With an effort, he held himself still. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and looked down into her face.
Passion no longer held her in its grip. She laid beneath him, perfectly composed, waiting for more pain.
“Alisoun…” He groaned.
“Don’t worry. You haven’t hurt me badly, and I was prepared for this.” Her hands slid off his shoulders. She folded them across her bosom and closed her eyes. “Go ahead and finish.”
He wanted to scream, to pound his fists on the pillow, to kick like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. But he didn’t want to frighten her, and the second time…he moved forcefully, and she cried out in one uncensored feeling…the second time she would be accustomed, and she’d be everything he ever dreamed.
12
The little cocoon of warmth around Alisoun made her want to stretch, but when she moved her legs, every muscle skidded along the bones and she moaned.
“Sore?” David’s voice sounded warm and sure, and his hand—the hand that had been resting on her ribs—moved to her thigh. “Let me…” His fingers moved across the skin, kneading first with gentle strokes, then deeply. “That better?”
For one cowardly moment, she didn’t want to face him. But that was stupid. She’d made the decision to pleasure herself with him yesterday after her discussion with Philippa, and she couldn’t hide from him now. Not after the intimacies of the previous night. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and found him face-to-face with her. She was warm because his body draped over her left side and one of his legs wrapped around both of hers.
Maybe she should have pretended to sleep until he’d left the bed—even if he rested all through to the next morrow.
“Good morning.” His brown eyes were almost golden when he smiled, but his gaze was watchful and his smile studied rather than exuberant.
In the early morning light, she could see the chip of an ear that testified to his legendary status, but the hair on his chin and jaws had sprouted black and stubbly, just like any other man’s. Yet she’d never seen another man from so close. She ought to say something, to show him she was the same Lady Alisoun she’d been the day before, but she didn’t feel the same. She felt almost frightened, as if she’d dangled over a precipice and saved herself at the last minute.
He’d dangled with her, too, and gone over by himself. It was dark down there. She couldn’t see what waited below, but she imagined thorns and jagged boulders would tear her to pieces, and what if David didn’t catch her when she fell?
And what if he did?
He gathered a handful of long red hair and moved it behind her back. “Alisoun?”
Shaking herself, she abandoned her silly fantasy and said, “Good morning. Aye, that rubbing does make me feel better. My muscles aren’t used to such activity, I suppose, and that’s why…” He was still smiling, still massaging her, and she began to lose track of her thoughts. “I’m better now, so probably you can stop.”
Still smiling. Still smiling.
“Really, probably you should stop, or we’ll miss Mass and the priest will be irritated.”
Still smiling.
“Even more irritated than normal.” She couldn’t think of another thing to say.
He waited, and when she was done babbling—she, Alisoun, countess of George’s Cross, had been babbling!—he unwrapped himself from around her and kicked the rugs aside. Stretching, he groaned loudly. It didn’t really sound like the noises he’d made last night—last night had been quieter and more intense—but she shivered under the impact, and she glanced down the length of him. Yesterday, when the men had carried him in and dumped him on the bed, she’d sized him up as a potential mate and father of her child. She’d been pleased to note that her regimen of regular meals had given him a bit more flesh; his muscles no longer stretched like wires under his skin. Yet now the fresh bruises had darkened to purple except where the old scars shone shiny white.
Any man who had survived and prospered as a mercenary knight had proved himself wily and tough. Any man who became a legend might be her match.
Had she swallowed the whale, or been swallowed by him?
“I’m sore, too,” he said. “Probably more from tumbling off Louis than from tumbling you, but I lost my virginity years ago, so for me, last night was pure pleasure.”
How was she supposed to respond? I enjoyed myself, too? Summon me anytime you have need of hospitality? She knew the niceties of etiquette, but no one told her how to return a compliment like that one.
He studied her, then sat up in all his naked glory. She scrambled to cover herself while he fished around among the bedclothes, and when he came up holding her shift, she just stared at it.
“Sit up.” He urged her with a hand under her back. “You’ll want your clothes.”
She did want them, but she didn’t want him to dress her. He bunched up the hem of the shift just like Philippa bunched up Hazel’s gowns. Then he dropped it over her head and helped her thrust her arms through the sleeves. “This is ridiculous,” Alisoun said. “I know how to dress myself.”
“Aye, but I doubt if you get as much gratification out of it as I do.” David tied the ribbon at her neck, then dropped a kiss on her forehead. With his fingers, he brushed the tangled mass of her hair. “I still can’t believe this is red.”
“Nor can I,” Alisoun said sarcastically.
“It’s glorious.”
“It’s sinful.”
“If the sunrise be sinful, then this may be. If the daisies be sinful, then this may be. If God’s creations bring pleasure to the eye, who dares complain?” He twisted the end of one lock around his finger. “I will pluck the beard from any man who says my wife’s hair is sinful.”
She fell back. His clasp in her hair caught and jerked her head around, and she exclaimed, “Ouch!”
“Careful.” He untangled his hand and rubbed the painful place on her scalp in a manner that staked a claim. “You’re mine now, and I don’t want you hurt.”
“Yours? I’m not yours.”
He smiled with every evidence of happiness, but that mindful cast still shadowed his features. “I can see that a woman like you might take exception to that, so let’s just say…that I’m yours. Is that better?”
“You’re not mine, either. We don’t belong to each other. We’re not going to—”
Although his lips still smiled, his eyes narrowed.
“—Not going to…get…”
“Married?”
“Not…nay, not…married.”
“How will you avoid marriage with me if this night bears fruit?”
Comprehension came slowly this morning, but when she understood, she asked bravely, “You mean, if I am with child?” Yesterday when she had decided that Philippa was right, that it was time to lose her bothersome virginity and learn the secrets of the sheets, she had faced the odds of pregnancy with a mature equanimity. This morning, when she imagined that a babe might already be nestled in her womb, she didn’t feel so confident.
But she had to stick with her scheme. She’d considered it deeply, after all.
Well, perhaps not too deeply. She feared there might have been a physical part of herself that blocked a paltry bit of her good sense. When she examined her logic today, she might even wonder what she’d thought the day before.
But nothing David could say would change her plan. In a reasonable tone, she said, “If I’m with child, I’ll not point a finger at you or hold you responsible. I know it’s unusual, but legitimate or not, my child would be the heir to my lands.”
“Not if you marry again.”
She was regaining control, and she rejoiced. Coolly, she said, “I’ve begun to believe that’s not likely to happen.”
He sat up. “Is that why I was granted the honor of your bed? Because Simon of Goodney refused you?”
He might have struck her across the face, so brutal were his words. Her burgeoning control fled, and she stammered, “Nay, ’tis not so.”
“I was
used as a sop to your pride?”
But wait. He hadn’t said anything, really. Accusing her of using him because she’d been humiliated in front of the court should bring nothing but scorn to her lips. Valiantly, she straightened. “Simon of Goodney could never damage my—” She took a breath and fought these conflicting currents of anger, hurt, and embarrassment which threatened to tear her authority from her.
“And you think you can bear my child and I’ll gladly leave it in your incompetent hands?”
“Incompetent?” Amazed by his accusation, she scrambled up and sat on her heels. “I’m not incompetent.”
“You have no idea what a child needs.” She tried to interrupt, but he swept on. “Water, food, clothing—aye, I know you’ll supply those. But what of affection? Will you hold the babe when it cries? Will you nurse it through illness? Will you do more than teach it its duties? I doubt you will, my lady. I doubt you even comprehend a word I’m saying.”
“Why should you care? I would think you’d be glad to be rid of any consequences of this night. I know that men beat their babes for doing no more than crying.”
He jerked back. “What kind of men do you know?”
That had been the wrong thing to say. That had been a betrayal, and Alisoun scrambled off the bed. “Just…men,” she said, in what she hoped was an offhand tone.
“No wonder you’ve found fault in every bridegroom, if that is your experience.”
“I didn’t find fault because I feared them, but because they were unsuitable to my station, my wealth, or because they failed to take their responsibilities seriously.”
“Which am I?” He stood and stripped the sheet off the bed.
“Well, station and wealth, of course.”
“Ah, aye, my lady.” His brown eyes gleamed with some obscure emotion. “Doesn’t it strike you as ironic that twelve sacks of wool separate us?”
And a title. But she didn’t say that. When one looked at the matter, one could call a title just a word spoken by the king which segregated his friends from his enemies. Doggedly, she pushed on. “Although you’ve been negligent in your knightly practice, I understand your reluctance to show yourself incompetent against Hugh.” He turned his back and walked away from her, dragging the sheet. She wasn’t used to such treatment. Irritated, she demanded. “What are you doing?”
“Announcing our marriage.”
For a moment she didn’t understand. Then her gaze fell on the bloody stain that marked the center of the white linen and she realized he moved toward the window. “Nay!” She lunged for him.
Nimbly, he sidestepped her and flung open the sash. Leaning out, he shook the sheet and let it flap in the breeze. “Look!” he yelled.
She ran up behind him.
“I took your lady’s—”
Without thought or sense, she hit him in the back. If God were in His heaven, David would have tumbled to his death below. But the Lord obviously favored the miscreant, because David caught the sides of the window and saved himself—but not the sheet. It went flying, flapping, whirling to the ground into the middle of the vegetable garden while the castle folk watched. White and red on a background of lush green, it landed beside Tochi, who rose from his weeding and lifted it in his grubby hands. Everyone who stood below in the bailey—and today everyone in the castle seemed to be working outside—witnessed the evidence of her sin.
As Alisoun stared in dismay, Tochi grinned and flapped the sheet like a tournament flag. The others nudged each other. One by one, they pointed up at Alisoun where she stood framed in the window with David. A few of them bowed, a few waved, a few pulled their forelocks in respect. And who did they respect? Not her, she wagered, but David.
David, who stood naked and unashamed. David, the man they thought had seized control of her with the simple, animal act of taking her maidenhead.
“That was—” she sputtered, “—despicable.”
“Why?” David leaned out and waved back. “Everyone’s happy.”
“I’m not.”
He pulled himself inside and turned to her. “You were.”
“Nay, I—”
“For a time.”
She blushed. How could she help it? His brown eyes gleamed with a sure knowledge of her pleasure, brief though it had been. He knew so much more than she did. He knew more about her than she did.
“You do us an injustice, lady, when you place so little value on the passions of the night.” He grasped the ribbon that tied her shift and gave it determined little jerks. “I put you in your shift, now I would have you out of it.”
“There’s not time for that! I have things to do, and we—”
“Occasionally, Alisoun, you show incredible stupidity.”
He untied the bow and loosened the neck of her shift. She grabbed at his hand, but he was too strong and she was too surprised. What did he think he was doing? He was a rational man; she’d seen the results of his thoughts. So why was he taking off her clothes when she needed to be donning them in preparation for the day? Especially a day such as this one promised to be.
“Sir David, you must know that this is unacceptable behavior from the lady of George’s Cross and her mercenary.”
“And what we did last night was acceptable behavior?” He slid the shift down over her arms and trapped them there against her sides.
“Would you stop that?” First she tried to push her arms down into the sleeves, then she tried to pull them out. Anything to free herself.
But he wrapped his arms around her, rendering her struggles ineffectual, and lifted her against his body. Her feet dangled, but she commanded, “Put me down at once.”
He looked at her and grinned. “Aye, my lady.”
She found herself deposited on the table beside the bed. Picking up the medicines and bandages, he flung them on the bed. Then with a sweep of the arm, he cleared the pewter pitcher and cup off the surface. The pitcher struck the floor and wine mixed with water splashed everywhere.
“Sir David, this is not amusing. Now stop—”
Catching her lip in his teeth, he bit her.
Not hard, but she shrieked. “How dare you?”
“How dare you plot to keep my child from me?” His voice rumbled from deep inside his chest.
She pushed at him as hard as she could. “There is no child!”
“Yet.” Shoving her shift up to her waist, he stepped between her legs and promised, “But soon.”
“I am the lady of George’s Cross, and I command—” His laughter stopped her. She looked at him, at the way he grinned and his gleam of determination, and she fathomed he was going to have her. He had something to prove, she didn’t know what, and this day which she had organized would suffer for…for what?
“Schedule this.” He put one hand behind her hips to hold her still and used the other to touch her low and deep.
She jumped and winced.
“Too much, Alisoun?”
His touch lightened at once, easing the irritation and replacing it with a soothing sensation. She still strained for a moment, thinking she should fight him, but her eyelids slid shut, then her spine relaxed onto the wooden boards.
Just for a moment, she promised herself. She’d let him do this just until he was appeased. Inevitably, the illusion of her compliance would calm his ire.
She let him do what he would. His callused fingers proved surprisingly supple as they caressed her stomach, her thighs, and everything between. Last night the sensations had been too new for her to fully analyze their effect, but now she realized that when he stroked her skin, it first lulled her, then brought a tightening, almost a stimulation. What he did made her want him to do more, and she rolled her head on the boards in instinctive denial.
She couldn’t want more. Surely madness didn’t sweep one away at unsuitable times, but it was almost as if it were easier for him to arouse her this morning.
Opening her eyes, she braced her arms against the table to push herself upright. “This proves it.”
“What?”
“If one loses control once, one starts the long slide down into dissipation.”
His brown face appeared sinister—surely a trick of the light—and he said, “Slide faster, my lady. Slide faster.”
Most men would be looking at what she so unwarily displayed.
David looked at her face. She thought she had schooled herself to hide her emotions well, but he seemed to be judging his assault by her expressions.
“We need to halt now.” Her voice sounded weak even to herself.
“Not ever.”
She tried to recoil. He slid a finger inside of her.
“Don’t. I’m not…ready.”
“Believe me, you are.”
How did he know she was lying? He’d learned too much about her in one night. She closed her eyes against the sensation, then opened them when he took her arms and put them around his shoulders.
“Hold me,” he said. “I’ll support you.”
She needed no man’s support, but she liked it as his arms cradled her.
His arms…She jerked to the realization he still touched her intimately, but no longer with his hands. She shuddered with passionate demand, then looked up to see if he had noticed.
He was watching her as carefully as a mother watched her child, waiting for knowledge and skill to take the place of ignorance. She looked into his eyes, wanting to please him, wanting…
“We are so close, my lady.” His voice crooned to her as he slid inside her. “Feel me. Take me into your body and let me into your soul.”
She whimpered when he moved. This was all sweet and hot. She tried to brace her heels on the tabletop, but they slipped off. She wrapped them around his waist, and his smile blossomed.
“All mine,” he whispered.
And she realized she shouldn’t have opened herself to him so freely. But he rewarded her by thrusting, by moving faster. This wasn’t the gentle, considerate loving of the previous night. It was sunshine and speed and fragments of breath. Discipline spun away and she fought to get closer while he fought to move away.
Or was it the other way around?