A Knight for Love (15 page)

She glanced at him, lips pinched then nodded once. “And I vow I shall be a fine wife and mistress, and devoted mother to your sons.”

Because that is what I want most of all. That and your love.

Slowly she pushed herself off the ground and stood
on trembling knees. Would he ever come to love her?

“It is done, your majesty.”
Face expressionless, Warin bowed before the king. Inside however, exultation roiled with horror, leaving him scarce able to draw breath.

Alyna
would be his. She would be at his side, would be his helpmate and the mother of his heirs. Her gentle strength would be a rock on which he could lean, her beauty a vision on which he could feast, her intelligence a well from which he could draw nourishment. The idea pleased him greatly. The king had indeed blessed him.

His horror, however, derived from the enormous realization of what the king requested. A wife. A keep. Lands.

To be sure, at one point he had aspired for all of those. But no longer. He had only wished to see her safely ensconced in Caperun Keep before seeking the pious life of Mont St. Michel.

With a few simple words, the king had changed
Warin’s course. A peaceful course he yet wished to follow but to defy the king was totally out of the question.

The sudden responsibility, not only to Alyna but to their vassals and ultimately, to the king, staggered him. His shoulders sagged
and he held his head in his hands.

W
hat would Alyna think? Would she be pleased? Or would she think he had acquired her and the keep through nefarious means? And if not pleased, would he be able to win her over?

Bah, he scoffed to himself,
he didn’t need her approval for it would be as the king commanded. Marriages of convenience came to pass all the time, for it was often the most expedient method to obtain peace and increase lands. So, what would it matter if Alyna were pleased or not?

But for some inexplicable reason
he wanted her approval.

Too, he himself
must come to terms with what the king decreed. The quiet life of devotion he had envisioned for himself had been snatched away by a few sentences.

Consequently, he
must approach things one step at a time.

First
, Caperun Keep must be regained. Possibly a battle would ensue with Philippa and her henchmen, but that was something familiar he could handle, something he could focus on.

Then he could focus on courting his wife. Wife.
A pleasant thought. He, who had never expected to find a wife, to have a family, a home, now, thanks to the good grace of King Henry, would have it all.

Chest heaving,
stomach churning, he stood and faced the king.

Even if it meant his death
, he would not fail the king’s trust.

Chapter Ten

Warin followed Alyna and the gregarious page guiding them to the chapel. King Henry had wasted no time and decreed the ceremony
take place immediately. After, they would be his guests for that night in one of the many apartments making up the palace.

He ambled
to a stop and the chattering of the page and Alyna’s murmured responses faded away as the two turned a corner just ahead of him. He sagged against the cool stone wall of Westminster. Doubts again tugged at his heart.

“What troubles you, my son?”
A plump priest waddled up beside him. “I am Father Matthew and I am to perform the marriage rites.”

Warin groaned and raked his hands through his hair.
“This isn’t what I want. I want to seek the peace of a monastery. Mont St. Michel is my destination and to serve the lord there is my future.”

“To have a wife and family is also to serve the lord, my son. Don’t see it as a burden but rather a blessing. A blessing to go forth
and multiply.”

“But my soul is tortured, Father.
I’ve killed men in battle, men who didn’t deserve to die. I’ve killed in blood lust and revenge. I want atonement for my sins.”

Father Matthew’s
eyes were black with compassion; his jowls wiggled as he nodded. “I understand.” He crossed himself. “But we live in dangerous times. Trust in the Lord to guide your path. Don’t look into the past. Only look forward to where the Almighty leads you.”

Crossing himself again, t
he priest moved away. “Take your time, my son. Come when you’re ready. I must speak with your promised so I welcome the extra moments.”

Warin
pushed away from the wall and swayed briefly before grinding his palms in his eyes as if he could grind away his sense of failure. For he had failed in his search for the monastic life he hoped would bring him solace.

And now he would have Alyna to honor and protect, Caperun Keep to defend, vassals to fight for.

And all he could think was he had been called upon once before to safeguard his loved ones. Instead, he had lost them all.

*****

Alyna hadn’t imagined her wedding day would happen like this.

In her dreams,
her wedding was to have been a fine occasion, in the chapel at Caperun Keep in the beloved company of her father and brother. She would be dressed in a new gown made especially for that special day, and the feasting would be long and boisterous, lasting well into the wee hours of the morn. Her husband to be would be strong and handsome and would be as familiar with poetry and music as he was with weapons and fighting.

Instead, she found herself walking down the aisle in St. Stephen’s Chapel in the company of two men she had known but scant weeks. Her
soiled tunic smelled vaguely of horse, her boots were muddy and stained from travel and her head itched beneath the scarf. The only thing that could make it worse would be to discover that her flux had started. That, thankfully, was not the case.

Mercifully, the ceremony was short. The plump, black robed priest droned on a short while reciting Latin verse. They knelt in prayer, the priest waved his hand in benediction and it was done.

In unison they stood then Alyna peeped up at Warin. The wall sconces burned behind him, haloing his head, while the candles at the altar burned in front of him, gilding his face.

She had to concede one thing.

Her new husband was strong and handsome. Even in his travel stained clothing, he posed a fine figure. Also, she knew from his performance at the joust that he was adept with weaponry. Mayhap he did not love her, but half of her dream was in place, for she loved him.

Mayhap he could learn to love her.

*****

They were shown to their apartment by
the same page who had taken them to the chapel. The ever cautious Bennet trailed along behind, but Alyna had no choice but to walk at Warin’s side for he had taken her hand and firmly placed it in his elbow. As seemed to be her wont in London, the maze of corridors, rooms and endless doors confused her but finally, they stopped. The page swung open the door and bowed them through.

“I
’ll sleep outside,” announced Bennet. “‘Tis not seemly for a husband and wife to share their chamber with another on their wedding night.” He sat down, pulling out the leather flask that had been concealed beneath his tunic. Waving it at them, he winked and said, “Sleep well.”

Our wedding night, Alyna thought in dismay. Of course the vows would have to be consummated but did it have to be tonight?
The events of the day tired and overwhelmed her. In the space of a few short hours she had gone from unmarried maid to wedded wife. How unreal. But her husband was real enough – he awaited her by the doorway, head cocked, and eyebrow quirked as if to say, “Do you defy me already?”

Warin st
epped back for her to enter. She crossed the threshold, feet dragging, heart pounding, as if she faced her doom. The door closed behind her with a solid ‘thunk’ then the latch rattled as it dropped. Her heart leapt into her throat, closely bolstered by her stomach that seemed to have crammed itself into her chest. She struggled to breath.

“Wine?” Warin’s voice drifted lazily across the space, caressing her ears.

She turned around to face him, taking a small, involuntary step back for he completely filled the small room. Two wall hung tapers flickered in the draughty air, sending shadows dancing across the low ceiling, so low, in fact, he could easily touch it with one hand if he so chose.

Without waiting for her response, h
e poured the burgundy liquid into two brass goblets. She peeped around him – someone had been solicitous of their well being for besides the wine, the tray also held fruit, cheese and a trencher of smoked fish.

He turned back to her.
“Wine?” he asked again, lifting a goblet towards her.

“N-Nay,” she stammered,
tearing her gaze from the bed curtained in heavy gold linen before looking at his face. She had heard him ask before but his close proximity scrambled her wits. In an effort to collect them, she concentrated on the cries of the watchmen and the sundry sounds of London drifting through the single pane window behind her.

She tried to keep her gaze from the bed so as not to dwell on what was about to happen. But her eyes would not obey her mind – they crept back to look at the bed. A thrill of anticipation shot through her – she had heard enough whispers to know
the pleasure that happened between a man and a woman.

“Alyna, drink.” Warin pressed a goblet into her hands. “Mayhap it
’s not the ideal situation, but a toast is in order, isn’t it?”

“Very well.” She nodded and
swiped the goblet from his hand. She hoped he didn’t notice how her hand shook.

“To us,” Warin said simply, raising his goblet.

She nodded and raised hers, then took a demure sip.

They stood facing each other, her breath ragged and sounding unusually loud in her ears, his slow and steady.

“To Caperun Keep?” He smiled at her. His warm eyes admired her, admiring what she had no idea. The travel of the past weeks left her feeling dirty and ugly. Surely he couldn’t find her attractive at this very moment? Would that she could sink into a bath and cleanse the grime from her body before they shared their wedding bed.

“Aye, to the Keep,” she agreed. In an effort to still her nerves, she tilted her head back and recklessly drained the goblet.

“Have you thirst?”

“Aye,” she lied. Hoping the wine would give her courage, she lifted her goblet to be refilled.

“Eat.” Warin held out a pear to her. “Wine on an empty stomach can make one ill.”

She took it and bit into it.
Juice dribbled down her chin from the ripe fruit and she wiped it off with the back of one trembling hand.

“Let me aid you
.” He moved away to the steaming basin of water perched on the carved bench situated at the end of the bed. And beside the basin, a linen towel and soap.

He
dipped a corner of the towel into the water and dabbed at her chin. Sandalwood scented the warm water and her toes curled with pleasure.

“There is naught to fear,” he whispered. He untied
her scarf and slowly, ever so carefully, pulled it from her head. He dipped the towel into the basin again and this time washed her entire face, ending at her neck. He took a dry corner and gently patted it dry.

“Alyna,” he whispered again. He dropped the towel and his hands crept toward her shoulders, slid around them, pulled her close.

He inhaled deeply. “I love the way you smell. Lily of the valley. Like springtime.” He pulled back and gazed at her, a crooked little grin tickling the corner of his mouth. She swallowed hard at the desire rippling through his eyes. Desire for her.

“Let me wash you.” Without waiting for her reply, he tugged at her tunic, pulling it off over her head with a smooth, sensuous motion. He, too, pulled off his tunic and they stood there, she in her green kirtle, he in his chausses, chest bare.

Alyna remembered the pear in her hand and took another bite. Brazenly, for the wine started to affect her, she offered a bite to Warin and he obliged, sinking broad white teeth into the flesh of the fruit. She shivered, more from nerves than from cold, for he watched her from heavy lidded eyes the entire time he chewed.

She took another bite and offered him the pear again. Again, he watched her as he chewed, languidly and sensuously, licking his lips as he finished. He took the core from her limp fingers and tossed it on the tray.

The tapers fought valiantly against the twilight but Alyna could see only Warin’s eyes and the occasional glint of his teeth in the dimness. Her heart had stilled but her stomach yet churned at the thought of what was to come.

“Come
,” Warin commanded. “Stand here.”

She obliged. The prospect of being washed by him entic
ed her. How had he known her desire to bathe? Was he a sorcerer then, able to read her thoughts? Or was he simply gallant, thoughtful and solicitous of her well-being?