For Love And Honor (22 page)

And he
did desire her. There was no wild, throbbing passion
– thankfully, not on this
night, when he needed to be slow and careful and in full possession
of his wits so he could treat her as she ought to be treated – but
he felt a strong and steady urge to enter her body, to make her
permanently his own.

It was the work of but a few moments to
remove her gown, her slippers and stockings, and her fine linen
shift, until she stood before him wearing only the pearl necklace
and earrings and the ribbons in her hair. She blushed and tried to
cover herself with her hands, but he stopped her.

“
Let me
look at you,” he said, taking her hands away from breast and thigh.
Small and delicately made, she would have seemed like a perfect
little doll were it not for the color staining her throat and
cheeks. Her shoulders were square, matching the firmness of her
strong jaw. Her breasts were high and round, with rosy tips that
stood up tautly when he touched a finger to one and then the other.
Her waist was narrow, her hips in goodly proportion to her
shoulders, and her thighs
– ah, he knew her thighs. He had touched them weeks before
and caressed her in places where he now had every right to put his
hands.

She said nothing while he looked at her. She
stood quietly, running her tongue across her dry lips and waiting
for his next action.

“
You are
still partly dressed,” he said, touching the pearls. “Your skin is
m
ore translucent, more
radiant with life than these paltry things.”

He unclasped the necklace and drew the long
string of gleaming pearls away from her neck, then held out his
hand so she could remove and give him her earrings. He laid the
jewels on the table, and when he turned back to her, her hands were
tugging at the ribbons in her hair.

“No, let me,” he said, brushing her fingers
aside. “I have wanted to do this since the first night I met
you.”

“Have you?” She bent her head, letting him
loop and pull on ribbons and pins until her hair came undone and
spilled downward to her hips. “I did not know that.”

“This is what I wanted to see.” He stood with
silver ribbons laced through his fingers, staring at her. “Dear God
in heaven, but you are beautiful.”

Flinging the ribbons down on the table, he
took her into his arms, lifting her high and carrying her to the
bed. He tore off his own clothing and got into bed beside her. As
he pulled up the linen sheet, he saw her staring at his rigid
manhood.

“I have seen statues but never a real man
before,” she said, running her tongue across her lips again. “It’s
very large, isn’t it? That terrible hardness and redness must be
painful for you.”

“
It is
tolerable,” he told her dryly. “For the moment at
leas
t.”

“You must instruct me in the best way to ease
your discomfort. Would it help if I were to rub it? Or would you
prefer that I not touch the swollen part?”

“I am glad to know you aren’t nervous
anymore,” he replied, chuckling at her concern. “But I am not one
of your wounded animals, and this discomfort is oddly pleasurable.
Don’t look so surprised, my dear; from what I know of you, I am
convinced that you will soon understand my meaning. Yes, you may
touch whatever you like. Here, give me your hand. Let me show you
how.”

Obediently, she knelt beside him, her
luxuriant hair veiling her upper body except where one shoulder and
a small, perfect breast peeked through the shining darkness. Piers
wrapped her hand around his manhood, then released her to follow
her own impulses.

She was a little shy at first, but, with his
hoarsely whispered comments to guide her, she learned quickly, her
fingers stroking him in the same delicate way in which she had once
caressed a bird’s broken wing. Soon she was intent on her efforts,
her tongue caught between her teeth, her breath coming faster.

“Stop,” Piers ordered, knowing he could not
endure much more.

“Have I done something wrong?” She sounded
bewildered, as if she had been wakened from a lovely dream.

“It’s because you are doing it correctly,” he
said, pushing her down onto the sheet. “You have done all you
safely can for me. It’s my turn to please you.”

Having successfully eased her initial fear of
his size and his hardness by teaching her familiarity with his
flesh, he now began a sweet assault on her lovely body. Her mouth
was a delight to kiss, her skin unbelievably soft to his touch, her
response to his caresses all any man could hope for. When he kissed
her breasts she gave a sigh of contentment and closed her eyes.

“Like the afternoon in the hills,” she
murmured, “but so much nicer without any clothes on.”

“Nicer still not to have to stop,” he
replied, sliding downward across her body. Indeed, he could not
have stopped, not if she had begged him to desist at once, not if
someone had entered their bedchamber and threatened his life. His
tight control was rapidly slipping away. All he could think of was
Yolande’s soft and willing body, and his own driving desire.

He moved against her, pushing into the moist
place where previously he had only allowed his fingers to stray.
The barrier he expected to find was still present, unbroken by his
earlier explorations. It proved a flimsy impediment, and his steady
pressure against it elicited only a soft wince from Yolande. It was
quickly breeched and he was buried in her sweet, pulsating
warmth.

Instinctively she moved her hips, drawing him
deeper into her, and the sensation was so deliriously erotic that
Piers thought it would end right then, with one hot thrust. He drew
back, warning himself not to react too quickly or too forcefully.
He did not want to frighten her. He wanted her to enjoy what they
were doing. Gritting his teeth, he made himself wait until her
hands circled his waist and slid upwards along his spine in a long,
slow caress. Then he eased carefully into her again and heard her
sigh in response.

“How strange and beautiful this is,” she
whispered. Then, “I love you, Piers.”

Her soft
voice finished him. He could not stop what happene
d next; it
was completely beyond
his
control. He pushed as deep into her as he could possibly go, and
when she moved on him, welcoming him, he poured into her all the
physical frustration of waiting for this night, all his unspoken,
too well repressed grief for his lost homeland, his repugnance and
anger at the terrible things he had seen done in battle, his horror
at torn and severed limbs and wasted young lives, and his guilt
that he had during the past year emerged all but unscathed from too
many battlefields. Along with his seed he spilled into Yolande all
the aching, empty loneliness of his carefully controlled emotions
and his hungry soul. And Yolande received it all and turned it
around and gave it back to him as love.

He heard
her cry out and felt against the part of his body that was
intimately connected to her the soft paroxysms of her release. An
instant later he slipped into a place beyond the present moment
that held them both to a safe haven where he and Yolande were one
in sweet and tende
r joy.

When he returned to himself again he was
lying beside her and she was stroking his face with gentle
fingertips, wiping away the tears that still coursed down his
cheeks.

“
I never
dreamed what a precious treasure you would prove to be,” he
whisper
ed.

“I love you, Piers.” The simple, beautiful
words broke open the gate of his carefully guarded heart as nothing
else could have done. He knew he could trust this woman with his
deepest secrets.

“Except for Alain and poor, dead Crispin, and
Father Ambrose, I have never loved anyone,” he confessed. “I was a
third son, an encumbrance to my parents, who made it plain to me
that they much preferred my older brothers. When I was a little boy
my mother was so cold to me that I early learned not to depend upon
a woman for real affection.”

“You can depend on me,” she said, her own
eyes shining with unshed tears to match those still filling his
eyes. “I will never betray you or hurt you, and I will always love
you.”

“
Yolande,
I am not certain that I can
love you
in return, not as you ought to be
loved.”

“
I will
teach you how to love. You need not say it until you want to. When
you say it
– and you
will, Piers, in time, for you have a tender heart – when you say
the words to me, mean them. Never lie to
me about your
feelings. That is the one promise I would have from you.”

“How can you know so much of love?” he asked,
believing the promise she required would be the most difficult to
keep of any oath he had ever taken.

“Perhaps I know about love because I have
always been loved,” she said. “My mother, my stepfather, Theo
Georgios, my nurse Lesia, so many kind people have loved me.
Because of their love I am stronger than I might appear to
you.”

“From lack of love I am weaker than I ought
to be,” he responded. “Will your love make me strong?”

“Mine, and the love of our children.”

“Children.” Piers swallowed hard, suddenly
comprehending the importance of what he had done that day by
marrying, and the true significance of the act they had just
completed. Yolande had faced the nervousness and apprehension of a
virgin bride and had lived through her long wedding day and her
first night of marriage with love and bravery. While Piers, fool
that he was, had refused to acknowledge his own fears or his true
responsibilities.

“I do not deserve you,” he whispered.

“I think you do.” She smiled at him, his
beautiful, gentle bride, with her red-brown hair strewn across the
pillow and her dark eyes shining with love.

“
I never
thought to find happiness,” h
e said,
stunned by the raw emotion filling him. “But here
happiness is. What shall I do now?”

“
Accept
it,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders to pull him down
to her again. “And you might enhance it with a kiss – so
– or a caress – like this – or
even by – yes, Piers, do that again. Oh, Piers, I love you
so.”

*
* * * *

The Emperor Lothair delayed his invasion of
southern Italy, not crossing the Alps until late summer, and there
was no change at all in the situation at Naples, where the long
siege continued. The lack of any serious events that might have
called Piers back to Italy gave him the spring and most of the
summer with Yolande. The arranging of their new home was completed
with surprising speed, thanks in large part to the many wedding
gifts they received.

“The presents do make our task easier, though
I love to go into the market with you,” Yolande told her husband.
“It is such fun to find a piece that pleases both of us, and you do
bargain well, Piers. What a good price you got for the fountain,
and how handsome it looks.”

They were
sitting in the garden, which Yolande had in a matter of weeks
changed from a forest of overgrown weed
s into a pleasant
refuge of flowers and shade, with the tile-encrusted
foun
tain at its
center.

Piers smiled indulgently, enjoying the soft
evening air and his wife’s sweet presence. Life was good. The
carnage of war seemed far away, though he did occasionally wonder
how Alain was faring, at sea once again as captain of one of the
ships presently guarding the entrance to the harbor at Naples.

“My dearest, we have a small problem,”
Yolande announced, breaking into his relaxed mood. “It is about
Uncle Ambrose. He told me to call him uncle, as you and Alain
do.”

“
He’s not
sick, I hope? I should have gone with you when you visited George
this afternoon, but I did have business at the royal palace. I
assume you saw Ambrose as well as George. What’s wrong,
and
why didn’t you tell me at once?”

“
I wanted
to think first about what we might do to help him,” Yolande said.
“No, Uncle Ambrose is not ill, but he
is
somewhat upset. Theo Georgios’s house is
large enough for privacy, but still, the situation must make him
uncomfortable, especially at night.”

“What situation?” Piers stared at her,
wondering why she was taking so long to come to the point when she
usually spoke frankly and with directness. “Tell me at once,
Yolande.”

“
If I
hesitate, it is
because I am a little embar
rassed myself,” she explained. “In my
memory, Theo Georgios has never done such a thing
before.”

“Done what?” Piers demanded with growing
impatience.

“
Theo
Georgios has taken two mistresses,” Yolande said. “He is keeping
th
em at his house.”

“
Two?
When he’s almost fifty years old? Good lord, he’ll exhaust himself
and be no use at all to Roger.” Piers burst into laughter. Seeing
Yolande’s affronted expression, he sobered almost at once, to offer
his explanation. “When Georg
e
and I talked about him giving us this house he said
something about changing his living arrangements, so I’m not really
surprised. He is a widower, Yolande, and he did keep that part of
his life completely separate from his household while you lived
there. He has a right to a little personal happiness now that he is
no longer responsible for a young maiden. Still,
two
women at once?” Piers ended on
a chuckle that turned into a full-throated laugh when Yolande
swatted at his arm.

“My love, will you be serious?” Yolande
cried. “Uncle Ambrose is living in that house. He has no contact
with the women, but he knows they are there and for what purpose,
and their presence offends him. I am sure he would never complain
to Theo Georgios, and he said nothing to me, but I could tell what
his feelings were. I think Uncle Ambrose wants to move elsewhere,
preferably to a priestly residence, but that will be difficult
because Roger does not allow the Latin Church to build large
establishments in Sicily.”