The Warrior's Wife (22 page)

She smiled. “Then I will marry you this very moment.”

 

Rafe’s smile was wide and pleased. “God be praised! I won’t lose you.”

Reaching out, he tugged at the edges of her blanket as if to cover some tiny patch of skin she’d left bare, then turned and crossed the room. Kate frowned, watching him lift the bar. The door opened, and he took a single step out into the hall beyond it. “Father, she’s agreed to wed with me,” he called out into the hall.

Kate gasped. She hadn’t realized he was serious about wedding her this very moment. “Nay, Rafe,” she cried out, hurrying over to him as quickly as her swaddling would allow. “Not yet. I need to dress.”

Another tiny cry left her, and she whirled to face the filthy remains of yesterday’s finery where they lay near the tub’s end. She couldn’t wear those clothes, not the way they were, and it would take hours to see them clean and hours more before they dried. That left borrowing a gown. Kate’s skin crawled at the thought of wearing some maid’s well-worn, flea-ridden attire on her wedding day.

Rafe stepped to her side. Wrapping his arm around her, he turned her back to look out of the bedchamber’s doorway. “You vowed. No delays.”

Kate’s heart quirked. Before her the hall was full, Glevering’s womenfolk on one side of the room, Godsol men filling the other. Rafe’s brother’s eyes widened when he saw the blanket-clad bride, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. From the hall’s back came a feminine giggle while amusement rumbled from the men.

Embarrassment warmed Kate’s cheeks. She turned her head into Rafe’s shoulder to hide her face from those who watched. “I can’t stand in front of them in only a blanket,” she whispered to him. “My hair’s uncovered and undone.” Not even on her wedding day did a widow uncover her hair; that was for virgins. “They already think me a strumpet for this.”

“They’d best not,” Rafe said, his voice lowered to the depths of a threat. His arm around her tightened then he said something to the hall in the English tongue. There was instant silence.

“Hold up your head, my sweet,” he urged her in her own language. There wasn’t a whit of humor in his voice. “I’ve told them that your attire is ruined and that if I hear another sound I’ll drive the one who makes it out the gate for not treating my wife with all the respect due her.”

Rafe words wove a joyous web of security around her. Kate lifted her head to look into his face. He smiled. She sighed, well pleased with the man she’d chosen. From this moment on Rafe would see to it that she was well treated. Oh, but there was much to value in becoming his mate.

Kate turned to look out over the room. The amusement was gone from every face. The Godsol priest stepped forward with Rafe’s brother at his back then the ceremony, such as it was, began.

* * *

It stunned Kate that one moment she was Katherine de Fraisney, and the next she was Katherine Godsol. Of course, the priest had pared the rite to barely more than the oaths. All that needed doing now was to share the kiss that sealed the ceremony.

Rafe turned her in his arms. Naught but silence owned the room. His lips were soft and warm on hers. However gentle his caress that heat she’d discovered last night returned. She sighed against it, her eyes closing.

Kate let her mouth soften beneath his. It was an invitation, a reminder of the pleasure this sort of sharing between them woke. She felt his jerk of surprise then his embrace tightened. The intensity of his kiss deepened until new heat flooded Kate.

Someone applauded. Approving laughter, both male and female, broke the silence that had owned the hall throughout the trading of the oaths. Kate felt Rafe’s smile against her mouth. Yet holding her in his arms, he straightened, his forehead leaned against hers. Emotion darkened his eyes.

“My wife,” he whispered, his voice deep with wonder. “You are my wife.”

Stunned by the intensity of what showed in his gaze Kate let him take her back to the bedchamber. Not until the priest, Rafe’s brother, the bailiff and his wife followed them into that wee room did her shyness reclaim Kate. Lord, but she didn’t like exposing herself to others. To distract herself from the discomfort of it, she reminded herself of the pleasure she found in Rafe’s arms.

Across the chamber Rafe disrobed on his own. There really wasn’t room for his brother to help him, especially with the bathtub yet in the way. Instead Will Godsol remained just inside the doorway alongside the other witnesses to this rite.

Once Rafe had hung his tunic on a bedpost and tossed his shirt over it, he bent to remove his shoes. His chausses followed in swift order, the stockings left to lie beside his feet after he had stripped them from his legs. As he straightened Kate stared at her new husband, beyond words.

How could she ever have thought his frame too bulky or unattractive? Day’s light gleamed against the powerful lines of Rafe’s body. Shadows marked the masculine rise and fall of his chest. His hips were lean, his legs long. Indeed, so powerful did he look that Kate might have been intimidated save that the heat his touch always made in her returned. This was all the more stunning because he wasn’t even touching her yet.

“Kate?” Rafe prodded, the quirk of his brow reminding her that it was her turn.

At least there was nothing complicated about her disrobing. Keeping her gaze fixed on her new husband’s face Kate drew a bracing breath and let the blanket fall. Only the fact that there wasn’t a single ribald jest from those who watched made the moment tolerable.

Across the bed from her Rafe swallowed. His expression softened, his eyes closing part way as he studied her. His gaze felt like a caress against her skin.

“I see no flaw,” he said, his voice thick.

“Nor do I,” Kate whispered, saying her part.

“Good enough,” the priest said, his tone businesslike. “Once the consummation is complete this marriage will be legal in all ways. Come,” he said to the other witnesses, “we’ll leave them to their duty.”

Duty. Kate’s stomach tightened. It was the sound of Lady Adele’s voice she heard in the priest’s words.

Kate glanced at Rafe. His gaze was yet fixed on her. It was anything but Lady Adele’s description of marital duty that she saw reflected in the gleam of his eyes. Deep in Kate the embers of yesterday’s pleasure stirred with violence enough to make her shudder. Her trembling made Rafe’s expression soften until the longing to touch her glowed in his face.

The door closed behind their paltry four attendants. There wasn’t so much as a jest or shout from those on the other side. Instead the sounds of normal conversation rose from the hall. Wood banged against wood as tables were erected in preparation for the breaking of the fast. Relief rushed through Kate as she realized there’d be no shivaree for her.

Rafe came around the bed to stand before her, his eyes as black as night. “God help me, but you’re lovely,” he breathed, “and you’re mine.”

Reaching out, he traced a finger along the outer roundness of her breast then his touch blazed a path down the inward curve of her waist. Kate quaked against his caress. How could the mere brush of his fingertip set her skin afire?

His hand descended to her hip, then returned to cup her breast in his palm. His thumb brushed its crest. It was as if she’d swallowed a candle’s flame. Heat jumped and darted within her. The throbbing at her woman’s core owned her, once more demanding the pleasure he’d given her last night.

Driven by that need, Kate reached out to touch him. Out of the depths of her memory came ancient warnings. Both Lady Adele and the de Fraisney’s priest had allowed that she might touch Richard and his shaft only as much as was necessary to put seed into her womb. Any touch beyond that, they nightly lectured, was prohibited by God. She caught back her hand.

Impatience flared. What was she doing, denying herself? Hadn’t she already determined that she was no dutiful daughter, but a lightskirt bent on passion?

With that goal fixed in her heart Kate laid her hand against her husband’s chest. His heartbeat was strong and certain against her palm. The dark hair that covered his skin was springy beneath her fingers. She smoothed her hand against his flesh. The warmth in her grew warmer still. Lord, but touching him made her feel as if she was being touched as well.

A deep, dark sound rumbled from Rafe. Kate fought a smile. It was a lion’s purr.

Once again his thumb moved against her breast. Sensation darted through Kate, leaving her gasping in its wake. She fell against him. Rafe’s arms closed around her, pulling her closer still until Kate swore every inch of their bodies touched. The fullness of his shaft pressed against her belly.

He was ready for her too soon when there was so much more they might do between them. Even as Kate lifted her head to beg that they wait a little, Rafe’s lips laid claim to hers one more time. The dance of his mouth atop hers was demanding and pleading all in one instant. Kate again melted, feeling the wetness seep from her woman’s core. So lost was she in sensation that she barely noticed when Rafe lifted her in his arms.

A tiny sound of complaint left her when he laid her upon the mattress. It was cold without his body next to hers. A moment later, and he lay atop her. He lowered his mouth to kiss her breast.

This time there was no fabric between his lips and her flesh. Kate gasped as he suckled, crying out with a pleasure beyond all understanding.

Then, as he’d done the previous night, his fingers found her nether lips. Again his touch sent Kate reeling. It didn’t matter that those in the hall might hear her. She couldn’t stop her cries. Just when Kate thought for certain she might die from sheer enjoyment, she caught his hand.

Rafe raised his head from her breast. “What? Will you complain already, wife, that your husband doesn’t please you?” he whispered, the corners of his mouth twitching against a smile.

Kate laughed, the sound broken and panting against his sweet torment. “You know full well you please me,” she managed. “But what of you? How can I let you give me so much pleasure when I don’t return the favor?”

Rafe’s eyes lit up in astonishment. “Return the favor?” he asked, sounding almost confused.

Twining her fingers in his, Kate brought his captive hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to its back. “I am ignorant,” she complained softly. “Until last even I didn’t even know there could be pleasure in bedding. Now I must educate myself. I would touch you, until I find the way to make you cry out as you make me.”

As she spoke she freed his hand to lay her own on his shoulder. She stroked her palm up the length of his neck then traced a finger around the circle of his ear. Rafe shuddered. His eyes closed.

“Jesu,” he breathed as he slid off her to lie at her side.

Kate combed her fingers into his hair. Yet cool and damp from washing, the strands curled about her hand. Shifting on the mattress until she faced him, she traced a fingertip down the length of his nose then outlined the curl of his lips. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. Kate gasped as his tongue touched that sensitive flesh, then laughed and jerked her hand from his grasp.

“Nay,” she chided. She pushed Rafe until he lay upon his back on the mattress. She raised herself upon her elbow to look down on him.

“Nay?” Rafe asked, his gaze afire with need of her.

“Nay,” Kate repeated, leaning to place a kiss at the place where his neck met his shoulder. Just as he’d done to her, she touched a line of kisses down his chest until her mouth rested against his nipple. “I am touching you, not you me,” she breathed against his sensitive flesh.

Rafe shuddered. His hands came to clasp at Kate’s waist. “Jesu,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Kate smiled. Laying her head upon his chest, she slipped her hand down Rafe’s abdomen to his shaft. Her first husband had needed to be coaxed into readiness to take her. Not so Rafe. Still, Kate curled her fingers around that part of him most male. Gently, carefully, as she’d been taught, Kate stroked.

Rafe bucked a little beneath her, gasping, then caught her by the wrist. “Jesus God,” he panted, “don’t.”

Only now did the worry that she’d gone too far, that Rafe didn’t want so bold a wife, prick at Kate. Lifting herself off him, she looked at her husband. A frown touched his brow, hot color marked the line of his cheekbones and glowed in his eyes. The line of his mouth was impossibly soft.

“Kate, I’m fair dying for you.” His voice was rough and hoarse. “Touch me again like that, and I may well spill my seed.”

Confusion tugged at Kate. “That is bad?”

That slow smile Kate so loved once more tugged at Rafe’s lips. “It is when I want our first lovemaking as man and wife to please you as well as it does me. Once we’ve shared our pleasure, I vow--oh God how I vow,” he added in a heated whisper, “that you may make your acquaintance with every inch of me at your leisure.” Anticipation of their future joy colored the fine lines of Rafe’s face.

Understanding that Rafe meant to indulge in this sharing of sensation for as long as they both pleased weakened Kate’s elbow. She slid down to lie beside him on the bed. No longer interested in postponing this moment, she caught him by the arm to urge him atop her. “Come,” she begged him, “show me again that there is no pain in coupling.”