The Rose Red Bride JK2

by Claire Delacroix

  He slipped one hand between them and touched Vivienne once again, his fingertips making her writhe beneath him. Her body responded to his touch so surely that they might have met thus a thousand times, and Vivienne knew this to be the mark of their entangled destiny. A wild joy seized her heart, for she had won the fate she desired more than anything else.

  Even while she marveled at this gift, the heat rose between them to a relentless crescendo. She laid her hand upon his chest and felt his heart thundering in a echo of her own. Two hearts beat as one, two mouths tasted deeply of each other, two bodies felt the spark of the quickening in the same moment, two voices cried out together in ecstatic release.

  And when Vivienne fell asleep in the warm embrace of her lover true, she did indeed smile the smile she had yearned to smile.

  * * *

  He awakened to the sound of a cock’s cry in the village, so suddenly alert and filled with an unfamiliar sense of wellbeing that, for a moment, he could not name where he was. It was yet dark, though there was a smudge of pink along the eastern horizon. That light was sufficient to reveal the features of the woman who slept beside him, a smile curving the fullness of her lips.

  Then he remembered.

  Vivienne’s russet hair was strewn across the pair of them like a fisherman’s net. He stared at her, savoring the chance to study her unobserved. She was wrought tall and amply curved, though he had felt as much the night before. Her lips were full, her eyes thickly lashed, her complexion fair. He could discern a few freckles across the bridge of her nose, and again across her collarbone, which made her look young and vulnerable.

  And the blood of her maidenhead stained the linen chemise tangled about her hips. Guilt stabbed him once again, though he dared not indulge it. He rose abruptly, putting distance between them, knowing that truth would do little to ease what must necessarily follow.

  Truly, it was his own weakness that plagued him. He had not been wrought to use other people to his own ends, however justified his goals might be. He dressed with curt movements, his gaze fixed upon the woman who curled into the hollow of warmth his body had left, reminding himself of what he was compelled to do.

  He was not truly surprised to find himself hating what he had become, though he hoped with all his heart and soul that the reward would be worth the price.

  His daughters, after all, deserved no less than his all.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Vivienne awakened, feeling slightly chilled, and nestled deeper into the fur lining of her cloak. She was well content, for she had learned the import of Madeline’s secretive smile. She smiled herself and stretched out a hand for her lover true, more than amenable to feeling his caress once more.

  Vivienne’s fingers closed upon emptiness, and her eyes flew open. Surely he had not returned to his fairy realm without sparing her a word?

  Only the first touch of the dawn lit the sill of the chamber and shadows yet lurked in the corners. The cold of night emanated from the stone walls. Shapes were discernible as shadows against the shadows, including one large male silhouette before the window. Vivienne sighed with relief.

  He stood with arms crossed and feet braced against the floor, the sky behind him a rosy luminescent pearl. His hood was drawn over his head and cast his features in deeper shadow, though Vivienne knew he watched her avidly. She might have been fearful of his size and stillness, if he had not introduced her so tenderly to the delights of the marital bed.

  But she knew sufficient of this man to feel no such fear. She granted him a smile, though she could not see whether he responded in kind.

  She sat up, knowing her hair would have crept free from her braid and her chemise tangled around her waist, knowing she looked like a maiden thoroughly sampled and sated. For once in her life, she did not care that she was not so orderly as Madeline.

  “Surely you cannot mean to leave so soon?” she asked. “It is still dark. Surely you can return to my side for a few moments yet.” She eased back, making space for him on the pallet, but he did not move.

  “It is late enough,” he said, his words terse. He spared the barest glance to the window, and his tone did not soften. “Garb yourself. We depart immediately.”

  Vivienne struggled to make sense of both his words and his manner. “Depart? But we have only spent one night abed.”

  “And it is sufficient to require our timely departure.” He crossed the chamber and lifted her discarded kirtle from the floor, shaking it out with impatience before offering it to her.

  Vivienne pushed her hair back from her brow. “But this is not my expectation,” she argued. “The tale clearly declared that there would be three nights of courtship, not one, and a red rose as a bride price before the nuptials.”

  “Your bride price was considerably higher than a single rose,” he said sharply and tried to hand her kirtle to her again.

  Vivienne stared at him in astonishment and a dreadful sense assailed her. Had she mistaken a tale for some other truth?

  What had Alexander done?

  “Hasten yourself. There is no time to delay.”

  Vivienne rose reluctantly to her feet and took the garment from him, hoping her fears proved groundless. She tried to touch his hand in the transaction, but he pulled his fingers away. Whether it was by accident or design, his gesture made Vivienne’s confidence falter further.

  “You cannot mean that you have already paid a bride price,” she said, her heart fairly in her throat. “Surely you but know its value and intend to pay it two days hence.”

  “It is paid, and doubtless half spent.”

  “What price did you pay?” She thought he might not answer her, so continued, her tone firm. “Surely I have a right to know my own supposed merit?”

  “A sack of silver coins, one that your brother was quick to claim for his own.”

  Vivienne winced at his harsh tone and made to defend her brother. “Alexander did not accept coin for my hand!”

  “He most certainly did.” Her lover pointed to the floor with impatience. “Your belt lies on that side of the pallet, your boots on this side. I said we had need of haste.”

  Vivienne tried to discern the features hidden with his hood. “You are not a fairy suitor,” she said, though already she knew the answer.

  That made him halt and she guessed that he studied her anew. “Of course not. Why would you believe such whimsy?”

  Whimsy. Too late, the truth was perfectly clear. Vivienne stared at the kirtle in her hands and felt a fool beyond compare. Alexander’s tale had been no more than a ruse to persuade her to sleep in the tower. It had not been coincidence that Alexander unbarred the door last evening.

  Her brother had played a jest upon her, as so oft he had done. Vivienne had been deceived, and her choice in this matter had been stolen from her. Worse, her own impulsive nature had betrayed her, for her maidenhead was lost.

  Worse again, it had been lost - and she had been sold - to a man whose name she did not know.

  “Alexander is a wretch beyond belief!” she declared, not troubling to disguise her anger. It was better than revealing her fear. “How dare he sell my hand? He pledged to Rhys that he would not repeat his error...”

  “So we know the merit of his word,” her lover noted dryly. “There is a plague of deceit in our land, it seems.”

  But Vivienne did not care what he thought of her brother. She thought of her Aunt Rosamunde, who refused to follow the dictates wrought by men, and lifted her chin in defiance.

  “I will not indulge Alexander, or you, by ceding to this arrangement,” she said firmly. Her lover stilled again, as watchful and wary as a hawk on the hunt. “I was not privy to this arrangement and I will not stand by whatever terms were agreed upon.”

  “What is this?”

  “I will not accompany you.” Vivienne glared at the man who had seen fit to purchase her, disliking that he hid his face from her. Was he a stranger in truth, or a man who did not wish her recognize hi
m before she abandoned herself to his protection?

  “You have no choice,” he said. “Your brother has sold you like chattel, and like chattel, you have no choice when or where you go.”

  Chattel? He could not have chosen a less appealing word!

  “Only a fool of a woman would leave her family abode with a stranger who surrenders neither his name nor his destination, a man who does not even reveal his visage.”

  When he did not move or speak to soothe her doubts, Vivienne hauled her beautiful kirtle over her head and laced the sides with savage gestures. “No matter what price you have paid, I would suggest you depart from Kinfairlie afore I summon sentries against you.”

  He closed the distance between them with a decisive step and caught her chin in his hand. His touch was not forceful, despite the anger she could feel thrumming through him, and Vivienne felt a dangerous weakening of her will beneath his touch. It was too simple to recall how he had caressed her, how he had coaxed her response, how he had cajoled her participation in their lovemaking.

  She realized that only that act or these words must reflect his character, not both. Tenderness and harshness could not both be his nature.

  But which was the true measure of the man? Vivienne knew that lies were more readily wrought with words than with deeds, but that was a thin certainty upon which to wager her future.

  “Who will aid you, now that your brother has had his due?” he demanded and there was an unappealing truth in his words. “You are mine, mine since your brother accepted my coin for his own.”

  She was no possession! “I belong to no man and I never will.” Vivienne stared furiously into the shadows of his hood. “You cannot compel me to do your will in this, for there is no bond between us.”

  His hand closed around her arm and he lifted her slightly off the floor. She could not miss the truth of how much larger he was than she and her confidence faltered.

  “Can I not?” he murmured, seemingly aware of her uncertainty. His thumb began to move against her flesh in slow circles, and even through the ruched sleeve of her chemise, Vivienne felt a treacherous desire awaken within her.

  But desire alone was not to be trusted.

  “I will not make the matter simple for you,” she said. “I will not be biddable!”

  “And you need not be trussed like a lamb meant for the slaughter,” he said with impatience. “It is clear that our paths lie together, and more clear that our course will be easier if you accept the truth of it.”

  Vivienne pulled her arm from his grip and stepped away, distrusting the power of his touch. “Show me your face. Tell me your name.”

  He stepped back then, ensuring she could not reach his hood. His determination to hide his face from her only made Vivienne more determined to see him truly.

  He could cede that much to her, at least!

  “It is better if you accompany me,” he said, speaking more gently. “What if you bear my child?”

  “After one night? That would be unlikely!” Though Vivienne scoffed, her spirit quailed.

  His tone hardened anew. “You have seven siblings, all born of the same woman, and your sister conceived quickly after her nuptials. I heard tell of it in the village. It would not be so uncommon for your womb to bear fruit quickly, particularly in a family so vigorous as your own.”

  Vivienne folded her arms across her chest. “Then I shall accept that prospect rather than departing with a stranger. The worst price of it would be shame.”

  “Your fate might be worse than merely shame, though that is harder to bear than you might believe,” he said with quiet persistence. “Your brother was quick to sell your hand - why should he not do so again?” He leaned closer, his words persuasive. “What manner of spouse will you win without your maidenhead? And what will such a man believe if your belly rounds too soon? What will he do when you offer him another man’s son?”

  To Vivienne’s horror, he made a dangerous sense. She marched back to the pallet, fastened her belt, knotted her garters and donned her boots. Tears veiled her vision but she would not let him see how he had disappointed her with his hard questions this morn.

  She much preferred the magic they had wrought the night before. Had she dreamed the man who had met her abed with such respect and affection? She spared a glance to the silent and hooded man behind her. Vivienne wished she could be certain which was his nature in truth.

  Fully garbed with her cloak cast over her shoulder, she pivoted to face him and made an impulsive offer. “If your aims are so noble, wed me then, and I will have no choice but to accompany you.”

  He shook his head. “There will be no nuptials between us.”

  Vivienne was shocked that he could consider treating her with such dishonor. “I am no courtesan and I will not become one.”

  “And I will cross the threshold of no chapel before all that is mine is mine once more,” he said. Vivienne had no chance to ask after his losses, for her offered her his right hand. “I will pledge to you in the old way, for a year and a day. If either of us find fault with the other in that time, we shall be free to part and unbeholden from that point onward.”

  “And if I bear a child?”

  “It will be my son in truth, raised in my household and granted every advantage I can offer.”

  It was a meager offer compared to marriage, but with her maidenhead gone, Vivienne feared that she had little with left to wager. She glanced at his hand, its strength gilded by a ray of sunlight. This was not how she had envisioned matching her path to that of a man, and she was not yet prepared to believe it was her sole choice.

  Vivienne tentatively put her hand in his, and was awed again by the way his fingers engulfed hers. When he offered his left hand, crossing it over the right one then turning up his palm, Vivienne pretended to reach toward it. Then she reached quickly for his hood, so quickly that he barely seized her hand in time.

  “I would see your eyes while you make such a vow,” she protested. “No man of merit fears as much.”

  “You will not look upon me.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “Because I forbid it,” he said, his tone allowing no argument.

  Vivienne chose to argue despite this. “You might be an outlaw, or a man whose repute I know well,” she said. “You might be a man who has assailed me in the past, or a man I loathe.”

  “I assure you that I am none of these.”

  “Your word will not suffice. You cannot expect so much of me in exchange for so little.” Vivienne sensed his hesitation and took advantage of it, pulling her hand from his and snapping back his hood with haste.

  He stared at her, his expression impassive, his eyes an uncanny blue.

  To her relief, he was a stranger, not some fiend whose advances she had spurned before. She supposed she should not be so relieved to have his name remain a mystery to her, but his steady gaze instilled confidence in her.

  His scarred face should have done the opposite. His hood hung around his neck like a cowl, leaving his features bare. The early sunlight caught the puckered flesh of a scar. That marring line began at his temple, compelling the end of his brow to tilt upward, narrowly missing the corner of his eye, slashed across his cheek, tugged at the corner of his mouth, then ended in the midst of his chin, perhaps deepening a dimple that had always been there.

  Vivienne was haunted by a feeling that he was vaguely familiar, as if she had met some of his kin before, but even that sense was far from strong.

  He did not so much as blink as she surveyed this wound, and she sensed that he expected her to recoil in horror. Vivienne granted the injury a leisurely perusal, then met his gaze unswervingly once she had seen the whole of it. She savored her conviction that he was surprised by her response.

  “You thought that I would reject you on the basis of this injury alone,” she charged softly. “But I have wits enough to know that a man’s face is not the measure of his worth.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, either
incredulous or skeptical. His eyes became a more vehement blue and Vivienne wondered what he was thinking. She was keenly aware of his hand closed protectively around her own and swallowed when he captured her other hand once more. His thumb moved across her flesh in a slow caress, though she could not have said whether he did as much apurpose or not. The tower chamber seemed to warm around her.

  Even his presence changed the air, even the sound of his breath made Vivienne’s flesh tingle. She was aware of him as she had never been aware of another person in all her days. His steady regard softened her resistance to him in a most troubling way.

  “Then what is the measure of a man?”

  “His deeds,” she said softly. “Though yours show little merit this morn.”

  A shadow touched his eyes and she knew that she did not imagine that his expression darkened for a moment. “Then let this be a better deed.” He clasped her hands with gentle resolve, then met her gaze so steadily that she could not look away. “And so I swear to you, Vivienne Lammergeier, that I shall treat you with all honor for a year and a day, that I will defend you and honor you, that any children you bear me will be raised as my own, that at the end of that year and a day we both shall have the choice of whether to remain together or nay.”

  He loosed her right hand and his fingertips landed upon her cheek. They were warm, his touch as light as that of a butterfly upon a flower. Vivienne found herself turning, so that her lips touched his palm, found herself seduced anew by the reverence in his touch. His fingertips eased over the curve of her cheek, across her bottom lip, then he cupped her chin in her hand. Vivienne looked into his eyes and the last of her defiance dissolved.

  The truth was that this man could have raped her the night before, but he had shown her tenderness. He had ensured she found pleasure on her first taste of lovemaking. Even now, he was concerned for the future of any child she might bear, and noted rightly that Alexander might make a worse match for her now that her maidenhead was gone. Even now, he eased closer, his eyes darkening with his intent to kiss her.