Abelard had curled up under one of the tall-back chairs and looked as comfortable as the nervous little dog ever did. She would have to make him a little blanket of his own, she thought, as she drew the covers up to her chin. Another item on her long list of things that needed to be done. Armand was now stripping, and she meant to wait for him to finish washing to inquire after Otho, but her head had no sooner hit the pillow, than she fell into a deep sleep.
When she woke, it was to the sight of Armand’s profile on the pillow next to her. He was fast asleep, his face relaxed in repose. Without his twinkling eyes on display and the smile that so frequently played about his mouth, he looked a good deal more daunting, despite his slumber. His jaw was firm and determined and covered now in dark stubble, for he had not bothered to shave. His brows were black and straight, and Una wondered she had not noticed these more formidable features before.
She suspected she had been distracted by those pretty eyes, which were some shifting shade between green and blue, like the ocean when the sun hit it on a summer’s day. Then too, there was that laughing mouth, she reflected, and the teasing quick words. When they were not in evidence, you noticed other things. Her gaze traveled over the expanse of his broad chest and the bulging muscles in those arms, one of which was tucked behind his head, the other resting beside her.
King Wymer had been right in thinking he was a fine figure of a man. She sighed and rolled on to her back, looking up at the arched beams above her. Lynwode was a beautiful house, well proportioned and spacious. For the first time in her life, the dice had rolled, and she had been revealed as a winner. True, the house needed a thorough going over, but she liked to be kept busy. Her three years under house arrest was the longest time she had been kept idle, and even then, she had made it bearable by plying her needle.
She glanced toward the window, but stained glass was not the best type for enjoying the view. Sitting up, she drew back the covers to climb out, when Armand’s arm wrapped around her waist.
“Where are you going?” he murmured. Glancing back at him, she saw his eyes were still closed and wondered if he was still half-asleep.
“I was just going to look out of the window and determine what o’clock it is.”
“Does it matter?” He frowned without opening his eyes.
“Well …”
He tugged at her waist and Una relented, lying back down beside him. Did he even realize who his current bedpartner was? He shifted closer with a gusty sigh until the length of his body was pressed fully against her, his arm holding her close.
“You can’t be fully rested, so go back to sleep,” he recommended grumpily. Una held her tongue, too surprised to point out that she usually slept poorly in unfamiliar places, and also because apparently he knew full well who she was. After a few minutes, his steady breathing and big solid body lulled her into relaxation and she felt herself drifting back to sleep.
When next her eyes opened, it was much later, for the room was in complete darkness except for the glow of the fire in the grate and she was alone. She lay a moment, getting her bearings, and then sat up, hugging her knees. Someone must have laid that fire she realized, for it had not been lit when they went to bed. Then she noticed little Abelard’s scrawny body stretched out before it, bathing in the warmth. He must have crept out from beneath his chair, she thought with a smile.
The door creaked open, and from the size and shape of the shadowy form entering, she deduced it was Armand. As he drew closer, she saw he was carrying a tray bearing two lighted candles and sundry other objects. “How long have you been awake?” he asked, setting it down on the table. Una was gratified to see the first thing he took from the tray was a bowl of water for the little dog, who had rolled to his side at the sound of Armand’s voice and was poised for flight.
Setting it down beside Abelard, he murmured something soothing to the little dog and then took two goblets of wine from the tray. He approached and handed one to Una and then sat down beside her on the bed. “You slept well?” he asked, his eyes flitting over her. He took a hasty gulp of wine.
“Yes, I did, thank you.” He narrowed his eyes at her a moment, as if he knew full well that she had been about to slip and call him Sir Armand again. But he couldn’t possibly know that, she told herself uneasily and raised the blanket to cover her thin shift. She had thought in the candlelight it would not be too immodest, but the direction of Sir Armand’s gaze told her that more of her was on display than she had realized.
He pulled a face and drained his cup. “Hungry?” he asked. “There’s bread and butter and a sort of pottage your brother made. Sadly, the pantry is otherwise empty. The gods alone know what that wretched girl has been existing on.”
Remembering Rose’s slight frame, Una guessed she probably ate like a bird. “Pottage is fine, and I am very fond of bread and butter.”
He nodded, set his goblet down, and rose to his feet, with some reluctance she thought it seemed, though she could not understand why. Then he moved to the table, transferring the contents of the tray onto it. “Come and sit down,” he said, dragging the chairs up to the small table. When she slid from the bed, he added. “Don’t bother dressing.”
“I have not unpacked my robe.”
“You can sit in this chair, closest to the fire. Or in my lap,” he added thoughtfully. “If you think you may grow cold.”
Una could only suppose he was joking and slipped into the chair he’d indicated, as he passed her a bowl and spoon and cut her a piece of bread. The pottage was in a large dish and Una helped herself to a decent helping and tucked in. There was no meat or fish, but the vegetables and grains were tasty and filling enough, and she had eaten far worse in her time.
Armand grimaced when he sampled his, but then proceeded to demolish three bowlfuls and half a loaf, before pouring them both another cup of wine and sitting back in his chair. She was just watching Abelard get up from the fire and retreat under the dresser, when Armand cleared his throat.
“Una, I think it’s time we discuss our wedding night,” he said heavily.
Una almost dropped her piece of bread with surprise. “Must we discuss it?” she asked in a strangled voice once she could finally muster a breath. “What is done is done.” Her brain raced. Was he going to question the consummation simply because he could not remember it? Her mouth turned dry with apprehension.
He eyed her gravely. “Because, I’ve a notion I did not treat you as a princess might expect,” he said slowly.
“Well, I was no longer a princess by then,” she pointed out, in what she hoped was an even tone, though her heart was hammering wildly. Just when the fates were smiling down upon her, she thought despairingly.
“I know it’s probably indelicate as hell, my wanting to talk about this, but you don’t need to look quite so terrified,” he said impatiently. “I’m not about to force myself on you.”
Una took a sip of wine, while her brain raced to grasp what he was saying. “I’m terrified because I’m scared you want to deny our marriage’s validity,” she said, frankly. “Not because of anything you did or didn’t do and not because I’m scared of you, Sir—” She broke off in confusion. “I mean, Armand.”
A heavy silence hung between them a moment. “I’m not about to deny the consummation,” he said shortly. “I don’t know where you got that impression.” She let out an audible sigh of relief and slumped back in her seat, feeling quite limp.
He frowned. “Just because I don’t precisely remember it, doesn’t mean …,” He gave up abruptly before starting again. “I do have some confused memories of us …” His words trailed off. “In any case, a man can tell when he’s, ah …”
Seeing his confusion, she set down her cup and said soothingly, “You did everything that is expected of a bridegroom on his wedding night, I assure you.”
“It’s the things I probably didn’t do, that worry me.”
“But there wasn’t anything,” she said, frowning. “In truth,” she start
ed hesitantly, deciding that perfect frankness was the best course of action. Taking a deep breath, she plunged on. “You would simply have slept right through if I had not insisted you did your duty.” She felt herself turn a deep dark red at this confession.
Armand stared at her. Then he rubbed his brow distractedly. “You insisted I did my duty and bed you?”
“Of course. You must understand,” she said appealingly, “I was quite desperate to legitimize our marriage.” His expression grew grim, so she hurried on. “You were very sleepy and I-I simply rolled you on top of me.” Her face was on fire at the admission.
“That’s it?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I did not ready you in any way?”
Una hesitated. “You kissed me and touched my bosom.”
He looked away, avoiding her eyes. “Between your legs, I mean.”
“No,” she admitted in bewilderment, casting her mind back.
He closed his eyes an instant. “How you can say that I did everything I ought when I clearly did not, is beyond me.” When she sat in confused silence, he took another liberal swig of wine. “If I said I wanted to do it again, would you find the thought distasteful? This time, I can promise you, will be different.”
Una lowered her goblet and stared at him. “Oh!” she said lamely. Wherever she had thought he was going with this conversation, she had not expected this. She made a valiant attempt to gather her scattered wits. “Well, of course, you are perfectly entitled. That is your husbandly right.” As soon as she had said it, she could see he was not happy with her choice of words. “I mean I should be most happy to accommodate you,” she said flushing hotly.
He plunked his cup down on the table and muttered something under his breath.
“I wish you would tell me what you would prefer I should say,” Una said with perfect truth. “I’m afraid I don’t have any experience to draw on.”
He gazed at her a moment. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words.” Una’s eyes darted uncertainly over to the bed. Did he mean she should simply climb into bed to await his pleasure? As if guessing the way her mind was working, he said softly. “Come and sit on my lap, Una.”
She pushed back her chair at once and rounded the table. Once she had sat square in his lap, his arms came around her and he looked full into her rather hot face.
“I like this shift,” he said, his eyes dwelling on the tops of her breasts. “It shows off your womanly form to perfection.” He paused a moment. “And I can see the outline of your pretty, dark nipples underneath.”
“Northern shifts are more fitted than Southern ones I find,” she answered, dimly aware her words had not precisely struck the same chord as his.
“You weren’t wearing a shift when I woke that first night and you had to fetch me a basin,” he continued smoothly. “You were entirely naked. I noticed it particularly.”
“I was wearing one when I was put to bed,” she answered awkwardly. “But you—”
“Yes?”
How could she possibly say out loud that he had wanted to fondle her breasts? She stared at him tongue-tied and miserable.
“Just say it,” he recommended, his hand hot and heavy where it rested on her thigh. “I like a woman with a bold tongue in her head.” He squeezed her thigh. Then a sudden cloud passed over his expression. “Unless you’re about to say I ripped it off you,” he said, looking suddenly apprehensive.
“Nothing of the sort!” she hastened to assure him. “I pulled my straps down for you, you see …” She was breathless now and anxious to dispel his fears. “You wanted … um … that is you seemed to want …” She shut her eyes so she could no longer see his expression. “I was under the impression you wanted to touch my breasts.”
“I’m sure I did,” he rumbled back. “So you pulled your straps down for me, did you, sweetheart? I wish you would do so again.”
Una’s eyes sprang open. Far from looking annoyed or bored with her, Armand’s gaze was fixed on her with searing intensity. She reached for her straps and pulled them down, peeling the filmy material from her generous breasts, so the shift bunched at her waist. Armand made a growling sound deep in his throat, and Una’s gaze darted to his for reassurance.
His eyes were hooded now, and she would think him sleepy, if they did not gleam so. “What did I do last time?” he asked huskily. “Tell me.”
Una swallowed. To her memory he had pawed and slurped at her bosom before practically falling asleep face-first in it. However, she had a strong suspicion this would not go down well. “You … er … said you wanted a taste,” she admitted, scarlet-faced.
Again, he made the growling noise in his throat and Una felt something stirring beneath her bottom. “I bet I did,” he said thickly. “What about you, did you like it?”
Una cast her mind back. “Yes,” she admitted with slight surprise. That part she had not minded at all.
Suddenly one big hand was cupping her left breast, lightly squeezing it. “You’ve a fine pair of … breasts, princess,” he said in a gravelly tone. She guessed he had been about to use a ruder term, and then gave a gasp when it dawned on her what he had called her.
“You must not call me that, Sir Armand,” she blurted, as he lowered his head to her breast.
“Ah, but you keep calling me Sir Armand, and I have to cure you somehow,” he answered with a wink.
She had just drawn in a breath to point out that her words were not considered high treason, when he sucked her nipple into his hot, wet mouth, and her mind turned blank. His other hand slid from her outer thigh to her inner and then considerably higher, until Una whimpered to feel his fingers slipping through her nether curls, to that which they concealed.
He released her breast with a lascivious lick. “Delicious. Did I not touch you here before, princess?” he asked and though his tone was teasing, she could hear a thread of real concern running through his voice as he ran his thumb gently up and down her slit. She bit her lip and shook her head, and he cursed softly. “Draw your knees up, Una. There’s room on this chair. Rest them against the arms.”
Una regarded him aghast for a minute that he would expect her to splay legs open in such a fashion. When he continued to her wait expectantly, she drew up her legs and rested her bare feet on the edge of the seat.
“Good girl,” he praised her again, bunching up the skirt of her shift and urging her back against his front. “Now spread your legs for me, princess.” His other hand cupped her right breast, kneading and squeezing it until her nipple ached. Slowly, Una did as he asked and rested her legs against the arms of the chair.
Armand groaned. “I wish we had a long mirror against that wall,” he said throatily. “So, I could enjoy the view.” Una gasped as her mind reeled at such a lewd idea. His fingers had dipped right inside her now and were tracing so very lightly over her private places, that when he pinched hard on her right nipple, she bit back a cry at the contrast.
To her surprise, she felt an answering pulse in her core, and suddenly Armand’s fingers felt slippery and wet as they delved and toyed with increasing boldness into her most secret feminine place.
“Ah, Una,” he whispered. “This is how I should have treated you that night, how a princess deserves.”
His words were complete nonsense, but for some reason she was shifting in his lap now, restless and biting her lip to stop from sobbing. She knew for definite now what was pressed so firmly against her bottom, but she didn’t care. Parts of her body that had felt purely functional before, were now quivering with new awakened life that astonished her. He released her right breast and returned to her left, plucking that nipple too in a manner that made her writhe against his hardness.
“Such a pretty color,” he muttered. “Like ripe berries. That’s right show me where you like to be touched,” he murmured. “Sweet Una.”
Suddenly his thumb between her legs passed over something that made her lose all the breath from her body and stiffen
in his lap. He did it again and Una cried out incoherently. “That’s it,” he praised her, now circling his thumb over the same spot in a sweet, agonizing torment. “Keep your legs open, don’t fret. I won’t stop until you’re there.”
Again, his words meant nothing to Una, but she realized her shaking legs were trying to close over his hand. Not to stop him, she realized with dim shock, but to keep his wicked hand where she wanted it. With an effort, she widened her knees again. Her breasts heaved from the sheer force of effort, and he rewarded her exertions by squeezing each of the full globes firmly in turn.
This last was too much. The pleasure building inside her suddenly burst, she managed to half choke out his name and then collapsed in his arms, legs akimbo. She wasn’t sure how much later it was that she came out of her daze to find Armand kissing her neck, at least two of his fingers buried deep inside her. It was only then, that she realized how ragged his own breathing was and how insistent the hard thrust of his arousal was underneath her.
“How do my fingers feel?” he asked gruffly, and Una was hard put to know how to answer such a question.
“Deep,” she answered truthfully.
His breathing hitched. “I really want to bury my cock, I mean myself inside you right now, Una. I swear I’ll be gentle this time, princess.”
She was oddly touched that he kept trying to moderate his speech even in such moments, though she really would have to speak to him about the “princess” thing. “Yes, she agreed. “I mean, of course.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she was swept up into his arms and carried over to the bed. He lay her down on the mattress width ways rather than lengthways, and while she lay there catching her breath, she heard him swiftly stripping off his braies. The next thing she knew, his naked body was above hers, though he kept his weight off her with his arms.
“You did that last time, too,” she said in a rush of confidences. “You were careful not to crush me, I mean.” At least until after he’d had his way, Una remembered, when he’d collapsed on top of her like a fallen oak.
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 13