Claiming His Lady: Novella (Norfolk Knights Book 1) Page 4

  Chapter 5

  Saher’s gaze swept the crowded hall where wine and ale flowed and the best of food was available for all. The minstrels sang, the lights were bright and, for the first time in many a long year, he felt content. At last, his own castle and estate. He’d imagined he’d have felt easier. And he would have done if it hadn’t been for Rowena’s displeasure. Such marriages were made every day. If it had not been him, it would have been someone else, someone like Angelique’s husband. On their ride home, Rowena had told him about her sisters, about her youngest, Melisende, at Blakesmere Priory, and about Angelique, forced into marriage to a man she despised and whom Rowena believed to be cruel. The thought of a man mistreating a woman made his blood boil and he took a soothing drink of wine and sat back, watching Rowena stretch across the table to reach her goblet.

  He marvelled at the fact that most of the day’s pleasure had been gleaned not from the estates, which were impressive, but from this woman. He watched as her sleeve fell back revealing an arm tanned on top, with a pale, delicate underside. The combination of the brown skin of her hands and arms, so disliked by noblewomen, with the white skin, so tender and vulnerable, did something to him. The tanned skin showed a strength and individuality that he admired. He hated weakness in anyone and had seen immediately that Rowena was a strong woman, a woman who could hold his attention and his desire. Then there was the delicacy of her pale, hidden skin, hinting at a vulnerability he longed to explore. He could only imagine how her passionate nature and bold mind would move that lush body once she’d discovered the joys he could bring to her. He hardened at the thought. And she was his for the taking anyway. Not that he would. He had the castle and its lands secure, and he would make his wife totally his, not by taking, but by giving. That was the way with women. And that was the way with him. He’d not lied to her about his aversion to force when it came to women.

  She shifted in her chair and he admired the long curve of her thigh. She said something that was hard to hear above the music and laughter in the hall and he shifted closer, until his thigh was pressed against hers. She stilled to begin with but didn’t shift. The blush that rose through her body hardened him further as he imagined the effect on her breasts—full and heavy—just as he liked them.

  She turned to him suddenly, her jaw lifted, its line strong and uncompromising in the flickering light. Her brown eyes flashed. She was a force to be reckoned with all right but he’d never been interested in meekness, not in animals, nor in women. She was like no other woman he’d ever wanted before, but he had to restrain himself, take her slowly, seduce her little by little. But, on second thoughts, maybe a little playful touching would not go amiss.

  “I know not of what you are thinking, my lord, to make your hand stay, unwelcome on my thigh, or for your eyes to be so dark and penetrating.”

  “You are possibly better off not knowing.”

  “Is it so bad then?”

  “No worse than any of my men who are enjoying themselves with your women.”

  “Yes.” She looked around. “And my women seem not to dislike the attention.”

  “And why would they?” He clicked his fingers and the musicians began a number for dancing. Couples jumped up and began to form a circle.

  “You dance, my lady?”

  “No, I do not. My priest—thank the Lord he is not in attendance—would never allow it. Says it leads to unclean kissing.”

  He laughed. “I think all kissing is unclean to the church. But we are not at church and I’m all for dancing and kissing. Come.” He stood and grabbed her hand. “I will show you how to dance.”

  People laughed to see the usually non-festive lady of the castle escorted, obviously unwillingly, onto the floor. She threw him a quick nervous glance and took hold of his outstretched hand, before turning and accepting the hand of the knight who stood to her left. People rushed to remove the trestle tables to give the dancers space, and they were soon shuffling, skipping and jumping in a circle as everyone joined the minstrels in singing the ronde.

  Rowena tried to pull away from Saher’s hand but he held it too firmly. He smiled to himself as he watched her try to retain her dignity and follow the other dancers. It didn’t take long before he noticed a change in her. Slowly the pounding of the drum began to filter through the vibrations on the rush-strewn floor up into her body. He still gripped her hand, urging her to follow the dictates of her body, and she did—her movements becoming more fluid as she allowed only the rhythm of the drum and the harmony of the voices to enter her mind.

  The ronde turned into another and another and still the dancers whirled, slowly slipping their hands away from the circle until only pairs of dancers twirled each other around, hair flying as clothing slipped out of place. When the music finally ceased, the Hall was wild with people hugging, laughing and singing. So no-one noticed when he led her out of the hall, toward the back chamber where they could have some privacy. She was out of breath and laughing as he slipped his arms around her waist and lifted her up against him. The laughing stilled as they both became aware of their bodies pressed against each others. Slowly he allowed her to slip down his body, until her feet were once more on the floor. He’d felt every slight movement of her rounded breasts against his chest, her sex against his before her stomach rested against his sex, arousing him further.

  Beyond the chamber the music continued, growing more ribald. He shifted his hands so his thumbs could sweep the undersides of her breasts and lift them slightly. She gasped and he looked down at the thin muslin that barely covered them. Her nipples were just visible, as rosy as her lips, their points tight and hard.

  She pulled away. “Enough, sir. We will be missed.” She readjusted her gown and looked around.

  “I very much doubt it. Listen, ’tis a night for merriment and… loving.” So much for going slowly. He couldn’t resist her.

  She looked back at him then and he saw the tension in her eyes. She was as aroused as he was, but scared still. He placed his hands either side of her face and drew her close to him. He half-expected her to pull away but she didn’t. He could see from her opened lips, her quickened breath and dark eyes that she wanted him. “Tell me when to stop, my lady, for I want to give you only what you wish to receive.”

  He hesitated but she made no sound, seemingly caught in a haze of expectation. He couldn’t resist her softly plumped lips—parted and inviting—and he dipped his head to hers and kissed her. To his surprise she didn’t stand immobile, but moved her mouth against his, while allowing his hands to caress her lush curves.

  His whole body leaped at the meeting of their mouths and bodies, as if it’d come to life. It was like nothing he’d felt before. This was no barely satisfactory coupling, no fumbling desire to ease an itch. He could swear her passionate spirit was focused in her lips, communicating its strength and urgency to him, sparking into life a corresponding intensity and passion he thought had been subdued through the years of fighting and bloodshed. She breathed life into his darkness. And he wanted more.

  He hadn’t intended for this to be anything but a kiss, an indication to her of what was to come. But he couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss. And she kissed him back with a wild abandon he’d sensed within her from the first. She pressed her body to his and opened her mouth wider to allow his tongue to explore hers. His hands slid down her back, caressing her shoulders, the sharp incline into the small of her back, and down further, onto the curves from which he’d been unable to take his eyes every time she turned her back to him. They were as luscious as he’d imagined. He spanned his fingers until they covered and tucked underneath those curves, drawing her into him.

  She moaned under the ministrations of his hands, his tongue, his lips and without thinking, he lifted her and she slid her legs around his hips. She trembled in his arms—this strong warrior woman was vulnerable and needy for him. He groaned as his body heated and hardened under the knowledge of her surrender and his need for her—raw and
unadulterated. He moved her back until she was pressed against the cold, flint wall, and ground his sex against hers. His lips sunk then to her neck, kissing and nipping as he went. Then the moon shifted from behind a cloud and showered its silvery light on the countryside, illuminating Rowena in its beams. She opened her eyes and looked out through the unshuttered window and froze. He drew back and followed her gaze out to the moon that illuminated the high ridge with its solitary tower that overlooked the castle, down to the fields that surrounded it. He turned to her once more, his heart was thumping, his mind and body narrowed to one purpose—possessing her.

  She jammed her hands between their bodies and let her legs slide to the floor. She shook her head against his chest. He drew in a deep breath and let his hands fall.

  “No, I can’t, I don’t want this,” she said, shaking her head again and pursing her lips as if unable to say anything further. She looked up at him only briefly before picking up her skirts and running up the winding steps that led to her solar.

  He hesitated a moment, trying to regain control over his body, trying to understand how such a passionate person as Rowena could have stopped the natural progression of their love-making. He didn’t understand but, by God, he was going to. He followed her up the stairs.

  The door was closed and he knocked. There was no answer so he pushed it open. “Rowena?”

  She turned from the window where she was standing before the open shutters. She looked younger than her years, and vulnerable. “I thought…”

  He stepped inside and closed the door. “You thought I would burst in on you whether you wished it or not? No, my lady, I don’t do that. If you tell me to go, I will go. Do you?” She didn’t answer but he saw the shake of her head in the moonlight. He went and stood behind her. “What is the matter, Rowena? Tell me what haunts you? What is it you’re so afraid of?”

  He put his hands gently on her shoulders and followed her line of vision, out beyond the shutters to the tower that stood atop the hill. It would have been used as a beacon in years past, but now it was a near ruin.

  “I’m scared, Saher.”

  “You, scared? I don’t believe you’re afraid of anything.”

  “Oh, but I am.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m afraid of being claimed, being owned, and then,” she turned away from the window to face him. “Of being abandoned. You must go… please.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. He lifted her face to the moonlight and kissed her gently on the lips.

  “I’ll go, but you have no reason to fear being abandoned. Why would I? How could I? You are my wife. What is it really you afear? Is it that I’ll turn into a brute like your sister’s husband?”

  She shook her head and looked out over the land, now flooded with moonlight, out to the broken-turreted tower. He followed her gaze. What was it that drew her attention so?

  “Please go.” Her voice was so uncharacteristically soft, so low, so plaintive that he could not bring himself to voice any words of objection.

  Slowly, he thought to himself. He was meant to seduce her slowly. But his lust for her body had overridden his sense. He stepped away. “I don’t know what you’re hiding, Rowena, what fear that lies deep in your soul, but I will find it, I will eradicate it and I will claim you, heart and soul and body, to be mine.”

  “To do with as you wish?” Bitterness and fear edged her tone.

  “To do with, as you wish. Not me. Because, believe me, you will want everything I have to offer. I can feel it on your skin, can hear it in your soft breath, as it pants into my ear, wanting me.”

  He walked away, down the corridor, down the narrow spiral stairs, back in to the heat and noise of the Hall. He settled himself by the fire with a goblet of wine and imagined Rowena, disrobing and lying on the fur throw in the moonlight, and of the things she’d beg him to do to her.

  Rowena waited for Saher to return to their shared solar, awake and cursing the day that Saher had set foot inside the castle. It was a warm night and she could not sleep. The image of the tower haunted her. Captivity—it was the one thing she’d always feared, always thought her father would keep her safe from. And yet, he’d known all along he was condemning her to it. And yet she’d fallen a willing victim to Saher’s clever hands, to his lips and tongue. He was well versed in the art of love and he was using all his charm and skill to bed her. Heat throbbed inside, pushing out to skin that bloomed with a sheen of perspiration. Her breathing quickened and she lay on her side, her hand slipping down over her stomach, cupping her sex that ached and throbbed. She slid up her gown and circled her quim with her finger. It was wet. She hesitated, knowing it was a sin to do as she did. But when did she ever do what was right? She slid her finger inside a small way and gasped, pressing that part of herself that needed to be touched into the heel of her hand. She shifted rhythmically against it, her eyelids fluttering as she dwelt on the memory of Saher’s tongue inside her mouth, his hands slipping around her bottom, his lips on her neck. She plunged more deeply inside of herself and the breath was torn from her as she felt strange tension inside her body, coiling and a sudden release as she spasmed around her finger. She gasped, again and again, pressing her hand against her mouth, while her other hand continued with its ministrations. Then it was over and she rolled onto her back, throwing off the covers until the soft summer breeze could run over her naked legs and breasts. She groaned and imagined Saher there, looking at her, wanting her.

  Then he entered the solar but didn’t come to her bed. He lay down on the pallet, with his hands behind his head and appeared to fall asleep instantly.

  She could have cried. She’d always imagined she was strong but she was as weak as the next woman. She’d have been able to resist if only she could keep her distance. If she’d not known the magic his lips and hands and hard body could create, then she might have been able to continue as she was, separate, alone… safe.

  Chapter 6

  It was early morning and Rowena would normally have enjoyed the ride through the beech forest. Saher rode beside her and their men behind. It was still in the forest, the only sound being the softened tread of their horses’ hooves on the thick carpet of twigs and bracken on the forest floor, and the birdsong and rustling leaves of the majestic beech trees above them. But it was not still in her mind which constantly worried about the fortune hidden in casks in her warehouse. The warehouse was under constant guard—day and night—but it wouldn’t be long before suspicions were roused. It had to be moved soon. But it could not be moved while Saher was glued to her side.

  “Are you sure you can spare the time to go hawking, sir? Shouldn’t you be in Norwich, on business?”

  “I will go when I’m ready. I intend to claim the attentions of my wife before I leave here.”

  “And what do you think I will do if you leave me ‘unclaimed’? Raise an army? Bar the door?”

  “I’m sure you’re capable of all of those things.” He leaned over and grabbed the reins of her horse, pulling her towards him until their legs were pressed against each other. “But I know how to bring you to my side. I know we will be good together. I just need to convince you of this matter.”

  “By seducing me?”

  “I can think of no more effective way. And, no way more suiting to my desire.”

  She yanked the reins back into her hands and urged her horse on, shooting him an arch look. “So… interesting, if I wish you away, I need to sleep with you.”

  He frowned. “Admit it, you do not wish me away. You enjoy our talk, our touches, our kisses.”

  She refused to look at him, to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was correct. “I certainly do not admit it. But you have given me a quandary. I have no liking for the presence of a husband watching my every move. I have no liking to share my control of the estate and, contrary to what you may think, I have no liking to be bedded. And yet you will not leave me in peace until you have bedded me.”

  “So, ’tis easily solved. Come, we
should return at once to the castle solar. There I can do the task at hand.”

  Her lips threatened to curve into a smile at the combined look of humour and lust in his eyes. She bit her lip, trying to compose her face into a haughty expression. She feared she did not succeed. “Sir, it would not be proper.”

  “And you are so proper, my lady.” He grinned, smacked her horse on the backside and they both galloped off to where his men were waiting with the hawks.

  Rowena followed the course of the tawny-plumed falcon as it soared into the sunshine until the brightness made her eyes water and she had to look away. Saher stood, hands on hips, watching the bird he’d just released enjoy its new-found freedom. But, she realized, he stood with the confidence and knowledge that he might have set him free, but that the bird would return.

  They watched him swoop and soar in sheer joy before suddenly plummeting down to earth and returning to Saher’s outstretched hand, with prey in its beak.

  “He’s young, this one. Smaller than the female.” Saher took away the prey and tossed it into a bag.

  Rowena watched, mesmerized as Saher calmed the young falcon, who was skittish with excitement at the kill, smoothing his ruffled feathers until he positively preened to his touch. Then, he slipped on the hood and the bird relaxed under its comfort.

  “Try this one.” Saher beckoned to a squire who presented Rowena with a female falcon, much larger than the male, who lifted her head proudly once the hood had been removed and looked around serenely, as if it not much mattered whether she was hooded or not.

  “She is beautiful.”

  “And she knows it. Is she too heavy?”

  She was heavy but Rowena would never admit it. She lifted her higher, straining her muscles. “No, I can manage. I’m used to doing more than embroidering pretty pictures.”

  Saher reached over and ran his fingers along the long muscle of her arm. She closed her eyes briefly as if she, too, were the female falcon, responding to her master’s touch. Then she turned away and let loose the bird. This bird rose higher than the male, and did not swoop with delight but flew with a focus and surety which entranced Rowena.