Lady Gallant (30 page)

What was she doing? She didn't know this man. Not at all. And she was about to submit herself to his care for the rest of her life. She couldn't. But if she didn't she would lose him, and he was as necessary to her as food and drink.

She reached the landing and forced her legs to move as the Queen, her ladies-in-waiting, and Nora's father approached the Earl's chamber. Arthur walked in front of her with another page, holding the bride's laces. The yellow ribbons hung from her sleeves, and Arthur had nearly tripped on one coming upstairs. Another royal page walked before Arthur, carrying a silver cup filled with spiced wine and decorated with a spring of gilded rosemary. Nearby, musicians played lutes, viols, and flutes.

Trying not to stumble, Nora at last gained the Earl's chamber. Sebastian was bowing to the Queen as best he could while sitting up in bed, and Nora heard them conversing. Suddenly the Earl looked at Nora, giving her a smile of reassurance that evoked a grateful smile from her own lips. The Queen took her chair of state, and a door opened near it.

Fear crawled and wriggled through Nora's body as Christian stepped into the room. At first all she saw was his face. Warm, almost dusky skin, set jaw, and too-calm eyes. He made his obeisance to the Queen, then turned to her. Smiling a smile that would have beguiled a mad Turk, he approached and took her hand.

It was the touch of his hand that calmed her, for his beauty sent her into fits of agony. How could she ever hope to be worthy of someone so rare and so charmed? Glancing around, she noted his friends and those of the Earl, her father, and the Queen's attendants. Roger Mortimer stood close by, and she spotted Inigo Culpepper half concealed by bed hangings.

What was wrong with her? she wondered. She was so addled, she missed the Mass. She'd participated in the wedding ceremony and exchange of rings in a state of agitation brought about by a war between her own uncertainty and her inability to believe she'd gotten what she craved so desperately.

A whoop from Roger Mortimer woke her from her daze. Hot lips covered hers, transporting her into unaccustomed happiness. She tasted sweet wine flavored with spices and opened her mouth for Christian. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes as though he'd lost something there. His fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arms, and she winced.

"Forgive me, dear wife," he said. "My desire overcomes me."

"My lord," she said with a smile of indulgence. "Perhaps it is the wine."

"I think not, for I've only had two bottles."

"Two." She noted the steadiness of his body, the directness of his gaze. "Are you sure you had two whole bottles?"

"And part of another. It's not an ordinary day. Now open your mouth again."

Another shout of joy from Roger, and then they were surrounded by laughing, jibing young men. Scrambling over one another, they snatched at the bride's laces, eager for trophies. Christian laughed and called for wine.

"Bring the contracting cup."

The silver cup was brought forth, and Christian held it for Nora. She drank, and then he, and after him the entire company.

As the cup passed from one to another, Christian led Nora to the Queen for her blessing. When this obligation was over, Mary retired, taking her aura of gloom with her. Nora watched her new husband stare after the woman, his thoughts concealed behind a courtier's respect. When the Queen was gone, he escorted her to his father.

"Sire, I present my wife to you for your blessing."

Nora flushed and curtsied to the Earl, who held out his hand. She knelt, and Sebastian placed his hand on her head.

"I bestow upon you my blessing, Nora de Rivers, though I'm sure in the months to come there will be times when you'll swear you're cursed. The boy is all gale, squall, and tempest."

"But my lord," she said, "such a beautiful storm."

The Earl laughed, and Christian knelt beside her. "I beg of you, sire, don't frighten my bride before I've taken her to me. I'm not so terrifying." He cocked his head and met Nora's gaze. "And I wouldn't want her to feel cursed. After all, I married her for love, not punishment. So let there be no talk of chastisement for my sweet chuck, no yammering about chains or flagellation, as bachelors are wont to do."

"What do you mean?" Nora asked, frowning.

"I but try to tell you that I'm not one of those howling bucks who rail at their fate upon taking a wife, my innocent."

The Earl laughed again, and Nora cast her eyes down. Unused to flattery, she had no answer. She needed none, though, for Christian swept her away to accept the congratulations of their guests. Immediately after, they were carried below to a feast of celebration. Lamb, kid, pig, and venison paraded before them. Christian plied her with swan and peacock, but kept her cup filled with cider instead of wine. His own goblet was filled and refilled with a heavy charneco. He let her taste the wine—a port—and she grimaced.

"Serves you right," he said. "Drink your cider, chuck. I don't want a mizzled bride in my bed tonight."

Nora turned red, until she feared her skin would burn and char. The devil leaned back in his chair and laughed so hard, the retainers below the salt craned their necks to look at them. Christian lifted his goblet and drained the whole of it. Although certain he'd finished off another bottle, Nora had yet to discern any mark of drunkenness in him. His eyes had grown heavy-lidded and he moved with the lazy grace of a well-fed wolf, but then, he'd often fooled her with his ability to feign a torpor foreign to his nature.

The feast progressed, and Nora found herself growing excited and a bit fearful. Tonight there would be no holding back, no fear of discovery. Tonight she could touch him, hold him, revel in the pleasure of his body. If she had the courage. His fingers touched her neck, and she jumped.

He was looking at her through half-closed eyes, his dark lashes concealing his thoughts. "It's time. I can endure no longer." He rose, taking her with him, and brushed his lips over her hand. "Go to my bed now."

She stood still, gaping at him, until he signaled to a waiting woman. He turned Nora around by her shoulders and gave her a push. Immediately she was surrounded by women and, to the accompaniment of bawdy songs and jests, was escorted upstairs to Lord Montfort's chambers.

She was surprised when the procession turned away from the apartments occupied by the Earl and his son and took a path to a separate wing of the house. Mistress Clarencieaux squeezed her hand reassuringly when Nora asked about their destination.

"You're blessed, my dear, to have married so dashing and courtly a nobleman. The Earl told me that his son conceived of this idea only minutes before you arrived for the ceremony. A hidey-hole for the two of you. No one uses this wing, and Lord Montfort has had chambers prepared at the farthest end of it, so that none will disturb you. It's not every bride whose husband wishes to devote all of his attention to her alone."

"But the Earl is still sick," Nora said.

"And improving. He would tell you to set your mind to pleasing your husband."

The new suite Christian had chosen was indeed isolated. They paraded through unoccupied rooms, one after the other, until they reached open double doors sentried by Nora's own smiling maid and an assistant given to her by the Earl. Inside, beyond an antechamber, Nora found a sitting room and two bedchambers. One was flooded with light from dozens of candelabras, its velvet-draped bed the center of the yellow glow. Roses and honeysuckle decorated the room and filled it with their scent.

In spite of the beauty of the room, Nora grew more appre-hensive as she allowed the women to prepare her for the night. She was afraid again. As long as he was with her, she felt more love than fear, but when they parted, her old feelings of unworthiness haunted her. She knew what to expect of him this night. She didn't know what to expect of herself, however, or what he would ask of her.

Worried and skittish, she climbed into the bed, feeling small and insignificant in its confines. The minutes passed while her companions tidied the room until at last they all stood about casting glances of confusion at one another. Where were the men?

Mistress Clarencieaux left to inquire. She returned in fits of laughter.

"They're chasing Lord Montfort." She collapsed against the bedpost and chuckled. "Lord Montfort vowed they weren't going to strip him like a new babe and frighten his lady with their bawdy jests and ribaldry, so Roger Mortimer jumped on him. Now they're all clambering after Lord Montfort, who has led them a chase to the stable roof. He's on top of it with a bottle of wine jeering at the others. They're all too drunk to make the climb to him, so they're trying to snare him with nets and ropes."

"He could be hurt!" Nora exclaimed. She threw back the covers and began to climb out of bed, to the protests of the ladies.

"Nay," said Mistress Clarencieaux. "They've snared themselves instead. Mortimer is tangled in a net with that young cousin of Lord Montfort's and two of the Howards. The rest are trying to free them, but they only make the tangle worse."

Nora covered her mouth, but a giggle escaped anyway, and soon every lady in the room was laughing.

"A tangle indeed."

The low male tones doused the sparks of laughter. Nora, who was sitting on her heels in the middle of the bed, leaned around Mistress Clarencieaux to find her ladies backing away from Lord Montfort. He stood with his back to the closed door of the chamber, his legs crossed at the ankles, and surveyed the women through deceptively drowsy eyes. A bottle dangled from the fingers of one hand, while the other hand was splayed against the dark oak behind him.

He ignored the women who smiled at him in favor of studying Nora. Her mouth went dry under his stare, and she ducked back behind Mistress Clarencieaux. Ashamed of her cowardice, she ran her hand over her nightgown, fiddling with lace and ribbons. Christian remained where he was as the women's whispering and giggles died. When the room was quiet, he inclined his head at Mistress Clarencieaux, flung the door wide, and bowed.

"My thanks, good ladies, for your care of my bride. I bid you all good even."

He bolted the door shut after the last woman, then turned back to Nora.

"You were on the stable roof," she said.

He grinned and saluted her with the wine bottle. "Am I not clever, sweeting? I knew you'd die a thousand mouse deaths if Mortimer and his gang threw me into your bed naked."

It was mortifying, but she put her head under the sheet while he laughed.

"Come out of there, widgeon."

She pulled the sheet down, and her hair fell about her face. Parting it so that she could see, she found Christian had resumed his pose against the door. He was watching her, all trace of humor gone.

"I deserve to be called mouse," she said in disgust.

"Perhaps." He drank from his bottle without moving his gaze from her face. "But a dragon lurks within that too-sweet body. You and I both know that."

She wet her lips and saw his gaze fasten on her mouth. "A dragon?"

He didn't seem to hear her.

"Do you like Tom Wyatt's poetry?" he asked. He drank from the bottle again, then quoted a bit of the nobleman's verse.

Driven by desire, I did this deed, To danger myself without cause why, To trust the untrue, not like to speed, To speak and promise faithfully. But now the proof doth verify That whoso trusteth ere he know Both hurt himself and please his foe.

Nora's forehead puckered, and she stopped trying to strangle the lace of her gown. "I don't understand."

"God's blood, why do you have to be so—lush?"

"Have I done something wrong, my lord?"

Christian didn't answer. Shaking his head, he thrust away from the door and glided over to the bed. Nora longed to reach out and touch this silver and violet fulfillment of her dreams, but he was in a rare, contemplative mood, and she hesitated.

The spring shower of his laughter caught her off guard. He threw his arms wide and collapsed on the bed, legs hanging off the side. His arms flew out, and she snatched the wine bottle before it fell from his hand.

"I'm befuddled, chuck, and you must forgive me. I think of myself as a dangler after bawds, not a husband, and finding myself charged with the care of a faery sprite turns my wits to porridge." Lifting only his head, he leered up at her. "Shall I woo you in the courtly style?"

His head dropped back on the covers. Screwing up his mouth morein concentration, he clasped his hands together and recited again. " 'What would ye more of me, your slave, require than for to ask and have that ye desire?' "

"You, my slave?" Nora giggled. "I think not, my lord." She felt the tight knot of apprehension in her chest dissolve as he grinned up at her.

"Very well. If you won't believe me enslaved, believe me enchanted."

He came upright suddenly, giving her a start as he captured her in his arms and brought his lips close to hers. She tried to steady her breathing, for he was sure to notice she was panting.

"Don't be afraid, chuck. This act, this mating, I decree that there be nothing but pleasure in it for you. I want you to remember the pleasure." He paused, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together, then said three words: "Remember it well."

Confused, Nora tried to turn her head aside, but he followed her, touching her lips with his. She relaxed at the feel of their warmth and pliancy. Sprinkling her face with raindrop kisses, he slid his hands up and down her arms, lightly, barely touching, teasing. He ran the tip of his tongue down her neck, stopping just above her breast.

His hand gently cupped her, then he backed away to leave her crouching on the bed with her eyes closed. When she opened them, he'd already begun to divest himself of his clothing. She caught a glimpse of a frown, but it vanished, burned away by a grin that held all the bawdiness and lechery of the finest of London stews.

He winked at her. " 'To teach thee, I am naked first; why then, what needst thou have more covering than a man.' "

As he spoke those last words, his hose flew across the room, and Nora watched him stalk toward her. She had little time to view him, but it was enough. An expanse of chest with a shallow valley down the middle separated by hillocks of tight muscles covering his ribs; straining thighs, at the apex of which burst forth an engorged phallus.