Always (25 page)

Bringing her hands up, she pressed them somewhat frantically to his shoulders, trying to push him away so that she might tell him, but he was large and heavy and seemed not even to notice the pressure on his shoulders. Then he tilted his head, his mouth shifting and moving, doing things with his tongue that were guaranteeing her pleasure and a place in hell.

Rosamunde groaned in combined agony and ecstasy as his hands skimmed over her body, fighting her enjoyment even as she wanted to clutch him close and arch into his caresses. When he pressed a hand to the spot between her legs, grinding the cloth against her, she whimpered pleadingly into his mouth, silently begging God to save her from her own carnal desire. But He was busy elsewhere, it seemed, for her mental plea went unanswered; she was left to handle the matter on her own. Aric dipped his hand between her legs, moving her shift with it, and seemingly oblivious to her efforts to squeeze her legs tightly closed to prevent his touch.

As Aric broke the kiss, then, she took a breath and opened her mouth to warn him of his soul's peril. Instead, she gasped as his fingers burrowed into her, sliding the material of her gown against the sensitive bud of her pleasure. Rosamunde promptly bit down on her lower lip, trying to deny the sensations that shot through her then, clamping down hard enough to draw blood when his mouth suddenly dropped to one of her breasts, closing over her hardened nipple through her linen gown. His
teeth, toying with the sensitive tip through the damp cloth of her shift, were such exquisite torture that it left her breathless and panting.

It wasn't until he drew his hand from the damp cloth now gathered between her thighs to tug her gown up her legs that she was able to speak. Rosamunde immediately tried to voice what she was compelled to say to save both their souls.

“My lord husband.” She gasped. “Bishop Shrewsbury—”

Lifting his head from her breast, Aric covered her mouth with his free hand and shook his head. “Hush.”

“But—” She gasped again against his hand, only to be silenced by the application of more pressure.

“Nay. I will not hear any more of Shrewsbury's nonsense.”

“But—”

“Nay,” he repeated firmly. “I know the Church's views on being unclothed. I also know their views on the marital bed. I need no instruction from either you or Shrewsbury on the matter.”

Rosamunde stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth closing on any further argument. There was no sense to it; he had just admitted that he knew the Church's views. There was little use in telling him what he already knew. Now what was she to do? The bishop had made it quite clear that to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh would jeopardize her soul, yet her father had ordered her to obey a stubborn man who seemed to care little for his own soul or hers.

Her thoughts were distracted when he suddenly took her hand and pulled her upright until she was sitting. When he then instructed her to shift to her knees, Rosamunde did so without argument, but couldn't keep herself from covering his hands with her own, trying to stop him when he started to pull her gown up over her hips. She didn't say anything, just peered at him, silently pleading with him.

Aric took in her expression and felt his impatience build, then firmly crushed it. He glanced away, his gaze moving around the room as he considered his options. Finally he relaxed, a small smile twisting his lips briefly before he forced it away to eye her solemnly.

“Rosamunde, do you recall your vows on our marriage day?”

She blinked in surprise at his question, her body relaxing somewhat. “Aye, of course I do.”

“Of course.” He nodded slowly. “And was a promise to obey not one of them?”

Her expression turned wary again. Though she did not look pleased to admit it, she nodded. “Aye.”

“So if I were to order you to allow me to take your shift off—to fulfill your vow before God and man to obey me—you would have to allow it, would you not?”

She frowned slightly, considering, then nodded. “Yes my lord. Since I vowed before God and man to obey you, I suppose I would.”

“Then I
order
you to do so.”

Rosamunde hesitated the briefest moment, then removed her hands. She remained silent and still as he tugged the gown up past her hips, over her stomach then her breasts. When he paused there, she raised her arms for him to lift it over her head, but he suddenly seemed to lose interest in removing the gown. Instead he leaned forward, his mouth finding and fastening on the same nipple he had toyed with through the linen undertunic. The garment dropped suddenly to cover his head, draping across his shoulders as he snaked one arm around her waist, bending her back slightly as he suckled one breast, his free hand shifting to cup her other.

“Oh, God.” Rosamunde breathed the words like a prayer, her fingers closing and her nails digging into the flesh of her palms. She tried to fight the sensations suddenly flooding through her. Then Aric shifted, slipping
one of his legs between hers, pressing it against her womanhood, and she decided she could stop worrying about going to hell. How much worse could it be than to feel all the wonderful things you weren't allowed to and being too scared to enjoy them.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she began to pray again as Aric shifted his mouth from one breast to the other, then let his hand drop down over her stomach and between her legs. Her eyes popping open as he found the center of her pleasure, she dug her nails into her palms a little deeper and began to bite her lip viciously to avoid bucking and thrusting under his touch, but there was nothing she could do to stop the warm, damp heat that he stirred with his caress.

A moment later, Rosamunde released a breath of relief when he left off his touch, but then she realized it was only so that he could finish removing her undertunic. Dragging it over her head and off her arms, he tossed it to the floor. Then Aric dropped to his haunches with one leg still between both of hers and pulled her forward; fully upright on her knees as she was, his face was level with her breasts.

Rosamunde clamped her teeth down hard on her lower lip again, silently reciting the Lord's Prayer. It was a desperate battle to ignore the sweet joy he was giving her as he licked, nibbled, and kissed his way from breast to breast, then down over her stomach, and when he nudged and rubbed and shifted his leg between hers, he ignited a fire she feared would consume her.

Just when she thought she could stand it no more, he tugged her down to sit on his thigh, his fingers delving into her hair and holding her head still as he devoured her mouth with his own. Rosamunde remained quiescent in his arms, neither fending him off nor participating, only gasping in surprise. The small sound was caught in his mouth as he turned and lowered her to the bed, coming
down on top of her and sliding himself into her with one smooth movement.

Tugging his mouth away, Aric remained still as he gazed at her face, taking in her swollen lower lip and the tense, almost pained expression on her face.

Frowning slightly, he withdrew, himself from inside her, then slid slowly back in, noting the way she sucked her lip between her teeth again. She bit down almost viciously, he noted with confusion, and her gaze was focused on something over his left shoulder. When he repeated the movement, she remained stiff and silent, though her teeth seemed to bite harder. Her sighs, moans, and passion from before were gone. She was like a different woman entirely in his arms, and he did not understand why. And he bloody well didn't like it. “What are you doing?”

 

Rosamunde's eyes shot to her husband. “My lord husband?” she asked uncertainly.

“You are biting your lip, and you seem hardly even to be here! What is wrong?”

Rosamunde sighed unhappily, but turned her gaze away. She merely said quietly, “You ordered me not to talk about it.”

“Shrewsbury,” Aric guessed irritably, knowing he had spoken correctly by her apologetic expression. “What else did he tell you?”

“He said it was a sin to enjoy this,” she admitted quietly, and Aric felt himself relax somewhat. At least that explained her stillness and silence. He had begun to fear…

“What else?” he queried, now determined to get to the bottom of it all.

Rosamunde bit her lip and glanced away, then sighed and began to list all the prelate had told her. “Never during my woman's time, never while with child or nursing, never during Lent, Advent, Whitsuntide, or Easter week.
Never on feast days, fast days, Sundays, Wednesdays, Fridays, or Satur—”

“Enough!” Aric bellowed, then pressed his face into the crook of her neck. He stayed like that for a moment, then took a deep breath and lifted his head again. “Listen to me carefully,” he demanded quietly. “I order you to forget all of that and to enjoy my touch. Do you understand?”

“Aye, my lord,” she said with relief, making Aric smile.

Just to be sure they understood each other, he added to that. “And my kiss, you must enjoy that, too.”

“As you wish, my lord,”

“And anything else we choose to do together that feels good to you. Do you understand?”

“Oh, aye, my lord.”

Rosamunde smiled, but tears were pooling in her eyes and Aric frowned. “What is it?”

She remained silent for a moment, struggling briefly with the feelings that were overwhelming her. He was giving her permission to enjoy the pleasure he gave her and taking upon himself the burden of her guilt, and she knew that this was something special. He could have simply continued to do as he had been doing, leaving her to suffer alone under her fear of being a sinner. Or he could have taken his pleasure and not concerned himself with hers. Instead he had found a way for them both to enjoy it—without her having to bear the burden of the guilt the church would attach to it.

“Wife?” Aric murmured uncertainly, caressing her cheek. Rosamunde's smile widened tremulously and she reached out to touch his face. “I am so very glad that my father chose you to husband me. You are truly a wonderful man. So clever and sweet and—” Her words halted as he covered her mouth with his own, but the feelings inside of her did not, and Rosamunde knew that eventually she would have to examine them. She very much
feared she was falling in love with this grumpy, stubborn, bossy, jealous, wonderfully sweet man. It was something she hadn't expected to happen—and really didn't wish to suffer if he did not love her back.

“Well?”

Aric wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, and turned to glance at the man behind him. His father had come to see how the work went on the stables. And just in time, too. Aric had just finished hanging the doors with Shambley's help. Other than clearing away the bits of wood and stone left over, it was done.
Finally.

He smiled silently at himself with the thought. It could have been done earlier had he pushed the men as he had originally intended. But the day of rain had delayed it, and then the attempted attack upon Rosamunde in their bedchamber three nights earlier had convinced him to move a little more slowly at the work—at least until he could find a replacement for Black to guard their bedchamber. And Aric had found that replacement just that morning.

With that worry out of the way, he had set to the stables with a vengeance, driving the men hard to complete
the building. Tonight Black would rest in the new stables. No offense to the horse. Aric was as fond of the animal as any man was of his steed, but while the horse had been recovering nicely from his fevers and his wound, Rosamunde was still feeding him soft food. She claimed it taxed his body less and helped the healing process. Unfortunately, that meant that while Black made a great guard horse it was rather hard to tell if it was due to him or the stench that surrounded him.

Nay, this was better. He'd put Black back in the stables with the other horses, and place the dog he'd bought with Rosamunde. Also, the dog could trail her around during the day, whereas Black could not. The horse was left in the keep by the great hall fire during the day while she worked in the stables.

When she had refused a human guard, Aric had tried to convince her to take the horse around with her. But she had peered at him as if she thought he had lost his senses, then simply walked off. Rather than push the point, Aric had trailed her around again that first day after the attack. But that had not gone well at all.

Rosamunde had worn a blue-gray gown that accented her fair coloring and emphasized the shade of her eyes. But it had also obviously been a touch old, probably a gift from her father during one of his visits over the years, Aric had decided. While the gown was obviously expensive and well cared for, it was also a touch tight. Everywhere. Her breasts had pressed eagerly against the material, looking more fulsome than usual, thanks to being a bit squished, and while the gown had barely glided over her waist, it had pulled slightly around the hips, seeming to emphasize their curves and the way they swayed when she walked.

Recalling the king telling him to buy her some gowns, Aric had been annoyed with himself for neglecting to do so. He should have seen to that first thing! He should have seen her fitted out with at least a dozen gowns, all
of them big and roomy, so that the material would not seem to threaten to burst its seams every time she stretched or reached for something. And nice, sedate colors like brown and black would be better, too, he had decided as he watched her flit around in her old gown. She had seemed a bright and colorful bird in the bailey, the stables, the keep, and everywhere else she had been that day.

Unfortunately, he had not outfitted her, and Aric had grown increasingly surly throughout the day as he stood by watching her. It seemed to him that there were an inordinate amount of men coming to her with their injured animals as opposed to women. Surely men should be too busy for such a task? They should have sent their wives or daughters in their place, he had thought with disgust, glaring and glowering at anyone who peered at her with anything like a smile or a look of appreciation. Never mind that it was likely gratitude for her abilities and charity. Nay. Aric had been positive that every look and glance was one of lust, and he had grown more and more short-tempered and irate throughout the day.

Rosamunde had put up with his behavior without a word, but he knew they had both been relieved when the dinner hour had rolled around and they had returned to the keep. At least, until they had approached the trestle tables and Lord Spencer had spoken.

“Ah, my lady Rosamunde,” the blind man had murmured appreciatively. “It never fails to amaze me how you can spend the day working around the foulest of smells and yet still manage to smell so sweet yourself at the end of the day.”

Aric hadn't even thought; he had merely snapped, “Keep your nose to yourself, old man.”

As soon as the words had left his lips, though, he had wished he could bite his own tongue off. Good Lord, he had just been beyond rude to an old blind man! And out of jealousy, he realized with dismay and regret. But
before he could apologize and make amends, Rosamunde had slammed the mug she had lifted back onto the table. She'd turned on him furiously.

“Well, that rips it, my lord. I have had quite enough of your nonsense today. You can just apologize to him right now, and mean it! As for me, I cannot stomach eating in such churlish company. I am to bed.
Alone.
” Rising, she had stormed off upstairs, leaving Aric to squirm in the sudden silence filling the great hall as every single person present turned to stare at him in silent condemnation.

He had apologized profusely to the old man, but that had not seemed to ease their censure much, not that he could blame them. He had been rude and churlish to most of the people seated at the table at some point or other during the last few days. To every soldier who had dared to smile and wish Rosamunde a good day. To every farmer who had smiled in gratitude for her help with his animals. Even to some of the servants who had smiled shyly when she had thanked them for some small service or other.

Aric had sat miserably through the meal, drinking more than he ate and wondering just how angry his wife was. He had found out when he finally retired. She had been silent and unmoving in bed, though not sleeping, and the moment he had approached, she had turned her back to him and given him a definite cold shoulder. She had continued to treat him rather coolly all throughout yesterday. She had not thawed much this morning. Which he supposed he deserved.

“Rosamunde will be pleased.”

Drawn back from his thoughts, Aric glanced at his father, then back at the new stables. “Do you think so?”

“Aye.” Lord Burkhart smiled slightly. “Mayhap she will even start speaking to you again.”

Glaring at his father for enjoying his suffering, Aric moved over to collect his shirt from the stack of wood where he had left it. He had been working since early
morning. The summer days had finally turned hot, and Aric had shed the garment several hours ago. Now he pulled it back on, glancing toward Shambley as the other man came from inside the stables and moved to join them.

“The men are nearly finished removing the extra wood. When are you going to tell Rosamunde she may start moving the horses in?”

“Now,” Aric decided, starting away. His father and Shambley immediately fell into step on either side of him, and they were still there when he entered the old stables a moment later. Glancing around the dim interior of the old building, Aric grimaced to himself. The place was really a mess.

He would have it torn down as soon as the horses had been moved, he decided, frowning when his wife wasn't immediately visible. Neither was Smithy. There was just a lad kneeling at the back of the stables, digging for something in the rushes.

“Oh, my lord.” Smithy stepped out of one of the stalls near the back, and hurried forward. “Is there something you wanted?”

“Aye. My wife. Where is she?” Aric snapped. He had told the stablemaster to keep an eye on her. Actually, he had told him to watch her every minute and not let her out of sight, else he would twist the man's head off his shoulders like a stem from an apple. But that had been the morning after his surly behavior and he had still been a little cranky at the time. More cranky, mayhap, since not only had Rosamunde not talked to him, she had avoided his very touch.

Smithy looked confused for a minute, then turned to gesture toward the lad at the back of the stalls. “Right there, m'lord.”

Aric peered blankly at the brais-covered bottom at the back of the stables, only now recognizing it as his wife's
curvaceous derriere. Slowly he began to flush with fury. When he opened his mouth to bellow, all that came out was a grunt of surprise, for he was suddenly grabbed by the arms and dragged backward out of the stables by his father and Shambley.

“Not again! Let me go, damn you!” Aric shouted, tugging at his arms and trying to make his way back into the stables once they had stopped a good distance from the building.

“Not until you calm down,” Lord Burkhart announced.

“Calm down? Did you see my wife?”

“Of course I saw her. But she was not doing anything wrong. She—”

“Are you
blind?
Did you not see what she was wearing?”

“Ah. The brais.” Lord Burkhart sighed. “You dislike her wearing them in the stables, I take it?”

“They are…”

“Practical,” Shambley suggested when Aric paused in search of the word he wanted. He nodded when Aric's head snapped around at him. “They
are,
Aric. Far more practical for working in the stables than a skirt.”

“I don't care if they
are
more practical; they are indecent. Unsuitable for a lady.”

“Indecent?” Shambley gave a disbelieving laugh. “When did you become so stuffy?”

“When I saw my wife's behind encased in tight leather breeches and realized everyone else was getting the exact same view!”

“Jealous?” Robert taunted.

Aric's mouth snapped closed. It was one thing for him to recognize he was being overly jealous. It was another thing entirely for his best friend to be aware of it. How humiliating.

“Aye. That's it, all right,” his father murmured, taking in his expression. “If I were you, son, I would walk softly.
You cannot go storming in there and bawl her out as if she has committed some horrible sin.”

Aric's gaze narrowed. “I cannot?”

“Nay, of course not,” his father chided.

Seeing his agitation, Robert took over trying to reason with his friend. “Aric, think. You are reacting as if she deliberately dressed like that in an effort to attract male attention. Yet we both know that she dressed like that at the abbey, probably every day, and no one there thought it indecent.”

“They were all nuns there,” Aric protested.

“Aye,” Lord Burkhart said, suddenly agreeable. “And that is what she is used to. It probably has not occurred to her that your men are a bunch of slavering dogs, all looking for the first likely bitch to mount.”

“My men are not…” Aric began indignantly, only to pause as both men began to grin. He had stepped right into their trap. “Ah, I see,” Aric said. Rosamunde was not deliberately dressing to entice. She did not even realize that it was enticing. And his men were all loyal—they were not likely to jump her or even approach her. And yet he was acting as if they were.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and forced himself to take several deep breaths. This was just his jealousy making him react again, of course. He was acting as though she were untrustworthy, another Delia. And it wasn't fair. She had done nothing to make him believe she would be unfaithful, yet he had been about to charge in there as if she had.

“I shall talk to her calmly,” he said finally. “I shall tell her that I would
prefer
her to stick to more traditional garb in future to avoid any discomfort or embarrassment for her, me, or the men. After all, she would not wish to be caught so even by another lady. I shall be reasonable.”

“Very good!” His father proudly patted him on the back.

“Aye, very good,” Shambley agreed, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “You may be able to beat that green beast jealousy yet. With a little help.”

“Shut up, Robert,” Aric snapped, and stalked off into the stables. His friend burst out laughing behind him.

Aric's new calm lasted until he reentered the stables and got another gander at his wife. She was still on her hands and knees, still trying to retrieve something from under the rushes. And her leather-covered posterior was still poked invitingly into the air.

Every time he saw her in this position it reminded him of their wedding day and her thoughts on the marital bed, and then how he had taught her the truth.

Ah, hell, who was he trying to fool? Every time he looked at her he thought of getting under her skirts—or into her brais, as the case might be—and now was no different. In fact, seeing her in this position in the tight leggings made his desire a bit more urgent. They covered her like a second skin, emphasizing her curves. He could live with that, if it weren't for the fact that he was positive others must have similar thoughts as well. And at the moment, Smithy was standing several feet behind and to the side of Rosamunde, enjoying what Aric was sure was an eyeful.

Before he could recall that he was going to be reasonable, he had started barking like a rabid dog. “Wife! Get off your damned knees now and…” Pausing at a sudden throat-clearing behind him, Aric turned a scowl on his father that slowly faded as he took in the old man's arched eyebrows and meaningful expression. Swallowing his temper, he peered back at his wife to see that she was still on her knees, but had straightened and sat back on her haunches. She was now peering over her shoulder at him in amazement.

“Good day, wife,” he said in a growl; instead of finishing his original thought. Then he frowned at his tone of
voice, for in truth he sounded like an angry dog instead of a husband.

Rosamunde's eyes narrowed warily now. “Is there something amiss, my lord husband?”

“Aye!” The word snapped out like the crack of a whip. There were sudden nervous and loud throat-clearings and nudgings that came from his father and Shambley. Grimacing, he managed a pained smile. “I…You…Your—”

“I believe,” Lord Burkhart interrupted as his son floundered, “that Aric is concerned by your dress, my dear.”