The Bride Gift (15 page)

He muttered a dark warning beneath his breath, but Helena barrelled on. “Mayhap there are a few other bastards trailing around you would like me to succour? Who knows, but you could have sired an entire army of them because God knows you are not getting your heir on me.” She pounded her chest for emphasis.

Guy released her skirt suddenly and she stumbled a couple of steps back. Still, she railed. “It is no matter that I must live with the humiliation of my husband’s infidelity, twitching her arse all over my keep and rubbing it in my face. You gave your sainted word and that means she stays, doing as she chooses, putting her hands where she will.”

He rose from the bath and stalked toward her.

Helena backed away. “You are lord here now. You can do as you like. I cannot stop you. So, do as you will, Sir Guy. Bring any number of whores and bastards and whatnot into my keep. I will be an obedient, little wife, chatelaine to your castle.”

He kept coming.

Her back found the wall. “You are free to act however you want. It is the way of the world, is it not? Women bow to authority, whilst you men go around sticking your parts into every available place. Just like a . . . a . . .
Putain
.”

She clapped her hands over her mouth as if she could shove the foul word back into her mouth.
Too late.

Guy went deadly still.

Helena’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. She couldn’t credit she’d spoken thus and she stared at him with horror over the top of her hands.

“Are you done?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to remove her hands.

“You, my lady, have a foul mouth,” he remarked conversationally. “And a horrible temper.”

Helena nodded again. A deep sense of shame quickened through her blood and hot tears pricked behind her eyes.

“I beg your pardon,” she whispered, too ashamed to even look at him. Her uncle had raised her better than that. And Bess. Her dear, sweet sister. Even in the midst of her anguish, Bess would have cut out her tongue before she spoke thus.

“Nay, Helena.” He dropped his head for a moment before raising his eyes to her again. “I beg
your
pardon. For all of it.”

He was begging her pardon? She had screamed and ranted at him like a madwoman and, yet, he was sorry.

“For appearing in your bedchamber and oversetting all your plans. For being such a clumsy-tongued oaf, for Rosalind, for the babe, for all of it. I do most humbly beg your pardon.”

It was such a sincere apology and so unexpected. A sob caught in her throat.

“Please, do not cry,” he begged, unbridled horror reflected on his face. “I will do anything you ask. Just. Do not. Cry.”

Helena dragged a ragged breath into her lungs. “I am a jealous shrew.”

“There is no need to be jealous.” His voice was so gentle, fresh tears sprang to her eyes.

“Are you in love with her?” She both dreaded and needed to hear the answer.

“Nay.” He closed the distance between them and took her face betwixt his roughened palms. Tenderly he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. “How can I make you see this?” His eyes gleamed silver. They caressed the line of her face like a touch.

Helena was so very tired of fighting, with him and with herself.

“Show me.” The words hit the moist, perfumed air between them.

Chapter 17

“Say again,” he demanded.

“I would lie with you.” Helena’s knees knocked together as she held to her course. “I would have you make me your wife.”

“Lady.” His eyes blazed. “I am yours.”

He stood before her, so beautiful and breathtakingly male. Her gaze devoured him; the breadth of his chest, the carved ridges of his belly and lower to the tumescent flesh between his legs.

The stone of the wall was cold on her back. He crowded closer, fastening his mouth to hers, cradling her head in his rough hands. Helena wrapped her arms about his neck and tugged him closer.
Mine for the taking
.

His lips were bold and demanding. The moisture from his bath soaked through her bliaut. The insistent heat of his erection pushed into the juncture of her thighs and warmth flooded her.

His arms about her waist, he lifted her away from the wall.

“What are you doing?” She gasped, even as she delighted in his effortless strength.

“As my lady asked.”

Helena clung to him as he lowered her to the bedding.

“Like this, wife?” He hovered over her, braced on his elbows.

“Aye.” Helena wriggled and pulled him closer.

His weight pressed her deep into the bed, his hard chest grazing the sensitive tips of her breasts. This was what she needed, craved.

Lowering his head, he kissed her. Softly, at first, before his mouth took hers in a hungry possession. His hands moved to the ties of her bliaut. With a harsh oath, he tore them and Helena thrilled to his urgency. He gripped the fabric and impatiently tugged it over her head, then set those eager hands to her chainse.

Then she lay naked beneath him. Exposed. She would have covered her flesh with her hands, but he grasped her wrists in a firm hold.

“Nay,” he whispered. “I would see you thus.”

His eyes drank in the sight of her until Helena shifted beneath his steady regard. With a murmur, he pressed a kiss to the skin of her neck. “So sweet,” he whispered, trailing his lips over her throat to find the unsteady hammer of her pulse. He skimmed her ribcage, his big fingers fanning out to cover her midsection as he learned her shape.

He palmed the swell of her breasts. She arched her back, glorying in his touch, pushing her flesh into his hands. She had waited an age to have this.

Bending, he took a turgid peak between his lips. Heat shot to the apex of her thighs. She moaned as he suckled her deeply into his mouth. The heat was nigh unbearable, but she wanted more.

His hand slid between her thighs where the ache was keenest. Willingly, she parted them.

His fingers caressed her flesh. She cried out as her hips surged toward his touch. “Peace.” He brought his mouth back to hers. “I know what you need, sweeting. Trust me.” He parted her feminine folds, finding the tiny, pulsating bundle of nerves nestled between her curls.

“Aye.” She bucked her hips.

“So fiery,” he murmured against her mouth. “So hot and needy.” He slid down her body and onto the floor. His head was poised between her thighs, his breath hot on her skin.

Good Lord!
Was this proper?

“Guy?” Helena raised her head to look at him. She tried to snap her legs together but he caught her thighs in his hands and parted them further until he could look his fill. With a low murmur of appreciation, he leaned forward and licked between her folds.

Shocked, Helena uttered a shriek. “Wicked,” she breathed accusingly.

He raised his eyes to hers, licked again, and she was lost to the wantonness the touch of his tongue roused. She dropped back onto the bed with a low moan of delight. There must be a place in hell for this sort of thing. Oh, but she would travel there right this instant if he just kept doing that.

He hummed his approval and laved her, finding that sweet spot again and drawing it between his lips. Helena writhed against his mouth, wanting more of this potent sensation. He obliged her until on a sudden, harsh cry, she arched and shattered in a bone-deep wash of pleasure that shook her entire body.

He rose over her, settling between her thighs. The press of his rod at her opening brought her back to earth and she tensed.

“Hush,” he whispered. “Let me in, sweeting.”

She could taste herself on his lips, shocking yet wonderful, as he slid his tongue into her mouth. He pressed forward until he breached her, drugging her with his deep kisses and whispering encouragement. A sharp pain marked the passing of her maidenhead.

He paused, allowing her to become accustomed to the size of him. Some of the tension left her body as he eased further into her. The discomfort faded, to be replaced by a low need that centred where their flesh was joined. As she relaxed further, he drove home until he was fully seated.

He began a slow, steady rhythm until Helena moved with him. The intensity of this pleasure was as nothing she had ever experienced before.

“
Jesu
, Helena,” he groaned. He drove harder, sweat beading his forehead.

A precipice loomed before her as she urged him on with pants and mewls. Surely she would die from such pleasure. With a cry, her flesh tightened around him, as she tumbled once again into that dark, wild place. Moments later Guy shuddered and her thighs gripped him convulsively to keep them joined.

Their breathing was loud in the sudden silence, his body heavy on hers. Helena lay compliant beneath him, altered in a way that was so much deeper than the loss of her virginity.

After a time, he carefully eased from her and got to his feet, collecting one of the washing cloths from his bath. Tenderly he bathed her sensitive flesh. Helena protested the intimacy, but he ignored her and completed his ministrations. When he was finished, he tucked her beneath the bedding. Slipping in beside her, Guy drew her head onto his shoulder.

“My wife.” His big, strong hands stroked her back as weariness overcame her, and she slept.

Chapter 18

A fortnight later, they still awaited the arrival of the king. The war kept King Stephen constantly busy. Henry FitzEmpress stirred up the land with his small army on his mother’s behalf. At Lystanwold, the war almost passed right by them. It was a fortnight in which Helena felt as if the warmth of summer had crept inside the keep and into the lives of all that dwelled within her walls.

Not even Colin’s sullen brooding could put a dent in her newfound feeling of contentment. Rosalind grew heavier and more cumbersome and the two women managed to coexist without having to acknowledge each other.

Rosalind didn’t bother her, because Guy spent his nights where he belonged.
With me, his wife
.

Sometimes she grew concerned that she might enjoy her marriage bed too much. Guy merely grinned when she confessed thus, and hauled her up to their solar in the middle of the day.

The keep sat down to dinner without its lord and lady that night.

Helena couldn’t find Guy anywhere. He wasn’t in the keep and she’d checked the practise yards. It was a fine time for him to disappear with the hall filling up as she searched.

It was Hearing Day, the first since Roger’s banishment. The serfs had gathered in force to get the measure of their new lord.

And where was their new lord?

Helena would be damned if she knew. Geoffrey trotted alongside her as she swept through the kitchens. What Guy would be doing there was anyone’s guess, but she’d looked everywhere else.

A terrible roar shattered the peace of the kitchen yards. Helena started and quickened her pace in that direction. She followed a chorus of childish shrieks into the orchard.

And paused, amazed.

Guy was pursuing a group of the keep children. They dashed away and ducked behind the trunks of the fruit trees.

Helena dearly wanted to smile. What would the serfs think if they could see this?
That their new lord is daft, that’s what.

Guy halted and turned his back. The children clustered in a small horde and giggled as they whispered amongst themselves. At first, only a brave few, and then the rest approached him.

Guy spun, gave a mighty roar. The children scattered, yelling and laughing. He chased after them, arms raised above his head.

Geoffrey choked back a laugh.

“Sir Guy?” she called.

The ‘monster’ swung toward her. His cheeks darkened as he tried to hold her gaze.

“Run along, now,” Helena told the children.

Disappointment twisted across their faces. Now she was the evil beast.

“Sir Guy is needed in the hall.” She tried to soften the blow. “Mayhap he will play later.”

Little faces drooped.

“Geoffrey will take you to the kitchen. Cook is baking tarts and I’m sure she has enough to share,” she coaxed.

Smiles magically reappeared and Guy’s playmates tripped happily along behind the squire.

“I was—” Guy began.

“So I see.” Helena grinned. Such a big man to be so silly. “I have been looking all over for you. Is this what has become of ‘The Scourge of Farringdon?’ Is he now the ‘Terror of the Apple Orchard?’”

“Wench.” He hauled her flush with his body.

“Beware, my gown,” she protested, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Not with him looking so handsome and that naughty light gleaming in his eye. “‘Tis my best gown and worn for Hearing Day.”

“Beautiful.” He nuzzled the skin beneath her ear.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Nay.” His lips found the spot on her neck that made her tingle to the tips of her toes.

She would love to linger here with him, but duty called. Helena pressed herself away from him. “You are wanted in the hall.”

He didn’t appear to hear her, but was frowning at her head.

“What” She raised her hand self-consciously. Was there aught amiss with her appearance?

“What is that?” He nodded toward the top of her head, and she understood.

“My kerchief.” She smiled. “I have bound my hair as befits a married lady.”

He grimaced and reaching for the kerchief, plucked it off her head.

“Nay.” Helena tried to catch it, but he held it aloft above her head. Her hair spilled out over her back. “Now see what you have done.” It had taken much effort to get her hair neatly contained. She wanted to stamp her foot like an irksome girl.

“Aye.” He wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her to him. “Much better.”

“I cannot go about with my hair like a maiden.” She gave him a repressive look.

His eyes warmed as they perused her hair. “I like it this way,” he murmured and went unerringly for that magic place on her neck again.

Sweet little shivers coursed all the way to her core. “It is not fitting. I am a married woman.”

“And?” His mouth drifted lower to nibble along her collarbone.