The Warrior's Reward (11 page)

“And this is what my dowry shall pay for,” she mused. Her gaze connected with his. “This shall be my home.” Hands clasped together, she glanced around once more. “Well, shall you introduce me to your household?”

***

Teeth chattering, Rosamunde climbed gratefully under the heavy woollen blankets and cotton sheets of the four poster bed. She’d already drawn the curtains around it but a chill seemed to seep through the musty fabric. The bed felt cold and damp. She grimaced.

Weariness ate into every part of her. This was her home. And should her husband go away, it would be her domain. She would run it and command the men. The people of the village would look to her—not that she had even met them yet. Set amongst these vast mountains and a landscape that looked as though it had been forged by giants, she would live out the rest of her life.

She sank against the pillow. Thank the Lord the bedding seemed to be in good condition and the pillow feather-filled. She was not sure how much more she could take. She lived in a castle with holes in it. Holes!

Did her father have any idea what he was sending her away to? She wished not to appear priggish but, dear Lord, holes in the wall? Mayhap if she had not been travelling for two days and hadn’t just left everything and everyone she held dear, she wouldn’t care quite so much about great big bits of stone missing from the walls, but at the moment, all she could think on was how she had sat at the table with the wind whistling around her ankles, whilst being able to see directly out onto the mountains. How many more mealtimes would be like that? She was not sure she was hardy enough to tolerate it.

“I will prove him wrong,” she murmured to herself.

Rosamunde had seen how he’d looked at her, as though she might wilt at any moment. She had promised herself she’d prove them all wrong and if that meant tolerating a little cold and damp, then so be it. If she had to lift great boulders and fill that hole herself, she would. Anything to remove that look from his face.

She stiffened when she heard footsteps. This was it, was it not? He would take her tonight and claim her as his for once and for all. She knew not whether to be terrified, annoyed or... or excited. There was no denying it, Ieuan did excite her. The way he touched her never failed to illicit a thrill—so far removed from the touch of Phylip. With Ieuan, the memory of that fiend was nothing but a haze, as though it had happened to someone else.

What should she do? She certainly wouldn’t take off her chemise this time. For one, it was far too cold and she’d scared him away with her naked body. Was there something hideously wrong with her? Her breasts were too big or her legs too thin and long. Mayhap she didn’t look as other women did. She’d hardly seen many naked.

Rosamunde drew in a breath and held it in her chest as the door creaked open. Golden light from a candle spilled into the room, dancing through the gap in the curtains. The fabric was too thick for her to make out shadows, but she recognised the footsteps as Ieuan’s and not her new lady-in-waiting or any other servant. How she recognised footsteps, she knew not. Who knew what a person’s footsteps sounded like? But apparently those heavy, careful thuds told her that her husband approached.

She imagined him walking like he did in the arena. Confident, proud, lithe. Ready to pounce. Was he ready to pounce on her? Nerves made her stomach tumble over and over and she gripped the bedding under her chin.

There was a clunk—something being placed down—and then a swish as the curtain was drawn back. He must have placed the candle on the side table. He paused and eyed her. She imagined how she must look, pale-faced and terrified and practically hiding under the bedding. Not at all like the brave woman she wished to be. But her legs were frozen solid—mayhap by cold, mayhap by fear.

Then he vanished behind the curtain and with a hiss of air, the light from the candle was gone. She stared into the blackness, unable to break it after the brief flash of light. Sounds were amplified—the murmur of voices outside, the whistle of wind through the shutters and the howl of a lone wolf. Then there were his footsteps again, creeping closer to the bed.

Fabric rustled when he drew the curtain and the bed creaked with his heavy weight. Her heart felt heavy too, weighed down into the pit of her stomach. A rush of even colder air curled around her when he lifted the blankets and he slid in. His elbow brushed her and the briefest touch of a warm, hairy leg made her want to fly from the bed and jump out of the hole in the side of the keep. But her body remained stiff while she tried to summon more determination and courage. How was it she could see off a potential attacker and feel perfectly assured afterwards, but put her into bed with this man and she had never been so terrified or confused in her life?

If only he was more like the man she had first met. So charming and easy to spend time with. But that had all been a lie. She clamped her teeth tightly together as a shudder wracked her.

“You are cold,” he stated.

Before she could issue a word or even a squeak, he turned and put an arm around her. Eyes wide in the darkness, she tried to break it to see his expression but her eyes simply wouldn’t adjust. He tugged her into his side.

Ieuan was warm. And hard. At the same time as his body warmth eased her muscles, new tension leached into her. One large hand curved around her side. His chest touched her shoulder and his legs were in line with her bare thighs. Her chemise had risen enough so that she could feel the thick muscles of his thighs flexing against hers as he settled them into a more comfortable position. Even his face was not far from the side of hers. She felt his breaths whisper across her braided hair.

For many moments, they remained like that. After a while, the temptation to turn and take more of his warmth began to eat into her. After all, he was going to take her regardless of whether she remained like this or not. Would it not make more sense to at least be warm?

So she gave into that niggle of temptation and twisted. She could not see his face but she thought he must only be an inch or so away from her. His breath smelled of mint leaves and it was warm. And there was yet more temptation—temptation to kiss and re-enact that night after the tournament.

Ieuan’s harsh intake of breath echoed through the air when she pressed herself into him and latched her arms around his waist. Sinewy strength touched her everywhere. Then he seemed to relax a little and he pressed his arm under her head to cradle her into him. She burrowed deeper and found her cheek flat against his chest while he arranged the blankets over her.

“Once I have the castle fixed, we shall have glass windows,” he told her. “It will be much warmer.”

“And no holes?”

He chuckled. “No holes.”

She nodded against the cotton of his shirt. Was he naked under there? Rosamunde wished heartily she had more knowledge of men. From what little she knew they were harder than women, and hairier. Though her previous suitors had never been built like Ieuan.

Rosamunde allowed herself several more moments to enjoy his warmth before lifting her head from his chest. She slipped a hand inside his shirt and he cursed. She drew her hand back and tried to pull away, startled by the rough word. What had she done now?

But he wouldn’t let her escape. He kept her tight to him. “Your fingers are cold,” he explained and took them in his hand. While he rubbed his fingers up and down her own cold ones, she found herself softening back into him. If she let herself, she could almost believe this was the chivalrous, noble man she had first met.

Then he slipped her hand back into his shirt. Her blood boiled. Being cold was no longer a problem. In truth, she feared she might burn up and combust. She licked her lips and let herself concentrate on the feel of taut flesh over solid steel. But steel was cold and Ieuan was not. Not even in the way he was behaving toward her now.

She stroked that solid wall and felt for his heartbeat. It seemed to skip and then pound hard against her palm the instant she rested her palm over it. However, something about that heavy beat grounded and reassured her. Her new husband might not be perfect but he had believed her about Phylip when he hardly knew her and he seemed to at least care a little for her. Not many women could claim the same of their husbands.

“Will you do it now?” she whispered.

“Do what?”

“T-take me.”

A groan rumbled up in his chest. What now? Sweet Mary, if only she understood men better. He was running his hand up and down her back, his breaths were heavy. Did he not want her? Was she so repulsive? She had always been known as a beauty but was there some defect to her that she didn’t know about?

“Go to sleep, Rosamunde.”

“B-but...”

“Sleep.”

His tone brokered no argument. She half expected him to push her away but his arms remained around her. She’d never slept with anyone aside from her nursemaid when she was a child. To be wrapped in a man’s arms ought to be odd but it was comforting and she was exhausted. Her lids grew heavy and she did not even have the energy to worry about why her husband did not want her. Sleep soon claimed her.

Ieuan had spent more comfortable nights on the forest floor. He masked a groan as he rolled and found his arm tingling and painful. Slipping it out from under Rosamunde’s head, he allowed himself a breath of relief as she slept on. It had to be only just past dawn but enough light crept in through the gap in the curtains to highlight her sleeping form.

He yawned and rubbed the grittiness from his eyes. She had slept well at least. Mayhap she would be rested enough for him to finally take her as his this night. He couldn’t very well hold off any longer or else their marriage could be called into question if it was found out she was still a virgin. And while he wanted to ensure she wasn’t uncomfortable or tired or found him to be as rough and as barbaric as she believed him to be, there was only so long a man could continue with such torture.

He recalled her soft voice and even softer body. He was hard even now. Thank the Lord she hadn’t felt his arousal during the night or she might have been even more terrified of him. Rosamunde had an awful habit of rubbing her hands up and down him during the night as if searching for comfort. Whilst he wished to keep her warm, he did not want her finding anything that might startle her. His wife had to be as innocent as they came.

Sliding out of bed, he allowed himself one last look at her. Curtains drawn back slightly, the sunlight and dust motes surrounding her like a halo. Innocent. Everything about her said innocent. This burning need to bundle her to his body again jarred through his chest.

Ieuan turned away and let the curtains fall back over the bed. He did not need this distraction. He had a castle to repair and a village to see to. If she wanted to sleep in a warm castle, she’d better stay out of his way.

Shuddering as a blanket of wind wrapped around his bare legs, he found his braies and chausses and pulled them on. He wouldn’t bother with the chainmail as he only intended to ride into the village and there would be little danger there. Though Wales was fraught with peril, his home was in a position that they would be able to see potential danger from miles off. Instead he slipped his tunic on over his shirt and tied up his boots. Meanwhile gentle feminine breaths told him his wife slept on.

His wife. In such a short time, he’d gained a wife and a castle. And now a goodly amount of wealth. Not bad for a bastard.

Hand to his hair, he shoved it from his face and finger-combed it. He would clean up at the well rather than disturb Rosamunde. The water would be like ice but that might be a good thing. At present a whole ocean full of ice water would not douse the memory of Rosamunde’s naked body or the way she wound herself around him at night. Mayhap he would send up a bath for her. That would keep her occupied for a while.

By the time he’d made his way down to the Great Hall, the morning meal was under way. His household was small—he needed few maids and servants—so they occupied the only table, leaving enough space for him and his wife. However, he’d need to commission new tables for guests. Feasting hardly seemed appropriate when his country was suffering so but he would be expected to entertain any visiting nobles. In truth, the idea turned his stomach. He would have to continue his pretence of being someone he was not. He only hoped the search for his father didn’t last a lifetime or else he’d be spending the rest of his life hiding behind another name.

Ieuan ate quickly, ignoring the coarse bread in favour of boiled beef. After draining some ale, he rose and made his way to the well outside. A few chickens pecked their way across the bailey and one gave a squawk as he nearly stepped on it. Ieuan cursed at the feathered annoyance and waved a greeting to the men at the gate. It had taken some getting used to—dealing with men of his own and servants and managing a castle. Some days, he’d rather he was just a lowly bastard child again, responsible for only himself. But for the most part, he relished being looked to and having the chance to better himself.

That was, as long as the king didn’t take the opportunity away from him. He’d likely be put to death alongside the prince’s legitimate children. He put a hand to his neck and imagined the burn of the rope with a shudder.

The morning sun streamed across the valley, turning the yellowed grass into burnt amber. He paused to view it over the grey stone walls. Whenever he doubted his ability to take on such responsibilities, he need only look at his great country and recall why it was so important. He could have a hand in their recovery. Ieuan didn’t have the same passion for independence his father had. He only saw the damage it wrought, but then many of his generation had fallen out of love with the idea. As long as the king left them in peace, Wales could continue on as they had always done.

In spite of the morning rays, the day hadn’t warmed. Which was a fine thing. He stopped by the edge of the well and gave the maids a smile as they drew up water.

“Pray send a bath up to Lady Rosamunde before she awakens,” he ordered. The three young girls smiled. They all looked alike in their wimples and plain brown gowns so Ieuan didn’t even attempt to greet them by name.

“Aye, sir,” they said in unison.

When he drew off his shirt to wash, he rolled his eyes and turned his back to them. He’d had his fair share of maids but he was certain he hadn’t bedded any of these. He’d hardly had the time since taking over the castle. That didn’t stop them giggling and pausing to watch him though.

He glanced at them over his shoulder as he drew up the bucket. “Be off with you,” he scolded lightly and they scurried away.

Ieuan scrubbed his torso vigorously with the icy water before dunking his head into the bucket and scraping his hands through his hair. When he raised his head, he found his wife, arms folded, glaring at him. He lifted a brow.

“Good morrow, my lady.”

“Whatever are you doing, Ieuan?”

“Having a wash.”

She huffed. “I can see that, but... out here,” she hissed, “for all to see? Is that necessary?”

He peered around at the men atop the walls and the farmers bringing up a pig to the kitchen. No one seemed to care that he was bathing by the well. It wasn’t unusual for him to do so when he didn’t have time for a bath, and all the other men bathed here. Then he noted the maids standing by the hall doorway, still watching him. He narrowed his gaze at them and they turned and fled.

Ieuan turned his attention back to his wife. Sure enough, two spots of colour were high on her cheeks. They were slightly puffed out as though she was holding back an indignant breath. Was she jealous? The thought made his lips twist. He’d dealt with jealous women before but never one like Rosamunde. What did she have to be jealous of? She was surely the most beautiful woman in England and now Wales.

He grinned to himself. He wouldn’t tell her that quite yet. He planned to enjoy her jealousy a little longer. “You were sleeping and I wished not to disturb you. I bathe here frequently.”

“The...” She unfolded her arms then crossed them again. “The women were watching you.”

He lifted a shoulder and turned back to the bucket. With a show of disinterest, he gave his torso another scrub. Call it revenge for the sleepless night but he couldn’t help but enjoy the way she huffed and tapped her foot on the dry ground. When he faced her again, her cheeks were so red, he feared she might burn up. Ieuan took pity on her and pulled on his shirt.

“Do you not mind that you are being watched?”

“Why should I? You were watching me, were you not? Should I send you away too?”

“Nay! But... but I am your wife.”

“You are indeed.” He took a swift step forward and hooked an arm around her waist. She gasped as he drew her close. “Good morrow, wife.” He pressed a firm kiss to her lips then drew back to view her astonished expression. Aye, he was meant to be proving himself better than this, but he couldn’t help it. The sleepless night and having her curled up against him all eve had addled his brain.

With her taste still burning on his lips and the touch of her soft samite gown against his palm, he took a moment to study her. The sun behind them shone through her fair hair, casting it into rivers of gold. He almost shook his head at himself. Hell’s teeth, he nearly sounded like a bard. And yet more thoughts of beauty and milky skin and rose-tinged cheeks invaded his mind.

He dropped his hand from her waist and stepped back before he did something foolish like spill those words from his mouth or take her then and there in the dirt. Disappointment shuttered her gaze but it was nothing like the heavy weight settling in his stomach. He’d have to take her tonight. It couldn’t be put off any longer. Somehow he’d have to show patience and not give in to the burning desire that flooded his body every time he was around her. Once that was over with, he could concentrate.

He hoped.

Ieuan coughed. “Did you rest well?”

“Well enough.”

“I’m to speak with the carpenter today about window frames. I’ll have to have the glass sent up from Caerdydd but you’ll not have to sleep in a cold room for much longer, I swear.”

“Are you going into the village?”

Rosamunde clasped her hands in front of her so that they vanished inside the long, pale blue sleeves. He eyed those sleeves with their gold trim and then the rest of her gown. The bodice was embroidered with the same gold pattern and a leather girdle hung about her hips. He’d seen women wear jewels and gold about their waist, and no doubt she owned many fine trinkets like that, but the leather girdle was well-tooled with intricate designs and likely cost more than many of the villeins’ entire fortunes. What would they think of his rich, exquisitely beautiful wife?

“Aye, I just need to fetch my blade from the armoury, then I’ll be riding into the village.”

“I should like to come with you.”

“Nay.”

One thin brow rose up. “Nay?”

“You’ll be staying here.” Both brows shot up this time and he had the distinct feeling that look meant trouble. “Do not even think about sneaking out.”

“Sneaking out? Am I to be locked away? You plan to keep me within the walls of your freezing, crumbling castle? Should I not visit with the villeins who would be under my care should I need to stand in your stead?”

She had him there. He would need to acquaint her with the villagers eventually. And it was likely he would need to travel to commission the work he needed on the castle. The villagers were skilled in carpentry and metalwork, however he’d need to bring in stone, glass and fabric from the towns. The castle might run well enough without him but his household would naturally look to his lady wife. It was expected she take a role, after all.

“Very well.” He thrust a finger toward her. “But do not think you can behave as you did with your father. This is not Tynewell. These are dangerous lands and you’d make a fine prize. I have no wish to pay a ransom for you. Never go anywhere without me. Is that clear?”

Those eyebrows remained raised. If ever a man was going to be cowed by eyebrows, it would be hers. But, damnation, he was a warrior, a Welshman. No woman had ever cowed a Welshman.

“If I had realised I would be trapped in this castle for the rest of my life I might have made a better attempt at escaping this marriage.”

That hurt. A sharp jab struck his chest. The need to hurt her back forced the next words from him. “You would not have survived a day. Remember the state I found you in. Do not make the mistake of thinking you could survive any better here, Rosamunde. I expect you to obey me.”

She opened her mouth then clamped it shut again. Pain swam in those hazel eyes and he felt his insides shrivel up. Barbarian, beast, fiend. Anything but a gentleman, that was him. Who spoke to a lady that way, let alone his wife?

“Rosamunde—”

She held up a hand. “I am wearied suddenly. I shall join you on your next journey to the village. Good day to you, dear husband.”

With that, she snatched her skirts and turned, leaving him to watch the swish of samite as she made her way across the bailey. The hens avoided her, of course, and his men watched her with mild amusement and if he was not mistaken, a little desire in their eyes. They wouldn’t dare act upon it but no doubt they’d enjoy talk of how their master had made the fair lady angry. Hell, he was willing to wager none of them would anger her so. Even the coarsest of men had a sweeter tongue than he.

Ieuan scuffed the back of his hand across his chin. It seemed he was destined to forever paint himself as quite the beast around his wife and this was the sort of trouble he didn’t need. He had too much to focus on as it was, let alone an angry wife after only four days of marriage. He lifted his gaze to the heavens. “God give me strength.”

With a wife like Rosamunde, he would need it.