Always (22 page)

Zeroing in on it, he unlatched and pushed it open, then tottered into the room. Inside, his wife was sound asleep in the center of the bed. She certainly did seem to like to take the whole bed, he thought somewhat peevishly as he closed the door. Turning then, he made a face and wagged one finger at Black. He didn't say anything, just wagged his finger, and even he would have been hard-pressed at that point to figure out what he was forbidding the horse to do.

He continued on to the bed, tugging and fretting at his clothes as he went, so that he had only to remove his brais by the time he reached it. Swaying on his feet, he pushed them down over his hips, then tried to step out of them—raising his knees high and stumbling around in the effort, until he lost his balance and dropped onto the side of the bed.

“Hmmm. That's better,” he decided, realizing that the room tended to move less sitting down. He also decided that he didn't really need to take his brais all the way off. Leaving them tangled around his feet, he collapsed back upon the bed, then rolled toward its middle until he bumped up against his wife's warm body. Cuddling close, he threw his arm across her, his hand automatically squeezing the breast it landed on as he promptly passed out.

 

He was having those erotic dreams about his wife again.

Aric was riding through the woods at a trot. Black was
healthy and strong beneath him—and also no longer had a flatulence problem. The day was warm and sultry, and Aric had started to sweat in his tunic and brais when he came upon Rosamunde. She was wearing the white gown she had worn the day of their wedding. Standing with her back to him, she gazed upon Goodhall where it was nestled in the valley below, but turned suddenly upon hearing his approach. Smiling seductively when she recognized him, she opened her arms in welcome.

“You are the most wonderful of husbands.”

Aric straightened in the saddle at her soft words, then slid from his mount. He strode forward to take her masterfully into his arms—and as soon as they had closed around her, his wife's white gown disappeared. A growl slipping from his throat, Aric ran his hands over her naked flesh, then caught them up in her deep red tresses. He tugged her head back to press a kiss onto her lips.

Cool air moving across his own flesh made him pull back slightly to see that he, too, was now naked. Thrilling at the sensation of her soft skin against his rougher body, he kissed her again, his tongue delving into her mouth. She was all soft coos and mewls as she arched against him, rubbing against his excitement, her hands clutching at his shoulders, then dropping over his back and down to his buttocks to knead the flesh there and urge him closer still.

The breeze seemed to suddenly pick up then, chilling his vulnerable flesh and Aric frowned and nestled closer into the warmth of his wife's body. He pulled his lips from hers and kissed a path over her chin and down her neck to the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. He would have continued on down to find her breasts, but just then it started to rain, great drops of the warm liquid splashing against his cheek. Grimacing, Aric muttered under his breath, the sound of his own voice awakening him from his dream to find that it hadn't all been a dream.
Rosamunde was naked and warm in his arms, sleepy gasps and moans still slipping from her lips. His lower body was nestled against hers.

And it
was
chill. An early morning breeze was blowing into the room and the bed linens were missing, leaving them uncovered. No doubt the sheets had slipped to the floor, he thought fuzzily, then grimaced again as another drop of warm liquid splashed upon his cheek. Rolling onto his back, Aric found himself staring into a hideous, elongated, clothes-covered animal face. If that wasn't startling enough, there was a long, slimy gob of liquid hanging precariously from the apparition's nose, ready to drop onto him. That explained the rain in his dream, some part of his mind realized. He gave a startled shout of alarm and tried to avoid his horse's dripping nose. He jerked instinctively to the side, banging his head into Rosamunde's.

 

“What? Huh?” Rosamunde gasped, awake at once and grabbing at her head in pain as she sat up. “What is about? What is wrong?”

“Get that damned horse out of here!”

Blinking the last of her sleep away, Rosamunde turned to see her husband doing his best to scramble out of the way of a drooling and runny-nosed Blackie. The horse was standing at the side of the bed, its head hanging over where Aric had been lying a moment before.

“Oh, dear!” She gasped, leaping up and hurrying around to quickly urge the horse away from the bed. “Blackie, what are you doing? Poor thing, do you have a runny nose?” she cooed.

“Aye, and he dribbled it all over me,” Aric snapped with disgust, wiping at the liquid on his cheek with a grimace.

“Oh, dear.” Rosamunde said again and sighed. She bent quickly and picked up Aric's discarded tunic from the night before to swiftly wipe the mess away from the horse's mouth and nose.

Realizing what she was doing, Aric began squawking. He leaped from the bed to stop her. “What are you doing? Oh, God, that is my tunic!”

“Oh.” Rosamunde peered down at the crumpled—and now quite revolting—tunic guiltily before asking, “Surely you have another one, my lord. A man of your stature must have more than one tunic.”

“Aye, I do,” he said grimly. “That green one there wrapped around Black's head, and the blue one on his tail.”

Biting her lip, Rosamunde peered at the shirts Aric spoke of and briefly considered taking them off, then decided he probably wouldn't appreciate the gesture. Glancing back at him unhappily, she shook her head woefully. She had muffed up again. “I am sorry, my lord. I was not thinking when I wrapped all of our clothes around Blackie! I was just worried about how unhappy you would be if he should fall seriously ill.”

Aric's anger left him as quickly as it had come. She had done all of this for him, trying to please him. He felt himself go all soft and warm inside, just as he had when she had proclaimed him the the most wonderful of husbands. Aric could not remember the last time a woman had acted out of consideration for him. Certainly Delia had never bothered to during their long betrothal. From childhood on, she had expected that he would do things for her, while she merely sat about looking pretty. But then, Rosamunde is not Delia, he reminded himself. He smiled wryly as the thought struck him that it had been silly to make that mistake. The two were nothing alike. Delia would not have cared about Black's illness no matter how upset Aric might have been. Besides, she had been dark-haired, short, and plump, while Rosamunde with her red hair was willowy and fair—and completely naked at the moment, he realized with interest. Of course, she also had the despondent air of a chastised puppy.

That simply would not do.

Stepping forward, he tugged Black's reins from her limp hand and headed for the door, dragging the reluctant horse behind him. He wasn't at all pleased that his mount suddenly seemed to prefer Rosamunde's company to his own, but he wasn't terribly surprised either. He himself was becoming inexplicably fond of her as well.

Opening the door, Aric ignored his own nakedness and half pushed and half tugged the horse out into the hall, nodding abruptly at his father as the older man passed by. He ignored the stare he received. Pushing the door closed, Aric moved slowly back across the room toward his miserable-looking wife.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, and her head snapped up in surprise.

“On the bed, my lord?” she asked with amazement.

Aric nodded. “On your hands and knees as you were the day we married.”

Rosamunde hesitated, her gaze shifting to the bed and back before she asked uncertainly, “Are you going to punish me for dirtying your shirt, my lord?”

“Oh, aye,” he assured her with a gleam in his eye she suddenly recognized. “But I promise you will like it. Get on the bed.”

His voice was like warm honey, and it, along with his expression and his words, caused an immediate tingling in Rosamunde. Turning away at once, she moved to the bed and crawled atop it, positioning herself on her hands and knees there as she had the day of their wedding. Oddly, she felt ten times more vulnerable than she had then; she was completely naked this time. She felt the bed sink behind her. Glancing back, she saw Aric kneel behind her and move forward, urging her knees farther apart. He shifted between them until his abdomen gently bumped her behind.

Recalling the painful debacle of their wedding day, Rosamunde cleared her throat uncertainly. “Are you sure you would not rather do it the right way, my lord?”

“The right way?” he inquired, his hands gently clasping her hips. “Who says this is the wrong way? Surely God's creatures cannot be wrong, can they? Think of cats, and cows, and horses,” he teased lightly.

“W-well,” Rosamunde began uncertainly. “Aye, but that other time—”

“That other time we left out some good bits.”

“Good bits?” she asked uncertainly.

“Aye. For instance, there is this.” Sliding his hands forward past her waist, he urged her to straighten until she knelt before him upright, he drew her back until she rested against his chest. “And this,” he whispered into her ear, one hand sliding up to catch and caress one suddenly aching and swollen breast. The other slid down over her tummy, then farther to cover her womanhood and press softly against it. “There are important bits, and you would not let me include them the first time.”

“Oh, aye.” Rosamunde gasped, then gave a breathless laugh. Her body unconsciously arched, which pressed her bottom snugly against him and thrust her breast forward into his hand. “I thought you were trying to milk me like a cow.”

“I
am
trying to milk you,” he whispered by her ear. “But not like a cow.”

“Then how?” She moaned as he began to nibble and lave the ear he had been speaking near.

“I am trying to milk pleasure out of you.”

“Ohhhh.” The word came out on a shudder as he slid his fingers between her legs. “Oh, my lord.”

“Say, my name,” he instructed, fondling the nubbin he found at the apex of her thighs.

“Ooohhh, Aric,” she said softly.

“Again.”

“Aric.” She gasped as he slid a finger into her, one hand lifting to touch his head.

“Again,” Aric said, turning his head to kiss the palm of her hand, then stiffening slightly and gasping as her other
hand slid back between them, feathered across his thigh, then found and clasped his manhood.

“Aric,”
she said huskily, her tone low and throaty this time.

Groaning as her fingers tightened around his manhood, Aric thrust his finger into her again, more aggressively this time.

“My lord?” she gasped, shifting her legs farther apart of her own accord and curving into his touch.

“Aye?”

“I think…”

“You think?” He moaned as her hand began instinctively to stroke down his hardened arousal.

“I need…”

“You need?” He gasped, his hips beginning to move with her caresses.

“You.” She groaned.

“I need you, too.” The words came out pained and husky as he urged her back to her hands and knees. He caught her hips and thrust eagerly into her.

 

“I do believe you may be getting better, Black,” Rosamunde murmured cheerfully as she rewrapped Aric's shirt around the horse's head. It had been over an hour since Aric had shown her that doing “it” the way animals did wasn't necessarily wrong—if one did it right. He had then fallen fast asleep, leaving Rosamunde to get up, attend her personal needs, dress, and move Blackie from the hall outside their bedchamber, back down to stand by the fire in the great hall. She had cleaned him up again, for his nose was running horribly, but she knew it was nothing to worry about, just the bad humors leaving his body. She also fed him before unwrapping the clothing from his head to check his temperature. Now tucking the tail end of the tunic under another strip of the cloth to keep it out of the way, she smiled at the animal.

“You are not nearly as hot as you were yesterday. And you are regaining your appetite. You should be your old self again in no time.”

“Thank God for that.”

Whirling in surprise, Rosamunde smiled shyly at Aric as he approached, then blinked at the brown shirt he wore. “You found a clean tunic.”

“Nay. 'Tis mine,” Robert announced, drawing her attention to the fact that he was a step behind her husband. “What could I do when he showed up at my door in nothing but brais, begging for—Ouch!”

Rosamunde bit her lip to keep from laughing and gave her husband a reprimanding look for cuffing his friend.

“There's gratitude for you,” Robert grumbled, then winked at Rosamunde to let her know that such tomfoolery was common between the two.

“Hmmm. Well, 'twas most kind of you to clothe my husband, my lord,” Rosamunde murmured, even as she decided she would have to find something else to wrap Black in. She would clean her husband's clothes this day. Lord Robert's mustard-brown shirt looked horrid on her husband. It really wasn't his color at all.

“So.” Aric moved to her side. His hand ran absently up and down the flesh of her upper arm as he peered at his horse. “Can this beast be moved to the stables again—since he is so much better?”

“Not quite yet, my lord,” Rosamunde said apologetically, shivering slightly under his light caress. “In another day or two perhaps, but he is still vulnerable, and what with the stables in such rough shape—Where are you going?” she asked in amazement as he suddenly whirled away and strode toward the doors to the bailey.

“To add more men to the building detail. The stables shall be done today if I have to raise them myself. That horse is not spending another night in our room.”

“Wait for me, Aric,” Robert called, hurrying after him. “There is something I must discuss with you.”