The Warrior's Reward Page 12

  Likely because they feared she’d want to go and find out for herself, she thought, smiling against his shoulder.

  He thrust his hands behind her hair, cradling her head against him while she lifted her thighs to latch onto him. This seemed to bring him deeper and he groaned against her hair. Instinctively, she lifted her hips and found that the friction inside her increased.

  Cries of pleasure left her lips before she could call them back. He answered them with harsh words of encouragement. Aye, my sweets and That’s it and Come for me, and numerous other endearments. It was on the final words that her world shattered.

  “You are mine, my love. Come for me.”

  Gripping his shoulders, she buried her head against him and let the tension break over her in sweet, blissful waves. She drew in several deep breaths while the warmth flooded her body and eased away, leaving her feeling boneless and content.

  When she flopped down against the pillow, he gave her a tender smile and began to move with vigour. She had not even realised he hadn’t taken his pleasure. He would not think her selfish, would he? However, before she could worry on this point, he gripped her face, pressed a fierce kiss to her lips and released a guttural groan. Warmth spilled into her and he rocked, once, twice and a third time before collapsing slightly to one side.

  “A treasure indeed,” he whispered against her ear.

  Rosamunde stiffened. The haze of pleasure vanished in an instant. Every soft and caring emotion she had felt toward him blew away on those words. He still thought of her as the treasure. Mayhap he always had. A prize to be won. And now he had well and truly won her. She was his in every way and, fool that she was, she had believed that perhaps she was something more than just a prize to him.

  His breathing slowed and he grew heavy. And now he had fallen asleep. Chivalrous knight indeed. What had she been thinking? The man was nothing more than a treasure hunter—a knight-errant. She managed to wriggle out from under him to pad across the room and clean herself up. Slipping on her abandoned chemise, she blew out the candles and made her way back to the bed. Ieuan’s snores near rattled the wooden frame of the bed and she huffed.

  Well, now she was a woman. She folded her arms and tried to nudge the sleeping knight, but it had little effect. Now she was a woman and no longer the young girl who everyone thought of as so precious and untouchable. She had been touched and well and truly taken.

  Rosamunde felt different. She’d been feeling different ever since their journey here, but now it was as though she were a new person. And here was her opportunity to truly be someone else other than this treasure person. She allowed herself a smile. She would show Ieuan who she truly was and he would have quite the shock.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ieuan felt the smug grin on his face before he had even fully awoken. He put a hand out. But he did not feel his wife. He dragged open his eyes and peered around. The curtain to the bed was drawn back and her side of the bed was empty. Where was she? She hadn’t arisen until late the previous day and it could not be more than an hour past dawn if the shadows of the candelabra near the window were anything to go by.

  Shoving the velvet curtain farther aside, he put his feet to the floor and hissed. Damnation, this keep was too cold. Certainly not good enough for Rosamunde. He’d have to take a ride into the town soon and order the stone for the castle. Some of the village boys would whitewash the interior once that was done and he’d look into having a new roof put on too.

  After that he could worry about making the place prettier for her. A woman like Rosamunde deserved beautiful things. It was no wonder her father had pandered to her really. He grinned as he recalled her sweet, sweet body and the way he’d lost himself in it. Really the best he could have hoped for from this marriage was an agreeable wife and a good deal of coin. Now he had the most beautiful woman in all England who just happened to be the best lay of his life. He’d never bedded a woman like her. So giving and curious. All he’d have to do was teach her a few things and he’d be struggling to keep her out of his bed.

  Ieuan rubbed his chin and twisted to eye the mattress. He’d have thought she needed rest after last night. He couldn’t be sure he’d ever taken a maiden before but surely she was tender and in need of care? He’d have a bath brought up for her later and instruct Gwen to make sure she didn’t do much.

  The idea of hot deep water made him groan. The image of Rosamunde in hot deep water, her skin slick and her hair in damp spirals made him hard. Well, harder than he already was. He’d have a bath brought up this morning, he decided, and mayhap he’d entice her into it. Then he shook his head.

  “Not a barbarian, remember.”

  He wouldn’t take her again, not yet. But he could at least touch and stroke and ensure she was well. What a fine idea.

  Allowing his grin to expand, he washed briefly using the cold water in the ewer on the table and scrubbed his teeth before picking at the fresh mint. He found his old clothes in a pile on the floor. He’d wear those for now until he’d had a proper wash.

  Ieuan tied his boots and found himself whistling as he made his way down to the hall. When he stepped out of the spiral staircase, his whistle came to a stop. He blinked, rubbed a hand across his face and blinked again.

  What in the devil had happened to his hall? The tapestry was gone and the table too. Now there was a new table lining the side of the hall. The raised dais where it should have been was empty. Servants moved back and forth and he recognised the carpenter from the village by the table. It was the new one he’d commissioned, he realised. The heavy pounding of hammers told him that man was only just fixing the table together.

  Several women were sweeping the floors and a few others were in the corner by the... the hole, where was the hole? They were merrily placing the tapestry over the hole. The hundred-year-old tapestry was being used to keep out the weather! What the hell was going on?

  Then he spotted his wife. In a simple gown of green wool with her hair bound neatly into a braid, she was standing, directing the women to position the ancient tapestry just so.

  Arms folded, he tapped his foot and waited for her to spot him. He waited some more. And a little longer. Apparently no one even realised he was there, not even his servants or his men. With a huff, he stalked over to her side. She turned when he approached and offered him a cool smile.

  “What in the devil is happening here?”

  “Oh good morrow, Ieuan. The table arrived, as you see.”

  “I can damned well see that. Why is it there? And why are you using that to cover the hole?”

  “Well it was rather cold eating by the hole so I thought it best that we move the table.”

  “But this is the dais. This is where the top table goes.”

  “Ieuan, would you rather your guests eat slightly higher than everyone else or be slightly warmer?”

  He released another huff. “And what of the tapestry? Do you know how old that is? ‘Twill hardly survive the wind and rain.”

  “’Twill not do much, I admit, but ‘twill keep out some of the draft. I had it taken down to inspect it and ‘tis past salvaging, I am afraid. You are not angered, are you? Gwen said the tapestry came with the castle and wasn’t yours. I would not have used it had I known it was important to you.”

  “Important?” he spluttered. “Im—” He let his shoulders sag. She was right, of course. The tapestry had meant nothing to him. It had belonged to someone else, not even a relative in all likelihood. “Nay, ‘twas not important.”

  “Oh good.”

  Ieuan glanced around the hall and had to admit, it made sense to have the table where it was—for the moment at least. And the grand room looked cleaner and tidier already. He turned his attention back to his wife when she called out an order to one of the servants and managed not to shake his head to himself. Where had this commanding woman come from? Rosamunde was meant to be biddable and quiet—a wife he could keep tucked away while he kept busy with the castle repairs. Thus far she
had twisted just about every one of his expectations.

  “Once the table is up, the morning meal shall be ready.” She smiled at him but there was a tightness to it. Had he harmed her last night? Frightened her? Was this why she had put on this show of boldness?

  And she must have gone down to the kitchen to speak with the cook. He supposed he’d neglected to help her understand the running of the keep, but, in truth, he’d been so eager to get on with repairs and so preoccupied with the desire running through his veins every time he was near her, that he hadn’t really gone about anything properly.

  On cue, as the carpenter hammered in the last dowel, platters were brought up from the kitchen. Steaming fish, sliced meats and bread slathered with honey. He scowled. This was more than they usually ate for the morning meal and fish was a rare treat—being some miles from the coast. They kept it salted when it did arrive but he rationed it.

  “What is all this?”

  She blinked up at him. “Um...”

  “Why so much food?”

  “Well, I thought...”

  He heaved a sigh. “We ration the food here at Dolwyddelan because we are far from the main town and our farms are small. Being so close to the border is dangerous too. Rosamunde, you may not wish to think on it but ‘tis likely the English could attack and then we need supplies to last out a siege.”

  “Why would the English attack? The rebellion is over.”

  “And the Prince of Wales is still not captured.”

  “He is dead, surely?”

  Ieuan knew otherwise but would not say as much. The fewer people who knew, the better and he didn’t need Rosamunde embroiled in political turmoil.

  “It matters not. We cannot eat like this every day.”

  Hands clasped in front of her, she twined her fingers together. He recalled how those hands had touched him tentatively, then he remembered how her body had moved beneath him. He had spilled inside of her and made her his. It was unlikely but she might already be with child. His child. And here he was berating her for trying to feed their household.

  Damnation, but he was a fool. Even last night couldn’t make up for the way he’d treated her thus far. Ignoring his grumbling stomach, he dropped his head into a bow.

  “My lady, I must ride into the village. I shall likely see you at supper.”

  “Will you not eat first?”

  He needed to clear his head. Being around her addled his wits. “Nay, I have a busy day ahead. Good day to you.”

  Her displeasure was clear but there was no helping it. He never intended to be like this around her. Ieuan needed space and time to think. And he did have a busy day ahead. He had to visit with the tenant farmers and speak to the blacksmith about some new iron mounts for the candles and torches.

  The temptation to glance over his shoulder to view her by the rear windows ate into him as he strode to the doors. But he managed not to. When he was in a better mood, he’d face her. Mayhap then he would not speak so foolishly or unintentionally scold her. God’s teeth, but he really was a barbarian. Lying with her one night, scolding her the next morning.

  Scraping a hand through his hair, he paused at the door and gave into temptation. She remained in the same spot, hands still tightly wound together. He’d hurt her. Mayhap not in bed but he’d hurt her feelings. Fool that he was, he had little idea how to repair that hurt. He was a bastard, not a true knight. His father might have ensured he had the training but he didn’t have the true manners of a knight. And now Rosamunde was paying the price for his ignorance.

  ***

  By the time he’d returned from the village, his stomach was ready to flip over in protest. He’d eaten a small helping of bread and butter in the tavern but it was hardly enough to satisfy a warrior. Some problems with the sheep straying and a crumbling boundary wall had kept him longer than he’d hoped. The sun had begun to drop, casting the landscape in a grey light. Torchlight glinted appealingly from the thin windows of the keep and he imagined Rosamunde inside, her flaxen hair warmed by the fire, her skin smoothed to perfection by the golden light.

  It was enough to make a man quicken his pace. He handed over his mount to the stable hand and made his way up the mound. Ieuan arrived at the top, his breaths heavy. He hadn’t managed to decipher how to deal with Rosamunde or how he would make his apologies exactly but there was one thing he did know how to do—seduce and pleasure her. He could make his apologies in bed, he decided. Bring her to the brink of pleasure and she’d forgive him for his coarse manners.

  He waved a greeting to the men at the gatehouse who raised the portcullis, and he stepped inside the bailey. Ieuan picked up his pace and took the steps to the hall two at a time, suddenly eager to see his wife. The hall hadn’t changed much since the morning. The floors were fully swept and it could be his imagination, but the vast room felt warmer. His wife was nowhere to be seen. Intending to visit the armoury to deposit his sword, he paused when he caught sight of a flash of green in the corner of his vision.

  “Hell fire.” His heart jammed in his throat. “Rosamunde,” he called but she couldn’t hear him from her position on the wooden balcony. On the fragile, rotten wooden balcony that spanned the top of the hall and was only ever intended for minstrels. A balcony that even he hadn’t dared climb onto because of its state.

  He spied Gwen and stalked over. “What the devil is she doing up there?”

  The maid’s eyes flew wide. “She wanted to clear the debris and make it ready for use again, sir.”

  “Damnation, did you not tell her ‘tis unsafe?”

  “I tried but...”

  Ieuan scraped his jaw with his fist and nodded. He was quickly learning of his lady wife’s stubbornness. Twisting to view her, he called up again. She turned finally and leaned over the banister. He was surprised his heart didn’t flop out of his mouth and jump around the floor with the scare she gave him.

  “Rosamunde, come down, ‘tis dangerous up there.”

  “’Tis not so bad, Ieuan. I was very careful. The boards up here are quite solid. ‘Tis just the steps that are rotten.”

  “Then how the devil did you get up there?”

  “Carefully,” she told him with a smile.

  If it was possible, his insides had shrivelled away and were now non-existent. He imagined her climbing rickety steps and testing the floorboards. Thank the Lord she hadn’t gone through and fallen. She could have broken bones or worse. She could have died. Hell fire, she could still fall to her death. Icy coldness had now replaced his insides.

  “Come down,” he demanded.

  “Pray, give me but a moment. I found some wonderful old wall-hangings up here.”

  “Rosamunde,” he said through clenched teeth, “come down before I drag you down.”

  She ignored him and disappeared back over the railing. He stepped back to view her but she’d ducked to pick up whatever it was she was talking about. She returned with a rolled up tapestry.

  “Be careful, I’ll drop it down.”

  “Be careful?” he spluttered. Should she not be the one to have care? “Will you not make haste and come down here at once,” he barked.

  Rosamunde ignored him and pushed the roll of fabric over the banister. It landed with a thud, kicking up a cloud of dust and making his stomach churn. Images of her fragile body doing the same seared his mind. Except she wouldn’t fare as well as the tapestry.

  “The others are too big for me,” she called. “I shall have to leave them.”

  He let his shoulders drop but kept his fists curled. He wouldn’t be happy until her feet were on the firm floor of the hall. “Good. Now come down.”

  Ieuan drew out his sword. As soon as she was safe, he’d put away his weapon and give her a scolding. It wouldn’t do to do so with a blade in hand. Hell’s teeth, nay, that would not do. He was intending to seduce her. And certainly not scold her. Anyone would think he had been dropped on his head as a babe.

  Her delicate slippers made gentle thuds on the woode
n steps and they creaked with her light weight. His skin felt hot and prickly and his pulse pounded in his ears. He urged her down silently and her every step seemed too slow. Would she not just make haste and get to safety, damn her?

  But the cracking of the banister didn’t happen slowly. It happened all too quickly. It gave way from under her palm with a ripping sound that seemed to claw at his chest, like steel against stone. She tumbled sideways and he flung his sword aside, hearing it clatter to the floor. Ieuan raced forward to grab her, but he was too late.

  Too late.

  The banister took more wood with it and the step she was on gave way. Had she even been able to right herself, there was no saving herself now. She tumbled with heart-wrenching speed and fell a good distance.

  The hall fell silent. Ieuan fell to his knees. “Rosamunde!”

  Bile burned his throat as he swept aside her hair that had spilled in a puddle around her face. He braced himself for the sight of blood marring that golden perfection but there was none. She opened her eyes and pushed herself from the floor with a groan.

  “Do not move!” He pressed her hair away from her cheeks and lifted her face to inspect it.

  Rosamunde tried to bat away his hand but he wouldn’t release her. “Ieuan, I am well.”

  “God’s blood, woman, you fell from a great height. You’re lucky you didn’t break your legs or knock your head.”

  Holding herself up on one hand, she pushed herself to sitting and allowed him to look into her eyes. They were clear and focused. And far too beautiful. They sucked him in and made him forget his ire.

  “Do your ribs hurt?”

  She shook her head. He made her lift her arms and flex her joints, then he reached for her ankle. She barely stifled a startled sound at the touch of his fingers to her stockinged legs. He worked her foot around and around and she showed no sign of pain. When he did the same to the other, he let himself release a huge breath.