Jennifer August (15 page)

He sighed. “In what way?”

Her breath skipped and she could not look at him. The mead-cloaked memories of the previous night, though a bit hazy, still provoked embarrassment. This man, her husband, knew her more intimately than any other ever would, but she could not bring herself to say the words, to speak of the loving and its results.

“
Stirling
.”

His voice commanded her and she knotted her fingers together. Closing her eyes, she blurted, “Do you believe I was chaste?”

Infuriated by his laughter, she glared at him. “‘Tis no time to act the braying ass, sirrah.” She lifted her chin. “This matter is quite serious. Calvin could legally petition the king for our marriage to be set aside. And if you believe that I will allow that --”

“Enough, madame.” He cut through her indignation firmly. “Our union will not be set aside, by William or anyone else. I doubt Calvin will even approach the king. As for your purity.” Again he closed the distance she’d put between them. “‘Twas quite evident you were a virgin,
Stirling
.” His finger stroked along her jaw, leaving a trail of heated awareness in its wake.

“But how do you know?” she whispered.

His expression grew hot, aroused, feral. “The tightness of your sheath wrapped around me proved no man had taken you before. I was your first. I will be your last.”

Though his words pleased her,
Stirling
could not combat the heated embarrassment flooding her. With effort, she peered up at him. “My thanks, Quinn.” She offered a soft smile, hesitantly touching his chest.

His grin was filled with wolfish intent. “You may thank me properly above-stairs, lady-wife.”

###

“My lady? Are you still abed?” Millane’s saucy chuckle, loud and directly above her, woke
Stirling
.

“Begone, you harridan, and let me rest,” she muttered, burrowing deeper into the bed.

“His lordship awaits you below.” The maid stripped the coverings away and
Stirling
groaned again.

“One day I’m going to sell you.”

Millane’s laughter trailed her as she dug in the wardrobe.

Stirling
swung her legs over the edge of the bed, noting the tenderness was not as great this morning. She shook her head, amazed at how quickly her body had become accustomed to the Norman invader. She only hoped her heart would prove more sensible. Quinn and his intentions were still unknown and to fall in love with him could be disastrous.

“Up, up, up,
Stirling
. Your lord is a most impatient man.”

“Aye, Millane, that I know.” She stood, arching her back, then walked to the wash basin. Shivering with the chill of the water, she completed her ministrations speedily.

“I swear I’ll never understand your fascination with cleanliness, my lady. You’ll only be dirty again come darkness.” Millane grinned and handed her a large bathing sheet. “And if the man doesn’t mind, why should you?”

Stirling
grimaced. ‘Twas a battle long fought between the two. “And I shall never comprehend your aversion to water.”

“Oh but I like the water, my lady.”

“You do?”

The maid winked, holding out a gown of sapphire velvet. “Especially if you’ve a good strong man or two joining you.”

Stirling
shook her head in reproach. “How do you keep them all straight, Millane?”

The maid leaned close, a salacious gleam in her eye. “A firm grip around the shaft often does the trick.”

“Millane,”
Stirling
reproved lightly, before dissolving into helpless giggles. With her introduction of the marriage bed, her maid’s innuendoes sparked more than just imagination in her. Now, she could fully comprehend the sly remarks. Most of them, anyway.

“Come now, Lord Quinn desires your company. I believe he has a surprise for you.”

“What sort of surprise?”
Stirling
stepped into her undergarments, taking shallow breaths as Millane pulled the laces snug.

The maid plopped the blue gown over
Stirling
’s head, muffling her answer.
Stirling
fought her way through the lace-edged skirt and neckline, settling the material over her shoulders. “I did not hear you. What is it?”

“I don’t know, my lady.”

Stirling
rolled her eyes. “Do not be coy with me, Millane. You know more of what goes on in this keep than I do.”

A thought struck her and she tipped her head, staring at her maid. Was it possible Millane knew what happened to the bedclothes from her wedding night?
Stirling
shook the thought away as quickly as it had come. Millane was the one person, beside John, she trusted with her life. Guilt ate at her for even thinking her faithful maid capable of such an atrocity.

“My lady, are you well?”

“Aye, Millane.” Giving in to the urge,
Stirling
hugged her, easing her own conscience slightly. “Come, let us discover the cause of all the commotion.”

They stepped outside to find Quinn astride his black war-horse, holding the reins of
Stirling
’s mount saddled beside him. Snow loped in the courtyard, chasing flies and the occasional maid who wandered too close.

Quinn nudged the horses closer, then dismounted. Striding purposefully up the steps, he offered her a courtly bow. “Join me, Lady Stirling.”

She took his arm, sampling the firm muscles beneath her fingers. He was dressed in a simple blue shirt, the collar strings loosened, giving her a glimpse of his muscular, hair-dusted chest, and a pair of loose black leggings. His black boots laced up to his knee and he wore his ever-present sword strapped at his side. As they descended the stairs,
Stirling
looked to her small roan, saddled and standing next to Quinn’s massive war-horse. The mare looked quite content in the big horse’s shadow.
Had everyone acclimated themselves to the
Normans
so quickly?
Even she had given in to the dark warrior’s exquisite touch and heated mouth with ease.

Quinn escorted
Stirling
to the mounts, wrapped his hands around her small waist and settled her on the leather seat atop her horse. He grinned at her befuddled expression as he remounted.

“Where are we going, my lord? Should you not see to the defense of the keep? Training the men?”

He laughed. “Marcus and Sir John have that well in-hand.” He held up a palm. “And
Temple
is delving into the other matters. We’ve this day alone, my lady. Enjoy it with me.”

Stirling
looked at Millane who winked and waved heartily. “Take great care with her, my lord.”

“You can be certain, I shall.” Quinn whistled to Snow and kneed Charon’s flanks, urging
Stirling
’s mount to follow. She tugged at the reins and he released them. In a trice she rode beside him, back stiff and legs astride.

He raised a surprised brow. “‘Tis unusual seating you have,
Stirling
.” They cantered out of the bailey, riding along the northern wall of the keep. Quinn intended to remain within the protective boundaries of Falcon Fire, but he wanted no interruptions from the knight’s training.

She smiled. “I never could sit a horse to the side. Invariably I fell off.” Her laughter rippled over him, pleasing his ears and gladdening his spirit. “Father, afraid I would be trampled, insisted I ride thus. And I have since my fourth year.”

“An early age to mount a steed,” he noted, cutting to the right without warning.

She followed immediately. “Your horse is well trained.”

“Aye,” Quinn replied, eyes searching the trees bordering the trail. “He’s honed for the noises of war and battle, the smell of blood and the screams of the dying.”

When she did not reply, he glanced over, then smothered a smile. Her pale complexion had taken on an even whiter hue. He decided his wife possessed a weak stomach. “My apologies,
Stirling
, if I’ve upset you.”

“I am fine, sir, do not concern yourself.” She looked around. “Where do we go?”

“Over that rise is a small meadow, do you know it?”

She nodded. “I believe so. ‘Tis near the reefs at the corner of our property.”

“Aye.” They topped the hill, and rode to an outcropping of rocks. Snow roamed the outer perimeter of the clearing, before sprawling at one edge. Quinn leapt from Charon and assisted
Stirling
with her dismount. The simple act of touching her brought him immense pleasure and he pledged to indulge often. “Do not move. I’ve something for you.”

He circled the group of boulders, reaching into a narrow opening formed by two of the rocks. He pulled a cage out and clicked his tongue. The bird inside immediately trilled in return.

“A falcon, my lord?”
Stirling
’s excited voice came from behind him and he shook his head, wondering if she ever obeyed the simplest order.

“Aye, a peregrine. I had intended to gift you with her at our wedding feast.” He pulled a leather gauntlet from his belt and held the glove out to her. She slipped it on, tying the laces below her elbow while he removed the blue and silver cloth covering the bird.
Stirling
gasped.

“She’s beautiful. What is her name?”

“I leave that to you.” He opened the cage and coaxed the bird onto
Stirling
’s outstretched arm. “Have you hawked before?”

“Not in many years. Father and Mother would bring me out with them occasionally, but since Mother died…” She stroked the breast feathers of the hooded bird. “What shall I call you?” she cooed.

Quinn watched, fascinated as
Stirling
gentled the peregrine with soft touches and whispered words. The bells of the bird’s jesses tinkled as she hopped side to side, bobbing with each movement.

“Your spirit is fierce, little hawk. I will call you Gillian, for my mother.” The bird trilled and clutched at her leather-clad arm.
Stirling
laughed and removed the bird’s hood. Mahogany eyes, sharp as her beak gazed at them intently. Quinn smiled, pleased at his wife’s enchantment with his gift.

“Is she trained, my lord? Can we fly her?”

“Aye.” Quinn gripped her elbow lightly as they trekked across the uneven ground to the center of the clearing.

“She responds to a three note whistle,
comme ca
,” he pierced the quiet with the bird’s call.

Stirling
practiced the whistle several times until Gillian cooed acceptance. She smiled with delight when the bird trilled and butted her hand. “You want to fly, don’t you, little one? Then go.” She cast Gillian into the air, watching with breathless pleasure as the falcon raced across the sky, searching the grass for prey.

Snow barked and scampered forward, circling them. She knocked
Stirling
against her husband’s broad chest, pulling a startled gasp from her.

“Your pardon, my lord.” She did not move away from his compelling strength, though logic urged her to do so.

“Nay, lady, my pleasure.” His arms tightened around her back.

Stirling
allowed herself a moment of peace and security in the shelter of his arms until guilt propelled her away. “Tell me about your family, my lord.”

“Why?” he asked, voice suddenly stiff. Her easy companion had disappeared.

“Why not?” She tipped her head. “You know of my lineage, but I naught of yours.”