He held up his hand. “Before you answer, I have to warn you life with me will not be easy.”
She smiled, her eyes full of love. “Why? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Just Deserts
Letyce Revandel picked her way carefully through the wreckage of the scaffolding. She had remained hidden once it became obvious Malraux’s plans had gone awry. Now she searched for her lover’s body. He was a vain man who ornamented himself with expensive jewels.
At first she had thought to use them to aid in her escape back to England, but now she played with the notion of staying on at Carnac. Why not claim Malraux had wed her and become mistress of the demesne as a grieving widow? Who would naysay her? Certainly not the ineffectual Roget, wherever he had got to.
The Montbryces were camped in a nearby copse. The bonfires that had burned brightly were smoldering embers. There were few scavengers left now, but she was determined to find Malraux. His signet ring in particular would confirm her claims to be his wife. Midnight must have long since passed. It was All Hallows’, an auspicious day to become mistress of a wealthy demesne.
“Attention!” a voice called. She peered into the darkness. A peasant stood a few feet away, pointing to the twisted remains of the scaffolding and the windlass dangling precariously above. “Dañjer.”
It was surprising how easy Breton was to understand, like English really. Did the fool think she did not know her mission was dangerous? But it was essential she secure the rings.
Clouds had obscured the moon for most of the night, but suddenly they parted. Something glinted beneath a tangled pile of wood. She struggled to heft one rough pole at a time, wrestling each aside with a grunt. Before long, sweat had soaked her clothing and her hands were raw as she made agonizingly slow progress towards what she was sure was Malraux’s body.
Then she caught sight of his hand, white in the moonlight. A thrill of expectancy shivered through her as she reached for the rings. She drew her dagger in case she had to cut off his fingers to get the jewels.
Their fingertips touched.
Alarm surged up her spine. His skin was warm, not cold as she had expected. She pulled away, but Malraux’s fingers tightened, holding her hand in his grip. Panic stricken, she raised her dagger but Malraux turned her wrist and the blade plunged into her own flesh.
She screamed.
“Do you intend to murder a dead man?” he rasped. “Stop your caterwauling and let me die in peace.”
She could not see his face, buried beneath the wreckage, but she knew he was smiling his evil smile, and it terrified her.
“Let go,” she wailed, pulling frantically, though her hand throbbed like the devil and blood pumped from the wound.
He tightened his grip.
She struggled harder, bracing her feet on nearby poles. His evil laughter was the last thing she heard as the rope holding the windlass gave way, bringing the remains of the twisted wreckage crashing down.
Belisle
Two days after the turbulent events of All Hallows’ Eve, Guillaume de Terrence and Lucien arrived with the horses and men at arms. Adam was overjoyed to be reunited with Nox, and Denis whooped with delight at first sight of Brevis.
When everything was in readiness for the arduous return journey, Adam and Denis took the women they loved to stand before Le Manio.
Paulina giggled. “It looks more impressive in daylight, even in the drizzle.”
Denis squeezed her hand. “You are naughty, my love.”
On the Feast of All Souls, they had seen the glow from the huge fire set by villagers who had crept back to Le Manio. The blaze had consumed the twisted pile of wood at the base of the now blackened monolith. Smoldering ashes remained after a night of heavy rain.
Adam inhaled deeply. “I suppose they deemed it fitting to dispatch their master’s body on All Souls.”
Rosamunda shuddered beside him as she gazed at the rock. “Letyce Revandel?”
“Long gone, I hope,” Paulina said. “Poor Topaz. I wonder what became of her.”
Denis brightened. “Last I saw, she was curled up under Henry’s massive chair. Perhaps he will decide he likes cats.”
Everyone shared the humor of his jest.
Adam tightened his hold on Rosamunda’s shoulder, pulling her to his side. “We will soon be home in Belisle. Robert has given his permission for our marriages to proceed. He assures me his blessing is sufficient since he does not recognise Curthose’s authority. If Henry approves, so does Robert.”
“He even sent a squad of his men ahead to Belisle so Maman and Papa can prepare for our nuptials,” Denis added.
“Will Robert be present?” Paulina asked.
Adam shook his head. “I asked him, but he does not want to be away from Montbryce Castle any longer than necessary in these uncertain times.”
They stood for a few minutes more in silence, then made their way back to camp to begin their journey.
* * *
“You’re possessed, Denis,” Adam whispered to his brother as they bedded down in their tent for the fourth night on the road. “Try to get some sleep tonight instead of tossing and turning. You are wearing me out, and I am sure Robert is mightily relieved not to be spending another night in the same tent.”
Denis turned over on his cot to face Adam. He drew the blanket up to his chin to ward off the November chill. “I’m sorry. I’m anxious to get home and get this wedding over with. Now I know Paulina loves me, I cannot wait to get my hands on her lovely little body.”
Adam turned onto his back, grazing his knuckles back and forth across his forehead. “Think how I feel. I had given up hope of ever bedding a woman, now I get aroused simply looking at Rosamunda.”
Denis snorted. “We’re a pair of green youths.”
Adam tapped his lips with his forefinger. “You’ll wake Mathieu. And the ladies’ tent is not far away.”
Denis pouted. “Too bad the Lallement brothers suddenly became concerned about propriety, otherwise I’d have Paulina beneath me now. Ridiculous.”
Adam yawned. “I don’t mind. I was determined to wait until I was married before I planted my seed. I can wait a few more days.”
Denis drifted off to sleep. His dreams were filled with images of Paulina. Her nipples were dark, haloed by wine-rich areolas. He brushed his thumbs over them, relishing her moans of pleasure.
He trailed kisses along her neck as she thrust her head back, raking her fingernails through his hair. He bent to suckle at her breast.
A grinning brindled cat appeared in his dream, startling him awake.
“Merde,” he swore, pulling up his couilles to ease the ache at his groin.
* * *
Adam, Mathieu, and Denis rode into the courtyard of Belisle Castle. As they dismounted, their mother left the shelter of her husband’s cloak to embrace each in turn. “Welcome home, mes fils, I am overjoyed to see you safely returned.”
Antoine clasped forearms with each of his sons, thumping them heartily on the back. “We worried over Adam’s message, then the riders came with news of your imminent arrival. Much has happened. You must tell us all.”
He stopped suddenly. “But where are my future daughters-by-marriage?”
Adam braced his legs. “They are outside the walls with their brothers. We have things to discuss with you first.”
Antoine frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Denis stepped forward. “Mathieu has ceded the line of succession back to Adam now that he is—er—cured.”
“Cured?” Sybilla whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she looked at Adam.
Adam nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Denis continued. “You must approve of this change before we can proceed further.”
Adam did not envy his father his predicament. Antoine de Montbryce struggled to maintain his composure, but his face betrayed his conflicting emotions.
Mathieu spoke first. “Adam is the rightful heir. He has recovered
his—” He reddened, avoiding looking at his mother. “His ability to—er—” He took a deep breath. “Anyway. I have withdrawn my claim, willingly, and have given Adam my oath of allegiance.”
Antoine’s breathing was shallow. He put his hand on his youngest son’s shoulder. “You are a noble and honorable knight, Mathieu de Montbryce. I respect your decision.” He turned to Adam. “As my eldest son, I recognise you as my heir. Now, bring in the women before your mother faints with anticipation.”
“About my betrothed,” Adam began. “Rosamunda is mute.”
“And, in case you were wondering, Paulina is a dwarf,” Denis added.
Pilgrimage
Sybilla de Montbryce tapped on the door of the chamber where her daughters were putting the finishing touches to the bridal ensembles of their soon to be sisters-by-marriage.
Appalled by what she had learned of Maudine Lallement, and amazed both girls had grown into such beautiful, generous women, she vowed to lavish on them the love they had never received from their own mother.
“My sons await their brides at the chapel door,” she announced, “and I wish a word alone with my future daughters-by-marriage.”
Bernadine and Florymonde kissed Paulina and Rosamunda on the cheek and left.
Paulina fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress. “Madame de Montbryce, Rosamunda and I thank you for these lovely gowns. Neither of us has ever worn anything as beautiful.”
Sybilla smiled. “Please, call me Maman. It has been my pleasure to provide you with wedding gowns. What you are doing for me far outweighs what I have done for you.”
Both women frowned.
Sybilla took Rosamunda’s hand. “When Adam left home after his illness, I despaired for him. He had lost so much. I understand from what he has told me that you accepted to be his wife before you became aware he had recovered his ability to sire children.”
Rosamunda smiled. “Love him.”
Sybilla wanted to weep tears of gratitude. “I believe your love has aided his recovery, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It matters not a whit that you are mute. Be patient with us and we will learn to understand you as well as your sister.”
“Merci, Maman,” Rosamunda mouthed, her eyes bright with excitement.
No wonder he loves her.
Sybilla turned to Paulina and took a deep breath. “I have prayed daily that Denis would fall in love with a woman who loved him in return. He is a man who has triumphed over great adversity, but I have sensed his loneliness. You, Paulina Lallement, are indeed the answer to my prayers. I give my first born son over to your loving care.”
* * *
Adam watched his wife charm the people of Belisle as she moved from table to table at the wedding banquet. He had to admit to a pang of disappointment when she had first appeared at the chapel door, her hair neatly bound up in some sort of tower arrangement, no doubt the work of Florymonde.
It pleased him that her wayward tresses had inevitably escaped the hairpins as the day wore on. Now she looked like his Rosamunda. He itched to run his fingers through her hair once they were alone in their bridal chamber.
He had worried on and off over the past few days, as excitement over the double wedding mounted in the castle and its environs, if he would be adequate to the task of bedding his wife. His malady might return. But the insistent urge as he watched her reassured him all would be well.
He glanced over at Denis who was practically salivating, his gaze fixed on Paulina’s breasts. Like Adam, he watched his wife as she accompanied her sister around the hall.
Adam coughed loudly, drawing Denis’ attention. “I’m for bed. How about you, brother?”
Denis grinned broadly. “I’ll get the bishop.”
* * *
Adam was only vaguely aware of what had gone on behind the screen where Rosamunda was being prepared for bed. He was too busy covering himself as Denis and Mathieu stripped him before the assembled well-wishers. His bride’s blush warmed him as she was escorted to the bed, eyes downcast.
“You’re fortunate I’ll be occupied pleasing my wife, Denis de Sancerre, else I’d get my revenge when you are escorted to your chamber.”
Paulina turned away, her face redder than Rosamunda’s. Adam chuckled inwardly. Wait till she saw Denis naked. For a small man—
Rosamunda averted her eyes when Denis and Mathieu escorted him to bed, making a great show of tucking them in tightly.
The bishop intoned his blessing, sprinkled them with holy water, then the merry band departed for Denis’ chamber. Antoine was the last to leave, with a wink and a smile.
Rosamunda lay rigid, hugging the linens to her chin. Her face was flushed, her rosemary-scented hair in its usual tempting disarray, despite what Adam supposed had been the efforts of his mother’s maidservant to tame it with a comb.
They lay side by side. She must know he was naked beneath the linens. What had become of his adventurous bride who feared nothing?
Of course.
He had been so preoccupied with his own concerns, he had failed to give a thought to Rosamunda’s fears. He turned onto his side and leaned up on his elbow, tugging the linens away from her chin. “May I see your bridal nightgown?”
She turned her enormous green eyes to him and let go of the linens. It was all he could do not to rip the flimsy chemise off her body and plunge into her virginal tightness.
He peeled the linens off her and pushed them to the bottom of the bed with his feet, revealing his own nakedness.
She stared at the ceiling.
“Don’t be afraid, my love. Look at me.”
She sniffled as a tear trickled down her cheek. “Nervous,” she mouthed.
His heart skittered as her nipples hardened, straining against the fabric of the silky nightgown. He felt it important to be forthright, to tell her of his resolve to come virgin to his marriage bed. “I’m nervous too. This is my first time.”
She swiveled her head to look into his eyes. “What?”
He took hold of her hand and placed it on his shaft, curling his fingers around hers. Waves of pleasure swept up his spine. “I have never entered a woman, Rosamunda. You will be the first.”
His arousal grew beneath her hand.
Her puzzled gaze flickered to his groin. Doubtless she was thinking of Poling.
“You’re remembering when I did this?” He bent his head to swirl his tongue over a distended nipple. She arched her back and increased her grip on his shaft.
He came to his knees, cradled her in his arms, lifted her off the bed, and set her on her feet.
She braced her hands on his shoulders, clearly wondering what he was doing.
He reached down to the hem of her nightshift and quickly peeled it off over her head. “I am naked. You should be too. It works better that way.”
She giggled nervously, sending another wave of blood rushing to his groin. He stepped back to admire her. She was everything he had dreamed of. Perfect breasts with rigid pink nipples. Big areolas, a shade darker. Her waist was so tiny he could probably span it with both hands, then her body widened to shapely hips. He licked his lips imagining her flat belly swollen with his child.
The hair at her mons was darker, but he remembered its curly texture from Poling. With those long tapering legs, no wonder she was a great horsewoman. He almost spilled thinking of her riding him.
She made no attempt to cover her body. It thrilled him that she was obviously enjoying his perusal. His brave girl was back.
He hugged her to his chest and buried his nose in her hair. “I could spend the night making love to your hair.”
She laughed, curling her fingers into the hair on his chest. “Soft.”
He nibbled her earlobe until she scrunched up her shoulder. “Tickles.”
When he had first removed her nightshift, her skin had felt chilled. Now her body had warmed and he caught the enticing aroma of female arousal. He picked her up and put her back on the bed.
She looked at him th
rough half-hooded eyes.
He kissed one nipple. “I want to suck these lovely tits now, until you scream.” He was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Rosamunda.”
She thrust out her breasts, stroking his hair. “Suck. Like it.”
He knelt, straddling her thighs, and cupped one breast with his hand. He suckled the nipple, gently at first, but then fully into his mouth as it grew more rigid.
She entwined her fingers in his hair, her breathing becoming more rapid.
He grazed his teeth against the nipple as her fingernails dug into his scalp.
She pushed her thighs against his, fisting her hands into the bed linens. “Adam.”
His shaft throbbed as his couilles drew up between his parted legs. He switched to the other nipple, taking her hand and placing it on his sac. “Play with me,” he whispered.
He groaned against the nipple in his mouth as she kneaded him with enough pressure he thought he might go mad with the pleasure. “Perfect,” he growled.
She writhed beneath him.
He moved to kneel beside her.
She bent her knees and her legs fell open.
He kissed her deeply as his fingers drifted down her belly. His shaft bucked as he touched the wet warmth of her nether lips.
A ripple of need flowed through her as he slid one finger inside, brushing his thumb over her swollen nub. She arched her body into his hand as he slid in a second finger.
“Rosamunda,” he whispered against her cheek as they broke apart for breath. His need to be inside her was urgent, but he wanted her to release as she had at Poling. “Come for me,” he urged, sliding his fingers in and out, stroking the diamond of her desire.
When it came, her release nigh carried her off the bed. It shuddered through her, rocking him to his core. She mouthed his name over and over, and for the first time he regretted he would never hear his name on her lips. He withdrew his fingers, unable to wait any longer for her pulsating muscles to be clamped on his shaft.
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