Wicked (34 page)

“Has she? She does not speak much whenever I am ’round.”

“I do too speak,” Edith said quickly, then realized that she had just naysaid him. She grew suddenly silent and stared at her toes.

Lord Robert frowned, as if he wanted her honest reaction, not a feigned meekness that was demanded of women by so many men. He looked at Sofia almost as if to say, “Help me with her.”

He was a swift thinker, for he laughed. “I suppose you have not had much chance to speak when I keep your mouth occupied with other things, my fiery one.”

Edith’s head shot up and her eyes grew wide. She turned so bright a red that Sofia burst out laughing.

Sofia slapped Lord Robert playfully on his arm. “You are terrible to tease her so, milord. She is all that is kind and good and sweet in this world.”

“Aye, that she is.” He grinned. “But I find I must tease her, milady, for I have found that the scarlet on her cheeks is my favorite color for her to wear.”

Sofia and Robert laughed together and talked with ease, until each tried to out-embarrass Edith, just to see who could make her flush the more.

“Enough!” Edith finally raised her hands in mock protection. “Both of you are horrid! My cheeks are so hot I need some mead to cool them down.” She grasped Robert’s arm and clutched it close to her. “Come along, milord. I find I am famished as well as thirsty. ’Tis your duty as my betrothed to see to all my needs and wants. And remember, you must feed me all the very best morsels.”

“I think the very best morsel has my arm clutched to her side.”

Sofia laughed and watched as Edith happily dragged a grinning Lord Robert toward the huge blue tent where the wedding feast was just beginning.

As wedding feasts went,
Tobin thought this one had all the makings of a disaster. He sat there, stabbing chunks of finely cooked meat onto his dagger, jamming them into his mouth and chewing the bloody hell out of it before he swilled back a full goblet of French wine.

It was not a simple thing to ignore the fact that your own father was actively and publicly wooing your new bride.

He watched them dance to the tunes of the minstrels, watched Sofia innocently smile and laugh at his father, who was at his charming best. His latest stepmother, whoever she was, a pale-haired woman of two and twenty called Arden or Anne or Arkin, one of those “A” names, had left the feast early. The poor woman was probably so used to his father’s fickle ways that she did not want to be there for what was surely to be another humiliation with some other woman this night. The thing was, it should not have been with the bride. But it was so like his father. He could make a conquest and humiliate his son at the same time.

His father put his hands on Sofia’s waist and lifted her high in the air. Tobin’s hand tightened on the thickly carved stem of the gold goblet. He could feel the falcon design cutting into his fingers, he could feel the blood leave the knuckles on his hand, he could feel rage race through him.

A hand on his shoulder startled him enough to tear his angry gaze away from the scene.

Merrick stood behind him. “Go take her from him, lad.”

“I will not give the bastard the satisfaction of letting him know he can get to me.” Tobin took another drink.

“Then you are a fool, for this is not about you. This is about Sofia. She is the only person you are hurting by trying to act as if what he is doing out there does not matter. She is your wife. She does not know. She is only dancing, as a bride should at her own wedding celebration. Have you ever told her about him?”

“Why? He does not deserve the breath it would take to tell her.”

“Clio thought as much and told me to tell you to explain to her. She needs to know, if for no other reason than to protect herself.”

Tobin frowned and looked over at Lady Clio. She was looking at him sternly. His gaze flicked back to his wife, and he realized Clio was right.

“Go rescue her, lad. This is not the time to be stubborn.” Merrick gripped Tobin’s shoulder. “Go.”

Tobin took one last drink of wine, then put down the goblet. Without ever taking his eyes off Sofia and his father, he gave Merrick a slight nod, then he shoved away from the table and stood.

He moved toward them, stepping around the people seated at tables who leaned back and raised their wine goblets, who called out or who clouted him with their good wishes on the arm and back and shoulders. A minor skirmish broke out, petty nobles who were so far into their cups that their horseplay was ribald, but suddenly escalated to where one hit the other with his drinking cup.

Tobin shoved one of them aside and stood between them. Parcin and Merrick were there in an instant, holding the two men and dragging them outside before they could draw their swords.

Then he was standing at his father’s back, listening.

“My son is fortunate, Sofia.” His father slid a hand on Sofia’s back.

Tobin’s fist tightened, but he did not move.

“I have yet to have a bride as lovely as you.”

“You have had so many brides,
Father
.” Tobin gripped his father’s shoulder and stilled him from moving closer to Sofia. “I believe you have a wife abovestairs now.”

His father turned, his expression said he was caught off guard.

Tobin stepped between them, using his size and height as a shield to his bride. He gave Sofia a smile that he knew was false, then leaned toward his father’s ear and said with quiet menace, “Get the hell away from mine, old man.”

Tobin did not wait to see his father’s reaction. Instead he grabbed Sofia’s hands and pulled her into a circle of dancers. The circle grew larger now that Tobin and Sofia were dancing together. The dancers stood and clapped their hands and feet, while Tobin held tightly to his bride’s soft hands and spun her ’round and ’round, watching her face. The smile she wore grew. She called his name, but he spun her faster until she was dizzy and laughing. The sound of it rippled clear through him, washed away for just that moment his father’s lechery, and everything else but the thought that this woman was truly his.

He slid his arm behind her back and bent, then swept her off her feet, turning and spinning with her in his arms as she locked her hands behind his neck and threw back her head.

“Stop! Stop! Husband!” But she was still laughing. He turned and walked outside the ring of dancers, past the musicians and across the room and out the doors to the echoes of cheers and bawdy jests.

He carried her up
and away, through an archway and out onto the parapet, where the noise from the celebration below was muted by the castle walls and sounded as if it were far, far away.

A slight breeze caught the ribbons in Sofia’s hair and ruffled it. A few curls fell into her eyes. She took a hand from around his neck and brushed the hair back. The ermine on her sleeve tickled her nose and she rubbed it, then her hand fell to his shoulder. She grinned at him. “You are stealing the bride away from the celebration.”

“Aye,” he said in a quiet voice, then he lowered her onto her feet.

They faced each other. He stared at her, his look intense and serious. No fun there. No twinkle of mischief like there was in his father’s eyes, eyes that were so much alike it amazed her. She wondered how they could be so different. One so gay and one so intense.

Sofia did not know why he was looking at her so. There was something in his eyes, something that almost looked like pain. For just a fleeting moment she asked herself if she could be the cause of it. She cocked her head. “What is wrong?”

His mouth thinned a little and he took a deep breath, then faced away from her. He rested one arm on a crenel, leaned casually against it and stared off into the distance. He picked up a small stone and turned it over in his hand, then tossed it into the air and caught it a few times. “You looked as if you needed rescuing.”

“Did I?” She laughed, then moved to his side, standing there and looking off toward the west where the sun was setting in a purple and scarlet sky. “Your father is quite interesting. He makes me laugh.”

He said nothing.

“There’s a bit of a tease to his look.”

“’Tis a look you would do well to hide from.” His tone was sudden, bitter, and sharp.

“Hide from your father?” She laughed. “What a goose you are! That is silly.”

Tobin said nothing.

Sofia’s laughter faded in the awkwardness of the moment. She looked up at her husband and frowned. He was serious.

He had not moved. He just stared out with an expression that seemed so very far away, as if he were not even there with her, or his mind or memory were not there. His eyes were narrowed with bitterness and anger.

Wherever he was, it was not a pretty place.

She remembered with sudden clarity what Eleanor had said the night before.

His heart is true, unlike his father.

She reached out and touched Tobin’s arm. “Why did I need rescuing?”

He was silent.

“I was only with your father. He is kind and amusing,” she prodded.

“Amusing? I would call my father many things, but not one of them would be amusing.”

“Why do you dislike him so? Only because he was paying attention to me? I’m certain—”

“Why?” He turned so swiftly, pinning her with angry and cold blue eyes. “What? You think I am jealous because he has the power to charm every woman he meets?”

“I don’t know what to think. You tell me why I should not be kind to him when he is being so kind to me. I am his daughter by marriage.”

“Perhaps you would be better to ask that of his wife. Or just ask one of my eighteen younger brothers.”

“Eighteen?”

He nodded. “All have different mothers, except the two sets of twins.”

“Twins?” she repeated in a dull tone.

“Aye, and that doesn’t include my sisters.”

Her mouth dropped.

“There’s Elizabeth, who is six years older than I. We do have the same mother, Father’s first wife. Next is Jocelyn. Her mother was the castle laundress. There is Catherine, Ada, Maude, Janet, Alice and Isobel.”

She was appalled. “My God—”

“I do not know what he called the last three girls. I have not been home for a while.”

She stood there, not believing what he was saying, or worse yet, what he was implying. But when she looked at his profile, at the tight jaw and the pain in his face she knew he spoke the truth. His father’s dalliances were an embarrassment to him. “I did not know.”

“I know that. But now that you are my wife you should be aware if it, for your own well being.”

“I am not a servant to dally with. Surely he was only welcoming me to the family. I am the King’s cousin, as well as your bride.”

“A fact he seems to have easily forgotten. I have thought that perhaps that is exactly why he is so attentive.”

She inhaled sharply.

He looked at her as if she were too naive for words. “Just because you are married to his first son does not mean you are not fair game. Do not fool yourself, sweet. My father charms with a purpose in mind, and it is not to welcome you into the family.”

She reached out to him then, placed her hand on his chest, where his heart beat strong and true. She wanted to soothe his hurt, to take away what he was telling her as if it had never happened.

He pulled his gaze away from whatever he was staring at and glanced down at her hand on his chest. He looked as if that was the last thing he expected to see.

He seemed to relax. His mouth and jaw were not tight and hard looking, the strain in his neck was gone. He covered her hand with his own, then turned and studied her face as if he were searching for something there, something he needed.

She whispered his name.

A moment later his mouth closed over hers and she was wrapped tightly in his strong arms.

Chapter 29

Sofia opened the door to her chamber and peered inside. There was no one there, so she pulled Tobin inside. “Do you think they will miss us?”

“I do not care if they do. ’Tis our wedding, not theirs. Let them drink and eat until they burst. Then maybe they will all go away.” He closed the door and slid the lock, then in one swift motion he spun around, slid his arms under her bottom and lifted her right up off the floor. “All I want is you.”

She hung onto his shoulders and looked down at his upturned face. “Where are we going, husband?”

“To the bed, wife.” He tossed her onto the coverlet and followed her down, pressing his upper body against hers and pinning her to the bed with his weight. He grinned down at her. “This is where you belong, woman.”

She laughed. “I belong in bed?”

“Nay, sweet.” His lips tasted hers, then he spoke against her mouth, “Under me.”

He kissed her, sipping at her lips with his, using teasing, gentle and moist touches.

“I love it when you kiss me. I love the feel of your mouth on mine.”

“I love kissing you. Now I can kiss you all day and all night. All of our lives, sweetheart.” He buried his tongue deeply into her mouth.

She gave a quiet moan in response. She opened her eyes.

A lock of his black hair had fallen over his brow. She brushed his hair back and looked up into his face, at the shadowed angles where his beard was already growing in rough and dark, at his straight nose and the small cleft in his chin. She looked at the black lashes on his eyes, the way they framed them so darkly and made his eyes look bluer. The color was true and deep. And she decided then and there, from that moment onward, her favorite color in the world was the blue of her husband’s eyes.

She drew her finger over his mouth and lips.

He kissed her fingertip.

“Kiss me, Tobin,” she spoke on a sigh. “Kiss me all over.”

He reached out and twined a silver ribbon and a lock of her hair around his index finger, used it to pull her face up toward his. “I’ll kiss you, sweet. Believe me, I shall never stop kissing you. All night long my mouth will be there for you, tasting you and loving you. That is all I want” He gave her a soft kiss on the lips, then on her nose and each of her eyes.

His lips brushed over her brows and onto her forehead. His mouth drifted over her cheeks and moved to her ear. “I shall kiss you inside your ear . . . like this.”