Joining

  Slowly, tentatively, she even participated in the kissing. Actually, she was not being daring about it, she simply couldn’t seem to help herself. She suddenly needed to know the taste of him, the exact texture of his lips, just how hot his tongue was. It was incredible. The more she kissed him back, the more she wanted to.

  She had been sitting with her back against the pillows, the sheet clutched to her breasts. The sheet had fallen now as her arms wrapped about Wulfric’s neck. She didn’t notice that. She didn’t notice either that he was slowly moving her down until she was lying there, with him leaning over her.

  His hair tickled her neck as it fell against her. His breath fanned hotly against her face as his lips moved about in further exploration. His tongue licked at her ear. Shivers raced down her spine just before she gasped in delight. His teeth nipped at her neck. She moaned softly. She heard an answering groan from him, felt his body strain to contain what he was himself feeling.

  Her thoughts fast deserted her. It was all feeling now, all exquisite sensation, the taste and scent of him, and then the caressing… In combination with the kissing, it was nigh too much. The hand at her breast was kneading, gently pulling, then suddenly his mouth was there, closing around the turgid nipple, drawing it deeper into his mouth while his tongue laved against it.

  Scorching heat. Coils unwinding in her belly. And then his hand went there, too, as if he sensed the turmoil and meant to soothe it, but there was nothing soothing about his touch, far from it. The rage of passion his hands and lips provoked had her holding her breath and gasping by turns, had her thrashing about, arching against him… pulling him. It did no good. He was unmovable. He was determined to drive her wild. He was on fire himself and his hands were the brands that brought not pain, but the sweetest pleasure.

  Onward he caressed, endlessly, his fingers magically finding each area that would give her pleasure. The anticipation was incredible, the memory of the ultimate pleasure he had released on her before ever present in the back of her mind, waiting, wanting, impatient, and then finally within reach as his fingers went there.

  She became hot and weak inside as the heat flushed through her. He teased. He parted her legs for easier access, yet only touched her lightly. She writhed, not knowing how to tell him what she wanted. His tongue delved into the indent on her belly, then left a wet trail up over her breasts, up her neck, and reaching her mouth, plunged inside… just as his fingers entered her deeply.

  Her body slammed up against his, demanding greater contact. He finally relented and her flesh quivered as he molded her against him. Yet still that pulsing pleasure she remembered wouldn’t come. It was close, so very close, yet each time she thought it would be upon her, he stilled his movements, until she felt like screaming.

  She didn’t scream, but her frustration reached such a point that she did retaliate by hitting him, first on his back, then his shoulder. She was aiming for his head when he caught her wrist and, with a chuckle, moved his body over hers and gave her what she wanted and yet… not what she was expecting.

  Swiftly he entered her, deeply and easily, she was so ready for him. Instantly, too, did her mind clear and her thoughts return.

  Amazing, that she had forgotten there was to be pain involved with this first bedding. Even more amazing, though, was it had been so minor that it really only startled her, rather than seriously hurt. But the frustration was only halted for a few moments. It rushed back with a vengeance, but now his body was so fully pressed to hers that she couldn’t move, she couldn’t think of a way to end it. He knew how…

  “Wrap your legs about my waist and lock your feet there, imprisoning me against you,” he told her in a voice tight with constraint. “Do not let go. No matter how rough the ride, Mili, do not let go of me.”

  “Nay, I will not,” she promised, more to herself than to him.

  Instinct and raw passion guided her as he began that ride. Here was the greater pressure she had clamored for, the fullness and heat. Here, too, was the remembered pleasure, come upon her nigh instantly after his first few thrusts, and yet it was not at all the same. It was deeper, more satisfying, infinitely longer and much more exquisite. She was still feeling the pulsing aftershocks when, with a low groan, he pressed even deeper into her and then collapsed against her, motionless except for his deep breathing.

  She realized she was still holding him to her very tightly, with both her arms and her legs. She did not feel like letting go, but supposed she must.

  When she started to unwrap her legs from his waist he stirred enough to say, “Not yet.”

  She smiled to herself. Had he read her mind? Or like her, did he just not want to lose such pleasant contact yet?

  Forty-seven

  It was the first good sleep Milisant had had in weeks. She woke with a smile on her lips, but didn’t realize it until Wulfric remarked on it.

  “You must have had pleasant dreams.”

  Such a shock, to find him still there in bed with her. She hadn’t expected, well, hadn’t thought… She groaned inwardly. She had spent all her recent time worrying about the bedding and the expected restrictions that would be placed on her after the joining. The simple things that went along with marriage, like waking up next to Wulfric, had not once occurred to her.

  “My dreams were—actually, I do not recall any, I slept so deeply.”

  “Ah, then I will be so bold as to take credit for that smile. You should have seen my own, wife. ‘Tis like to have lit up this room brighter than the sunrise.”

  She realized several things at once. He was teasing her. He was well pleased with her. He was bragging—with good reason, but still… And he had just called her wife. All of which made her blush, which in turn made him chuckle and rub his shoulder. To her horror, she realized he was reminding her that in her passion, she had hit him.

  She buried her head under her pillow. He laughed and swatted her backside.

  “Come, we have guests to be rid of. Most will be leaving today.”

  She sat up, thankful for the neutral subject. “The king as well?” She could hope.

  “Aye, there is no reason for him to stay longer. He has not bothered you again?”

  When would he have had the chance, as locked up and guarded as she had been these last few days? But she didn’t point that out to him, merely shook her head in answer. She realized she did not want to start an argument with him so recently after—last night.

  She flushed yet again, just remembering. He noticed and grinned at her, then leaned forward to brush his lips softly against hers.

  “You are so funny when you do that,” he teased. “‘Tis so unlike you.”

  “I will be sure to never do so again,” she retorted, and managed to thrust aside her embarrassment—for the moment.

  “Truly?”

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, bare before him. She did it again.

  Actually, to her complete discomfort and dismay, Milisant spent most of that day blushing. Now that she no longer had the protection of her dazed stupor, she heard every single ribald jest uttered near her, sat mortified through the traditional parading of the sheets by the older ladies, listened to the sexual prowess of men, and her husband in particular, discussed in thorough detail.

  Wulfric seemed to take it all in stride and even joined in, but then it was hard to imagine that his good mood could be dented, it was so exuberant. She did wonder why he seemed so—happy. He did love someone else, after all, and his last chance to marry that other woman instead of Milisant was now gone for good. Given that, he should be as miserable today as she… should be.

  Jesu, why wasn’t she miserable? She should be. Just because she had thoroughly enjoyed his lovemaking was no reason to think everything between them would be wonderful now. How could it be when he was still, basically, a brute? She need only try to leave her bedchamber in leggings to find out what a tyrant he really was. Or fetch her bow and attempt to go hunting, which she sorely missed doing.

  It
was almost mandatory that all be present to send the king’s party on their way with good wishes. Milisant watched Wulfric as he bid John a safe journey. Strictly formal, in no way did he by deed or word give away that he knew John’s sordid secrets.

  She wondered if she could be as circumspect. She was forced to find out, for after John was mounted, when it looked like he would ride out, he instead dropped his gaze to her in the crowd and unmistakably—at least she did not mistake it—bid her approach him.

  Was that another blush coming on? Undoubtedly, for everyone gathered there was now looking curiously at her as she approached the king, and she hated being so centered in attention.

  Not Wulfric, though; at least, he wouldn’t wonder why John might want to single her out for words. He had been standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, and had seen the summons as well. And had held her back to whisper to her before she stepped forward.

  “You need not, if you do not want to. He would not make an issue of it.”

  His tension had been palpable. He must hate it, that he had so little control where the king was involved. Anyone else, he could call to account for doing what John had done, but not John—not unless he wanted to be branded a traitor.

  She whispered back, “Nay, but then we—I at least—wouldst die of curiosity, to know what is now on his mind. Let me find out, Wulfric. ‘Tis to our benefit.”

  She gave Wulfric no other chance to stop her, stepped quickly across the short span in the bailey to where John waited. He didn’t dismount, merely leaned forward so his voice wouldn’t have to carry far, since what he had to say was obviously for her ears only.

  “I know ‘tis unnecessary,” John began, looking only slightly uncomfortable with what he had to say, “but we offer apologies, Milisant de Thorpe, for any misunderstanding that has passed between us. I had several talks with Guy after our—encounter. I am satisfied that he is mine and will remain faithful unto me. Your father has likewise reassured me. So guard well what bears no relevance.”

  He was telling her, in his way, that he was no longer against her marriage to Wulfric. She knew, also, that his last remark was a subtle warning for her to keep silent about their encounter.

  He was guessing that she had told no one thus far, or hoping, since no one had brought it up to him. There was no reason to correct that assumption.

  “Certainly, Highness,” she assured him, and gave him a convincing smile. “I would not have it known by anyone that I had kicked the king of England.”

  It was a daring risk; mentioning her attack could bring on the famous Angevin temper. It didn’t. He burst out laughing instead.

  “I like your spirit, girl. ‘Tis what I told my man when I sent him to—put an end to certain deluded grand schemes. Spirit like yours should not be crushed.”

  So saying, he nodded and sent his horse into a canter, his large entourage falling in behind him. She watched them for a moment, then sensed, more than felt, Wulfric at her back again. This was proven when he put his arm around her shoulder to lead her back into the keep.

  He said nothing yet, nor was he like to, with so many people around them. But they were the first to reach the Great Hearth, everyone else still lingering in the bailey. And he was not going to let the matter pass.

  His “Well?” was quite to the point.

  “I think that whatever was involved in those attempts against me—and I am not so sure now that ‘twas just John’s doing, though he was aware of it—has been called off,” she told him, warming her hands before the fire. “He said as much, in a roundabout way.”

  “You are sure?”

  “I suppose I could have misunderstood, but I doubt it, since he also warned me not to speak to anyone about it. ‘Tis over, as far as he is concerned.”

  He sighed. She heard relief in it. She knew why she was relieved, but she wondered about him and looked at him curiously. The question formed in her mind and wouldn’t leave her. She never would have thought to ask it before, but after last night—after that sigh—she had to know…

  She asked him, “Would it not have been to your benefit if John, or whoever else was involved, had succeeded ere we wed? Why did you protect me so judiciously? If they had succeeded, you could… have…”

  She couldn’t finish, he was now looking at her in such utter fury. “Where in the name of all the saints do you get these wild notions of yours? Do you actually think I could wish you harm, for any reason? And what possible reason could there be …?”

  “There was one very obvious one,” she cut in stiffly, annoyed that he should take offense over a very logical question—all things considered. “That you would have preferred to wed with another, in particular the woman you love.”

  He looked—confused. There was no better way to describe what briefly took the place of his anger. And then the confusion was gone, leaving the anger again, just not as strong, or at least his tone wasn’t as harsh, merely scathing enough to scald her.

  “If you are referring to that silly remark of mine that was made in response to your own declaration of love for someone else, then you are even more dense than I was, since for you, mere common sense would have told you by now that there was no substance behind that remark. Or do I behave like a man pining for another woman? Verily, if I do, I wish you would point out how, so I can correct such behavior, since there is no other woman.”

  So saying, he walked stiffly away from her. Milisant barely noticed him leave, she was so bemused.

  He didn’t love someone else? That had merely been a rejoinder because she had said it first? But—what was she to think now? His loving someone else had been high in her objections to him. It had prevented her from even considering her sister’s suggestions concerning ways to get rid of her other objections. If he didn’t love another, then he was free to love—her.

  A warmth passed over her that had nothing at all to do with the nearby fire. It left her smiling.

  Forty-eight

  Milisant watched Wulfric closely that night at the evening meal, and afterward as well. He was still insulted, though it wasn’t all that discernible to the average observer, since he made the effort to appear otherwise.

  Yet Milisant knew, sensed it easily. He was still stewing. She, likewise, was still somewhat bemused, or at least she had been unable to stop thinking all day about what had been revealed by him, and the new possibilities that were now open to her.

  She had spent much of the afternoon visiting with Roland and reminiscing about their fostering days at Fulbray. He and his parents would be leaving on the morrow, so she didn’t have much time left to spend with her old friend and took advantage while she could.

  She didn’t discuss with him, of course, what was most on her mind right now, but she did manage to find Jhone alone for a few minutes that afternoon. And with her sister, she could talk of anything.

  There was no reason to discuss what Jhone was most concerned about, though. One of those constant blushes that Milisant had been experiencing today, when Jhone had asked, “Well, did you like it?” was enough to satisfy and delight Jhone without explicit detail.

  But her sister had other concerns as well and also wanted to know, “Think you that you can live here now without constant despair?”

  “I think it will depend upon what room I am in,” Milisant replied with a chuckle.

  “Why would that…?”

  “Never mind, I was only jesting, since ‘constant despair’ sounded so—constant. Actually, I have learned a thing that may make it better here.”

  “What?”

  “He does not love anyone else.”

  “But that is wonderful news!” Jhone exclaimed with delight. “Verily, it means Wulfric will soon love you—if he does not already.”

  “Already?” Milisant snorted over that farfetched possibility. “There is something else he does not like about me, or do you forget how many years it took him to fetch me? And he arrived at Dunburh most aggrieved to be there, even admitting that he ha
d also tried to have the betrothal broken. If ‘twas not because he loved someone else, then why was he furious at the idea of marrying me?”

  “That was before and so should not matter. Now is much different, Mili, since he has come to know you. I watched him yesterday. He seemed a most happy groom.”

  “He is good at giving false impressions that have naught to do with his true feelings.”

  “You know him to be unhappy still?”

  Milisant fidgeted somewhat. “Nay, not exactly, though he is presently wroth with me.”

  Jhone rolled her eyes. “What did you do now?”

  Milisant rolled her eyes right back. “Asked him a simple question about his true love. He growled at me that he never had one, and that I should have realized that for myself, based on his behavior, as if I could guess that he only said it because I had said it.”

  “Did I not tell you nigh the same thing, that ‘twas possible he had lied, just as you did? I knew he did not seem like a man pining for another.”

  Milisant winced at that choice of words, so similar to his, but pointed out, “Seem does not suffice where he is concerned, when he deliberately conceals. You have not been present for our many heated arguments. I have had no evidence that what he claimed was in fact a lie, other than he likes kissing me. Our constant fights supported his lie.”

  But Jhone was becoming as stubborn as Milisant was, and offered yet another contrary view. “Or they supported, as you say, whatever it is that he objects to about you. Have you asked him what that is?”

  “Nay.”

  “You should. It might be naught of import, might be a misconception, might be easily set aside. And then what will you have left to object to yourself?”

  “You know the answer to that,” Milisant grumbled. “He still means to control my every action.”