The Warrior's Reward Page 9

  Ieuan came to her side and offered her a hand. She glanced at it as though his hand had turned into an adder or some such poisonous creature. When her leather-encased fingers slipped between his, he experienced a jolt. He stared at her whilst he aided her off and down the steed. He couldn’t be certain what was worse—watching the way her eyes widened and her lips parted as he set her to her feet or closing his eyes to her and finding the image of her naked and willing singed to the back of his eyelids. He tried both and neither helped.

  Just a few moments of ensuring she was steady on her feet after a long journey had a tempest whirling through his veins. He pondered his own aching body and concluded she’d be in far worse condition than he, considering she was so delicate. Certainly not up to a bedding. He clenched his jaw and stepped away. One more night would not kill him.

  He hoped.

  “Here we are, my lady. Dolwyddelan Castle.”

  Rosamunde glanced up at the grey stone giant that cast a shadow over them and he saw the tight apprehension in her expression. It couldn’t compare to her father’s castle that had likely not seen war in decades if not more. Tynewell was built for pleasure, to house a rich man and his daughter in luxury. Dolwyddelan had always been intended to protect the border of Wales. There were no wide, glass-paned windows or stone carvings. No dramatic entrance ways or heavily guarded gatehouses. No doubt she saw his home as barbaric as she saw him.

  She scanned the area, taking in the mountains rising about them. “’Tis a fine setting,” she said with all the diplomacy of a courtier.

  “’Tis indeed. Come, you must be weary. Let us find food and then you shall rest.”

  Blessedly, she didn’t argue. Though her chin remained lifted, he saw fatigue in her slow footsteps and the slight sag in her shoulders. His eyes were gritty and his muscles hurt but not from the journey. Nay, simply being in her prescience made his muscles tense with need, and it was impossible to sleep near her. He spent too long listening to her breaths and the sigh of fabric as she tossed. Then he spent even longer recalling what she had been like without the touch of fabric skimming her skin. Ieuan clenched his jaw. This night she would be in his bed. He doubted he would rest any better, even if he was in the comfort of his own home.

  “Shall we?” He stepped back but offered up his hand.

  She took it. “Of course.”

  And thus they approached the castle as man and wife. The Treasure of Tynewell was his. He had to fight not to smirk to himself. Who’d have thought a bastard would gain riches and a beautiful wife within mere days? Once his castle was complete, he could count himself rich in blessings and coin.

  Guards stood at the gateway when they reached the top of the winding path up the hill. He nodded his greeting and peered under the men’s helms to satisfy himself as to their identity. He knew all of his men by name, but whether he trusted them yet, he knew not. He’d not had men of his own before taking on the castle, so most were garnered from the village or his father. Those from his father were loyal to Wales and the prince, but there were some whom he feared the enticement of a reward would be too much. The head of the son of the Prince of Wales would bring in a large sum.

  The portcullis was drawn up and they entered. Men and women paused in their duties to watch their passing. The rattle of chainmail ceased, the roll of cart wheels was silenced. The women surrounding the well no longer gossiped. Rosamunde walked with all the grace of a princess in spite of their scrutiny and, not for the first time, he admired her. His delicate, fair treasure revealed more strength than he thought her capable of. Fending off Phylip had been the first time he’d noticed her determination. Nevertheless, Wales was a different land to what she was used to. Being able to strike a man in the bollocks and lift her chin high did not make her a warrior. He wouldn’t risk her safety again.

  Ieuan led her up the steps at the side of the castle and through the heavy studded doors. They crossed the small bridge on the inside of the entrance—a defensive structure she’d likely never seen or understood the need for. Then they entered the Great Hall. The floors were wooden and not tiled like that of Tynewell hall and the floorboards creaked as he led her in. The room had a rustic air to it. Ieuan had to admit that appealed to him. He had hardly been brought up in luxury, after all. Unlike his wife.

  Most of the furnishings had been stolen or damaged during the rebellion, leaving only a battered table atop a dais at the side of the room and a threadbare tapestry. He had commissioned new chairs to replace the roughly carved bench and new wall hangings would be made now he had the coin to pay for them.

  The one redeeming feature was the large fireplace. Ornamental flourishes sat in the stone surrounding and though the weather was well enough for this time of year, a fire blazed in its hearth. Tall enough for a man to stand in, it did a fine job of making him forget there was a damned hole in the side of the castle. With its thick stone and open position, the keep let in cold air and retained it.

  And if Rosamunde’s posture was anything to go by, she felt the chill in the air. She had wrapped her free arm around herself and had her cloak bunched tightly in her hand. He released her other hand and she immediately latched it around her body.

  With her loose flaxen hair, pale face and wide eyes, everything about her begged him to take her in his arms and protect her. The high vaulted ceiling and long length of the hall made her that much smaller. She looked lost and so beautiful against the rough wood and threadbare wall hanging.

  Rosamunde took a moment to stare up at the ceiling, then her gaze dropped to the tapestry, then to the fireplace underneath. She rotated slowly and took in the rest of her surroundings.

  “You are mistress of this now,” he said, unease forcing the unnecessary words.

  If she hated it, he wished she’d say. It was nothing like the splendour she was used to, but he’d rather she said as much. This silence was killing him. She nodded and her brows dipped into a frown. She paused in her study to take a step forward. He groaned.

  “Ieuan, why is there a hole in the castle?” She stepped up onto the dais and stood on tiptoe to view out of it. “Good Lord, I can see the mountains.” She faced him and he had to bite back another groan.

  “The castle was attacked during the rebellion. I told you I had need of coin. This is why.”

  She gazed out of the hole for several moments before seeming to come to some kind of a decision. Perhaps she was planning her escape from this crumbling, cold castle.

  Stepping down from the dais, she came back to his side and nibbled on the end of a finger. A finger he dearly envied right now. He wanted those lips on him. Those teeth nipping lightly at his ear. Her hot breath washing over him. Ieuan pressed some air through his nostrils and concentrated on the cold air of the castle until the heat inside him had dissipated.

  “Is the rest of the castle like this?”

  Cold? Ruined? Old? Crumbling? Not at all suited to a lady like Rosamunde? He hardly knew how to answer. “Aye.”

  “But you wish to repair it?”

  “Aye.”

  “You have hired men?”

  He let his brow furrow. “A carpenter and stone mason at present.”

  “And this is what my dowry shall pay for,” she mused. Her gaze connected with his. “This shall be my home.” Hands clasped together, she glanced around once more. “Well, shall you introduce me to your household?”

  ***

  Teeth chattering, Rosamunde climbed gratefully under the heavy woollen blankets and cotton sheets of the four poster bed. She’d already drawn the curtains around it but a chill seemed to seep through the musty fabric. The bed felt cold and damp. She grimaced.

  Weariness ate into every part of her. This was her home. And should her husband go away, it would be her domain. She would run it and command the men. The people of the village would look to her—not that she had even met them yet. Set amongst these vast mountains and a landscape that looked as though it had been forged by giants, she would live out the rest o
f her life.

  She sank against the pillow. Thank the Lord the bedding seemed to be in good condition and the pillow feather-filled. She was not sure how much more she could take. She lived in a castle with holes in it. Holes!

  Did her father have any idea what he was sending her away to? She wished not to appear priggish but, dear Lord, holes in the wall? Mayhap if she had not been travelling for two days and hadn’t just left everything and everyone she held dear, she wouldn’t care quite so much about great big bits of stone missing from the walls, but at the moment, all she could think on was how she had sat at the table with the wind whistling around her ankles, whilst being able to see directly out onto the mountains. How many more mealtimes would be like that? She was not sure she was hardy enough to tolerate it.

  “I will prove him wrong,” she murmured to herself.

  Rosamunde had seen how he’d looked at her, as though she might wilt at any moment. She had promised herself she’d prove them all wrong and if that meant tolerating a little cold and damp, then so be it. If she had to lift great boulders and fill that hole herself, she would. Anything to remove that look from his face.

  She stiffened when she heard footsteps. This was it, was it not? He would take her tonight and claim her as his for once and for all. She knew not whether to be terrified, annoyed or... or excited. There was no denying it, Ieuan did excite her. The way he touched her never failed to illicit a thrill—so far removed from the touch of Phylip. With Ieuan, the memory of that fiend was nothing but a haze, as though it had happened to someone else.

  What should she do? She certainly wouldn’t take off her chemise this time. For one, it was far too cold and she’d scared him away with her naked body. Was there something hideously wrong with her? Her breasts were too big or her legs too thin and long. Mayhap she didn’t look as other women did. She’d hardly seen many naked.

  Rosamunde drew in a breath and held it in her chest as the door creaked open. Golden light from a candle spilled into the room, dancing through the gap in the curtains. The fabric was too thick for her to make out shadows, but she recognised the footsteps as Ieuan’s and not her new lady-in-waiting or any other servant. How she recognised footsteps, she knew not. Who knew what a person’s footsteps sounded like? But apparently those heavy, careful thuds told her that her husband approached.

  She imagined him walking like he did in the arena. Confident, proud, lithe. Ready to pounce. Was he ready to pounce on her? Nerves made her stomach tumble over and over and she gripped the bedding under her chin.

  There was a clunk—something being placed down—and then a swish as the curtain was drawn back. He must have placed the candle on the side table. He paused and eyed her. She imagined how she must look, pale-faced and terrified and practically hiding under the bedding. Not at all like the brave woman she wished to be. But her legs were frozen solid—mayhap by cold, mayhap by fear.

  Then he vanished behind the curtain and with a hiss of air, the light from the candle was gone. She stared into the blackness, unable to break it after the brief flash of light. Sounds were amplified—the murmur of voices outside, the whistle of wind through the shutters and the howl of a lone wolf. Then there were his footsteps again, creeping closer to the bed.

  Fabric rustled when he drew the curtain and the bed creaked with his heavy weight. Her heart felt heavy too, weighed down into the pit of her stomach. A rush of even colder air curled around her when he lifted the blankets and he slid in. His elbow brushed her and the briefest touch of a warm, hairy leg made her want to fly from the bed and jump out of the hole in the side of the keep. But her body remained stiff while she tried to summon more determination and courage. How was it she could see off a potential attacker and feel perfectly assured afterwards, but put her into bed with this man and she had never been so terrified or confused in her life?

  If only he was more like the man she had first met. So charming and easy to spend time with. But that had all been a lie. She clamped her teeth tightly together as a shudder wracked her.

  “You are cold,” he stated.

  Before she could issue a word or even a squeak, he turned and put an arm around her. Eyes wide in the darkness, she tried to break it to see his expression but her eyes simply wouldn’t adjust. He tugged her into his side.

  Ieuan was warm. And hard. At the same time as his body warmth eased her muscles, new tension leached into her. One large hand curved around her side. His chest touched her shoulder and his legs were in line with her bare thighs. Her chemise had risen enough so that she could feel the thick muscles of his thighs flexing against hers as he settled them into a more comfortable position. Even his face was not far from the side of hers. She felt his breaths whisper across her braided hair.

  For many moments, they remained like that. After a while, the temptation to turn and take more of his warmth began to eat into her. After all, he was going to take her regardless of whether she remained like this or not. Would it not make more sense to at least be warm?

  So she gave into that niggle of temptation and twisted. She could not see his face but she thought he must only be an inch or so away from her. His breath smelled of mint leaves and it was warm. And there was yet more temptation—temptation to kiss and re-enact that night after the tournament.

  Ieuan’s harsh intake of breath echoed through the air when she pressed herself into him and latched her arms around his waist. Sinewy strength touched her everywhere. Then he seemed to relax a little and he pressed his arm under her head to cradle her into him. She burrowed deeper and found her cheek flat against his chest while he arranged the blankets over her.

  “Once I have the castle fixed, we shall have glass windows,” he told her. “It will be much warmer.”

  “And no holes?”

  He chuckled. “No holes.”

  She nodded against the cotton of his shirt. Was he naked under there? Rosamunde wished heartily she had more knowledge of men. From what little she knew they were harder than women, and hairier. Though her previous suitors had never been built like Ieuan.

  Rosamunde allowed herself several more moments to enjoy his warmth before lifting her head from his chest. She slipped a hand inside his shirt and he cursed. She drew her hand back and tried to pull away, startled by the rough word. What had she done now?

  But he wouldn’t let her escape. He kept her tight to him. “Your fingers are cold,” he explained and took them in his hand. While he rubbed his fingers up and down her own cold ones, she found herself softening back into him. If she let herself, she could almost believe this was the chivalrous, noble man she had first met.

  Then he slipped her hand back into his shirt. Her blood boiled. Being cold was no longer a problem. In truth, she feared she might burn up and combust. She licked her lips and let herself concentrate on the feel of taut flesh over solid steel. But steel was cold and Ieuan was not. Not even in the way he was behaving toward her now.

  She stroked that solid wall and felt for his heartbeat. It seemed to skip and then pound hard against her palm the instant she rested her palm over it. However, something about that heavy beat grounded and reassured her. Her new husband might not be perfect but he had believed her about Phylip when he hardly knew her and he seemed to at least care a little for her. Not many women could claim the same of their husbands.

  “Will you do it now?” she whispered.

  “Do what?”

  “T-take me.”

  A groan rumbled up in his chest. What now? Sweet Mary, if only she understood men better. He was running his hand up and down her back, his breaths were heavy. Did he not want her? Was she so repulsive? She had always been known as a beauty but was there some defect to her that she didn’t know about?

  “Go to sleep, Rosamunde.”

  “B-but...”

  “Sleep.”

  His tone brokered no argument. She half expected him to push her away but his arms remained around her. She’d never slept with anyone aside from her nursemaid when she was a child
. To be wrapped in a man’s arms ought to be odd but it was comforting and she was exhausted. Her lids grew heavy and she did not even have the energy to worry about why her husband did not want her. Sleep soon claimed her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ieuan had spent more comfortable nights on the forest floor. He masked a groan as he rolled and found his arm tingling and painful. Slipping it out from under Rosamunde’s head, he allowed himself a breath of relief as she slept on. It had to be only just past dawn but enough light crept in through the gap in the curtains to highlight her sleeping form.

  He yawned and rubbed the grittiness from his eyes. She had slept well at least. Mayhap she would be rested enough for him to finally take her as his this night. He couldn’t very well hold off any longer or else their marriage could be called into question if it was found out she was still a virgin. And while he wanted to ensure she wasn’t uncomfortable or tired or found him to be as rough and as barbaric as she believed him to be, there was only so long a man could continue with such torture.

  He recalled her soft voice and even softer body. He was hard even now. Thank the Lord she hadn’t felt his arousal during the night or she might have been even more terrified of him. Rosamunde had an awful habit of rubbing her hands up and down him during the night as if searching for comfort. Whilst he wished to keep her warm, he did not want her finding anything that might startle her. His wife had to be as innocent as they came.

  Sliding out of bed, he allowed himself one last look at her. Curtains drawn back slightly, the sunlight and dust motes surrounding her like a halo. Innocent. Everything about her said innocent. This burning need to bundle her to his body again jarred through his chest.

  Ieuan turned away and let the curtains fall back over the bed. He did not need this distraction. He had a castle to repair and a village to see to. If she wanted to sleep in a warm castle, she’d better stay out of his way.