Once a Knight (17 page)

She did comprehend, but her cool mind did not have total sway over the impulses of her body. No matter how much she wished it otherwise, she was still an untutored virgin with her first man, and she couldn't command her knees to part.

He felt the quiver as she tried, and said, “Let me help.” He inserted his thumb in the space between her thighs and nudged up until he touched the place he knew she would like. “There.” He rubbed her. “More relaxed now?”

She tensed so much he feared she would splinter. It was going to be tougher than he'd first realized. Lifting his head, he pressed his hand to her diaphragm. “Breathe,” he instructed.

She inhaled with a deep gasp that told him she'd been holding her breath. When she'd absorbed enough air, she demanded, “What are you doing?”

“Pleasuring you.” He rubbed her again. “Is it working?”

“I know not. I only know it makes me want to…”

She moved her legs restlessly, and he consolidated his position with his knee. “To do what?”

“To jump up and run or fly or…I can't think when you're doing that.”

“Good.” His free hand rode the shift up from her calf to her hip. He kissed a mole which appeared to the right of her pelvis, then kissed it again because he enjoyed it.

The movement of his lips on her skin brought her to a half-sitting position. “I wish you'd get out from under that sheet!” she said in her most annoyed tone, but her voice trembled.

“Why?” He poked his head free of the cover and grinned at her indignant, too-flushed face. “It's where I've dreamed of being since the day I met you. Lift your hips.”

She opened her lips to argue, then shut them and did as he ordered. Free of her weight, the shift billowed up around her waist, leaving her bare below, and she snatched at the edge of the sheet again.

“Beautiful.” Ducking his head, he tried to submerge again.

She caught his hair. “This is not what I'd planned.”

“If you'll lie back on the pillows and kiss me, I'll do whatever you tell me,” he promised.

“Do you so vow?”

“Whatever you tell me,” he repeated.

He could see her examining his statement, trying to see a trick, but she couldn't conceive of herself so far gone with passion that she couldn't speak or even think, and so she slid back on the pillows and crossed her hands over her bosom. With a crooked smile, he took her hands and placed them on his shoulders. “It just makes it seem as if we're doing this together.”

She didn't comprehend the jest, and when she tried to ask for an explanation, he kissed her.

Kissing she comprehended. Kissing they'd done before, and from her response, she enjoyed the touch of the lips, the slow penetration to the mouth, the first taste…. He groaned when she thrust her tongue into his mouth, and he wanted very badly to lever himself over the top of her. But first…his hand tangled in the laces of her shift. They had enticed him long enough, and he slipped the knot free and spread it with his hand. He didn't like this shift. He didn't know why he'd told her he did. It was too long, too revealing, and horribly in the way. He wanted it off, and when he placed his palm in the middle of her chest, the thud of her heart encouraged him. She tore her lips free when he cupped her, but he chased and captured them again. She didn't fight, but caught fire easily, and he began to hope.

Familiarity warmed her, obviously, and whatever he did, he had to do twice. Once to show her, once to incite her. Inching closer, he stroked the shift all the way open. Her shoulder slipped free, then her arm, then
her hand. Lifting her with his arm around her shoulders, he removed the linen and flung it away.

She struggled to semi-awareness. “David.”

But he didn't want to hear her behest, so he touched her as he'd touched her when he'd been beneath the covers. She bucked and moaned, her head falling back on the pillow, her red hair spread across it like writhing flames.

He was right. He was right. All he had to do was accustom her to each movement, and she followed his lead. He could do that. He could do everything twice.

Everything except…well, by then he'd have her so far gone with passion she wouldn't notice. Assuredly, she was a virgin, but men exchanged stories on the night before battle, and he'd heard that a virgin of advanced age softened. He'd been told muscles relaxed and barriers broke with activity.

With his finger, he entered her, testing the truth of it. She seemed tight, and he frowned. Then she shuddered, and he saw her face. She struggled to regain control so she could evaluate this initial contact. Quickly he withdrew and caressed her as he'd done before, and he vanquished her restraint. Her hands grasped his shoulders and her close-cut nails sank into his flesh. She began the rhythmic motions that invited him inside, and he praised her with a kiss so intimate, it brought tears to his eyes.

His body hummed with triumph, with gratification, with pure carnal energy. She was his. He knew how to manipulate her now. She was his, and he wanted inside her so badly…of their own accord, his fingers sank deep within her.

He watched, but while her eyes opened, she didn't focus. All of her attention centered on her own body, on her own reactions.

A selfish loving, this first time, but he never doubted she'd return the favor another time, and what he felt now could scarcely be repeated.

Was she ready? He was. He was so ready he feared to trust the damp evidence on his hand. But the men around the campfire had said something else, something he'd not understood at the time. The difference between an old virgin and a young virgin, they said, was that an old virgin followed with caution while a young virgin leaped after new adventures.

That he had confirmed. Now he could only hope their other wisdom proved as true.

Rising up and over her, he spread her legs and rocked against her.

This time she focused, saw him, and she stilled as she adjusted to the dominance of his position. He rested on his elbows, holding his weight back, not wanting to frighten her, and he remained still while she thought about how it felt and what would happen.

Then he rocked against her again, and again, and her already sensitive flesh began to respond. He moved into position slowly, holding himself in suspense as each moment he waited and feared to hear her logical voice instructing him. But although she remained silent, not giving vent to her pleasure, her body reacted to each of his thrusts with first timid, then sure thrusts of her own.

“That's it.” He crooned in her ear. “When I'm inside you, do just that.”

He shouldn't have said anything, he guessed. He wanted nothing to distract her now, but he was too close and it was going to be so good, and so easy…

He entered her, but she fit him almost too tightly, if such a thing were possible. He trembled as he held himself in check, moving slowly, slowly. Then he found her
maidenhead, and it in no way responded to his gentle movements.

The men had said older virgins were easy. But the men didn't know Alisoun. Alisoun was now and would always be contrary.

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.

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?