The Velvet Promise (9 page)

A special room had been readied for the bride and groom. A large corner of the solar had been partitioned off around one of the fireplaces. An enormous bed had been set up in the room and sheets of the softest linen were spread across it. A coverlet of gray squirrel, lined with crimson silk fell across the sheets. Rose petals littered the bed.

Judith's maids and several of the women guests helped undress the bride. When she was nude, they pulled the covers back, and Judith entered the bed. Her mind was not on what was taking place around her.

She kept calling herself a fool. In just a few hours, she had forgotten seventeen years of what she had learned was true about men. For a few hours she had believed a man could be kind and good, capable even of love. But Gavin was the same—perhaps even worse than the others.

The women laughed riotously at Judith's silence. But Helen knew there was more than just nervousness involved with her daughter's behavior.

She whispered a silent prayer, asking God to help her daughter.

"You are a fortunate woman," an older woman murmured in Judith's ear. "My first marriage found me wedded with a man five years older than my father. I wonder now that no one helped him perform his duties."

Maud giggled, "Lord Gavin will need no help—I'll wager that."

"Perhaps the Lady Judith will need help, and I would offer my… ah…

services," laughed someone else.

Judith barely heard them. All she remembered hearing was her husband pledging his love to another woman, the way he held Alice and kissed her. The women drew the sheet just over Judith's breasts. Someone combed her hair so that it cascaded softly over her bare shoulders to rest in thick auburn curls around her hips.

Through the oak door the women heard the noise of the men arriving with Gavin carried aloft on their shoulders. He entered feet first, already half-undressed, the men yelling their offers of assistance, their wagers as to the competence of his performance of the task ahead. They were silent as they stood him on his feet and stared at the bride who waited in the bed. The sheet accented her creamy shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken, as if they smoked. Her lips were hard, as if carved of some warm vermilion marble.

"Get it done with!" someone shouted. "Do you torture him or me?"

The silence was broken. Gavin was quickly undressed and pushed to the bed. The men watched avidly as Maud drew the covers aside, giving them a glance of bare hips and thigh.

"Now out!" a tall woman ordered. "Leave them be."

Helen gave her daughter one last look, but Judith gazed down at her hands in her lap and saw no one.

When the heavy door slammed shut, the room suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet and Judith was achingly aware of the man beside her.

Gavin sat looking at her. The only light in the room was from the flames in the fireplace across from the foot of the bed. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of a quarrel. Nor had he any thoughts of love. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman. He moved his hand to touch her shoulder to see if the skin was as smooth as it looked.

Judith drew sharply away from him. "Don't touch me!" she said through clenched teeth.

He looked at her in surprise. There was hatred in her golden eyes, her cheeks flushed red. If possible, her anger made her even more beautiful.

Never had he felt such a raging desire. His hand went about her neck, his thumb digging into the soft flesh. "You are my wife," he said in a low voice. "You are mine!"

She resisted him with all her strength, but it was nothing compared to his. Easily, he pulled Judith's face to his. "Never will I belong to you!" she spat at him before his lips closed on hers.

Gavin meant to be gentle with her, but she enraged him. This woman made him want to curse her, to strike her again. But most of all he wanted to possess her. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers.

Judith tried to move away from him; he hurt her. This was no sweet kiss of the afternoon, but more of a punishment to discipline her. She tried to kick at him, but the sheet that separated them entangled her feet and she could hardly move.

"I will help you," Gavin said and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress. His hand still held Judith's neck, and when the sheet was gone and she lay nude before him, he relaxed his grip as he gazed upon her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, small waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could have stopped him from taking her. He acted as a starving man—one desperate for food—who would kill or maim to get what he must have.

He pushed her to the mattress and Judith saw the look in his eyes. She did not understand it, but she was afraid of it. He planned more than a cuff of his fist now. Of that she was sure.

"No!" she whispered and struggled against him.

Gavin was a seasoned knight. Judith had no more strength to him than a gnat to a piece of granite. And he paid her as much attention. He did not make love to her, but used her body. He was beyond thinking of her as anything but what he desired and so desperately needed. He moved on top of her, one thigh forcing hers apart. He kissed her again, hard.

When Gavin felt the tiny membrane that stopped him, for a moment he was bewildered. But he plunged on, oblivious to the pain he caused Judith.

When she cried out, he stopped her lips with his and continued.

After he finished, he rolled from her, one heavy arm across her breasts.

It had been a release for him, but for Judith there had been nothing resembling pleasure.

In minutes, she heard his slow breathing and she knew he was asleep.

Silently, she slipped from under his arm and left the bed. The coverlet of squirrel pelts had been knocked to the floor. She picked it up and encircled her body with it. She stared at the fire, telling herself she would not cry. Why should she cry? Married against her will to a man who vowed, on her wedding day, that he would never love her, could never love her. A man who told her she was nothing to him. What reason had she to cry when the life before her appeared to be so pleasant? Could she look forward to years of doing little else but bearing his children, sitting at home while he roamed the countryside with his beautiful Alice?

She would not! She would find her own life and, if possible, her own love. Her husband would come to mean as little as possible to her.

She stood silently, controlling her tears, and all she could seem to remember was the sweetness of Gavin's kiss that afternoon, so different from his attack of tonight.

Gavin stirred in the bed and opened his eyes. At first he did not recall where he was. He turned his head, saw the emptiness beside him. She had gone! Every inch of his skin tightened until he noticed Judith in front of the fireplace. He did not think of his sudden fear, but was relieved that she was still with him. She seemed to be in another world and did not hear him turn onto his back. The sheets were liberally sprinkled with blood and Gavin frowned at them. He knew he'd hurt her, but he didn't understand why. Alice had been a virgin when he took her, but she had shown no pain.

He looked back at his wife, so small, so alone. It was true he had no love for her but he had used her harshly. A maiden did not deserve rape.

"Come back to bed," he said softly, smiling a bit. He would make love to her slowly, by way of apology.

Judith straightened her shoulders. "No, I will not," she said firmly. She must begin by not letting him control her.

Gavin stared at her back, aghast. The woman was impossible! She made every sentence a contest of wills. His jaw set, he rose from the bed to stand before her.

Judith had not really seen him nude before and his bare chest, covered with dark hair over sun-bronzed skin, drew her eyes. He looked formidable.

"Have you not learned that you will come to me when I call?"

She lifted her chin and met his eyes. "Have you not learned that I will give nothing to you freely?" she countered.

Gavin stretched out his hand and took a curl from her hip, winding it about his wrist, again and again, pulling Judith nearer as she shrank from the pain. The coverlet fell away and he pulled her bare skin against his.

"Now you use pain to take what you want," she whispered, "but in the end I will win because you will grow tired of fighting."

"And what will you have won?" he asked, lips close to her.

"Freedom from a man I hate, a brutal, lying, dishonorable—" She stopped when he kissed her. It was not the kiss of an hour before, but one of gentleness.

At first, Judith refused to react to him but her hands went to his arms.

They were hard, the muscles prominent, and his skin was so very warm.

She became aware of the hair on his chest against her breasts.

As his kiss deepened, he loosened his hand from her hair, his arms encircling her shoulders. He moved her so her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder.

Judith gave up thinking. She was a mass of sensation—every feeling new and undreamed of. She pressed closer, running her hands over his back, feeling the way the muscles moved, so different from the smoothness of her own back. He began to kiss her ears, little nibbles on the lobes. Gavin gave a low, throaty chuckle when Judith's knees turned to water and she collapsed against the strength of his arm behind her back. He bent, put his other arm beneath her knees, his mouth never leaving her neck, and carried her to the bed. He kissed her body from her forehead to her toes and Judith lay silent, only her senses alive.

Before long she could bear no more kissing. She ached all over, and she pulled his hair to better meet his mouth. She fastened on his lips hungrily, with greed.

Gavin's senses, too, were reeling. Never had he had the leisure to make love to a woman as he did tonight, and never had he imagined the pleasure of it. Judith's passion was as fierce as his own, yet neither rushed their lovemaking. When he moved atop her, her arms held him tightly, pulling him nearer. There was no pain for Judith this time; she was ready.

She moved with him, slowly at first, until they exploded together joyously.

Eventually Judith fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, her leg thrown over Gavin's, her hair twisted round and round his arm.

But Gavin did not fall asleep immediately. He knew that this was the first time for this soft woman he held, but in a way he felt as if he had just lost his virginity, too. And that was certainly an absurd idea. He could not possibly remember all the women he'd taken to his bed. But tonight was infinitely different. Never had he experienced such passion. With other women, when he felt his arousal at its height, they drew back. But not Judith. She had given as much as he gave.

He picked up a lock of her hair from across his neck and held it up, letting the firelight play though the strands. He held it to his nose, then to his lips. She moved against him and he snuggled closer. Even in sleep she wanted him nearby.

Gavin's eyes grew heavy. For the first time he could ever remember, he was sated and content. Ah, but there was the morning. He smiled before he drifted asleep.

Jocelin Laing returned his lute to its leather case and gave a barely perceptible nod to the blonde lady before she left the room. There had been several offers that night from women to share their beds. The excitement of the wedding and especially of seeing the handsome couple undressed and put to bed had sent many people off to find pleasure of their own.

The singer was an especially handsome young man; hot, dark eyes under long, thick lashes; dark hair that waved away from perfect skin that stretched over high cheekbones.

"Busy tonight?" one of the other singers called, laughing.

Jocelin smiled as he fastened his lute case but did not answer.

"I envy a man with a bride such as that." The other man nodded toward the stairs.

"Yes, she is beautiful," Jocelin agreed. "But there are others."

"Not like that one." The man moved closer to his friend. "There are some of us meeting with a few of the brides' women. You are welcome to come."

"No," Jocelin said quietly. "I cannot."

The singer gave Jocelin a sly look, gathered his psaltery and left the great hall.

When the enormous room was quiet, the floor spread with hundreds of straw mats for the sleeping retainers and guests of lesser importance, Jocelin made his way upstairs. He wondered how the woman he went to meet could have arranged a private room. Alice Valence was not rich, and though her beauty had won her an earl's ring, she was not one of the higher-born guests. On this night, when the castle was overflowing, only the bride and groom had a room alone. The other guests shared beds set out in the ladies' solar or in the master bedroom. The beds were large—

often eight-foot squares—and with the heavy curtains surrounding them, they seemed like individual chambers.