How to Marry Your Wife (14 page)

“Merry? Are you all right?” He stopped and she opened her eyes, meeting his intense dark stare.

She arched up. “Don’t stop.”

“As you wish, m’lady.” He thrust deeply until his base met her core and she pushed hard against him to meet her need. Repeatedly, they plunged toward each other and nothing else mattered. His finger met the aching spot between her folds and she wantonly rubbed against him, growing more and more eager.

Suddenly, the world exploded and she cried out. With a groan, he pumped faster, bringing her higher still, and with a mighty thrust, he shouted.

He shuddered and spent inside her with two final lunges. Rolling, he tugged her atop without pulling out. The drum within his chest beat a victory cadence and his breath was as if he’d just come from sword play. A layer of sweet smelling sweat held them together. Every once in a while, his rod twitched and the pearl between her folds jumped.

After the beating in their hearts slowed, he kissed an ear. “Is all well with you, Merry?”

“You must know it’s so.” She snuggled close into his neck, kissed him, and inhaled his male essence.

“But I’d hear it from your lips before I extract.”

“I have never, ever, been more well.”

He chuckled. “Well, well. If you’re sure you’re very well.” He pulled out slowly, rubbing the pearl between her legs as he did.

She moaned. “Why?”

“Why what?” He nibbled her lower lip and the tip of her nose.

“Why do you grow again. And why do I want more, even though spent?”

“’Tis the way of things. I suppose it’s the way the good Lord makes sure we procreate.”

“Do you think we did?”

He all but purred as he rubbed her behind and grew harder. “Given how fertile your nature, it’d be natural to assume. Just in case, this time we’ll go slower.”

Much later, unable to sleep, she stood on wobbly legs and moved the heavy curtain aside to reveal the bright moon on the white capped waves. Several ships lay anchor in the harbor, well past the sheer cliffs and craggy rocks. Zig-zags of light flashed between the clouds and it thundered in the offing.

His breath warmed her ear as the hairs on his naked chest tickled her back and his thighs met her behind. “What bothers you?”

She turned into his solid body and gave him a hug. “It’s naught to worry about. This keep holds so many memories.”

“Can’t you just put them aside?”

“I wish I could, but like the endless sea, they roll against my mind’s eye. Sometimes it’s a great effort not to become drowned within them.”

He kissed the back of her neck, his lips gentle and warm. “Come to me. I believe I can erase them.”

Chapter 23

When the cuckoo began his unceasing lament in the still dark hours of the morn, Merry moaned and put a pillow over her head. She should’ve slept soundly after all their bedding, but not once had she met the dream-keeper. For the hundredth time in that many breaths, she stared up at the dark rafters and wished she’d never found her mother’s accursed letters.

Robert Bruce’s flaming hair flashed in her mind’s eye. More than once, Edward’s most favored knights had gathered in Marcus’ keep, preferring his fine bathhouse. Robert had barely said two words to her. She couldn’t possibly be his illegitimate child, could she? True, her hair was reddish, and nose similar, but those facts alone did not make it so.

Thomas stirred and for a moment all other thoughts fell away except for his all-night lovemaking. She sighed and smiled. A lifetime of his clever hands and gentle lips would never be enough. God help her. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. She was smitten with her own husband and would beg to bed him again and again for the rest of their lives.

His snores assured her he was still asleep as she slipped off the swinging bed. She padded up the curved stairway to her mother’s old bedroom. Feeling along the wall, she found the panel that Nurse Broome had disappeared into earlier.

She’d speak with her and be back before he woke. No other souls, besides the outside guards, would be up at this hour. Down the damp staircase, past the window with the crashing ocean, and onto hands and knees, she retraced her earlier journey through the bowels of the castle. She knew she neared the passage end when angry men’s voices echoed ahead. Mouse-like, she crept forward, squatted, and held her breath.

“Keep your voice down, I beg you,” said the leering man who’d sat next to her at sup.

Chills ran up and down her back. She willed herself to move but her limbs wouldn’t obey.

The Bishop of York, with his distinct lisp and squeaky voice was the next to speak. “They’ll ruin everything we’ve so carefully planned. You need to get rid of them.”

“Christ’s wounds, man. Think. They’ve Edward’s love.” The men paused within inches of where she hid. Their conversation halted when the floor creaked beneath her.

After an interminable silence, the bishop said, “Annandale will agree with me.”

Slowly, she let out a breath with ears pounding so loud she was certain they’d hear. Why didn’t they move along?

Steward’s voice was so clear, surely he was just inches away. “But Robert sides with Edward.”

Robert? Did they speak of her father?

The bishop giggled. “That’s the beauty. From Wales, they’ll never know that father plots against son and king.”

“Annandale grows too bold. When the war in Wales comes to an end, Edward will stop gazing west and focus on the north. He’s bound to see treason.” Steward, apparently, was the more cautious of the two.

The bishop hissed dangerously. “By then, Alexander will be dead, leaving no heirs.”

The tension was tauter than the archer’s bow. Steward’s voice matched the other’s strained tone. “How can you be so sure?”

A small snicker followed. “We’ve seen to it.”

Merry gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth.
Kill the king of Scotland?
Her grandfather, Annandale, plotted treason? She could be killed just by association.

The door banged inward against her nose and she fell back. Crab-like, she scrambled away but a long arm reached in and grabbed her by the ankle.

The evil Steward smirked as he tugged her out of the hole and pulled her by the hair to a standing position. “What do we have here?”

His smile widened, he whipped a knife out of his belt and put an arm around her neck. “I know you. You’re Sir Thomas’ wife.”

His blade’s edge pricked her throat and a drop of life’s fluid ran down her chest.
Holy Saint Stephen, I beseech you, let my death be—

“For whom do you spy? Speak up, girl.” The bishop’s short stature caused his gaze to focus directly upon her chest. His breath wreaked of spirits and rancid meat. With a lecherous grin, he ripped her garment to her waist.

She shivered and bit down hard upon her tongue.

The bishop scowled at Steward. “Damnation. Drop the blade.”

When the cold metal fell away, she took a deep breath, and a trickle of sweat rolled down her side. “I swear I heard nothing. I was just using this passage to find my old nurse. I thought it safer than the halls.”

A sly smile crept across the bishop’s face and his voice laced with honey. “I’ve a wonderful notion. You go back upstairs to that husband of yours and we’ll follow. If you don’t do exactly as I ask, Steward here will see to it that the boys, your husband, and Sir Marcus nay live to see the light of day.”

“You wouldn’t dare. They’ll hack you in two.” If she was going to die, she’d die brave. She struggled out his grasp and her cheek stung from his retribution.

“In this keep, strength is much more subtle. Being a woman, you couldn’t possibly understand. Go upstairs and convince your husband of your unfaithfulness. It shouldn’t be hard to do given the state of your undress.”

“He’d never believe that of me.” Her chest’s drum pounded in her ears.

“Simple enough. Then you die and they die. I’d be sorry to see that, for I look forward to many nights of sinking into your soft folds while you scream in terror.” He pushed her into the tunnel with knife at her back.

The steps were many more than she recalled as she dragged her feet and her brain whirred. She could probably kill one man. But then what? The other would do as he promised and probably worse. Oh why had she brought them to Scarborough? Surely, of all the things she remembered, she should’ve recalled that this keep held nothing but evil.

At the top of the stairs she halted, but the point of the blade pricked at her calves, insisting she move forward. Taking a deep breath, she entered the tower room, praying her husband asleep. She swung the secret panel open and as usual, the saints heard nothing of her supplications.

Fully dressed and furious, Thomas looked up. “God’s blood. Where were you? I was about to wake the whole of the keep and go in search. Get down here.”

She tugged up on the torn bodice of her tunic as she descended the stairs. Bringing a tallow candle close, he viewed her ripped clothing, and growled. Racing across the room, he grabbed his sword and headed up the steps toward the tunnel.

She clamped onto his back with arms and legs kicking. “No, no. You mustn’t.”

“I can and I will. Stand back.” He pushed her to the floor and turned with hurt in his eyes.

She followed as far as the entrance. She dared not breathe as she waited for the dreadful clash of swords, and the tearing of bone and flesh. A moment later, his form reappeared.

Face red and brows furrowed deep, he met her nose to nose. “Who did this thing?”

“No one, Thomas. Truly.”

A scratching behind one of the other walls reminded her that they were not alone. They were always listening in this keep. She wiggled her eyes toward the noise with eyebrows raised, willing him to understand. He stared back, completely oblivious.

Nails of Christ.
Which was worse, betrayal or death for all the men she held dear? She made her decision. “You couldn’t please me, so I went in search of another.”

He scoffed and peered into her face. His fingertips pinched when he clenched her upper arm. It was a blessing, for it took the pain from her heart. “The truth, Merry. Why do you protect the whoreson who did this to you?”

She stared at the floor and squeezed her eyes shut. “I care nothing for you, Thomas. I’ve been telling you over and over and you won’t hear me. I never wanted this marriage. It’s as you guessed. I’m a wanton woman.”

He paced and shouted, waving his sword in the air. “What? What perversion is this?”

“I . . . I like it harsh. Mean. Rough.” She swallowed hard and tried to embellish, but knew little of such things except what she’d recently overheard in the taverns.

“What’s come over you? I see your lies as plain as the nose on your face. But why?”

“I . . . I love another. Is that not enough for you to understand? She reached down and thrust the box with her mother’s letters into his hands. “Read for yourself.”

He brought them to a candle, read a few lines, growled, and threw them to the floor. His nostrils flared. “These are old.”

She knew only one truth that would surely turn the tide. His stormy eyes met hers, no doubt for the last time. “The night Tom was conceived? I gave you a draught from the old herbalist in the village. She makes healing potions not sanctioned by the church . . . such as one that will make a man desire, sleep, and forget.”

Thomas stared with mouth agape, the furrows in his brow deepened, and he blinked as if ready to fall from an archer’s arrow. “You put a witch’s spell on me?”

She nodded as the burden of the years of lying flew away from her soul. “I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea what the consequences would—”

He sank into a chair with his hands over his face. “Leave me. I can’t abide the sight of you right now.”

She couldn’t decide whether to rejoice that he rejected her or fall upon his sword. The ache threatened to swallow her whole. She ran up the stairs to her mother’s tower and donned another tunic. He didn’t try to stop her as she exited the chambers via the main door. She found Nurse Broome in the kitchen and collapsed into her arms. Eternity would not be long enough for the tears she’d weep. Surely, he’d never forgive her.

Chapter 24

The breaking of fast was meager compared to the fare at Marcus’ estate or any other, but it mattered not. Everything tasted of dust.
Damn his wife all to hell
. Thomas swallowed hard to get the next bite over the lump in his throat. He’d need sustenance to put miles between himself and her on this morn.

“You look like a camel trod upon you, ate you, and shit you out.” Marcus approached with a grin and slapped him so hard upon the back that nose met pie.

Thomas slid back his chair such that the upper rail hit his friend in the gut. A solid elbow to ribs dropped Marcus to the floor. “You shouldn’t sneak up on someone whose war skills exceed your own.”

Laughing, Marcus clung to Thomas’ clean tunic as he rose. He pulled up a chair and helped himself to the revolting pies. “How went the bedding? I assume you were able to make a decent showing?”

Shaking his head, Thomas’ stomach heaved and he stood to find much needed fresh air.

“Sit, sit. You should have another boy. And a girl. I keep trying for one, but Ann pops out tiny penis-wearing babes. She says it’s my fault. I wish I didn’t have to leave her so close to the time of her birthing.” He sighed with cow eyes.

“I’ll do my best to resolve this so you can get home to her.” The pain sucking at his gut receded enough to feign a look of calm as Marcus chewed the god-forsaken meal.

Marcus dropped his knife and indicated that Thomas should meet his ear under the table. “There are plots within plots, we need to gather supplies and get to safer territory.” With a louder voice, he rose with the errant knife, his jolly demeanor back. “We best be off or starve to death. Walk with me outside for a moment.”

They strode over the courtyard and halfway across the drawbridge. The moat swirled, filled high with ocean water. Tangy salt mixed with the smell of shithouse. Thomas spoke first after drawing some much needed air. “So, what is it you wish to tell me?”

“I’ve sent a pigeon to Edward to meet us at Carlisle with an army of men. The old Earl of Annandale plots.” Marcus leaned on the rope handhold and stared into the distance.

“I thought his son fights alongside Edward in Wales.” Thomas stared back at the keep, but none paid them any mind.

“Aye. It makes no sense, but Annandale has to be the one responsible for letting your estate fall to the Scots. He dreams of Alexander’s throne.”

“Bloody wounds of Christ. He’d plot against both the king of Scotland and England?” Thomas spat over the side.

“A king without heirs is like no king at all.”

“Alexander is still virile.”

“Not if they kill him before he sires a son. The priory at Hexham is loyal to Edward. That must be our next stop. For now, trust no one. I sent the boys home to Ann in the wee hours of the morn. I tried to convince your weeping wife to go with them, but she wouldn’t. What did you do to her?”

“Me do to
her
? You wrong me! She’s confessed to a mountain of evil last night. There was no miracle of birth. Tom was sown by a witch’s potion whilst I slept and remembered naught.”

Marcus laughed. “God’s balls, man. Of course she did.”

“You knew and said nothing at all?” Thomas glared.

“Let it go. The girl suffered more than you can imagine for that sin. But the fault still lies with you. She was but a silly girl and you were a grown man. You shouldn’t have been alone with her and I warned you.”

“My honor as a knight and a man has been tarnished. And there’s more. While I slept, perhaps again under one of her spells, for who knows what she might’ve put in my mead, she left the room. When she came back, her tunic was torn to her waist. She tried to convince me she had a lover. The woman is the devil incarnate. A blaspheming liar. Let her brother see to her, I’m done. As soon we reach Hexham, I’ll see to the annulment.

“I don’t—”

“Mayhap you’ve interfered enough, my friend. Even the rope of my goodwill has an end. She and I are finished. I will buy her a spot in a nunnery, if they’ll have her. Until then, let her stay here with her brother.” Thomas stormed back to the keep.