Chosen for the Marriage Bed

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘You still have no proof beyond the circumstantial,’ Richard answered with the voice of a man who would uphold the law of the land, despite the anger that had begun to churn in his gut at the logical brutality of his wife’s thought processes. Trying for her sake to remain impartial, rational. Balanced. If she was not capable of cold reasoning, then he must be, for her sake.

  ‘It’s the only explanation. How else could they be there?’ Elizabeth began to pace again. ‘Why would Ellen pass them so secretively to me?’

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘I have to accept that.’

  ‘Will you help me?’

  At the far end of the room she swung round to face him again. The insubstantial light of the candles masked the worst of her anguish, but her voice trembled. It was a cry for help that he found impossible to ignore. Yet his instinct was still to weigh the evidence and consider. Cautious now, Richard continued to lean on his elbows, folded his hands, rested his chin there.

  ‘To do what, exactly?’

  ‘To rescue David. To make Sir John pay for his des pi cable crime. What else?’ Elizabeth flung our her arms in impatience.

  Richard breathed out slowly as he realised the weight of what she was asking, and how she would react if she read his reply, his advice, as an outright refusal. Hurt she must already be. He had no wish to add to her pain ‘Elizabeth—listen to me. I think David is in no danger at Talgarth. I think he has a role in Sir John’s plans, whatever they might be. Sir John will use your brother, perhaps attempt to mould him to his own desires as heir to the de Lacy lands—but he will not kill him.’

  ‘I do not want him there, a virtual prisoner, to be moulded, as you put it, by a murderer. Do you really think David’s sudden illness, which kept him delirious and confined to bed, was purely coincidence? I do not. I cannot but fear for his life.’

  ‘No, I don’t believe it was a coincidence. I think it was to keep him from too close a conversation with you. Most likely the fever was a product of Master Capel’s skills. But now that you are gone, I think David will come to no lasting harm. His is the only de Lacy blood—apart from yours—to inherit the Talgarth lands after Sir John’s death.’

  ‘But if it’s all a matter of in heritance—if that means so much to my uncle,’ Elizabeth fretted, ‘why would he kill Lewis?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘My uncle killed my brother.’ She repeated the words once more, as if she could not take in the true meaning of them. Then pinned Richard with a stare. ‘He must be brought to justice.’

  ‘I agree. But what can I do?’ He rose to his feet to close the distance between them. ‘We have here a case against Sir John that will not stand in a court of law. No witnesses to call who will speak the truth, no evidence to point in controvertibly to his guilt. His retainers will not speak against him if they value their pockets—or even their lives. All we have are two pieces of jewellery discovered in the wrong place.’ He was as frustrated and hedged about as she, but his control was better than hers. ‘I am no ancient god who can wreak deadly vengeance with a well-aimed bolt of lightning, without consequence or responsibility to a higher power.’ Elizabeth continued to pace, stepping around him when he would have barred her path, until he stretched out an arm to stop her. ‘I cannot rescue David, short of a full-blown siege of Talgarth. Think of what you suggest, Elizabeth.’

  But she was beyond reason, her eyes wild. He could feel the tension in her arm where his hand rested. ‘My brother’s blood cries out for vengeance, my lord.’ Her deliberate descent into the formal was bitter indeed. ‘And you stand there to tell me there is no proof!’

  ‘I know, and it hurts you, but revenge must be under the banner of justice, by the law of the land, and that requires proof.’

  ‘He murdered Lewis and callously heaped the blame on your head, before all your people. He deliberately sowed the seeds of doubt in my own heart. Can you overlook such undeserved dishonour? Do you tell me that he does not merit punishment?’

  ‘No. But I think you are not listening to reason. You need to rest. You will make yourself ill if you cannot put it aside for tonight.’

  ‘Reason! What role has reason in all this?’ She almost snarled at him, eyes snapping in fury.

  What could he say? He could no longer find the words. She was beyond soothing or comfort, but he would try again. ‘Come to bed—and tomorrow we will think again.’

  ‘You do not care! Are you not man enough to help me?’

  With one sharp movement, a deliberate open-handed blow, she swept a candlestick and its candle, regardless of any danger from the leaping flame to the bed-hangings, to the floor.

  Which pushed Richard into action. ‘Stop this, Elizabeth.’ He took her hands and pulled her closer, locking his fingers with hers to prevent her from snatching away. ‘Yes. I do care. And I promise that I will do what I can.’ And as he looked down into her face he saw the glitter of tears as anguish began to replace anger. His heart ached for her. He wanted nothing more than to bring her some ease from her torment.

  ‘Do I have to get revenge myself?’ she whispered, now clinging tightly.

  ‘No.’ He gave her a little shake, moved almost beyond words. ‘Foolish girl! Have I not said? You are mine and so you are not alone in this.’

  Their eyes caught and held, tight as a fist. Awareness one of the other, strange and unbidden, danced in the flickering light. Then desire arced between them, hot and ruthless as a flame. He drew her into his arms, held tight when she would have struggled against so unexpected a surge in her blood. He had planned to be gentle, to soothe the pain, stroke away the anger that rode her with kind words and soft hands, as he had when they were last at odds, but knew in that moment that such softness would not serve the purpose at all. Besides, he was over whelmed, his senses all but over turned by a basic need. He wanted her, as simple as that. He desired her, so proud as she was, so driven to get justice for Lewis.

  Richard allowed instinct to dictate, body to overrule mind, to band his arms firmly around her, before he bent his head to take her mouth with his. Not the gentle kiss of his original intent, but one of heady desire to part her lips and slide his tongue against hers, against the soft skin of her mouth. The fire so immediately kindled flashed, leapt between them. All-consuming, dominating. All the anguish and despair within Elizabeth bloomed impossibly into the heat of demand, spread to him and ignited them both, taking their breath, making them tremble.

  It was not a seductive wooing. Desire and need, amazing them both, took control as Richard lifted and tumbled her to the bed. Her loosely laced gown presented no difficulty to his urgent fingers, nor his own more formal garments. Clothes were stripped away to allow flesh to slide invitingly, irresistibly against flesh. His thorough caress swept Elizabeth’s new curves, curves that went unappreciated in the immediacy of the moment, from shoulder to waist to thigh, to return to cup her breast as his mouth assaulted hers, the press of his body demanding her response. Elizabeth shuddered, then arched against him, her fingernails scoring his back and shoulders as they stretched and rolled, heart to heart, thigh to thigh, the most perfect of fit. Sheets tangled around them, impeding, and were cast impatiently aside.

  He entered her in a single powerful thrust.

  ‘Elizabeth!’ He groaned her name and stilled as she closed round him, burning with heat, soft as satin, intoxicating to his senses as the most wanton of pleasures. Even more when she lifted her hips against him to allow him greater access and watched his face with hooded eyes. As he watched her. They lay still for a moment, caught there, as their hearts thundered one against the other, their breath mingled.

  ‘Elizabeth de Lacy,’ he murmured, momentarily stunned, a flicker of uncertainty in the depths of his fierce eyes. ‘What are you?’ He feathered with utmost restraint a line of kisses along her jaw, along the elegant curve of her throat, before the need over ruled and he began to move within her, against her, his rhythm flowing through her, encouraging her to follow, aware only of his
magnificent dominance. Sensation building in her until she whimpered and shivered at its unknown power, far sweeter, far more intense than before. And her lax muscles tightened in his embrace as fear swept through her at her inability to resist him or control her body’s response.

  ‘I am afraid,’ she cried out. But pleasure flooded through her to deny her words and lured her.

  Richard gave her no choice, but pushed her on with clever mouth and practised fingers, with firm strokes that left her with no will of her own until she cried out with shock and delight. Only then, with hard-won control at an end, did he surrender to the woman who had considered herself to be his captive, stunned at his own helplessness in her arms.

  Afterwards, some considerable time after wards when she had collected her scattered thoughts from the debris of the emotional onslaught, Elizabeth lay in Richard’s arms. Exhausted, momentarily. Sad, of course, but without the terrible weight of grief. At some time in the storm a measure of contentment had ambushed her, stolen through her limbs, to remain there a still and quiet river to stroke and soothe. As for the intense emotion that had driven her to respond to every demand he had made, she still resisted putting a name to it. Or to the explosion of lethal delight racing through her blood that had compelled her against all sense to make her own demands on him. She felt the flush of hot colour in her face at the memory of her wilful behaviour, grateful for the shadows, whilst a per sis tent voice whispered through her mind.

  You have fallen in love with him. No matter how you deny it, the proof is there in your heated blood. You cannot step around the truth any longer. You love him.

  And against such forth right words Elizabeth had no defence.

  ‘Richard…’ She turned her cheek against his chest, aware of the still rapid beat of his heart, his disordered breathing yet to settle. It pleased her beyond measure that he had been as compromised as she. ‘I was unfair to you.’

  ‘Yes. You were.’ He pressed his lips against her hair. She could sense the smile. ‘As I remember, you exhibited a very poor opinion of my abilities, both as Lord of Ledenshall and—even worse—as a man.’

  She laughed, low and full of sat is faction. ‘Not any more! I lack experience, but your abilities are—miraculous, I think.’ She splayed her fingers over his chest, pleased when she felt the rumble of his answering laugh.

  ‘So I should hope.’

  Beneath the laughter, Richard was taken aback at his lack of control with Elizabeth. Her at traction for him had surprised him, as had the degree of respect he had come to give his wife. But the need to make her his, to possess her utterly, was over whelming. Nor was it merely a physical connection. Something far deeper pulled him towards her. He found himself frowning into the curtained canopy of the bed as the problem teased his thoughts. Probably it was nothing more than compassion for the pain inflicted on her by a man, her own uncle, who should have sup ported and protected her. Perhaps there was a hint of admiration for her strong will when beset, even when it was turned against him. And respect, of course. Yes, that was it. There was no difficulty in giving her admiration and respect. And how could he have guessed that she would be so endearingly feminine beneath her sharp words and direct manner? So thoroughly desirable. So that was it, too. Lust was an easy answer.

  The matter settled in his own mind, Richard stopped frowning and spoke quietly against her temple. ‘Sir John de Lacy will pay for his crimes. Sooner or later. I will not allow him to go un challenged for the grief he has brought to you. You are my wife and it is my duty and my desire to protect you. It is not permitted that anyone bring you harm.’

  It was a solemn oath, recognised by both of them. As both were aware, even though the knowledge had until that moment been unspoken, any shadow of culpability for the events of that terrible night had effectively been removed from Richard’s shoulders. Any barrier between them marked with Lewis’s blood had been destroyed. There were still others, would be others in the future—Elizabeth was not so naïve that she could see only a smooth pathway for them—but at least that one des pi cable crime was laid to rest.

  ‘I should never have doubted you.’ It shamed her that she had.

  ‘No. You should not. But as you once said, you did not know me. Our marriage was not destined to be an easy one. Perhaps we can now find a straighter path together.’

  ‘Do you forgive me? For my lack of trust?’

  ‘I could do that.’ With agile power he suddenly rolled to reverse their positions, his weight pressing her into the soft mattress. ‘But I think I need to know that you will not be so ready to doubt my abilities again.’

  She saw the glint of his eyes, the curve of his glorious mouth, the spread of his shoulders as he obliterated the light, held her prisoner once again. ‘What do you suggest? What can I do in recompense?’ She felt his heart leap, his erection harden fully, heavily against her thigh. Her arms closed around his neck, pulling him closer still, his lips down to hers as her hips lifted, opened to him in invitation. There was no doubting the invitation.

  ‘This…’

  His mouth claimed hers once more with obvious intent, but now with time for tenderness. A slow cherishing. Elizabeth did not resist.

  Richard did what he could. With an open purse, he bought information from travellers who would listen and gossip and report back. David had been seen riding with his uncle. He had been seen at his uncle’s side in Hereford. He looked well and rode his horse with vital energy. Nothing to concern his anxious sister. It brought a measure of peace to Elizabeth’s heart.

  She and Jane made use of the scrying dish. It told them little, but there was no presage of death or disaster.

  ‘It proves nothing.’ Jane cleared away the evidence.

  ‘But if you do not see it…’

  ‘David is not harmed.’ It was as reassuring as Jane was prepared to be.

  Meanwhile the Lord and Lady of Ledenshall watched each other, neither able or willing to admit to the astonishing depth of awareness that had developed between them since that night of outrageous passion.

  Chapter Twelve

  With the passage of spring into early summer, travel on the rutted roads became easier, and so came the season of fairs and markets. The Malinders of Ledenshall, with two stout baggage wagons and a strong escort, found their way to Leominster to the May Day Fair with the prospect of stalls to browse over, the aromatic scents of spices to lure, music and entertainment, in Broad Street and the Corn Market, a mystery play and a maypole set up in the church yard of the vast Priory Church, deco rated with boughs of oak leaves and flowers and ribbons.

  As Richard prepared to take himself off to do business at the Talbot, Elizabeth found herself subject to a sternly quizzical stare.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  Tight-lipped, face set in solemn lines despite the merriment around them, Richard, for a moment surprising her, stretched out his hand. She thought he would touch her cheek with his fingers, so public in a crowded street, but he merely tucked her veil more securely. Her breath caught on a little hum of pleasure at the warm intimacy of so simple a gesture.

  ‘Do you fear for me? I shall be quite safe,’ she reassured, loosely en cir cling his wrist with her fingers. ‘I expect you’ve ordered your men-at-arms to remain close.’

  ‘I would never forgive myself if anything harmed you in any way.’

  Delight bloomed, bright as the rosa mundi in her new garden at Ledenshall. Richard rarely voiced his personal feelings despite the possessiveness of his body. Would he ever say that he loved her? Would he ever feel such emotion towards her, the bride he had not wanted? Her love for him would have to be enough. She watched him, his broad shoulders, his lithe gait, as he disappeared into the crowd.

  There proved to be little need for their guards, except perhaps to keep the thieves and pickpockets at bay, or deter the beggars who begged ceaselessly.

  ‘Lady! On your mercy.’ Elizabeth felt a tug on the sleeve of her gown.

  They were standing i
n an inn yard to watch a group of travel ling musicians, acrobats and dancers, with a welcome cup of ale against the growing warmth of the day. A lad, filthy, in ragged garments with long matted hair more worthy of one of the prize Ryeland sheep for sale in the High Street, his hat pulled low to his ears, had sidled to crouch beside her. Stooped with some disease, he held out his hands. Compassionate, waving away her escort who made to grip the boy by the arm and haul him away, Elizabeth pressed a penny into his hand, then returned her attention to the performance.

  ‘Lady.’ Again the tug at her gown, his voice little more than a low croak. She looked down at the battered crown of his hat. ‘Go to the Priory. The south porch. Before mid-day.’

  That was all, before her guard dispatched the lad to the edge of the crowd with a rough shove from a well-placed boot. Should she act on the plea of a filthy, flea-ridden beggar? Who wished to speak with her and could not do so in the public street? Well, of course, she could not but go to satisfy her own curiosity. No harm could come to her in so holy a place, busy with the comings and goings of the monks and the lay community on this market day. Elizabeth walked across the grass to the south porch.