“I’m uninjured.”
“Your notion of uninjured and mine may differ.”
“Then examine me, if there’s nothing else that will content you.”
She’d made this stew, so she had to eat it, she told herself as she turned to face him. In spite of her efforts, she couldn’t prevent the heated blush that flooded her skin when she saw him rubbing himself dry with a small piece of linen while making absolutely no effort to hide any part of his body.
She commanded herself not to be so foolish, and approached him. “Let me see your arm.”
His face expressionless, he held it out to her.
“You didn’t do any more damage, thank God,” she noted. She ran a studious gaze over his magnificent body, trying not to focus more attention than strictly necessary on certain parts.
“Do you see anything that displeases you?”
She glanced sharply up at his face, but he seemed perfectly serious. “You look otherwise unharmed,” she replied.
He went to his chest and threw open the lid. Since she was obviously not needed here, there was no reason to stay….
“What of my men and those who helped? Were they all fed?” he asked as he pulled out some dark woolen breeches and started to dress.
“Yes. Beatrice did an excellent job. I left her to organize the food.”
“She seems a clever girl, when she stops talking,” he remarked as he tied the drawstring.
Constance bristled in defense of her cousin. “We cannot all be as quiet as you.”
“I speak when I have something to say,” he answered, and she had the feeling he’d given that response before.
However, she had no particular wish to get into a discussion about his conversational skills, or lack thereof. “Have you asked Sir Jowan about his mason?”
“Yes. He’s agreed to send the man over to give his opinion. Sir Jowan’s son didn’t seem pleased by his father’s generosity,” he remarked as he put on a shirt and a pair of scuffed black boots. “I gather young Kiernan doesn’t like me.”
His voice betrayed no particular interest or concern—but his eyes were something else. “I suspect he wouldn’t like any man who was betrothed to you.”
A jolt of fear stabbed her. What if someone had seen Kiernan enter the chapel while she was there, and told Merrick? Yet if that had happened, surely he would have said something before now. Relief came, and then annoyance. How she wished Kiernan had stayed at home!
Given how she felt, she had no qualms about making her feelings for Kiernan—or lack of them—quite plain. “Whatever Kiernan feels, I’ve never encouraged him to see me as anything other than a friend. I don’t love him, and I never have. All I harbor for Kiernan is affection for a friend.”
“He can’t be your only admirer.”
“There have been others,” she readily and honestly admitted. “A few bold young men who thought it would be an easy matter for me to break my uncle’s word, and others who thought my uncle could be persuaded to do so. After they met your father, they realized that his vengeance would be swift if they were successful, and thought better of their plans.”
“So they were cowards?”
“I would say they were wise.”
He came toward her, his gaze intense—and doubtful? “I don’t want you to accept me out of some sense of obligation or duty, Constance.”
She yearned to tell him the truth—her hopes and fears, and what she wanted most of all: a husband she could love, who would treat her as a trusted friend and not a child to be commanded and patronized. She studied his face, his eyes. Could he be such a husband?
His gaze faltered and he turned away to put on a gray woolen tunic. “I hope you won’t continue to hold my decision about Talek against me.”
After her conversation with Henry, which she wouldn’t mention now, she could no longer blame him for his suspicions. “Although I still think your decision was wrong, I was too upset to remember the attack upon your cortege fifteen years ago, and why you might fear assassination.”
His dark brows furrowed. “You understand me, do you?” he queried as he approached her.
She shook her head. “No,” she admitted, wondering if she’d ever truly comprehend a man seemingly so full of contradictions, “but I can appreciate why you felt you had to send Talek away.”
“Then is there some other reason you dislike me?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.
“I…I don’t dislike you,” she answered, compelled to be honest by his voice and unexpectedly vulnerable expression.
“Yet you either quarrel with me or avoid me,” he replied. “I could believe you want to break the betrothal, except that you didn’t take the chance I offered, and your kisses tell me you want me, at least in your bed.
“Do you regret our betrothal, Constance?” he continued softly, taking hold of her chin and gently forcing her to look up into his questioning face. “Do you wish to be free of me? If you do, I beg of you, tell me.”
Doubt flickered in his eyes as he spoke to her with hushed but fervent resolve. “If you do want to be my wife, I would hear you say it. Or do you still fear that I’ll be like my father? That you’ll become nothing more to me than a broodmare? That in spite of my vows of fidelity, I’ll take other women into my bed when they’re willing, and force myself upon them when they’re not? I give you my word I will not. I assure you, I did vow long ago that I would never take a woman against her will, and that includes my wife. Nor will I ever strike you, or mistreat you. I will be faithful to you, as I honor every vow and promise I make. So I will ask you this one last time—will you marry me or not?”
All the reasons she should refuse him flashed through her mind.
The younger Merrick had been a spoiled, cruel little brat. His father had been a lascivious, brutal tyrant given to fits of rage, living in constant fear of betrayal and assassination. She couldn’t face a future where she might have to endure living in dread and terror again.
What did she really know of Merrick? He was an enigma, a mystery, a man who betrayed almost nothing of his feelings…but he had shown her something she was sure he rarely revealed to another: a hint of doubt, a shadow of vulnerability, a notion that she could hurt him profoundly if she refused. And make him happier than he would ever say if she agreed.
Could she be happy married to him? She didn’t know. She couldn’t be sure. She had no compass, no guide to tell her what to do.
Except her heart, and the defeated, disappointed look lurking in Merrick’s eyes as the silence stretched between them.
If she denied that silent plea, and the urging of her own heart, she might regret it for the rest of her life.
And had he not treated her with respect? Had he not listened to her opinions and done as she suggested, or offered a reasonable explanation when he had not? What more could she really expect from a husband?
No other man had ever aroused such desire within her. No other man made her feel as wanted and needed as he did. “Yes, my lord, I’ll marry you.”
With a gasp and a look of astonishment, he pulled her into his arms. He was going to kiss her, and, oh, how different was this anticipation from the dread of Kiernan’s embrace, or the worry that Henry’s kindness was not completely honorable.
When Merrick took her in his arms this time, his lips met hers not with fiery desire, but with tenderness, asking that she respond.
She did, willingly. At the first touch of his mouth on hers, her body ignited, the flames of desire licking along her limbs until she was alight with it. He was simply too much to resist. The need, the hunger he inspired, was too overwhelming. And wonderful.
As he continued to kiss and stroke her, her knees grew weak and her whole body relaxed against him. With no conscious effort, an encouraging moan sounded deep in her throat, while his fingers lightly brushed the pebbled tip of her nipple pushing against the fabric of her gown.
His mouth left hers to slide in slow torment down her neck. Gripping his shou
lders, she leaned back, offering her body to him.
His chin nuzzled her bodice lower, exposing the rounded tops of her breasts to his lips and tongue. Then, suddenly, he raised his head to give her an intensely ardent kiss.
As she eagerly responded, his hands continued their slow exploration of her body. Every inch of her skin felt alive to his touch, every caress a new call to desire.
Still kissing her, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She had one moment’s thought that she should stop him, but in the next, he was beside her.
She wrapped her arms about him, pulling him closer. She vaguely guessed where this might end—and did not care. He was not the Merrick she had known, and were they not betrothed, as good as married except for the blessing and consummation?
One hand left her breast to travel lower, cupping her between her parted limbs. Kneading her there. Making her cleft throb and moisten.
Ready for him.
A finger pressed against her through the fabric. His mouth took hers again with hot intensity. She lifted her hips, seeking more. Wanting more. Needing more.
His tongue swirled and danced with hers, gliding over her teeth, plunging into her warm mouth. A prelude to that other thrust.
His hand, his fingers, that glorious pressure provoked more yearning within her.
And then…the tension snapped. Crying out, she dug her fingernails into his shoulder, bucked and groaned as wave after wave of unimagined release tore through her, blinding her to everything except that incredible sensation.
Afterward, she leaned against him, panting, spent. “What…what was that?” she murmured.
“Your pleasure,” he whispered, his voice a husky rasp, his breathing heavy as if he’d run a long distance.
“Only mine?”
“For now. I can wait.”
She imagined her wedding night, realized he would love her, that his body would join with hers…
He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, for her braids were undone and fallen into disarray. “This was but a taste of what’s to come, Constance.”
A taste? She wanted a meal. “As I seem to recall you saying once, we’re already betrothed.”
Desire flared in his eyes, but he shook his head. “I will have no one say I took you too soon, that you had no choice except to marry me because I’d taken your maidenhead.”
She had made her decision. There was no need now to pretend she didn’t want his kisses, his caresses, his body loving hers. No reason to deny what they both so obviously craved. She pressed her body closer. “No one need know.”
“I will know, and so will you,” he grimly replied. “I will have no shadow of doubt, no cause at all for you to suspect me of other motives.”
She couldn’t fault him for wanting to be honorable, and yet surely there was some way…
She remembered something she’d overheard, a giggled conversation between Demelza and another maid, about what Demelza had done one May Day eve. At the time, she’d been shocked—and then ashamed for listening. But now…now she was glad she’d eavesdropped.
Emboldened, she stroked his hardened shaft through his clothing. “I don’t think it’s right that I should be pleasured but you must go lacking, even if we aren’t yet wed. I’ve heard there are other ways for men to seek release,” she offered.
“It’s a sin for a man to waste his seed,” he muttered thickly, his eyes pleading as he reached for her hand. “Constance, you should stop that.”
“I would feel it a greater sin that I should leave you without ease when I’ve been satisfied,” she replied, ignoring his halfhearted protest. “We can confess and seek absolution later.”
His only answer to that suggestion was a low groan as she untied his breeches. Making no more attempts to stop her, his eyes closed, he leaned back and braced himself as she straddled him and slipped her hand inside his breeches.
She’d never touched a man’s naked shaft before. It was softer than she’d expected, and he, this powerful knight who’d defeated so many men, shivered and gasped when she encircled him with her fingers.
Leaning close, she kissed his mouth, and in spite of whatever reservations he harbored, he returned her kiss fiercely as she continued to stroke him.
Her lips left his to trail down his chin. She kissed his collarbone and the little hollow in the middle, where she could feel his rapid breathing like the beating of a bird’s wings.
His shirt was a hindrance, and she stopped her ministrations for a moment. “Sit up,” she ordered.
His eyes flew open, surprised and wary.
She tugged at his clothing. “I want this off.”
Doubt dimmed the desire in his eyes. “Perhaps we should—”
“Now,” she ordered, yanking up his shirt.
His lips began to turn down until she merrily murmured, “Please?”
He laughed softly and obeyed, pulling his shirt over his head in one swift motion. “I fear I can refuse you nothing.”
“Good,” she murmured as she bent forward. While her hand returned to his erection, her tongue circled his areola, then licked the tip of his nipple.
He groaned and squirmed, the motion increasing her desire, too. When she sucked his nipple into her mouth, it sent him over the edge. He groaned and bent forward, jerking like a landed fish as he spilled over her fingers.
Panting, he fell back against the feather bed as she withdrew her hand. “There’s linen—” he gasped.
“I know,” she said, climbing off him to fetch it. Her legs were a little shaky as she washed, then brought him a clean, damp square.
“God help me, if that’s a sin, I may not want to go to heaven,” he murmured as he washed himself. Then he looked up at her and smiled in a way that made her wish she’d done more than pleasure him with her hand and lips. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low and so seductive, she nearly climaxed from that alone.
“You’re most welcome, my lord,” she said, her body hot and yearning for more.
He stood up and tied his breeches. “Although nothing would make me happier than to linger here with you, I fear I’ve already stayed too long. It smells like rain, and while that might prevent any smoldering sparks from flaring and setting fire to what’s left of the mill, it might also destroy any evidence we might find.”
Constance was disappointed, but she couldn’t fault him for wanting to find out who’d set the fire. So she gave Merrick a wry little smile. “Go about your business, my lord, and I’ll go about mine. We’ll meet at the evening meal, and I hope you’ll share any discoveries with me, whether for good or ill.”
“I will.”
He grabbed her hand and tugged her close for one more quick kiss, then together they went down the stairs.
Although he tried to focus on what he must do next, Merrick’s heart swelled with happiness. Constance was his, of her own free will, and not because of a legal contract signed years ago when she was a child. She would be his wife, not the promised bride of the heir of Tregellas. He had given her every chance to refuse, yet she had not. Surely that was a sign from God that he was forgiven. That he was worthy of her after all, in spite of what he’d done.
BEATRICE MIGHT HAVE BEEN exhausted, but she wasn’t too tired to talk.
“I’m so glad no one was seriously hurt,” she exclaimed to Constance as they stood in the kitchen, which looked as if a small army had gone through and stripped it clean. Gaston was nodding off in the corner, and the servants seemed to be slumbering wherever they could lie down.
“What a terrible, terrible thing!” she continued. “How could it happen? I’ve heard of mills being struck by lightning, but the sky was clear last night. And of course they’re often set on fire during wars, but we’re at peace—mostly. It must have been an accident, or a drunken man going home with a torch.”
As improbable as Beatrice’s last suggestion sounded, and despite Merrick’s certainty the fire was no accident, Constance wondered if Beatrice might b
e right. She should tell Merrick Beatrice’s idea the next time they were alone, before they kissed and she got…distracted.
“You did very well in the kitchen,” she said to Beatrice, deciding it was better not to share Merrick’s suspicions with her loquacious cousin. “I’m most impressed, and so is Merrick.”
“Really?” Beatrice cried happily. “I did what I thought you’d do.”
“No wonder I don’t see any mistakes,” Constance replied with a smile.
“Henry said I’d make some lucky man an excellent wife,” Beatrice boasted. Then she giggled. “He nearly fell asleep before he finished his stew, right there at the table. He put his head down and if Ranulf hadn’t nudged him, all I would have heard is that I would have made some lucky man, as if I should start wearing breeches!”
Her expression changed as she looked around surreptitiously, then whispered, “I know you’re tired and it’s been a terrible night, but I was wondering if you’d had a chance to ask Merrick if I might stay in Tregellas after you’re married.”
“To be honest, Beatrice,” Constance admitted as she stifled a yawn, “I’d forgotten. I’ll do so the next time I speak with him.”
“If he isn’t pleased by the idea, you needn’t insist. Sir Jowan has invited me to Penderston. I told him that I had asked to stay here, but Kiernan was kind enough to say I could go there after the wedding instead.”
“Kiernan wants you to visit?” Constance asked, trying not to sound overly surprised—or to be overly surprised. Sir Jowan had been a friend of Lord Carrell’s for many years, if not a very close one.
Beatrice tossed her head, like a colt let loose in a large field on a spring day. “Since you don’t want him, maybe I should see if he’ll suit me.”
Constance didn’t want Kiernan, yet she didn’t think he’d be suitable for Beatrice, either. Or any woman she cared about. He was nice enough in his way, but there was something…lacking…somehow. However, there was no point voicing any reservations. After all, Kiernan might not “suit” Beatrice, either.
Beatrice covered her mouth to hide a prodigious yawn. “God’s rood, I am tired. I suppose everybody is. Ranulf barely spoke two words when he came back to the hall and had some stew. I wonder how long he’s going to stay. Has Merrick said anything about a new garrison commander?”
The Unwilling Bride Page 14