The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (22 page)

“That
did not hurt,” she finally managed to say.

“We
are not yet finished.” Rhys eased his weight between her thighs and saw her
eyes widen when she felt his heat against her softness. He let his thumb caress
her again and the tension eased from her shoulders.

She
smiled at him and took a deep breath. “Show me, Rhys. I would learn of all the
deed this night.”

Rhys
moved with care, fighting his desire to bury himself in her sweet heat.
Madeline caught her breath as he entered her, and he paused to caress her again.
He was fairly bursting with the need to possess her, yet aware that this night
could poison all the others they would share.

Rhys
fought for restraint. He struggled to be worthy of her sweet trust. He closed
his eyes and leaned his brow upon the pillow beside her, welcoming the calming
stoke of her hand upon the back of his neck. He eased a little deeper and she
caught her breath, her kiss landing upon his ear.

“Finish
what we have begun, Rhys,” she whispered, her other hand landing upon his
buttocks. He turned his head, knowing he was large enough to injure her, and
kissed her. His kiss was gentle, an attempt to express an admiration that he
could not fully explain in words. He swallowed her gasp, her welcoming heat and
sweet kiss making him dizzy.

And
he kept his thumb between them, coaxing her response anew even as he sought his
own release. She quickened beneath him, as he had guessed that she would, and
he resolved to wait for her to find her release again.

Though
he knew it might well kill him. He watched her pleasure mount, felt her pulse
race, and the sight of her arousal nigh undid him.

And
when she cried out, he felt like a champion. No sooner had Madeline clutched
his shoulders again than Rhys fairly exploded within her heat. Satisfaction swelled
his heart that he had claimed Madeline as his bride for all eternity.

It
was some time before Rhys recalled that with this deed, he had also secured his
suzerainty of Caerwyn.

* * *

Madeline
had never guessed that people found such pleasure abed. To be sure, there had
been some pain, but the delight Rhys had summoned with his fingertips had made
it easy to endure.

And
in future, she hoped that she would have no pain.

Indeed,
this coupling left her with a splendid sense of contentment. She smiled as she
stroked Rhys’ dark hair. He yet lay partly atop her as he dozed against her
shoulder. His release had exhausted him, it was clear, though Madeline did not
mind. She liked having the opportunity to study him, and found him far less
daunting while he slept.

To
be sure, Rhys was wrought more formidably than she had imagined. It was not
armor alone that made his chest look so broad, nor was it his boots that made
him stand so tall. His skin was tanned and covered in places with a dark tangle
of curly hair; his muscled strength was considerable. There were scars upon his
flesh, scars from battle wounds long healed. He was vigorous and virile.

And
he was her wedded spouse. He had been tender with her, despite his evident
desire, and he had pursued her pleasure as diligently as his own. Though she
had initially been fearful that Kerr’s way was the sole way, she was glad
beyond glad that she had found the fortitude to learn the truth. Rhys did not
mind that she was curious, nor that she touched him of her own volition, nor
that she welcomed his passion with her own. And he had not been censorious in
those moments when her valor abandoned her.

Rhys
was not James, to be sure, and he would never be the gentle-mannered man that
James had been, but there was merit in this man she had wed. Madeline watched
her fingers slip through his hair and considered that her match was made well
enough.

She
might never love Rhys as she had loved James, and Rhys might never love her,
but she already felt a certain affection for her gruff spouse. It was no small
thing that he appreciated her as she was, that he ensured her safety with such
vigor, that he courted mutual pleasure abed with such enthusiasm.

Madeline
might even find a certain contentment with this warrior. The prospect made her
smile broaden just as Rhys opened his eyes. He regarded her for a moment with
the same reverence that had lit his eyes when he had removed her kirtle, then
his lips curved slightly.

“You
are pleased?”

Madeline
nodded, feeling herself flush.

He
propped himself upon on his elbow, removing his weight from her with an
apology. He was yet close beside her, seeming larger and warmer now that he
had awakened. He looked disheveled as she had never seen him, almost boyish.
The slow smile that kindled a heat in his gaze was not boyish, however, and
made her tingle in recollection of what they had just done. “And did it hurt?”

Madeline
shrugged. “A little, though the pleasure was worth the price.” She touched the
marks her nails had left upon his back. “Did this hurt?”

He
spared the marks no more than the barest glance, then granted her a smile so
wicked that her breath was stolen away. “The pleasure was worth the price,” he
echoed, then claimed her lips anew. He kissed her with leisure, his fingertips
sliding lightly over her flesh, and reawakened her ardor with astonishing ease.

One
touch from Rhys and her blood fairly simmered, one caress and she yearned to
feel his strength within her again. His kisses at Ravensmuir had been a mere
portent of the pleasure he could grant her. She returned his embrace, liking
that his erection grew against her thigh.

Perhaps
she had a power to please him, as well.

Rhys
broke their kiss and rolled to his back, folding his hands behind his neck, as
if to keep himself from touching her. “Once this night will suffice for you, I
think,” he said, his tone so rueful that Madeline laughed.

She
liked that she already had the confidence in his nature to tease him. She
touched his erection with a fingertip and it lifted beneath her caress. “But
not for you?”

He
gave her a glance so lustful that her mouth went dry. “I suspect that once with
you will never suffice for me,
anwylaf
,” he said, his words low and his eyes dark.

She
assumed the Welsh word meant “wife”, for it sounded so similar, and she did not
mind the sound of it upon his lips. “Then my caress is a cruel one,” she
whispered.

Rhys
shrugged, a slow smile claiming his lips again. “Perhaps the pleasure is worth
the price.”

Madeline
laughed and laid her hand upon his chest. Rhys rolled to his side, facing her,
and snared her hand within his own. His thumb slid across her palm in a slow
caress and she smiled at him, feeling a contentment beyond expectation.

“Perhaps
we have wrought a son already,” he said.

“As
quickly as that?”

“It
is possible.” His gaze dropped to their entwined hands and his words slowed.
“My father always said that sons were wrought in passion, while daughters were
wrought in dutiful coupling.”

Madeline
felt herself flush, for they had met with passion indeed this night. “What a
notion! I should like to think myself wrought in passion, not duty.”

“Perhaps
he only said as much to encourage me.”

Madeline
was puzzled. “Why would that encourage you?”

“Because
I am bastard-born, but a son nonetheless.” Rhys lifted a fingertip to her
cheek, stroking her as if she were wrought of fine silk. “My father only had
daughters by his lady wife.”

Madeline
frowned and put an increment of space between them. She was more troubled by
this confession than she could have believed. “Your father took a whore to
ensure that he had a son?”

“Aye,
he did. And it was a successful ploy, clearly.”

That
Rhys could endorse such infidelity, and do so with such calm, infuriated
Madeline.

All
the same, it was more difficult to shun Rhys’ heat and his touch than she would
have liked. She donned her chemise with hasty gestures and gathered her
thoughts with an effort, well aware of the weight of his perceptive gaze.

“What
is amiss?” he asked

Madeline
put the width of the chamber between them, considering her course. She did not
want secrets between them, nor fears, so she pivoted to confront him. “How
quickly will you turn to another woman to have the sons you desire?”

“What
do you mean?”

Madeline
heard her voice rise. “How much time do you grant me to conjure your son, Rhys?
How long will you frequent my bed afore you take a whore?”

Rhys
sat up and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes narrowed, but Madeline
did not care if he was irked. “You are vexed by this prospect.”

“My
parents found pleasure solely with each other for the duration of their match.
I expect no less of my marriage, howsoever it was wrought.”

Rhys
shook his head. “But that is unreasonable. With Caerwyn beneath my hand, I have
need of sons to ensure the preservation and protection of my legacy.”

“And
you have greater need of the loyalty of your wife.” When Rhys did not agree,
Madeline continued in haste. “What gain was made by your father taking other
women to his bed? He had a son, to be sure, but I doubt that your place in his
household was an easy one.”

Rhys’
lips set in a stubborn line. “It is a question of the law of inheritance.”

“You
know as well as I that a daughter can inherit through her spouse, if
necessary.”

Rhys
looked grim. “I will not have it. Strife comes of such uncertainty; strife and
war and waste. It is irresponsible for a man to not ensure that he provides an
heir who is a son.”

Madeline
regarded him in astonishment. On the very night of her nuptials, her husband
was vowing to be unfaithful to her! How could she have imagined she might find
contentment with him? “Swear to me that you will come to my bed alone.”

He
shook his head, impatient with the very notion. “You ask too much in this. I
will have a son, if not two. And if they do not come from you, they shall come
from another woman’s womb.” He rose and donned his chemise, apparently
untroubled that she was so furious with him. “Under Welsh law, their mother’s
name is of less import than their father’s seed.”

“I
care nothing for the law! I will not be mocked in my own household!” Madeline
fairly shouted. Never had her concerns been so casually dismissed. “I will not
be compelled to show courtesy to a whore who has usurped my place.”

There
was silence in the chamber then, a silence broken solely by the quickness of
Madeline’s breath. Rhys donned his chausses as if he had not a care in the
world, then donned his boots and fastened his belt about his waist.

Only
once he had checked his weapons did he meet her gaze steadily. “Then I would
suggest that you conceive a son with all haste, my lady.” With that, he bent to
pick up his cloak.

His
dismissive attitude infuriated Madeline as little else could have done.

“You
faithless wretch! I should abandon this travesty of a marriage now!”

Rhys
spared a telling glance at the ruby stain of her lost maidenhead upon the
linens. “And who would welcome you?” he asked, as if curious to know her
answer. “Your brother will not surrender my coin, nor will he find another
willing suitor for you after last night. I will not tell a falsehood about what
has happened between us this night, upon that you may rely.”

Madeline
glared at him, disliking the truth in his words. Indeed, her fury made her
shake. “I should deny you access to my bed!”

That
dangerous gleam lit Rhys’ eye, though still he spoke with studied calm. “And
how will that ensure that you conceive a son? How will it compel me to not take
another woman to my bed? You are too keen of wit to not see the flaw in that
scheme, my lady.”

Rhys
was right and they both knew it, though that did little to soothe Madeline’s
temper. His eyes shone, so certain was he that she was cornered, and Madeline
yearned to prove him wrong. But any reluctance she showed abed would persuade
him that they would not conceive a son, as he believed his father’s edict about
passion.

She
glared across the chamber at the evidence of what they had done. He spoke
aright about her lost maidenhead. Madeline’s sole path forward was as Rhys
FitzHenry’s wife.

Madeline
drew herself to her full height and spoke with all the frost she could muster.
“I salute your cunning, sir, for you have ensured that I have no choice but to
grant your will to you. But your triumph is won at great cost.”

“I
see no cost in ensuring that matters will be between us as they should be.”

“Oh!
You are a barbarian indeed!” she cried. “You have lost my good will, which
should be of import to you! What manner of Christian pledges to be unfaithful
to his bride upon the night of their nuptials?”

Rhys’
lips thinned. “An honest man in need of a son.”