The Yearning Heart

by Zelma Orr

  She spoke without turning. “Get to work, Bundy, or Sir Stephen will scold us both for idleness.”

  Bundy watched the young woman a moment longer, and then turned back to his work. Once in awhile, he lifted his head to watch the two of them: Rebecca was sitting atop the rail and Tor alternately pawing the ground and inching closer to the tempting fruit in her small hand.

  Bundy heard her laugh, turned to look, and stared at the sight of Rebecca sitting astride the broad back of his master's favorite steed. No one save Sir Stephen could approach the big stallion without loud protests from the horse or without taking precautions against nipping teeth and flailing hooves.

  One of Rebecca's hands clasped into the horse's thick mane while the other caressed the strong neck. Her skirt had pulled up over her shoe tops, revealing dark blue stockings.

  Bundy gulped and closed his eyes. When his gaze found the unlikely pair a moment later, Rebecca was again on the fence with Tor standing close to her munching on the remains of her apple. She leaned over, spoke softly into Tor's alertly lifted ear. The horse blew gently through his nose, and Rebecca rubbed the sleek space between black eyes. Then she patted his neck and hopped down from the rail.

  “When can I ride Tor?” she said.

  Bundy could barely speak.

  “But, my lady, Sir Stephen does not allow anyone to ride Tor. He would never...”

  “Bundy,” she said in a patient voice. “Sir Stephen does not have to know everything that goes on here, does he?” She smiled and won Bundy over completely.

  “He would be most angry.”

  “I know,” she said, “but I will be careful and ride only when he is away on his travels.” She had enough experience evading papa's orders that going against Sir Stephen's rules was a simple exercise of ignoring those she chose not to obey.

  “But if Tor hurt you?”

  “He never would.”

  She turned to look at the horse that had moved to put his head as far as he could reach across the rail toward Rebecca.

  “Would you, Tor?”

  Black eyes surveyed the young woman, and then he lifted his head to whinny. If he did it just right, mayhap there would be more apples for him.

  “See? He likes me already.”

  She went toward the house leaving a confused and smitten young stable boy behind her.

  Rain was falling once more, but Rebecca did not hurry as she made her way back to the main house. She stopped to stare at the almost square building, gray stone walls posing a forbidding sight. To her right a stone fence enclosed what she supposed was a garden, and she started toward it, stopping when she heard waves beating along the bottom of the cliffs.

  She was anxious to walk near the water, but not today. The rain was cold, beginning to penetrate her woolen cape, and the wet air crept beneath her heavy skirt. She went on to the open gate leading into the garden and stepped inside.

  It was drab looking now, but it must have been a fair sight during the flowering season. Scraggly honeysuckle vines intertwined with thorny rose bushes along the stone wall. Piles of leaves and trash had been raked to the side of flowerbeds ready to be picked up as time permitted.

  Papa would have a stick to me if I left such as this, Rebecca thought.

  Bundy said Sir Stephen did not whip anyone. She shivered, remembering the cold expression on his face when he forbid her to use the perfume again. Bundy might be wrong in her case. Sir Stephen had appeared angry enough to strike before he stomped from her bedroom. So angry he did not even bother to test his bride to see if she were a virgin.

  Rebecca knew what being unwanted was like, but from Sir Stephen, it hurt more than ever.

  She avoided the servants and made her way back to her bedroom. Her bed had been redone, the room cleaned and dusted.

  My manuscripts. She ran her hand beneath the rustling shuck mattress, and sighed thankfully. The precious sheets of paper were still there. What would the servants, especially Malvina, say if they found such treasures as written pages in Lady Rebecca's room? Malvina would reveal her secret, she was certain.

  Would Steven forbid her to hold and read them? Even if she were learned in reading skills, it was not a popular thing for women to own valuable papers such as these.

  Even though Malvina was now her personal maid, Rebecca was beginning to have doubts as to her loyalty. Her first loyalty was to Sir Stephen, and who could blame her? He was her master and source of all her worldly goods, why should she not nurture his pleasures?

  Rebecca's heart twisted.

  When would she find someone who cared enough to be loyal? Was her situation any better now than with papa? She had always been able to understand people, to guess at their intentions, but had she been wrong about Malvina? She had been married a whole day and night, had not slept with her husband, and he had left the household without instructions as to how she was to pass her time until he returned.

  Her new life was proving to be confusing in a very short time.

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  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Rebecca searched for something to occupy her until it was time for Stephen to come from the fields. The servants had taken care of cooking and cleaning. There was much work to be done outside, but with the stormy weather, no one ventured onto the grounds.

  It had been a long time since she had read the manuscripts, so now she closed the bedroom door and pulled them from beneath the mattress. She decided it would be a mistake to allow Malvina to know she kept the coveted pages between the mattresses of her bed, and in the spring when beds were hung out the windows to sun, she would have to find a new hiding place.

  Her mind wandered from the writing she had thought so precious. What matter was it that there was love and tender romance in the laboriously written words? What about her life? Sixteen, married to a handsome man of wealth. She should not have to turn to stiff parchment for entertainment. She dreaded giving her body to Stephen, but was it not better to make herself useful than to be idle? Papa would never allow idleness, the devil's housekeeper, he said. But she was no longer bound by papa's harsh rulings and would have to stop comparing her present life to the past at Grinwold.

  Growing restless with her thoughts, Rebecca left her room to walk down the wide hallway toward the closed doors. One room, she knew, was Stephen's, but which one? Curious to see what sort of room her husband slept in, she stood outside a heavy door, hesitating before she put out her hand to turn the brass knob. The door swung inward, and she stared at a room twice the size of hers with an enormous square bed. The cover was deep blue and heavy drapes of the same linen material were pulled back from glazed glass windows. Underfoot was a thick navy and wine carpet the likes of which she had never seen.

  She crossed the room to an open door. Inside was a long wooden tub with an upholstered stool beside it. Sir Stephen's private bath. Across from her was another door as though he could go into an adjoining room. Backing away, she let her gaze roam once more around the bedroom, quite plainly a man's room with its heavy, expensive furniture. Double doors on the opposite wall might shut away his clothing. She didn't investigate. Instead, she hurried back out into the hallway. The room was intimately Sir Stephen's, and she felt like the intruder she was.

  She pulled the door closed behind her and, after a moment's hesitation, went to the next door. It was locked. Frowning, she stared down at the brass knob identical to the one on Stephen's door.

  Why would a guest bedroom door be locked? Surely, Malvina was required to clean and dust occasionally to keep it fresh.

  She looked back to Stephen's bedroom, then toward the stairway leading down into the great hall. Malvina was busy with downstairs duties and would not be up until she called Rebecca to eat hours from now. With a determined lift to her chin, she went back to the room she'd just left, opened the door and closed it behind her. Quickly, she crossed once more into the bathroom, past the large tub, to the closed door on the other side. The knob turned e
asily.

  Rebecca stepped into the room and stopped still. It was as though someone had just left it. The bed was freshly made, the white muslin curtains crisscrossed over glazed glass. A white chest with a crest of gold wings across the top drawer stood opposite the bed. Double doors indicated another closet.

  Entranced, she moved past the bed, trailing her fingers over the soft cover of white lace. By the chest was a single door, its brass knob as shiny as though recently polished. She opened it, staring into a small room that had nothing in it save for a small wine-colored rug in the center of the floor. At its edge were long scratches in the wood where something, perhaps a tub, had once rested. A small stand was in the corner. On its marble top was a delicate crystal decanter.

  She picked it up, sniffing at the top. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. It was the same scent Malvina had given her on her wedding night.

  She replaced the bottle and, leaving everything as she had found it, made her way back into the hallway.

  Malvina.

  Were she and Stephen lovers? If so, why had he married Rebecca when he could have married Malvina? Or just continued as her lover. It was his home. He could do as he wished. Had Malvina given her the perfume so that Stephen would be reminded of her? Was that why he raged at her?

  Inside her room, Rebecca leaned against the door and looked at the bed turned back for her to get into and rest. Rest. She had never been so rested. Her body was rested. Her mind could not.

  The guest bedroom—with its single bottle of perfume, perfume Sir Stephen forbid her to use. Whose fragrance?

  She started as the knock on the door vibrated against her backbone. She opened the door to look straight up into Stephen's dark blue eyes. She took a step backward and inclined her head.

  “My lord,” she said.

  His hair was plastered close to his scalp, drops of rain sparkled in his beard, and she could smell the wetness of his clothing.

  He stepped into the room.

  “You are well, Rebecca?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I am your husband, not your lord, Rebecca.”

  His hands came up to yank her to him, and his mouth was hard against hers. His lips, wet and cold, ground into hers and his hard tongue forced her lips apart.

  She didn't like to kiss that way. She struggled and twisted away from him. But Stephen was strong, and she had little chance to free herself if he wished to hold her. His mouth gentled on hers, his tongue withdrew as his lips brushed back and forth across her mouth, stirring an odd shivering within her. His big hands bunched the material of her dress under her arms, his thumbs resting beneath her breasts. She felt his warm breath in her mouth, the stiff brush of his beard on her chin.

  She was suddenly free, and she stared at the man who was her husband.

  “I have been hard at work, Rebecca. Surely it is not too much to ask for a kiss of welcome?”

  “N—no, my lord.” She couldn't help the stammer.

  “I will have to give lessons, I suppose, in teaching you my name.” He turned toward the door. “I am in need of a bath and food. Ask Malvina to see my meal is ready within the hour.”

  “Would you desire help with your bath, my ... S-Stephen?”

  His steps slowed, and then stopped. He turned, his gaze sweeping her slight figure, and a roguish glint brightened his eyes. He bowed from the waist.

  “I would greatly enjoy it, Lady Rebecca.” He stood aside to let her pass. “This way.” He took her elbow and guided her across the hall through an open doorway.

  “I have not asked Malvina to bring your meal,” she said, unable to meet the probing directness of his steady gaze.

  “Food can wait,” he said and pulled her into his arms. His mouth descended swiftly, catching Rebecca's lips parted. His tongue darted into her mouth and, as though remembering her withdrawal, he slipped his tongue over the surface of her teeth, over her lips, and finally pressed his closed mouth firmly over hers. She felt the hard demand, and then over the demand, she sensed a restraint as though he would go easy with her.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Rebecca pushed her face against Stephen's and her lips parted without thought from her. A strange warmth like the path of a shooting star trembled through her stomach, fluttering beneath her ribs. Stephen's hands slid over her buttocks, pressing her into a body hard and irregular to her flat stomach. She gasped as she realized what the rock hard thing was between them.

  “Ah, Rebecca.”

  His mouth left hers to trace a moist path down her cheek, his tongue whisked lightly into her ear, and he nibbled at the lobe before kissing her neck. He shivered and held her more tightly.

  Rebecca's eyes were wide open, staring at Stephen's thick hair ruffled over his collar. What else is there to making love? Is this all? She wondered. She sort of like it this way.

  Stephen's voice snatched her away from such thoughts.

  “Help me undress,” he said and pushed her far enough away that she could reach the hooks on his clothing.

  Once she had helped undress Richard when an angry bull hurt him. She knew how the shirt came off, but she had trouble with pants. Impatiently, her husband pushed her clumsy fingers away and almost immediately, stood naked in front of her.

  She gasped at the size of him. His shoulders were wide enough to block out the candle sputtering on the chest against the wall. His waist was narrow, flaring slightly to form tight-muscled hips. Fascinated, her eyes dropped, and she took a step backwards.

  “Do not be afraid, Rebecca,” he said. “I will try not to hurt you.” He tipped her head back. “First, you must bathe me. Come. Aubin left water in the tub for me.”

  Taking her hand, he led her into the small anterooms she had investigated on her own while Stephen was away from the big house. Without looking at her again, he stepped into the water, hunkering down with his knees drawn up so he could fit inside.

  Kneeling beside him, Rebecca took the rough cloth and began to bathe her husband.

  * * * *

  She never knew how he got from the water, or picked her up and crossed to the big bed with fresh smelling linens on it. His hands ripped at her clothing, and she was vaguely aware that he wadded them into a ball and threw them across her into the floor. Then she was crushed in his arms, his mouth moving roughly over hers, his hands seeking parts of her body never before touched by anyone.

  She whimpered but didn't pull away. Stephen whispered words she had not heard before. His breathing was heavy and rough, and then he was kneeling over her, spreading her legs with unsteady fingers. Gently, he touched her quivering softness.

  He looked into her wide, frightened eyes and kissed her lids closed.

  “I will try not to hurt you, Rebecca,” he whispered.

  But he did.

  His gentle probing changed into hard pressure, then into a frustrated struggle to enter her tight body. He pulled away for an instant, and then a sudden plunge brought forth a scream from her as pain tore through her body. His mouth muffled her cries as she felt the hot rush of his fluid inside her. He moaned deep in his throat, his entire body shuddered, and then went still.

  Rebecca's breath came in short, quick puffs, her eyes moist with tears, fingers clenched into Stephen's ribs. She had never hurt so, not even when papa whipped her with a wet rope. This pain was inside, and she felt as though she were torn into small pieces, bleeding from all of them.

  Stephen withdrew the powerful instrument from her body and sat up away from her. He turned away then back to let his gaze rest on her bare thighs. He winced and slowly let his eyes come up to meet hers, wide and dark in a small white face.

  “I will send Malvina to help you,” he said and stood up to reach for his shirt.

  “No.”

  Rebecca sat up and almost cried out at the sight of blood on her belly and legs, dripping onto the white sheets. “I ... I can do it.”

  “You should have help, Rebecca.”

  Her head came up. “No. I do not w
ish to be helped by Malvina.”

  “That is what she is here for. She knows what to do, and it is her duty.” Stephen brought her gown and draped it over her shoulders. “I am sorry, but it could not be helped. It is always so with a virgin.”

  She turned away.

  “I suppose you have had many such encounters.”

  He laughed. “Not too many virgins, my lady, but I have a bit of knowledge about women.”

  She climbed into the water he had left after his bath. It was cool, but it felt good to her aching body. She stiffened as Stephen's hands slid over her, bathing, moving down to her stomach to her thighs. Gently, he swished the water back and forth, and then lifted her to wrap her in the rough toweling he had used. He carried her across the hallway to her bed and placed her against the pillows and sat by her side.

  “Now you are my wife in more than name only. Your body is also mine.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And if you say ‘my lord’ once more, I will thrash you roundly, my pretty one.”

  She forgot his threat.

  “Do you think me pretty?” Never had anyone described her thus.

  Interest lit his eyes. It surprised Stephen to realize he did think her pretty. The crushed softness of her mouth, cheeks pink where his beard scraped, eyes a deep, deep blue, full of wonder at his words and at what he had done to her body.

  “Do not tell me all young ladies think otherwise. But, pretty or not, I mean what I say about a thrashing. Remember that.”

  With that, he pulled the cover up, kissed her mouth hard and turned to stride from the room. She did not see him again that evening. Instead, she lay staring into the darkness, thinking of the torment her body endured at Stephen's hands. It was certainly what every bride suffered according to her mother and Malvina. But Malvina said it would not hurt past the first time.

  Still, it wasn't too unpleasant. There was something warm about Stephen holding her tightly, forcing himself into her, and crying out when he spent his seed inside her.

  Would she be pregnant? It would be weeks before she knew since her flux had only just ceased.