A chair sat by the fireplace with a small table next to it and a coil of leather that resembled the jesses of a falcon. Thick, woven material covered the floor near the chair and in the corner stood two large trunks. The high, massive bed was piled with furs and pillows, its curtains pulled neatly back.
Nothing had ever looked more inviting and Mal hadn’t slept in a bed since leaving Warwick—well over a se’ennight ago. So, while the tub was being emptied by a parade of serfs, the maids helped him pull on his hose and tunic. And then he sent them all away and climbed into
his
bed. He pulled the curtains tightly against the stream of bright sun.
And, surrounded by the scent of his wife, he slept.
~*~
Malcolm woke immediately
when the chamber door opened.
“Of all the things—to fall into a bog,” Judith was saying as she came in. Her arrival was accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of the metal tub being slid across the stone floor, then the soft rustle of people moving, the sloshing of water.
Mal sat up quietly, his heart pounding, his body alert. He should reveal himself, but…nay. Not now. Not when there were serfs and maids about. He was bedamned if he’d air his dirty laundry for all to see and gossip on.
Now he could smell the stink of algae and mud, he could hear the soft swish of clothing, of trunks opening and closing, the muffle of Judith’s voice as she pulled the gown over her head. The bed curtains rippled and twitched from the activity in the chamber and he felt ridiculous, being reduced to hiding in a bed while his wife bathed. And though it would be humiliating to be discovered in such a position, he could not make himself announce his presence.
At last the serfs were gone and only Tabatha remained to serve her mistress. And though he couldn’t see what was happening, he could envision it. The soft splash as Judith climbed into the tub, the drips as a washing cloth was brought from the water, the scent of lavender and lily overtaking that of rotting plants and muck. Knowing he was about to fight what was likely the most dangerous battle of his life, Mal closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, then pulled open the curtains.
Both women whirled, staring at him with shocked eyes. Tabby gasped.
“Dismiss your maid,” he said to his wife.
Judith’s face, already flushed from the warm water, turned even pinker. Her lush lips were parted and her hair was piled on her head with a few wisps brushing her gold-dusted ivory shoulders. Thank God he could see naught else of her.
He tensed, praying she would not disobey him—for that he could not allow.
“You may go, Tabatha,” she said tightly.
The maid’s eyes were circles of surprise and confusion, but she said not a word and swiftly left the chamber, closing the door behind her.
Now Mal could return his full attention to Judith, and he did. Silence smothered the room like a heavy tapestry.
“And so you’ve come to claim your husbandly right,” Judith said at last, leveling a stare at him. It was neither friendly nor angry. Merely…accepting.
Hope leaped inside him, then faded. He wanted more than her acceptance. “I needed a bath,” he told her. “And I’ve not slept in a bed for nearly a fortnight.”
“Surely your mistress could have provided one for you.”
A wave of fury and confusion washed over him. “Mistress?” he snarled in frustration. “What is this madness you cling to? I have not even looked on a
whore
since the day you forced me to play chess.”
She gaped at him. Then the shock faded and her expression became pinched. “Your lover then. Mayhap you must worship her from afar because you are not wed. Which would explain the lack of a
bed
,” she added sharply. Her face was turned away, but he saw the slender column of her throat convulse as she swallowed.
“I do not know
what
you are speaking of,” he said desperately. “My lover? My mistress? Judith, you accuse me of aught I do not understand.”
“I am not a fool. I know you wished to wed Beatrice. I know you love her. You could hardly wait to be rid of me, to return to her.” Her voice became thready and high. “But
why
did you have to bring her here? Under my roof? Was it not enough that you must pine for
her
whilst wedding me?” Now she looked at him, distraught and devastated, the water sloshing with her vehemence. “I know ’twas wrong of me to open that door, to trick you into offering for me—to use your honor against you—but I tried to release you, Malcolm. I tried and you would not allow it!”
By now he was off the bed, next to the tub, ignoring the streak of pain in his ankle as he crouched next to her. “Beatrice? Of Delbring? You believe I love Beatrice of Delbring? Is that what this is all about?” he bellowed, half in fury, half in joyful relief.
She merely looked at him and nodded. He was close to her, pressing against the side of the tub, his arms wide, his hands gripping the edge as if to embrace the vessel itself. Water seeped into his tunic and he could see the pulse pounding in her throat and the tempting hint of breasts. His own heart thudded madly.
“You mad,
mad
woman,” he whispered, reaching to touch her, curving a dark, scarred hand under her chin. “The only woman I love is you. I cannot even look at a whore because you have so ruined me.”
“But…you were negotiating a marriage contract. With Delbring. While we were at Clarendon. Nevril told Tabatha—you were so happy, he said—and then you became angry when you learned you must wed me….” Judith’s voice broke. She was looking at him through blue pools of hope, yet her eyes were still laced with suspicion and pain. “And then you left me here to go to Delbring….”
Mal shook his head, his fingers sliding down along her throat and over her delicate collarbone as he tried to understand how she could have come to such wrong conclusions. It took a moment before comprehension dawned. “
Nevril
. That rock-head. He did not know of our plans to wed. But I sent messages, many of them—to Mal Verne, Salisbury, and Peter of Blois and others—and aye, to Delbring. But ’twas only to give off the impression I meant to make a match there. I could not allow the king or queen to get a hint of our plans…and so I allowed some to think that was my intent. And I was happy because a miracle had happened.” He brought himself up on his knees, pulling her close. “I had the chance to wed you.”
She did not resist when he covered her mouth with his. Her lips were warm and softly parted, and he was gentle, for the fierce desperation he harbored for so long was gone. Judith tasted sweet and lush, and ’twas all he could do to keep from crawling over the edge and into the tub, gathering her damp, sleek body to him.
But she turned away too soon, easing back against the edge of the tub. “But you left me here. Why? And why did you not tell me of Violet? Why would you keep such a secret from me?”
A flicker of shame caught him and it was Mal’s turn to shift, shocking his weak ankle as he put space between them. “I had to send her from Warwick, for I wanted her to be safe from the disease there. But I was not…certain how you would accept her.”
“But she is your
daughter
.”
“And she is not—she will not be…. She will be a child forever, Judith.” Mal realized he was holding his breath.
“What have I ever done to make you believe I would be unkind to a child—
any
child?” she whispered.
He shook his head fiercely, shame heating his face. “Naught. I was a fool. I meant only to protect her…for you are so…bright and bold and filled with life. Quick and brisk. And I feared you might not—ah, I was wrong. I misjudged you badly.”
“Aye,” she said softly. “That you did, Malcolm. But I…I cannot point such a sharp finger, for mayhap I have done the same.”
He exhaled and nodded. “Forgive me.”
“Aye.” She paused, trailing her fingers over the top of the water. “Malcolm…would you help me?”
“Of course. What is it you wish?”
“I wish to climb out of the tub, and I find I need assistance.” The flicker of a smile touched her lips and Malcolm felt a rush of heat washing over him.
In one swift, smooth movement, he rose and scooped her up, hardly noticing his protesting ankle. Water sluiced everywhere, and he snatched up a drying cloth in which to wrap her…then looked down into her beautiful, flushed face. His heart pounded and his blood surged.
“I would take you to bed, Judith,” he said.
“And I would go,” she replied, reaching to touch his face.
He settled her on the bed, whipping away the drying cloth as he came to lie next to her. His fingers trembled a bit as he made a long, light stroke from her shoulder to breast to the curve of her hip, hardly believing that she was his. Then he gathered her close, drawing her up to kiss her with all the tenderness and love he’d stored behind three months of anger and frustration.
She kissed him back, sighing softly into his mouth, teasing him with her tongue. She arched against his damp tunic, which suddenly seemed like more of a barrier than even a mail hauberk. He pulled away to whip it off and froze when he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. She blinked and one of them tipped free, trailing down into the pillow beneath her.
Malcolm’s heart seized and his insides plummeted.
Nay.
By God, surely she would turn him
mad
. “What is it, Judith? Do my kisses remind you of the king? Is that it?”
She frowned, shaking her head, placing a hand on his bare chest. Her touch was welcome, arousing and comforting, but he forced himself to wait for her to speak. “Oh, nay, Mal. There was never any kissing with the king. Ever.”
A pulse of disgust surprised him, but he pushed it away. He would not think of his liege now, would not imagine the lecherousness of the man to whom he must be loyal. “Then why the tears, Judith? What makes you so sad and hurt that when I touch you, you must cry?” His voice was edged with frustration and he gritted his teeth.
She dragged herself up on an elbow, wiping away the tears. “Oh,” she said, her expression turning from surprise to comprehension and tenderness. She touched his hair, sliding her fingers into it, combing gently along his scalp. “I am not sad or hurt, my love. These are tears of happiness and joy. For I cannot keep from weeping so when I am thus content. And I am content now…or I shall be, methinks, once you have bedded me.”
Her smile was a charming combination of shyness and teasing, but Mal hardly noticed through his mingled relief and chagrin. “And that is why you cried on our wedding night? And when we were to leave Clarendon? I bethought you were sad and angry and did not wish—that you wished we had not wed.”
“Oh nay, Malcolm. That was not crying. That was
weeping
.”
“There is a difference?” he asked, hardly able to believe he was having such a conversation with his wife when she was sleek and naked, warm and damp from her bath…and ready for him.
“Aye, indeed,” she said, sliding her hand down over his chest and ridged abdomen. He was shockingly aware of his skin leaping and trembling beneath her touch, and how his hose jutted out in a most insistent bulge. His breathing became ragged, and he could hardly follow her words. “For when I
cry
, dear husband,” she explained with a sassy tilt to her head, “you shall know it. For I am red-eyed and runny-nosed and my face turns pink and I am furious and loud. Very…loud.”
Malcolm’s breath caught when she curved her fingers around his heavy, thick cock, pulling it gently from its confines. He stilled and nearly lost himself right then.
“And so…” he breathed…and then completely forgot what he was about to say. His mind went utterly blank, aware of naught but the sensation of her hand, sliding tightly, smoothly along his erection and back again. He slammed a hand over hers, halting the movement, and peeled his eyes open. “Nay. You will unman me,” he told her.
She grinned, her eyes lighting up into a duo of mischievous, sparkling blue. “Is that a challenge?”
“Nay!” he said, moving swiftly once more, flinging her onto her back. “You are already challenge enough, Judith.” He placed a hand over her belly as he knelt in front of her, firmly parting her thighs, lowering his face to taste her in that hot, musky place. “But now, my love, ’tis my intent to make you weep.”
EIGHTEEN
Four months later.
Judith broke the seal
on Maris’s letter and unfurled the parchment eagerly. She always enjoyed hearing from her friend, and hoped Maris would join her at Lilyfare to midwife for the birth of her first child. The babe was not due to come until early summer, but she had already sent word to ask for attendance.
Settled in a large chair by the huge fireplace in the great hall, she settled in to read what she hoped was a gossipy missive, then suddenly found herself skimming quickly through it. “Tabby! Send for Lord Malcolm at once!” she said, rising from the chair. “He is in the training yard.”
Her maid, who herself was round with child, bustled from the hall as Judith hurried up to her chamber. She wished to have this conversation with her husband in private.
Moments later, she heard the pounding of footsteps down the hall. Mal burst in, eyes wild, still holding a sword. “What is it?” he demanded. “Are you well? The babe?”