Gentle Warrior (10 page)

"I remember," Geoffrey said, smiling inside at the way his wife's face colored with her admission. His hands began to gently massage her shoulders, stroking the knots of tension he knew he caused. "And I have also seen you without your clothes," he said.

His words startled Elizabeth and she was only vaguely aware that his hands had moved to her waist, to the knot that held her robe secure.

"When was this?" she asked, frowning.

"At the waterfall," Geoffrey answered. "You were bathing."

"And you watched me?" she asked, both embarrassed and somewhat indignant.

"I had already decided to wed you, Elizabeth. It was my right."

Elizabeth pushed his hands away and took another step back. She felt the bed behind her knees and knew she could go no farther.

"When did you decide," she asked, her voice a whisper, "that you would wed me?"

Geoffrey did not answer her but stood there and waited.

He wasn't making this moment less awkward, and the uncertainty of what was to come was agonizing. I must get the deed done, Elizabeth decided. Slowly she untied the belt to her robe.

Before her courage could desert her, she removed the covering and let it drop to the floor.

"And do you still want me?" she asked, her voice husky and, she hoped, enticing.

From the surprised look on her husband's face, Elizabeth decided that maybe enticing was easy work. His stare was so hot that she felt the heat, like an embrace, wrapping around her.

She felt like she was being caressed. "Aye, wife, I want you," Geoffrey answered, his voice hypnotic. "Come to me, Elizabeth. Let me make you mine."

It would not take much more to push his control over the edge, Elizabeth naively decided.

Then, in her mind's view, he would most probably throw her upon the bed and take her. It would be painful, she knew, but quickly over.

An overwhelming need to have him hold her first, to stroke and comfort her, made Elizabeth 's head spin. She took the first step and was but a breath away from touching him when she stopped and lifted her hands to her hair. She pulled the ribbon free, and the tight crown of curls quickly unwound, falling down below her shoulders. And still her husband did not move. He did not seem overly crazed with excitement or lust either, and Elizabeth realized that she would have to play a far better temptress than she first thought, if she was going to cause him to lose all control.

She raised herself on tiptoes and placed her hands around his neck, moving forward until her breasts were touching the warm mat of hair covering his chest. The contact of her skin against his was surprising; her eyes widened in reaction. Geoffrey smiled then, as if he was pleased with her aggression.

He picked her up and gently placed her on the bed. Before she could move over to allow him room, Geoffrey came down full upon her, all sinewy strength and power touching silky smoothness from neck to toes. His frame seemed to swallow hers. He braced himself on his elbows to share some of his weight, and watched his wife's reaction to his intimate touch.

Elizabeth closed her eyes against the rioting feelings rugging at her senses. His skin was like warm steel; his maleness, the very scent that was Geoffrey, intoxicated her. She felt herself tremble and bravely tried to move her legs apart, knowing, in her heart, that the power of him would most probably tear her apart. I will not scream, she repeated again and again to herself, squeezing her eyes tighter still as if that single action might help lessen the pain of what was to come. "I am ready," she whispered in a ragged voice.

Geoffrey felt her brace herself against him and smiled. "Well, I am not," he whispered in return, and widened his smile when her eyes flew open with obvious distress and confusion.

His eyes were full of tenderness and golden chips that showed his amusement. 'Tis not funny, Elizabeth felt like screaming. Instead she whispered in a voice that sounded very much like a plea, "Be done with it, husband." She tried to move her legs farther apart but Geoffrey blocked their movement with his own. Elizabeth looked into his eyes and tongue began to stroke her there. The intimate sparing of his tongue against the most intimate, the most guarded part of her very being, the rough caress of his unshaven face against the ultrasensitive skin on her inner thighs, drove Elizabeth to the brink. She begged him with her moans to cease this tender torture while her hands held him there, against her.

"You taste so good… so sweet," she heard him say in a ragged whisper, He was slowly driving her crazy. "Please, Geoffrey," she moaned as she arched against him.

"Please…" She didn't know what she asked for, only wanted the agony to end.

"Easy, my love," Geoffrey whispered, but Elizabeth was beyond understanding what he was saying. His voice was soothing, his touch wild; she arched her hips more forcefully and raked her nails through his hair.

Her frenzied movements made Geoffrey wild with need. His body trembled and Elizabeth could feel the raw hunger take over. Instead of frightening her, she became more excited, pulling him up toward her face.

Geoffrey's control snapped. He covered her mouth with his, hungrily taking her with his tongue. Elizabeth matched his passion, kissing him again and again with desperate urgency.

She found herself becoming the aggressor, wanton with her need, and Geoffrey tried to let her have her way a while longer, until her nails, digging into his shoulder blades, became painfully insistent.

"I want you as I have never wanted another woman," he told her in a ragged whisper. He knelt between her legs, his hands holding her hips. Elizabeth reached up and locked her hands behind his neck, trying to pull him back down to her. She felt him hesitate at the threshold and instinctively arched at the same instant that he plunged. Pain ripped through the sensual haze and she cried out. She tried to pull away but Geoffrey held her tightly against him, and only when he was deep inside her did he stop, giving her time to adjust to him.

He soothed her sobs with honeyed words, promising again and again that the pain was over.

"We are done?" Elizabeth managed to ask, her voice trembling.

"Only just begun," her husband answered. He sounded as if he had just run a great distance, and Elizabeth knew the control he was maintaining for her sake. His consideration for her made her want to please him. He was breathing hard against her cheek. Elizabeth turned her head and found his lips, kissing him passionately.

Geoffrey returned her kiss, cupping her face with the palms of his hands. Then, slowly at first, he began to move. And the pain was forgotten.

Her legs slipped up around her husband's hips. She heard him tell her to hold him, and she tightened her arms around his neck. And then she heard nothing more. She could only feel.

Escalating pleasure had taken control. She was racing with the wild beat of her heart into the center of the storm and her husband was guiding her, pushing her.

"Now, Elizabeth," came his ragged whisper, "come with me." And she was there with him; she felt the separation of body and soul, felt the explosion as bolts of lightning ignited and burst into flame inside her with the forceful thrust from her husband. It was terrifying, and it was magnificent.

She called his name and heard him say her own.

It was some time before Elizabeth returned to reality. The gentle descent back to the present was made warm and safe by her husband's body covering her own. She opened her eyes to find Geoffrey smiling down at her. "I never knew…" she whispered. The sense of wonder and amazement at what they had just shared was impossible for her to put into words, but Geoffrey knew from her expression. He tenderly pushed a wet strand of hair away from her temple and kissed her there. She felt the wetness on her cheeks and realized that she had been crying.

He smiled again-a pleased and arrogant smile, Elizabeth decided-and she wondered just who had enticed whom.

She closed her eyes and smiled. Geoffrey rolled onto his back with a loud, contented sigh and Elizabeth immediately felt the cold sweep of air chill her glistening skin. Sleep demanded her attention, sleep and the warmth of her husband's body. She pulled the covers up and over both of them and rolled into his arms, nudging him until he turned to his side and wrapped his arms around her.

She was just about to drift off to sleep when she heard her husband's voice. "You are mine."

It was a quiet statement of fact.

"Yes, husband, I am yours," Elizabeth acknowledged into the darkness. "And you are mine." Her tone challenged him to deny it.

Elizabeth waited for what seemed to her impatient nature an eternity. Geoffrey did not answer. His deep, even breathing told her that he had fallen asleep. Her irritation turned to exasperation when he began to snore.

Elizabeth refused to give up. He had demanded her pledge, and now she would have his!

She shoved him as hard as she could and fairly yelled into his ear, "And you are mine, Geoffrey."

Geoffrey still did not reply, but he did give her a quick squeeze and a hint of a smile. To Elizabeth, it was an acknowledgment of her claim. It was enough. The pledge was given.

Content, husband and wife slept.

Elizabeth was awakened by the sounds of med at work in the courtyard below. In that instant before memory cleared, she thought she heard her father's deep voice yelling instructions to his soldiers. She pictured him strutting around the training men with his hands locked behind his back. No doubt his pride and joy, little Thomas, was just two steps behind, his hands also locked behind his back, imitating his father's every move.

Roger's bellow jarred Elizabeth. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. Nothing can ever be as it was, she realized, and the past could not be undone.

Yet in the morning light, the future did not look as bleak, as forbidding. Until yesterday Elizabeth had no thoughts or cares for the future; her only concern was Belwain and planning her revenge. Now it appeared that she would have both: a future and justice.

Elizabeth rolled over onto the spot where her husband had slept. The linen was cold beneath her and she knew her husband had been gone for some time.

She was glad for the solitude. So much had happened so fast that Elizabeth hadn't had time to do more than react. Now perhaps she could sort out her feelings. She stretched and felt the soreness caused by her husband. Her husband! She was now married, and Baron Geoffrey was
hers
. In the light of day, the events lasting deep into the night before made Elizabeth blush. What a contradiction this man was turning out to be! He was such a gentle lover, sensitive to her wants and needs, wants and needs she hadn't been aware she possessed.

Elizabeth would never have guessed that such sensitivity lurked behind her husband's shield of strength. Tender and gentle… her gentle warrior. Aye, it was a contradiction. What other surprises were in store for. her? she wondered.

Perhaps it will be an easy arrangement, being married to Geoffrey. By the standards of nobility, it was an excellent match from her position. Her parents would have been pleased.

More significant, her brother's future was now secure. Elizabeth believed that Geoffrey would indeed protect little Thomas. "We are no longer alone, little brother," she whispered.

Hope, newfound and fragile, eased Elizabeth 's worry.

Kicking off the covers, she slipped out of bed and knelt down, automatically making the sign of the cross before her knees touched the cold stone floor. In the habit of rushing through her morning prayers, all recited aloud in Latin as her mother had taught her, Elizabeth finished the ritual in bare minutes. She added an additional Paternoster for the repose of her family's souls, and ended the prayer with the same vow she had made each and every morning since the massacre. She promised to see Belwain punished, and would give her life, if need be. The fact that she was praying for vengeance, an act in great contradiction to all the Church taught, did not deter Elizabeth. In this instance she would follow her grandfather's beliefs. It would be an eye for an eye. The oldest law would prevail.

The ritual completed, Elizabeth hurried to dress. She wished to look her best when she joined her husband. Never having given her appearance more than a necessary glance in the past, Elizabeth was a little surprised at herself. Being pledged to Hugh for so many years removed the need for primping for the opposite sex, for Hugh had always been far more interested in the number of new horses purchased and by how many coins whenever he visited Montwright Manor. He never remarked upon her appearance. Father had called Hugh frugal, which by her father's tight standards was quite a compliment. Elizabeth had come to think of her future husband as… predictable. Predictable and boring.

Her wardrobe was sadly lacking in choices. Long ago, her father had dictated that too many clothes made one give undue attention to one's appearance, and such attention more than hinted of vanity. And vanity was a sin.

Elizabeth decided on a beige gown with blue borders. It fit rather snugly across her breasts and was high-necked, with long flowing sleeves. She tied a blue rope around her waist and slipped her dagger into its leather sheath and onto the loop of the belt.

It took her another ten minutes to find the mate to her beige leather shoes, lodged behind the drape at the head of the bed, and when both shoes were found and slipped into, she turned her attention to her hair. She brushed it until it crackled and then tied it with a ribbon at the base of her neck.

There, she was done. Pinching her cheeks to give them additional glow, and wishing she could find her tiny mirror to check her appearance, she straightened her shoulders and went in search of her husband.

She found Sara in the great hall, and saw the disorder. The castle must be made as spotless as it used to be, Elizabeth decided, in honor of her mother. Elizabeth deterred her search for Geoffrey and organized the servants, placing Sara in charge to supervise the sweeping and scrubbing.

"Throw out these reeds," she said, referring to the soiled rushes. "And replace them with new. Perhaps we should sprinkle some rosemary about to get rid of the staleness that lingers.