Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (18 page)

The same for a man, if a gentleman
wanted to dance with Rose, he could step into place before Brynmor got there and force him to sit. Then Brynmor could choose to step in front of another man to dance with a different lady. It offered a chance for various guests to dance with the bride and groom without offending anyone. But even so, those who dared step in front of known couples or eligible singles often received bawdy hoots and catcalls from the crowd, all adding to the fun. But at a wedding, it was tradition to allow the bride and groom the first and last pass uninterrupted.

Rose grinned up at Brynmor as the minstrels struck a lively tune. She progressed with him down the row. He moved like a cat, light on his feet. But that really shouldn’t
have surprised her. She had seen him fight before, every movement balanced and graceful—of course that talent would reflect in his dancing.

They reached the end and she hurried back to her place in line. No one stepped in front of either of them
, although many other partners traded out. She made a second pass with Brynmor and sure enough, before she reached her place, another lady had stepped into it, much to the delight of the crowd, which crowed at her daring.

Brynmor smiled and winked at Rose. She saw his thoughts plain on his face. Oh ho! So he thought it funny that he was the first to gain a new partner before she did.
Rose knew it was only because Brynmor scared the fire out of any man who might dare step in front of him. Well, they would just see about that!

As soon as she was able, she danced with a lord she did not know
, but this time no one tried to usurp her position. That was another facet to the dance for those who truly wished to flirt—there was a fine line between playful flirting and being obvious. Of course, the bride and groom would be granted more leeway, but others did deserve to dance with them. When Rose moved back to the starting position, the lord found his position taken by another.

Once again she moved back to the starting point and was surprised to see her father step into the lord’s place. They moved down the line and her father grinned. “If this is the only way I can dance with my daughter this eve, then so be it.”

She laughed and looked down the line. Her mother now stood before Brynmor, who appeared rather discomfited.

Her father also spotted the two and laughed. “Perhaps I should rescue the lad.”

She stared at her father a moment—she had never heard him speak of Brynmor so informally. They moved to their starting places, but her father purposefully slowed his step and to her surprise, Brynmor lengthened his stride to pass her father, trying to take his place before her. But another lord moved before he could reach it. This time Rose winked at Brynmor. But she was glad to see him laugh heartily. Her father and mother, paired at last, joined the dance beside her.

Rose wasn’t sure how long the dance continued
, but if the meter from the minstrels was any judge, this one was coming to an end. She passed through the line and broke from her partner, looking for Brynmor as she returned to the start. She saw another lord step toward her and sighed softly. But at the last instant, Brynmor moved in front of the man and took his place before Rose.

The minstrels seemed to purposefully slow the tempo of the music. This time when she stepped forward to proceed down the middle with Brynmor, he gently took her hands in his.

She arched an eyebrow at him as they proceeded in time to the slower music. “This is not tradition, my lord.”

Brynmor chuckled softly. “My lady, in case you have not noticed, my very presence as Prince of Powys
, and as your husband, flies in the face of tradition.”

They reached the end of the line but Brynmor did not release her hands. Instead, his grip tightened and he pulled her to him. Rose blinked up at him in surprise. But before she could question his actions, he lowered his head and his lips touched hers. His kiss was anything but chaste, it was primal and possessive. Those in attendance roared in approval. Rose
briefly wondered why the people suddenly seemed to support them so greatly, but the question was soon forgotten as Brynmor’s kiss captured her completely.

Brynmor gritted his teeth as Montgomery led him to a small antechamber not far from the solar. Here the nobles would prepare Brynmor for the bedding ceremony. While he had spoken truly to Rose, his role as Prince of Powys and as her husband did fly in the face of tradition, he knew there were some so entrenched he dared not defy them, no matter how much he wanted to. But that didn’t stop him from praying to the Almighty to somehow free him from this folly. Unfortunately, the Almighty remained silent. He and Montgomery passed the stairs leading to the ladies’ solar and Brynmor caught the sound of tittering females. No doubt Rose endured a similar humiliation.

A low growl rumbled through him and
Montgomery gave him a commiserating glance. He stopped at the door. “I shall take my leave, Brynmor.”

Brynmor inclined his head, grateful he would not h
ave to deal with his new father-by-law in addition to this foolishness.

Montgomery
leaned forward. “I realize these drunken idiots will test the limits of your patience, but for the love of God, do not kill anyone tonight.”

Red hazed the edge of his vision and Brynmor clenched his fists. “I shall endeavor to heed your counsel.”

Montgomery gave him a curt nod, banged his fist on the door, and strode away.

The door op
ened and six of Brynmor's nobles, all so pissing drunk they could barely stand, cheered his arrival. Someone grabbed his arm and hauled him into the room. Brynmor battled to control his temper. He should not be here. He should be in his marriage bed with his new wife . . . alone.

But this
was what was expected of nobility, and if he wished to be recognized as a peer, he had to follow tradition. The priest's words echoed through his head.
“Although you will lay with your wife you must not do so unclothed, you will lay with her only to beget heirs, it is against church law to fornicate for pleasure.”

Bryn
mor curled his lip as the nobles began to remove his finery. But they were so drunk they could barely untie the laces. Brynmor's frustration levered upward. He abruptly found himself concentrating solely on Montgomery's words.

For the love of God, do not kill anyone tonight.

Soon he was naked before the drunken lot. The injury to his side remained discolored but it was faint and no one mentioned it.

One noble eyed Brynmor’s
male member critically. “You'd better wake that cock of yourshhh,” he slurred. “Your new wife will be unimpresshhhed.”

“Shut yer trap,” another noble
said as he swayed. He held up a night rail. “My lord, put this on.”

Fury and embarrassment shot through Brynmor. “That is a woman's garment.”

The noble looked at it. “Nay, ’tis what we all wear when we go to bed. Don't you?”

“Nay,” Brynmor replied.

The noble blinked at him a moment, then he smiled knowingly and elbowed the person next to him. Raucous laughter erupted.

“You'd
better put it on,” another noble said. “You don't want your brand new wife to faint dead away.”

Snarling a curse, Brynmor snatched the garment and pulled it on over his head.
Now that his humiliation was complete, he wondered how he could possibly bed his wife tonight.

They pulled him out of the room and led him to the solar. At the door
, he saw Rose with her handmaidens. For an instant he forgot his own humiliation when he saw hers. Her face was pale but red stained her cheeks. Her long golden hair was unbound, falling like a silken waterfall over her shoulders. She wore a thin night rail and he easily saw the graceful curves of her body through it, the sweet swell of her breasts and the outline of her dark nipples. His cock hardened on the spot.

His vision tunneled and a roaring in his ears blocked out
the bawdy comments of his nobles. They pushed him into his solar with Rose right behind. Brynmor move to stand next to the bed but his gaze did not leave Rose. Her cheeks flamed an even brighter red as her handmaidens told her quite clearly what to do if her husband's cock did not rise to the occasion.

Rose crawled into bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin, looking more like a trapped animal than a wife. Brynmor saw tears gather in her eyes. One trickled down her cheek.

Something snapped within Brynmor. It was one thing to humiliate him, but entirely another to drive Rose to tears.

“Enough!” he roared
, silencing everyone. His fury knew no bounds. He hauled off the ridiculous night rail and stood before them utterly naked, his swollen cock jutting straight out from his body. The maidens stared at him wide-eyed. One fainted and a noble caught her before she hit the ground.

“Get out!” he snarled.
Montgomery's admonishment faded in the wake of his rage. He stepped forward, anger seething through him, fogging his vision.

A gentle hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. He looked back and saw Rose sitting up in bed
, her touch the only thing keeping him from slaughtering the drunken fools. In the moment he looked in her eyes, his heart hesitated in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to protect her from this folly, and by God he would do nothing less.

The nobles
seized upon his distraction and left the room, hauling the maidens with them. The door slammed shut. Brynmor stalked to it and threw the bar. It was normally used only during times of siege, but he would have privacy this night.

“
Lack-witted fools,” he growled and stalked to the table. He poured himself a glass of wine, downed it in one swallow, then poured a second.

He looked back to Rose, on her knees in the middle of his bed
, and his anger vanished. He opened his mouth to beg her forgiveness but she spoke first.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

****

Rose's heart thundered in her chest. Her gaze kept returning to Brynmor’s engorged cock
, even though she fought not to stare.

“Rose,” Brynmor said tightly. “Forgive me. I did not mean to ruin your wedding night.”

His words drew her attention up to his face, but her heart did not stop slamming against her ribs. Even with the slight dent in his nose, he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen. The bruising around his eyes had vanished. She studied his black hair, gleaming blue-black in the light. His massive chest and shoulders were perfectly defined muscle. A rock-hard stomach led to trim hips and long legs . . . and of course his . . .

Oh
, dear God in heaven. Her gaze quickly returned to his face.

His expression grew more pained with her silence.

“Nay, Bryn,” she said to allay his worry. “You saved my wedding night. Those drunken sods were the ones ruining it.”

He blew out his breath and poured another cup of wine. “My lady?”
he asked, offering it to her.

She rose from the bed and accepted the cup, drinking deeply. “Thank you, my lord.”

His gaze dropped to the floor and she saw desolation in his beautiful face. “I fear,” he said softly, “that no matter how hard I try, I will never be the noble husband you deserve.”

Her breath caught in her throat and her thoughts scrambled. He still did not understand.

How could she convince him? Once again her gaze traveled over the most beautiful body she had ever seen. But what truly struck her was that he was comfortable now. He had hated the night rail, had ripped it off, and had no qualms standing in front of her wearing nary a stitch. His desire for her was obvious, but he still did not quail. He was comfortable in his own skin, more so than any noble would be.

Taking her cue from him, she pulled off her shift, allowing it to puddle at her feet. “Brynmor,” she said softly.

He looked up at her and froze, his eyes widening.

“You said yourself I had noble suitors by the score.”

“Aye,” he said tightly. “You should have selected one of them to be your husband.”

“But I do not desire any of them for a husband,” she said and summoned her courage. “I desire you.”

He made a strange noise in his throat. “I pray you do not regret your words, for I will make you mine tonight.”

Fear tangled with her desire
, but she listened to the voice in her heart. Brynmor spoke gruffly, but she knew he would never hurt her. The taking of her maidenhead would be painful, but Brynmor would temper his strength just for her.

“You are my husband,” she whispered. “Take me as you will.”

Brynmor didn’t move, he simply stared at her, his eyes growing darker in the weak light of the room.

Why didn’t he move? Rose had expected him to do something
 . . . anything. But he only stared at her, and Rose fought not to fidget under the intensity of his gaze. Had she said something wrong? But he did not rebuke her, he did not retreat. The muscles in his body seemed to clench even tighter, standing in sharp relief under his skin. He finally moved, but it was only to take a long drink from his cup. He placed it on the table then gently tugged hers from her hand and sat it beside his.

He turned back to her, his gaze
locking again on hers, and the intensity did not fade. Slowly, as if fearful she would flinch away from him, he lifted his hand and placed it on the side of her face, gently stroking back her hair. She swallowed hard and did not move, uncertain what she should do or say.

Brynmor
seemed to become entranced with her hair, running his fingers through it only to return and repeat the action several times. She found it soothing but at the same time discomfiting. She had no idea what he was about, if she should do anything in return.

His fingers touched
the side of her face but this time he traced downward, lightly sweeping from her cheek to travel along her jawline. He reached her chin and caressed her throat. She could not help herself as she swallowed hard and lifted her head to give him free access. His fingers hesitated over the life-beat pounding wildly in her neck, then descended lower to her collarbone, where he explored its length. Then with agonizing slowness, his fingers move lower, to the outside of her breast, where he traced its gentle swell. His hand moved to cup her breast and she felt her nipple tighten painfully with the nearness of his hand.

He stepped forward and caught the back of her head with his free hand, weaving his fingers through her hair. As he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, his hand released her breast but his fingers returned to travel lightly over her nipple. It pearled even tighter and his fingertips
explored around it, caressing it, toying with it. She gasped and Brynmor kissed her deeply.

His kiss was powerful but not forceful. His tongue slowly traveled over hers. She could not help but answer, her tongue tangling with his. He stepped closer, pulling her tighter against him, his tongue
exploring her mouth slowly, as if he did not wish to leave any part of it undiscovered.

Brynmor continued to toy with her nipple
, but he only heightened its sensitivity. Desire pooled deep within her, but she had no idea what to do. Brynmor continued to explore her mouth with agonizing slowness. His tongue would retreat only to thrust deeply again. Rose was thoroughly enjoying his actions and relaxed even more against him. Her hands touched his chest and she could not resist allowing her fingers to journey lightly over his skin.

Without stopping, he turned her toward the bed, encouraging her to take a step back, then another, and another, until he lifted his head. He slowly lowered her onto it, his gaze traveling over her body. What was it she saw in his eyes? Appreciation? Admiration?

He eased himself onto the bed, covering her, but his hands supported his weight. He returned to kiss her and once again his tongue thrust into her mouth, slowly sweeping across hers. He drove her wild with anticipation. She wanted more from him, but it seemed he was content to savor her at his leisure. His hand moved from her breast to sweep down her side to her hip. Her heart hammered wildly as he settled himself between her legs. His hand on her hip would not allow her to move, and she felt the tip of his shaft stroke against her folds.

Her fingers clamped onto his shoulders
, and for a moment she was distracted by the feel of the powerful muscle as it bunched and relaxed under her hands with his movement. His shaft stroked against her again and she moaned. This was what she wanted, but the knowledge it would cause her pain made her hesitate.

Brynmor tore his mouth from hers and she heard his ragged breathing
, but only for a moment. He kissed her throat, his tongue stroking a languorous path over her skin.  His lips nibbled and his teeth lightly raked against her flesh. He moved lower and she couldn’t resist threading her fingers through his glorious hair. It was so wonderfully thick and soft against her skin.

His mouth found her breast and he enveloped it
, his tongue slowly swirling around it and laving at her nipple. She coiled underneath him and murmured her encouragement as her fingers tightened in his hair. He suckled her, sending a bolt of fiery pleasure deep into the core of her being. She suddenly couldn’t breathe. Why did it feel so good? She didn’t understand anything that was happening, but realized she didn’t care—she didn’t want him to stop.