Bride for a Knight. Margaret Moore
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fell silent and waited for him to answer. To hear from his own lips why he had married her.
He didn’t answer, not with words. He gathered her into his arms and took her lips with an almost desperate passion, that wistful yearning made manifest with his embrace.
As she eagerly responded, she could believe no alliance or the need for an heir had brought them together and made them man and wife. They were united by another kind of need—for affection, for respect, for security in a world that was too often volatile and uncertain.
She put her hands on his broad chest and slowly slid them to his shoulders, wrapping her arms about his neck and leaning into his body. Her legs turned to water when he pressed her body closer to his and slid his tongue between her open, willing lips.
It didn’t matter where they were, or that the air was cool, for she was hot with need. Gasping, anxious, ready and willing, she broke the kiss and hurried to untie the drawstring of his breeches while he moved her so that her back was against the wide tree trunk.
The instant he was free, she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him again. He pulled up her skirts and, with his hands beneath her buttocks, lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him and uttered a soft cry of pleasure as he plunged inside her. There up against the tree they made love like wild, primitive creatures with but one need and that was to mate.
In a few short moments she buried her face in his neck to stifle the exclamation that burst from her throat, while he gripped her tight and made a sound like a cross between a growl and a gasp.
“My lord!” Arnhelm called a short distance away.
They stilled at once.
“My lord, the horses are watered!”
Hot, disheveled, embarrassed but not ashamed, Mavis slowly slid to the ground. Red-faced and silent, Roland turned away to tie his breeches while she adjusted her skirts and tucked a stray lock of hair back into place.
Then he held out his arm to escort her back to the cortege as if they’d done nothing more than admire the view.
* * *
“Good God, you don’t mean t’say they did it right there?” Verdan demanded in a shocked whisper as the cortege once again began to move toward Yorkshire.
“Aye, they did, or I’m blind and deaf to boot,” Arnhelm replied equally quietly.
“Poor thing!” Verdan said, looking at Mavis with pity. “He’s no better than an animal.”
“Aye, like that father and brother of his. I remember when they came to DeLac before. The old goat was after anything in a dress and his son—well, let’s just say the day he died was a good day for the rest of the world.” Arnhelm looked around to make sure the other men couldn’t hear. “I tell you, Verdan, I don’t like this at all. Our sweet lady given to that lout. Neither does Lady Tamsin or Sir Rheged. I’d be willing to wager a month’s pay they’ll gladly come and fetch her, husband be damned, if they think she’s unhappy. Let’s keep our eyes open and if we see more amiss, we can tell them when we return, and save Lady Mavis.”
“I’m willing,” Verdan replied with a nod of his helmeted head.
* * *
After making love with Roland by the river, Mavis was certain he would be more congenial when they returned to the cortege and resumed their journey.
Unfortunately, that did not happen. He again rode several lengths out in front of her and the rest of the men.
She told herself not to make too much of that. He might be tired, or anxious to find a night’s lodging. As for not conversing, it could merely be that he was a naturally reticent man who wasn’t used to having a wife, just as she was no more used to having a husband. And if a tendency to silence was the worst that could be said of him as a husband, that was no great hardship.
As the afternoon wore on, however, she began to wonder if he had another fault—a disinclination to consider that if he was not weary, others might be. She was very tired and her back was starting to ache. The soldiers behind her, even Arnhelm and Verdan, had long since ceased talking, too.
Yet whenever they passed an inn or monastery where they might take shelter for the night, he continued past.
Just when she had decided that something must be said lest they be benighted on the road, they arrived at an inn with a large yard surrounded by a willow fence. This time, Roland raised his hand to halt their cortege.
A plump man wearing an apron immediately appeared at the door and bustled toward them, shooing geese and chickens out of the way, flapping his arms as he went.
“Greetings, my lord, my lady!” he cried, gesturing for them to enter. “Welcome! Welcome!”
“We seek shelter for the night,” Roland replied without dismounting.
“Of course, sir, of course. My wine and ale and beds are the best for miles, and my wife the best cook for miles, too!”
“How much?”
The innkeeper ran a swift gaze over Mavis, the soldiers and the wagon that came creaking to a stop behind them, then named a price that struck Mavis as extravagant even if Roland was obviously a man of means.
Apparently Roland agreed with her assessment. “That is far too much for one night’s lodging.”
The innkeeper ran his fingers over his upper lip. He named a somewhat lesser fee.
Roland shook his head.
The man quoted another price, lower still.
Roland raised his hand as if to signal the cortege to move on. Surely he couldn’t be in earnest, she thought with desperation. It would be dark soon!
“Wait!” the innkeeper cried with a look of panic. He named another price, lower by several pence. “And that is truly the best I can do, sir!”
“Acceptable,” Roland replied, “provided there is a separate chamber for my lady and me.”
“Of course!” the innkeeper cried, and finally Roland swung down from his horse.
“We are honored to serve you, my lord!” the innkeeper enthused. He gave Mavis a broad smile. “Anything you need, you have only to ask, my lady! This way if you please, my lady!”
He waited while Roland, his expression unreadable, raised his arms to help her down. Holding on to his broad shoulders, she slid to the ground and, given the company, tried not to be aware of his powerful body. “Thank you, my lord.”
He only nodded.
Nevertheless, she tucked her hand under his arm as the innkeeper bustled ahead of them into the largest building made of wattle and daub, with a roof of thatch. She could also see a large barn and stable behind the inn.
Meanwhile Arnhelm, Verdan and the soldiers of their escort dismounted and servants appeared from inside the stables to help them with the horses, the wagon and the ox.
The taproom of the inn was a low-ceilinged chamber, the beams dark with age and smoke from the fire in the central hearth. Tables and benches were arranged about it, and rushlights added a little more illumination to the dim room. Sawdust and rushes were on the floor to soak up any spills of food or drink, and she could smell the fleabane sprinkled on them, too.
“The wife’s made a fine beef stew, my lord,” the innkeeper said as he pulled out the bench at the table closest to the fire.
The aroma wafting through the door across the room proved that beef was cooking somewhere.
“Bring some for my wife and me, and the men, too,” Roland said as they took their seats on the bench.
“Aye, my lord, aye!” the innkeeper exclaimed, and he hurried through the door that must lead to the kitchen.
Despite the man’s assurances, however, it