“Ah, it is good to be a husband.” Demetrius snickered, as he and Aristide clinked their mugs. “And my Lily increases, with our second offspring, as we speak.”
“As does Isolde.” To Morgan’s disgust, Arucard evidenced the same sickeningly sweet countenance that infected Demetrius and Aristide, as he waggled his brows. “And the begetting is half the fun, when you expend the effort to do it right.”
“Which is wherefore you must not squander your concern on my behalf.” Morgan smoothed his hair and could not resist reveling in his superiority. “As I have never failed to rouse my whores.”
In the process of downing half of his last bit of ale, Arucard choked violently and wiped his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”
“What?” Ah, Morgan relished the opportunity to boast of his abilities, which he believed his brothers discounted in their jealousy, thus he smiled. “One woman’s body is the same as the next, and I shall play my Hawisia’s anatomy as a finely tuned instrument, just wait and see.”
Aristide blanched. “Yes, but you have no—”
“Then we wish you merry, and we should not delay you.” Arucard raised his tankard in toast. “To Morgan and Hawisia. May your union be every bit as blessed as the one I enjoy with Isolde, as Demetrius favors with Athelyna, and as Aristide delights with Dionysia.”
“I will drink to that.” Savoring the moment of triumph, Morgan winked and drained his mug. “And now I bid you good rest, as I shall require all my strength for the night to come.”
With that, Morgan pushed from the table, rose from the bench, and exited the tavern. After regaining his mount, he retraced his earlier ride and returned to Westminster Palace, whither he surrendered his destrier to a stable hand and strolled the same path that took him from his bride.
Riding a wave of unmatched confidence, driven by the mug of ale, he reached down and stroked his longsword, as he imagined the lusty cries with which his wife would reward his efforts. At the entrance to their chamber, he pushed open the heavy oak panel.
Inside, the solar sat empty, so he continued to the inner sanctum. After pushing open the door, he noted the flames burning in the hearth and located Hawisia resting on one side of the bed.
Reclining on her side, with her long brown hair confined to a single braid, she looked like an angel, and he ached to run his fingers through her thick locks. As she slept, her features softened in repose, and he admired her thick lashes, which had escaped his notice on previous encounters.
When Morgan drew back the covers, he was disappointed to discover she wore a night rail, and he groaned. He would have to discuss her attire at the first opportunity, because he would permit naught to come between them, when they retired to their four-poster.
But her shapely legs posited a wonder of perfection and distracted him. With his fingers, he trailed her creamy flesh, so soft to the touch, and his man’s yard offered a stout salute, as he found her far more desirable than when they stood on the steps of the Chapter House.
As he continued his salacious inspection of his property, he settled his palm to her hip and regarded her round bottom, which he could not wait to examine closer, and then he cupped an ample breast. Indeed, he was as a child on Christmastide morn, playing with a favored new toy.
It was then her eyelids fluttered, and Hawisia came awake and shrieked.
“Sir Morgan, what are you doing?” Clutching the sheet to her lovely bosom, which he promised himself he would soon suckle, she lurched upright. “Wherefore are you hither?”
“Did you forget, my lady wife?” After emitting a loud belch, he prowled atop the blanket, as would a jungle cat. “We are married, and we must consummate our vows.”
With an expression of pure horror, she sniffed the air. “You stink of ale.”
“That is because I have been drinking ale.” To prove his point, he belched again, and she wrinkled her nose and winced. “Now I want to sample your wares, my dear Hawisia.”
“You will keep your distance, sir.” To his surprise, she leaped from the bed and ran to the opposite side of the room. “Have you no sense of decency?”
“Not when I am aroused, which I am painfully so, my suddenly fascinating Hawisia.” Heat pooled in his loins, at the prospect of tasting virgin flesh, and he gave chase, but she was too quick, and she evaded him. “Wherefore do you run from me? Did you not promise to obey?”
“I did, but I am no object to be abused for your entertainment, Sir Morgan.” Great abyss of regret, she was magnificent in her fit of temper, and never had he seen more spirit from her. “Mayhap we can defer the deflowering until you are not drunk, as I am afraid, and you are not helping the situation.”
“Then you have not to fear, and do you not think it time to call me Morgan, as we are wed?” He charged her, and she scurried into the solar. “Ah, my oh-so-interesting bride, I want you, sweet Hawisia, and I shall have you.”
“Stay away from me, boothaler. After all, you wanted naught to do with me at our celebration. You could not be bothered to partner me for a dance.” As he lunged, she dashed behind the table and returned to the bedchamber, and he snatched a handful of her nightgown. That would teach her to dress for bed. “Let go, scoundrel. Have you no shame?”
“No, I do not, which you will learn, and who cares about dancing?” He laughed and pulled her into his arms. “Now, kiss me, wife, as you are far more tempting than any whore.”
With that, he set his lips to hers, and she wriggled and squirmed, which only incited him more. When he tried to kiss her, she turned aside her head, so he ravished her neck, and she beat him with her fists.
“Stop, my lord.” She kicked his shins, and he released her. “I am no whore, and you would do well to remember that.”
“Believe me, I know exactly what you are, and I find it rather stimulating.” When he neared, she slapped him—hard. Rubbing his stinging cheek, he gazed on her as if for the first time and found her irresistible, but when he tried to snare her, he caught her fist, instead, as she struck him in the nose. “Ouch.” He reared up and stumbled backwards, and she slammed the door shut, in his face. Then she set the bolt, and he stared at the wood panel. “Hawisia.”
“Go away.”
Stunned by her ferocity, which he had to admit he admired, he turned and walked toward the hall, but he tripped on the rug. Confused by her rejection, because no woman declined an opportunity to spend the night with him, he made his way back to the stable, collected his destrier, and rode for the one place whither he would find consolation.
In the musty tavern, his brother remained just as he left them.
Plopping to the bench, Morgan ignored the throbbing ache in his face, grunted, glanced at the collective of drinks, and claimed a flagon.
“Are you all right, brother?” Arucard queried, in a low voice.
“Wherefore do you ask?” Morgan scowled, as he was in no mood for levity.
Demetrius snickered but quieted.
Aristide bowed his head, but his quaking shoulders betrayed his mirth.
Arucard compressed his lips. “Your nose bleeds.”
~
It was in the predawn hours, when Hawisia woke with a start, disturbed from peaceful slumber by some unknown intrusion. Rubbing her eyes, she rolled onto her back and settled into the plush mattress. A loud pounding at the door had her lurching upright.
“Hello.” She scooted to the edge of the mattress and slid to the floor. “Who goes there?”
“Who do you think?” Morgan replied, in a short tone.
“What do you want?” As if she did not know, because she suspect there would be hell to pay for her behavior, yestereve.
“Let me inside, as we must prepare proof of the consummation, else you and I are doomed.” Again, he tried the latch. “Come on, Hawisia.”
“What do you mean?” Not for an instant would she drop her guard. “What proof?”
“Hawisia, open this door, or I will kick it down.” In his clipped demand, he left no room for i
nterpretation. “Now.”
“All right.” She grabbed her robe, belted it tight, and unlocked the bolt.
“Hurry, as we have little time.” He lifted her in his arms and hoisted her to the bed. “Quick. Get on your knees.”
“Wherefore?” Panicked, she scrambled in the linens.
“Do you wish to be disgraced or worse? Would you imperil your family, after His Majesty learns you failed to fulfill your duty as he commanded?” He folded his arms. “I, for one, value my head on my shoulders.”
Looming at an impasse, Hawisia pondered his logic.
For women in England, life functioned as a tangled web of inherently dangerous paths. From the moment of her birth, the world conspired to take away her choices and rob her of the smallest measure of control. Starved of options and the chance to create her own destiny, she expressed gratitude for the few opportunities whither she tasted a scrap of independence disguised as an alternative selection. Therein hid the lie, because the truth was she had no other course of action, unless she wanted to die. Thus, she capitulated.
Perched on all fours, she stared at the wall and vowed to be strong. “Like this?”
“Aye.” Cool air kissed her bottom, as he flicked her nightgown to her waist and knelt between her legs, which he urged further apart. “Hold still, and this will be over before you know it.”
Behind her, the telltale rustle of clothing set her heart pounding, and her ears rang. As the mattress dipped, she gulped. Skin grazed skin, and he touched her most intimate flesh. That was her only warning.
Pain speared through her, as he stretched and filled her, and she gritted her teeth against a cry, because she would never give him the satisfaction of knowing he hurt her, as he claimed her. But when he gripped her hips and repeatedly slammed into her, in unison with a series of guttural grunts, she relented and sobbed. Again and again, he pummeled her, and then he paused long enough to push her onto her belly.
Trapping her body with his, he settled his fists at either side of her head and bit the back of her neck. When he resumed the deed, the footboard played an accompanying grate and squeak, and she sank her teeth into the fleshy side of her thumb, until he halted and emitted a startling groan. The he collapsed atop her.
And so it was done.
To her mortification, he smacked her arse, as though she were a brood mare, when he withdrew from her. “Are you finished?”
“Aye.” He chuckled. “Did you not enjoy it?”
“Enjoy—what?” Although it was certainly beneath proper decorum, and her mother taught her better, Hawisia savored his crestfallen gaze.
“My skills are lauded, my dear. As you are ignorant in the sensual arts, I will take my time to properly tutor you, that you might find pleasure.” Pigs would fly before that happened. Then he frowned. “Use the sheet to clean yourself, as the King demands it as evidence I performed the first directive as ordered.”
“Oh?” She shivered, as she wiped herself and noted blood. “Is this what His Majesty requires?”
“Aye, and I will deliver it to him in the great hall, while you join Arucard and Isolde in the bailey, as we depart for Chichester, posthaste.” At the washstand, he poured water into the basin and made a show of cleaning his man’s yard. “Garb yourself in your warmest clothing, as it is cold and it snows, and it will be slow going.”
“Am I not to accompany you, to present the sheet to the King?” At her trunk, she selected a heavy wool kirtle and a matching cotehardie. “Or are you ashamed of me, now that the ale has worn off, my lord?”
“Hawisia, I have no time or patience to argue with you.” Morgan washed and rinsed his face. “If you prefer, you may go with me and stand quiet as His Majesty has the sheet hung in the great hall, for all to see, and to indulge in a hearty laugh, as he celebrates your deflowering.”
“No. You must be joking.” As she pulled on her hose, she peered over her shoulder. “Wherefore would the King reduce himself to such barbarity, as to make sport of such a personal detail?”
“Do you imagine the Sire explains his rationale to me?” To her unmitigated shock, Morgan doffed his tunic and shirt and then fumbled through his belongings. “All I know is that is what happened with the three Brethren wives that came before you, and since Isolde endured the embarrassment, both Demetrius and Aristide bade their brides to meet them in the bailey, that they might be spared the humiliation. In fairness, given Arucard was the first to wed; he knew not what was going to occur when he escorted Isolde to an audience with His Majesty.”
“Oh.” Just as she was going to remove her nightgown, she glanced at her husband. Since he gave her his back, she stripped free the linen garb and pulled a fresh chemise over her head. When she reached for the kirtle, he chuckled, and she discovered him watching her. “Have you no sense of decency?”
“Not that I am aware, but I submit there is no need for decency between us, as we are married.” He narrowed his stare. “And you have very fine legs, my dear. I look forwarding to exploring more of your body, as we venture to Chichester.”
“I beg your pardon?” In that instant, she sought shelter from his scrutiny but could seize upon no escape. “Are we not to employ temporary lodgings on our journey?”
“Indeed.” He waggled his brows. “I have a large, double-belled wedge tent and a spacious but comfortable bed frame, just for us.”
“You cannot mean to…to…to do what you just did, as we travel.” The idea struck fear in her heart, as she prayed for a delay. “No doubt, it is improper.”
“If you think that crude, just wait until I lock you in my private chamber at Chichester, for a few days.” It had to be a jest, because he had no interest in her. He wanted her sister, which he made painfully clear. Yet he made no attempt to disguise his aggressive appraisal of her person. “And what care I for propriety? You are my wife, to do with as I see fit, and I can conjure all manner of delicious possibilities.”
“That did not matter at our celebration, when you refused to dance with me.” And that still stung. “In fact, you made the rounds and partnered every lady but me, your own bride. Explain that.”
“I was angry, as I had no wish to wed, but you know that. As to the rest, one woman’s sheath is the same as another, and I intend to make ample use of yours, as that is one benefit of marriage with which even I cannot argue. And we must beget an heir, my His Majesty’s command.” At the prospect, she swayed. To compound her unutterable bewilderment, he turned and shed his breeches, baring his arse, and she averted her gaze. But then she yielded to temptation, took a quick peek, and jumped, because he caught her. “Ah, you are curious.” How she detested his cocky grin. “But I am not surprised, as it is a commonly accepted fact that I am the most beauteous knight at court.”
“But surely not the most modest, and I am stunned by your casual approach to our union, which is a sacrament to be respected and honored.” When he walked around the footboard to tie her laces, she crossed her arms. Then he assisted her with her cotehardie. “Grammarcy, my lord. You would do well as a lady’s maid.”
“I have had plenty of practice.” Morgan bent and whispered in her ear, “But I excel at disrobing, which you will learn, soon enough.” Then he swatted her bottom. “Now, gather your things, as we do not want to be late.”
“May I inquire what you expect of me, as your wife?” That was the question she longed to pose, as it would determine her course of action. “What roll am I to fill, and to what duties shall I attend?”
“The usual, I suppose.” He shrugged. “Whatever your mother taught you, as I prefer you ignore the model set by Isolde and the other Brethren wives. While you may aspire to a love match, I would caution you against any attempt to win my heart, which I consider an exercise in lunacy. Mayhap, one day we might be friends.”
“Have no fear, my lord.” So that was her future, and she accepted it with grim finality and a measure of relief. Squaring her shoulders, Hawisia lifted her chin. “I have no desire to win your heart, as I
wager you do not have one.”
MORGAN
CHAPTER THREE
After three days on the road, during which they bade farewell to Aristide and Dionysia, Morgan realized why Arucard insisted Hawisia share her husband’s mount, because their combined body heat made the journey home much warmer, given the persistent snowfall and relentless, violent gale.
Nestled in his lap, and wrapped in his cloak and a warm blanket, she rested her head to his chest and slept, as eventide encroached. Of course, that she was tired did not surprise him, given the lengths to which he exercised his connubial rights, every morrow and night, and sometimes in between.
What troubled him was the fact that she did not seem to enjoy their interludes, despite his unrivaled skills and her innocence. When they married, he expected to have her howling with pleasure on their wedding night and thereafter, but she had yet to experience release, and he knew not how to correct the situation.
“Brothers, this looks like a good place to set up camp for the night.” Arucard reined in and steered his horse toward the verge. “Let us secure our provisions and take shelter, as it appears the storm intensifies.”
While Morgan had to wake his wife, he loathed disturbing her, as she dozed so peacefully. Rather than shake her, he bent his head and pressed his lips to her temple. Then he kissed her nose, which she wrinkled in response.
It was in those precious moments when she remained oblivious to his admiration that he began to wonder if he had spoken in haste, regarding their relationship. As Arucard and Isolde indulged in a heated exchange, which left no one in doubt of their mutual affection, and Demetrius and Athelyna did the same, Morgan envied the unbridled passion he had yet to taste.
“Hawisia, it is time to break our travels and erect our temporary accommodation.” Beneath the blanket, he cupped her bottom and gave her a gentle squeeze.
Morgan (Brethren Origins Book 4) Page 3