped together. With sweet words, gentle kisses and touches, he was able to convince her to part her legs fairly wide, enough so that he had unencumbered access. As he slanted his lips over hers, hungrily, he gently inserted a finger into her warm, wet folds.
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