Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He set the trunks down against the wall and looked at her, displeased with her answer. “I am serious.”

  She grinned. “So am I,” she said. Then, she pointed to the window. “I saw you and Kerk coming across the road so I knew it was you.”

  He stared at her a moment before breaking down into a grin. “Saucy wench,” he muttered. Then, he noticed the table behind her, full of food and drink, with a fat, drippy taper to light the meal. “What do you have for my supper, wife?”

  Wife. It was the first time he had called her by her new station in life. Brighton was eyeing the prettily painted trunks but turned to see what had his attention. She smiled, bashfully.

  “I asked a serving wench to bring food to us,” she said, moving to the table to point things out. “There is a capon pie, boiled carrots and beans, cabbage potage, and bread. I will admit that I did not wait for you and have tasted everything. It is delicious.”

  He laughed softly, moving to the table and putting his arm around her shoulders as he looked over the feast. “I do not blame you,” he said. “I am rather hungry. Shall we eat before it grows too cold?”

  Brighton was more than eager to sit down and eat, considering the food had been brought up nearly an hour ago. She sat down on a three-legged stool, leaving the only chair in the room for Patrick and his big bulk. He removed his tunic and mail coat, tossing both onto the bed, before planting himself in the chair.

  Patrick began pulling the bread apart, giving Brighton the soft cream-colored innards as he took the crust. It was a polite thing to do, the gentlemanly thing to do, and Brighton was very appreciative. Taking the big knife on the table, she buttered her bread with the soft white spread.

  “Did you find what you were looking for when you went out?” she asked innocently, thinking of the trunks he’d brought in.

  Patrick wasn’t unaware that she was fishing for information. He fought off a grin. “Mayhap I did,” he said evasively. “Mayhap I did not.”

  Brighton looked at him, her lips twisted wryly. “You brought something back so you clearly must have found what you were looking for.”

  Patrick took the nearest spoon and shoveled some of the capon pie into his mouth. “It is possible,” he said, his eyes glimmering at her. “I have noticed something about you.”

  He was trying to change the subject and Brighton wasn’t entirely unaware but she was growing frustrated. “What have you noticed?” she asked.

  He shoveled more food into his mouth. “That you no longer have a stammer in your speech,” he said. “Do you realize you have been speaking to me ever since we were married with perfect speech?”

  She hadn’t. Her eyes widened and she instinctively put her fingers to her lips. “I have?” she said, astonished. “But I have always had a catch in my speech. Sometimes worse than others.”

  Patrick watched her as she struggled with her confusion and surprise. “I have not heard it since the church.”

  Brighton was truly at a loss. “But… how can that be?” Then, she looked more astonished than before. “Is it a miracle?”

  He smiled faintly, taking her free hand with his big fingers. “Possibly,” he said softly. “But it could also be because the Bridey before today was an uncertain, nervous creature. Nervous of her future, fearful of everything. But the moment I asked you to marry me… that Bridey ceased to exist. With me by your side, what do you have to fear? There is no need for you to be nervous or uncertain. Mayhap your heart understood that even if your mind did not.”

  Brighton continued to run her fingers over her lips, still puzzled by the entire situation. “I have not even realized,” she said, awed. “But… but mayhap it is true. What has happened today… what has been said… I still feel as if I am living a dream, Atty. Do you?”

  He nodded, noting that he had again called him Atty. “I do,” he said, his smile returning. “And I see that you are officially one of the family in that you now call me Atty. The name never sounded so sweet.”

  She laughed softly. “Your brother, Thomas, told me that I should call you that on the day I arrived from Berwick,” she said. “I refused to do it because it did not seem appropriate. But now… now, it does.”

  “Now you are one of the family. The most important one to me.”

  She beamed, returning to her food and eating with gusto. Patrick watched her, pouring her wine and still more wine when she drank the entire first cup. In truth, he was feeding her wine with a purpose – so she would not be so nervous with what was to come. The more she would drink, the more he would pour.

  All the while she ate heartily, including almost all of the cabbage potage and a good deal of the bread and butter. But after her second bowl of potage, and on her third cup of wine, she finally came to a halt. Patrick watched her over the rim of his cup as she wiped her forehead, seemingly exhausted and sick from too much food.

  “Have you eaten your fill, my lady?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Indeed,” she said. “Truthfully, I do not think I have eaten so much in one day, ever. First it was the beef in the bread bowls and now it is potage and capon pie. I feel as if I am about to burst.”

  He smiled as he set his cup down. “I know how you feel.”

  She looked at his trencher, which was picked clean. So was everything else on the table. She looked up at him with surprise. “All of the food is gone.”

  “It is. You ate it all. Or do you not remember?”

  Her expression suggested horror until she realized he was teasing her. The wine in her veins caused her to burst out in silly giggles.

  “I did not,” she insisted. “You did.”

  “You cannot prove that.”

  She pointed at the table. “I sat here and watched you,” she said. “Would you truly dare to tell everyone that I am a glutton? Do I look like I could eat all of that food?”

  Truth was, Patrick had a good deal of wine in his veins, too, and there was another one of those suggestive questions. His gaze drifted down her body, wearing one of the dresses his sister, Evelyn, had given her. Evelyn had never looked so good in that dress, clinging to every curve. Or perhaps he’d never noticed. In any case, the dress looked incredibly seductive on Brighton.

  “I am not entirely sure,” he said. “Stand up. I want to see where it is you pack away all of this food.”

  He only wanted to see her body, but Brighton was oblivious to his desire. Naïve in such suggestive games, she stood up and opened her arms, spinning a circle before him and throwing herself off balance because of the wine. “Look,” she said. “I have no place to put it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am.”

  “Come here.”

  She did, standing in front of him but weaving rather drunkenly. Patrick reached up and put his hands on her waist, completely encircling it. When she saw his hands go around her torso, his fingers touching each other, she giggled uncontrollably and he grinned. He was rather swept up in her silly giggles. The woman had an overabundance of charm that she was only just discovering and, fortunately for him, he was the recipient. He could have listened to her giggle all night, but that wasn’t what they were going to be doing all night.

  He had something else in mind.

  Pulling her to him, his lips captured hers, hungrily and forcefully. He put his arms around her, pulling her in between his legs. Brighton gasped at first, startled by what was probably a rather demanding action, but she quickly succumbed to his kiss. He could tell because her entire body went limp and her arms, soft and warm, looped around his neck. Feeling the rush of lust flow through his veins at her reaction, he stood up from his chair and picked her up all in the same motion.

  Brighton wasn’t a tiny woman but in his arms, she was as light as a feather. He carried her over to the bed, which was far from the table and in the shadows because of the only lit taper in the room was over where their meal had been. There was a fire in the hearth, but not a big one because of the warmth of the day, so as he laid her on
the mattress, they were essentially in darkness. Still, he could see enough of her.

  But he wanted to see all of her.

  His mail and tunic were lying on the end of the bed and he swept them off as he placed her upon the bed. He was still wearing a padded tunic and then yet another lightweight linen tunic under that. He quickly ripped them off and cast them aside. Clad only in his breeches, which were essentially drop-front and cinched up with leather ties, he came down on top of her, his mouth claiming hers once more and hearing her grunt as his weight pressed upon her. But she didn’t complain so he didn’t move.

  His onslaught grew. The wine he had imbibed was heating his loins, something that always happened when he had too much to drink, and he quickly unfastened the side of Brighton’s surcoat. He was rather good at undressing women and proud of the fact that he was. So his fingers deftly navigated the ties and he pulled at the dress to get it off of her even as she awkwardly tried to help him.

  But he didn’t want her help. He wanted to show her what it was for a man to make love to a woman, for a husband to bed a wife, and he wanted to do all of the work so she could understand what it meant to physically please another person. He knew she had no concept of such things.

  Also, he was being the slightest bit impatient because he didn’t want to stop and explain things to her. There; he’d admitted it. He didn’t want to talk his way through this. He simply wanted her to be silent while he had his way with her.

  His plans were working quite well until he came to her shift and Patrick considered it a barrier to his wants. He was frustrated because it was rather snug and he wasn’t able to yank it over her head in one movement. He actually struggled with the thing, trying to pull it off and being denied more than once. He was coming to think that it was like the damnable walls around a fortress – the shift was the walls and the keep was Brighton’s naked body. He had to breach those walls and make way to the keep. Another couple of tugs and the shift finally came up over her head. He heard her shriek softly, perhaps embarrassed by her nakedness, but he didn’t pay much attention. He was more concerned with unfastening his breeches.

  Once they were open, Patrick fell upon her, once more, coming into contact with her soft, warm skin. His mouth found her neck while a hand went straight to her breast. Victory! He’d breached the walls and now he was beginning his assault of the keep! As he suckled the tender skin of her neck, he could feel her nipple hardening beneath his palm and he squeezed gently, feeling her jump with surprise. And probably some fear. But that was to be expected considering she’d never had anyone breach her keep before.

  Oh, God, was that what it had come down to? The wine was making him think most foolishly, equating bedding his virgin wife to laying siege. But that’s essentially what he was doing – assaulting the woman he had married. In order to consummate the marriage, that was exactly what he had to do – breach her. She wasn’t fighting him but she was probably somewhat terrified.

  Therefore, he slowed his onslaught. He truly didn’t want to frighten her. Taking a deep breath, Patrick lifted his head from her neck and saw that she was laying there with her eyes tightly closed. He tapped her gently on the cheek.

  “Are you well?” he asked huskily.

  Brighton’s eyes popped open. When she looked at him, he could see the fear. “Aye,” she breathed.

  “Are you sure?”

  She simply nodded her head and he kissed her mouth, gently. “I am sorry if I frightened you,” he murmured. “Lie still and you will enjoy this. If you do not, tell me. I will do all I can to make you comfortable.”

  Hesitantly, she nodded and he kissed her mouth again and stroked her cheek before continuing onward in his tender offensive. His kisses slowed and he shifted his body weight off of her, the hand on her breast moving gently now, tenderly, acquainting her with his touch. But she was full-breasted, with both nipples hard, and his vow to slow his pace was in danger of breaking. He very much wanted to sate his lust but, for once, he pushed that primal need aside.

  This time, it was different.

  “Relax,” he murmured against the swell of her breast. “It will make everything easier.”

  He could feel her take a deep breath as she struggled to calm her racing heart; he could hear it when he lay his head upon her chest. His tongue snaking out to toy with a nipple and she shuddered. He shuddered. The wine was giving him very little control in spite of the fact that he had vowed to go slowly with her. His lust for her was so great that he evidently wasn’t capable of moving slowly. Shifting his big body, he wedged himself between her supple legs.

  Unused to the vulnerable position, Brighton kept trying to close her legs as Patrick kept trying to keep them open. He got into a wrestling match with her knees until he was finally able to overtake them and keep them pinned, one on either side of his body. Then, and only then, did he resume his gentle kisses on her belly while a big hand moved down to the junction between her legs.

  There was a soft matting of dark curls there and he touched her very carefully at first, allowing her to become acquainted with his touch, before moving forward with his fingers gently probing her. The pink flower was quivering and wet. He put his fingers into her body, listening to her gasp. Something between ecstasy and alarm. Patrick could hardly hold himself back as he lowered his breeches around his thighs and slowly, firmly, entered her body.

  Even if Brighton was utterly naïve to the ways of men and women, her body was innately sensitive to the primal mating ritual, something that men and women had been doing for thousands of years. It was in her blood even if it wasn’t in her mind. She was hot and wet, but Patrick could feel her tensing up beneath him even as he slipped into her body. When he could slip no more, he drew back, coiled his buttocks, and drove into her.

  Beneath him, Brighton gasped at the sting of possession but she didn’t cry out and she didn’t try to pull away. Patrick’s gentle kisses eased her as he worked his way in, making way for a manhood that was proportionate to his large body. In truth, Patrick was glad she hadn’t seen his engorged manroot before he made an attempt to bed her. He’d had women cry at the sight, fearful of the size, but with Brighton, he seemed to fit her easily.

  As if she was made for him.

  Surely, she was.

  She was slick and Patrick used that to his advantage, thrusting into her repeatedly until he was fully seated. Her virginal walls gave way to accommodate him. The knees that had given him such trouble were now rubbing up against his legs, growing more curious about his position within her as her hands began to move over his back. Her soft hands, warm and calloused, threw him over the edge and he began to move in and out of her, his hips doing the work, as his mouth lingered on her forehead, her ear, her neck. There was nothing about her that wasn’t sweet and delectable, and he told her so. Soft whispers filled her ear, telling her how beautiful she was and how sweet she tasted. He’d never meant anything so much in his entire life.

  His pace quickened but his release wasn’t close. Wine gave him the ability to last a very long time before releasing himself and he had no real concept of just how long he thrust into her. All he knew was that it was an emotional experience as well as a physical one. He’d never made love to anyone he truly cared about, at least not like this, and at one point he stopped his movements, withdrew, and flipped her over onto her belly. Lifting her hips slightly, he entered her from behind.

  Beneath him, Brighton groaned and he propped himself up on his hands so he could look down at her body. The weak firelight illuminated her and his hungry eyes devoured her slender shoulders, the curve of her perfect back, and, finally, her heart-shaped buttocks. The sight of her perfectly rounded arse fueled his desire to epic proportions and he could finally feel his release approach. His entire body was tense with it, like pins and needles in his belly, spreading outwards. A few more thrusts and he released his seed deep into her body, feeling satisfaction as he’d never felt before. Even after he climaxed, he continued to move for the
pure joy of it and, soon enough, he could feel Brighton’s body tighten around him with her first release.

  The still air of the chamber was filled with her gasps as Brighton was swept up in something she’d never experienced before. Patrick lay down next to her pulling her into his arms as she convulsed with pleasure. It was incredibly arousing but, more than that, he felt whole and content as he’d never felt in his life. He never known such utter fulfillment and, even after her tremors had calmed, he continued to hold her against him, his body still embedded in hers, listening to the faint roar of the common room and thinking that the decision to marry Brighton had been the best decision he’d ever made.

  Perhaps not the most popular decision, or even the most reasonable given the circumstances, but he didn’t regret anything. He belonged to her, body and soul, and nothing on earth could change that. He’d go to his grave before he let her go.

  He honestly hoped it didn’t come to that.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Castle Questing

  The Next Day

  “I have never known you to behave foolishly or irrationally, but in this case, you have. You have gotten yourself into a load of trouble, Patrick. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Patrick stood calmly in his father’s solar as the man, having been informed that his third son had married Lady Brighton the day before, let loose on him. Between his parents, William tended to be the calm one of the pair, but at this moment, he was positively livid. Patrick had never seen him so angry. But before Patrick could reply to William’s statement, his father reached over onto the big, scarred table where he kept his maps and writing implements and grabbed an unrolled piece of vellum. Patrick could see that it had writing on it as William thrust it at him.

  “Read this,” William demanded.

  Patrick eyed his father before taking the vellum. He made sure to keep a distance from the man in case William decided to physically demonstrate his anger, but so far, William had kept his head. Not his tongue, but his head. Patrick moved away from his father and over to the hearth for more light as he held the vellum up and read the carefully scribed words.