Mary Gillgannon (25 page)

Her body would not give way. She was as dry and tight as ever.

“Damn!” he muttered.

“It doesn’t fit,” she whispered.

“It will,” he insisted.

He tried again. He was sweating, breathing hard. She cried out.

“Damn your miserable maidenhead!” he exclaimed.

He rolled off and lay beside her, breathing raggedly. Her voice was soft, beseeching. “Maybe if you would...”

“Kiss you!” He turned to her. “Is that what you want? You want me to caress you? To fondle you tenderly? You’ve trapped me again, haven’t you? Lady Astra will get her way, won’t she?”

She made a sound like a sob. He leaned back and tried to summon the hate and anger he knew he felt for her. He conjured up the scene in the chapel, the King’s angry, offended voice, the whispers of the courtiers, the hardness of the floor as he knelt like a shamed boy. His anger rekindled, but not enough. He had to finish this thing between them. For now, he would forget his vow. Once the marriage was consummated, he would be at his leisure to punish her.

* * *

She jerked when she felt his hand between her legs. What was he doing? Didn’t he realize she couldn’t become aroused when he seemed to hate her?

But somehow it was different this time. He was touching her gently, skillfully. She told herself that he didn’t care, that there was no feeling guiding his caress. It didn’t seem to matter. Gradually the exquisite ache in her lower abdomen returned. Her body weakened, and she forgot his anger, his cold words. Slowly, she slid into a hot, throbbing abyss.

She thrashed and moaned, trembling as he slid a finger inside her. The rhythm he used was slow, agonizingly gentle. In and out. In and out. Her thoughts unraveled. Her breathing grew frantic. His other hand moved to her buttocks. He fingered, squeezed and traced the cleft of her bottom. She moaned and moved against his hand. His fingers caressed her mound, searching for the sweet sensitive spot she longed for him to find. He nudged it at the same time he eased a second finger inside her.

She began to shake and cry out. He held her close, coaxing her with soft words in her ear. The wetness seemed to pour from her.

All at once, he pulled his hand away and covered her. She could feel the hardness of his shaft probing. This time her body yielded. He entered her, pushing, pushing. She cried out as he penetrated the final barrier. The pain swallowed her, then ebbed. Inside her, he thrust and pounded, as if searching the inner boundaries of her body. She held on tightly, breathless with the wonder of being so close to him.

He attained release with a great gasp and cry, then collapsed on top of her. He was sweaty and heavy, but she did not care. She stroked his hair until he drew away.

The candles had almost gutted out, but there was still light to see. Their eyes met, and Astra saw his narrow and grow wary.

“Are you sated, Astra?” he whispered.

She nodded, watching him uneasily.

His hand found the swollen, battered place between her legs, teasing it again to life.

“Do you think we have finished, wife? Think again. We have just barely begun. Next time, I will last longer, much longer.”

T
he candles were all spent when she awoke, the brazier burned down to ashes. Faint light filtered in from the round glazed window in the corner of the room.

She was cold, her legs only halfway beneath the blankets. The scarlet silk coverlet and the rest of the bedcovers were wedged beneath Richard’s body. He slept on his back, one arm covering his face, the other stretched out to the side. Despite the chill in the room, he seemed warm. Heat radiated from his chest and limbs. Astra had the urge to snuggle up to him, to warm her cold body against his. She discarded the thought quickly. If he woke, he might well decide he was not sated yet.

Sated—what would it take to make Richard pronounce himself satisfied? He had not let her sleep until almost dawn. She had not dreamed that lovemaking would be like that. With dogs and other animals she had seen, coupling lasted a few moments. She knew it took longer with a man and woman, but even so, she had not imagined it lasting all night. How many times had their bodies been joined? How many times had he found release? How many times had
she
?

She almost blushed with embarrassment, thinking about it. For every time his body had stiffened and she had felt his hot seed filling her... For every time that he had reached his peak, she had experienced the heights of passion as well.

Now her body felt almost numb, the muscles in her arms and legs weak from going rigid with the incredible pleasure. Richard had been right. She probably would make a good whore. Even when she was sore and aching, even when she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, even then she had responded to Richard’s touch. His skillful fingers. His tantalizing mouth. His... cock.

That was the word he used to refer to it. She knew there were other names. Thinking of that reminded her of him telling all the many terms people used to refer lovemaking. Of all of them, “lovemaking” might be the most inaccurate. Did what she and Richard shared have anything to do with love? She was not at all certain he loved her. Or that he had forgiven her.

Feeling even colder at that thought, she moved stiffly to the side of the bed and sought to recover her discarded nightgown.

When she reached the edge, she glanced down and saw the streaks of blood on her thighs. The sight hardly surprised her; in fact, she wondered that there was not more. It still amazed her that Richard had fit inside her. His shaft had seemed huge. She had never imagined her body could stretch to accommodate something so large.

She closed her eyes, remembering. At first it had hurt, but then the pain gradually dulled. That was early on in the night. Later, as he continued to move and thrust within her, she had transcended the soreness and begun to feel something else—a throbbing hungry need that made her buck and writhe against him. She knew now what men meant by “riding” a woman. His thighs had clenched around her while he drove into her like a horse galloping. Then he had made her wrap her legs around his hips while he rocked and writhed some more.

She opened her eyes and rubbed her arms. Gingerly, she walked across the floor to where the nightgown lay. She suppressed a moan as she bent to pick it up. Straightening, she slipped the gown over her head, then stood numbly in the center of the lovely bedchamber. She was not sure what she felt. Her emotions felt as wracked and drained as her body. It was too much—to feel such anxiety, such desire, such ecstasy, all in such a short span of time.

Across the room, Richard stirred and muttered in his sleep. She watched him uneasily. She had no illusions that things were right between them. He might still be angry at her when he woke. In fact, she wondered if his lust did not make him even angrier. She suspected he had intended to avoid giving her any pleasure last night, but he had failed.

She sighed. What a coil it was. She had never intended to hurt Richard. She loved him. Even his bitter, mocking words had not changed her feelings for him, because she understood his anger. She had trapped him, and like a wild beast imprisoned in a cage, he struggled and raged to gain his freedom. Thinking of it that way made her hurt for him. She wanted to soothe him.

She approached the bed slowly, watching him. Tears stung her eyes. He was so beautiful, his sprawling legs graceful and lithe, his broad chest so sleek and solid. She wanted to lay her head there, to cuddle beneath his arm, to smell the intoxicating male musk of his skin.

She glanced at his male parts, and was drawn back to the memory of touching him the night before. His shaft had been hot and silken, and despite its solidity, the skin there was supple and velvety. She had enjoyed exploring the various textures—the harsh, curly hair at the base, the long smooth shaft, the sweetly-soft tip. A smile touched her lips as she gazed at him.

Then a thought came to her, and her smile faded. He had planted his seed deep within her last night. There had been so much of it, oozing out of her, dripping down her thighs. Surely he had put enough inside her to make a baby grow. Would he love a babe if she had one?

She forced the thought away and eased herself onto the bed, trying not to wake him. He mumbled and pulled his arm away from his face, exposing the thick, corded muscles in his neck, the curve of his powerful shoulders. She stared at him, admiring the clean, smooth lines of his masculine features. His mouth was slightly open. She wanted to kiss him. They had not kissed last light. She suspected he felt a kiss was too intimate, too tender. He might stroke her and fondle her and put himself deep inside her, but he would not kiss her.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut tight and leaned over him. She brought her lips to his. His mouth moved beneath hers.

“Astra.” The word was a soft sigh. He kissed her back for a moment, a mere heartbeat. Then she felt his body stiffen as if he was remembering. She drew away and opened her eyes. He stared at her for a moment. Then his expression grew wary.

All her doubts returned as he reached over and lifted up the hem of the nightgown, pulling it up to her hips. After touching one of her blood-streaked thighs, he got out of bed and began to dress.

Astra covered herself with the remaining blankets. She watched as Richard dressed quickly in his rumpled wedding clothes. When he finished, he went to the door and called out for a servant. When older maidservant entered, he pointed to the coverlet on the floor and told her to take it to the King. Then he moved past the servant and left the room.

The servant retrieved the coverlet and hesitated by the door. “My lady, may I get you anything?’

“My clothing. The Queen or Lady Marguerite can tell you where my things are.”

“Of course, my lady.”

The servant left. Astra sighed and sank deeper into the soft bed. As she’d feared, Richard was still angry. All the passion they’d shared had not changed a thing.

She sighed again and allowed herself to escape into sleep.

When she woke, she sensed it was late. The room was colder than ever, but she could see it had been tidied. The furniture had been pushed back in place, the candelabras refreshed with tall gleaming candles. Her blue gown and a clean chemise lay across the chair.

Reluctantly, Astra left the warm bed and washed her face, hands and sticky thighs with the water in the washbasin. Then she slowly dressed.

She felt uneasy about facing the other women. She was a virgin no longer, and everyone knew it. She couldn’t help feeling embarrassed as she thought of the servant carrying the bloodied evidence to the King.

After donning her gown, she combed her hair, then braided it neatly and coiled it on top of her head. She fastened it in place under a veil. There was nothing else to do, no excuse to delay. She squared her shoulders and went out the door. She approached the Queen’s private chambers and listened for voices. It was quiet for once, no gossiping murmurs. All eyes turned to her as she entered. Isabel’s face was scornful, but the rest of the women appeared curious.

“She’s very pale,” one of the younger women whispered.

“’Tis no wonder,” another woman whispered back. `They say the Leopard is an animal in bed, as well as on the battlefield.”

A few women giggled, but they stifled almost immediately as the Queen entered.

“Good morrow, Astra. You look quite refreshed.”

Astra forced a smile. “I slept well, Your Highness, if very late. I am sorry to be so tardy.”

“No excuse is necessary. You are a married woman now with a husband to look after. I do not expect you to wait upon me every moment of the day.”

Astra nodded and went to a chest in the corner to retrieve the embroidery she had been working on before the wedding. She took a seat and examined the half-finished banner. The royal banner featured the device adopted by the Plantagenet kings before Henry III was born and consisted of three gold leopards rampant on a field of scarlet. Astra had begun working on a design featuring a black leopard on a crimson background. Now she wondered if there was any point to finishing the banner. She was not certain Richard would accept it. He might resent her trying to make herself a part of his life.

A small sigh escaped her. When she looked up, Lady Alyce was regarding her intently. When the Queen got up to go to the nursery, Alyce leaned forward. “What’s wrong, Astra? Did Richard not please you on your wedding night?

Astra shook her head, not knowing what to say.

“Astra,
ma belle
!” Marguerite entered the room with in a swirl of green and rose satin skirts. “I did not expect to find you here. I had imagined you would still be abed.” She winked. “Surely you did not get much sleep last night!”

Astra smiled, trying to hide her inner turmoil. But Marguerite apparently guessed all was not well. She motioned for Astra to follow her into the hallway.

“What is it?” Marguerite asked when they were alone. “Is there something wrong between you and Richard?”

“You know there is. Richard believes I forced him into marriage, and he has not forgiven me.”

“Has he hurt you? Was he cruel to you during the bedding?”

Astra looked away. How could she explain what Richard had done to her? She could truly say she had never known such ecstasy, but things were still far from right between them. “It was not like that. He did not hurt me, at least physically.”

“What of pleasure, Astra? Did he not see fit to pleasure you?”

“Of course he pleasured me. It’s not Richard’s way to force a woman against her will. He made me want him.”

“What then?”

“He’s still wroth with me,” Astra said in a shaky voice. “I wonder if he will ever forgive me.”

“Oh, that. Give him time, Astra. Eventually, Richard will get over his anger and be as enraptured with you as ever.”

Astra shook her head. Someone like Marguerite, whose mood changed from moment to moment, would never understand a man like Richard. Beneath his charming, playful exterior, there was a hard, bitter core. It was that aspect of him that worried her.

“We’d better go back,” she said nervously. “Everyone will gossip if we remain away too long.”

Their appearance in the ladies’ chamber was greeted with giggles and sly, knowing looks.

“Are you getting advice from the little bride, Lady Marguerite?” Isabel asked mockingly. “I should imagine that it would be the other way around. The rumors suggest you are already well acquainted with the mysteries of the marital chamber.”

Marguerite flushed and said nothing. Astra gave her a sharp look. It was not like her friend to let a barb from Isabel pass without a retort. As Marguerite went to the sewing chest and took out a piece of embroidery, Astra’s concern deepened. Marguerite detested needlework and always tried to get out of it. Astra watched her in puzzlement and then turned back to her own work.

* * *

Thud! Richard’s lance hit the quintain square in the center of the red target. As the counterweight swung around, he deftly ducked the heavy arm as it whizzed by, missing him by a good margin. He turned his horse and started back for another pass. His body might ache with fatigue, but he must relieve some of the tension burning through him or he would go mad.

For a moment, his gaze focused on the palace, visible across the training field. He grimaced as he thought of the extravagant bedchamber he had left a few hours before. His wedding night had not gone as planned, not at all. The harder he tried to seek only raw satisfaction from Astra, the more aware he was that she meant much more to him. The crude lust he’d shown her was a lie, a defense to keep her from guessing how deeply she affected him.

He shook his head, trying to banish thoughts of his wife from his mind. The destrier increased speed as they neared the target. Richard thrust the lance in the red “x” with all his strength. The force of the blow knocked the device from its supporting base. The quintain and counterweight fell sideways.

Richard eased the destrier around the field, trying to find calm for himself as well as his mount. He was breathing heavily and his muscles trembled. The exertion had finally begun to purge some of the turmoil gnawing at him. He allowed the horse to slow to a walk and approached the group of young soldiers waiting at the end of the field. He could hear their awed whispers as he neared them.

“Sweet Jesu, did you see that? He broke it! “

“Damnedest thing I ever saw. Can you imagine facing him on the battlefield?”

“I told you he was the best.” The voice of Nicholas, Richard’s squire, came low and proud. “There’s no one else like the Leopard.”

Richard almost smiled. It was pleasing to know he inspired such admiration. Still, the youths’ awe would not serve them on the battlefield. They needed to keep practicing and learn the trick of it themselves. It might well save their lives someday.

He made his face stern as he neared the group, intent on instilling some discipline. A mocking voice to his right diverted his attention.

“Very nice, Reivers. It’s well that you keep practicing your warrior skills. With Henry’s mood these days, you have little hope of ever rising above a knight.”

The muscles in Richard’s face and jaw went rigid.
Curse Rathstowe! Of all times for him to visit the training field.