Knight of Her Heart (Conquering the Heart) (11 page)

“I dreamt not I could feel like this,” she murmured huskily as his lips trailed a fiery path of kisses along her jaw line and his head dipped to caress the tender spot of skin where her neck joined her shoulders.

He gave a growl of satisfaction at her speedy submission.

His blood pounded past his ears, slightly out of rhythm with the crashing of his heart against his ribcage. Heat flooded his groin. The turgidity of his rod pulled his skin painfully as though the force of his lust for his lady would burst forth before he’d even had a chance to undress her.

Carefully he took off her mantel, found the fastenings of her gown with his fingers and began undoing them without stopping their kisses. It took some skill to release all the damnable fastenings. At last he was able to slide the silky fabric down off her shoulders and run his palms under her shift and along the smoothness of her bare flesh, stripping her bare to the waist.

Her first reaction was to cover the naked flesh of her breasts with her hands, but he would have none of that. Shackling her wrists with his fingers, he pulled her hands away.

“You have beautiful breasts. Do not be ashamed of your body, my wife. Let me appreciate you. Let me drink you in.”

He proceeded to do just that. Releasing her wrists, he saw the puzzlement and panic in her expression. He pressed a heated kiss to her lips as his hands sought to cup her breasts. She jumped a fraction at the touch of his palms, then relaxed and moaned as he began to caress the firm, fleshy mounds. The raw sound of her need against his lips as he drew on her nipples with his thumb and forefinger, had his own arousal jumping.

Her head tilted back allowing him easier access as he kissed down the slender column of her neck. She shifted restlessly and inhaled sharply as he reached his intended destination and licked over one of her dusky, pink nipples. Her flesh was softer than the petals of any English rose and without the hazards of thorns to prick his fingers. Drawing her nipple sharply into his mouth, he sucked hard. Lisette buckled under the onslaught of his mouth. Her knees caved and he smiled as he realised her body needed the support of his arms to keep her upright.

Rowan lifted her to him and marvelled at her weightlessness and the feel of her petite form in his arms. Without releasing his mouth from her breast, he carried her the short distance to their marriage bed and laid her down with reverence.

He would love her slowly and tenderly in respect of her maidenhood, but, on his vow, he would also love her thoroughly this night.

Intent on stripping her completely and laying her naked before him, Rowan tugged gently at her skirts. The material had some sort of fastening and caught at her waist. Rowan’s fingers sought the clasp and stilled as his hand encountered something he didn’t recognise—something soft and spongy concealed in the pocket of her gown.

Instantly the image of the maid placing something in Lisette’s pocket flashed through his mind and his curiosity was piqued.

A little dissatisfied protest sounded from his bride as he broke from his suckling of her. He suppressed a groan as she looked up at him with a dazed expression. Lisette was extremely feminine and utterly sweet and appealing. All things considered, he was a fortunate man. Henry may have enforced a political marriage with another maiden who had far less compelling attributes. Aye, he was truly lucky to have such a beautiful wife who stirred his lust to such hot intensity.

Moving his hand he found the opening of the pocket and reached in to retrieve the mystery object. Where, moments before, desire had made his blood run like molten lava, ice now instantly froze his bloodstream and made him paralysed. Rooted to the spot for several long moments, he regarded the object.

Stunned, he turned it over in his hand. The full meaning of his find was like being ambushed by an unseen archer. Each deadly tip found its mark as a volley of arrows destroyed his trust in her and pierced his pride.

“Explain this,” he bit out in a quiet voice as he struggled to maintain his calm. Bitterness pounded through him like waves from a stormy sea onto rocks as he registered her betrayal. His mind tried but was unable to deny the evidence.

The shock in her expression could not have been greater had he doused her with a pail of ice-cold water. Her jaw dropped so her lips parted, but she said naught as she scooted up the bed away from him and pulled at the material of her garment to cover her naked breasts.

“Tell me what this is,” he demanded, closing the distance between them once again.

Her head fell forward, her golden tresses hiding her expression, but not before he’d seen wretched misery reflected in her eyes.

’Twas well she should feel misery, but her remorse did not lessen her guilt.

With a little more pressure than was necessary, he placed his fingers under her chin and forced her head upright, insisting she look straight at the offensive parcel he held up with the other hand. “The truth, my lady.”

“You know what it is,” she whispered, her eyes still as wide as trenchers.

“Aye. A pig skin filled with blood,” he ground out in disgust as he let her go. “And I know the reason for it.”

“Rowan, I told you I needed to talk—”

“And what were you planning to tell me, lady wife?”

“The truth,” she said as she turned her head away from him.

“What is this truth you speak of?”

“I...”

“Speak up, Lisette,” he almost snarled, unable to believe that yet another woman—a woman he’d sought to protect, a woman to whom he was now bound through matrimony—had betrayed his trust. God’s teeth! She’d portrayed the part of an innocent maiden so well. Those initial kisses, her trembling responses...

When was he ever to learn?

His chest became a bubbling cauldron of bitterness. The self-contempt he experienced at his own lack of insight was a potent ingredient thrown into the mixture of resentment and feeling of violation and helplessness that had already stirred in him recently. He’d thought his fair lady wife would provide the antidote. Far from being a cure, the poison of Lisette’s betrayal completed the brew. ’Twas now a deadly, boiling, mix of emotion. 

He’d thought her so pure, so unworthy of Collins.

Mayhap he should have left her to her fate instead of rescuing a woman who was evidently not worthy of his defence.

He stood up abruptly and paced away from the bed before turning to face her. She also jumped off the bed—although jumped to the opposite side, as if keeping the bed between them would afford her some measure of protection from his anger.

Unbelievably, she drew herself up to her full height. Pride appeared to stiffen her spine and set her jaw with determination. What she had to be proud of, he wasn’t sure. The evidence against her was damning. Shame should have her slinking away from him, cowering in a corner.

Zounds! If he were a lesser man, her life would be forfeit.

“I am not a maiden.” The words were spoken clearly, with only one faint break in her voice over the word
maiden
.

A short, bitter laugh escaped through his parted lips.

“That much, my love, would appear obvious,” he returned with sarcasm as he waved the pig’s skin package at her,

“I was going to tell you,” she cried in distress. “I tried to tell you.”

“So you claim, yet you brought this blood into our bridal chamber?” He shook his head. “I must have sorely displeased my liege for him to command me to marry a woman who is both a harlot and a liar!”

“I am no harlot,” she told him, her blue eyes now icy with rebuke.

Rowan almost laughed at her outrage. How dare she act as though she were the wronged party? “By your own admission you are no virgin.”

Her mouth firmed before she answered. A flash of shame appeared before a stony expression settled over her features. “Nay.”

He contemplated her attitude. Self-righteousness shone from her despite the magnitude of her sin. ’Twas incredible that he had been bested again by a member of the weaker sex.

“Were you taken forcibly?” He found himself half-hoping she would answer affirmatively. At least then he may find it within him to pardon her for attempting to practise this deceit and he could take out his fury by delivering retribution to the man who had wronged her.

She stared straight ahead as he paced to her left. “Nay. I went willingly.”

By the rood! The woman was verily a harlot.

“How many have swived you, Lady Lisette?”

She gulped, but answered calmly, her head still held high. “There has only been one, my lord.”

Only one?
He was not sure he believed her.

“Do you fancy yourself enamoured of your lover?”

“Nay, my lord.”

“Nay? What sort of woman lies willingly with a man outside matrimony when she has no love for him?”

“I—”

“A whore, Lisette. You demean yourself and you dishonour me by your behaviour.” His hand cut angrily through the air. “You will not see your lover again.”

“Nay. I won’t,” she answered immediately. “He has already gone out of my life. I will never see him again.”

“Who was he?” he demanded. Just as quickly he decided he didn’t wish to know. He held his hand up as she went to respond. “Nay. You will never speak his name to me.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek as he dealt with the enormity of keeping his outrage in check. “You and your maid thought to deceive me with pig’s blood to stain your linen?”

Her head turned jerkily so she watched him as he paced back and forth. Panic skittered across her face. “How did you know about Ysabel?”

“I saw her pass this to you in the great hall.”

“Pray, Lord Romsey, do not punish Ysabel.” Her demeanour changed as she bargained for her maid. There was no pride in her stance anymore. No stubborn lack of remorse firmed her chin. Only impassioned pleading was evident in her tone. “She meant only to protect me.”

So, at least his harlot bride was loyal to her servant.

“Ysabel made plans with me this morning when we expected the marriage to Lord Collins to go ahead,” she spoke in a rush. “I had already decided not to use that blood to deceive you. I wanted to tell you, to explain. I hadn’t a chance to tell Ysabel not to deliver that to me as we’d arranged.”

’Twas possible she spoke the truth. ’Twas possible she lied. He knew her not well enough to know which to believe, although he had seen her shake her head and urge her maid away. The vision played through his mind. Aye. She hadn’t welcomed this pig skin from her maid. It had been thrust upon her.

“Lord Collins was evil. I pardoned my behaviour knowing I was to be tied to someone who did not deserve my respect. When you announced yourself as my betrothed, I realised you are deserving of my respect and that I must tell you the truth.”

“Yet, knowing there was just cause why we shouldn’t wed, you stayed silent,” he grated, unable to trust or forgive her.

She possessed enough shame to hang her head. “’Twas wrong of me. I was a coward. I should have confessed. I...I admit I was afraid of the consequences of a public declaration.”

His conscience twinged, for had he not once also been afraid of the consequences of a public declaration of guilt? Had not her father saved him from it?

Banishing the thought, his lips pressed against each other tightly and he ground the tips of his teeth together as he considered what she had told him. “Who else knows of your deceit?”

“Only Ysabel. Ysabel feared for my life if Lord Collins realised I had already lost my maidenhead.”

Wise of Ysabel. Yet just how the two women had thought Lisette would get away with bloodying the sheets in this manner was uncertain—particularly if Collins had let Blake have his way and there’d been a crowd of onlookers as she had been, supposedly, deflowered.

“And now you have a different husband and master. Do you fear for your life this night, Lisette?” he demanded in cold, detached tones that carried just a hint of threat.

Despite a slight tremor, she looked at him squarely as if she was reading his character. “Nay, my lord. ’Tho I know you have every right to despise me and have our marriage annulled, I fear not for my life at your hands.”

She judged him well. Her guardian, however, may be a different story. Lisette’s shame would also bring shame to his door. Blake would not handle that well.

Rowan turned away from her. To denounce her and to have their marriage annulled would place her at the mercy of the current Lord Blake. ’Twas impossible to contemplate placing his former commander and mentor’s daughter in danger. He owed her father too much. As well, there was his liege to consider. To denounce Lisette may offend King Henry, as this marriage had been by his decree. Furthermore...His blood ran cold. Worst of all, her wrongdoing could see her punished by the church.

His eyes closed tight for several seconds as images washed through his brain and gutted him with their clarity.

Nay. No matter how unworthy she was, Rowan could not denounce her.

There was naught but one thing he could do.

He paced angrily to the bed and threw back the rumpled covers. Holding the package of blood over the centre of the bed, he drew a small dagger out of a sheath from one boot and thrust the tip viciously into the pig skin so it punctured. He heard her inhale sharply as they both watched the red blood seep into the white linen cloth, staining it just as she had intended.

“There, Lisette. Now you have your stained sheet. The evidence of your purity for the world to behold.” His words tasted sour in his mouth. “’Tis a cross you must bear to know that you willingly deceived me and came to me in falsehood as my bride, without your virtue intact. You must live with this deceit.”

Her hands flew up to cover her anguished expression.

She may be remorseful now, or she may simply be playing him false. Either way, it didn’t matter. Rowan may be forced to protect her but she was unworthy of his honour and he would never trust her again.

“Why did you do that when you could have shamed me and cast me out?”

“It has to do with honouring the vows I took as a knight, and the memory of your father and all he did for me as both my commander and friend. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the meaning of honour,” he threw at her with contempt.