Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (11 page)

She nodded although he could see
tears in her eyes.  His cornflower blue eyes grew intense.

“I know that the last time a man
was this close to you, unspeakably horrible things happened,” he murmured. “You
did not deserve that and I will do all in my power to show you that the
intimacy between a man and a woman is anything but horrific.  It can be the
strongest, most binding experience you will ever have.  It will be pleasurable
and it will be wonderful. Do you believe me?”

She nodded her head, breaking
down into soft sobs. “Aye,” she squeaked. “But… but you are not disgusted with
me?”

His brow furrowed. “Good God, why
would you ask that?”

“Because another man has touched
me before you.”

“It was not your fault,” he said.
“That soldier may have taken your innocence, but that is a very small part of
what we are about to do.  I am showing you what joy there is in intimacy
between a man and a woman. No one on earth has ever shown you that, have they?”

“Nay.”

“Then that, my dear lady, you
have indeed saved for me, whether or not you knew it.

She began to weep more deeply and
he lifted himself up, gathering her into his arms and pulling her close.  His
lips were on her forehead as he spoke.

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmured.
“There is nothing to fear. I know you are terrified, but I promise you, there
is nothing to fear. Please believe me?”

She nodded and he held her face
between his two enormous hands, kissing her forehead, her damp eyes, soothing
her gently with his tender touch.  When he moved back to the dark curls between
her legs, he made sure to do it calmly and sweetly so she would not be overly
startled.  He began by gently caressing her inner thighs.

“What we are about to do is as
old as Man himself,” he told her, kissing her breasts as he stroked her skin.
“It is something every woman goes through, unless she is ugly and destined to
be an old maid.”

That brought giggles. But those
giggles were quickly quelled as he began kissing the skin of her inner thigh. 
Joselyn realized quickly that she liked it very much.  His mouth moved to the
dark hair between her legs and he gently opened her legs wider, kissing the
spongy curls and gently running his fingers over the thick lips.  He felt her
tense again and he lowered his head, gently suckling on the outer flesh of her
Venus Mound.

From fear to utter delight and
back again, Joselyn’s head was spinning with a variety of sensations. 
Stephen’s touch had her distracted and his bass voice had her lulled into
contentment.

“A woman’s center is quite
lovely,” he murmured. “’Tis pink and pretty, like a flower unfurling.”

As he spoke, he gained a good look
at her most private area.  His fingers pulled her exterior lips apart and he
was greeted with a scar that ran from her birth canal all the way to her anus.
It was a thick, nasty scar and he could see immediately what she had been
talking about;
the birth tore me asunder
. From the look of the scar he
was surprised she hadn’t bled to death. His stomach lurched at the thought of
pain and anguish she undoubtedly went through; to think of such a lovely, sweet
creature being subjected to such horror filled his chest with rage but he
fought it; he calmed himself by knowing he would protect her from all things
from now on.  And more than ever, he was determined to seek justice for the
crime against her.

He dipped his head and kissed the
scar, nearly bringing her off the bed.  But his hands stilled her, his gentle
words soothed her, and his kisses resumed on the interior of her thigh. His
fingers, so big yet so gently, stroked her intimately and he could feel her
wetness the more he stroked. He moved to kiss her belly and focused on her
delicious breasts again as he slipped a finger into her tight, scarred passage.

Joselyn did nothing more than
moan as he thrust into her with his finger, more distracted by his mouth on her
nipples.  When Stephen finally lifted himself and placed his enormous manhood
at her threshold, she hardly noticed.  In fact, he thrust so gently into her
that she didn’t even realize he was inside her until he was about half-way
seated.

Then she tensed again.  But
Stephen would have no part of it; he was so highly aroused that he would let
nothing interfere with this moment and he gathered her close, kissing her
deeply as he fully seated himself with firm, smooth pressure.  Joselyn gasped
and squirmed as he impaled her on his manroot, but to her credit she did not
weep.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and held fast, struggling to adjust
her body to this invasive presence that was nothing as she had remembered from
eleven years ago.  Stephen’s sensual invasion was warm, seductive, tender and passionate.
He had done everything possible to ease her.  And, not surprisingly, all she
felt was ease.

And then he began to move in her,
slowly at first, using his powerful buttocks to thrust gently into her small
body. But his pace grew faster, his thrust more powerful, and Joselyn felt a
wildly pleasurable jolt every time he would thrust his full length into her. 
It was as if his manhood was touching a special area deep within her body,
something that, within just a few minutes of Stephen’s measured thrusts,
suddenly erupted in a burst of stars that rippled throughout her body. 

A soft yelp escaped her lips and
her body stiffened and pleasurable tremors raced through her.  Stephen, feeling
her release milking at his manroot, answered by spilling himself deep into her
body. Even when they were both sated as their glorious tremors faded, he still
continued to move within her, not wanting the experience to end.  As he slowed
his thrusts and caressed her silken skin, taking equal pleasure in the tactile
as well as the emotional, words like Duty and Task popped into his mind.  Into
the dimness, he smiled; never in his life had he been given a duty that was
less of a task and more of a pleasure.  
She
was a pleasure.

They slept.

CHAPTER FIVE

De Lara was up before dawn,
walking the battlements of Berwick.  The sun was threatening to rise and the
eastern sky was turning shades of lavender and pink.  Just as he passed through
the gatehouse arch along the castle walls, he ran straight into Stephen.  He
looked startled to see the man.

“I did not know you were awake,”
Tate said. “I thought you would still be with your wife.”

Stephen was clad in pieces of
armor and mail, not his usual full battle regalia.  He was shaved and even
combed, looking extremely relaxed.  Tate had a difficult time keeping the smile
of his face as he watched Stephen’s very contented expression.

“I have been up for a couple of
hours,” he replied. “I had to see Edward before he left. Moreover, I would be a
poor garrison commander not to have my finger on the pulse of the outpost. I
have been making my rounds.”

“I did not mean to intimate that
you were a poor commander and well you know it,” Tate lifted an eyebrow. “I
simply meant that you are occupied with a new wife who quite obviously has your
attention. There is no shame in that.”

Stephen cast him a long look, a
knowing smile playing on his lips. “I would not be ashamed of her in any case,”
he replied, his cornflower blue eyes moving to the eastern horizon. “In fact, I
was probably a fool to have resisted this marriage at the first. It is a great
honor.”

“Did
you tell Edward that?”

“I
did,” he turned to look at Tate again. “And I asked for another five hundred
men to reinforce the city.”

Tate leaned against the parapet,
his smoke-colored eyes watching the sunrise. “Did he tell you that I have
already sent word to Henry of Lancaster for a contingent? I asked him last
night when I could not find you anywhere. Assuming you were indisposed, I went
ahead and made your request.”

“He told me,” Stephen replied.
“It seems as if I will have a thousand men here in the next month to reinforce
my ranks.  Edward is leaving today, by the way. Are you leaving as well?”

Tate nodded. “I see no reason to
stay since you have things well in hand,” he replied. “Moreover, I am anxious
to return home to see my wife and children.”

“Give Toby my best.”

Tate straightened up and slapped
Stephen on a broad shoulder. “I will.”

He began moving toward the tower
stairs but Stephen called to him. “Would you please do me a favor before you
leave?”

“Of course.”

Stephen crossed his massive arms
and moved toward him pensively. “Will you ask Lady Pembury about the man who
raped her before you go? If this man is still in your ranks, I would have him
sent to me immediately.”

Tate nodded slowly. “I would be
pleased if you would allow me to punish the man if, in fact, he is still in my
ranks.”

Stephen looked at him, the
cornflower blue eyes hard. “I appreciate the offer, but I must dispense
punishment. It is my right and my privilege.”

Tate understood; he could also
see that the husbandly right of punishment went beyond mere honor; there was a
glimmer in Stephen’s eyes that spoke of something deeper.  If Tate didn’t know
better, he would suspect that Stephen was feeling something for his lovely new
wife.  It did not displease him.

“As you say,” he replied. “Shall
I seek her out now?”

Stephen shook his head. “She is
not awake yet. Perhaps when she breaks her fast.”

Tate was nearly at the tower
stairs; the bailey was to his right, most of the expanse visible between the
keep and the great hall. Movement down below caught his eye and he turned to
see a small figure in a cranberry colored surcoat moving through the early dawn
towards the great hall.  Lady Pembury seemed to be in a hurry.  Tate dipped his
head in the direction of the bailey.

“Your wife is an early riser,” he
said, watching Stephen make his way over to the parapet in time to see Joselyn
disappear into the rectangular great hall. “She must have a great deal to do
today if she is up so early.”

Stephen was heading for the
stairs before Tate could get to them.  They took the narrow spiral stairs
quickly and emerged into the ward.  Tate suppressed a smile at Stephen’s
apparent eagerness to get to his wife; the man was practically running.

“There is one more thing,
something I was thinking on this morning,” Stephen said as they crossed the
dusty bailey. “Do you know of Ettrick Castle?”

“I do.  It is held by the Earl of
Buccleuch, Lord Alexander.”     

“Do you know the man personally?”

“I have met him twice but I would
not say that we know one another. He is allied with John Balliol. Why?”

Stephen paused when they reached
the door leading to the great hall. He scratched his head awkwardly, as if
still thinking through what he was attempting to say.

“I did not tell you everything
about my wife’s rape at the hands of the English soldier,” he said in a low
voice. “The rape resulted in a child. That was why her father sent her to
Jedburgh; to be rid of both her and the baby.  When the baby came of age, he
was sent to Ettrick Castle to foster.”

Tate gazed steadily at him but
not without some sympathy. He finally shook his head sadly. “Good Christ,” he
muttered. “She has known much sorrow, has she not?”

Stephen nodded faintly. “From
what Joselyn tells me, the lad was never told that she was his mother. He was
led to believe that he was an orphan.  She intends to tell the boy someday
about his parentage, minus the part about his father, but I thought perhaps
that now that we are married, I would adopt the boy and bring him to live with
us.”

Tate considered that option. “A
truly generous gesture, Stephen,” he murmured. “Does your wife know about it?”

“I have not mentioned it.”

“How do you think she will feel?
That boy is the result of a brutal act. Perhaps she does not wish to be
reminded of it on a daily basis.”

“She is his mother. I believe
that is a stronger instinct than the horror of her attack.”

“Will you ask her at least?”

Stephen nodded. “I will,” he
muttered. “If she agrees, I would like for you to contact the Earl on my behalf
and request that the boy be sent to Berwick.”

Tate knew Stephen to be a deeply
compassionate man but even he was surprised at the man’s selflessness. It took
a very good man to do what Stephen was suggesting, accepting his wife’s child
that was the result of a horrible crime years ago. Wanting to adopt the boy was
a supreme gesture of benevolence. He clapped the man gently on the shoulder.

“Are you sure about this?” he
asked.

“Very sure.”

Tate shrugged his big shoulders.
“Then if your wife agrees, I will ride to Ettrick myself and retrieve him.”

Stephen seemed to be greatly
relieved.  With a weak smile, he led Tate into the great hall.

It smelled like smoke and old
rushes. Joselyn was standing on the eastern end of the expansive room, speaking
with an older serving woman who wore a severe wimple on her head.   Her hair
was pulled into a delightful braid, draping over one shoulder as curling
tendrils of dark hair escaped it. Stephen and Tate approached her from behind
and the serving woman, seeing the knights coming, fled.