Apparently Westcott was something of a utopia in medieval England, with most of its inhabitants living far longer than their counterparts.
Since Father Markham was Westcott’s resident priest, Beth couldn’t tell if he was thirty and looked his age or was perhaps younger. He was handsome in a clean-cut, boy-next-door kind of way, and uniquely open-minded, considering both his profession and the time period. Beth liked him instantly. He was very friendly, and not at all put off by her odd speech and mannerisms.
Of course, if rumors held any truth, Father Markham had witnessed a wealth of unusual occurrences since making Alyssa’s acquaintance. The residents of Fosterly had, too, during Alyssa and Dillon’s frequent visits.
So Beth suspected weird had become a kind of norm for them, something that had really worked in her favor. With her modern speech, ideas, and behavior, Beth doubted she would have been so well received anywhere else.
Alyssa produced a beautiful cream-colored kirtle for Beth and helped her don it.
Robert waited for Beth outside the church doors, unbearably handsome in his finest tunic. So handsome that Beth almost tripped walking up the steps, because she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
Fortunately, Dillon escorted her and kept her from falling on her face, his taciturn expression lightening at her no doubt besotted expression.
The ceremony took place outside the church, according to custom.
Wind whipped all present and wrought havoc with Beth’s hair. With no extra super hold hairspray on hand, she spent most of the ceremony dragging loose curls out of her eyes and wishing she would’ve donned one of those wimple head scarf things so many of the married women here wore.
Evidently, the fact that Alyssa didn’t wear one was fairly scandalous.
After the ceremony, they adjourned inside for a mass.
Feasting followed. Table upon table laden with huge quantities of food that would likely appall modern doctors and spark lectures on the dangers of high cholesterol and high blood pressure. But it was all very tasty and too tempting for Beth to resist. She didn’t know if women here were supposed to pick at their food and eat dainty portions. But if they were, then she probably raised eyebrows yet again while she packed away more food than Sir Stephen.
In the bailey, Robert hosted games and contests for the villeins and their children.
In the great hall, lively acrobats and jesters entertained, as did minstrels.
Beth thought the dancing positively surreal. It entailed very little physical contact, aside from holding or touching hands. Nothing at all sensual. A far cry from the dancing she had witnessed at twenty-first-century clubs and parties, in which couples ground on each other to the beat and simulated sex.
And speaking of sex…
Apparently, at the end of the night, there was supposed to be a bedding ceremony of some sort. Beth could never quite figure out what it involved. The whispers she managed to catch seemed to range from Alyssa and some attendants helping Beth change and prepare for Robert to deflower her (a little too late for that one), to Beth’s being escorted to the solar by the women, stripped naked, then put on display for Robert and the men who carried him upstairs on their shoulders.
Beth had three words for the latter: Oh, hell no.
She didn’t know if Robert had nixed such plans ahead of time, or if there hadn’t been any to begin with. But when the time came for them to retire, he simply twined his fingers through hers and brought her hand to his lips for a kiss. The tenderness in his blue eyes as they met hers warmed her heart.
“Shall we?” he asked softly beneath the boisterous laughter in the hall.
She nodded.
Smiling, he rose, drew her up from her seat at the high table, then escorted her from the hall.
No one followed, though several of Robert’s men called bawdy suggestions after them.
Closing the solar door behind them dampened but did not silence the revelry that took place below.
Someone had prepared a fire in the hearth and left wine for them on the table beside it.
Beth stared up at Robert, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. “I feel nervous,” she admitted, “like it’s my first time.”
He smiled and drew her closer. “It is. For both of us.” Dipping his head, he pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “Tonight will be the first time I make love with my wife.”
She smiled. “And the first time I make love with my husband.” She kissed his chin, then teased his lips with a brief caress. “I love you, husband.”
He deepened the kiss. “I love you, wife.”
Robert took his time, divesting Beth of her wedding finery. He couldn’t resist sliding his rough hands over every bit of soft, pale skin he exposed as he removed each article of clothing. When Beth at last stood before him, wearing only her black bra and panties, lust pierced him. “You wore them.”
She nodded, flashing him a siren’s smile. “Now I’ll do you.”
Every muscle in his body went taut as she placed her small hands on his chest, then slid them down to unbuckle his belt. Every brush of her fingers as she removed his clothes sent fire racing through him. Every caress that followed on bare skin tested his restraint until he shook with the need to bury himself inside her.
Never had he wanted a woman with such a burning need.
As soon as he was bare, he slid his arms around her waist, drew her tempting body up against his, and took her lips in a deep, devouring kiss. “I will never get enough of you,” he growled. As soon as he spoke the words, he regretted them.
Instead of expressing his desire, they served as a reminder of how little time they might have together.
Beth’s hazel eyes began to glisten with moisture as she looked up at him.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, easing his hold on her and cupping her face in both hands. “I spoke without thought. Forgive me. I only meant to—”
She curled the fingers of one hand around his wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know, Robert.” Releasing his wrist, she cupped his jaw and stroked the stubble she found there. “Just kiss me and make me forget everything else. No yesterdays. No tomorrows. Just you and me and our wedding night.” A teasing glint entered her eyes, banishing some of the sadness there. “And, if you really want to distract me and are feeling particularly adventurous, some of the men downstairs had some rather interesting ideas on how we can pass our time up here. Maybe we can give one or two of them a try.”
He grinned. “Or three or four.” Picking her up, he tossed her backward.
Beth squealed as she flew through the air and landed on his big bed with a bounce.
That was what he wanted to see—her straight white teeth flashing in a happy smile, desire heating her eyes as he knelt on the bed and lowered his body atop hers.
“Mmm. I love to feel your weight on me,” she murmured, spreading her thighs to make room for him and wrapping her arms around him. Leaning up, she gave his ear a little nip with her teeth. “The only thing I like better is feeling you inside me.” Sliding her hands down his back, she gripped his backside, arched up against him, and ground her core against his arousal.
Robert groaned as he reclaimed her lips. Cupping one breast, he thrust against her as he pinched the rigid tip through the slick black fabric that covered it, eliciting a moan. “How do I get this off of you?” he growled, plucking at the bra.
She laughed. “I thought you liked it.”
“Not when it keeps me from tasting you.”
Eyes darkening, she thrust her breasts up against his chest and reached behind her back. The fabric loosened.
Robert tucked a finger between her breasts and tugged the bra off, tossing it over his shoulder. Before she could wrap her arms round him again, he reared back and knelt between her thighs.
A
few deft pulls, and the black panties joined her bra on the floor.
For a long moment, he just stared at her, his breath coming more quickly with every moment that passed.
She swallowed and spoke in a hushed voice, thick with need. “How can you make me burn with just a look?”
Lightly grasping her ankles, he slid his hands up her calves, over her knees, and along her thighs until his thumbs reached the dark triangle of curls that tempted him so.
She gasped as he toyed with the hidden nub of her arousal. “What are you waiting for?”
He smiled. “Just deciding how I want to take you.”
“Fast and hard,” she responded instantly, shifting her legs restlessly and arching into his touch. “Take me now. Fast and hard.” She moaned. “Then you can do anything you want to me.”
The flames burned brighter. “Anything?” he pressed, teasing her with a flick of his fingers.
Again she moaned. “Hell, yes.”
Eager to comply, Robert did as she wished and took her fast and hard.
Then, endeavoring to pour a lifetime of passion into the brief time allotted them, he spent hour upon hour making love to her, exploring new ways to bring her pleasure, keeping her so sated and exhausted they did not leave the solar for two days.
How he loved her.
He knew not how he would survive losing her.
Chapter Eighteen
Beth smiled. What a glorious day.
A sennight had passed since the wedding. Alyssa and Dillon remained at Fosterly with their adorable son, waiting to see if the enigmatic Seth would respond to her summons.
Beth thought little Ian was currently napping upstairs somewhere, exhausted after another mock sword fight with Sir Stephen. Alyssa had disappeared into the garden with Maude, intent on propagating plants or transplanting them or something along those lines. Shortly thereafter, Robert and Dillon had sequestered themselves in the solar to go over the books.
Beth wasn’t sure what exactly going over the books entailed, but had decided training with the squires would be much more amusing. And, as luck would have it, it had taken little effort to coax Marcus into being her sparring partner.
Though a blindingly bright sun dominated the sky, for once Beth didn’t worry about sunburning. Virtually every inch of her skin was covered.
As in the other days she had trained, she wore a shirt, braies, and tunic like the boys alongside whom she fought. Robert had ordered the armorer to craft special chainmail for her. Until then, she wore a leather hauberk and thickly padded gambeson he had insisted upon when bruises from her initial training sessions had begun to manifest themselves in large numbers and an increasing variety of hues.
On her head she wore a helmet she absolutely detested. It was hot and uncomfortable and reduced visibility. But again, Robert had insisted. He had wanted her to wear mailed mitts, too, but she had talked him down to leather gloves that were more comfortable and provided ample protection from blunted swords.
Sweat trickled down between her breasts as she blocked the powerful swing of Marcus’s sword and countered with one of her own. She had made excellent progress, in her opinion, but thought Faudron would die before admitting it. Years of jogging, kickboxing aerobics, and tae kwon do lessons had given her strength, agility, and an excellent sense of balance. Even Dillon had commended her for her growing sword-fighting skills, imparting some instruction of his own.
Beth thought herself a long way from equaling Marcus, however, who had been trained by the best and boasted quite a bit more muscle than she did. Her slighter weight and lesser strength would definitely be a hindrance on the battlefield, but she had found ways to use some of the martial arts moves she’d learned to take her opponents by surprise.
Her breath coming in gasps, Beth called a halt and tugged off her helmet. “Whew! I could use a break.”
Marcus smiled and lowered his sword. “You did very well, my lady.”
“Oh, please. You’re barely out of breath.”
He shook his head. “Your skills are advancing far more quickly than mine did. The other squires are envious.”
Tucking her helmet under her arm, she waved her free hand. “You’re just saying that because you heard me tell Robert that flattery would get him everything.”
He laughed. “Were I to admit to such, my lady, Lord Robert would have my head.”
“Among other things.” Grinning, Beth motioned to the mass of sweating, straining, grunting bodies to her right. “Go find yourself another victim while I rest for a bit.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Sliding her sword into the sheath she carried on her back, Beth rounded the corner of the keep and headed for the stairs. Maybe she could convince Robert to take a break and join her for a swim in the lake he had shown her yesterday. The water would be icy cold, but she didn’t think her new husband would have any trouble warming her up.
A commotion arose near the gatehouse.
Raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she squinted against the brightness and tried to see what transpired.
A small crowd had formed just outside the barbican. All stared into its darkened interior with a sort of rapt fascination.
She frowned, her steps slowing.
The onlookers suddenly shrank back, parting down the middle to allow a figure to pass.
Beth halted, as captivated as the others.
A knight garbed in midnight armor rode into view atop the largest horse she had ever seen. Its coat was a glossy black, matched by a beautiful mane and long tufts of hair that decorated its legs just above the hooves.
It was huge. As was its rider, she soon saw when he dismounted.
Jeez, the man must be at least six and a half feet tall, towering over every other man in the bailey.
Oddly, he wore no helmet. Perhaps the guards had asked him to remove it and identify himself prior to letting him pass.
The knight’s long, thick, wavy hair glinted in the sunlight. As black as his horse’s mane, it fell to his waist and was tied back with a strip of leather.
A sick feeling invaded Beth’s stomach.
She still hadn’t seen his face.
When at last he turned, her knees weakened. Little sparkly things appeared and danced in the air as her vision began to dim.
Straight nose. Dark brows. Dark, almost onyx eyes she could see even at this distance. High cheekbones. Strong jaw. Tanned skin. A countenance handsome as hell.
It was him. The man she had last seen wearing dark robes. The man who had knelt beside her that day in the clearing and carried her back through time.
The man who had come to return her to the twenty-first century and take her away from Robert.
Dropping her helmet, Beth raced for the stairs.
Robert struggled to concentrate on Dillon’s voice as the figures before him blurred together. He suppressed a sigh. ’Twas tedious work. He understood now why his brother had grumbled over having to conduct such over the years. Robert would much rather be down in the practice field, sparring with Beth.
Or mayhap coaxing her to slip away with him for a private moment by the lake. His lips turned up in a smile as he imagined peeling away her squire’s garb and coaxing moans of pleasure from her whilst the sun bathed her beautiful body. ’Twould be far more exciting than—
The door to the solar slammed open, striking the wall with a thunderous boom.
Robert and Dillon leapt to their feet, their hands going to their sword hilts.
Beth stood in the doorway, her chest rising and falling as though she had run to them as quickly as she could.
Robert barely had time to register the distress on her face before she darted around the table, slammed into his chest, wrapped her arms around him and squeezed the breath out of him. Staggering bac
k a step, he folded his arms around her and watched the doorway, fearing Fosterly was under attack.
Had another enemy risen to take the place of the one he had finally vanquished?
Dillon drew his sword and left the room. A moment later, he returned. “All is well.”
Frowning, Robert pressed his lips to his wife’s hair. “Beth?” Tremors shook her slender form. “What is amiss?”
Her grip tightened. “I love you.”
He cast Dillon a worried look. “And I love you, sweetling. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head quickly.
“One of the squires did not injure you?”
She shook her head.
“Is it Alyssa? Did she reveal a gift that frightened you?”
Again Beth shook her head.
He cast about helplessly. “I know not—”
“I love you,” she said again, her voice thick with tears. “I love you. I always will. Please, don’t ever forget that.”
Uneasiness suffused him. “Beth, love, please look at me and tell me what distresses you so.”
A deep voice spoke softly from the doorway. “I believe that would be me.”
Dillon spun around, raising his sword once more.
Robert tried to push Beth behind him, but could not pry her loose. He could not even draw his sword, because—when he loosened his hold—she shouted, “Don’t let go!”
He tightened his arms around her. “Who are you?” he demanded, glaring over her head at the stranger.
The man was so tall he had to duck to enter the room. When he straightened, even Dillon had to look up at him. “You may call me Seth.”
Dillon’s gaze went from murderous to watchful as he lowered his sword tip. “’Tis the giant.”
The dark knight’s full lips quirked. “I have been called worse.”
Robert addressed Dillon without shifting his gaze from the stranger. “You have never seen the giant’s face. Are you certain ’tis him?”
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