The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (21 page)

And
then Rhys knew what he must do.

He
a deliberate glance over the contents of the white-washed chamber, hoping his
manner was that of a man utterly at ease. There was but a narrow pallet on the
floor, the candles and a wooden carving of Christ in agony hanging upon the
wall. The artist had shown a particular interest in the more grisly details,
and Rhys did not doubt that his aunt had deliberately chosen this room for them
with the crucifix in mind.

He
would not be deterred by so obvious a ploy.

He
shook his head, as if bemused. “I never imagined that I would be wed in an
abbey.”

Madeline
laughed, her merriment of short duration. “Nor I,” she said, her eyes widening
as she stared at him. She swallowed visibly and began to twist the plain silver
ring he had so recently moved from his finger to her own. It was as if its
newfound weight plagued her, as if its burden upon her finger only now reminded
her of what she had sworn to do.

Rhys
felt protective of his new wife then, and doubly determined to ensure that this
night was one of pleasure for her. He crossed the chamber and stood before the
crucifix. “Truth be told, I would feel less like a man sinning in church if we
had no audience.” He glanced at Madeline for approval. “It but hangs on a nail,
my lady, and can be laid upon the sill for a while, if you share my thought.”

Madeline
nodded hastily. “I would prefer that.” She crossed herself as Rhys lifted the
sculpture from the wall and seemed to heave a sigh of relief when it was laid
aside. “Rhys, I know that you have the right to do whatsoever you will this
night, but...”

He
crossed the floor, watching how her breath hastened as he drew near, and laid a
finger across her lips to silence her. “My right is of less import on this
night than my duty.”

She
regarded him quizzically. “I do not understand.”

“A
man has many duties to his bride, the most important of which is not writ in
the law of any land.”

“What
duty is this?”

Rhys
lifted the end of her braid in his hand and concentrated fully upon loosening
the knot in the tie that held it bound. “I owe you pleasure abed on this night
of nights. We will have no other nuptial night together, so memories must be
wrought of this one.” He met her gaze. “I would have them be fond memories.”

“As
would I.”

He
worked his fingers through the dark silk of her hair, delighted that it curled
around his fingers like the tendrils of a possessive vine. He spread it across
her shoulders with care and she did not seem to breathe. He kept his voice low
and even, for he knew she had need of reassurance. “What do you know of this
deed, my lady? I would not surprise you.”

“Little
enough,” she admitted with a shrug. “Save the lewd tales one hears in the
kitchens. And I have seen horses, of course.”

He
eased the last of the braid from the hair at her nape, then pressed a kiss to
the soft flesh beneath her ear. She caught her breath, but did not move away.
Rhys ran a fingertip down her throat in a gentle caress, then turned his
attention to the laces on the sides of her kirtle.

“I
heard it oft hurts the first time,” Madeline said suddenly.

Rhys
nodded. “I have heard the same.” He unfastened the lace and drew it from the eyelets,
pondering his course. He could not pledge to halt if she was hurt, not on this
night. “We shall have to endeavor to ensure otherwise,” he said, then removed
the second lace as he had the first. Her kirtle hung open on the sides now, and
he slipped his hands beneath it, lifting it over her head and casting it aside.

The
rough garment, even though somewhat fitted, had not begun to do her justice. He
could discern her curves beneath the sheer linen chemise and her beauty left
him speechless. She was tall, his lady wife, and wrought with slender strength.
Her breasts were full, her nipples dark through the linen and pertly erect.

“You
are beautiful,” he whispered, hearing the awe in his voice. He cupped one of
her breasts in his hand, the linen an irksome barrier to her flesh. He loosed
the tie at the neck of the garment, then eased the linen aside. She wore some
token around her neck, trapped as it was in a velvet sack, and he did not risk
removing it. Who knew what it might be?

Instead,
he slipped his hand beneath it and could not believe her softness. “Softer than
a rose petal,” he murmured, then bent and kissed her nipple.

Madeline
caught her breath. He proceeded with gentle determination until she sighed,
until she softened, until she clutched at his hair.

Rhys
halted with an effort and leaned his brow upon her shoulder. “I would not
hasten you. I would not remind you of Kerr,” he said thickly.

“I
doubt that you could,” she whispered.

He
looked and noted the stars glittering in her eyes.

“You
are so gentle, Rhys.” She smiled at him. “You ask, you do not demand, and it
makes all the difference.”

They
shared a smile that heated his blood and he resolved to continue asking, to ask
all the night long if she would let him do so. He bent and kissed her other
nipple, liking well how she caught her breath again, as if surprised by the
pleasure he granted. Madeline arched her back and moaned softly, that sound and
the taut peak of her nipple telling Rhys that she was pleased.

She
whispered his name. He chose to take that as an invitation and trailed slow
kisses up her throat. He encircled her ear with tiny kisses, taking a thousand
years to reach her lips. She gasped and began to rub her breasts against him.
He loved how she wound her fingers into his hair, how she made little sounds of
pleasure. He slipped his thumb over the fluttering pulse in her throat and held
her fast against him.

When
he finally captured her lips, she opened her mouth immediately to him. To his
delight and astonishment, her tongue touched his, tentatively at first, then
with increasing demand. Her fingers locked into his hair, she pulled him
closer and Rhys was lost.

His
restraint was banished by her willing participation, by her sweet softness
matched with passion. His intent to be cautious was vanquished and he drew her
hard against his chest. Madeline met him touch for touch, her kisses as fervid
as his own. He caught her buttocks in his hands and drew her heat against him,
lifting her off her feet and letting her feel her effect upon him.

Madeline
broke her kiss suddenly and Rhys was ashamed to realize that he had been close
to simply claiming her. She did not seem to be disgusted with him, though. Her
cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling, her breath came quickly. “I never
knew that kissing could give such pleasure.”

“You
have seen but the half of it.” He set her upon her feet and took a deep breath.

Madeline
poked his boiled leather jerkin chest playfully. “And I have seen none of you,
sir. Do you mean to meet me abed in your armor?”

“Is
that an invitation?”

She
lifted her chin with admirable spirit. “I am curious, Rhys, and we are wedded
in truth. Surely you intend to sate my curiosity?” The proposition in her
sapphire gaze was one that no man with blood in his veins could refuse.

Rhys
FitzHenry had blood in his veins.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Rhys
undressed with unholy haste, holding Madeline’s gaze all the while. He hoped
that she did not change her thinking on this matter. He unbuckled his belt and
laid his sword upon the floor with care, then unlaced his jerkin and cast it
aside.

Madeline’s
cheeks grew pinker with every item of clothing he discarded, though she did not
look away. Indeed, she surveyed him with such curiosity that he dared to hope events
might proceed well. Rhys shed his tall boots, pulled his shirt and then his
chemise over his head, and paused only when he stood before his wife in no more
than his chausses.

She
arched a brow, looking suddenly mischievous. “I would wager that you will have
to shed those, as well.”

“It
is time enough that I had assistance.”

She
flushed scarlet, but as he anticipated, she did not shy away. His heart fairly
burst with pride when she closed the distance between them and her hand landed
upon the lace of his chausses. She was intrepid, this bride he had claimed, she
faced her fears with a valor he could appreciate.

“There
are those who do not like bold women,” Madeline said.

“There
are those who value women who are courageous.” Rhys smiled at her. “I count
myself in their ranks.”

She
smiled though the redness of her cheeks did not diminish. “Then perhaps we have
wed well, Rhys FitzHenry. My forthright manner was oft considered a liability,
until now.”

She
stepped closer and he caught his breath when she claimed the end of one lace.
She held his gaze, her own a violent sapphire, and slowly pulled the laces out
of his chausses. His erection pushed the heavy wool aside, so desirous was he
of this tempting woman. She glanced down and her valor seemed to desert her.

“There
is no need for haste.” Rhys eased her hair behind her ear with a gentle
fingertip. Madeline swallowed and summoned a smile, then slipped her hands into
his chausses and eased them over his hips. The feel of her fingertips on his
flesh coaxed the heat beneath Rhys’ flesh to a raging flame. He impatiently
kicked the garment aside and stood nude before her, half certain he would lose
control beneath her gaze.

He
thought she might flee then, for it seemed to cost her dearly to hold her
ground. He wondered how far matters had proceeded with Kerr and feared it had
been too much for her, but his lady squared her shoulders. Her eyes snapped
with such determination that he knew he did not have to tell her that this deed
was of import.

“I
choose this,” she said with vigor and looked him in the eye. “I choose you,
Rhys, to be my lawfully wedded spouse.”

He
was proud of her, but had no chance to tell her as much.

For
the lady, against all expectation, touched him.

Rhys’
blood thundered in his ears, so astonished and aroused was he. He stood like a
man turned to stone, not daring to move lest she be frightened. Her fingers
explored him timidly, then with greater boldness, teasing and caressing. He did
not know whether she knew how she tormented him, but he knew that he would
spill her seed in her hands, if this continued.

“Madeline,”
he said, fairly growling her name.

“This
gives you pleasure,” she said, that wicked glint in her eye again. “I shall
have to remember as much.”

Rhys
could resist her no longer. “With good fortune, there will be much to remember
of this night.” He claimed the end of the tie holding the neck of her chemise.

She
trembled suddenly, not so bold as she had appeared, and he deliberately slowed
his pace. He tugged the tie from the chemise one increment at a time. She held
her breath, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Her nipples were pert.

Time
seemed to halt and there was nothing beyond this chamber, nothing beyond the
blue of Madeline’s eyes and the soft curve of her lips.

The
tie slipped loose from the chemise and the garment fluttered over Madeline’s
shoulders. She did not try to halt its descent, merely let it fall to pool
around her ankles in a gossamer puddle. She straightened, aware of her nudity
and his gaze, and Rhys did not hide his admiration.

“Beautiful,”
he whispered, and when she smiled, he caught her close. He kissed her, waiting
for her to join his embrace, then deepened his kiss when she did so. When she
twined her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to him with a soft sigh,
he lifted her in his arms and laid her down on the pallet without breaking his
embrace.

Only
then did he slip his fingers between her thighs, his heart leaping at the slick
heat he found there. He caressed her, holding her captive beneath his kiss and
his teasing fingers. He coaxed her to a tide of pleasure and Madeline followed
his lead without hesitation.

Indeed,
Rhys’ chest tightened at the trust she showed in him. It was not long before
Madeline writhed, she gasped, she pulled his weight partly over her. He felt
her breasts pressed against his chest, that small velvet sack caressing his
skin when it was trapped between them. He felt her flesh heat as he summoned
the climax from deep within her.

“Rhys!”
She parted her legs further and he slipped one thigh between her own. Her hips
began to buck, her kiss grew more frenzied and then the lady Madeline convulsed
beneath his hand.

She
broke their kiss and shouted fit to wake the dead, her nails digging into his
back. Her hair was wild against the linens, her lips were swollen from his
kisses and her eyes were filled with stars.

When
she caught her breath, she regarded him with amazement and whispered his name
with awe. There were tears upon her cheeks, and he eased them away with his
thumb.