She slept well into the day. He never stopped, traveling in a southwesterly direction. The fog lifted eventually, giving way to a semi-clear day. Garren stayed clear of the towns as Fergus had, choosing instead to stick to the trees and less-traveled paths. He expected to make terrible time this day, hardly to where he would have liked to have been. But Derica was sleeping, exhausted, and he wanted to be considerate of her. Still, his senses were painfully attuned to everything around them. He knew they were not safe from her father’s patrols and was torn between doing what he knew needed to be done for their own good, and wanting to be indulgent of his wife’s exhaustion.
Sunset came and there had been no signs of de Rosa’ patrols. He could only hope that Fergus had been successful in diverting them. The berg of Kettering loomed up ahead. Going against his instincts of staying to the woods, he wanted their first night as husband and wife to be spent in a place that was warm and comfortable.
There were three inns in the town. At sunset, most of the avenues were closing up for the night and there was little traffic on the streets. Garren reined his charger towards the largest of the three inns, a place called the Rough Head. It appeared good enough for his purposes.
When the charger came to a halt, Derica roused immediately. She blinked her eyes and sat up so quickly that she bashed Garren in the chin.
“I am sorry,” she said, rubbing the spot she had hit. “Are you all right?”
He let her massage it. “I have been hit harder,” he quipped. “So I see that you have awakened, Lady le Mon. Are you ready for a decent meal and a decent bed?”
She nodded gratefully. “More than you know.” She yawned. “I could sleep for a week.”
He dismounted the charger and lifted her off, kissing her twice before he set her feet on the ground. There was a boy sitting in the dirt outside of the inn; Garren tossed the boy two pence and asked him to feed and stable his charger for the night. The boy eagerly took the money and led the beast around the side of the building. Collecting Derica’s bag and his own saddlebags and weapon, they proceeded inside the establishment.
It was a smoky, loud place. Men and women were everywhere, eating and drinking and relieving themselves on the floor. Derica had never been in a tavern before; were she not used to the wild ways of her brothers, she might have been shocked. As it was, she was not easily startled. Garren was pleased to see that she was observing the happenings without stress. Holding her by one arm, he made his way through the madness to the barkeep.
He asked for a room and was told there was none. But a gold piece on the counter proved that there was indeed a room to be had. At the top of the stairs and to the right, Garren and Derica found themselves in a small room with a small bed. Oddly enough, it seemed relatively clean. Garren closed the door, bolted it, set their bags down. The noise from the room downstairs was a distant roar.
“I shall start a fire,” he said.
The fireplace was small and dark, but Garren soon had it smoking with a weak blaze. Derica sat down on the only chair, watching the flames glisten off of Garren’s coppery-blond hair. The events of the previous days seemed like a dream to her, but the reality of the silver ring around her finger told otherwise.
“It must have been a very uninteresting ride for you today with me passed out like a drunkard,” she said.
He turned from the fire, smiling at her. “It wasn’t uninteresting at all. I spent the entire day staring at my new wife.”
“And?”
“And I think I have married an angel.”
She blushed. “Oh, but you do flatter me, Sir Garren.”
“I speak the truth.”
He set the poker down and stood up. Derica watched with anticipation as he came over to her and pulled her to her feet. He took her in his arms, gazing deeply into her eyes before kissing her with such tenderness that Derica’s knees went weak. He suckled her top lip, her bottom lip, before his tongue carefully entered her mouth. Derica had never been kissed like that before, but took to it with eager abandon. She was eager to experience anything he wished to teach her.
He slid the cloak off of her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. With his wife in his arms, he moved to the small bed and carefully set her upon it. Slowly, he pushed her back until she was laying down, with his big body over her. He wrapped her in himself, feeling and tasting something he would gladly risk his life for a thousand times over.
Although he didn’t want to scare her, he was eager to explore her. But he restrained himself for the moment, kissing her, acquainting her with his touch and taste, before gently moving to the laces that his sister had struggled so to cinch up. With a tug, he released the tie and her bodice instantly loosened. She didn’t resist him, nor did she utter a word of protest, so he continued.
He was careful about loosening the bodice. But soon it was falling off of her shoulders and his hand snaked inside, stroking the silky flesh of her collarbone. Moving lower, he could feel the swell of her breast and he could not restrain himself from gently stroking, touching, moving toward the swollen nipple. When his fingers finally moved across the hard, red peak, he let out a ragged sigh. Had he possessed any less self-control, he would have taken her at that very moment.
His desire was beginning to overwhelm him. Her gown came off in inches, moving down her torso, exposing her breasts, before moving to her waist. He tugged gently, removing his own armor in pieces even as he undressed her, which was no easy feat. He kept his lips on hers constantly, kissing her until she could hardly breathe, tasting her deeply. In time, her gown was off and his tunic with it. His leg armor was a bit trickier and more than once he apologized, left her mouth, and unlatched something. Sections of armor hit the floor like metal rain drops.
When his breeches finally came off and they were both as naked as the day they were born, he stopped long enough to look at her; she was all he had known she would be. Her breasts were round and white, her stomach flat, her legs smooth and shapely. He admired her as one would have admired the most magnificent of sculptures, a work of art that could never be duplicated.
“What’s wrong?” Derica whispered.
“Nothing, sweetheart.”
“Then why do you stop?”
“To look at you.”
It was her first flash of self-consciousness and Garren gently grasped the hand that came up to cover her nakedness. He kissed her hand, her lips.
“No, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You will not hide from me. You’re the most glorious beauty I have ever laid eyes on.”
His kisses had fogged her mind. But when he stopped, the fog cleared and Derica was becoming uncomfortable with her state.
“Garren, I….”
“What?”
She wasn’t sure how to put the words. “I… I have never let anyone, save Aglette, see me without clothing. I am not sure….”
“I am your husband. ’Tis my right, and only mine, to see you unclothed. Does this disturb you?”
She shrugged. “It should not, I know, but….”
“If you are uncomfortable, we can stop. I shall be content to hold you in my arms all night long, with or without clothing, however you wish.”
She looked into his eyes and steadied herself. “I do not want to stop,” she assured him. “I have been waiting for this moment for as long as you have.”
He touched her face, her hair. When he spoke, it was almost a prayer. “Christ, what have I done in my life to deserve someone like you?”
She smiled timidly, trying to be brave, anxious of what was about to happen between them. All she knew was that she wanted him, although she knew not how.
His body was big, hard, warm and musky. Though she’d never known a man intimately, she knew he was something she would come to crave. As he kissed her strongly, his hands moved to her breasts and he fondled her tenderly. His mouth moved down her neck, biting her gently, until he reached her nipples.
Derica gasped as his warm and wet mouth began to suckle her, gently at
first but with increasing ardor. When he finally took her, it was with little pain. She thought the sensation a bit uncomfortable at first, but that quickly passed. The fog of passion quickly shrouded her mind again and her body began to behave in a way she never thought possible. She clung to him, wrapped herself around him, relishing every move he made. She could hear herself gasp with every touch, every stroke, and it oddly excited her.
Excited was not an adequate word for Garren. He’d never had anything so sweet. It was as if they had been doing this together their entire life, so brilliant the sensations. Although he’d always exhibited remarkable control, he knew he would not last much longer with her. He could feel his loins burning with a fire that could not be controlled. When he touched the place where their bodies joined, Derica stiffened and cried out as though seized by the most exquisite pain. It was his undoing, and he allowed himself a tremendous release. His thrusts slowed until they stopped completely as their first frenzy of passion was sated.
It was dark in the room, quiet but for the crackling of the fire. Wrapped in Garren’s arms, melded to his flesh by heat and sweat, Derica lingered in the wonderful world between a dream and reality. She never wanted the night to end; to lie with him, as they were, for eternity would have been fine with her. Garren continued to caress her, rub her, his kisses soft against her forehead.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
She sighed contentedly, snuggling closer to him. “I have died and gone to heaven.”
He laughed softly. “I know how you feel.”
There were no more words spoken for some time. Garren’s touch said everything words could not. Derica fell asleep in his arms, waking abruptly when he stirred.
He was out of the bed, pulling the coverlet over her before she was aware of what he was doing.
“What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily.
“Nothing, sweetheart.” He was over by the window, peering out of the oilcloth. “Go back to sleep.”
She sat up. “Did you hear something?”
His eyes were riveted to the street below the inn. He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I heard horses,” he let the oilcloth fall back. “Just a merchant. I doubt your father and his horde would be in disguise.”
She heard his words, but her focus was centered on the sight before her; frankly, she’d never seen a nude man before. Garren’s shoulders were impossibly wide, his neck thick and his chest muscular and broad. His torso was narrow and rippled with muscles. As he turned to look for his breeches and weapon, she noticed the perfect roundness of his buttocks and the defined muscles of his legs. She felt her cheeks grow hot and her heart race, slightly embarrassed but wildly attracted at the same time.
Garren noticed she was staring at him. He picked up his broadsword and leaned it against the wall, grinning. “Is there something I can help you with, Lady le Mon?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you are staring at me as if I am a prized bull. Is there something I can do for you?”
She blushed furiously. “No.”
His grin widened as he made his way over to the bed, breeches in hand. “Are you sure? I would be happy to….”
“No!”
She flopped back down on the bed and pulled the covers over her head. Garren laughed softly, tugging at the covers she was holding so tightly.
“Are you sure?” he teased. “Do you require my services again, perhaps? Or maybe you would like me to parade around so that you may stare at me until you have had your fill.”
She growled at him. “Go away.”
“You can touch, you know. Anything you want.”
She shrieked softly in frustration and he continued to laugh at her. He finally stopped trying to pull the covers off of her and, instead, bundled them up all around her and gave her a massive hug. She squealed like a child, with delight, and yanked the covers off of her head. Her hair was wild over her face and they grinned at each other, playfully.
“I am thinking on going down and getting us some food,” he said. “What say you?”
“I am famished.”
“Then I shall return shortly.”
“Can I come?”
“You don’t want to rest here, in bed, and have a man serve you?”
She made a face at him and tossed off the coverlet. Garren helped her cinch up the peasant bodice, not so much helping her as stealing a touch of her skin now and again. Their entire world now was filled with discovery, laughter, and new sensations. Derica grabbed the comb and tamed her hair, securing it at the nape of her neck with a piece of cloth the sisters had packed for her. Garren stood behind her as she groomed, running his hands down her torso, around her waist. He watched her face as she fumbled with her hair. He was completely fascinated by her.
He left her long enough to put on his tunic, boots, and strap the sword to his waist. With his wife in hand, he quit the room and descended the stairs in to the loud, smoky hall.
It was more crowded than when they had first arrived. People were laughing, eating, and becoming riotously drunk. Garren kept hold of Derica as he ordered food from the barkeep and went in search of a table for the two of them. Derica wanted to eat in the hall, since she had never been to a tavern before. Garren hoped that one meal in such a place would cure her of any further curiosity. He couldn’t see any charm to it, but she did.
The only table they could find was a small one by the hearth. Garren sat with his back to the wall, facing the room, and Derica within arm’s length. She was chatting on about something, but he was only half-listening. His attention was on two knights on the far side of the room. Knights tended to have a special sense around each other, always knowing another knight, another potential enemy or ally. But Garren’s circumstances were slightly different in that his knightly duties took on a more subversive role. It was essential he be completely aware of his surroundings at all times.
“Did you hear me?”
Derica was asking him a question. Garren looked away from the men in the corner and smiled at her. “I am sorry, I did not. What did you say, sweetheart?”
“I asked you if you’d ever been to Rome. Surely coming back from the Holy Land, you must have passed through?”
He shook his head. “I have not been to Rome.” It wasn’t the time to tell her, yet, that he’d never been to the Holy Land. “Is that some place you wish to go?”
She nodded. “I hear they have all manner of ancient buildings, built by the gods of some olden race. And there is a huge theatre where men fight to the death.”
“I have heard of this also,” he said. “Perhaps we will go there some day, if it would make you happy.”
Her face lit up. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course.”
She leapt up and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Garren, I am so happy. Thank you for being so wonderful to me.”
He held her, flashes of the truths he must eventually tell her filling his mind. He’d pushed everything aside in light of recent events, but now with the event of their marriage and life together, he knew that he must tell her the truth of the matter soon. It was not fair to hold anything back from her. He struggled not to be fearful of how she would react, knowing he had basically lied to her.
“We will go anywhere you wish,” he gently sat her back in her chair; the knights in the corner had noticed him and eye contact had been made. He didn’t want Derica between him and any hostilities that might erupt. “Is there somewhere else you might like to visit?”
She was a-gaggle about their potential travel. Most definitely, she wanted to visit Spain and Corsica. Greece was another place she would like to go. Garren lost track of all of the places she had heard of as his study of the two knights intensified.
“But what if we have children right away?” she was saying. “Will we take them with us? Certainly we cannot leave them behind. Do you suppose…?”
Garren didn’t hear her after that. The knights in the corner were shifting; bot
h of them were looking at him. Suspecting something might erupt, Garren took her by the hand and pulled her from the chair.
“Let us eat in our room,” he said. “I do not wish to share you with these ruffians out here.”
“But…,” Derica looked disappointed. “Very well, then. If that is your wish.”
He barely got her to the stairs before the knights were on them. Derica was on the first step when the growling voice came.
“Le Mon.”
Garren was cool. He turned, placing himself between his wife and the knights. The men tossed their cloaks off, revealing the swarthy features of one and the clean shaven features of the other. Garren immediately recognized them, and his heart sank. He knew them both, and not on good terms.
“De Claare,” he wanted them to know that he was not off-guard. “I see you have brought your trained dog with you.”
The swarthier knight snarled in response, but the other, a man with short black hair, smiled thinly.
“Torres is indeed a dog,” he said. “And he bites. Imagine finding you here in the wilds of Northampton. What are you doing so far from Chepstow?”
“Nothing worthy of your notice.”
“Ah, but you are in my territory. My liege is Leicester and you, my friend, are far from the support of Richard’s great Chancellor. I am sure my liege will be very interested to know you are here.”
“Leicester is a traitor. He defiles England with the very air he breathes.”
“A matter of opinion.” De Claare cocked an eyebrow. “Tell me something, le Mon; why would a knight of your reputation and stature fight for a king that has barely set foot on English soil? I do not understand it.”
“That is because you are too stupid to realize the truth.” Compounding his current concerns was the fact that Derica was hearing tantalizing clues to his true self. “Leave peaceably now and you leave with your life, de Claare. I shall not make the offer again.”
De Claare shook his head. “When last we met at that skirmish at Corfe Castle and you forced my men to surrender before the Marshal’s armies, I told you that if I saw you again I would kill you. I meant it.”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 41