by Tamara Leigh
“I shall.” Durand motioned to the men-at-arms. “Heath’s guard will ensure no ill befalls you across Wiltford lands.”
Offense flickered in the man’s eyes, but he said, “An escort. You are too kind.”
Durand reined around.
Abel and Elias did the same, but the former paused and said across his shoulder, “Methinks I would enjoy giving you lessons, Baron Soames, beginning with courtesy. Do you grow the courage to be instructed, come to me at Wulfen.”
Then the three put spurs to their mounts and set off across the meadow. Back to Durand’s wedding celebration. Back to his bride.
Ignoring the restless shifting of his men and escort, Lothaire breathed deep and exhaled much of his anger. He did want his father’s body returned for proper interment, but of greater import this day was that he fool Sir Durand. He had not, but neither had the new baron discovered his equal’s true purpose on Wiltford.
Lothaire had not trespassed to do Marshal and his wife harm but to keep them from harm. And so he had, as evidenced by those he and a half dozen men had taken to ground shortly before the approach of Heath’s guard. Blessedly, he had received enough warning to allow him and two of his men to lead their pursuers astray.
Inwardly, he groaned. Silently, he berated the Lady of Lexeter. If he did not wish to make a lifelong enemy of Durand Marshal—and his friend, whose offer of Wulfrith instruction ought to greatly offend—he would have to control his mother better.
“Tell your bride for what her groom slipped from the donjon and was gone for half an hour.”
Surely they were not words Durand expected to hear once the door closed behind those who put the couple to bed to ensure consummation sealed the marriage, but the question had pecked at Beata for hours.
Her husband, who moved his appreciative gaze down her where she sat beside him amid stacked pillows, looked up. “You, Lady Beata Marshal, were to be too distracted by the jongleur and his dancing dogs to note my absence.”
She smiled. “But note it I did, as well as that of Sirs Elias and Abel who followed you out of doors within minutes of each other.”
He grimaced.
Angling toward him, she looked nearer on the man who was more bared than she, and for which she had shown maidenly modesty in the presence of those who had delivered him to the nuptial chamber. His chest and abdomen were thickly muscled as she had known from their embraces. What she had not expected was how terrible the scar that started at his lower rib and coursed his side to disappear beneath the waistband of his braies—doubtless, the life-threatening injury sustained in saving Beatrix Wulfrith’s life.
“Now you allow yourself to be distracted,” he murmured.
She swept the green of her eyes to the golden-brown of his. “Ah, but at last I am where I so longed to be that I should be ashamed of how impatient I grew to see day into night.”
He raised an eyebrow, drew her left hand onto his lap, and pressed a thumb to her inner wrist. “You are saying all this jumping beneath your skin is but impatience?”
Though her face warmed, she said, “Excitement as well.”
He chuckled, but soon turned serious. “What of unease?” At her frown, he said, “I speak of that accursed physician.”
Tears pricked, not for what had been required of her but for his concern. “Not only has it been months and months, but I am not so vestal I do not know that becoming one with you will be as different from that humiliation as hope is from hopelessness.” She shifted nearer. “As Lady Helene assured—methinks she also feared my impatience was unease—the night ahead will be the most beautiful of all. The first knowing, she called it.”
“The first knowing,” he mused, then raised her hand to his mouth. As candlelight played among the facets of the sapphire given by Eleanor to see the widow made a wife and the vestal undone, he kissed each finger.
Sensations shivered through her, tempting her to allow her question to remain unanswered. “You seek to further distract me, Husband. And you are almost succeeding.”
He pressed her hand to his heart. “You will not be content with being only my wife and the mother of our children, will you, Beata?”
“I would be by your side in all things—not only the good.”
“Then all the more vigilant I shall have to be in protecting you.”
“As long as it keeps you near, I will not complain. Now tell, why did you leave your bride in the midst of our celebration?” A celebration attended by Baron Wulfrith and his wife, and which Lady Gaenor had assured Beata by way of a missive that her husband and she would have attended had she not recently given birth.
Durand sighed. “Abel, Elias, and I rode out to meet Soames.”
She startled. “The baron was here?”
“He and two men were intercepted near Heath. Soames told he was upon Wiltford only to shorten the ride to Lexeter, and that may be, but I thought it best to provide him an escort off the barony.”
“Then he did not ask for the return of his father’s body?” Certain his family would wish a proper burial, it was long expected—and dreaded. Though since Beata’s return, her sire’s disposition had improved, he refused to speak further about the murder.
“At the end of our discussion, he asked for it,” Durand said, “and I assured him that when I learn its location, he will receive it.”
“He could not have been pleased to learn it remains unknown.”
“He was not. Regardless, he said I should tell you he wishes you all happiness. And I believe he was sincere.”
“As proved, he is not all bad—perhaps not bad at all.” She rose onto her knees beside her husband. “And now, methinks, we ought to see his wish granted.”
Durand smiled, slid a hand over the side of her neck, and slowly drew his fingers through the tresses she wore like a mantle. “Do you know how many times I longed to undo all of your braid and see your hair down around your shoulders?”
She laughed. “And now you shall every night, Baron Marshal. But tell, what is to follow?”
Fixing his gaze on hers, he also rose to his knees. “Better I show you.” As he loosened the laces of her chemise that coursed from neck to waist, he lightly touched his mouth to hers. Too lightly, since he had shortened his beard to the length when first they had met.
Beata leaned in and deepened the kiss, and he responded as ardently. But as if reminding himself to proceed slowly, he stilled hands that had begun to raise her chemise, lifted his head, and breathed deep. “My lady, methinks the first knowing ought to be savored.”
Wanting his lips on hers again, his hands where she had yet to feel them, she said, “Methinks it just ought to be,” and drew back a space, further loosened her laces, and let the chemise fall from her shoulders and down around her knees.
He stared, said low, “My lady!”
Beata slid her arms around his neck. “Do not say it, Husband.”
“What?”
“Behave.”
He laughed, pulled her near. “Forsooth, I was thinking the opposite.” He kissed her brow and nose and said against her lips, “Do not behave, my love.”
Dear Reader,
Thank you for returning with me to the Age of Faith series and the redeemed Sir Durand Marshal whose romance was three long years in the making (believe me, I felt those years as much as he and his beloved). If you enjoyed Durand and Beata’s love story, I would really, truly, most sincerely appreciate a review of THE VEXING at your online retailer: Amazon
For a peek at the seventh book readers have asked for—the tale of Lady Laura from THE YIELDING—an excerpt of THE AWAKENING follows and provides a closer look at that hero in the making, Sir Lothaire Soames. Also included is an excerpt of Lady Betrayed, my final—and most difficult—Clean Read rewrite of the USA Today Bestseller, BLACKHEART. Enjoy!
Wishing you hours upon hours of happily-ever-after reading ~ Tamara
For new releases and special promotions, subscribe to Tamara Leigh’s mailing list: www.tamaraleig
h.com
EXCERPT
THE AWAKENING: Book Seven (Age Of Faith)
From USA Today Bestseller, Tamara Leigh, comes the seventh book in the AGE OF FAITH series—featuring Lady Laura of THE YIELDING and Sir Lothaire Soames of THE VEXING. Releasing Winter 2017/18
PROLOGUE
Barony of Owen, England
Spring, 1152
Beware the Delilah, my son. Beware the Jezebel.
That warning again, ever near though it did not belong in the space between this young woman and him. She was no Delilah. No Jezebel. Were she, his mother would not have chosen her for the heir of Lexeter.
She was pure, younger than he, and only pretty enough to please him so he did not stray from vows exchanged a year hence when she attained her fifteenth year and he his nineteenth. Only pretty enough to ensure those who sought to make a cuckold of him would not be overly tempted to make a harlot of her.
He nodded.
She laughed. “If you are done conversing with yourself, Lord Soames…” She leapt in front of him and danced backward to allow him to maintain his stride. “…mayhap you would like to converse with me.”
Lothaire scowled amid the embarrassment warming his face. “You are too expressive, Lady Laura.”
She arched eyebrows above eyes so dark they might haunt did they not sparkle like stars on a moonless night. “You make that sound a bad thing. Fie on you! I shall not be ashamed I am pleased to see you again.” She bobbed her head forward. “And more so without your mother.”
He halted. “What is wrong with my mother? You do not like her?”
She stilled her own feet, clapped a hand over her mouth, and smiled on either side of it.
The sight of her—so lovely and happy—made his heart convulse. And stirred his body as it should not. “Lady Laura!”
She dropped her hand but not her smile. “Do not take offense, Lord Soames. I did not say I do not like her, severe though she is. I am simply glad to be alone with you.”
Only possible because the Lady of Lexeter had taken ill. Despite his mother’s attempt to sit the saddle, they had barely gained the drawbridge before she became so light of head she had to accept he alone would journey to visit his betrothed. Lothaire had been secretly pleased, hating her constant attendance that made him seem a boy.
“As we are to wed,” Lady Laura continued, “we ought to know each other better, and now we can.” She threw her arms wide, dropped her head back, and whirled. “’Tis a beautiful day to fall in love!”
Appalled yet entranced, he stared. Such frivolity had not been apparent six months past when his mother accompanied him to the barony of Owen to determine if the girl fostered by Lady Maude D’Arci would make a suitable wife.
For hours, the young lady who was to bring a generous dowry to her marriage had sat quietly with hands folded and slippered feet tight against each other, speaking only when spoken to. She had seemed shy, and only twice had he caught her looking at him. What had happened these past months that she thought it appropriate to behave in such a manner? And speak of love!
She ceased whirling, released a long breath. “I will make you talk to me, Lord Soames. I vow I shall! And you will laugh, as I know you wish to do.”
“My lady!”
She held up a hand. “If we are to wed, you must accept that though I shall be the gracious noblewoman in the company of others, when ’tis you and me, I shall be… Well, I shall be me, as I would have you be you. Now the question is”—she stepped nearer, tilted her head—“who are you?”
He could hardly breathe for how close she stood. More, for how much he wanted to put his arms around her and match his mouth to hers.
She raised an eyebrow. “I wait.”
He swallowed loudly, said tightly, “I am your betrothed, the man for whom you will bear children and keep a good household.”
She groaned. “That is not who you are. Lady Maude assured me ’tis not.”
“Lady Maude?”
“She said once you are away from your mother, you will not be dull as I told her I feared—”
“I am not dull!”
She wrinkled her nose. “I believe what I see and feel, not merely what is told me. So show me, Lord Soames, the life we share will be blessed with far more laughter than tears.”
Again, he stared. Again, his body stirred.
She swung away. “Chase me!”
“What?”
“I wish to be chased, Lothaire,” she called over her shoulder. “And caught.” Hitching up her skirts, she ran, unbound hair flying out behind her, sunlight gliding over strands of red amid warm brown.
“This is unseemly, Lady Laura!”
More laughter, but not mocking. It called to the boy in him he had thought shut away. Still, he held his feet to the beaten path that led to the pond she assured him lay just beyond the castle walls.
That had been his first mistake, allowing her to persuade him to leave the garden. And his second mistake he would make if he gave chase. But she grew distant and would soon go from sight.
A lady alone in the wood. His lady.
He gripped his sword hilt and ran.
Though swift, his legs long and muscled, she made it even easier for him to overtake her, staying just far enough ahead to reach the bank of the promised pond.
She spun around, propped her hands on her hips, and past an open-mouthed smile, said, “Methinks Lady Maude is right. You are not dull.”
He should have drawn up far short of her, but his feet carried him to within an arm’s reach. “Lady, we must return to the castle.”
“We shall, but first…” She stepped near, laced slender fingers with his that had never seemed so large and clumsy. But before he could correct her for being so familiar, she turned and lightly settled her shoulder against his. “Look, Lothaire. Is it not lovely?”
She was lovely. Not simply pretty as was required.
“I am fond of this place,” she said as he followed her gaze across and around the pond. “When I was little, Lady Maude brought her son and me here on the hottest of days and we swam and played in the water.”
“You speak of Simon?” he said to distract himself from the soft hand he should not be holding. He knew it was Simon, Lady Maude and her departed husband’s only child. Though Lothaire liked the lady’s stepson, who was now Lord of Owen, there was something about the half-brother that bothered—something beyond the feeling Simon D’Arci did not like him. Their one encounter this day was brief since the young man was preparing to return to the lord from whom he received knighthood training, but it disturbed. And Lothaire was glad when Simon had departed two hours past.
He frowned. “Surely you do not still swim here with Lady Maude’s son?”
His betrothed looked up. “I do not. ’Twould be improper now we are no longer children.”
His mother would not like that Simon and she had ever frolicked here, and neither did he, but though that could cause Raisa Soames to reject this young woman, Lothaire was now a man. He would determine what was acceptable.
“But once you and I are wed…” she made a song of her words and angled her head toward the pond. “Methinks it permissible for husband and wife to swim together.”
The thought of going into the water with her once more making him overly aware of their bodies, he told himself to release her hand and put distance between them.
Told himself.
Her sparkling eyes returned to his. “Perhaps even bathe together, hmm?”
He caught his breath, heard his mother’s words again—Beware the Delilah, my son. Beware the Jezebel.
He cast off her hand. “You should not speak thus, Lady. ’Tis sinful!”
She blinked rapidly as if slapped, and as the light in her eyes fell to earth alongside her smile, whispered, “Forgive me.” She sidestepped. “Oh, Lady Maude shall be disappointed. I am a lady. Truly, I am. I just…” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “I am pleased you wish to take me to wife, Lord Soames. Y
ou are young and handsome, and I am certain you are kind. I but wish to make you as happy with me as I am with you.”
Still, his mother would not overlook such behavior, but the man he was decided she could be forgiven. She was very young and would mature much before they wed—especially once Lady Maude was made aware of her ward’s deficiencies and set to correcting them.
Lady Laura lifted her chin, and he saw her eyes sparkled again, but not with joy or mischief. “You are not pleased with me, are you?”
Struggling against the impulse to pull her close and wipe away her tears, he clenched his hands at his sides. “I make allowances for your age, my lady, confident a year hence you will be nearer a woman than a girl.”
His words offended, as told by a different sort of light in those dark eyes, but it scattered and she said, “Much can happen in a year. Be patient, and I shall not disappoint you or Lady Maude who has been so good to me.”
The lady had been generous, fostering Laura since the age of five following her mother’s passing that had left her husband with one female child to raise among six males.
“You…” She moistened her lips, and he saw they trembled. “…will not be too harsh in telling Lady Maude of my failings, will you? She will count herself responsible, and she is not. Ever I have been excitable.” A tear spilled over, and she clapped a hand to her cheek as if to hide it. But another fell. “Oh, how the fluff upon the air irritates my eyes!”
Dear Lord, Lothaire silently appealed, she should not so captivate.
But she did, and he had only himself to blame when he breached the space between them and set his mouth on hers. He had kissed a few chambermaids—the extent of his carnal sin—but he was familiar enough with the intimacy to know this was different. The taste of Laura was more than pleasant. It was sweet, like the honey milk of his childhood.