Knights (15 page)

Gloriana was grateful for the shadows, for she wanted to smile and dared not let Kenbrook see. She might not approve of Gareth’s high-handed methods, but she could not fault his ultimate design. Since the kiss by the courtyard gate, she had known that she felt more than admiration for her husband, more than common esteem.

“Oh,” she said, standing just outside the reach of the lamp’s glow.

“Is that all you can say? You’ve been kidnapped! And not because Gareth thinks the two of us make an exemplary pair, either. No, Gloriana—it is your dowry Gareth wishes to protect. A good portion of it came to him, and I’ll wager he’d be destitute if his share was revoked.”

Gloriana was stricken. She had known the terms of the agreement, of course, known there was a great deal of gold being invested and reinvested in her name. She had always thought Gareth’s affection for her was real, however, and she was crushed to see
him in this new and very disturbing light. “No,” she whispered, even though she knew Kenbrook was right.

Her husband went ruthlessly on. “As your guardian, Hadleigh has had access to a percentage of the profits and would always have had, provided you were married to me. Or if you became my widow. Only if you and I parted company would the pact be nullified.”

Gloriana put a hand over her mouth and turned away.

“Surely you knew the arrangement your father made?”

“I knew,” Gloriana confirmed, barely able to get the words out. She was alone in the world, except for Edward, just as Megan had been alone. Her place in the St. Gregory family had been no more than a pretty illusion, false as a mummer’s trick.

The chair scraped as Dane rose to his feet, and she felt him draw near. His hands came to rest on her trembling shoulders. His voice was gruff. “Gloriana—”

She was weeping—she who had vowed never to shed another tear in the presence of Kenbrook. “Leave me alone,” she managed to say.

Kenbrook turned her around, instead, and pulled her close against his chest in an awkward but hearteningly earnest manner. “I was too blunt,” he said. “I’m sorry. Gareth’s affections for you are quite genuine, I assure you, if that’s what brought on this torrent of tears. Even if there were no trading company spewing gold, he would want us together for all of time and eternity—and scheme to make it so.”

Gloriana rested her head against his chest. The longing to tell Dane her secret was frighteningly strong, but she knew she did not dare to speak the words. “What will we do?”

Dane smoothed her hair, which had come loose from its plait during her struggles, and was prickly with straw from the cart she’d ridden in. “There is no escaping from this tower,” he said. “We must accept that and hope Gareth will come to his senses. Or—”

Gloriana tensed, her breath catching in her throat, and drew back to look up at him with widened eyes. She didn’t make a sound, couldn’t have.

“Or,” Dane went grimly on, “we could consummate our marriage, in which case Gareth would certainly release us.” He read her expression then, though not with complete accuracy, as his next words proved. “Fear not, fair maiden,” he added, with a crooked grin. “I am not such a brute as to ravish an unwilling woman.”

Gloriana felt bone-melting heat surge from the apex of her thighs into every limb and digit. “How would Gareth know whether or not we had—you had—?” She paused, struggling to recover her dignity. “Why couldn’t we just lie?”

Kenbrook sighed. “He would demand proof,” he said gently.

Gloriana was horrified. “Proof?”

“The sheet from yonder bed,” Dane explained.

She closed her eyes. “That is barbaric.”

“We are fortunate,” he replied, “that my brother has not required us to admit witnesses. That is a common custom in marriages where titles, gold, or property are at stake.”

He was right, Gloriana knew, for she had heard of similar things. Highborn women, for instance, were often required to bear their children before a gathering of officials, lest one babe be exchanged for another, thus subverting the birthright of the proper heir.

“Gareth would keep us here, truly, until—?”
“I think so,” Kenbrook replied, sounding resigned as well as irritated. And the blow to his head had been a sharp one; he was pale, and his clothes were bloodied. “Having gone to such dangerous lengths to achieve his ends, I seriously doubt that he would relent now.”

“Perhaps Edward will learn what has happened and mount a rescue.”

Kenbrook was actually rude enough to laugh at that suggestion. “Sir Edward might well try to save us—or more particularly
you
—that much I’ll grant. But Gareth is a seasoned fighter, and he will have no trouble putting down the faltering advances of a novice.”

Gloriana pressed the fingertips of both hands to her temples, “I could not bear it, were Edward to be injured or killed on my account.”

“Edward will thrive, milady,” Kenbrook assured her, with a smile in his voice. “By no account would Gareth ever raise a sword to the lad, or allow his men to do so. Now, lie down, I bid you, and take your rest. You are quite safe with me.”

She nodded; there was no sense in sitting up through what little remained of the night, pacing and bemoaning her situation. Perhaps things would appear more hopeful under the light of the morning sun.

“We shall share the bed,” Gloriana said, with forlorn magnanimity. “I cannot ask you to sleep on the floor or upright in a chair.”

Kenbrook grinned. “I had not thought to sleep anywhere, milady, but beside you.”

Gloriana interlaced her fingers and bit her lower lip. She had dreamed a maiden’s dreams for years, awaiting her husband’s return, longing to understand, at last, the mysteries of love. She was by nature a passionate and sensual person. Now, suddenly, even
with Kenbrook’s promise of chastity, she felt exceedingly shy about lying down beside him.

“I usually pray before I sleep,” she said, and immediately felt silly.

Kenbrooke’s grin broadened, and he spread his hands. “Please,” he said. “Do not endanger your immortal soul on my account.”

Gloriana glanced at him uncertainly, then went to the bed and knelt beside it. She prayed silently, beseeching the Virgin to grant her discretion, wisdom, and especially virtue. Then she drew back the heavy velvet coverlet, kicked off her slippers, and lay down, fully clothed, on the sheet beneath.

Kenbrook, seating himself with a heavy sigh on the opposite side, made a great and complicated business of taking off his boots, stretching his arms with a huge expulsion of breath, and, finally, stretching out. Gloriana lay rigid as a corpse, her eyes open wide even though her lids seemed weighted with weariness. Her body pulsed with the need of sleep—and with a maiden bride’s eager, reluctant need to end her suspense.

Dane moved beneath the covers, causing the rope springs to sway dizzyingly, and though there was a considerable distance between them, due to the size of the bed, Gloriana was quite conscious of the fact that he was removing his breeches and shirt.

“Sleep, Gloriana,” he commanded, though he could not possibly have seen her in that thick, moonless gloom and gauged her alarm by her expression. “If I am to have you, it will happen in the broad light of day. Lovemaking is an art, not a science, and when I caress a woman, I like to watch her responses.”

Gloriana’s blood ran scalding hot at the suggestion, but not because she was angry. She should not have
spoken, but she did. “I have heard that women weep,” she confided, in a troubled whisper.

Dane sighed. “Should I succumb to your undeniable charms and my brother’s devious plot, you shall not weep, at least not for sorrow. You have my bond on that.”

Gloriana’s cheeks throbbed with heat. Perhaps, she thought, it was the all-encompassing darkness that gave her license to be so bold. “What—what would my part be in the matter?”

Kenbrook gave a low, husky burst of laughter, and she felt him turn onto his side.
Is he naked?
she wondered. If only she dared to extend her arm and touch him.

“Your part,” he answered, in his own good time, “would be to receive me.”

She imagined that and felt light-headed. There was a warm, inexorable ache in that place shaped to take him inside her. “Does—wouldn’t it hurt?”

He reached out, found her braid, and gave it a little tug. “There can be pain the first time,” he said quietly. His tone contained no trace of mockery or amusement, and Gloriana was grateful. “I would, of course, prepare you well beforehand, and that process can be very pleasurable indeed.”

Gloriana was silent for a long time. Then, softly, she said, “I am so curious.1”

“Are you asking me to pleasure you, Gloriana?”

She swallowed. “Would you? If I
were
asking, I mean?”

He laughed. “Oh, yes. Gareth shall not have his wish tonight, but I am more than willing to introduce you to certain parts of the ritual.”

Gloriana was trembling. Either the Virgin had not heard her prayers, or she was a worse sinner than
she’d ever dreamed. “I believe I should like to learn,” she said.

“Get up, then,” Dane said, “and take off that infernal dress. A woman’s body is an exquisite instrument, made to release the most beautiful music of all, but a minstrel must touch the strings of his lyre in order to play it.”

A delicious shiver went through Gloriana, and she did as she was instructed, rising and slowly removing her kirtle and chemise. Dane, whom she had expected to lie waiting upon the bed, arose instead and lit other lamps from the one that had been left burning on the table, until the whole chamber was aglow.

Gloriana stood as if paralyzed beside the bed, utterly naked. “I had not thought of the lamps,” she whispered.

“I would see you,” Kenbrook said evenly, utterly bare himself except for a pair of trunks, “and thus know if my touch brings you the gratification I shall attempt to give.”

She grasped the ornately carved bedpost, in order to steady herself.

“Come here,” Dane said.

Gloriana hesitated only a moment or two, then moved slowly toward him, into the center of the light. He assessed her untried body in a long, appreciative glance.

“You are uncommonly beautiful,” he told her in a hoarse voice.

She remembered the kiss and all it had awakened in her. Had it not been for that, she might not have wanted him so much. “You will not take me?”

Dane shook his head. “No,” he answered. “But I shall give you all you want of pleasure, short of that.”

“It is not fair,” Gloriana heard herself saying, “that I am exposed while you are covered.”

With a complete lack of self-consciousness, Dane loosed the ties of his trunks, and they opened and slipped to the stone floor. He stepped out of them, his manhood rising hard and high against his belly.

Gloriana caught her breath. “I do not see how I could—how I could manage,” she said.

Dane chuckled again and approached, laying his hands lightly upon her proud shoulders. “You needn’t worry about that,” he replied. “When and if the time ever comes, you will accommodate me very nicely. Nature, you see, has anticipated that particular event.”

She wanted, suddenly, to flee, and yet she would not have denied herself, even if it meant owning all that lay in the four directions. “Will you kiss me?”

“Undoubtedly,” Kenbrook said. He was looking, not at her mouth, but at her small, firm breasts, with their eager, jutting tips. He raised his hands slowly and cupped them in his palms, as he might hold the most fragile of treasures.

Gloriana drew in her breath, for she had never imagined the elation so simple a caress could bring.

“Only the beginning,” Kenbrook said, chafing the nipples with his rough thumbs and then his palms.

A deep shudder moved through Gloriana, and with a soft cry, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, surrendering to the amazing, fiery joy Kenbrook’s touch stirred in her.

He filled his hands with her breasts, possessively but without force, and she thought of the comparison he had made earlier, between a fine instrument of music and a woman’s body. Her flesh sang under the deft guidance he gave it, and she began to breathe faster
and to make the slightest whimpering sound low in her throat.

Kenbrook bent his head and found her mouth with his own, stroking and fondling her all the while, and Gloriana did not open her eyes or make an effort to return his kiss. She was too dazed, too distracted by the unfamiliar sensations he was awakening in her.

He kissed her lightly at first, and then very deeply, holding her by the hips now. Her breasts, wanting something he had not given them, were pressed against his chest and further stimulated by the whorls of hair and the hardness of his flesh. Instinct made her grasp at his shoulders and try to pull him closer—onto her.

Into her.

Dane kissed her muscles to the consistency of warm candle wax, then held her at arm’s length. He murmured some nonsensical plea to the old gods and then, bending his head to suck her nipple into his mouth, introduced her to an ecstasy so keen that she cried out and entangled her hands in his hair.

Gloriana arched her back, that he might have better access to her breast—surely it was a brazen act, but she didn’t care. From the time her body had begun to change, she had awaited this communion, and now that it was finally, finally upon her, she gave herself up to every nuance of his lovemaking. Her flesh burned, her hair was damp at the scalp, the surface of her skin slippery with the heat.

He turned to her other breast and devoured that, and when he’d satisfied himself, he caught her head between his hands and kissed her again, this time with a hunger that inflamed her even further.

“Now,” Kenbrook rasped, tearing his mouth from hers.

Gloriana expected him to take her to the bed, but instead he drew the chair he’d sat in earlier into the middle of the floor and led her to it. He set her hand on its back, for balance, and lifted one of her feet to the seat.

Nothing in all her maidenly imaginings could have prepared her for what happened then. Kenbrook knelt before her and stroked her inner thighs with his swordsman’s hands, and she looked down on nun and waited, holding her breath.