Captive Rose (36 page)

Leila watched her brother's wide shoulders draw back
proudly, his posture unrelenting even as he faced his king.

"I was protecting what was mine, sire. Lord de
Warenne
has seen fit to wed my sister without first seeking
my counsel in the matter. I demand that this marriage be annulled at once,
before any consummation" —he spat the word— "may occur."

"How do you answer this charge, Lord de
Warenne
?"

"Lord
Gervais's
counsel
was not needed, Your Majesty. The lady gave her consent, which is all that is
required by law. As for consummation, this marriage has already been
consummated in the eyes of God. On that day I swore that I would take this
woman for my wife. So it has been done."

Leila gasped at his open admission of their carnal
relations before so many men and lowered her eyes in shame.

"If proof that I have taken the lady's virginity
is required, sire, I have it," he continued solemnly. "My knights,
Sir
Burnell
and Sir Langton, serve as my witnesses
that
a bedding
occurred."

"Virgin, my ass," Roger muttered. "Whore
is more like it."

"Silence!" Edward demanded. "How dare
you further desecrate this holy place with your foul profanity?" He drew a
deep breath, his voice still stern when he addressed Leila, though it held a
note of gentleness.

"How say you to all of this, my lady? Did you
consent willingly to this marriage?"

Leila did not raise her head, the cathedral suddenly
grown so quiet she could swear she heard her heart pounding in her breast like
a battle drum.

"Yes." At her affirmation, Guy's arms
tightened fiercely around her.

"So be it." Edward turned back to Roger. "My
lord
Gervais
, I could banish you from my court for
the havoc you have wreaked today, but I will refrain from such punishment out
of respect for the occasion which has drawn us all here to Westminster. But
know this. If you cause any more rash disturbances or harass Lord and Lady de
Warenne
in any way, I will have your hide on a spit."
He glanced with disgust at the groaning, wounded men lying on the floor. "Get
them out of here."

Roger and his men silently obeyed. Edward waited until
they were retreating down the main aisle with the two injured knights before he
spoke again.

"Your arm, de
Warenne
.
Does it need medical attention?"

Guy looked down at Leila and wished desperately that
they were alone so he could wipe the tears from her face. "No,
sire
. I'm sure my wife will tend to it quite ably."

"Indeed. Then let us walk back to the feast, shall
we? We'll have water, ointment, and bandages
brought,
anything you need."

"Thank you, sire. I am in your debt."

With a thin smile on his lips, Edward drew close and
settled a glinting gold medallion around Guy's neck.

"No trouble, my lord. I'd wager this added
excitement has only made the occasion that much more memorable for all of us,
yes?"

Guy's throat was so constricted with a hitherto unknown
depth of
emotion,
he did not trust himself to answer.
Instead he tenderly kissed the crown of Leila's head, holding her close against
his heart as he followed Edward from the bloody transept.

Chapter 19

"Do you like the room, Leila?" Guy toyed
absently with his medallion, waiting for her answer, which was long in coming.

It was all he could do not to walk over to the window
and capture her in his
arms,
she was so bewitchingly
beautiful with her ebony hair streaming like a silken waterfall down her back
and her silvery tunic clinging to her body so provocatively. But he
willed
himself to remain seated. He was determined to move
very slowly with her this evening.

It was their wedding night. The night he had not
expected for days, maybe weeks. It was still hard for him to believe that Leila
was actually his wife.

It was the night which would set the tone for countless
others to come. He wanted it to be special for both of them . . . no small
task.

Leila had been coolly distant since they had returned
to the coronation feast, scarcely speaking except when spoken to, and now,
hours later, she was still aloof, almost as if she were resolved to keep
herself tightly in check. He could also sense her nervousness, though she was
trying hard not to show it. He knew her well enough to recognize the defiant
jut of her chin as a sign of stubbornness, and a good measure of apprehension.

He was glad he had managed to dissuade his knights and
Eleanor's ladies-in-waiting from the traditional bedding ceremony. Having a
crowd of observers cramming into their chamber, he and Leila stripped naked
before them and ensconced in their nuptial bed, would have unsettled her
entirely. No, he wanted to do things at his own pace and in his own way.

He would have to be endlessly patient with her and
infinitely caring, no matter how she might try to goad him to anger. He wanted
to please her, to make her laugh and smile as she had that afternoon on the
Rhone. He wanted to make up for all the unhappiness she had known since she was
unwillingly wrested from her home.

He wanted her to see that she could find happiness with
him, and love, if she would only open up her heart and allow him to enter. He
would relinquish everything he possessed to hear her say those three simple
words: I love you. He would not give up until she did. So he had silently vowed
when the priest pronounced them man and wife.

Guy sighed softly when still Leila did not reply to his
earlier question. Finally he spoke.

"My cousin, the earl of Surrey, and his wife were
most gracious to exchange this room for my smaller one, don't you think?"

Leila cast him a wary glance. Her breath snagged in her
throat at the sight of him sitting so casually in that high-backed chair, one
sinewed
leg slung over the low armrest, his gold medallion
reflecting the flickering candlelight as he dangled it between his fingers. Yet
the tension she sensed in him belied his relaxed posture. She purposely avoided
his eyes and skipped her gaze to the embroidered tapestry on the wall behind him,
a colorful yet disturbing scene of a wounded unicorn surrounded by hunters and
baying hounds.

Even the tapestry proved too much for her. Gripped by
uneasiness, she turned back to the window and stared outside at the ink-black
night.

That was exactly how she felt right now. Hunted, like
that unicorn. And Guy was both the hunter aiming his arrow and the hound
snapping at her heels.

Oh, why had she ever agreed to marry him? She could
have wed that London merchant, stolen his money, and escaped on horseback to
Dover long before it would have ever come to sharing a bedchamber. Why hadn't
she had her wits about her enough in Roger's tent to think of such a plan, or
when Guy demanded she choose? Fool! "Leila, why won't you talk to me?"

She started but did not turn from the window. "I
have little to say, my lord. I am very tired."

"Fair enough. Then why don't you ready yourself
for bed."

She gasped softly and met his eyes. There was no guile
in them, although he was looking at her quite intently, half of his handsome
face masked by shadows. Could she hope he had no plans to . . . ?

"I'm tired myself," he said, swinging his leg
from the armrest and kicking off his boots. "It's been a most eventful
day, and tomorrow's tournament will come soon enough."

Eventful day! That was an understatement, Leila
thought, watching as he stood and unfastened his sword belt, dropping it on the
chair with a clanking thud, along with his medallion. When he began to strip
out of his tunic, she lowered her eyes, her heart thumping, and hurried to the
far side of the bed where she drew the blue damask curtains. Thank God she
would at least have some privacy while she undressed.

She noted a familiar saddle bag propped against the
bedpost and realized someone must have been sent to retrieve her belongings
from Roger's tent. With trembling fingers she slipped out of the tunic Maude
had had cut down for her and then her
chainse
, both
of which were somewhat soiled from her escapade that afternoon. She rolled down
the gauzy white stockings which were hopelessly beyond repair, with huge holes
at the knees.

Anxious that Guy might come around the bed and find her
naked, Leila quickly drew on her white linen
nightrail
.
Though the fabric was thin, it was a plain, unassuming garment, and for that
she was grateful. She brushed her hair and braided it loosely, then blew out
the two candles on the ornately carved table against the wall, plunging her
side of the room into darkness.

Her courage seemed to evaporate with the light, and she
hesitated by the table, her fingers gripping the smooth edge. The last time
they had shared a bed was—

Leila inclined her head slightly at the sound of Guy
climbing beneath the covers, her cheeks growing as hot as the tingling flush
racing through her body. Oh dear . . . oh dear.

"Leila?

She inhaled sharply, saying nothing.

"Leila, come to bed."

She wanted desperately to flee, but knew he would catch
her easily before she even reached the door. And that game of cat and mouse
might only fire his lust. Perhaps if she simply went to bed, she would find him
as tired as he said he was. It
had
been a very long day.

Leila moved silently to the curtains, her hands shaking
as she reached up and drew them aside. Soft, golden light from an oil lamp
burning on an opposite table illuminated the bed and the reclining giant whose
deep blue eyes caught and held hers.

"I was beginning to think I might have to come out
and get you, my love."

Oh, why did he have to call her that? Leila wondered
uncomfortably, stunned by the virile picture Guy made. Why did he have to look
like any woman's wildest fantasy come to life?

Guy was leaning against a brace of pillows with the
covers thrown over his hips, his skin showing dark against the white sheets. By
some trick of shadow and light, the muscles banding his chest and stomach were
accentuated to perfection, and his arms looked supremely powerful even at rest.
His long hair was swept back from his forehead, brushing shoulders that were
wide and immense, the right one marred by a long, raised scar. Below it, his
massive bicep was encircled by a bandage that showed a streak of blood.

"I should look at your arm again," she said
without thinking, her instinctive concern honed by years of training.

"My arm is fine, Leila. Come. The room grows cold.
You will catch a chill standing there."

She saw the hand he offered her, but she nervously
chose to ignore it as she swiftly climbed into the bed and lay down with her
back to him. Pulling the covers up to her ear, she settled herself as close as
possible to the edge of the mattress, so close, in fact, that if she moved any
farther she would tumble to the floor.

Guy had to stifle the chuckle welling deep in his
chest.

"If you plan on sleeping like that tonight, Leila,
I would take care not to dangle your arm over the side. Lady Eleanor was
telling me last night that they're having a terrible problem with mice in the
palace . . . maybe even rats."

Leila rolled over, her eyes wide. "Rats?"

Guy nodded gravely, feeling that same chuckle trying to
force itself from his throat. But he sobered when she seemed equally disturbed
about the yawning space between them. She glanced uncertainly from the bed to
him.

Sweet
Jesu
, why did she fear
him so? Or was it more a fear of the desire he had seen smoldering in her eyes
when she opened the curtains . . . desire she was still fighting?

He was gratified when she suddenly slid closer to his
side of the bed, though she maintained a foot's distance between them and
turned her back to him again.

"Good night, my lord."

No, my reluctant love, the time to sleep is not yet,
Guy thought resolutely. He rolled onto his side and swept her against his body
in one fluid motion.

Leila gasped and stiffened, but to his surprise she did
not struggle. "You—you said you were tired. What are you doing?" she
demanded, peering at him over her shoulder.

"Is there anything wrong with a man holding his
lovely new wife?" Guy countered with a slight smile.

Leila wanted to scream out a resounding "Yes!"
but instead she decided it would be best not to resist him. If she lay very
still and very quiet, surely he would soon fall asleep, thinking she was doing
the same. "I suppose not."

She drew in her breath sharply as his large hand slid
slowly down the side of her body, stopping at her thigh. He had said holding,
not caressing! But when his hand rested there, she relaxed somewhat and feigned
a wide yawn for his benefit. She hoped that now that Guy was comfortable, he
would leave her in peace.

Leila closed her eyes and snuggled her cheek almost
defiantly into the pillow. As for herself, comfortable she was not. Every fiber
of her being was alive to the heady warmth of his skin burning through her
nightrail
. The hard planes and contours of his body were
molded against her in a most disturbing way: his chest and taut belly pressed
into her back, his lean hips melded to hers, a rigid swelling against her
bottom . . .

Leila's eyes flew open and she tried to lunge away from
him, even as his arm clamped tightly around her waist, holding her captive.

"No! Release me this instant," she exclaimed.
She struggled hard now, fearing the import of his arousal. "You lied to
me! You led me to believe you wanted to sleep, not to . . . to . . ." She
could not bring herself to say it.