When Love Awaits

Chapter 14

IT was late that night when Rolfe returned to Crewel from the siege at Wroth. He had been at Crewel briefly yesterday, after leaving Pershwick, but had stayed only long enough to speak with Lady Amelia.

Now Rolfe did not even want to think about that meeting, which had gone from bad to worse. He had told Amelia that she must return to court and why, but she burst into tears and begged him not to send her away.

Her tears had only annoyed him. After all, there had never been any love professed between them. But he understood her emotional state well enough when she confessed she was pregnant. It was not pleasant news, but Rolfe could do no less than allow her to stay until the child was born.

She had agreed she would leave the child with him and go her own way, agreed most happily in fact. She'd promised to stay out of his way, to cause no trouble for him and his wife.

He had wanted her cared for elsewhere during her pregnancy. "It would be better for you to stay at another of my keeps," he told her.

"Axeford is well settled."

"But why, my lord? Your wife knows nothing about us. She thinks I am your ward."

"Regardless—"

"Please, do not." Amelia began to cry again. "I could not bear to be thrust on strangers now. And your wife will be glad to have me, I swear.

Sir Evarard has no wife. There is no other lady here to keep Lady Leonie company. Please, my lord."

He should have refused, but he did not. He owed it to the woman to see to her comfort during her confinement, and since he could not foresee any real harm in it, he agreed.

Now as he entered the keep, a vague unsettled feeling nagged at him that he could not explain. But it was forgotten when he spied Thorpe sitting alone by the large hearth at the far end of the hall. He had known he would wait up for him.

Not many others were still awake. The male servants had their pallets spread along the walls and most were fast asleep. A few men-at-arms were at the smaller hearth laughing softly. The only sconces still lit were those by the stairways leading to the floor above, and the hall was so big they provided little light. Nor did the two fires offer much light. They were not fed often on warm nights.

Thorpe did not greet Rolfe until he'd settled into the high-backed chair beside him. The eyes the older man fixed on Rolfe might have been staring at a speck of dust for all the interest they revealed. So it was to be that way, was it? Thorpe was never more annoying than when he was savoring a triumph. He did not brag or gloat, but forced comments by his silence.

"I will assume from your silence that you had no trouble following my orders. She is here?"

"She is."

Rolfe had not realized how tense he'd been until now. "You had no trouble at all?"

"There was a moment when her vassal was ready to draw his sword on us, but—" Thorpe chuckled at Rolfe's expression.

"Did she—"

"By no means," Thorpe said quickly. "Her man took exception to the lack of respect we showed his lady. It was a natural mistake. We did not know who she was when she came to us—something I am sure you can appreciate."

There it was, a not-too-subtle chiding for Rolfe's not warning them about what they would find. He imagined Thorpe's surprise on first seeing Lady Leonie. No doubt it had been as great as his own.

"What was her reaction?"

"She did not smile or seem pleased to see us, if that is what you mean.

She wanted only confirmation that it was by your order she was to come here. After that, she did not delay at all in readying herself."

"And here?"

"Be more specific," Thorpe replied innocently.

"Why? You know my every thought, sometimes even before I have it," Rolfe countered. "Do not make me hunt for what I wish to know."

Thorpe chuckled again. "There is very little to tell. I think she expected you to be here when she arrived. When she saw that you were not, she retired to your chamber and has not shown herself since. The two maids she brought with her are also there. So what of Damian? Is he to share your antechamber with her two maids?"

"I left him at Wroth. And no," Rolfe answered thoughtfully. "I think henceforth I will want no one sleeping so close. There are many places to sleep in this keep."

Thorpe grinned. "Of course."

After they had joked for half an hour more, Rolfe started up the narrow curving stairway to his chamber on the second floor. He did indeed find the two maids sleeping in the antechamber. One in fact had put her pallet directly in front of the door, and when he. opened it she awoke with a shriek. That woke the other maid as well, and a moment later the inner door to his room was thrown open by his wife, who stood there clutching a hastily donned bedrobe.

The dim light from a single candle did lovely things to the planes of Leonie's face. Rolfe was held by her spell for several moments before he recollected himself and brusquely ordered the two maids out.

"When I am away you may sleep here if that is my lady's wish, but not when I am in residence. You may return here in the morning to assist her, but you will not enter here unless you are bid. I need no one to wake me.

If I have not yet risen, no matter the hour, I do not wish to be disturbed.

Is that understood?"

Wilda and the older Mary both looked to Leonie first. At her nod, they nodded to her husband. His temper might have exploded over that, but in fact he was amused, although he kept his expression carefully blank.

"Go below. Sir Thorpe will show you to the women's quarters."

As he entered the inner chamber, he said, "It was good of you to return to Crewel so quickly."

"Did I have a choice, my lord?"

"No, but you might have thought of a hundred things to delay your arrival. I am pleased you did not." She had not moved from the door.

"Close the door, Leonie, and come in."

She did not like his using her name so easily, nor did she trust his calm. She closed the door slowly and moved reluctantly back into the room, going directly to a chest by the bed where she found a belt for the robe.

Rolfe sighed when she finished tying the belt but made no move toward him. "Is this to be the way of it?" he said as he unbelted his sword and laid it aside. "Must I always ask for your help?"

Leonie reddened. He was right of course. He should not have to ask her for anything. A wife's duty was to anticipate all of her husband's needs.

Yet she did not come forward, for the situation reminded her that she was not a normal wife. Why should only some things apply to her as wife, when the most important things did not?

"I am not a squire, my lord."

He stiffened, looking at her carefully. "You refuse to help me?"

Leonie shivered. Actual defiance she did not dare, but . . .

"There are servants here."

"And you would prefer to expend yourself simply to wake one, rather than come near me? It is late, woman. All are abed but you and I."

"I . . . as you wish, my lord."

She forced her feet to move, telling herself that at least she had made her reluctance known to him, whether it angered him or not.

Rolfe began to lower himself to a stool, but she said, "I will need that to stand on."

The stool was only two feet high. Rolfe looked at it skeptically anyway. "It was not made for standing."

"I have done this for Sir Guibert," she insisted, climbing onto the stool.

"You will fall," he warned her, and she scoffed, "I will not."

"I forget how tiny you really are," he said as he knelt.

How husky his voice was, a caress. He was looking up at her, and Leonie refused to meet his eyes. She quickly bent to grasp the hem of his hauberk. The sooner done . . .

She had the last of the heavy armor over his head, but she'd forgotten how much weightier his chain mail was than Sir Guibert's. Her last hard tug sent her backward, the hauberk still in her hands, its weight throwing her off balance.

"Drop it."

She dropped it, and he grabbed her.

"I think you are not suited for this task," he said.

"Put me down."

The dismay she felt in being held in his arms made her voice overly harsh. He touched her feet to the floor, then he released her altogether, whereupon she ran to the bed and drew the curtains around her.

Rolfe picked up the stool and sat down on it, gazing thoughtfully at the bed. His little wife was not going to unbend. He had thought his warning of the day before had given her new incentive, but apparently he had only made matters worse. He ran his hands through his thick hair, exasperated. He had not known what to do yesterday besides give her a show of his temper, but it hadn't warmed things up, had it? No, anger did not inspire her. The trouble was, he wasn't sure he could control his temper.

He'd been stung more than he cared to admit when she professed not to care how many women he had as long as they were not Pershwick women. Jealousy he could understand, but not to care at all?

How could he reach this lovely girl, show her he wanted to start anew? Had she not guessed his intention in bringing her here?

Rolfe quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothing. He did not blow out the candle, nor did he close the heavy curtain on his side of the bed, for that would trap the bed in darkness.

Leonie had her back to him. She had not disrobed, and she was buried deep beneath the covers. He threw them aside and lifted her off the bed to set her down on his lap. She made no sound. He held her thus, cradled like a child, stiff and unyielding though she remained.

He held her for a long while, thinking. Finally he asked, "How old are you, Leonie?"

The voice was soft, yet startling in the quiet room. Leonie actually had to think before she could answer.

"I have lived nineteen years."

"And I ten more than that. Do you think I am too old for you?"

"I—suppose not."

Rolfe nearly laughed at the grudging reply. "Do you abhor my blackness then?"

"Blackness? You are not so hairy that your golden skin is—"

Leonie clamped her mouth shut, appalled. Next she would be telling him how handsome he was!

"Will you tell me, then, what displeases you so about my appearance?"

There it was. He really did want to hear it. She would rather cut out her tongue than flatter his vanity. If he wanted praise, he could find it elsewhere—as no doubt he did, often.

"You would be bored to hear it, my lord, the list is so long."

Leonie was delighted to hear him chuckle at her jibe.

"Dearling, there is nothing about you that displeases me. You are a mite small, but I think I like even that."

Oh, cruel lies! You do not send away what pleases you.

"You did not want a wife."

"Why do you say so?"

"Is it a sign of a happy groom to drink himself into forgetfulness?"

"In truth," he said uncomfortably, "I was reluctant to force myself on you after being told why you were hiding beneath your veil."

Leonie was surprised, not surprised that he knew she had been beaten—her father would have been forced to admit that—but surprised to know he'd been acting out of consideration for her. Rolfe destroyed that illusion in a moment, however. "And what little I knew about you before the wedding was not flattering."

"I see," she said coldly. "Then I assume it was not my person you were interested in."

"Few marriages begin differently."

"True. But few progress as ours did. You did not want a wife."

"What I found distasteful, Leonie," he said in a burst of honesty, "were my reasons for marrying you. Anger led me to offer for you, and soon there was no way out. But it was time I took a wife."

She did not reply, and Rolfe was mystified. He'd told her the whole truth. What was there left to say?

He moved her chin upward gently, coaxing her to look at him. "Is it not enough that, whatever the reason we married, I am now well pleased?"

"You sent me away," she said after all, in a small voice, surprising herself.

"A mistake," he said huskily, and began to bring his head toward hers.

"But—" She was so confused! "Do you tell me— is this why you brought me back here? To begin anew?"

"Yes. Oh, yes, dearling."

He breathed the declaration against her mouth, and then he kissed her. He had never been so completely attuned to a woman before, nor experienced such relief when she yielded. The moment he felt her relax against him, he began his assault in earnest. But he did not forget her inexperience, knowing he must go slowly.

Leonie was kissed a dozen different ways in the long minutes that followed, from soft nibbles to deep probing that played havoc with her insides, spinning her up and down. In a second she would be giddy, then there was only sweet lassitude, and then she was soaring dizzily again.

She did not know when her robe melted away, but she was acutely aware of the first touch of Rolfe's hand on her bared breasts. It seemed right for his hand to be there, resting on her with only the slightest pressure. When his hand began to move softly over her, the hand seemed to grow hotter. Her nipples hardened against gentle kneading.

She turned, one hand slipping behind Rolfe's back, the other stroking his shoulder. Her fingers splayed out, wanting to touch, thrilling to the play of muscle beneath skin, the hardness of him. She returned his kisses, exerting her own pressure now, daring him.

Gently he laid her on the bed beside him, and before her head even touched the pillow, his mouth had fastened on one rosy-peaked breast, his tongue doing what his fingers had done before.

He began a thorough exploration of the soft planes of her belly and thighs, coming closer and closer to the core of her womanhood until such a terrible yearning was built in her that she arched upward to meet his exploring hand. When he slipped his long fingers into her warmth, she moaned, her head thrust back. Her fingers closed in his hair, pressing him closer to her.

Few men had ever treated a woman with such reverence. The hands that touched her were worshipful, soothing, and exciting all at once.

Rolfe's tongue slid down the valley of her breasts and over her belly to mount her pubic mound and pay it equal homage. His hands gently nudged her legs apart and then his arms slipped beneath her lower back to pull her up.

Her head fell farther back and a gasp caught in her throat as his lips pressed deeply into her belly. Then he rested his cheek on her thighs for several wrenching moments. She was nearly mindless, ready to beg him to take her.

Rolfe, fully aware of her peaking desire, began a slow ascent, his body gliding over hers, the hair on his chest playing erotically over her sensitive breasts, making her tremble. His tongue slipped again into her mouth and at the same moment, with nerve-shattering slowness, his velvety hardness slid into her warmth, all the way, until he was completely sheathed.

For an eternity, only his mouth moved, tasting deeply of her sweetness. But nothing could distract her from that other warmth filling her, and when it began to slip out of her, she could not help the whimper that escaped her. But that changed to a gasp of pleasure as the warmth returned. That was his gift to her, making each deliberate stroke so exquisitely prolonged.

After her ecstasy had mounted feverishly, Rolfe withdrew until she held only the throbbing tip of him in her. She cried out, suspended on a precipice, and then he plunged deep within her a final time and she exploded with trembling ecstasy that pulsed through her, each shock more extraordinary than the last, until she fainted. She barely felt the last gentle kiss placed on her lips.