Once Upon a Knight Page 43

  Chrestien met his desire with equal fervor. There was no denying him, she realized, as his hands ventured beneath her chainse, touching her feverishly. He slid his arms about her waist, caressing her bare flesh before crushing her to him.

  “My lord,” she complained, delighted despite her protest. “I have only just dressed!”

  “Shall I stop?” he asked huskily.

  Chrestien shook her head, smiling. There was no denying her own need—but then, she’d not even thought to. Her arms went about his neck eagerly and her fingers clutched at the curls at his nape. He gazed into her eyes and his look was as soft as a caress. And then lifting her suddenly, he reclaimed her lips once more, stumbling a few awkward steps and setting her gingerly upon a low, thick tree limb.

  Impatiently, he lifted her chainse and gown over her head, tossing them to the wayside, then divested himself of his hauberk. Chrestien didn’t complain about the rough bark biting her arse, for soon she would feel his man’s sword impaling her sweetly.

  His hands caught her about the waist as his eyes feasted upon her bosom and his smoky blue eyes lingered there, devouring her with his gaze, letting the fever rise between them. That gaze alone was enough to set her afire, she acknowledged, as her lips rose involuntarily to meet his. Dear God, but it seemed every part of her ached to be touched by him. She wrapped her limbs about his waist, drawing him closer, smiling impishly.

  Her innocent daring aroused him and his hand slid to her buttocks, cupping them gently as he raised her. Slowly, savoring the moment, he lifted her breasts to his lips, and suckled each before dropping to his knees with her. Mad with need of her, he urged her backward upon the dewy ground, and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, cherishing the feel of her tender skin against his face. But when he raised himself to look her full in the face he saw the redness upon her cheek caused by his whiskers, and he bent to kiss the rosiness away. Slowly, he worked his way down to her belly, and then to her thighs...

  Never had he desired to please a woman so, that he would deny his own need. He didn’t have much to give her, but he vowed to give her everything within his power—beginning with the one thing she had already requested—to see her sister.

  Her hair was spread like a crown of golden silk upon the earthen floor, interwoven with jewel tone leaves. But her deep dark eyes were the boldest gems of all. They seemed to plead silently that he continue, beckon unto him to abandon his will. Kneeling over her, he moved to straddle her belly.

  She loved him.

  The realization left Chrestien breathless.

  She moved her hands to the ties of his breeches, eager to show him again. She unlaced them with ease, but her hands trembled and she had to pause a moment to ease the nervous fluttering in her belly. He moved to aid her, but his laces suddenly fell away like winter snow melting in her hands and the muscles in his abdomen flinched in anticipation of her touch.

  Chrestien could hardly believe the beauty of her husband. His chest was broad, corded with muscles like no other man’s she’d ever known. His waist was narrow, with a dark streak of hair that ended in curls of black at his groin.

  Stunned and at the same time touched by the open admiration in her gaze, Weston nevertheless grimaced as her fingers landed upon his newest scar below his shoulder, the one he’d received at her hands. Gently, she traced the healing wound with her fingertip and when she again raised her eyes to meet his, the beautiful dark pools were brimming with unshed tears. His hand went to her chin and his voice was rough with emotion as he spoke. “Nay, Chrestien, do not… I prefer to see you smiling.”

  She raised her fingertips to her lips, as though to kiss them, then touched them to his scar as though bestowing a kiss of healing upon it. He shivered violently over the intimacy of that gesture. It stole his breath away.

  “I am so sorry,” she said. “I wish I had not…”

  Weston shushed her, smiling ruefully. Looking back on it, he wished she had not either, but now was not the time for regrets. He lifted her hand from his chest and kissed each finger slowly, with great promise.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered again and he bent to cover her mouth with his own, for he had no care to hear any more. “Hush, my love. I forgive you.”

  Her hand flew between their lips. “But—”

  “Hush,” he commanded softly, moving her hand away from his mouth so that he could love her lips once more.

  Resigning to his will, her fingers slid down the length of her husband's arms as his mouth covered hers. The kiss was warm and caressing, sending a surge of incredible heat flowing through her body, and Chrestien submitted herself to him then, knowing that never again would her life be her own—even so, she gave of herself willingly, heart and soul.

  Once more he positioned himself between her thighs, but this time she raised her hips to give him better access and he buried himself into the depths of her, groaning with pleasure.

  Another moan echoed in her ears—this time her own—as her body joined the age old ritual, wildly and without restraint, heat raging between them as no fire ever could.

  She met his powerful thrusts with eager ones of her own, and cried out joyfully as tiny delicious tremors multiplied through her body. Though even as she found release, he did not stop and as she lay there beneath him, his body caressing her from the inside, another flame was sparked, and she joined him once more, crying out softly in surprise.

  A primal roar sounded through the forest as Weston found his release, and Chrestien followed him yet again, silently, willingly into a haven of pleasure. Sighing contentedly, she went limp in his arms, and he crushed her to him possessively.

  “You will be the death of me yet,” he swore. But Chrestien knew it was not a complaint.

  Later, once they were dressed and on their way once more, Chrestien could barely keep her thoughts off their loving. As far as first nights went, she might have preferred a bed, but she was glad they had not waited. Never in her life had she felt so close to another human being, at least not quite like this.

  She was so deep in thought, daydreaming, that she didn't realize the direction they had ridden until the forest gave way to a familiar clearing. It was not long before Castle Montagneaux was within sight. “You are taking me to my sister?” she asked, shocked.

  “Is that not what you wished?”

  She had asked him but once, and only once. That he had remembered touched her deeply. “It is, thank you, my lord!” But she was suddenly curious about that first encounter in the woods. “My lord? Why did you come to my aid that day in the woods?”

  “Michel and I saw you pass by our camp,” he said. “You looked so pitiful. When the second cavalcade came rushing through, we knew you had not a chance to defend yourselves against them.”

  Chrestien furrowed her brow, thinking of Aubert’s revelation. “Aye, but how did you know they were after us?”

  “There was no mistaking it, Chrestien. They rode with purpose and they were prepared to do battle.”

  They rode in silence as Chrestien contemplated that fact.

  “I know you came from Montagneaux?” he said. “But I suspect so too did the others.”

  Chrestien turned to peer back at him. “How did you know I came from Montagneaux?”

  “Your sister told me.”

  “Adelaine?”

  “You have another?” Without waiting for her reply, he explained. “I overheard while she relayed the tale to Aleth.”

  “So Aleth knows I am not a man. Sweet Mary! What must he think of me now?”

  There was a smile in his voice. “I’ll wager he was thankful ’twas not you he married.”

  Whether it was said in good humor or nay, Chrestien bristled. She stiffened her back. “If I am such a burden, my lord, why then did you encumber yourself with me?”

  “I am quite certain I shall ask myself that very question a thousand times before I meet my maker,” he said jovially.

  But it wasn’t funny.

  Chre
stien wasn’t entirely certain why his answer pained her, but it did. “You lout!” she said. “How can you say such a thing to me? I will petition your king and have the marriage annulled! That, my lord, is what I will do!”

  All trace of humor was gone from his tone now. “You will do no such thing!”

  “Tell me, why did you wed me—and do not tell me you did it for my honor, for I know now that you did not dishonor me before our vows were spoken.” Her face burned with chagrin and anger. “And you, sir, have surely taken enough innocent maidens to know. So prithee, why did you wed me?” She wanted to hear that he felt something—anything.

  “Nay, I did not dishonor you before the vows were spoken, but you are mine now, and there is naught you can do to remedy that fact—not even petitioning the king himself, for ’twas he who commanded us to wed in the first place.”

  The words were said, and no amount of regret could erase them.

  “Your king ordered us wed?” she asked softly, feeling betrayed, but she couldn’t quite discern why. She had dared to hope that he might want her—that he had wed her because he fancied he could love her… maybe someday.

  He said nothing more, but his silence was damning, and Chrestien felt a pang grow in her heart. So the truth was known. At least now there was no need to search for Weston’s motive. Fat tears slipped down her cheeks. She sat erect, without moving, without speaking, and stared ahead at the looming castle, longing for her sister's comforting arms.

  Under the shadow of the castle walls, the iron portcullis rose, and Chrestien noted the way the guards greeted Weston. It was obvious they recognized him and were honored by his visit.

  I’ll wager he was thankful ’twas not you he married.

  She kept her silence until Adelaine appeared in the courtyard. At that moment, the devil himself could not have kept her from her gentle sister and she nearly leapt from the horse’s back in her haste to reach Adelaine.

  Weston, it seemed, was possessed of more strength than the devil. He held her back with but his hand. Then, with the very same hand he lifted her effortlessly from the horse and lowered her to the ground.

  For his efforts Chrestien gave him her most vicious scowl, and then, with arms outstretched, she ran into her sister’s embrace.

  Weston watched as his wife lifted her skirts and flew to her sister.

  The two locked in such a fierce embrace that it was difficult to tell one from the other. Were it not for Chrestien’s shorter hair and weathered gown, it would be nearly impossible to tell them apart. But then he remembered her other endearing quality—her blade of a tongue—and knew he could never mistake her for the other.

  “Chrestien! It cannot be so awful as that!” Adelaine rubbed her back as she wailed, and Janelle shook her head in disapproval.

  “Cease your tears before your eyes be puffy and red!” Janelle scolded.

  She was glad Janelle was here already, waiting on her, but at the moment, she did not appreciate having her feelings minimized. “It is as awful as all that!” Chrestien sobbed. “He does not love me!”

  Adelaine peered at her with concern. “He has not hurt you, has he?”

  “Nay!”

  Exasperated, Janelle lifted Chrestien’s chin with an old but tender hand. “What does it matter if he does not love ye, child, if he wants ye?” Her question was concluded with a cluck of her tongue. “Fie! When has love ever had aught to do with marriage?”

  “Aye, but he does not even truly want me!” Chrestien complained.

  “And how do ye know this? Has he said so?” Janelle asked.

  Annoyed, Chrestien brushed the maid's hand from her chin. “He does not need to say it, I know it. He did not wed me of his own accord, Janelle. He did so only under King Henry’s mandate. I do not want a marriage that has been forced upon me.”

  “Did ye wed him per force?” Janelle asked.

  “Nay, but he did wed me per force,” Chrestien argued.

  Adelaine paused over the revelation. “Why would King Henry decree your marriage?”

  “Oh Adelaine! If only I knew. I can think of naught he would gain by it. Lontaine is no longer mine—'tis yours, I should think—and I have naught else of value!”

  “Ah, but ye do,” Janelle insisted. “Ye have much to give, my dear.” Her tone was heartening as she smoothed Chrestien’s golden mass of wild curls.

  Adelaine’s brow furrowed, still stuck on the subject of Henry. “It is possible Henry means to give Lontaine to Weston. After all, I cannot believe he would trust Aleth so blindly and ’twould behoove him to have his Wolf guard his back.”

  Chrestien’s spirits fell. “That makes sense.”

  “But Chrestien, mayhap he does want you as well. Mayhap it was he who requested your hand to his king?” She grinned suddenly. “And I have just the way to discover the truth of the matter. Do you love him? Are you willing?”

  Chrestien could scarce find the will to smile. “Truth to tell, I am not at all certain what I feel, Adelaine, save that it gives me great pain to think he does not care for me.”

  Chrestien watched as Adelaine’s face lit with the merry look of mischief, and she was a little amused at the turn in roles. In times past, it was Chrestien who schemed. But her curiosity was well piqued and she was almost eager to hear the plan.

  All their lives Adelaine had been quite content to remain in Chrestien’s shadow, never getting much attention because she never sought it, and it was good to know she was getting her time in the sun. That was the one thing that brought her pleasure. Aleth must be good for her sister or Adelaine would not have gained so much confidence. “Very well. Whatever it is, I am willing,” she capitulated with a new smile.

  Hours later, they were still scheming, but much closer to answers.

  “Do you think it will work?” Chrestien asked.

  “I know it will,” Adelaine replied without reservation.

  Menservants filed in one by one, carrying large buckets of steaming water. Finally the tub was filled, and in her excitement to feel the delicious warmth, Chrestien nearly plunged into the tub, desperate for the feel of clean water. “Pooh to the Church!” she said. How could bathing be a sin?

  She noticed the carvings in the lip of the tub. “Oh, my! ’Tis you!” she exclaimed.

  Adelaine blushed. “It was my wedding gift from Aleth, although why I should wish to sit in a tub rung with the image of myself, I do not know.”

  Chrestien laughed and peered about the room. Adelaine’s bedchamber was exquisite. It seemed Aleth had showered her with all manner of luxuries. Never had she seen the like before. The windows were covered with ornate wooden shutters, intricately carved with delicate figures. The bed was a monstrous thing, needing steps to climb atop it. The coverlet was of the finest fur, well stitched so that you could not see the seams—unlike the patchwork quilts of Lontaine.

  Sighing wistfully, she watched Adelaine smooth the wrinkles from a beautiful bliaut of lavender brocade. After it came a mantle and capuchon of pure white velvet, trimmed in ermine. And when Adelaine pulled yet another from her coffer exactly like it, Chrestien was shocked. “You have two?”

  Adelaine winked at her. “Of course, silly. I know it was outrageous, for you were to go to La Trinite, but I could not enjoy any of this... unless I somehow shared it with you,” she confessed.

  Tears sprang to Chrestien’s eyes. “It has been so difficult to be away from you—you are so much a part of me, Adelaine.”

  “And you, me,” Adelaine conceded. “I’ve missed even your tyranny, Chrestien.”

  Chrestien choked on her laughter, and then suddenly both were weeping—tears of joy.

  In mock horror, Adelaine asked, “What would Janelle say to see both of us this way?”

  “I know not, but I’ve no mind to find out.” Chrestien giggled again and wiped away all traces of her tears, and Adelaine followed suit. “Quick! Stop before she returns!”

  Adelaine's fells suddenly. “I am sorry to have taken both Janelle an
d Aubert from Lontaine,” she offered.

  “They are better off here,” Chrestien said.

  “I was so worried when Janelle told me what had transpired between you and the Wolf.”

  Chrestien sighed and the two shared a look. “What if he does not care?” Chrestien worried.

  “Believe me,” Adelaine reassured, her eyes sparkling with devilry. “He will care. Just you wait and see...”

  The great hall bustled with activity.

  Aleth had invited players to remain throughout the week and they were indeed earning their keep tonight. A very tall juggler clad in parti-colored breeches and tunic made his way about the hall carrying a matching sack. His painted face contorted into outrageous expressions as he stopped to ogle every female. Finally, he came to stand directly in front of the lord’s table. His eyes widened comically, and then he dropped the sack he held to hide his face with parti-colored hands. Opening his fingers just a crack, he peeped through them, and closed them again in feigned alarm at the sight of the twins.

  The hall roared with laughter as the juggler held up a flattened hand in front of his face and looked into it as though peering into a looking glass. And then he looked behind the faux mirror and widened his eyes as he pointed a red finger at the twins, making both laugh at his antics. Finally, getting back to the task of juggling, he pointed to his sack and threw out his hands as though just discovering it after a long search. Tossing the sack open, he pitched a red ball carelessly into the air. It fell upon his head and bounced into the air. Almost simultaneously came a gold, blue, and green one. The hall resounded with clapping as the juggler settled into his practiced routine, accompanied by the heavenly sound of the lyre. Chrestien clapped loudest of all, for which she was rewarded with a comical smile from the juggler, making her laugh all the harder.

  Weston thought mayhap his wife's smile was capturing more attention than the juggler’s performance.