When Love Awaits

by Johanna Lindsey

  “A mistake,” he said huskily, and began to bring his head toward hers.

  “But—” She was so confused! “Do you tell me—is this why you brought me back here? To begin anew?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes, dearling.”

  He breathed the declaration against her mouth, and then he kissed her. He had never been so completely attuned to a woman before, nor experienced such relief when she yielded. The moment he felt her relax against him, he began his assault in earnest. But he did not forget her inexperience, knowing he must go slowly.

  Leonie was kissed a dozen different ways in the long minutes that followed, from soft nibbles to deep probing that played havoc with her insides, spinning her up and down. In a second she would be giddy, then there was only sweet lassitude, and then she was soaring dizzily again.

  She did not know when her robe melted away, but she was acutely aware of the first touch of Rolfe’s hand on her bared breasts. It seemed right for his hand to be there, resting on her with only the slightest pressure. When his hand began to move softly over her, the hand seemed to grow hotter. Her nipples hardened against gentle kneading.

  She turned, one hand slipping behind Rolfe’s back, the other stroking his shoulder. Her fingers splayed out, wanting to touch, thrilling to the play of muscle beneath skin, the hardness of him. She returned his kisses, exerting her own pressure now, daring him.

  Gently he laid her on the bed beside him, and before her head even touched the pillow, his mouth had fastened on one rosy-peaked breast, his tongue doing what his fingers had done before.

  He began a thorough exploration of the soft planes of her belly and thighs, coming closer and closer to the core of her womanhood until such a terrible yearning was built in her that she arched upward to meet his exploring hand. When he slipped his long fingers into her warmth, she moaned, her head thrust back. Her fingers closed in his hair, pressing him closer to her.

  Few men had ever treated a woman with such reverence. The hands that touched her were worshipful, soothing, and exciting all at once.

  Rolfe’s tongue slid down the valley of her breasts and over her belly to mount her pubic mound and pay it equal homage. His hands gently nudged her legs apart and then his arms slipped beneath her lower back to pull her up.

  Her head fell farther back and a gasp caught in her throat as his lips pressed deeply into her belly. Then he rested his cheek on her thighs for several wrenching moments. She was nearly mindless, ready to beg him to take her.

  Rolfe, fully aware of her peaking desire, began a slow ascent, his body gliding over hers, the hair on his chest playing erotically over her sensitive breasts, making her tremble. His tongue slipped again into her mouth and at the same moment, with nerve-shattering slowness, his velvety hardness slid into her warmth, all the way, until he was completely sheathed.

  For an eternity, only his mouth moved, tasting deeply of her sweetness. But nothing could distract her from that other warmth filling her, and when it began to slip out of her, she could not help the whimper that escaped her. But that changed to a gasp of pleasure as the warmth returned. That was his gift to her, making each deliberate stroke so exquisitely prolonged.

  After her ecstasy had mounted feverishly, Rolfe withdrew until she held only the throbbing tip of him in her. She cried out, suspended on a precipice, and then he plunged deep within her a final time and she exploded with trembling ecstasy that pulsed through her, each shock more extraordinary than the last, until she fainted. She barely felt the last gentle kiss placed on her lips.

  Chapter 15

  “MY lady?”

  Leonie opened her eyes to find herself lying on her belly, clutching her pillow, an unusual position, as she never slept like that. Then she remembered last night and warmth rushed through her.

  “My lady?”

  Wilda was standing at the side of the bed, holding out her bedrobe. Leonie sighed. She would rather have lain there and savored her memories, or found her husband there instead of Wilda. But a quick glance around told her that he was gone.

  “Have I overslept?” Leonie asked.

  “No. Now that he is below, I thought it safe to come and wake you for mass,” she said sharply.

  Leonie grinned. She knew why Wilda was angry. “If I share the room, I must share his habits.” She changed the subject. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I fear I did not. The fleas!” Wilda’s voice rose. “I was nearly eaten alive!”

  Leonie sympathized, for she had a few bites herself. “This place is—” She recalled the shock she had felt yesterday when she’d had her first good look at the hall.

  “Dreadful,” Wilda finished for her. “The kitchens and servants’ quarters are even worse than the hall, and I fear to go near the garderobe. Only this room is fairly clean.”

  Leonie frowned as Wilda began combing her hair. “Why, do you suppose? True, Crewel has not had a lady to supervise since Alain’s mother died, but there was the Montigny steward in charge. And Lady Amelia is here now.” She shuddered recalling the vermin she had seen in the rushes in the hall, vermin mixed with bones, rotten food, even dog excrement!

  “That one obviously does not bother herself,” Wilda said. “And the servants, from what I have already seen, do nothing they are not told to do. They have no will even to improve their own quarters.”

  “How can my husband…I would not have thought him a man to live this way.”

  “But he is rarely here, my lady.”

  “What?”

  “That is what I learned from Mildred,” Wilda confided. “A man of war, living in army camps and the like—the conditions here cannot be much different.”

  “But, Wilda, what do you mean about his rarely being here?”

  “Since he took possession of Crewel, Mildred says, he has been away a great deal.”

  “What else did Mildred tell you?” Leonie asked, knowing that Wilda kept very little to herself.

  “It seems, my lady,” Wilda began eagerly, “that for all his being given the whole of Kempston by the king, only the gates of Crewel opened to him without a battle, and that was only because Lord Alain had fled and all was confusion here anyway. Do you recall the tourney we heard about?”

  “Vaguely,” Leonie replied uneasily.

  “Well, that was an excuse to gather the Kempston vassals and castellans in one place so they could swear allegiance to their new lord.”

  “I see,” Leonie mused aloud. “Instead of being summoned one by one. A lone man might refuse and simply lock himself in his keep.”

  “Indeed, that is what Mildred said,” Wilda said, proud of her lady. “And they did all come, but not to swear! All seven attacked Sir Rolfe, then fled.”

  Now Leonie understood what she had witnessed that day. She was disgusted that Sir Edmond’s vassals would behave so despicably, even if motivated by fear. They hadn’t even given Rolfe a chance to prove himself.

  “What did my husband do after the attack?”

  “He besieged all seven keeps.”

  “How…seven? Does he have enough men for that?”

  Wilda shrugged. “How many men does it take to besiege a keep? Pershwick has never—”

  “I know, I know,” Leonie interrupted impatiently, her mind elsewhere. She was amazed. It was an impossible task, for one must close up all seven keeps at once, in order to keep one from helping another. That would surely take thousands of men. But such a large force so near Pershwick would have been reported to her. Yet she had heard of nothing like that.

  “Are you sure you heard correctly, Wilda? Could it not be that my husband is just making war on one of the Kempston keeps?”

  “No, my lady. Four of the keeps are already won. Wroth is now under siege, and the others are closed, awaiting his orders.”

  Leonie was realizing what all this fighting would mean. “I will not see much of my husband for many months, then, will I?”

  “That should ease your mind.”

  Leonie smiled to herself as Wilda w
ent to fetch her a bliaut. The maid believed she still detested this marriage.

  “Wilda,” she called, “I want to wear my best today, the blue silk we got from the French merchant.”

  “But you only wear that for very special occasions. You even refused—”

  “I know. I did not think my wedding was special enough, but now I want to wear it.”

  Wilda did not argue, and Leonie was strangely silent as the maid laced her into the long-sleeved dark blue chemise. Over this was placed the wine-colored bliaut of Spanish wool. It was slit up the sides to reveal the dark blue chemise beneath, and its bell-like sleeves were heavily embroidered. The bliaut was lovely, molded to her body in the current fashion, with silver embroidery around the high neckline. The girdle, worn loose around the waist, was made from strands of silver cord, and it trailed to her knees.

  Leonie left her silver hair loose, and thick locks of it fell over her breasts as her braids usually did. A silver cord circled her head, holding in place a small square of white linen. She completed the costume with soft leather shoes over blue woolen stockings.

  “Do I look like a lady befitting my lord’s station?” Leonie ventured with a little smile.

  “You do indeed.” Wilda smiled back, delighted that she had played a part in making her lady so beautiful.

  “Then let us hide in here no longer. We will have much to do in the next few weeks, so we must begin our work.”

  Wilda’s eyes lit up as she understood. “Give me leave, my lady, and I will have these lazy wretches—”

  “All in good time,” Leonie interrupted. “First I must have my lord’s permission.”

  Wilda did not like that at all. Her lady no longer had the final say, and she didn’t even try to keep her displeasure from showing as she and Leonie left the room.

  Chapter 16

  BUT Leonie had a surprise waiting for her. After she left the small chapel, where the Crewel priest held several masses every morning, Amelia stepped directly into her path.

  Leonie quickly masked her surprise, but Amelia couldn’t manage to conceal hers. She had expected Leonie to be comely, now that her bruises would have healed. Why would Rolfe have brought her back unless he found her to his liking? But this radiant girl with her finely molded aristocratic features and opalescent skin was far too beautiful. What man would want a mistress when he had this for a wife?

  Amelia panicked. Her lie about the baby had convinced Rolfe, and she’d planned that, in a month or two, when Leonie was gone again, she could say she had lost the child. All would then be as it had been before.

  But this wife would not be gone in so short a time. Why, this woman might never be sent away again. And with her there, Amelia couldn’t say she’d lost the child, for she would find herself packing immediately. Her only chance now was to get herself pregnant, quickly. But what if Rolfe couldn’t be tempted now? Faugh, anyone with dark looks like Rolfe’s would do; Sir Evarard, or even that beautiful boy knight, what was his name? It didn’t matter who fathered the child. Once pregnant, she could stall for time, even convince Rolfe to support her and “his” child indefinitely.

  “Lady Leonie, I must confess I did not recognize you.”

  “There has been much of that happening of late,” Leonie said smoothly.

  Amelia was delighted. Good. The wife did not like it that the mistress was still in residence. With a little help, she would like it even less.

  “I must apologize for not greeting you when you arrived yesterday,” Amelia improvised quickly, “but I had so much to do, settling my belongings. Rolfe gave me very little warning, and I had to move everything quickly. But you must have had the same inconvenience.”

  Leonie was astounded by the woman. To brazenly tell her that she had only just moved out of Rolfe’s room, that she had continued to share that room after Rolfe’s wedding! And of course all the servants knew. If that were not enough, the woman was insinuating that she would not be leaving Crewel keep even though Leonie was in residence. Coldness settled over Leonie.

  “Will you still live here?” Leonie demanded.

  “But, my lady, where else would I live?” Amelia said innocently. “I am Rolfe’s ward—”

  “I know what you are.”

  “Oh.” Amelia shrugged. “I tried to tell Rolfe you might object, but he insisted there was nothing to object to. It might be best if you…didn’t mention to him that you know of our, well, do you understand? Rolfe doesn’t like jealousies.”

  “Jealousies!” Leonie choked.

  “Have you seen Rolfe’s temper? It is terrible to behold.” Amelia’s shudder was real enough. “I try to stay out of his way when he’s in a rage. You will, too. But that is neither here nor there. No, I know you won’t be jealous. Did you not tell me you didn’t want Rolfe?”

  “And did you not tell me he wouldn’t trouble me?” Leonie countered.

  Amelia sighed. “Now you see how changeable he is. But take heart, he will doubtless change his mind again.”

  Leonie refused the bait. “Tell me, who sees to this household?”

  “Rolfe had put me in charge, but it is a task I would give up gladly.”

  “Would?”

  Amelia lowered her eyes. “I told Rolfe I would be glad of your help, but, ah, he told me not to bother you about it. He said he did not want you making things like Pershwick. He did not like the way you ran Pershwick. He must still be angry over—”

  “Do you know where my husband is right now?” Leonie cut her off.

  “Of course. He always tells me where he is going. He was called to the stable. Some fool put his war-horse next to your palfrey and—”

  Leonie turned her back on Amelia before she finished and stepped out into the bailey. There she stood for a moment, letting the warm sun wash over her and tried to pretend that the whole conversation had not happened. She might as well have tried to pretend she was not here.

  Chapter 17

  IT was a lazy day, sun kissing velvet flowers, a chorus of birds singing. A glorious summer day of warm fragrant breezes.

  Leonie waited in the bailey after leaving Amelia, hidden, until she saw her husband return to the hall. Once he was gone, she stopped by the stable and saw for herself that her gentle mare had not been harmed by Rolfe’s horse. Relieved, she walked along the path until she came to the woods. She lingered there, hoping to find solitude in the forest.

  She found solitude, but it was not welcome. She wept, which led to disgust with herself. She decided to go on to the village, needing the distraction, but that proved equally upsetting, for while she had forgotten the mischief her people had caused there, the Crewel serfs had not forgotten. The women spared her only a shy word or two, and the men shied away. She did not stay.

  By midafternoon she was back inside the walls of Crewel Keep, but she still could not bear seeing her husband yet. She located the kitchen garden, seeking further distraction. The garden amazed her, the vegetables and herbs so overgrown with weeds they couldn’t be seen.

  It was bad enough that Crewel was filthy, but a garden was a source of food. A garden gave spices that made moldy dishes at the end of winter palatable. A garden gave herbs that healed and comforted. It was intolerable to find the garden in this condition.

  “You are being searched for, my lady.”

  Leonie whirled around at the sound of the tiny voice. A girl seven or eight years old was kneeling on the ground pulling up weeds. At least someone was making an effort.

  “What is your name, child?”

  “Idelle.”

  Leonie smiled encouragingly, for she could see the little girl was nervous. “You should have help with all this weeding.”

  “Oh, no, my lady. Cook would not like it if I couldn’t manage this task alone. I am only to pick a few greens for the salad.”

  “Greens? And did cook tell you which greens to pick?”

  The young face crumbled. “I asked him, but—but he said any greens. Have I done wrong? I did not mean to do
wrong, my lady.”

  Leonie said gently, “No, you did as you were told. How long have you helped in the kitchens, Idelle?”

  “Not long. I was learning to weave, but Lady Amelia doesn’t like children within the keep, so my sister sent me to the kitchens.”

  “Then someone should have shown you what to pick and what to throw away in this overgrown mess. What you have there I call ‘good-for-nothings.’ ”

  Idelle grinned. “Truly?”

  “Truly.” Leonie smiled back. “Now let me see.” She bent down and parted a heavy clump of foliage. “Ah! There is something edible here, after all. These will do for a salad.” And she began filling the girl’s basket with as many dandelion leaves as she could find.

  “Once again I find you in a garden.”

  Leonie’s hands froze. Even her breathing stopped.

  “I told you they were looking for you,” Idelle whispered.

  Leonie tried to smile and failed. “So you did. Go back to the kitchen, Idelle. The cook will have to make do with what you have.”

  They both rose at the same time, Idelle to move quickly past the awe-inspiring lord of Kempston, and Leonie to face him.

  Once again she was struck by the handsomeness of the man, and for a fleeting moment all else was forgotten as she looked him over slowly. From the thickly muscled legs in fine hose to the brown tunic shot with gold thread, everything he wore emphasized the power of his body.

  Meeting those velvety brown eyes brought back Amelia’s words. She decided she would not demean herself by asking him questions about Amelia, or about his bringing her there. His wanting to start anew, as he’d said, was obviously a lie. And more lies would only confuse her. Also, she did not want him thinking she was upset over Amelia.

  “You call this a garden, my lord?” That was a safe enough subject.

  Rolfe spared the briefest look around before his gaze returned to the lovely vision before him. “What would I know of gardens?”

  “You saw mine at Pershwick.”

  “Did I?” He moved closer, grinning. “No, little flower, I saw only you.”