HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6

by Margaret Brazear

  She was lovely. The pale blue brocade reflected the candlelight inside the church and the cloth of silver seemed to shine with little lights which sparked and bounced as though she was on fire. She really did look as though she had stepped out of a fairy tale; a fairy princess, that is what she was, and she seemed to have cast a spell over him.

  He gave her a warm smile as she drew near and his heart skipped unexpectedly when she smiled back. Perhaps it would work after all, perhaps he should be thanking his father instead of condemning him.

  The service was in English, from Archbishop Cranmer's Book of Common Prayer, so the vows were clearly understood by both parties. He promised to love and to cherish; she promised to love and obey and he could not help but notice how she hesitated over that last word. He was not surprised. She was a fiery little thing, full of openness and she was wilful and stubborn. Certainly he should not expect too much obedience from her, despite the vow she had taken. He felt that little smile on his lips again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There were not many guests. Really, it was a sparse affair for an Earl but the feast was sumptuous and the guests who were staying would be with them until the end of the week.

  The minstrels had managed to get here despite the bad weather and they played merrily in their bright colours for them all to dance. Antonia loved to dance and she enjoyed dancing with her new husband; he also seemed to enjoy it and they were both weary come bedtime.

  When they left the hall they were applauded by the guests as they went, which display brought a blush to Antonia’s cheeks. Seeing her embarrassment, Robert put his arm around her and hurried her away.

  Maidservants came and undressed her down to her shift, then Robert came in, wearing only his shirt and a velvet mantle, followed by the priest who arrived to bless the marriage bed. It was firmly believed that no offspring would be possible without this blessing, although Antonia would have preferred some privacy.

  She stood shivering in her shift with nothing to cover her but a thin, silk wrap and she was anxious to burrow beneath the covers for warmth, although her anticipation did not include the prospect of sharing that warmth with her new husband. She hoped he did not notice her watching him; he seemed to have his eyes on the priest and paid no attention to Antonia, for which she was thankful. He was very tall, making her feel even smaller than she really was and seeing him now in his silk shirt and mantle, she could not help but notice his muscular shoulders and chest. There did not seem to be an ounce of surplus flesh on him, a fact she found appealing.

  Someone had strewn flowers over the bed, the priest said his prayers and sprinkled the covers with holy water and when he left, Robert locked the door.

  "Why did you do that?" Antonia demanded, somewhat alarmed. Her memory showed her his earlier attack, showed her his temper, and now she feared he had something planned for which he wanted no audience.

  "Nothing sinister," he replied. "I have heard of guests finding their way in and intruding on this most sacred and private moment. I do not want that, neither can I imagine that you do."

  She shook her head, feeling relieved as well as surprised.

  “You regard the consummation as sacred?” She asked.

  “Of course,” he replied. “It is the physical joining of two souls, the act which melds two people into one. I hope you will come to share that belief with me.”

  He took her hand and led her to the bed where he sat down, pulled her down to sit beside him, and put his arm around her shoulders. He put his hand on her cheek, pushed his fingers into her hair and lifted her face to his.

  "You are very beautiful, Antonia," he said. "When I saw you in the church today, I thought you looked like a fairy princess, with that little pixie face of yours and the little sparks of light leaping from your gown. I do so thank you for agreeing to marry me. I know it is not what you wanted, but I think we can make it work."

  He did not tell her he was half in love with her already. He wanted to wait until he was quite sure of his feelings before he told her that; memories of Camilla were silencing his tongue.

  Her eyes met his, trying to see sincerity in them, as it was the very last thing she expected to hear. He was full of surprises, but she was having difficulty trusting them. How could a man who was so arrogant and self centred possibly be sincere in the personality he was showing her now?

  Perhaps he was trying to flatter her, to relax her and make his way easier. Whatever it was, it was not unwelcome.

  "Do you think he knew?" She asked him. "Your father, I mean."

  "No," he replied, shaking his head. "He was no romantic matchmaker. He has done this for his own ends, whatever they might be. You could be right; it could be to still gossiping tongues, it could even be to prove his power over me. That would be more like him than to care what a lot of strangers thought of him. Whatever his reasons, he will be disappointed if he is watching us now to know that I am not averse to his scheme after all."

  "No?" She asked. "You have not forgotten my conditions, My Lord? They have not changed."

  "I have not forgotten."

  "Whose idea were the flowers and the fur cloak?"

  There was a note of accusation in her tone which she had not meant to show him. He gave her a puzzled frown.

  "Mine, of course," he replied.

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "Then I have done you a disservice. I believed those ideas must be those of a female."

  To her surprise, he laughed, loudly and joyously, until she felt a little smile appear on her own lips.

  "Come," he said at last. "Let us lie down in our marriage bed which has been properly blessed and go about the business of sealing this bargain. If that meets with your approval, My Lady, of course."

  The moment had arrived at last. She thought she was prepared for it, thought she would be willing by this time; after all, they were no longer strangers, but instead she felt her cheeks grow hot and turned her head away.

  "Do I have a choice?" She asked.

  "Certainly. Despite my earlier appalling behaviour, I would never take a woman against her will. My pride would not allow it."

  He held her face in his hand and turned it so that her eyes met his, then he bent his head and kissed her lips, thirstily, as though he were trying to drink her in, and he felt her arms wrapping themselves around his waist as he did so.

  He finally released her and moved back to look into her eyes.

  "We do not have to do anything but sleep," he assured her. "We have our whole lives together; there is no rush. I could just lie here and hold you if that is your wish. Or I can leave you alone now, go and find somewhere else to sleep. The choice is yours."

  She found herself wanting more of those kisses and she clung to him now, her face pressed against his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist.

  "No," she whispered. "I think I would like to get it over with."

  Her words spoke of distaste, and he pushed her away to look at her face. She smiled mischievously and he realised at once that she was not serious. His fingers sought the ribbon ties of her shift and he untied them, his hand gently travelling down from her face to her shoulder to slip off the delicate silk and expose her breasts to his gaze.

  She opened her eyes, ready to meet with the horrible, lascivious leer he had worn the last time he had seen them, but this time his gaze was gentle and full of admiration and when she felt his hand caress her breast, she caught her breath. His mouth came down and took one breast into his mouth, then his lips travelled up to her neck as he pushed her down on to the bed where his fingers stroked her skin, her arms, her breasts, her thighs. She found herself holding tight to him, feeling that she would fall and float away if she let go, and when he kissed her again, she felt she would melt into him and lose herself entirely.

  His caresses induced feelings she could never have imagined and she felt an emptiness in that secret place, a hollow which she desperately wanted him to fill. Her breath came in short gasps a
nd she wondered how long she could stand this without begging him to finish it. At last she felt her shift sliding up toward her waist, the warmth of his hand guiding the fabric to reveal the very tops of her thighs. She trembled.

  "Have no fear," he said soothingly. "I will not hurt you."

  She made no reply. She did not want to tell him the tremble had not been one of fear, but of pleasure.

  She slept in his arms that night, felt the warmth from his body, laid her head on his chest and turned to gently kiss his breast. She had not expected this, not at all; she had tried not to think about it, but when she had she had never imagined the affectionate way he held her, the love that seemed to emanate from him.

  Robert presented her with a small, leather covered chest the next morning.

  They were still in bed, reluctant to get up and face the cold although the snow had begun to thaw a little. They had fallen asleep last night with their arms around each other and she had closed her eyes and tried to recapture every delightful moment of what he had called 'this sacred time'. It was certainly not what she had been expecting and now she felt a little bereft as he pulled away from her and turned to the cabinet beside the bed.

  He pulled the little chest out and sat up to present it to her.

  "What is it?" She asked with a little smile as she, too, sat up in bed to look.

  "Open it and see," he answered.

  She did so and caught her breath. It was full of jewels, necklaces, bracelets, rings, even headdresses, all wrought from gold and precious gemstones. She gave him a puzzled frown.

  "They were my mother's," he said. "I thought my father might have sold them or given them away to some harlot or other, but they were still in her cabinet where she kept them."

  "Why would he do that?" She asked. "Give them to a harlot, I mean? Surely they held fond memories for him."

  Robert shook his head and a remorseful little turn to his lips made her recall his words that day when he had threatened her, when he had raised his hand to strike her. No. I am not my father. That is what he had said and now she understood what he meant.

  "He was brutal," he told her. "He ill treated my mother, had no respect for her. He even brought his trollops home to the house, made my mother sleep with me while he bedded them in the next chamber, in her bed. Did you never wonder why I hated him?"

  "I did, yes," she said, "but I did not think it was my place to ask. Thank you for telling me, and for the jewels. Are you sure you want me to have them?"

  "I do. They rightfully belong to you, as my wife."

  That was the first time he had used those words 'my wife' and they gave her a comfortable, secure feeling.

  "I am honoured," she said.

  "It is what she would have wanted," he told her. "I think she would have liked you; she would have appreciated your forthright way of speaking, your honesty. As do I."

  She turned to him and put her hand on his cheek, moved across and kissed his lips.

  "I have always believed he killed her," Robert went on, "with his brutality. She was very young when she died, for no real reason. She just grew suddenly weaker. That is why I frightened myself that day, when I lost my temper and threatened you. I do have his temper and it does scare me. I never want to hurt you, not ever, and I never want to be like him."

  She looked at him for a moment, uncertain how best to reply. He had frightened her that day, and she did not want to repeat it.

  "I hope never to make you that angry," she answered at last.

  "I just want you to know," he said, "in case my earlier behaviour frightened you, that I would never treat you like that. Whether we were forced together or not, I promised to love and cherish, not brutalise. And I do thank you again for agreeing to marry me. I know perfectly well what I owe to you for that, as you could have managed without me."

  "There is no need to thank me again. Now I know you a little better, I think I did the right thing for me as well, especially..."

  Her cheeks grew hot and she turned her face away.

  "Especially?" He prompted.

  She answered in a quiet voice, still keeping her gaze away.

  "Especially after last night," she murmured.

  He put his arm around her and kissed her hot cheek.

  "It was special, sacred as I said."

  Her eyes met his for a moment, then she put the chest aside and reached up to stroke his cheek. Her lips reached out to meet his and he wrapped his arms around her. Again he seemed to want to meld his body with hers; she shivered as he held her tightly in his arms.

  She pulled away just a little and looked up at him.

  "If your father had died in the summer months," she said with a playful smile, "you might not have been so lucky."

  He frowned, then noticed her smile and laughed out loud.

  "Robert," she whispered. "Speaking of last night..."

  He smiled reminiscently and stroked her flushed cheek.

  "Yes?"

  "Well," she said nervously, "will you think me a very loose woman if I asked you to do that again?"

  He rested his hand on her face and looked at her intently.

  "I will," he answered, "and thank the saints I married such a creature.” He hugged her tightly then grinned down at her. “Does that mean it was not such a painful duty after all?"

  "I think you know the answer to that."

  Lady Camilla Austin arrived at the end of the week when all the guests had gone home, just as Antonia was breathing a sigh of relief and looking forward to some time alone with her husband. She saw her arrive from her bedchamber, where she had just forced herself out of bed and into the chilly air. She would not have known who she was but for a miniature Robert still kept in his drawer, a miniature she had every intention of mislaying in the not too distant future.

  Lady Camilla stepped down from her carriage with the aid of a manservant and swept her heavy satin skirts after her, her fur cloak looking expensive and luxurious, then stood looking up at the house, her beautiful face spoilt by the scowl she wore. Her maid stepped down behind her and began to straighten her mistress's skirts, an act which amused Antonia. Imagine keeping a servant to straighten your skirts every time you moved and make sure they were all in place.

  She found the woman's presence an affront and the suspicion that Robert had invited her produced a scowl of her own. How dare he? She had told him she would not tolerate another woman in his life; she could only hope he had not taken her warning lightly.

  Since their wedding night, which had come as a happy surprise to Antonia, they had been on good terms and getting closer and she wanted nothing to spoil that. She was growing fond of him and she rather thought he felt the same about her. He still found her amusing, even laughed out loud at some of the things she said, though making him laugh had not been her intention. She was just being herself; she knew not how to be anything else and she hoped that he was doing the same, not putting on a façade to hide his true personality. After the way he behaved when they first met, she could not be sure. She would have to know him better before she decided.

  She was relieved when the maid came to help her to dress, as she did not want to be seen by Lady Camilla in her shift. She chose a gown of gleaming white satin, trimmed with silver lace, a gown which made her feel like the countess she now was and together with Robert's mother's white fur cloak, she would be ready for the day's round of visiting the neighbours and tenants. That is what Robert told her they would need to do, now that the marriage was well and truly celebrated. She hoped those neighbourly visits did not include his former lady love.

  She had enjoyed every day of the celebrations; she had sat at the head table with Robert and he had held fast to her hand, conveying to all their guests that they were both happy with the arrangement. No doubt they had all heard the tale, that the title and estate would be Robert's only if he wed where his father stipulated. She also expected they all knew about his expectations with Camilla, which made his demonstration of affection all the
more important to her.

  She enjoyed each night as well, so much so that merely thinking about it brought a little quiver deep down inside.

  Now she put the finishing touches to her hair, with the aid of the maid, and prepared to meet the lady in question and find out what she was doing here.

  She met Robert on the gallery landing.

  "Did you invite her?" She demanded.

  He gave her a puzzled frown.

  "Who?"

  "Lady Camilla," she answered. "Did you invite her?"

  "That would not be very tactful now would it?"

  "Then what is she doing here?" Antonia demanded angrily. She was really not sure if she believed him.

  "I have no idea," he said, suddenly losing the amused smile. "Really. I would never have invited her here; it would be disrespectful to you both."

  Antonia did not much care if he disrespected Camilla, but nevertheless she was pleased he had thought of it.

  "We had best go and see what the lady wants," he said, offering her his arm. She stared at it for a moment, then she took his hand instead and they made their way down to the great hall holding hands, like two children.

  Camilla lifted her eyes as they reached the ground and her eyes swept over them, resting just a little longer on their clasped hands. A little smile of amusement played about her mouth and Antonia knew she was thinking that holding hands was undignified, not the sort of behaviour expected of an earl. She likely thought Antonia had already dragged him down to her level. She did not care; it was more intimate and that was the impression she wanted to convey.

  She was unsure of her feelings. She wanted to feel superior, but she recalled Robert telling her he loved this woman. Although he later said he was wrong, she did wonder if Camilla had loved him and whether she still did, in which case she deserved some sympathy. She studied her expression carefully and finally concluded that the woman had no love for him; she only looked cross as though she had lost first prize in a contest. Antonia was glad; now she could feel self satisfied with a clear conscience.