That’s when the journey on which she’d been traveling sped up so fast, she couldn’t breathe. Bursts of light exploded behind her eyes as waves of indescribable pleasure consumed her consciousness. It seemed to go on and on, this seizure, or whatever it was.
But whatever it was, she liked it very much. She did not want it to stop.
When her eyes finally fluttered open, Mathieu’s warm eyes were only inches from hers, crinkling at the corners. “You probably woke the whole house, dear wife. I’ve never heard you scream quite so loud before.”
Had she screamed? She couldn’t recall. All she knew was that whatever Mathieu had done to her made her entire body feel warm and tingly, as though she were floating in warm honey.
Chapter Thirty
Mathieu had a difficult time not spilling himself all over the rug beside the bed when Eva’s screams of pleasure echoed through the room. He had to think of other things, keep breathing deep and slow, and remember that the best was yet to come.
For him, anyway. Mayhap, as responsive as this young maiden was, ’twould be for her as well. At least, ’twas his hope.
Rising to his feet, he lifted Eva’s legs onto the bed and climbed up to lay beside her. He held himself up on one elbow as he gazed down at her. She looked . . . dazed, her eyes distant and unfocused. Suddenly concerned, he laid his hand gently on the side of her head where the injury was hidden beneath a coil of braided hair.
“Are you alright, Eva? You’re not in any pain?”
A mischievous smile spread across her face. “Nay. No pain.”
He blew out a breath. “May I take you now? May I make you mine?” Slowly, he began to inch the hem of her chemise up until it reached her hips.
Her eyes widened for only a second before she instinctively bent her legs, her knees falling apart to receive him.
Breathe. Control. You must be gentle. You must take her slowly.
Mathieu kept repeating these words to himself as he positioned himself above her, and knelt between her legs. Her eyes had taken on the look of a frightened, wild animal, flashing back and forth between his face and his manhood.
“Do not be afraid, my love. It will hurt, but only for a moment. Then I will bring you pleasure again.” He could feel his smile wavering. “You liked that, did you not?”
Her nod was jerky, and she’d brought her fist up to her mouth. This was not good. This was not the way he wanted to make her his.
With one, shaking finger, he touched her core, and she jumped, but quickly relaxed to allow its entry inside her. She was so hot and slick that just the simple action nearly brought him to spill himself. He dragged in a breath and closed his eyes.
Gently, he stroked her, inside and then out, pushing his finger in a little deeper every time. When she began to make soft mewling noises and her hips began to move, he added a second finger, trying as best he could to stretch her delicate tissues. But when she suddenly bucked her hips, grinding her sensitive core against his palm in another explosive release, Mathieu lost control.
Dropping down both hands on either side of her head, he plunged into her, pausing only a second when he felt the resistance her maidenhead posed. When Eva screamed this time, ’twas not in pleasure.
Entirely inappropriate. Yet entirely necessary.
Once he was deep inside of her, he held very still for a long moment, allowing her body to accustom itself to his presence. Tears were flowing freely down over temples onto the bedclothes, and he leaned in to kiss them away.
“Are you alright?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Aye,” she whimpered. “But it hurts.”
“I know, my sweet. But it’s over now. ’Twill never hurt like this again.”
She ground her knuckles into her eyes and nodded. “Is it over?”
He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Not hardly.
“Not quite yet. Just lie still and I will try not to hurt you anymore.”
But Mathieu’s thin strand of control had stretched to the breaking point, and once he started moving inside her, it snapped. Years of pent-up passion, lonely nights, and meaningless romps with women who meant nothing to him all cascaded down his soul in an avalanche of feelings. This was different. Becoming one with this woman was the most important event of his entire life. Quite simply, his heart and his body overrode his cautious intentions.
Faster and faster he pumped into her, and when her moans and whimpers grew frenzied, he covered her mouth with his and swallowed them. He was hurting her, he knew, but there was no stopping this tide. A little voice in the back of his mind nudged him, warning him to slow down, go easy, and he almost listened.
But when Eva wrapped both legs around his hips and lifted herself to meet his thrusts, he realized ’twas not sounds of pain she was making, but sounds of pleasure. After that, the crest came quickly. Together, their bodies convulsed. As he emptied himself deep inside her in what seemed an endless torrent, she grabbed a handful of his long hair and yanked him down to her face.
The wench bit him on the shoulder, hard.
When he finally regained his senses enough to shoot her a quizzical look, she gazed up at him, sleepy eyed, wearing a lopsided grin.
“What was that for?” he growled.
“You thoroughly marked me, husband. I wanted to mark you as well.”
Morning, of course, came far too quickly. As the fingers of dawn slipped in around the edges of the shutters, Eva opened her eyes and, for a moment, did not know where she was. The warmth of Mathieu’s body spooned up behind her, however, quickly brought back memories of last night. Her wedding night. She shifted, noting with wicked pleasure the soreness between her legs. She was no longer a child. Now, she was, truly, fully, a woman.
Mayhap that knowledge would help bring her the strength to face what she knew today would bring.
Mathieu stirred behind her, groaning as he stretched and drew her closer against him.
“Are you well this morning, dear wife?”
How could she put into words how “well” she truly felt? There were no words. She was in love, and she was married to a most wonderful, caring man.
“I am complete,” she whispered.
They stole the time to make love one more time before the innkeeper began bellowing in the halls. A cruel reminder. Their time in this perfect nest was temporary. Now, it was time to face the realities waiting for them at the castle.
The day was grey and drizzling, chilly for this late in spring. Eva was glad she’d worn her cloak last night, though for different reasons. Today, she would not need hide behind its voluminous folds and hood. Today, it might protect her from arriving at the castle soaked and shivering.
She waited at the back door of the inn while Mathieu retrieved the horse Keegan had left there for them. And then, they were off, Eva’s back snugged up against her husband, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. The ride back to Coudenburg was not long.
Not nearly long enough.
They heard the guards shouting when they crested the last hill through the meadows. Surely, no one suspected they would be returning. Except for Keegan, Gaspard, and Isabelle, who were all well aware neither had the means to start a new life elsewhere. At least, not yet.
The gates swung open, and standing there in the center of the bailey, hands on his hips, rain running down his face, was Captain Knape. Eva felt Mathieu stiffen.
“Why,” she asked softly, “do you and the captain hate each other so?”
“A story for another time, sweet lady. For right now, we’ll deal with the rage attached to our more recent actions.”
“Well, well. The wayward children come home,” Knape boomed. “Dost thou return with heads hanging in shame?” He pinned his gaze on Eva. “Did he kidnap you, milady? Shall we lock him in the dungeon?”
Eva sat up taller and lifted her chin. “Nay, Captain. This man . . . this good man, is now my husband.”
Knape’s face contorted into an even more ugly visage. “So he’s viola
ted you, then.”
To her surprise, two knights stepped out from under the tent in the encampment. Keegan and Gaspard.
“We witnessed the union, in the church, before the eyes of God, Captain. ’Tis done. ’Tis naught can be done to change it,” Keegan called.
Knape fisted one hand at his side, curling his other fingers around the hilt of his sword. “’Tis one thing can be done to undo the damage.”
Gaspard stepped forward. “And that would be murder, Captain Knape. With multiple witnesses. I beg thee, do not allow your anger to overrule your good judgement.”
By now, all of the knights had gathered in a group near the edge of their camp, and watched as Mathieu dismounted, helping Eva down to stand beside him.
“We request audience with the duke,” Mathieu said.
“The duchess as well,” Eva added.
The Great Hall was nearly empty, with only a few servants cleaning up the last of the morning meal. At the high table sat the duke, his hands wrapped around a cup. Glaring at them both as they entered, Philip raised a bony finger and pointed to a place at the table directly at the foot of the dais.
“Sit, both of you.” He then called to one of the servants. “Fetch the duchess. The Italian, as well. We have much to discuss.”
Isabella appeared in the doorway a moment later. Eva met her eyes and searched them for some inkling of what was about to happen, but the duchess lowered her gaze as she stepped up on the dais. Had she succeeded in intervening on their behalf? Or would they be cast out? Eva wondered briefly what her maman would say if she and Mathieu came riding into Ghent, seeking shelter.
She doubted her stepfather would have any more sympathy for them than the duke. Mayhap less.
Stefano’s arrival caused Eva’s entire body to tense. He glared at her as he climbed up and took a seat beside the duke, at the high table. That in itself was not a good sign.
Philip drank from his cup, then slammed it onto the table. “What have you done, ostler?”
Mathieu clasped Eva’s hand tighter in his own. “We have married, Your Grace. Brother Michael wed us last eve. We are man and wife—in every sense.”
Fire flashed in the duke’s eyes. “I am the girl’s father. You did not seek my permission. I could have you flogged. Truly, I could have you put to death for this act of betrayal. At the very least, cast you out. Both of you!”
Eva felt Mathieu’s body sag beside her. He lowered his head. “I did not ask your permission, Your Grace. For that, I am sorry. But I love this woman, and she loves me. I will, however, as your loyal servant, suffer whatever punishment you decide to inflict.” Eva was shocked to see tears in Mathieu’s eyes as he looked up. “You have been like a father to me, and the duchess as a maman. I cannot imagine leaving your service. But if that’s what you desire—”
Isabella placed a hand over Philip’s then, to Eva’s surprise. She’d never seen the duchess display any kind of affection toward the duke at all since her arrival. The duchess cleared her throat, then spoke.
“Mathieu of Liège, Eva of Utrecht, you have both violated custom. For that ye shall do penance. But we shall not cast you out.” She looked at Mathieu. “You, ostler, shall have your wages cut by half until Christmastide. If you require more coin for your needs, ye shall have to seek other employment, either inside or out of the castle. On your own time.”
She turned to Eva, and her eyes softened. “Eva, you shall become one of my handmaidens. Blanche will train you. You shall serve in this capacity until Christmastide as well.”
Blanche. The grouchy old biddy who chaperoned her from Ghent. Of all the handmaidens Isabella could have chosen to train her, why did it have to be Blanche?
Although she might have been imagining it, Eva thought she saw a hint of a smile struggling to escape from the duchess’ lips. “In the meantime, you shall both cohabitate in the ostler’s meager quarters. After all, you are now husband and wife.”
“And what of me?” Stefano jumped to his feet. “What retribution shall be granted for my loss? The duke promised the girl’s hand to me. Now she is,” he motioned frantically toward Eva and Mathieu, scowling, “. . . soiled. Spoiled, like curdled milk. I wouldn’t want her if you granted me her hand here and now.”
Isabella turned to face the irate Italian. “We regret that circumstances have prevented Philip from fulfilling his promise to you. We will, however, offer a compromise.”
A compromise? What on earth—
At that moment, the lovely, shapely form of another girl appeared in the doorway. Her copper red tresses flowed like golden fire over her shoulders. Unfortunately, Eva quickly saw that the lass’ eyes were as red as her hair.
“Stefano, we would like to present another of Philip’s daughters for your consideration. Beverielle of Flanders, please come forward to greet your betrothed.”
Eva closed her eyes, a wave of sickness washing over her. Why was it this way? Why were women traded and sold like horses? Like chattel? She had come to know Beverielle over the past weeks, and knew of her attraction to Keegan, another from her homeland of Scotland.
Beverielle, dressed in virginal white from head to toe, made her way across the room to the edge of the dais. Stefano, whose ire seemed to quell amazingly fast on the maid’s appearance, rose and took the girl’s hand, kissing it. Then he turned to the duke. Eva noticed, even now, he looked past the duchess and spoke expressly to the duke.
A woman’s say meant little.
“Is this true, Your Grace?” he asked.
Philip nodded, begrudgingly, before refilling his cup. “Aye. If you desire her for your wife, she will be yours.”
Stefano, still holding Beverielle’s hand and standing high above her on the dais, studied her for a long moment. This was, Eva realized, symbolic if anything ever was. Stefano was establishing, right from the start, his position as far above her.
“She is lovely, Philip. Truly.” He reached down and fingered a strand of Beverielle’s copper hair, and she flinched. Stefano seemed not to notice. “She cannot be of Flanders. Not originally. Not with this glorious crown of hair.”
“Her mother was from Scotland. Brought to Antwerp, where she made her life in a tavern.” Isabella related the facts of Beverielle’s lineage flatly.
Stefano’s eyebrows shot up. “Ah. So she grew up in a tavern. She is still pure, though?”
“Aye. I swear it,” Philip growled.
“And she is of age?” Stefano asked, his eyes never leaving Beverielle’s face.
Isabella was the one to answer. Not one to stand down, no matter what the situation. “She will come of age a week before Christmastide. In the meantime, ye can get to know her, since she will remain here, then travel with us to Germolles in the fall. I hope the two of you will find pleasure—of the purest and most innocent kind—in each other’s company.”
Eva’s heart clutched for her sister, whose face was now entirely splotched with red and wet with tears. Yet she said not a word. There was nothing she could say. Nothing that could change her fate.
A fate Eva had barely escaped, thanks to Mathieu. Yet the guilt that consumed her heart was like a wasting disease, one she felt quite certain would eat at her conscience for a very long time.
“She’s even lovelier than the Flemish girl,” Stefano muttered, flashing a scowl in Eva’s direction, “and with her background, may make an even more interesting companion. Come, Beverielle. Let us retire to the hearth. I will warm you . . . with a cup of the duke’s finest mead.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Mathieu threw himself into his work as soon as they quit the hall. Grateful . . . he was so grateful the duke had shown such leniency. He knew the duchess was the one responsible, but still. It could have gone much worse, for both of them.
It pained him to see Eva take on the role of handmaiden. She deserved much better than that, but truly, how much better could he give her? Especially now, with his meager wages cut in half until Christmastide. He had need to spend little,
and had saved a small sum for someday, but now he would have nothing to spare.
The knights and their pages had done an admirable job tending to the horses and hounds, as these were duties familiar to them. But the aviary? It was a mess. The raptors’ cages were deep in their own waste, and the smell permeated into the bailey. In one sense, he was glad they had not tried to do much more than feed the birds. Who knows what might have happened if a falcon had escaped, or worse yet, attempted to attack the handler? No, it was best this way, even if it did mean he would have a very messy couple of days’ work ahead of him.
Mathieu was relieved to find Kleine Uil well, if not a wee bit perturbed at him. The tiny creature gave him a good chattering to when he opened the door to his quarters, even though the bird usually was asleep during the day. After an intense lecture, followed by the owl perching on his shoulder to nuzzle his neck briefly, Kleine Uil returned to his sleeping place beneath the pallet.
He donned his oldest, grimiest work clothes before heading to the aviary, knowing that to remove the smell of bird excrement from them would be all but impossible. Before he left the small room, he perched his hands on his hips and scanned the space. It was little more than a closet, with just enough room for his sleeping pallet, a sideboard where he kept a washbowl and pitcher, and a table next to the bed which held the candle—the only light in the room. This was not much to offer a new bride, he thought with a sinking feeling. If the duchess offered her a room with the other handmaids, it might well put this place to shame.
Still, he could not bear to think of sleeping apart from his bride. He hoped she would share with him his hope for the future, when he might offer her much better.
Mathieu’s skill with the horses and birds was a gift. He knew that, and as Isabella had said, the duke knew it as well. Once the ill feelings from his disobedience had faded, he hoped to ask the duke, mayhap Admiral La Laing, for an increase in position. Surely, after so many years of loyal service, he was deserving.
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