He turned his horse back toward the keep, he could not put it off any longer. He had to ask Alena. He found her in the armory, a fact that did not surprise him, and one he had to order his armorer to allow. Though he was not accustomed to giving in to the requests of his men and their women, Alena was a good warrior, so she was one of his warriors, for he fed her as he did Marcus, or any of the other men, so everyone had no choice but to respect his word on the matter. Or any matter, he thought with the usual feeling of contented accomplishment that he was here, and not some dirty gutter in some dilapidated village.
“Garrick,” she said, acknowledging his presence as he came to stand beside her. It annoyed him she did not call him Lord Garrick, but it was a fight he did not find the need to begin. He had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind each time he felt the familiar annoyance that it might be a battle he would not win.
“Lena, I seek your help,” he said, without preamble. He had no need to seek out the tall warrior woman, and she would know this. Delaying the reason for his visit would only show the weakness he felt in the foreign ground he was stepping onto where his wife was concerned.
“You know Donald makes the finest blades,” she said, lifting a wicked looking knife. At the praise the big burly man in question smiled proudly, and the woman beside Garrick smiled that feline smile that would harden any man, and offered Donald a flirtatious wink.
He felt irritated by her game. “Outside,” he ordered, and turned to leave the stifling confines and heat of the building. Out into the courtyard he paced, and he had doubt that she would follow his order. These women were going to drive him mad, he thought fleetingly, a moment before she stepped through the doorway and into the struggling light of day.
“What can I do for his majesty?” she asked, as if she were genuinely addressing his royal highness, but he could see the laughter in her tilted, green eyes. If it wouldn’t displease Marcus he would have cast her out long ago. With that thought was the one that he would not, because he liked her. Despite her lack of respect and obedience, he liked her, though he did not understand why.
“It is my wife.”
“She run away?” she asked, as if she were not surprised as she sheathed her new blade at her waist.
“She’s not a whore,” he stated, hoping it would stop her snide comments and they could get to the reason for his visit.
He watched her perfectly arched black brows draw together, confused by this statement. “Who would say she is?” she finally asked, with no weariness in her demeanor that she was to be punished. A reaction foreign to him from the fairer sex. After all, when did he ever even speak to a woman, unless it was to have a question answered or a task completed? Yes, he was on shaky ground indeed.
“I have been with no one but whores. Will she expect certain things?”
Alena laughed and Garrick scowled. He wanted to order her to shut up, but he was sure it would only increase her mirth. “She most definitely will,” she said, pulling herself back under control.
“What are these things?”
She looked at him as if he had just said something preposterous, but mercifully she did not laugh again. “She will expect you to pleasure her.” She studied him as he sat quietly, hoping his silence would be enough of a request for her to continue. Making a great show of exasperation, she rolled her eyes. “Have you never even pleased a whore?”
His brows drew angrily together and he could feel the storm within him brewing. “I do not know, it was not my concern, for I paid them to pleasure me.”
“It would stand to reason,” she said, after staring at him for a moment.
“What do you mean by that?” he snapped. He wanted to reach out and ring her neck. Like her? What the devil had he been thinking?
“It means you are married now and you have to stop thinking about only yourself.” She fell silent as her eyes tilted a little more, and a slow smile danced across her full lips. “Pleasing a woman begins before you even get her in the bed. Give her little trinkets to show her she’s special. Pick her flowers. Take her for a walk and look at the stars. Be a gentleman and help her on and off her horse. Pull her chair out for her at the dinner table. These things will get you far.”
“That is all?”
“No, but you do those things and charm her, then I will share more of my wisdom with you.”
“Your wisdom only comes from your experience lying beneath a sheik.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth he felt sorry he had said such a thing to her.
Her furrowed brow and narrowed eyes made him want to give anything to take them back. He saw beneath the hard surface she always presented, the hurt the words caused her. “I did not mean to say that,” he blurted out. She froze and studied him intently for several breaths.
“Why would you say such a thing?” she finally asked, the pain evident.
“Because I’m a gigantic ass,” he replied, still feeling the guilt that made his words true.
She offered him a smile, though it still held some bitterness for him. He had once bought her with every intention of making her his whore. But she got her scars, and he tossed her to the side. She suspected it was only because he had inadvertently contributed to the injury and he could not handle the guilt or fear of hurting her again. She knew there was more to the man before her than the bleak, intimidating man he wanted everyone to see. She hoped Ryann would bring out the man’s softer side. She had already seen he was not an evil man. He did deplorable things, things she knew she never wanted to know, because they had made Garrick what he was. Now it was time for his life to be shaped by a gentle and caring hand, which is what she saw in Ryann.
“You and I, we aren’t so different,” Alena said, in a voice that mirrored her regret.
The scar around his eye crinkled with his scowl. She had seen enough of the man without his shirt on to know he bore more scars than she, had fought harder than she, but still they were one and the same in more ways than one. He shifted position and turned so they stood shoulder to shoulder, looking out on the busy courtyard.
“We are survivors and it’s hard to let them get close.” After a moment of silence she cast a glance over at Garrick’s face. He did not look at her, but she saw the tightness in the lines of his face, and the intensity of his gaze upon the empty wall several paces away. “Marcus, Ryann,” she shrugged. “Everybody.” After a few more moments she continued, “I don’t think it is so much we are afraid they will hurt us, but we will hurt them. Perhaps even that they will be taken away from us.” Alena shrugged again, casting another glance Garrick’s way. “I am beginning to think it would be better to let them get close enough we can help keep them safe. Close enough that we will know them, and they will know us. If they know what we have done, yet they still want to be near, who are we to judge them?”
Garrick turned to her, his eyes searching hers as if he could reach inside her and find the answer. For the briefest instant she thought she saw sadness enter those black orbs before the wall was back. He turned away then, and Alena was left alone pondering her own words.
~ ~ ~ ~
Silver combs, that would be his first gift to his wife. He had them now tucked safely away within his tunic. It took some doing to have the two glowing creations completed. Each exhibited a horse head, each different and in the shape of her two horse’s. The anticipation was disconcerting. He looked forward to the look on her face when he gave the gift to her, as well as how they would look in her golden hair. He found himself nervous, what if she didn’t like them? He entered the hall, and as usual did not have to search for his wife, but his eyes were automatically drawn to her. She stood with another woman, a baby lifted above her head as she made funny faces at it. The baby giggled before Ryann dropped the baby downward, safely gripped within her gentle hands, as she swooped it back up to the delight of the child. The baby squealed and kicked its legs, a fist going into its mouth, before it arched its back with another mighty kick. Again Ryann swooped the baby downwa
rd, and it squealed all the way until it was held again over its lady’s head with another giggle.
Then Ryann’s eyes were meeting his across the room, and her smile changed. Not in a way he would expect, but from a radiant joy at the game she played, to a pleased smile that he had entered the hall. She turned to the woman and gave the baby back to her, and patted the woman’s shoulder kindly, before turning to join him at the head table. She did not see the child reach for her as she walked away from it. He had the sudden desire to go back on his word and plant his see within his wife this very night, for she would be a wonderful mother, and her every movement across the room made desire he had never felt slam through him. He wanted to grab her and carry her off to her chamber now. Lay her head down upon the abundant pillows, explore her small body until it told him where it wanted him to touch it, to bring her pleasure. He could imagine her head thrown back, the golden waves of her hair falling about him as he buried himself within her. He imagined the ecstasy it would be to have her wrapped around him.
The noise about him brought him back to a startled reality. He looked to the dais and found she stood by their chairs, waiting for him. Anyone could have walked into the hall during his imaginings and he would have been unaware if full on war had broken out within its walls. How could one woman leave him so vulnerable? He needed to get her out of his system. Tomorrow would be early enough, he was after all a strong man, and could control himself.
~ ~ ~ ~
Ryann watched her husband cross the room. He was strength in all its glory, he was power, and it fairly crackled from him as he crossed the space. He moved easily as a stallion would amongst his herd, showing to all who gathered round him, that he was master and protector. Soon he would be her husband in every sense, and her stomach did a strange flop, and she wondered if it was fear.
“My lady,” he said with the slightest of smiles, and she noticed he had the beginning of a dimple on his right cheek. She smiled broader at the boyishness of it.
“Lord Garrick,” she said, placing a familiar hand on his arm in greeting. She felt the slightest of flinches at the contact, but it was so well controlled her hand remained. Ryann felt the strength beneath her palm and had the urge to feel more of him.
He placed his calloused hand atop hers, and offered an awkward pat before he pulled from her grasp entirely. She turned and slid into her seat, then wondered at his hesitation as he looked from her chair to her face. She wondered for a moment if she was not to sit next to him.
Servants began serving the evening meal and Garrick fell to eating, seeing Ryann had an equal appetite. He recalled many husbands and wives shared trenchers, but he had no desire to share his food when she could have her own, and not have to wait for him to serve her. Perhaps that was one of those things Alena was talking about, but he dismissed it as he watched his wife eat hungrily. Once Garrick had satiated his own hunger, and Ryann settled back in her chair with her wine, he pulled the combs wrapped in cloth from his tunic. He lay it down in front of her where she had pushed her trencher away.
“What is this?” she asked, a smile crossing her face as she leaned forward. She tentatively raised the edge, as if it might contain a venomous snake.
“Just a small gift to my new bride,” he said.
He had been thoughtful enough to get her a gift? Her heart swelled with joy that her husband was not only kind, but thoughtful as well. She did not hesitate to gently unfold the cloth, and inside were the most perfect looking silver combs she had ever seen. Picking them up, she saw that the horse heads were shaped differently.
“Those are your horses,” he explained, and she heard pride in his voice.
“Did you think of this?” she asked, looking up at him in awe.
Something flickered across his face, but it was too fleeting within the stone to discern what emotion it might be. “I did.”
“They are just lovely,” she said, and she could not help but throw her arms around him. He was stiff, his neck solid, as her hands slid around it, intertwining until her head pressed against his neck, as she hugged it. Pulling away she did not hesitate to place a kiss of appreciation upon his cheek. He was looking at her as she pulled away, and she nearly fainted at the naked desire that burned within his black eyes. Her stomach did the strange flop again, and she had to wonder if it was not fear, but her own desire, for she wanted nothing more than to grab him back to her.
“Let me,” he said, almost reverently as he took one of the combs from her. Reaching behind her head he released the strip of leather that held it in place. He watched it with excruciating slowness as it fell down around her shoulders. Reaching out he stroked it, the hand gentle, and he seemed enraptured by the act and did it again. His eyes darted back to her and he did not hesitate to lift the comb to place it in her hair. As it first slid in it seemed to drag across the hair, but as he proceeded the comb yanked it, making her draw away from it. Unaware of the pain he had just caused her, he positioned the comb as it dug into her scalp, and it felt as if it were yanking each hair free. “It’s…” she began, reaching for it, but he already took the other in hand as she frantically tried to reach past his big arms to her own head.
“Ouch,” she said, trying to yank away. In doing so the comb he was placing in her hair tangled, and the other side of her head felt like it was on fire. He immediately tried to rectify the situation by pulling the comb out, but it entangled itself well, for it only jerked the hair more.
“I’ll get it,” she said, trying to push him away. Wanting to get the one out, so she could get the other. She couldn’t tell which one was hurting more.
“Let me help you,” he said, actually grasping her head in both his hands to still her.
“No, I can get it,” she said again, trying to pull away. His hand was suddenly in her hair, bracing her head, and yanking her hair more, while using the other to take hold of the dangling comb once again.
“Stop!” she yelled at him, for she did not feel as if her scalp could take any more stress. He immediately did not let go, so she smacked his arms and franticly tried to push him away.
Getting the space she needed to use her arms, she went for the first one he placed, for it indeed did hurt the worst. As she tried to pull it free, it only managed to pull more hair. Her mind wanted to panic, for she could not stop the steady hard pull that was bringing tears to her eyes. She felt Garrick’s big hands fall on the comb again, and she knew he could not touch it again, for it was obvious he was intent on using brute force to pull it free.
“Leave me alone!” she yelled at him, franticly pushing him away. “Alena,” she called to the other woman nearby. The pain was blinding, she dared not touch the combs herself, she couldn’t imagine them becoming even more tangled.
“Be still,” Alena said, from behind her. After several excruciating minutes Alena finally freed her from the painful combs. It took another moment for the ache to leave before she noticed the combs lying before her, with several strands of hair stuck in each. She lifted one and upon close inspection saw the rough edges all over that gave it a more sparkling quality, but was a curse to hair. She turned to tell Garrick, but his chair was empty. A quick look about the hall and she knew he left as soon as she screamed at him to leave her alone.
“Thank you Alena,” she said, plastering a grateful smile upon her face. “I think I must go straighten myself out,” she said, rising from her chair, being sure to take the combs with her. They might not make good combs, but they were still gorgeous and thoughtful gifts. They would look nice beside the mantle where the candles would glisten off of them.
Once her maid helped remove the tangles from her hair, she went in search of Garrick. She found him on the wall, his silhouette was dark against the sliver of a moon casting shadows through the thickening clouds, but she knew without a doubt who it was. She climbed the steps carefully in the dark, only coming out into a hint of light when she stepped onto the walkway.
“What do you want?” his harsh voice asked.<
br />
He was pouting, she had dealt with enough children through the years to know the sound of a person when they were pouting. “I came to thank you for the gifts.”
He turned toward her, and she could feel his shadowed eyes raking over her. She had the urge to cover herself, but then warmth seeped into her that made her wish the opposite. That she could throw aside her clothes and let him touch every part of her body his eyes did. “I had hoped they would have worked better.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the forlorn tone to his voice. “It’s okay. They are still beautiful, and I have already found a use for them.”
He did not say anything, merely watched her as she took the few remaining steps to stand within reach of him. “I saw you playing with the baby.”
“That was William, the son of one of the kitchen maids.”
“I like that you will play with our children,” he said, looking down upon her.
Again her stomach made a flip and heat flushed her body, as her heart began an erratic drumming in her ears. “I will enjoy playing with our children.”
“I will enjoy making our children,” he said gruffly, as he reached for her with lightning speed. The hand that grabbed her by the back of her head was rough, but did not hurt her as he yanked her body against his. She felt him, every inch of his hard heat as he trapped her against him.
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