Keeper of the Stone (13 page)

Nathan had been content with the match.  Sara would not have caused him a moment’s anxiety.  She would not have disrupted his training schedule.  He imagined he would never have given her a second thought outside their marriage bed.

The reminder of the fate he so narrowly evaded caused Nathan to break out in a panicked sweat.  He could no longer envision his life without Rhiann.  He feasted upon the manna of angels and he would never again be content by the offerings of this lesser earth.  His wife was a rare, untouched gift from a benevolent God.  If she needed his understanding and patience while she dealt with her grief over the loss of her family, then he would provide it.

In time she would open her heart to him.  Was it only short hours ago he deluded himself into believing he had no need of his wife’s love, only the sons she would give him to inherit his new-found wealth?  He could barely comprehend the depths of his own misconceptions.  He wanted his wife’s love as much as he previously longed for the land she made it possible for him to acquire by their marriage. He believed he understood how to gain the latter.  The correctness of his assumption was born out by the king’s generous reward of his faithful service. 

He possessed not the slightest inkling how to win his wife’s heart.  He was versed in the ways of a gentleman but never learned the ways of winning a young maiden’s love.  A younger son could not waste time concerning himself with such endeavors.  He was too busy making his own way in the world.  Nathan witnessed the flirtations of landed men seeking to expand their wealth with their connection to another high ranking noble by winning the heart and hand of the other’s daughter.  He thought he could imitate their strategies, but he remained unconvinced such ordinary tactics would work with Rhiann. 

She was not like other ladies of the king’s court.  He had never seen another lady wearing a jeweled dagger around her arm or bells woven through her hair.  He was an intelligent man.  He would figure out the key to his wife’s heart.  He felt certain unraveling the mystery of her past was the first step in his quest.  He would try to speak with her again tonight, to make her understand she needed to trust him so he could help her with her grief and protect her from her fears.

Nathan found the long evening in the company of his equals interminable. Another first for him.  Before his marriage he was overwhelmed by the honor William bestowed upon him by often seating him at his side during the evening meal.  Now Nathan caught himself for no less than the tenth time glancing up the stairs, wondering if his wife still slept or if she awoke alone in a strange place and was already doubting his promise that she was no longer alone in the world - that he was her family now. Then he would realize what he was doing, grow annoyed at himself for allowing his bride to so thoroughly disrupt his concentration and vow to enjoy the evening as if he was still the bachelor he so recently was.  Then thoughts of Rhiann would intrude on his concentration and the whole vicious cycle would repeat itself.

It was with a feeling of intense relief when Nathan noticed the king’s gesture calling for an end to the evening.  Nathan was loathe to linger as he once might have done when there was no one waiting for him in his bed.  He used to join in the camaraderie of single men when their married counterparts rushed off to the comfort of their wives after a long evening spent over ale and table.  Now he found himself in the company of those he previously mocked, realizing why the married knights accepted the ribbing of their single counterparts with so much complacence. 

Memories of his wedding night encroached on his reminiscences and he found himself taking the stairs two at a time in his hurry to reach his wife. Yes, married life was not starting out on the orderly course he envisioned when he repeated his vows before the priest, but there was one aspect of his new status with which he had no complaints to voice.  Rather than the cold and empty pallet awaiting him in his bachelor’s tent, a warm bed with his wife’s even warmer passion awaited him tonight.

He would calm her fears of being left alone in the world and she would reward his patient understanding as she did last night in the soft throes of shared passion.  He dismissed the guard assigned to his door and opened the heavy barrier with unaccustomed hesitation, both surprised and grateful when he discovered the door wasn’t barred against him as he feared.  He shut the door behind him, fit the latch in place, and then turned to regard his wife’s sleeping form.  As far as he could tell she had not yet moved from when he placed her in the bed long hours earlier. 

He smiled when he realized she scooted herself in her sleep over to his side of the bed and wrapped her arms around his pillow, clutching it beneath her.  Her skin took on a golden hue in the soft glow of the firelight.  For long moments he stood at the door simply staring at the beautiful young woman in his bed, wondering how it was possible she belonged to him now. 

He could admit to himself he was slightly in awe of her.  So much beauty, such a gentle spirit, even after all she suffered.  She was so generous with her passion the night before.  It was a miracle she gave herself to him so openly…her family’s enemy.  The enemy who took from her everything she loved, everything she valued.  Yet here she slept in his bed, waiting for him to come to her.

He would have to be patient with her.  It would take time for her to grow accustomed to his ways, and for her to learn to trust him.  He smiled at the sight of the strands of tiny bells interwoven through her golden curls.  They lay silently now, as still as his wife’s sleeping form.  He was thankful to see the jeweled dagger the stranger brought was on the chest next to the bed.  The bells he was willing to concede, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about his bride arming herself with a warrior’s dagger. 

The blade was no slim lady’s knife for cutting meat, but one used by a trained warrior in hand to hand combat.  He’d seen similar blades strapped to the legs of the men accompanying the stranger.  They were of similar craftsmanship but without the ornate jeweled hilt of the one his wife now possessed. 

If he was a suspicious man, he might suspect his wife of planning to take revenge for her family’s loss by murdering her new Norman husband in his sleep.  He quickly dismissed the dark thought.  Even after so brief an acquaintance he knew his wife was incapable of committing such an act of violence and treachery.

He would demand her explanations in the morning when she was well rested and the hollow devastation of near grief was gone from her eyes, or at least cloaked behind her attempts to evade his questions.  She would tell him what he wanted to know, but for now his thoughts were turning to more pressing matters.

Even now he was fully occupied with his body’s natural urging.  After long months of celibacy the feast he enjoyed last night gave him a taste for further indulgence of his male passions.  He sighed with regret, recognizing instead of satisfying his passions he would have further opportunity tonight to hone his patience.  His wife was in no condition for a repeat of their wedding night.  She was exhausted, and no doubt still sore from last night’s activities.  He was less than gentle with her innocence, but he could find no well of regret within him to worry his conscience. 

Not even a saint could have restrained himself more patiently than he did last night. Particularly given the fact he approached his wedding night like a dying man lost in the desert, suffering from an unquenchable thirst, who suddenly comes across a mirage of a sweet spring and cool pool to refresh himself in.  Even knowing the vision is an illusion, the dying man still cannot prevent himself from diving in head first.  It was the same with him.  He never imagined, never dreamed he would possess such a woman for his own.

His wife was some exotic, precious gift his maker sent to him to ease the pain of the bleak years of his youth. He left home at a young age and grew into manhood under the stark tutelage of men, whose concerns were focused largely on war and lust and avoiding both death and defeat, the latter too often synonymous with the former in his world.  There was no time for the gentleness of a woman’s touch, except for the largely unsatisfying encounters with the occasional whore or camp follower he could ill afford on his meager soldier’s wages.  Unsatisfying because while such encounters could satisfy the temporary needs of his body, they could do nothing to sate the urging of his soul.

Now he understood what such temporary indulgences lacked.  He could appreciate what his soul longed for even when neither his body nor mind were capable of procuring it for him.  His spirit longed for its equal in courage, in resilience, and in faith.  How ironic he should find what he yearned for in a foreign land, in the slender body of his enemy’s young daughter. 

He was not a man given to deep thoughts.  There was little time for contemplation of the higher gifts in a life ruled by the sword and his skill in wielding it.  It was only now as he watched her sleep he could acknowledge his wife filled a hole in his psyche he was barely aware of prior to her entry into his life.  He only knew to lose her now, even after a single day, would cost him whatever remained of his tarnished soul. 

Uncomfortable at the recognition of the stark truth buried beneath his fanciful admission, Nathan left his place by the door and strode across the room, disrobing as he went.  His lust for his wife he was completely comfortable with, though he was stunned by its seeming ability to distract him from more important matters.  Luckily, at this moment no more important responsibilities competed for his attention. 

He was free to unleash the restraining hold on his passion. Naked, he threw another log on the fire, then turned and crossed the room to where his wife slept peacefully on; completely unaware her sanctuary had been violated.  The thought worried him.  His wife’s innocence concerned him.  She exercised no care at all for her own safety.  It was almost as if she was unaware there were evils lying in wait for an innocent, well-bred lady outside the gates of the city.  How was it possible for her to still retain such innocent trust in the world in light of the trials she suffered over the past few months? 

It didn’t matter how.  He admitted he liked the way she gazed up at him with the purity of an angel in her eyes, as if she only ever knew heaven’s blessing and was completely untouched by the lash of the devil scarring her back, and hell’s fire nipping at her heels.  His lips curved at the memory of her asking him if he thought it was warm in heaven.  It must be, he supposed, since the closest he ever came to heaven was in her arms last night and they were very warm, and welcoming, soft and hot.

He drew in a sharp breath as his mind caught up with his body and gritted his teeth against the temptation he was about to subject himself to.  It was too soon for her.  He promised Rhiann he would never force her.  She deserved a night to rest and mourn for her family uninterrupted by his lustful intent.

He slid between the cool sheets, and then lay flat on his back watching the shadows of the flames from the fireplace dance off the ceiling while at the same time he did battle with his faltering will to get his desire for his wife under control.  The struggle he was engaged in astonished him.  He believed he possessed the same passions of any normal man in the prime of his life, but he never before experienced the craving that gripped him whenever he found himself within his wife’s orbit.  Now lying next to her, knowing full well the paradise awaiting him just inches away, he could barely control his body’s urgent yearning. 

He recognized part of his desperate longing was the need to stake his claim, to make her so fully his she would never look at another man and never surrender her sweet passion to anyone but him.  Even after last night he remained the dying man in the desert who discovered his mirage wasn’t a fantasy after all.  He somehow managed to stumble upon an even more impossible reality.  She was his.  By the word of the king and the blessing of the church.  Rhiann was his wife, his possession, and he would defend his claim against anyone who sought to take her from him. 

In time he hoped this urgent drive to possess her would ease and they would settle down into the routine of married life.  He could not continue along this crazy course she led him along over the past twenty four hours.  He was a landed man now.  There were estates to protect and fighting men to train. 

He’d yet to speak to his men about remaining in Saxony with him or to devise a plan for replacing those with a home and family in Normandy.  He had few concerns there as most of his men were younger sons or bastard sons, with few prospects in Normandy to return to.  That was why they signed on with him in the first place.  The majority regarded this campaign into Saxony with the same hope he did, as a chance to improve their status in life.  His own hopes were answered beyond even what he dared dream in the silence and secret places of his heart during the dark years of his coming of age.

How he longed to ride north into the English countryside and feast his senses upon the estates his king awarded him.  His eyes yearned to rest upon the land where his body would be laid to rest, where his sons would be born and would grow into manhood. 

Perhaps the God he always believed was too busy with weightier matters to concern himself with the offspring of a lesser lord would see fit to bless him with a daughter as sweet and beautiful as her mother, since for the moment His eyes seemed to be focused in Nathan’s direction.  His lips curved in anticipation at the thought of chasing after a younger version of Rhiann, then reversed themselves into a forbidding frown when he dwelt on the near-impossible task of keeping the young bucks away from his yet to be born daughter.

He was distracted away from his pleasant musings by the sound of his wife sighing in her sleep. He rolled over on his side and couldn’t resist brushing aside a stray curl that had fallen across her lovely face.  As if sensing his nearness in her sleep, Rhiann rolled to face him.  Then feeling his warmth, scooted herself closer until she was plastered up against him and only her thin chemise separated him from her soft skin.