Ioan grinned with relief. “Aye, I’ll be politeness itself the next time a Norman comes to the gates.”
Madoc didn’t believe that for a moment, but decided to let the matter rest.
“Since you seem so keen to be entertaining, how about a song?” he asked, for Ioan was the best singer in Llanpowell, with a rich tenor that could make the hall rafters vibrate.
“Gladly!” he replied, before launching into a song about a shepherd and his lass on their wedding day.
A particularly bawdy ballad it was, one that got progressively more bawdy, and funnier, with every verse. But it was a favorite with the men and soon even Madoc joined in until the song ended with a rousing chorus that left them all laughing.
“It’s good to hear you laugh like that again, Madoc,” Ioan said, wiping his eyes.
“It feels good,” he replied.
“She must be some woman,” Hugh the Beak noted behind them.
“She’s a beauty,” Ioan observed.
“A little skinny, though,” somebody called out.
“Madoc likes them thin!” another cried.
“With huge chests!”
That comment was too insolent. Madoc twisted in his saddle and glared at the youth who’d said it—young Gwillym, as skinny and pale as a plucked chicken, riding at the back of the group.
“Not meaning any harm, me, my lord,” the young man stammered, blanching, which made his freckles look like spots of red dye. “I meant of gold, my lord. Chests of gold.”
Although he believed the lad, Madoc wanted his men to appreciate that there were some things he wouldn’t countenance, even in jest. “She’s a lady and my wife, so there’ll be no more talk like that about her body or her face. Is that clear?”
The men nodded their understanding and he knew they would obey.
To show them he wasn’t angry, only resolved that his wife be respected, Madoc gave them a grin and said, “Since I’m used to you louts, you can make all the sport you like of me.”
“And we will!” Ioan replied, to the amusement of the company.
Hugh started up another song about a battle between the Britons and the Romans, and they sang until they rode through the inner gate of the castle.
Where Lloyd was waiting for them. Madoc had hoped Roslynn would be there, too, but she was probably seeing that all was ready for the evening meal. She seemed a very conscientious woman, in every way.
Even so, the first thing he said to his uncle when he dismounted was, “Where’s my wife?”
The last time he’d said those words, he realized, he’d been speaking of Gwendolyn and cringing inside.
“In your chamber waiting for you, I expect,” Lloyd said. He drew him away from the hall, closer to the stables. “I heard what your brother did. Any more trouble from him?”
“Not yet.”
“Good,” Lloyd said with relief, before he shoved Madoc toward the hall. “Don’t stand here talking to me. Go see your lovely wife.”
As if he needed prompting, Madoc thought as he hurried to the hall.
As he’d expected, the hall was indeed prepared for the evening meal. Some of the returning soldiers, or those just ending their watch, as well as servants waiting to serve the food, were already gathered there. Father Elwy was in place to bless the meal. Not unexpectedly, Ivor wasn’t, but he was no doubt still calculating how many weapons and stores they could buy with the dowry.
Madoc took the stairs to their bedchamber two at a time, then waited a moment to calm his racing blood before he entered. He must be patient and not impetuous. He must treat his wife gently until she felt completely safe with him.
He slowly eased open the door.
Clad only in her shift hiked up around her thighs, bent at the waist, Roslynn had one foot in a basin on the floor as she ran a soaking, soapy cloth up her bare leg from her ankle to her thigh.
His breath caught and his desire blazed at the sight.
But he mustn’t let his desire overwhelm him. He mustn’t frighten her with the intensity of his passion. So he took another moment to subdue the need raging through him like a brush fire before he cleared his throat.
She straightened at once. “Madoc!” she cried as she stepped quickly out of the basin, nearly knocking it over. “You’re back.”
He tried not to notice how sheer her thin lawn shift was, or to remember the feel of it beneath his fingers last night, even if soapy water from the cloth dripped onto it, making it nearly transparent. He could see the shadow between her legs, the ruddy tips of her taut nipples, the rounded swell of her breasts.
Swallowing hard, he struggled to control the need building inside him, for this was even more arousing than if she’d been naked.
With equal desire kindling in her eyes, Roslynn whispered his name.
He reached her in one long stride and snatched the damp cloth from her hand, tossing it into the basin and ignoring the splash of water on the floor. He put his arms around her and captured her mouth with all the intensity he felt.
Panting, she broke the kiss and stepped back. “We haven’t time. The evening meal—”
“Can wait,” he muttered, reaching for her, because it wasn’t food he was hungry for. “A man has needs.”
Then he saw the look on her face.
“Which this man can control,” he said firmly, moving away from her. He had told her he would never force her, and he never would, no matter how much he wanted her.
She said nothing as she went to the chest containing her clothes and, with trembling hands, raised the lid.
God help him, he was a fool! A selfish, impetuous, unthinking fool! “Roslynn, I’m sorry. I was too hasty.”
She pulled out a gown of rich brown, like damp earth, and held it in front of her. “I’m sorry, too, Madoc, that I cannot stop the panic that comes over me.” She turned away. “I truly wish I could.”
“It’ll take time, that’s all, until you’re used to me and know me better,” he said, smiling, even though in his heart, he dreaded it might always be like this. “Let me help you dress, or they’ll be wondering what’s keeping us.”
She put the dress over her head, lifting her arms in a way that seemed designed to draw his attention to her breasts. In spite of the desire that aroused, he kept a rein on his passion and came to stand behind her to tie the laces in the back.
Even when she pulled her hair to one side, exposing the naked nape of her neck, he controlled himself, although it seemed every particle of his body urged him to kiss her there.
Instead, he focused on the leather laces, pulling them closed and tying a firm knot. He would not notice the rise and fall of her breasts, or remember the sight of her back, pale and naked in the moonlight, or the feel of her flesh beneath his seeking palms.
She abruptly turned toward him and, just as unexpectedly, took his face between her hands and kissed him full on the mouth. More, she leaned into him as if she wanted him to make love with her then and there.
“Take me,” she commanded, her voice husky with longing and determination, too. “Take me as you will, Madoc. I want you and I’m willing. Please, Madoc, I’m sure you won’t hurt me and I am not made of glass.”
Drawing back, his anxious gaze searched her face, seeking confirmation.
Before he could be sure it was confirmation he saw and not mere compliance, her lips were on his and her tongue was pushing into his mouth and her hands were on his body—seemingly all over his body, as if she would feel every inch of him, clothed or bare.
Surely that was confirmation, especially when she attacked his breeches, freeing and stroking him until he thought he would burst.
Driven by need and excitement, he tore at the laces he had so recently tied, ripping the holes through which they were threaded in his haste to touch her skin, her breasts, to lick and kiss and suck her rosy nipples. She pulled off his tunic and shirt in one motion, exposing his naked torso to the cooler air and her touch.
His breathing hoarse, his n
eed almost beyond his control, he angled her back against the dressing table, then lifted her so that she was sitting on the edge.
Her mouth, lips, tongue and fingertips explored his naked chest, gliding over the flesh like the soft graze of feathers. She sucked his nipple into her mouth and teased it with her tongue, making him groan as he pushed up her skirts to enter her.
But despite the impassioned urge driving him, he kept a slim grasp on his willpower. He must still ensure that she was ready. That she would feel no pain.
His hand found the nakedness between her legs, warm and wet, and then his finger made the first foray. With a low moan, she shoved her body against the heel of his hand, the motion and the sound of her passionate yearning nearly making him spill his seed then and there.
Certain she was prepared, too aroused to take more time, he positioned himself between her legs and lifted them around his hips, her shift and skirt gathering about her thighs and waist.
“Yes, oh, yes,” she gasped, grabbing his shoulders as he pushed inside her.
With a few strong thrusts, he was over the edge, his body bucking. She, too, cried out, as ecstasy overwhelmed her. Marveling, delighted, relieved and happy, Madoc held her close until their breathing slowed and his heartbeat returned to normal.
He helped her down, then swiftly retied his breeches.
“I’ve torn your gown,” he said with remorse as she began to remove it and he picked up his discarded clothing.
“No matter. I have others and it can be repaired,” she said lightly, giving him a satisfied look that told him better than words that she had enjoyed what they had done as much as he.
“I’ll help you into another,” he offered.
She chose the plain blue one and as he once more tied her laces, he brushed his lips across the nape of her neck. “Thank you for that, Roslynn-fy-rhosyn. Otherwise I might always have been afraid to lose myself in the desire you rouse in me.”
“It was necessary for me, too, and it was very exciting, although I believe I prefer to make love in our bed,” she replied, turning to face him and share another passionate, powerful kiss.
“We should go,” she panted several moments later. “The evening meal will be ready.”
“Lloyd won’t wait for us, I’m sure. Let them begin without us.”
“Won’t they wonder…”
“They shouldn’t be surprised. We’re newly wedded, after all.”
LATER THAT NIGHT, moving as furtively as a thief, Madoc returned to his bedchamber. He eased the door open, cursing the leather hinges that creaked so much, and slipped inside the chamber lit by a quarter moon that seemed to bob and weave among fast-moving clouds.
Making his way cautiously into the room, he bit back a curse when he stubbed his toe on the stool that seemed to have been waiting to trap him.
“Madoc?” Roslynn queried sleepily from behind the bed curtains. “Where have you been?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“GOT TO KEEP UP my strength with a wife like you,” Madoc replied, holding up the basket he was carrying for her to see. “Since we missed the evening meal entirely, I went to the kitchen to get whatever I could find.”
Covering herself with the sheet, Roslynn raised herself on her elbow. She had no idea what o’clock it was, only that it must be well past midnight.
They never had gotten down to the hall after making love. They’d stayed to kiss and caress, talk and laugh, and share stories of their childhood. Madoc had apparently been an imp of a boy, albeit shy while she was no stranger to mischief, either, and it had been delightful to compare tales of childish exploits.
Not quite so delightful as making love, however, so they’d done that again, too, although they’d gone to the bed that time.
Yet she truly had enjoyed it when he’d taken her at the dressing table, although for a different reason. She’d felt fear and panic at first, yet she’d overcome them. She’d been able to let Madoc love her with urgency, as if she had no past experience to taint her response to his desire.
As if she’d only ever had him for her husband.
Dressed in his shirt, unlaced and loose, breeches and barefoot despite the chilly floor, Madoc set the basket on the bed.
“I’m starving,” she said as she peered inside and he sat beside her.
He had brought a loaf of barley bread, the remains of a wheel of thick cheese, some broken pieces of meat wrapped in a napkin and a wineskin half-full.
“It’s no feast, I grant you,” Madoc said as he ripped apart the small loaf and handed a half to her, “but I didn’t want to wake anybody.”
“Nobody saw you then?” she asked, wondering what they’d have made of the sight of their overlord sneaking into his own kitchen.
“No,” he replied as he removed his boots. “Some of the dogs woke and sniffed and made a few noises until I told them—quietly—to settle. Not that it would make any difference if anyone had seen me, of course. I have every right to go through my own castle whatever the time of day.”
He reached out to caress her cheek, then leaned back against the pillows to eat his bread. “Are you embarrassed because they know what we’ve been up to? We’re husband and wife, after all.”
“We certainly are,” she said, nestling against him as she chewed the delicious bread, enjoying this impromptu meal more than any feast, happier than she’d been since she’d met Wimarc. “I wish my parents could know how happy I am.”
“We can send word to them if you’d like.”
Shaking her head, she shifted away from him. “No. They won’t want to hear from me. I disgraced and humiliated them, even worse than your brother disgraced and humiliated you.”
“Wasn’t it you who said families should protect each other?” he asked.
“I insisted on marrying a man of whom they didn’t approve, and he turned out to be a traitor planning a rebellion. They surely want nothing to do with me, and why should they, when all I have given them is grief?”
“Except that now they have a fine new son-in-law and an alliance with the Welsh,” Madoc pointed out. “Or do you think that will add to their shame?”
“No!” she quickly assured him. “Even if they don’t know how fortunate I am in my husband, they’ve nothing against the Welsh that I know of.”
“Perhaps this marriage will please them,” he suggested.
She couldn’t agree, even though she wanted to. “What if it doesn’t? I’ve already brought them too much trouble.”
“Very well then, no letter.”
“No letter,” she replied, although she began to wonder if she was wrong not to contact her parents. They would have heard of her journey to Wales and its purpose from friends at court. Maybe they could forgive her now that she was married to another, better man.
Or perhaps they’d never forgive her for what she’d done. She’d been so stubborn, so determined not to heed their words of caution.
When the food and the contents of the wineskin were gone, Madoc set the basket on the floor and rested against the pillows with a satisfied sigh.
“Are you happy?” she asked as she laid her head on his chest.
He ran his fingers up her bare arm, an expression on his face she was beginning to know well. “More than I ever thought I could be.”
“I suppose we should sleep,” she said with a sigh, even as her body tingled at his touch and she began to envision activities far removed from slumber.
“We can always sleep tomorrow night,” he suggested with a smile that made her feel as if she were melting.
“I begin to think I’ve married an insatiable man.”
“If I’m insatiable, it’s only because you’re my bride,” he said, brushing his lips across hers.
Although she didn’t pull away, she didn’t respond with the passion his kiss usually aroused.
“What’s wrong?” he asked with a frown.
Her first impulse was to deny that anything was the matter, to tell him a comfortable lie. But she ha
d had enough of deception and so would be honest with him. “You’re such a vital, passionate man, how can one woman ever satisfy you?”
His frown deepened. “You think I’ll commit adultery? That I’m so lust-filled, I’ll sate my needs with other women?”
“You asked me what was wrong, and I answered honestly.”
He got out of bed and walked to the window, leaning one hand on the frame and looking out as if consulting the moon.
She, too, rose and, wrapping the sheet about her, went to stand beside him. “I could have lied to you, Madoc, as Wimarc so often lied to me. I could have flattered you or told you I was only wondering how I could please you more. Instead, I told you the truth, that I fear a man like you will have other women.
“I’m no innocent, naive bride to believe that all men treat their vows as sacred. I have seen things at court that make a mockery of marriage. I hope you aren’t like that, but I’ve only just met you. How can I be sure? And you’re so handsome, so vigorous, many women must want you. How can I compete against them all?”
He turned toward her and she knew she had upset him. “You’re right. I can have my share of women if I choose, and I’ve not been chaste since Gwendolyn died. There have been women in towns and castles that I visited.
“But this isn’t the court, and I’m not like those men. When I give my word, I keep it. I am your husband by vows of honor, our union blessed by a priest. Did I not keep my vow to be gentle and patient, even though my blood has never been so heated as when I was with you?”
His indignation lessened, replaced with a tenderness that thrilled her as much as his passion. “I’m grateful, too, that I have a truthful wife who tells me what she thinks.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you, Madoc.” She took his hand in hers and pressed a kiss upon the palm, for she could believe that he would indeed be faithful to her, as she would be to him. How many women could say that of their husbands and be certain? “I’m grateful that I have a man of honor for my husband.”
As he bent his head to kiss her, a cock crowed somewhere in the yard below. Looking past him out the window, Roslynn realized that the sky was lightening with the sunrise.
The Warlord’s Bride Page 11