Everlasting (39 page)

 
But she wouldn’t, only turned her face away when she could. But she had too much pride to run from him, so when he stepped back and pulled his long tunic over his head, she stood frozen and watched. His shirt was next, then his shoes and hose. All that kept him from nakedness were his braies, the low-slung garment that covered his loins. But even that he dispensed with, and she found herself backing away from the threatening manliness of him.

 
Yet she could not deny that his face and form were thrilling, that the evidence of his desire for her made her wonder how much he truly wanted her. She came up hard against the bed, and felt like she’d been herded there, which only made her anger flare. But then he was upon her, pushing her back onto the soft quilts, laying his long, heated, well-muscled body over hers. He kissed her again, hard and deep, and she felt the first draft of cool air on her legs as he pulled her nightgown up and off.

 
“I will have naught between us this night,” he whispered against her throat.

 
She was being pressured from all sides, as if her traitorous body were no longer her own. Then her hips and thighs were bare and he settled himself between, all heat and hardness. She gasped and squirmed, but he did not force himself into her, only held her still with his lower body while pulling her robe down her arms. Effortlessly he lifted her up to slide it off her, and even though she struggled against him, he at last pulled her gown over her head.

 
And then they were naked against each other, flesh to flesh. She went still, feeling his arousal at the very gates of her womanhood. But instead of pressing home, he murmured unintelligible words against her neck, and then lower, until his mouth closed over her breast. The hot flame of heat enveloped her, made her no longer herself, but his. She moaned against the exquisite torture, undulated her hips against his because she could not keep still. At last he slid home, to the very core of her, stretching her through pain until it was done. “Easy now, lass,” he murmured against her lips, then took her mouth with another overwhelming kiss.

 
Raven knew she was a virgin, but he was beyond himself, could only give in to the need to move, to sink deeper into her and pull away. Her cries were of pleasure, not pain, and he let himself go, thrusting over and over until he felt the tautness of her, then her trembling release. He barely lasted another moment, the climax sweeping over him with a power he had thought unimaginable.

 
When at last his passion eased, when he could remember how to breathe, he lifted himself up on his elbows and looked down at Abrielle, who was flushed and perspiring and staring at him. “Ye are mine now,” he told her, and at his words she burst into tears.

 
With a groan, Raven rolled off of her and tried to gather her close, but she would not have his comfort. She felt betrayed by her own body, for the pleasure it had taken from Raven had not been under her control. He had won this first battle. She rolled away from him, her slender shoulders quivering, the quiet sobs hiccupping through her body.

 
Raven stared at the ceiling and wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake marrying a woman who didn’t trust him, who didn’t want to trust him. Had lust overcome his good sense? Had he thought he could make this marriage work? But then he reminded himself that this was only the first night, with a lifetime more of them to come, and he resolved that one thought would guide his marriage from that time onward, that he would not give up on his bride.

CHAPTER 18

 
As Abrielle slowly opened her eyes as the rays of the morning sun fell upon her, something seemed wrong, but she couldn’t remember what, until she realized to her horror and consternation that she was naked. With a gasp, she sat up, holding the quilt to her chest, but she was alone. The clothing that had been dropped haphazardly was now folded in a neat pile on the chair. With a groan, she fell back on the pillow. She was a married woman, no longer a virgin. But he had taken that last choice from her.

 
She threw back the bedding, and was only angered more at the spot of blood on the sheets. After foolishly covering it back up, she drew on her robe and paced. What was she to do? How was she to face Raven? He was truly her husband now, in every way; he had made sure of that.

 
But she could not spew her wrath at him. What would that accomplish but misery for all involved, including her parents? Nay, the deed was done, and she would have to live with it. Many women married men they had not chosen. She was just another one. She would smile and pretend to others that everything was fine. That would not ex
tend to her bedchamber, of course, but she would face that when necessary. There was a hesitant knock on the door, and since Abrielle knew her bold husband would probably swagger right in as the new master, she called for the person to enter.

 
Nedda peered in. “M’lady?” Abrielle greeted her with a smile, and the servant relaxed as she came in.

 
“Sir Raven said ta let ye sleep,” Nedda said, “but I heard ye movin’ about. Would ye like a bath?”

 
“Oh, please, that would be wonderful,” Abrielle said. She knew that Nedda continued to watch her almost suspiciously, but Abrielle remembered her vow to act like a normal wife.

 
As a normal wife, she bathed and dressed, and then went down to the great hall. Again, she hated her feeling of relief when she did not see Raven. The trestle tables were being folded against the wall after the morning meal, and Abrielle found Elspeth speaking with the servants.

 
On spying her, her mother hurried over and gave her a hug, then searched her face with trepidation. “Abrielle? Do you fare well this morn?”

 
She was a normal wife, Abrielle reminded herself, and forcing a smile on her face, she said to her parent, “Aye, Mama, I am well. I am simply a wife now, which is nothing unusual.”

 
“Hmm” was all her mother said in reply, for she knew her daughter well, and readily surmised that indeed she did not fare well, regardless of her claim.

 
A bit too brightly, Abrielle looked about the hall. “I see I have slept through the meal. Forgive me for not being here.”

 
“Nonsense. Yesterday had to be trying for you.” Unspoken was the query asking if the same could be said for the wedding night, but Abrielle pretended ignorance. Elspeth sighed. “I’ll have someone fetch bread and pottage for you.”

 
“Nay, I’ll go to the kitchens myself.” Clearly her daughter was not herself, though understandably so.

 
“You do not ask where your husband is,” Elspeth said slowly.

 
“I assume he is about somewhere, enjoying his status as the new master of the keep.” Abrielle winced as her bitterness peered through her masquerade. “Forgive me, Mama,” she said before her mother could speak. “I will become better at my new role, I promise.”

 
Elspeth put a hand on her arm. “Every woman must learn the role of wife, my dear. The adjustments are not easy even when you’re deeply in love with your husband.”

 
“But what happens when you cannot respect him?” Abrielle said softly, feeling once again the sting of silly tears. She dashed a hand across her face and forced a smile. “It is only the first morning. Things will be better,” she assured her mother, though she could not foresee how that could be so when she neither trusted nor respected the man whose ring weighed as heavily on her hand as their marriage weighed on her heart.

 
Abrielle spoke to the kitchen staff, consulting on the meals for the day, leaving her mother in charge of examining the food stored in the undercroft for the coming winter. She decided to show her people that this transition to having a new lord could go smoothly, so she toured the castle, speaking to the servants, learning of their lives and their work. By the time she reached the courtyard, her people’s cheerfulness had her feeling a little better. She examined the harvesting in the kitchen garden, watched the dairymaids at work, and spoke with the grooms in the stable.

 
At last she was drawn to the sounds of clashing metal, and followed it to the rear of the keep until she reached the tiltyard, where the soldiers and knights practiced their warcraft. It was there that she found Raven and her stepfather. But it was to Raven that her eyes were reluctantly drawn. He was wearing a sleeveless leather jerkin that fell to his midthigh; his bare, muscled arms gleamed with sweat in the sun. He was speaking to a group of men, all of whom carried swords. Then Raven began to demonstrate as he spoke, sparring with Vachel, who comported himself as well as any younger man.

 
There seemed to be no animosity here among warriors, and for that Abrielle was grateful. The knights looked upon Raven with respect, and she saw more than one man nodding in approval at whatever maneuver he had performed. Raven may have caused dissent in the countryside, but at least here among men he must command, he was respected.

 
Yet only yesterday, these same men had smirked at Raven when he’d been found alone with Abrielle. Did marriage so easily satisfy their sense of honor? Would that she could be so easily reconciled to her fate. But then, they were not the ones who’d been deceived and used and had what was their choice to freely make stolen away, and a tarnished substitute forced on them instead.

 
Suddenly Raven’s gaze fell upon her, and the smoldering intensity there froze her. He came striding toward her, still carrying his sword, and she couldn’t move, couldn’t even dream of escape. All she could think about were the things he’d done to her in the dark of the night, and the pleasure she hadn’t wanted to feel sweeping over her. Even now, her traitorous body grew warm as her blush spread to every part of her skin.

 
To her shock, he slid one arm about her and pulled her to him. Her hands landed on his chest, but she couldn’t push him away, not before all the men he would command. Then his mouth took hers in a searing kiss that was too sensual for such public display. She felt helpless and aroused and angry with both herself and him, especially when she heard the cheers of the men echo on the tiltyard.

 
When at last he lifted his head, she whispered, “You brute! How dare you handle me like this!”

 
He only arched a dark brow and grinned. “Ye can no longer play the outraged virgin, lass.” She would have retorted with a scathing comment, but she saw Vachel coming toward them. So she donned her false smile and, in an overly sweet voice, said, “You are still embarrassing me before your men.”

 
“Our men. And I think they’re cheered by the obvious success of our marriage.”

 
“Success—?” But then Vachel was too close and she turned to face him, conveniently stepping away from Raven to kiss her stepfather’s cheek. “A good morning to you, Vachel.”

 
He blinked at her display of affection, then warily said, “And to you, my dear. You look radiant this morn.” As if a night in Raven’s bed was supposed to change her for the better? she thought darkly. “I see the two of you have wasted no time in getting back to work after the festivities.”

 
“’Twas necessary,” Raven said, his face sobering. “I needed ta see what months under the dubious command of Desmond de Marlé had done to the keep’s fighting force.”

 
“And ’tis not good,” Vachel added.

 
Abrielle forgot her own concerns. “What is it?”

 
“Many of those men arrived with us,” Vachel said, “and four with Raven. The rest have allowed themselves to grow lazy, for Desmond was more concerned about spending his newly found wealth on himself than on his soldiers. What incentive is there to train when the pay is irregular at best?”

 
“How terrible.” Abrielle’s gaze returned to the tiltyard, where the men began to spar with blunted swords.

 
“But now they understand what is required of them,” Raven said.

 
“And the rewards they’ll receive,” Vachel added. “Your new husband has been generous.”

 
With my money, she thought with bitterness, then chastised herself. Raven was doing his duty to her castle and her people, nothing more. If only for their sake she had to stop ascribing base motives to everything he did.

 
“The stores set away in case of a siege are seriously depleted,” Raven said. “Much will have ta be done.”

 
“Of course,” she said, “my thanks for seeing to it.”

 
“And why wouldna I?” Wearing his best charming grin, he put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I will do everything in my power ta protect ye and our people.”

 
She patted his chest and again managed to step away. “Then I shall see you both for dinner.” Yet when the midday meal was being served, Abrielle received word that Raven, Cedric, and Vachel had been called away to a nearby manor, and though the servants seemed to be trying to protect her, she heard the whispered fears of “invasion” and “Scots.”

 
Throughout the day, she told herself that if there were any truth to such rumors, Raven never would have left the castle gates open, with the soldiers continuing their training rather than manning their positions. But nighttime fell, and still he didn’t return. On this, the second night of her marriage, she finally went to bed alone. She would have felt relieved at the peacefulness of sleeping in the big bed, except her fate and future were now tied to her husband’s. What if something worse was happening? Should she have sent a contingent of men in support? Surely Raven would have sent word if he needed assistance.

 
It seemed as if she had barely fallen asleep when dawn’s light woke her and she stirred, feeling herself suddenly trapped. She realized that Raven was there, and they were entwined together, her head pillowed on his shoulder, the broad, naked expanse of his chest before her. Thankfully, she had worn a nightgown to bed. His hand rested familiarly on her back, and to her horror, her knee rode his. She was planning the best way to escape without waking him when she glanced up and saw him watching her with amused eyes.

 
“What a wonderful way ta wake ta the day,” he rumbled, coming up on his elbow, rising above her with too much threat.

 
She quickly slid out of his arms and out of the bed. “I am glad to see that you returned safely. I have so much to do, and I’m certain you do, too, what with the…lazy soldiers,” she finished lamely.

 
He fell back on the pillows, folding one arm behind his head, the better to watch her. He saw how flustered she was to find a man in her bed, and, remembering her tears, had decided to allow her to escape—for now. But a newly married man had only so much patience, and she would have to accept that.

 
She stood shivering on the rug before the hearth, where the fire he’d tended late last night had died down to a few embers. He could see her hesitation, knew she wanted to dress, but did not want to do so before him. And he was not about to help her with that dilemma.

 
She hugged herself and rubbed her arms. “Why were you absent so long yesterday?”

 
She didn’t even know if he would discuss what some men would consider falling within a man’s domain, but his smile faded and he frowned as he began to speak.

 
“We received word from a courier that Thornton Manor was ‘attacked’ by a contingent of Scots.”

 
“Oh my.” She went still in sudden fear. What would happen to her and her people should a war break out, when they now had an “enemy” as their lord?

 
His expression eased. “Fear not, lass. It wasna an invasion, but a half-dozen poor Scots chasing their cattle and not realizing how close ta the border they were. They crossed inadvertently.”

 
She closed her eyes with relief at the news he’d brought, thankful that an invasion had not taken place.

 
“I wasna meant ta be summoned, of course. The courier didn’t realize he wasna supposed ta alert everyone in the area. My arrival almost made things worse, as if I were in collusion with these other Scots. We were lucky that Thurstan de Marlé was not at home ta be summoned. Your stepfather has a cool head about him, and my da’s joviality helped everyone stay calm. The Scots were freed at last ta return home.”

 
She sank down on the edge of the bed, her face in her hands. “This
will never end, will it?” She felt his hand on her back, and when she stiffened, it dropped away.

 
“Ye mean this distrust of my people?”

 
Not just that, but her distrust of him, of the fact that his being a Scot would forever put him at odds with her people. When would he have to side against her? When would this supposed loyalty of a wife to a husband be tested?