Swords and Shields (Reign of the House of de Winter) (13 page)

In fact, she found
him
quite charming and she was starting to feel rather giddy about the night to come. She had absolutely no idea what to expect other than the obvious, but even in that, she wasn’t entirely sure the process. The nuns at Rochester would never discuss it and the only thing she had ever heard about the coupling between a man and a woman was from the gossip of foolish servants. Therefore, she wasn’t nervous but she was the least bit apprehensive. That was natural.

There was a knock at the chamber door, distracting her from her thoughts, and by the time she turned around, Drake was opening the door. His gaze immediately found her, illuminated in the warm, golden glow of several tallow candles, and for a moment, all he could do was stare. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. But Elizaveta was gazing back at him with some uncertainty in her expression so he forced himself to enter and closed the door behind him, bolting it. Even then, he simply stood by the door and looked at her for a moment before speaking.

“Did my mother provide you with everything you needed for your comfort, my lady?” he asked, his voice soft. A smile flickered on her lips. “She had four sons and one daughter, and she lavished attention on my sister. The woman had more possessions than she could reasonably use. When my sister was married last year and went away with her husband, I thought my mother would die of heartbreak until my brother’s wife came along. And now my mother has you to spoil, so I would assume that she has done so.”

Elizaveta laughed softly. “Look around you,” she said. “Your mother has done all of this. I have never seen so many coverlets or hides or items of comfort. She has gone to great lengths to make sure we are comfortable.”

Drake shook his head. “Not we,
you
,” he said. “I can sleep on a floor and be comfortable and she knows that. All of this is for you.”

Elizaveta grinned as she set her comb down onto her toilette table. “And I am greatly appreciative,” she said, looking to the fluffy bed and its layers of covers. “I have truthfully not known much comfort in my lifetime, at least not like this.”

Drake, who was still dressed in the clothing he was married in, began to move for his belt to untie it simply because he was already thinking of climbing into bed. The sight of the overstuffed mattress, and the sight of his new bride, made getting into bed a very attractive prospect.

“You are the daughter of an earl,” he said, looking at her curiously as he began to undress. “I should think you have led a very comfortable life.”

Elizaveta couldn’t help but notice that the man was starting to strip down and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. “Not really,” she said, watching as he unfastened his belt and loosened his heavy brocaded tunic. “You will recall that I told you that I went to foster at a very young age. I can remember sleeping with other children in an alcove near the master’s chamber of Rochester. We did not have our own chamber. We slept on pallets that we fashioned ourselves with rushes and whatever covering the Lady of the House would give us. We worked in the kitchens, learned to sew and paint and draw, and she taught us to sing and to write in three languages, but there was never much comfort or affection to be had. When I went to the convent, it was even worse.”

Drake pulled the heavy tunic over his head, listening with interest. “You can write?”

She nodded. “In Latin and French and English.”

Drake was impressed. “That is quite unusual,” he said. “My mother and sister know how to write, but I have not met many women who can.”

Elizaveta smiled faintly. “I love to write,” she said. “I am rather good at it, so I am told.”

He smiled in return. “So my wife is well-educated,” he said. “That is a prideful thing for me.”

Elizaveta’s grin grew, now modestly. “Thank you, my lord.”

Drake’s gaze lingered on her dark head as he moved to pull off his second tunic, exposing his broad, muscular chest and arms. “Please call me by my given name,” he said, tossing the tunic over into the corner with the other one. “I do not want you to address me formally, ever. You are my wife and such formality seems unpleasant.”

Elizaveta nodded, afraid she had offended him. “I will not do it again, I promise,” she said. “You may address me however you wish, but I give you permission to address me by my name.”

Drake scratched his arms and his belly thoughtfully, not realizing that his new wife was looking at all of that naked flesh with some shock and apprehension. Already, he was half-naked. He never gave his state a second thought but she, on the other hand, could think of nothing else.
He is already half-naked!

“Elizaveta,” he said, rolling her name off his tongue:
Eee-liz-uh-VEY-da
. “A beautiful name, to be sure, but very long. Did you not have a nickname as a child? Something short and easier to speak?”

Elizaveta cocked her head, also thoughtfully, but she turned back to her mirror in the same motion because the sight of all of that muscular flesh was making her heart race. She picked up her bone comb again and began brushing her hair nervously.

“When I was a young girl at Rochester, I had a friend who could not say my name,” she said. “She called me Vee-Vee instead.”

Drake smiled at the sweet, little name. “Vee-Vee,” he repeated. “I like that very much. With your permission, I may use it once in a while.”

Elizaveta nodded, combing the ends of her hair, seeing his reflection in the bronze mirror as he unfastened his breeches. As she watched, aghast, he dropped his breeches to the floor and stood there absolutely naked. Startled, and deeply embarrassed, she lowered her gaze and looked to the tabletop, furiously combing the ends of her hair and trying to pretend she wasn’t at all bothered by a naked man standing behind her. Soon enough, she heard the coverlets rustle behind her and then the mattress creaked and groaned as Drake climbed into bed. All the while, Elizaveta sat there and combed.

“You are going to comb the hair right out of your head if you do that any harder,” Drake said softly. “Come to bed now.”

Heart pounding against her ribs, Elizaveta stopped her wild combing and set the comb down on the toilette table. Her cheeks were flaming and the thought of climbing into the bed with him terrified her. So she sat there, back to him, and thinking she should probably confess her nervousness. Already, he knew of it. She could tell by the tone of his voice because she’d all but shouted it with her frenzied hair care. Perhaps she should simply come clean and tell him the all of it. Perhaps he would be gentle with her if she did.

“I will,” she said hesitantly. “But… well, you should know that I do not know too much about what we are supposed to do this night. I know that we must consummate the marriage but I am ashamed to tell you that no one has ever schooled me in what that really entails. Of course, I know the basics of a mating between a man and a woman, but that is all I know.”

Her voice was trembling and Drake, propped up on an elbow upon the very soft bed, smiled. “I see,” he said, pretending to be thoughtful about it. “Fortunately for you, I knew that someday we would be facing this situation so I have learned a little something about it. But I cannot teach you if you are over there and I am over here. Either you need to come closer to me or I need to come closer to you.”

Elizaveta was a brave woman under most circumstances. This day had proven that. But at the moment, her bravery was faltering. She sat at the table, her back to him, and trembled.

“May… may I tell you that I am terrified?” she whispered. “I am, you know. I have spent my life around women and nuns, and men have always been frightening creatures to me.”

He was not unsympathetic. In fact, he found her modesty quite touching. “Surely you knew that it would come down to this.”

“I knew.”

“If you would rather not tonight, I am agreeable. But at some point, we will have to consummate the marriage.”

She shook her head quickly, perhaps too quickly. “Nay,” she said. “It must be done tonight. It is your right. I suppose… I suppose I must simply work up the courage if you will allow me that grace.”

He didn’t say anything. He simply climbed out of bed and walked up behind her. Elizaveta heard him moving, coming closer, and she stiffened. He could see it. He could also see his reflection in the bronze mirror, something she could see as well, and his entire pelvic region, including his semi-erect manhood, was in her full view. He stood there a moment, watching her lowered head and stiff posture, before taking a knee behind her. He brought his body up against hers, gently but unmistakably. When their bodies touched, Drake swore he could hear the thunder roll. There was something powerful and electric about it; he couldn’t explain it any other way.

“You are afraid because you do not know what is to happen,” he whispered in her ear, feeling a chill run through her body. “Since you will not come to me, I must come to you. I want you to feel me against you, Elizaveta. Do you feel my body up against yours?”

Elizaveta’s heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that she was sure he could hear it. But she could definitely feel his heat against her back, enveloping her with his power and warmth. But there was a distinct comfort to his presence, something she hadn’t expected. She’d never had a man this close to her and of all the things she had imagined it would be, comfortable hadn’t been among them. But the contact between them, of his body against her back even though there was fabric between them, also caused her palms to sweat. She was trembling but not from fear. It was a giddy and overwhelming reaction.

“I… I do,” she murmured, her mouth dry.

Drake had a lazy smile on his lips, amused and pleased by her reaction to him. Very carefully, he brought up his enormous arms and wrapped them around her slender body, hearing her gasp as he did so. He squeezed, but not too hard; just hard enough for her to feel his power.

“This is an embrace,” he told her. “Have you never been embraced by a man?”

Elizaveta could hardly breathe for the feel of him around her. “N-Nay, never.”

He bit his lip to keep from laughing. He dipped his head down and planted a tender kiss on the top of her shoulder, near her neck. A chill raced through Elizaveta so strongly that she nearly bolted herself right off of the chair.

“That is a kiss,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her neck again. “Has a man never kissed you?”

Elizaveta was quickly turning into a boneless, quivering mass of heated flesh. “N-Never!” she gasped.

He allowed himself to chuckle then, softly. “That is good,” he said, “for no man but me shall every kiss you. Is that clear?”

She nodded unsteadily. “Aye.”

Drake believed her. He kept his left arm around her as his right arm loosened and his hand went to her head, running his fingers through her soft, dark hair.

“This is a man’s touch,” he said softly. “Does it frighten you?”

She shook her head. “Nay,” she breathed.

He brought her hair to his nostrils, smelling the faint scent. It smelled of herbs and forests and womanhood. It was quite enticing. Then his hand moved to her shoulder, stroking it with his fingers, before moving down her arm. He could feel her quiver violently as he touched her.

“A man’s touch is nothing to be feared, lass,” he whispered. “My touch will always be gentle upon you. You will never know my touch in anger. Therefore, there is nothing to fear from me, ever.”

Elizaveta’s eyes were closed as he tenderly touched the skin on her arm. Her head had lolled back and now rested back against his shoulder, utterly focused on what he was doing to her. It was such an innocent touch, something completely non-threatening, and in that action, she had calmed considerably, just as he had hoped. But he wasn’t going to stroke her arm all night; he had other things in mind.

His hand moved to hers, squeezing it, before bringing her fingers up to his mouth. He kissed every finger gently, even nibbling on her baby finger, causing her to giggle because he was deliberately tickling her. But the moment she giggled, turning her face towards his, he slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her with more passion than he should have. He simply couldn’t help it. Her flesh was tender and sweet, and her fingers had been delightful, and he very much wanted to taste her mouth.

Elizaveta gasped as he suckled her delicious lips. Her experience with kisses had been chaste ones from her father to her cheek, or perhaps a female friend to her cheek. Never had she been kissed on the mouth, ever, so her first experience with it was overwhelming. Drake’s big arms went around her, holding her against his nude flesh as his lips suckled hers. When his tongue gently probed her lips, she had no idea how to respond until he managed to snake his tongue into her mouth. Then, it was as if the flood gates had opened and passion, in all of its delectable forms, came rushing through. Now she was running on instinct alone, instincts she never knew she had.

Just as he was tasting her, Elizaveta began to taste him. He tasted like wine and leather and steel, everything that was manly and knightly. His kisses were forceful without being overbearing, sensual without being sloppy. Before Elizaveta realized it, he had pulled her off of the chair and laid her upon the bed, where one of his hands, she didn’t know which one, was pulling her shift from her shoulders. His mouth, after having kissed her lips into a red and swollen state, was moving to the bare flesh of her shoulders. He was kissing her there. And she was letting him.