When Love Awaits (8 page)

She was biting her lower lip in an endearing way, a little frown puckering her brow. She was trying to
keep her head down, too mortified to meet his eyes. His head bent and his lips fastened on the high pointing perfection of a nipple, his tongue grazing over skin like silk. He heard her gasp, and just at that moment there was a single knock.

The door opened and Beatrix stepped into the room. “Leonie, I—oh! Oh, my lord, forgive me!” Beatrix turned scarlet. “Leonie, I—I did not—oh, it can wait—” Beatrix backed out of the room as fast as she could.

Leonie’s first impulse was to laugh, and she would have except for the look on her husband’s face. He wore such a perplexed frown.

“You must not mind my aunt,” she said. “She shares this room with me and…”

He did not take his eyes from her face. Nor did his expression change.

“Lady Leonie?” It was a question.

She jerked away from him.

“So now you remember my name,” she said bitterly. “It is not consoling that you had to be reminded before—”

His face went tight, but whether or not it was anger she couldn’t tell.

“
You
are my wife?” This, too, was a question.

“Of course I am. Who else—”

The Black Wolf fell back on the bed laughing, laughing so hard he writhed with it. Leonie stared at him incredulously until everything came together in her mind. Who else had he thought she was? It didn’t matter to him.

Oh, the shame of it, the shame! He had not been making love to his wife, but to some stranger he’d chanced upon in the garden. No wonder he hadn’t known her name, he thought he’d never met her be
fore. But for him to do such a thing in her keep, where he knew his wife would hear of it, where her people would see how little respect he bore her!

Leonie moved away from the bed and opened her clothes chest, taking out the first thing she touched, a short linen shift. Attired, she returned to the bed where her husband was still convulsed with laughter. Calmly, she picked up a pillow and began hitting him with it until she finally gained his attention.

“Cease, my lady. You have made your point,” he said, chuckling.

“Then will you kindly take your amusement somewhere else? Quickly, before I lose what little patience I have left.”

Rolfe sat up and reached for her, sobering when she stepped away from him.

“Come, Leonie, you cannot blame me if I am delighted to learn I have a beautiful wife.”

“Sweet Mary, help me,” Leonie said to herself. Eyes of frozen silver flashed at him. “My lord, I see I was not clear enough. I want you to leave—now!”

Rolfe made no move. “You are angry.”

“Yes.”

“I cannot blame you.”

“How good of you.”

He grinned at her. “Do not spend your fury so, dearling. No harm was done. Thanks to your aunt, a misunderstanding was avoided.”

“Let me understand you correctly, Sir Rolfe,” Leonie said furiously. “You are saying that if you had made love to me, believing I was a stranger, that would have been merely a
misunderstanding?
”

“But you are my wife, not a stranger. You see my reasoning?”

“What I see, my lord, is that you are a lecher of
the worst kind!” His eyes narrowed, but Leonie was so furious she couldn’t stop. “I am told everything that happens here. I would have known of your transgression before you were finished with the girl. Do not mistake me. I care not how many women you have, but if you take one from Pershwick, then I and everyone here will know of it. I will not have my people pity me for my terrible husband.”

“Are you finished, madame?”

Leonie swallowed hard, knowing she had gone too far.

“Yes,” she murmured, looking at the floor.

“The only thing that matters here is that you are my wife. That means you belong to me, to do with as I will. Do you deny the truth of that?”

Miserably. “No.”

“Then do not forget again that you are answerable to me, not I to you.”

He gathered his things and left. With the closing of the door, she let out the breath she had been holding. No beating for her audacity, only a warning. But a despicable warning…from a despicable man.

W
ILDA hesitated outside her lady’s door, dreading the news she must give her. She knew Sir Rolfe had been there yesterday, and that he had left in a very ugly mood. Her lady was downcast all the rest of the day and, indeed, now the very worst had come of the encounter.

The sky was still a hazy predawn violet when the troop of men rode up to the gate demanding entrance. Not even the kitchen servants had risen yet, it was so early. The commotion caused a call to arms, which turned out to be unnecessary. The belligerent shouting was the result of a mistake. The night guard was a Pershwick man recruited from the village, and he spoke only English. The men-at-arms outside the gates were fresh from France and understood no English. The knights waited far behind them, and did not hear the exchange. All was chaos until Sir Guibert arrived and unraveled the situation.

The mounted men-at-arms now waited in the bailey, and the four knights with them had been brought into the hall. Wilda was sent to wake her lady. Sir Guibert frowned at her for hesitating outside the door, but, oh dear, she did not want to be the one to bring this news.

“Wilda!”

She sent Sir Guibert an aggrieved look before open
ing the door and stepping into the dark room. She lit a candle, stalling for time.

“I am not ready to rise, Wilda,” Leonie murmured sleepily as the light woke her.

“Sir Guibert sent me, my lady, to tell you there are men here, your husband’s men, waiting. They—they say you must go with them to Crewel.”

Silence from the bed. Then a tiny whisper. “Why?”

“They would not say,” Wilda admitted.

“Give me my bedrobe. Hurry.”

Wilda did as asked, not realizing that Leonie meant to rush out of the room wearing only that.

“My lady!”

Leonie didn’t stop until she saw the four knights gathered by the hearth with Sir Guibert, and then she wanted to run back before they saw her. She had expected only men-at-arms, servants she could demand answers from. But knights of the Black Wolf would not be intimidated. Why were there four of them? Was trouble expected—trouble from her?

It was not easy to carry herself forward into the room, but she forced herself.

“You are here by Rolfe d’Ambert’s order?”

Her question was met with silence. Three of the knights actually turned away. The fourth, the man she knew to be Sir Thorpe, scowled at her. She turned frightened eyes toward Sir Guibert, who lost his temper.

“You will answer my lady or she will not leave Pershwick!”

“Your
lady?
” Sir Thorpe echoed, and the four knights looked at her with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. But Leonie was more embarrassed, realizing that they hadn’t guessed who she was. It was her own fault, dressed as she was, her hair not even covered.

“Your pardon, Lady Leonie,” one of the younger men began. “But we did not realize—”

She waved a hand. “I know. You must forgive me for not greeting you in proper attire. You are…”

“Richard Amyas.”

He hastily introduced the others to her. Amyas was a handsome young man with dark brown hair and green eyes that admired her frankly. Sir Reinald was even younger, with a devastating smile, golden hair, and brown eyes. His skin was a contrasting olive hue, and he was so handsome as to be almost angelic looking.

Sir Piers was the complete opposite. His face was so battle scarred that he aroused pity, but he had the loveliest violet eyes. He eyed her coldly, and she wondered why.

Thorpe de la Mare was the oldest of the four, and near Guibert’s age. He had the same dark coloring as Rolfe, and he seemed to find something amusing. His dark brown eyes fairly danced with laughter, and it was all Leonie could manage not to ask him what amused him so.

Sir Richard told her that her husband had charged them with seeing her safely to Crewel. She waited breathlessly for him to say more, but there was no more.

“Did he say nothing else?” she asked, perplexed and afraid.

“Only that you are to bring with you all that belongs to you by way of clothes and personal effects, so it is assumed you are to reside at Crewel.”

She nearly fainted. She had once been resigned to living at Crewel, resigned to suffering there, but then she was sent back to Pershwick and everything was all right again. Now, it seemed, all was lost.

“It will take time to pack everything,” Leonie heard herself saying in a dead voice.

“That is why we are here so early,” Sir Thorpe supplied cheerfully. “But do hurry as best you can, my lady.”

Hurry to what awaited her?
Do not linger or you will begin to cry
.

She said to Guibert, “See to their comfort and then send to me all the servants you can gather.” With a nod to the four knights, Leonie returned to her room. For the rest of the morning, if she did not allow herself to think, she was able to give crisp orders about the packing. If she did think, she became a mass of trembling nerves, and was overset by tears she could not stifle.

Confusion tormented her. Despite herself, she had begun to relax with Rolfe, and to enjoy him. That was why she was so devastated when his callousness returned. He did not need to be charming and he knew it, did not have to win his wife to his bed. He needed only to order her there. She had thought she could bear that if she must, but could she, loathing the man? She especially despised his handsomeness, which was like a devil’s beacon, attracting her despite herself.

What hope did she have not to be torn apart by the warring emotions he caused in her?

I
T was late that night when Rolfe returned to Crewel from the siege at Wroth. He had been at Crewel briefly yesterday, after leaving Pershwick, but had stayed only long enough to speak with Lady Amelia.

Now Rolfe did not even want to think about that meeting, which had gone from bad to worse. He had told Amelia that she must return to court and why, but she burst into tears and begged him not to send her away.

Her tears had only annoyed him. After all, there had never been any love professed between them. But he understood her emotional state well enough when she confessed she was pregnant. It was not pleasant news, but Rolfe could do no less than allow her to stay until the child was born. She had agreed she would leave the child with him and go her own way, agreed most happily in fact. She’d promised to stay out of his way, to cause no trouble for him and his wife.

He had wanted her cared for elsewhere during her pregnancy. “It would be better for you to stay at another of my keeps,” he told her. “Axeford is well settled.”

“But why, my lord? Your wife knows nothing about us. She thinks I am your ward.”

“Regardless—”

“Please, do not.” Amelia began to cry again. “I could not bear to be thrust on strangers now. And your
wife will be glad to have me, I swear. Sir Evarard has no wife. There is no other lady here to keep Lady Leonie company. Please, my lord.”

He should have refused, but he did not. He owed it to the woman to see to her comfort during her confinement, and since he could not foresee any real harm in it, he agreed.

Now as he entered the keep, a vague unsettled feeling nagged at him that he could not explain. But it was forgotten when he spied Thorpe sitting alone by the large hearth at the far end of the hall. He had known he would wait up for him.

Not many others were still awake. The male servants had their pallets spread along the walls and most were fast asleep. A few men-at-arms were at the smaller hearth laughing softly. The only sconces still lit were those by the stairways leading to the floor above, and the hall was so big they provided little light. Nor did the two fires offer much light. They were not fed often on warm nights.

Thorpe did not greet Rolfe until he’d settled into the high-backed chair beside him. The eyes the older man fixed on Rolfe might have been staring at a speck of dust for all the interest they revealed. So it was to be that way, was it? Thorpe was never more annoying than when he was savoring a triumph. He did not brag or gloat, but forced comments by his silence.

“I will assume from your silence that you had no trouble following my orders. She is here?”

“She is.”

Rolfe had not realized how tense he’d been until now. “You had no trouble at all?”

“There was a moment when her vassal was ready to draw his sword on us, but—” Thorpe chuckled at Rolfe’s expression.

“Did she—”

“By no means,” Thorpe said quickly. “Her man took exception to the lack of respect we showed his lady. It was a natural mistake. We did not know who she was when she came to us—something I am sure you can appreciate.”

There it was, a not-too-subtle chiding for Rolfe’s not warning them about what they would find. He imagined Thorpe’s surprise on first seeing Lady Leonie. No doubt it had been as great as his own.

“What was her reaction?”

“She did not smile or seem pleased to see us, if that is what you mean. She wanted only confirmation that it was by your order she was to come here. After that, she did not delay at all in readying herself.”

“And here?”

“Be more specific,” Thorpe replied innocently.

“Why? You know my every thought, sometimes even before I have it,” Rolfe countered. “Do not make me hunt for what I wish to know.”

Thorpe chuckled again. “There is very little to tell. I think she expected you to be here when she arrived. When she saw that you were not, she retired to your chamber and has not shown herself since. The two maids she brought with her are also there. So what of Damian? Is he to share your antechamber with her two maids?”

“I left him at Wroth. And no,” Rolfe answered thoughtfully. “I think henceforth I will want no one sleeping so close. There are many places to sleep in this keep.”

Thorpe grinned. “Of course.”

After they had joked for half an hour more, Rolfe started up the narrow curving stairway to his chamber on the second floor. He did indeed find the two maids
sleeping in the antechamber. One in fact had put her pallet directly in front of the door, and when he opened it she awoke with a shriek. That woke the other maid as well, and a moment later the inner door to his room was thrown open by his wife, who stood there clutching a hastily donned bedrobe.

The dim light from a single candle did lovely things to the planes of Leonie’s face. Rolfe was held by her spell for several moments before he recollected himself and brusquely ordered the two maids out.

“When I am away you may sleep here if that is my lady’s wish, but not when I am in residence. You may return here in the morning to assist her, but you will not enter here unless you are bid. I need no one to wake me. If I have not yet risen, no matter the hour, I do not wish to be disturbed. Is that understood?”

Wilda and the older Mary both looked to Leonie first. At her nod, they nodded to her husband. His temper might have exploded over that, but in fact he was amused, although he kept his expression carefully blank.

“Go below. Sir Thorpe will show you to the women’s quarters.”

As he entered the inner chamber, he said, “It was good of you to return to Crewel so quickly.”

“Did I have a choice, my lord?”

“No, but you might have thought of a hundred things to delay your arrival. I am pleased you did not.” She had not moved from the door. “Close the door, Leonie, and come in.”

She did not like his using her name so easily, nor did she trust his calm. She closed the door slowly and moved reluctantly back into the room, going directly to a chest by the bed where she found a belt for the robe.

Rolfe sighed when she finished tying the belt but made no move toward him. “Is this to be the way of it?” he said as he unbelted his sword and laid it aside. “Must I always ask for your help?”

Leonie reddened. He was right of course. He should not have to ask her for anything. A wife’s duty was to anticipate all of her husband’s needs.

Yet she did not come forward, for the situation reminded her that she was not a normal wife. Why should only some things apply to her as wife, when the most important things did not?

“I am not a squire, my lord.”

He stiffened, looking at her carefully. “You refuse to help me?”

Leonie shivered. Actual defiance she did not dare, but…

“There are servants here.”

“And you would prefer to expend yourself simply to wake one, rather than come near me? It is late, woman. All are abed but you and I.”

“I…as you wish, my lord.”

She forced her feet to move, telling herself that at least she had made her reluctance known to him, whether it angered him or not.

Rolfe began to lower himself to a stool, but she said, “I will need that to stand on.”

The stool was only two feet high. Rolfe looked at it skeptically anyway. “It was not made for standing.”

“I have done this for Sir Guibert,” she insisted, climbing onto the stool.

“You will fall,” he warned her, and she scoffed, “I will not.”

“I forget how tiny you really are,” he said as he knelt.

How husky his voice was, a caress. He was looking
up at her, and Leonie refused to meet his eyes. She quickly bent to grasp the hem of his hauberk. The sooner done…

She had the last of the heavy armor over his head, but she’d forgotten how much weightier his chain mail was than Sir Guibert’s. Her last hard tug sent her backward, the hauberk still in her hands, its weight throwing her off balance.

“Drop it.”

She dropped it, and he grabbed her.

“I think you are not suited for this task,” he said.

“Put me down.”

The dismay she felt in being held in his arms made her voice overly harsh. He touched her feet to the floor, then he released her altogether, whereupon she ran to the bed and drew the curtains around her.

Rolfe picked up the stool and sat down on it, gazing thoughtfully at the bed. His little wife was not going to unbend. He had thought his warning of the day before had given her new incentive, but apparently he had only made matters worse. He ran his hands through his thick hair, exasperated. He had not known what to do yesterday besides give her a show of his temper, but it hadn’t warmed things up, had it? No, anger did not inspire her. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure he could control his temper.

He’d been stung more than he cared to admit when she professed not to care how many women he had as long as they were not Pershwick women. Jealousy he could understand, but not to care at all?

How could he reach this lovely girl, show her he wanted to start anew? Had she not guessed his intention in bringing her here?

Rolfe quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothing. He did not blow out the candle, nor did he
close the heavy curtain on his side of the bed, for that would trap the bed in darkness.

Leonie had her back to him. She had not disrobed, and she was buried deep beneath the covers. He threw them aside and lifted her off the bed to set her down on his lap. She made no sound. He held her thus, cradled like a child, stiff and unyielding though she remained.

He held her for a long while, thinking. Finally he asked, “How old are you, Leonie?”

The voice was soft, yet startling in the quiet room. Leonie actually had to think before she could answer.

“I have lived nineteen years.”

“And I ten more than that. Do you think I am too old for you?”

“I—suppose not.”

Rolfe nearly laughed at the grudging reply. “Do you abhor my blackness then?”

“Blackness? You are not so hairy that your golden skin is—”

Leonie clamped her mouth shut, appalled. Next she would be telling him how handsome he was!

“Will you tell me, then, what displeases you so about my appearance?”

There it was. He really did want to hear it. She would rather cut out her tongue than flatter his vanity. If he wanted praise, he could find it elsewhere—as no doubt he did, often.

“You would be bored to hear it, my lord, the list is so long.”

Leonie was delighted to hear him chuckle at her jibe.

“Dearling, there is nothing about you that displeases me. You are a mite small, but I think I like even that.”

Oh, cruel lies! You do not send away what pleases you.

“You did not want a wife.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Is it a sign of a happy groom to drink himself into forgetfulness?”

“In truth,” he said uncomfortably, “I was reluctant to force myself on you after being told why you were hiding beneath your veil.”

Leonie was surprised, not surprised that he knew she had been beaten—her father would have been forced to admit that—but surprised to know he’d been acting out of consideration for her. Rolfe destroyed that illusion in a moment, however. “And what little I knew about you before the wedding was not flattering.”

“I see,” she said coldly. “Then I assume it was not my person you were interested in.”

“Few marriages begin differently.”

“True. But few progress as ours did. You did not want a wife.”

“What I found distasteful, Leonie,” he said in a burst of honesty, “were my reasons for marrying you. Anger led me to offer for you, and soon there was no way out. But it was time I took a wife.”

She did not reply, and Rolfe was mystified. He’d told her the whole truth. What was there left to say?

He moved her chin upward gently, coaxing her to look at him. “Is it not enough that, whatever the reason we married, I am now well pleased?”

“You sent me away,” she said after all, in a small voice, surprising herself.

“A mistake,” he said huskily, and began to bring his head toward hers.

“But—” She was so confused! “Do you tell me—is this why you brought me back here? To begin anew?”

“Yes. Oh, yes, dearling.”

He breathed the declaration against her mouth, and then he kissed her. He had never been so completely attuned to a woman before, nor experienced such relief when she yielded. The moment he felt her relax against him, he began his assault in earnest. But he did not forget her inexperience, knowing he must go slowly.

Leonie was kissed a dozen different ways in the long minutes that followed, from soft nibbles to deep probing that played havoc with her insides, spinning her up and down. In a second she would be giddy, then there was only sweet lassitude, and then she was soaring dizzily again.

She did not know when her robe melted away, but she was acutely aware of the first touch of Rolfe’s hand on her bared breasts. It seemed right for his hand to be there, resting on her with only the slightest pressure. When his hand began to move softly over her, the hand seemed to grow hotter. Her nipples hardened against gentle kneading.

She turned, one hand slipping behind Rolfe’s back, the other stroking his shoulder. Her fingers splayed out, wanting to touch, thrilling to the play of muscle beneath skin, the hardness of him. She returned his kisses, exerting her own pressure now, daring him.

Gently he laid her on the bed beside him, and before her head even touched the pillow, his mouth had fastened on one rosy-peaked breast, his tongue doing what his fingers had done before.

He began a thorough exploration of the soft planes of her belly and thighs, coming closer and closer to the core of her womanhood until such a terrible yearning was built in her that she arched upward to meet
his exploring hand. When he slipped his long fingers into her warmth, she moaned, her head thrust back. Her fingers closed in his hair, pressing him closer to her.

Few men had ever treated a woman with such reverence. The hands that touched her were worshipful, soothing, and exciting all at once.

Rolfe’s tongue slid down the valley of her breasts and over her belly to mount her pubic mound and pay it equal homage. His hands gently nudged her legs apart and then his arms slipped beneath her lower back to pull her up.