CHAPTER EIGHT
She wasn’t hungry.
After the hasty mass performed by the priest from Jedburgh, there was much food and drink to be had. It was surprising, considering the English armies had to bring their provisions with them, and that included sides of aged beef that had been carefully packed in straw to keep the temperature even and the meat dry. It was very dry, in fact, so much so that the men had taken to cutting it up and boiling it in a large cauldron they’d found on the grounds of Monteviot. The smells of meat were heavy all over the compound.
But Rhoswyn wasn’t hungry for it. She wasn’t hungry for anything, nor was she thirsty. Shock had seen to that. She sat next to her new husband at the bigger of the two tables in the hall of Monteviot, watching the English and the Scots feast on the boiled beef. Next to her, Troy – as she’d been reminded of his name by the priest who’d married them – wasn’t eating or drinking very much either, and he’d barely spoken to her through the meal. He was more intent on speaking to his Sassenach brothers and cousins, men he’d introduced to Rhoswyn but she’d forgotten their names as soon as he’d told her. The night was disorienting enough without having to remember names that would have no meaning to her.
She just wanted to get this night over with.
Artis and Dunsmore, her cousins, had brought her bedroll and possessions into the hall. They’d been strapped to her big black horse, which had been stabled for the night. Now, the big leather satchel and her neatly-bound bedroll sat next to her feet. On her right, Keith tried to speak to her now and again, but she ignored him. She truly didn’t have anything to say to the man. She was torn between being furious with him and not wanting him to leave her. But she knew, after this night, that her life would change and seeing her father would be rare. She missed him already. God, she just wasn’t prepared for any of this.
But facts were facts. This was her life to be.
Therefore, Rhoswyn supposed she had no choice but to make the best of it. So much that Troy had said to her rang deep – about not shaming their fathers, about doing what had to be done. He’d spoken to her politely, with that beautiful deep voice, and the truth was that he’d soothed her somewhat. The man possessed some kind of magic to do that.
“My lady?”
It took Rhoswyn a moment to realize that the young knights across the table were trying to capture her attention. There were three of them, big men, but their youthful faces belied their age. The oldest couldn’t have seen any more than twenty or twenty-one summers. Two of them were obviously brothers, with black hair and blue eyes, while the third one had a granite-square jaw and dark blond hair. When they saw that they had her attention, the younger black-haired knight smiled.
“My lady, we were wondering,” he said. “Where did you learn to fight? You were very skilled in your battle against Troy today.”
It was a polite question asked by a young Sassenach who had evidently had too much to drink. They were smiling, their eyes bright, and they seemed rather animated. But Rhoswyn was embarrassed to be the object of their attention and she lowered her gaze, quickly, hoping that if she didn’t give them an answer, that they would leave her alone. She didn’t realize that Troy had heard the question and now his focus was on the young knights.
“You will address her as Lady de Wolfe,” he growled. “And clearly, she learned to fight well enough that she managed to catch me off-guard. But I promise you that had you been in my position, the same thing would have happened. Or worse.”
Corbin had been the one asking the questions and he grinned as Troy admitted his shameful defeat. “I am not so sure,” he said. “I would not have faltered as you did.”
“Is that so? You have a big mouth and an even bigger imagination, de Bocage. She would have run you through before you would even realize what had happened.”
Corbin laughed, knowing he was provoking Troy but a little too young to care. “Untrue,” he said. “As soon as she revealed herself to me, I would have pushed her back by the face. ’Tis a bold wench who would challenge a man.”
He was talking as if Rhoswyn couldn’t hear him and his words were a challenge in themselves. Rhoswyn’s head came up and her eyes narrowed. She didn’t like the arrogant young knight’s assertion. She wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
“’Tis a fool who believes he can best me,” she said, entering the conversation. “Have ye ever fought a woman before?”
Corbin’s smile faded as Troy’s new wife spoke up. “Never,” he said. “I would never fight one.”
“How do ye know ye havena? Ye could have fought a very good one and ye just never knew it.”
“And you could have been beaten by her,” Troy put in for his prideful young friend. “In fact, you have probably been beaten by many women, Corbin. Hell, with the way you fight, my mother could beat you if she had a mind to.”
That brought laughter from those around them and Corbin frowned deeply. “No woman can beat me.”
Troy looked at Rhoswyn, who looked at him with a rather startled expression. Startled that the man was so close to her, his face now just a few inches from hers. Of course, she’d been sitting next to him all evening but only when he looked at her did she realized just how close he’d been.
Those eyes… she’d been right. They were hazel, but a very pale shade of the color that looked gold in certain light. It was the most beautiful color she’d ever seen. And his lips… he was smirking, but it wasn’t at her. It was at the knight across the table. When he spoke, there was some appreciation in his tone.
“This one can,” he said.
Before Rhoswyn could reply, he turned away and found his cup of wine. Rhoswyn watched him for a moment, unsure if there was approval in his voice when he’d spoken. She had no way of knowing; she didn’t know the man. She’d just met him and she’d just married him. He was her husband, but he was a stranger.
Was it possible that, somehow, the warrior in him was the least bit impressed with her?
“It is impossible for her to best me,” the young knight scoffed, disrupting her train of thought. “No offense intended, Lady de Wolfe, but you caught your husband off-guard. He has admitted that. It is the only reason you won. Do you know that Troy de Wolfe can tear men apart with his bare hands in battle? When his anger is roused, you have never in your life seen such a warrior. It was fortunate you caught him when you did. Otherwise, he would have torn you to shreds.”
Troy thumped on the table, loud enough to get his attention. “Cease your prattle,” he said. “It is over with. Change the subject and speak of something else.”
Corbin backed off, but not enough. He put his cup to his lips and drank deeply before speaking.
“If she was my wife, I would put her over my knee,” he said, muffled in the cup. “Now that she is your wife, you can punish her for ramming her knee into your…”
Case slapped a hand over his brother’s mouth, forcing a smile at Troy. “He has had too much to drink,” he said. “I will remove him.”
Troy eyed the two brothers. “You had better,” he said. “If that young fool rouses my anger, I will rip his head from his shoulders. Remember that.”
Case knew that Troy wasn’t serious – well, not entirely serious – but he pulled his brother from the table nonetheless, yanking him down the bench to where his father was sitting. Troy fought off a grin as he watched Case explain to his father why they had come to that side of the table, biting off a laugh when Michael smacked his youngest son on the side of the head. Corbin yowled.
“Would ye truly rip his head from his shoulders?”
The soft question came from Rhoswyn. Troy turned to look at her, realizing it was the first thing she’d said to him nearly all night. With a twinkle in his eye, he shook his head.
“Nay,” he said. “Not really. But it is enough of a threat to move him and his flapping lips away from you. I do apologize if he offended you. He is young and silly, but deep down, I believe he’s a good man. He will grow into himself in time.”
Rhoswyn watched as down the table, Corbin defended himself from his father’s anger. “He reminds me of the young lads that serve me pa,” she said. “They’re like young colts. Wild, playful, and no fear. They’re hard tae tame sometimes.”
Troy nodded. He, too, was watching Case and Michael scold Corbin for his behavior. It occurred to him that it might be better to retreat to the marital chamber now that the evening was deepening and the situation in general was calming. Certainly, the lady was much calmer than she had been earlier, which Troy hoped was a good sign for the night to come. He hadn’t been a bridegroom in eighteen years, not since he married Helene, and he should have been nervous about it. But he wasn’t; he was oddly resigned to it. There was no sense of sexual anticipation, only duty. He had a duty to fulfill.
And so did his new wife.
“Mayhap we should retire for the evening before the situation here gets out of hand again,” he said to her. “It has been a tiring day for us both, I am sure.”
Rhoswyn’s heart began to beat more rapidly, now nervous at what Troy was suggesting. She wasn’t a fool; she knew what a wife’s duty was. Her mother had schooled her on it when she had been about eleven years of age, right before Heather Whitton Kerr had passed away from an ailment in her lungs. That had been a terrible time in life to lose one’s mother, and Rhoswyn hadn’t missed her mother so much as she did at this moment. Wasn’t the woman supposed to be here with her, giving her daughter what comfort she could and last-minute advice?
But there was no comfort and no advice. Rhoswyn was alone in all of this and she grabbed her possessions at her feet and abruptly stood up. As Troy said his farewells to his father and the others, Keith realized that his daughter was about to depart. He turned away from his conversation with his brother and grasped her by the arm.
“Are ye leaving, lass?” he asked.
Rhoswyn nodded her head. She was trying very hard not to look at him, afraid she would embarrass herself with an emotional display.
“Aye,” she said. “He wishes it.”
“Ye mean yer husband?”
“Aye.”
The hand Keith had on her arm gave her a reassuring squeeze. “’Twill be all right, lass,” he murmured. “The Wolfe says that his son is the finest of men. He’ll make a fine husband. Be worthy of him. Obey him and be a good wife.”
She looked at him, then. “If he is a good husband tae me, then I’ll be a good wife tae him.”
Keith shook his head. “Yer husband can do as he wishes,” he said quietly. “Remember that ye’re a Kerr; we hold honor as the most valuable thing there is.”
Rhoswyn looked at him, pointedly. “If that is true, then ye should have told me about yer plans tae marry me off. Ye should have been honest, Pa.”
Keith wouldn’t admit that there was some truth to her words. But he didn’t regret what he’d done or how he’d done it. “’Tis over now,” he said quietly. “Ye’re married tae a de Wolfe now, the most powerful English family on the border. Ye’ll be respected and important now.”
That wasn’t exactly what Rhoswyn wanted to hear. She was about to leave her father, perhaps forever, and she wanted to hear something sentimental and reassuring. But she knew that was too much to ask. Ever since her mother’s death, Keith hadn’t been able to speak on his feelings.
Perhaps it was just as well.
“Think of me once in a while, Pa,” she said as she turned away, her throat tight with emotion. “Think of the daughter ye gave over tae the English.”
“Ye’ll thank me for it someday.”
Rhoswyn wasn’t so sure. All she knew was that she felt she was heading to her doom. As she stood there with her sack and bedroll clutched up against her chest, she realized that Troy was standing next to her, waiting. When she looked at him, uncertainty on her features, he gestured to the hall entry.
“This way, my lady,” he said.
He led and she followed, wandering through a maze of inebriated English soldiers, hearing strains of music somewhere as someone strummed a mandolin. It was a smoky hall, filled with dirty men, and the stench was enough to make her eyes water. But she clutched her possessions to her, terrified, as she followed her new husband from the hall.
They exited into the bailey beneath a clear sky and brilliant stars. The storm that had threatened earlier in the day had blown off somewhere, leaving a crisp evening. As soon as Troy hit the dirt of the bailey, he stopped and turned to Rhoswyn. But she came to a halt because he did, looking at him with suspicious eyes. He tried not to smile at the look on her face, as if waiting for him to do all manner of terrible things to her now that they were out of the hall and alone.
“I was waiting so you may walk beside me,” he said. “I do not expect my wife to walk behind me.”
Hesitantly, Rhoswyn closed the gap, looking the man in the face, wondering if he was really as kind and understanding as he seemed to be. This was the same man she’d beaten in a fight, the same one who had hit her on the side of the head and nearly knocked her senseless. The same man she’d kneed in the groin, as the young English knight had so thoughtfully pointed out. All of those terrible things had happened, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge; at least, on the surface. Who knew what would happen once he got her alone.
She was apprehensive for that moment.
Troy could see the utter anxiety in the woman’s expression. He’d seen it all evening, since the priest had married them. She’d been silent and still all night, hardly moving, and he didn’t think she’d eaten very much, if at all. Not that he blamed her. Perhaps he was old and hardened, so much so that even a marriage didn’t get him too worked up. He had seen nearly forty years; he couldn’t imagine that his new wife had seen half of that. She was young, he was old. She was beautiful and he had wrinkles on his face.
It was going to be an interesting evening.
“My brothers have made up our bedchamber,” he told her as he led her towards the tower. “I cannot vouch for the comfort of the bed, but I know they did what they could. After the siege, there wasn’t much left to work with.”
Rhoswyn was walking beside him but she was about five feet away, clutching her possessions to her chest as she looked around the compound. “This is me first time tae Monteviot,” she said. “I canna see much tae it.”
Troy looked around, too. There was a big stone wall, an oddly large bailey, the tower, outbuildings, and a hall built next to the tower. Most Scottish towers didn’t have a hall, but this one did.
“It is not spectacular, but it is strategic,” he said after a moment. “But I am sure you already know that.”
She nodded. “Me pa said so.”
Troy pointed off to the east. “My father’s seat of Castle Questing is about twelve miles that way,” he said. “My own castle of Kale is five miles to the north, but Monteviot sits close to the English border. It is barely a mile to the south. The reivers that had settled here were making great misery for the English villages.”
They had reached the darkened tower and it loomed over them. But the stench of smoke and death was strong, and Troy reached out to open the entry door that had been repaired from scraps of wood that they could find. He started to go in but noticed that Rhoswyn wasn’t moving. He paused.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
She was looking up at the tall, bulky tower. “The siege,” she said. Then she paused, hesitantly, before continuing. “That smell… me pa said ye were burnin’ men.”
Troy was honest with her; there was no reason not to be. “It was not by choice,” he said. “It was by necessity. The tower was the last holdout; we had control of the bailey, the outbuildings, and the hall, but there were about thirty Scotsmen holed up in the keep. We tried to get them out; we even promised to release them unharmed if they would only leave the tower. They refused so we burned them out.”
Rhoswyn understood; she knew battles. She knew how Scotsmen thought. “They would rather die than surrender.”
Troy nodded but he didn’t reply. She seemed to be rather depressed by the thought so it was better to not comment. He reached out a hand to her.
“May I take your baggage?” he asked.
Rhoswyn shook her head, miffed that he would think her so weak. “I’m capable of carryin’ it.”
So much for being polite. Troy led her up to the floor above the small solar, the level that had the two undamaged rooms on it. But the smell of smoke was heavier than usual and when Troy opened the chamber door, he could see why; the hearth had malfunctioned and there was a blue layer of smoke in the room. Coughing, he opened the door and went straight to the hearth that was happily blazing away.
“Damnation,” he muttered, coughing and kneeling down to tend to the chimney. “Did no one check the chimney when they started this blaze?”
Rhoswyn followed him into the chamber, her eyes burning from the smoke, and quickly set her possessions down against the wall. She noticed there was some kind of oil cloth on the mattress, which was lying on the floor, and she picked up the cloth, waving it briskly and driving the smoke out of the room. She coughed, Troy coughed, as they both struggled with the smoke.
“This was not how I’d hoped the chamber to be,” Troy said. “I cannot offer you much comfort, but I’d hoped we’d at least be able to breathe.”
It was meant to be a quip, but Rhoswyn missed the humor completely. She continued to fan, moving a good deal of the smoke out of the door. There were two small windows that someone had covered with oiled cloth, and she ripped the cloth free, letting the air from outside suck into the room.
“The smoke will be gone soon enough,” she said, though she coughed as she said it. “Considerin’ that the rest of the tower smells of smoke, I suppose it willna matter much. There is smoke everywhere.”
Troy wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she’d jumped right in to help with the smoke situation. She hadn’t stood by the door and cowered; this was a woman who was used to action. She’d loosened up through the evening and he thanked God that he wasn’t dealing with a wife who needed to be bound hand and foot in order to keep her from hurting others or herself. Moreover, she wasn’t trying to run anymore.
He saw that as progress.
“I think the smell of smoke will be here for some time to come,” he said, rising from the hearth, which was now properly evacuating the smoke out of a chimney that had been partially blocked. “We shall have to become used to it.”
Rhoswyn stopped waving the oiled cloth around because the air was much clearer now. She watched Troy as he went to the door and quietly closed it. Their eyes met when he turned to face her and an awkward silence settled. Troy lifted his eyebrows, thinking he should probably say something that would make them both feel at ease.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat softly as he moved back towards the hearth. “Since we both find ourselves in an unexpected situation this night, mayhap it would be best if we learn something about one another. It might make you feel more comfortable considering we know virtually nothing about each other.”
Without the hundreds of English soldiers surrounding her, Rhoswyn was easing up considerably. It was just her and Troy now, and it was natural that she should be curious about him. They were to spend the rest of their lives together, a concept she was having a difficult time with. In truth, she’d never been close to anyone in her life, not even her father, so it was an odd notion. She had no friends, and she had no idea where to even start.
“I dunna know what more I need tae know of ye,” she said quietly. “Ye’re a de Wolfe. Me pa said that ye’re a fine man. What else is there?”
Clearly, she had no concept on what a marriage was like. Troy scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Much more,” he said. “More than you know. You should know something of me and I should know something of you.”
“Like what?”
“Who taught you how to fight?”
Her chin lifted in a gesture that hinted at defiance. “Me pa.”
Troy folded his big arms across his chest, leaning back against the wall. “And how long have you been fighting?”
“All me life.”
Troy’s eyebrows lifted. “Even when you were a young lass?”
She nodded. “Having no sons, me pa taught me how tae wield a sword and how tae fight. He said it came naturally tae me.”
“And you like to fight?”
Rhoswyn had to think about his question; it confused her. “What else is there?”
He shrugged. “I simply meant that most young ladies do not lift swords,” he said. “There are many things young women do that do not involve sharp blades or drawing blood.”
There was that dry sense of humor again, but Rhoswyn was oblivious to it. Her brow furrowed and Troy could see that she really had no concept of what he was saying.
“But… but this is what I do,” she said. “This is me.”
Troy studied her a moment, wondering what to say next. She didn’t seem to be much of a conversationalist, nor did he see much depth to her personality. He hoped she wasn’t some dullard; it would be terrible to be saddled to a senseless, foolish woman for the rest of his life, no matter how lovely she was.
“Did your father educate you?” he asked. “What I mean to ask is what more do you know other than fighting?”
She knew what he meant. “Me ma taught me tae sew and sing,” she said. “I can read and speak English, Gaelic, and Latin.”
That surprised him. “Who taught you that?”
“Me ma. She died when I had seen eleven summers.” Now, she was becoming bolder. She didn’t want to talk about herself anymore. “Can I ask ye a question?”
He nodded. “Aye.”
“Ye told me earlier that ye did not want tae marry again. Does that mean that ye’ve been married before?”
Troy thought on her question; he had said that, hadn’t he? He supposed there was no harm in telling her the truth. She would find out, eventually, given that everyone who knew him knew he’d been married before. Someone would tell her if he didn’t.
“Aye,” he replied, averting his gaze as he turned to look at the fire. “I was married very young. I had seen twenty-two years and she had seen fifteen years. We had three children together but only one has survived. My wife and two youngest children were killed two years ago.”
Rhoswyn found herself inherently sympathetic to that news. “Oh,” she said solemnly. “What… what happened?”
“They drowned.”
That sounded quite tragic to her. “But ye have one child left?”
He nodded. “My son, Andreas,” he said. “He has seen seventeen years and he is fostering at Norwich Castle.”
“Ye must be proud of the lad.”
“He is my shining star.”
Rhoswyn watched him as he spoke, his subdued manner. Even though his answers were without emotion, it was his expression that gave him away. Speaking about his dead wife and children was still upsetting to him even though he tried to cover it up. But oddly enough, his confession somehow made her more sympathetic to him.
It made him more human.
This wasn’t a single-dimension Sassenach warrior. This was a man who had suffered great loss but continued to push through it. She wondered if he felt terribly lonely, though. He seemed that way to her.
Then, the guilt began to set in.
This was the same man she’d fought, kneed, hit, and humiliated. Then, she’d refused to marry him so strongly that she had to be carried to him in ropes to their wedding. In her defense, she hadn’t cared what the man thought at the time. She still wasn’t sure she did, but now she was sliding into that gray area of awkward guilt over her behavior. Something inside urged her to show him she wasn’t the wild animal his father had accused her of being.
“Norwich Castle,” she said, attempting to continue the conversation. “Is that near London?”
Troy nodded. “It is not too far from it,” he said. “About a day’s ride.”
“Have ye been tae London, then?”
He grinned. “Many times. Have you?”
She shook her head as if she would rather be dead than set foot on the streets of London. “Nay, laddie. Never.”
He laughed at the way she said it, the term she called him. Laddie. His father called him that on occasion, but no one else had dared refer to him as a lad in a very long time. He rather liked to hear it in her sultry voice, so much so that he didn’t mind at all.
“Then we shall go sometime,” he said. “Surely you would like to travel out of Scotland and see other places, other people.”
She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to go to the moon. “Out of Scotland, ye say?” she asked, astonished. “What would I do out of Scotland?”
“You do not wish to travel?”
She shrugged. “I… I wouldna know how.”
Troy’s gaze lingered on her a moment. “Did you never go anywhere with your father?”
She shook her head. “Me pa doesna leave Sibbald’s. ’Tis our home, ye know.”
“I know. But why does he not leave?”
Rhoswyn shrugged. “He just doesna,” she said. “I canna recall him leavin’ more than just a few times in me life, so comin’ tae Monteviot was rare for him. I think he feels anxious when he leaves. He always wants tae go home.”
Troy already knew that about Red Keith Kerr; they all knew that the man rarely strayed from home. It could be because he simply loved his home too much to leave it, or it could be because he was afraid when he left home. Troy had seen men who couldn’t leave their homes or lift a weapon, anxieties of men who had seen too much battle. It wasn’t uncommon. Pushing himself off of the wall, he turned to the fire one last time.
“Well,” he said, “if that’s the man’s choice, so be it. But you may like to travel to London someday. Or we do not have to go to London; we can go to York or Carlisle, or anywhere else you might like to go.”
Rhoswyn had never considered anything like that in her life. Leaving her home, her father’s lands, had never even occurred to her.
“I say it is enough that I’m here,” she said. “I canna think on goin’ anywhere else. I’ve never spent a night away from Sibbald’s in me life.”
Troy poked at the wood, settling it down into a warm blaze. Her mention of spending the night outside of Sibbald’s reminded him of what was to come this night, of what was to be expected. He hoped she had an idea of it, too, because she seemed to have lived a rather sheltered life. He didn’t want her going mad with what he was about to tell her.
“Speaking of the night,” he said as he stirred the fire, “you understand what it is that married people do on their wedding night, don’t you?”
Rhoswyn looked at him sharply, realizing what he was asking, and then feeling her cheeks flame at the mere thought. Did she know? She certainly did. This was the moment she had been dreading.
“Aye,” she said. “I know.”
“What do you know?”
She frowned. “I havena done it before if that’s what ye’re askin’.”
He tried not to smile at her outrage. “That is not what I meant,” he said. “I simply meant… since I have done this before, if you would like me to explain the situation, I will be happy to.”
Rhoswyn had never been so embarrassed in her life. To speak of such personal things with a stranger! But Troy wasn’t any stranger; he was her husband. As of tonight, he would be a stranger no longer. But so much about this day had been in upheaval – her entire life was in upheaval, now with a husband who wanted to take her to London and explain the ways of men and women to her. It was almost too much to process and for the first time all evening, her composure was fracturing. Not in the sense that she wanted to run away again, but in the sense that she couldn’t comprehend a man who would be so understanding. Not after the day they’d had.
“Why?” she finally hissed, unable to look at him. “Why would ye do this?”
Troy turned from the fire to look at her. “Do what?”
She turned her head away completely. “Be so kind tae me,” she said. “Do ye not realize what I did tae ye today?”
“I do.”
“Yet ye show no anger?” She did turn around, then, looking him in the eye. “I wanted tae defeat ye and I did. I hit ye and I kicked ye and knocked ye tae the ground!”
“I know.”
That wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “But, still, ye have been kind tae me,” she said. “I dunna understand why ye would do such a thing.”
Troy stood up from the fire, scratching his head pensively. Then, he eyed her as he formulated an answer to what was a legitimate question.
“I suppose I did it because you were more upset about the situation than I was,” he said. “I am much older than you are, Rhoswyn. I have seen much in life. It is true that I can become angry rather quickly and it is true that you made me angry today with your tactics. But, as my father pointed out, you did not trick me. You simply used the element of surprise. I cannot become angry about that because, in hindsight, it was a smart tactic. As much as I did not like it, you did what you had to do. From one warrior to another, I respect that.”
Rhoswyn was looking up at him, listening to that deep, soothing voice. “I did it because I knew I couldna best ye any other way,” she said. “Ye’re bigger than I am and more powerful. I knew if I dinna strike ye down first, I would never have another chance.”
He nodded as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. “I realize that,” he said. “You ask why I have been kind to you? Because you were forced into this just as I was, but now that it is done, we must make the best of it. I would like for this union to be a civil one. I do not want to spend the rest of my life fighting with you.”
It was the rational way to look at the situation and Rhoswyn realized that she, too, didn’t want to spend the rest of her life fighting with him.
“If we must be together, then I would like it tae be civil also,” she said.
Troy simply nodded, pleased that she was at least agreeing with him. That gave him hope. With that, the conversation died off and he bent over a leg and began to unfasten a boot.
As Rhoswyn watched, the boot came off and he went to work on the other one, and she began to realize that he was undressing for bed. Or, at least, what was to come in bed. Feeling her nerves all over again, she turned her back on him and looked down at herself; she wasn’t one to sleep in her shift. In fact, she’d slept in her clothes since she was a child. It was her mother’s influence that made her bathe and brush her hair once in a while but, for that, she wouldn’t have cared in the least. And she’d never in her life undressed in front of anyone.
She wore three tunics and the heavy leather tunic on top of that. Her legs were clad in the leather breeches and, like Troy, she wore boots. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he was removing his heavy woolen tunic with the wolf’s head on it, so she thought she might as well remove the leather tunic she wore. It was more like an apron and she unfastened the ties, pulling it over her head and tossing it against the wall.
Sitting down on the mattress, she untied her boots, which were nothing like Troy’s boots. His were smooth pieces of leather, expertly sewn together and crafted, while her boots were simply pieces of leather attached to a sole that were then held to her leg by a series of ties. Glancing over her shoulder casually to see what state of undress he was in, she could see that he’d taken off his padded tunic, revealing a thin linen tunic beneath. Since he’d removed another piece of clothing, she did too.
Unbeknownst to Troy, every time he would remove something, Rhoswyn would. Vastly uncertain, she didn’t want to be dressed any more – or any less – than he was. When he was down to his thin linen tunic and breeches, she was, too. But then he pulled the tunic off and she could see his broadly-muscled back.
He was nude from the waist up.
The mere sight made her heart beat strangely. Illuminated by the firelight, she could see his muscles rippling as he moved. She’d seen the flesh of men before, but not like this. Never like this. It seemed to affect her breathing and her cheeks grew hot. Fearful she was about to embarrass herself greatly, she turned away just as Troy stood up and went to the other side of the bed, pulling back the makeshift coverlet.
“I cannot promise it is comfortable, but it is better than sleeping on the ground,” he said. But then he noticed that she was simply nodding, her back turned to him, and he knew why. He remembered a nervous bride eighteen years ago and he had another one now, although under these circumstances, Rhoswyn had every right to be nervous and upset. “My lady, if you are not comfortable doing what must be done tonight, then I will not force you.”
Rhoswyn was surprised by the offer but terribly grateful. She turned her head slightly, enough so that Troy could see her fine profile in the firelight.
“I have shamed ye enough today,” she said, so nervous that her voice was trembling. “Ye’ve shown kindness and patience. I would not dishonor ye further by refusin’ tae share yer bed.”
“No one would know but the two of us. If you do not want to, then we can put it off to a later time when you are more comfortable.”
He was giving her the option and it meant a great deal. Was the man so truly kind and patient? She’d never known anyone like him. But she honestly couldn’t refuse him what was his right. Everything was so new and uncertain right now but, even so, she’d not lost her sense of duty. She may have hated what the day had brought her, but that didn’t mean she was going to be a coward about it. What was it her father had said? Be worthy of him.
She was coming to think that she very much wanted to be.
“Yer suggestion is a kind one, but unnecessary,” she said. “I willna shirk me duty. But… ye’ll have tae tell me what it is ye want me tae do.”
Troy realized it was probably difficult for her to say that. He also knew that how he handled this situation would probably affect their entire relationship, forever. He wanted it to be civil, but didn’t want any more than that. Aye, she was beautiful and, with time, she would probably make an acceptable wife. But beyond that, he had no hopes or expectations. He’d had love, once, and he didn’t expect it or hope for it again. The love he had was for Helene, and that had not gone away these two years yet it had faded into something warm and comforting. When he thought of her, he remembered the feelings he had for her. He didn’t particularly want to feel those for anyone else, not even a beautiful Scottish warrior woman who had bested him in a fight.
But that wasn’t something Rhoswyn ever need know.
Still, Troy knew how to be kind. His mother had seen to that. The sweet and endearing Lady Jordan made sure all of her sons knew how to treat a woman, and Troy was particularly good at it as evidenced by the way he’d handled the situation with Rhoswyn. When he’d seen her fighting and kicking in the hall, bound in ropes by her own men, he knew that he had to be the one to ease her. It couldn’t have come from anyone else. He had to be the more reasonable person at that moment because she was incapable, frightened as she was. So he’d made the effort and now they found themselves in the same bed, on their wedding night.
All was calm and he intended to keep it that way.
“I will not tell you,” he said quietly, “but I will show you. Do you trust me?”
Rhoswyn thought on the question. Did she trust him? Strangely enough, she did. The man had proven himself to be kind and honorable so far, inevitably earning what trust she had to give. But given that he was a Sassenach, inherently, she was wary.
But that resistance was fading fast.
“Aye,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I do.”
“Good,” Troy said. “Now… just relax and let me do what needs to be done. Can you do that?”
“Aye.”
“And not resist?”
She let out a pent-up breath, as if she’d been forgetting to breathe. “Nay… I’ll not.”
Reaching out, he touched her on the shoulder, by her neck, and a wild fire ran up and down her spine, causing her breath to come out in a painful gasp. Rhoswyn had never known the touch of any man, so Troy’s warm hand against her shoulder sent sparks firing through her body like nothing she’d ever experienced. His other hand came up, touching her other shoulder, and she must have made some kind of noise that suggested she wasn’t opposed to his warm, gentle touch because the next thing she realized, his mouth was on the side of her neck.
After that, it all seemed to pass in a blur.
Rhoswyn closed her eyes because the sensations Troy was creating overwhelmed her, swallowed her, and the only way she could fully realize them was to close her eyes and digest the powerful experience. His mouth moved over her neck and onto her back, where he was kissing the flesh. Kisses that caused her body to tremble and her breathing to come in odd pants. As she sat there on the edge of the bed, his big body moved up behind her and his enormous arms went around her, pulling her back onto the bed.
She was on her back now, smelling the stale hay from the mattress as Troy covered them up with a blanket that smelled of horses. It was scratchy and rough, but Rhoswyn wasn’t paying attention. Troy was straddling her somehow – she didn’t dare open her eyes and look – but she could feel him hovering over her.
And his hands were moving.
Surely, confidently, they were moving. Stroking her arms, moving to her hands and pulling them to his lips. He was kissing her fingers and she could feel his hot breath on her flesh. Then he was nibbling on her hands, her wrists, and he dropped her hands long enough to yank her thin linen undertunic over her head in one swift movement.
He almost yanked her head off with it and Rhoswyn gasped with surprise as she ended up naked from the waist up. Pulled from feelings of warmth and excitement, a flood of embarrassment filled her at her nakedness and she thought to protest but she quickly remembered that she’d promised him that she would not resist. He’d asked her to trust him, so she had little choice. But thoughts of resisting and embarrassment abruptly faded when he came down on top of her and his heated mouth began to suckle on a warm nipple.
Witchcraft!
That was all Rhoswyn could think when he fondled her breasts, suckling between them, and she liked it. Aye, she liked it! Somehow, the man had bewitched her into liking what he was doing to her. Trust took on a whole new meaning as his mouth, his tongue, moved over the flesh of her torso while his fingers now pulled at her hardened nipples, tugging at them, and every time he did it, she would gasp and groan. Her body seemed to be making the sounds all on its own, as if she had no control over what was coming out of her mouth. Something else seemed to have taken hold of her, for things like shame and fear had fled, leaving a quivering and willing shell in their wake.
She had no will of her own.
For certain, Troy seemed to be a man possessed. Along with the kissing and suckling he was doing, she could hear him inhaling deeply, as if sucking in her scent, breathing in her very essence. He was feeding off of it, suckling and biting at her torso, dragging his tongue over her belly. Her breeches were the last frontier, a garment that was laced at her hips to keep them tight, but Troy yanked the ties free and, with one hard pull, drew them all the way down to her ankles.
As he pulled off one of the legs, leaving the other leg still bunched up around her ankle, he shoved his face into the thatch of dark curls between her legs and inhaled deeply. It was intimacy in the most basic way, a man acquainting himself with what belonged to him. It was the scent of his woman.
Then, he went into a frenzy.
Troy’s fingers began to probe wet, intimate places. Shocked at the unexpected move, Rhoswyn forgot her promise not to resist and she put her hands on his, trying to pull him away. But Troy wouldn’t let her remove his hand; he bent over to kiss her arms, her wrists, before pulling her fingers away to suckle on them. The action forced Rhoswyn back into the realm of warmth and arousal, feeling a strange heat between her legs and having no idea what it was or how to quench it. All she knew was that there was a hunger there now that she’d never had before, and when Troy finally put his manhood against her threshold and thrust slowly but firmly, she began to understand what that hunger was, because he was beginning to feed it.
It was a primal need that took over her instincts. To Troy’s surprise, Rhoswyn thrust her hips forward, awkwardly, and he slid into her warm, wet body nearly his entire length. He also quickly realized that she had no maidenhead, probably lost somewhere in the years of riding horses, as sometimes happened with women. But her tight body and grimacing expression told him that she was, indeed, a virgin and he withdrew, coiling his buttocks and driving his full length into her. As Rhoswyn groaned with the unexpected and slightly painful experience, he began to move.
His thrusts were deep and measured, and the pain quickly subsided, leaving that same strange hunger that seemed to grow every time Troy thrust into her. Rhoswyn lay on her back, legs parted and gripping Troy around the neck as he continued to move in her, grinding his pelvis against hers when he was in too deep to go any further. The grinding of the pelvis caused sparks to fly and her body to quiver, and as Rhoswyn was trying to absorb all of the pleasurable and strange new sensations their lovemaking had to offer, the hunger between her legs seemed to roar.
The tremors of that roar rippled through her body as she experienced her first release, bringing a cry to her lips at the exquisite ecstasy of it. Rhoswyn held on to Troy tightly, feeling as if she needed an anchor. Surely if she didn’t hold on to something, the effects of that roar would blow her all over the chamber. Gasping, she held on to him as hard as she could, hearing his soft grunt in her ear as he found his release as well.
It was over, but it wasn’t over. Troy remained on top of her, still moving in her, still touching her. His lips were on her forehead, kissing her tenderly, and somewhere in the kisses, his soft voice told her to sleep.
Rhoswyn didn’t need any prompting; her body was already halfway there, languid and boneless. She couldn’t have moved if she’d tried. All cuddled up in Troy’s enormous, warm embrace, it was as if nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. She was safe and she was warm, and she was content. She’d never known such satisfaction of the soul in her entire life.
Witchcraft, indeed.
When she awoke the next morning, Troy was gone.