Wolf Bride (14 page)

And yet he still preferred her sister’s less conventional looks. Eloise ran deep as a river, not like this bright and airy stream of smiles and witty asides. He also suspected that Susannah could make more trouble for a man than Eloise, for all her light manners. There was something beneath the surface of that perfect face – the gently upturned nose, the too-swift curving lips and delicate brows – which hinted at buried fire. But perhaps Susannah was more like her sister than he realised, Wolf thought drily.

‘You are surveying the religious houses for the king, is that right?’ she continued. ‘Seeing how much each one is worth to the royal coffers.’

Hugh seemed embarrassed by this forthright description of his task. He cleared his throat, glancing about as the other guests began to gather in the hall. ‘It’s a little more complicated than that. But yes, in essence.’

‘The king must place great trust in you, sir.’

Hugh smiled uneasily, and Wolf was forced to hide his own amusement, seeing how the young man was gratified by this compliment but unsure if it was wise or even politic to accept it.

‘Well, yes . . . I like to think His Majesty does.’

‘Will you sit with me awhile before the feast begins, sir, and tell me everything there is to know about court life?’ Susannah demanded, her blue eyes bright with curiosity, and indicated an empty seat near the window. ‘My father will not consent to send me to court, my sister barely opens her mouth these days, and I am so heartily bored of Yorkshire!’

Grinning at Hugh’s expression, Wolf watched as he followed a little stiffly in her wake. If he was not careful there, the young man would soon find himself attached to the younger Tyrell girl, and that would be a troublesome knot to untie.

Then he moved away and caught sight of his bride descending the stairs. The other guests turned to stare too; the hall suddenly hushed.

Eloise had re-dressed her hair in a new style, twisting the long fair hair on top of her head with ribbons of white lace and fresh spring blossoms, and her cheeks were flushed, lending her face much beauty. Nonetheless, she kept her gaze demurely lowered as she descended, her maid behind carrying the heavy train of her gown. About her narrow waist a rope was twined, decorated with flowers, and the lacy shawl which had covered her low-cut bodice in church had been removed, leaving her skin bare. Wolf looked at the creamy expanse of flesh above her breasts, and his cock grew rigid in his red leather codpiece.

Convinced that everyone could see his erection, he made no attempt to disguise it. He felt like a satyr, consumed with passion for some unearthly beauty despite his own physical defects. He wished it was already night and they were alone together in the bridal chamber, so he could tear off that suggestive gown and slake his lust in her body.

‘My lady,’ he managed hoarsely. He reached for her hand, now ungloved. ‘Your guests are waiting to greet you.’

Her fingers touched his and a shock ran through his body, as though he had stood too close to summer lightning. Eloise felt it too, her wide eyes lifting at once to his face.

His voice sounded thick with desire, and there was a rushing in his ears as he led her forward to the feast. ‘You look magnificent.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

It was a struggle to sit through the lengthy feast, pretending to delight in the inventiveness of his cook’s many dishes, but in fact picking at the lavishly prepared food with little interest. He had no appetite for anything but love, his gaze constantly drawn to the woman on his left, her profile framed by her headdress of flowers, her hand shaking as they shared the bride cup.

Now and then, Eloise would steal a covert look at him, then glance hurriedly away when she found his gaze on her.

With fierce and growing satisfaction, Wolf realised he was not the only one thinking ahead to their night together. But was Eloise afraid to surrender her virginity at last, or secretly looking forward to his possession of her body?

There was dancing after the feast. The musicians played in the little gallery above the hall, and the benches and boards from the feast were pushed back to make way for the dance. A single tabor marked out the beat, then the hautboys and hurdy-gurdy steadily took up the tune, its music swelling until the rafters resounded. A hush fell amongst the company, the servants hurried to the walls of the room, and the wedding guests looked expectantly towards the high dais.

There was no escaping the traditional bridal dance. Wolf rose to lead his bride out onto the floor, silently cursing his bad leg and wishing he could be whole again.

Eloise paid no heed to his limping gait, turning daintily about him in the complicated steps, her years at court showing as she performed their dance with the graceful bearing of a queen. She made sure not to brush too close to him, however, and when their hands met, her skin was cool, her face aloof.

Wolf bowed over her hand as the dance ended, amidst the applause of his watching guests. ‘Thank you, my lady,’ he muttered, then abruptly drew her close before she could escape and pressed his lips against hers, his arm tight about her waist.

The company gasped and laughed at this deliberate breach of etiquette, some clapping their hands with glee, others carefully looking the other way. But his groomsmen roared their approval of these rough-and-ready manners, banging their wine cups on the tables.

Shocked by this public embrace, Eloise stood motionless in his arms as he kissed her. Then stared when he released her, a small spot of red burning in each cheek.

‘Now you look like a bride on her wedding night,’ he told her breathlessly.

Suddenly her father was at his elbow. ‘Forgive me. May I dance with my daughter one last time, my lord?’

‘Of course, Sir John,’ he said politely, and allowed the man to lead Eloise away. But he had seen the disapproval on the elderly knight’s face, and knew his forthright kiss had shocked not only his bride.

Behind him, some of the other wedding guests had risen to dance. Threading his way carefully between them with nods and smiles, he made his way back towards the high dais.

Beneath the high windows, he found Hugh and Susannah dancing together, smiling intimately as they turned to touch palms, then stepped away in the dance. The girl seemed over-young to be dancing with a courtier she had only just met, he thought carefully, pausing a moment to watch them. But she was not a child, so he said nothing and walked on.

It was not for him to spoil the pleasures of others. He had trouble enough not spoiling his own.

At last the hour had come for them to retire. Barely able to look at Eloise, his body gripped with an intense hunger, Wolf called the bridesmen to assemble. Then he seized his new wife by the hand and dragged her through the throng of guests to the stairs, his bridesmen howling like wolves and shouting, ‘To bed, my lord! To bed! To bed!’

They stumbled up the broad stairs together, escorted to their bedchamber by a riotous pack of bridesmen and women, their faces lit up by flaming torches. At the door to the bedchamber, Wolf thrust the shivering Eloise inside, then turned to defend his territory, mock-fighting the nearest bridesmen. They struggled on the torchlit threshold a moment, then Wolf drew his dagger and they fell back, grinning.

‘Let no man or woman cross this threshold until dawn,’ he cried, then slammed the door shut in their faces and dragged the wooden beam across with a crash.

The chamber had been dressed for their wedding night, flowers everywhere, and crimson silk hangings on the bed to keep out the night’s cold. A fire had been lit in the hearth and was burning steadily, its reddish glow flickering across the walls and deep shadows of the room. The black-and-crimson bedcovers had been turned back, the sheets pure white beneath, as befitted a bridal chamber.

Eloise was standing by the bed, her face defiant. ‘My lord,’ she began, but got no further.

Throwing aside his dagger, Wolf seized her by the shoulders. His mouth met hers with a violent passion he had been holding back all evening, and he groaned as her lips opened, allowing him sweet access.

‘Eloise,’ he muttered against her mouth, then tasted her deeply. His hands explored her slender back, revelling in the heat of her body through the flimsy gown. ‘Yes.’

She was not fighting him, he realised in surprise, having half-expected Eloise to refuse this intimacy. Yet why should she refuse? They were man and wife now. This was part of the bargain she had made.

‘You are so very desirable,’ he told her softly, and began to remove her gown, trying not to frighten her. But the laces at her back were wound too tightly, and even after he had worked them loose, some hidden catch still refused to release her body. He swore under his breath, ripping at the fragile material in his frustration. The bodice came free at last, leaving her gasping and naked to the waist, her breasts spilling warm into his hands.

‘Forgive me,’ he managed, then bent unsteadily and took her breast into his mouth, sucking on her nipple. She cried out his name, suddenly clutching at his shoulders, as if she shared his urgency.

His groin swelled with excitement and he shifted, pushing her backwards onto the bed, unable to wait any longer.

But Eloise gave a little cry of fright as his hands fumbled with her skirts. Her body shook and her hands fought with him, as though she had abruptly woken from a dream to find some attacker atop of her.

‘No!’ she moaned, and stared up into his face.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Wolf forced himself to remember that Eloise was a virgin and unused to men. Her natural sensuality, the way she had touched and kissed him in the cave, his growing desire to possess her body: all this had blinded him to her innocence. No doubt she had come to their bridal chamber terrified of what many women considered a painful ordeal, the loss of maidenhead. Perhaps her women had been filling her head tonight with tales of fear and agony, of insatiable men and bloodied sheets, intending to prepare her for her wifely duties but merely terrifying the girl out of her mind.

He rolled away and lay on his back awhile, staring up at the curtained bedposts and willing his erection to go down inside the leather confines of his codpiece. The physical reminder of his desire would only scare her further, he suspected.

Once he was sure he had conquered his lust, he risked a look at his new bride and found Eloise staring back at him in trepidation.

‘There’s no need to be afraid of me,’ he told her, aware of a prickling annoyance at her fear. ‘You are safe enough. I may be your husband, but I am no rapist.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

‘No,’ he reassured her. ‘There is no need to be sorry. I was too hasty in my greed. I forgot that you are untried.’

Carefully, he stroked the hair back from her damp forehead, its golden flowered length tumbled from the pins which had held it so neatly in place during the wedding feast. After a moment, she began to breathe more easily, and he lifted her hand to his mouth, softly kissing her palm.

‘Now, what is it you are afraid of?’ he asked. ‘The pain, I am told, lasts but a moment and soon gives way to passion.’

But she shook her head, not meeting his eyes. ‘It is not the pain.’

He frowned. ‘Then what?’

‘I . . . I cannot say.’

Wolf considered her in silence. A dark suspicion began to nag at him. ‘Did you lie to me, is that it? You are not a virgin, and fear my anger when I discover it?’

Shocked, she stared at him. ‘No, no . . .’ A sudden flush tinged her cheeks as she stammered, ‘I have never been with a man, my lord, I swear it on my life.’

‘I am glad to hear it, my lady,’ he replied, pointedly reminding her that she was now his wife.

‘I do not understand why I was afraid. I am truly sorry,’ she whispered, her hands covering her naked breasts as his gaze moved instinctively to admire them. Her flush deepened. ‘I came prepared to do my duty. But then . . .’

‘Then you could not go through with it,’ he finished drily.

‘Forgive me, my lord. It was stupid of me to fight against you.’ She sat up against the pillows, her hands dropping deliberately away to reveal her rosy-tipped breasts. Her bare skin glowed in the firelight, deliciously tempting. ‘You are my husband and this is our wedding night. I will not try to stop you again. I know it is your right.’

He could barely suppress a smile at this bravery. ‘My virgin sacrifice?’

Her startled gaze shot to his face, then she half-smiled herself. ‘Something like that,’ she admitted.

‘Well, there is no need to chain yourself to my bed just yet. I’m not in the mood for devouring terrified virgins tonight.’ He sat up too, but only to reach for her furred night robe. He handed it to her with a brief nod, and saw the worried surprise on her face. ‘Go on, cover yourself up. I’m not a monster and I’m not angry with you, but I won’t be held responsible for losing my resolve if you parade yourself naked in front of me.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she managed huskily, shrugging into the night robe. ‘Though I do know my duty. You want an heir, that’s why you married me. I will not fight you if you want to . . . to try again later.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said, his expression serious. ‘After all, there may be talk in the morning if the sheets are not bloodied. I can keep the groomsmen out, but there’ll be no stopping the gossips once the laundry women have been in to strip the bed.’