Defiant

by Jessica Trapp

  “Nay,” she denied. But she had. She had wanted him. She’d wanted to feel how his manroot would fit inside her.

  A controlled anger gleamed in his eyes. She could feel the fierceness rolling off of him in waves, as if his wrath was a tangible thing. “You think men are toys to play with, do you not? Is that not what you are used to—men falling all over themselves to do your bidding?”

  Gwyneth blinked. “Nay—”

  “No more.” He came off of her all at once. With a hard yank, he pulled her up to a sitting position, and flipped her onto her stomach. Reaching an arm beneath her, he fiercely tugged her up onto her knees so that she hung by her belly over his forearm. The sheets on the cot had the indentation of their bodies impressed into them.

  She wiggled back and forth trying to buck off the man behind her. “This is not—”

  “Shush.” With an ease of casual indifference, he tossed her skirt fully over her shoulder. The blue silk hung in a ripple by her side. A loud rent echoed across the cottage and chilly air caressed her bare bottom. Her undergarments were flung aside.

  Growling, he pulled her hard against the thick bulge of his manhood and bent over her, his mouth near her ear. Like a savage, he sank his teeth into the tender skin of her neck. Chills slid down her overheated body and a small sting of pain lanced her flesh.

  He did not break the skin, but held her as a lion would dominate his mate. For all his fearsomeness, she realized he was in complete control of himself. Her world spun as the joint emotions of fear and desire raged through her like a storm.

  The fear she understood. But the heady dose of desire terrified her.

  Her underarms stung, and the remembrance of how he’d held her at the church, of how he’d pumped the cot around the room using only his body weight shivered through her. He was strong. Powerful. He could hurt her, maybe even kill her if he took her roughly.

  Yet there was nothing rough in his firm touch save the teeth sinking into her neck.

  Frantically, she forced herself to think, desperate to find a way to appease him and send him on his way with a bag of gold. To consummate the marriage was unthinkable. This was a man she could not control.

  “There is no need for this,” she started, using a voice she hoped bespoke calmness and rationality. “I wanted—”

  “—me tied and helpless while you did your worst. So you could run your hands over my body, feel my cock, laugh at me, then either poison me or toss me on a boat out of your way. You wanted to use me.”

  The skin on her neck felt hot and tingly where his mouth had been. A wave of guilt stormed through her. “I didn’t mean to laugh—”

  “Nay? I felt your hands move over me; I thought it was a dream until I woke to find a buzzard staring down at me squeezing my groin with her claws. ”

  His words mortified her. Did he know of how she’d lingered over his shoulders, dipped her fingers across the ridges of his stomach, taken guilty pleasure in exploring his body? And he thought of her as a buzzard? An ugly, awkward creature.

  Shaking her head at the humiliating memory, she twisted and tried to look over her shoulder at him. “Please! We must get the marriage annulled. If you rape me—”

  “It is not rape for a man to copulate with his wife.” The words sounded ominous, as if the whole body of the law and the church stood behind them.

  She swallowed, realizing at once exactly how powerless she was, at what she’d brought on herself.

  “Asides, I’m not so blind as to not notice the pleasure you took in exploring my body—”

  Prickles spread across her cheeks. She’d felt warm, overheated as she’d touched him.

  “You lingered over my arms, ran your fingers across my shoulders. ”

  She wriggled to one side, tried to push her skirt back down, tried to buck him off of her. His forearm dug into her stomach and he leaned his body so that he was pressed against her, his thighs on hers, his groin against her naked buttocks, his torso against her back. His free hand slid beneath her so that his arm lay across her upper chest just beneath her collarbones and anchored her firmly against his body so she could not move.

  A disconcerting spin of desire curled through her. Her shoulders tensed, and nervousness churned in her belly. She could not want him. Not like this.

  “Get off me.”

  “I do not think so, my captive bird. ‘Twas you who started this, who thought you could drug a man, humiliate him, and suffer no consequences.”

  Damn male pride! “You are a peasant and I intended to pay you well! Get off of me and go about your way, falconer. My overlord will see you killed for daring to lay a hand on me, a noblewoman.”

  He guffawed. “I am your husband, woman, your lord and master, your family now. You are mine to command.” He pressed against the soft area betwixt her legs, not quite entering her, but disallowing her any doubt of what would soon occur.

  “Nay! “ No matter her body’s foolhardy attraction to him, she could not be married to a man such as him. He was too masculine, too much the conquerer. She needed a man she could control. If the marriage was consummated—

  She gasped as she was pushed forward on the bed, her buttocks high in the air and her face pressed to the mattress. “Cease!” The linen sheet scraped her shoulder as she tried to scramble forward.

  In one strong stroke, he plunged into her.

  A scream ripped from her throat as a streak of pain shot through her sex.

  He stilled. Perfectly still. As if his whole being had suddenly turned into granite. He didn’t release her, but he didn’t move either.

  “Bloody hell. ”

  A confusing mix of heat and fear stormed through her. Why had she touched him at all? Again, she tried to wiggle away, but he held her firm.

  “I should have let you bleed to death,” she snarled. “Or poisoned you as Irma suggested.”

  She felt a quiver go through him.

  “You were a virgin!” It sounded like an accusation.

  Fury pounded through her veins. “Of course I’m a virgin, half-wit. I’m of noble blood.”

  He growled at the insult, but she was beyond caring, beyond concern. Anger and pain had taken over her mind. She willed her body to fight, but she found she no longer had the will to do so.

  Tension rose.

  His hand slipped from beneath her shoulder, and his body eased away from her.

  Slowly, he began to slide out of her. “You were in a whorehouse. I awoke to find you stroking my body and fondling me. There was no reason for me to believe you were yet untouched, wife.” He sounded angry.

  She tucked her chin and braced herself for whatever unknown thing would happen next.

  A shudder moved through him; she felt his thighs quiver and then their bodies were detached from each other. She felt sticky, open.

  Stiffly, she fell onto her side on the cot, her legs curled up. She tried to push her skirt down, but her fingers seemed too puny to grasp the velvet strongly enough to accomplish her task. Her chest ached, a sensation that seemed to rise from her gut.

  The mattress sank as Jared lay down beside her, propped up on one elbow, and touched her shoulder lightly.

  Too distraught to move, she did not resist his touch. Her body felt oddly detached from her brain and she began to shiver uncontrollably as she realized her life had just been changed for the worse forever.

  Chapter 11

  Heart pounding, Gwyneth watched Jared, his large shoulders tight, push to a sitting position as she tried to gather her scattered thoughts. Wetness leaked from her sex, the area between her legs stung, and an odd scent permeated the air.

  His demeanor had totally changed. Gone was the fierce and terrifying brute who had sunk his teeth into her and tried to dominate her like a beast, but her pulse still beat so strongly in her neck that she could feel the vein thumping.

  A wrinkle indented the area between Jared’s stormy green eyes; they seemed to be filled with concern, perhaps even regret. His mustache emphasized t
he downward turn of his mouth.

  A mouth that had just been lifted into a snarl.

  Quakes shook her body and her teeth chattered. Her body felt bruised, violated. She didn’t know whether to run or cry or scream or some combination of those things, and her brain seemed too paralyzed to do any of them. If only he would leave, disappear like morning mist. But he was too cold, too intense to vaporize thus—no sunshine would ever penetrate his darkness to burn him away.

  Jared blew out a breath. His thumb and middle finger made tiny circles around each other and she wondered if he’d hold her down again with his hands. The gesture seemed innocuous and at odds with the fierceness she’d seen in him just moments earlier.

  She tried to rise, to get her muddled mind to figure out what to do next, but her body felt slow and thick as slime. What a horrible thing to be a woman, the weaker vessel, unable to fight, to be taken like an animal.

  And the consequences of the coupling—a marriage in truth, an annulment impossible—were the worst of it all.

  Her fingers skimmed the indentions that his teeth had made.

  “I’ll clean you up,” Jared said after a moment. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he pushed off the thin cot, hitched up his hose, and retied them in place.

  The world seemed disjointed. The quivers she felt on the inside seemed to grow instead of diminish. Her body was cold, frigid, like she was freezing from the inside out. How did Irma deal with such nauseating activity every night?

  Lifting her head, she stared at the door. If only she could scurry from the bed, run from the chamber, run back to her home. Run away from the horrible choice of husband that she had made. None of the men Papa had chosen for her were as bad as what she had done to herself.

  Feebly, she tried to swing her legs over the side of the cot, but her limbs felt leaden and would not obey her command to rise and flee.

  He returned shortly with the cloth she had used on him earlier. The irony was not lost on her. She had been a fool to think she could explore his body and pay no consequences for her actions.

  The cot let out a squeak as Jared sat on the edge, his hip a whisper away. A measure of disgust sent stiff tension through her shoulders.

  Nay.

  Not disgust, she realized with sickening loathing for herself. Disgust would have sent her scrambling away, wanting to slay him as she had done to the brute who had debased Irma all those years ago. But she didn’t feel disgust for his body being so near her at all, not even after what had just occurred between them.

  The thought washed a fresh wave of shivers over her.

  She had protested the consummation because she wished for a husband who would easily cow to her wishes. She had protested the manner he had taken her because it frightened her.

  But her body had been well and fully alive with desire, not disgust, for him.

  ‘Twas a betrayal of the worst sort—her mind longing for one thing while her body desired another.

  Only minutes before he had sunk his rod inside her she had wanted him, lusted for him, been wet for him. Confusing, conflicting emotions that played through her like a gypsy band with unsynchronized instruments.

  Dismayed, she wanted to rail at herself for her failure, to rail at God for the injustice done to women—for always being the ones who were taken instead of the ones who took. She tried to focus her mind on the timber walls, on the droplets of rain that streamed through the cracks. If she could get her thoughts together, she could figure out what to do.

  The shivering continued; her legs drew up and her body curled into a ball of its own accord. She wanted to cry, to release the powerlessness and humiliation she felt. How could she feel any sensation at all for him after what had just occurred?

  Jared touched her thigh.

  Her breath hitched as she realized her skirt was still wadded up around her torso. She reached to yank it down, to cover her exposed parts, but he caught her wrist and pressed her hand down.

  A streak of panic climbed into her throat. She pushed at his hand.

  “Peace, girl. We will not repeat what just happened right now.”

  Right now? But in the future? Now that the union was consummated, would he expect more marital rights? Men wanted heirs.

  The thought of being humbled night after night in such a fashion terrified her. She could not fathom such a horrid thing.

  The tight, hard muscles of his ridged stomach danced as he twisted his torso, pushed her onto her back, and gently tugged her legs apart. Realizing that fighting him physically was utterly pointless, Gwyneth remained still.

  Humiliated by the indignity of her body, she squeezed both her eyes and her legs together.

  “Relax, girl.”

  Despite herself, his voice soothed her, but she turned her head aside, covered her ears with her palms. She did not wish to be soothed by this man who had made her feel vulnerable and despoiled. Who confused her in both body and mind.

  Rough linen rasped her skin as he ran the wet cloth up her thigh. Red stains, in swirling hues that ranged from crimson to scarlet, smeared her legs and leaked into the sheet. The rag slid over the hump of her pubic mound.

  Sensations rocked her.

  Startled, terrified, vexed by her body’s betrayal, she opened her eyes a slit. If only she could say a spell and make him disappear.

  His hand, so large and blunt, traced the edges of folds, sliding very gently into the creases of her sex. He did not push her legs apart, though. He simply lingered, cleaning her, caressing her.

  Long, slow moments passed. All brutality was gone and he seemed to take infinite care. ‘Twas as if a different man altogether touched her—a tender lover.

  Of their own accord, her knees softened slightly, allowing him access, allowing him to wipe blood from her bruised core. Stupid fool. She berated herself for such weakness. For such lunacy.

  His head was bent over his task, his silky dark hair falling like a curtain of midnight. The hair on his scalp parted in a messy zigzagged manner. His mustache and goatee were only a shadow. His invasion was the worst sort: a gentle one.

  Disgusted with herself for her passivity, for allowing him to touch her so intimately, for even entertaining the thought that this brutish man could ever be a tender lover to anyone, she dug her fingernails deeply into her palms, gouging them inward to feel the pain in sharp remembrance of how his teeth had felt on her neck.

  The rag ran lightly over the sensitive folds between her legs—it was clear that he was taking great care to be extremely gentle, as if her sex were a prized, fragile vessel.

  She set her jaw, determined to find some way to get the situation back under control, stop being so perplexed. She fisted her hands tighter until her knuckles went white and she felt a nail pierce the skin. The pain seemed to bring her more to her senses, give her will back to her.

  Jared wadded the cloth into a ball and tossed it onto the floor. It landed with a wet splat.

  “Y-y-you can go,” she said, then stopped and cleared her throat, determined to sound stronger, not so squeaky. “I will send you gold.” Yes, that was it. Even though the marriage was fully consummated, she would treat the union like a business contract. As if they were exchanging money for sheep.

  He smoothed her skirt down over her legs. His green eyes were intense but he absently did that little circling motion with his thumb and middle finger again. “I’m not leaving.”

  “We can still get the marriage annulled.” She felt better now that she was talking, so she sat up on the cot.

  “'Tis too late for that.”

  “There is no reason for you to stay,” she reasoned. “No one has seen us.”

  Talking aloud made her feel less wrapped up in her vulnerabilities and more in control of her own faculties. She folded her arms, lifted her chin, and forced herself to think logically. She was a strong woman; she would survive this. Naught had happened to her that had not happened to countless wives all over the earth throughout history.

  But I was to b
e the exception, her emotions seemed to wail, threatening to run away with her. I was supposed to pick a man whom I could have sway over.

  “Please go now,” she continued, her voice steadier than it had been. She pointed at the door. “Irma will be here. If you come to the brothel, I’ll make sure you are paid well.” That’s it, she instructed herself, he was naught more than a stud horse who had gotten out of control. Now it was time to put him back in his place.

  “Nay.” His hand slid down her arm in a gesture that was possessive and alarming.

  She shook herself off, pushing away her previous humiliation in a huff, just as Irma had done all those years afore. “Of course you are leaving. You are dismissed.”

  “Dismissed?” A dangerous glint formed in his eyes and he reminded her of a dragon again. Perhaps that was why he carried a staff with one carved into the top.

  She took a breath. He was no dragon, merely a peasant, a lowlife falconer, a stupid mistake. She would simply have to undo the wedding knot the way she did when her stitches became tangled on the piece of embroidery—cut the threads, pull them loose, and toss them away.

  “Time for you to go. Best you hurry afore my family finds out what you have done.”

  “What I’ve done.”

  Wickedly, she licked her lips. “Kidnapped me—”

  The dark gaze that crossed his face was so intense that for an instant, she faltered, then cleared her throat and continued. He needed to see how precarious his position was. How he could not treat a daughter of Windrose in such a fashion and get away with it. “—forced me to marry you. ”

  “Forced you!” Jared stood so fast that the cot jiggled. Heat radiated off his bare skin.

  Taking advantage of the momentary distance between their bodies, Gwyneth leapt to her feet. The small knife she had used to bandage his wound lay nearby and she lunged for it. Her hand closed around the hilt and she brought the weapon up in a wide swinging arc.

  “Faith!” Jared jumped back as the blade sank into the flesh of his arm. His eyes went wide.

  Ha!

  Lifting her skirts, she whirled for the door and broke into a run. She would run all the way back to Windrose if needs be. No peasant barbarian would own her. Ever.