When Love Awaits me-3 Page 6

  When her face began to hurt, and pain intruded, she came instantly awake. Scared, she reached under her pillow for the knife.

  Rolfe was unaware that he had hurt his wife when his knuckles flicked against her bruised cheek. He meant only to move the great mass of her hair away from her face before turning her onto her back, for he was ready for her and he knew by the sounds coming from her that she was ready too. An annoying pain pricked his side, throwing him off balance.

  It was several moments before he reacted to the pain, touching his side, and his fingers came away wet and sticky. He roared in anger.

  Leonie, first paralyzed with fear over what she had done, scrambled from the bed when he bellowed.

  Rolfe did not know she had left the bed, for he left it from his side in the same moment, making his way to the door of the antechamber where his young squire slept. He threw the door open, calling, "Get light in here, Damian! Then wake a servant. I need a change of bedlinen, and the fire needs to be built up."

  Leonie dashed for the area containing her chests. A hasty search produced the bedrobe. When a light appeared outside the door, she quickly turned around to finish tying it.

  This was what Rolfe saw when Damian entered the chamber with a candlestick. The sight made him catch his breath, for it was his first intimate look at his wife. She was no more than an inch or two over five feet, but what there was to her was perfectly formed. The curves were beautiful, the slim back narrowing to a tiny waist, then rounding to gently swelling hips. She lifted her hair out from beneath the robe and tossed it back like a silver cloud. Lord, she was exquisite from that view.

  She went to the bed and bent to pick up the knife she had dropped, but he drew closer, saw what she was reaching for, and shouted, "Leave it, madame!"

  Leonie jumped back, frightened, and nearly flew to the shadowed part of the room. It was stupid, so stupid to have hurt him, for now her hurt would be doubled. She had only made things worse for herself.

  Rolfe stared furiously at her huddled form, wondering what she had hoped to accomplish with the tiny knife. The blade was not big enough to do him great damage. The cut in his side was no more than a pin prick compared to the wounds he had suffered in all his battles. Perhaps she hadn't meant to hurt him. Perhaps the stabbing was an accident. Yet she'd had the blade in bed with her. Why?

  Rolfe stiffened as the thought intruded. Had she meant to prick herself with the blade and smear blood on the sheets because she had no other blood to give up? How foolish to try that old trick. He didn't care that she had come to him without being a virgin, but he did not like it at all that she'd meant to deceive him.

  He liked it even less when two maids that came in to change the bedlinen looked first at him and then at his wife in surprise. He could see by their expressions that they'd drawn the same conclusion he had. The story would no doubt be well laughed-over within a day.

  "Damian," Rolfe said while the maids saw to the fire, "get me the thickest bandage you can find and bind up this cut. I want no blood on the sheets except my wife's."

  He heard the gasp that came from the shadows, but he did not look at her. Let her begin to feel the shame she deserved to feel. If, in the morning, there was no blood on the sheets to attest to her purity, she would have to live with shame.

  Leonie turned cold as she heard him speak and considered what the man meant to do to her. She was amazed that he would admit before others that he meant to harm her. All of a sudden she had a desire to take a good look at this man who was so utterly despicable. She raised her head just enough for her one good eye to focus on him. He was not looking her way, but he was illuminated by the firelight, so she allowed herself a bold appraisal, the very first she'd had.

  He had seated himself on a stool by the hearth, with a sheet draped over his loins. The bright flames cast enough light for her to see him clearly. Her husband? Please, no. It would be too cruel to be married to this beautiful young man, knowing that he could inspire only hate in her.

  She knew why he was called the Black Wolf, when it was actually a silver wolf on a black field sewn on his banner. The name was for his dark coloring, his black hair and eyes. The hair that covered the rest of his body was just as black, especially the thick mat on his chest.

  She did not find his darkness unpleasant. Far from it—too far in fact.

  God help her, the sight of him was enough to take her breath away. His body was overwhelmingly masculine, rock-hard and muscular, big, frightening. But it was his rugged face that was so arresting, framed by the shaggy cut of his black hair, hair that curled on neck, temple, and forehead. His lips were drawn tight just then, but that did not detract from their sensual fullness. His brow was wide, the nose straight and bold, the square jaw smooth and finely defined and aggressive.

  It was a beautifully handsome face. How awful that the man behind it was a monster, cold, heartless, vindictive. For a man to have the face of an angel and the heart of a devil was worth crying over.

  While Damian tended his wound, Rolfe sensed the girl's eyes on him.

  When he looked toward her, all he could see was a small huddled form cloaked in its mass of silver hair. He recalled her response to him in bed, recalled the soft sounds of pleasure that had come from her. She had wanted him, and knowing that had aroused him. Knowing that she was watching him now had the same effect. His desire to have her was becoming painful.

  Rolfe snapped at Damian to hurry and be gone, and Leonie's trembling worsened as the door closed, leaving them alone again.

  "Return to bed, Lady Leonie."

  It was the utter quiet of the room that made it seem he had shouted at her. In fact, his voice had been husky.

  Rolfe grinned as she hurried toward the bed, her back to him.

  "Remove your robe, my lady."

  Leonie froze, her body stiff with mortification. "My lord, I—"

  "Behind the curtains, if you wish," he said impatiently. "I did not mean I wished to inspect you."

  Leonie climbed into bed, drawing the bedcurtains tightly closed. A moment later Rolfe grinned again as her robe dropped onto the floor. He wasted no time in putting out the candles, and a few moments later he had joined her in the bed.

  He had to reach to touch her, for she was lying on the far edge of the bed, her back to him. He pulled her to the center of the bed, and felt her trembling.

  "You are cold?"

  She would rather have died than admit her fear. "Yes, my lord."

  His fingers moved gently over her breasts, down her belly, then slipped between her legs. "You will not be cold for long," he whispered.

  Leonie could not stop trembling. She couldn't understand why he was being gentle with her. When was her punishment to begin? He continued to play with her, to tempt her, but there was no room in her emotions for anything except fear. She was certain there would be awful retribution for stabbing him, but what did he have in mind?

  So it was a complete surprise when Leonie found herself mounted and penetrated before she realized what was happening. She cried out as he entered her, but that pain was short and soon became only a dull throb.

  She lay there dazed, amazed that she was being bedded instead of beaten.

  Rolfe was amazed as well. She was a virgin after all. That meant his conclusions were wholly untrue. She had stabbed him on purpose, had meant to stab him. That realization made him finish with her quickly.

  Having done so, he promptly fell asleep.

  He did not snore this time, but Leonie knew her husband was asleep.

  Well, she was no longer a maiden. Because she lacked desire for him, his taking her had been painful. But it was a pain she could bear if she had to—though she would not have to if she were sent away. Holding that hope close to her, willing it to be so, she fell asleep.

  Chapter 11

  LEONIE was awakened rudely when a troop of women barged into her room early the next morning. She had barely awakened before the bedcurtains were thrown aside and she was whisked out
of bed.

  The sheets were removed and taken out of the room to be displayed, as was the custom. But the ritual was forgotten when one of the ladies caught sight of Leonie's face and gave a startled exclamation.

  Leonie turned her back and hid her face in her hands, giving the unfortunate appearance that she was crying. Questions rose loudly. The women wanted to know what was wrong with her, but Leonie would neither speak nor turn around.

  It was Amelia who took charge, ushering the ladies out. Someone draped Leonie's bedrobe over her shoulders, making her aware for the first time that she had been standing there naked, with only her long hair to cover her. She put the robe on, and then her veil was thrust at her.

  Leonie looked up to nod curtly at Judith before she donned the veil.

  Only her stepmother and Lady Amelia were left in the room with her. Of her husband, there was no sign.

  "Who were those women?" Leonie asked.

  "It was remiss of your husband that you did not meet them at the feast," Judith replied, "but you will no doubt come to know them soon enough. They are the wives and daughters of knights who serve your husband. I understand they were even allowed to follow the army when Sir Rolfe was but a mercenary. Most unusual circumstance. It could not have been easy to find quarters for them in each town. Is that not so, Lady Amelia?"

  "I know nothing of that."

  "No, of course you would not," Judith purred. "I forget that you have not been with Sir Rolfe very long."

  This bit of hostility wasn't the only thing that displeased Amelia. She had been thoroughly put out to see the virgin blood on the sheets, positive as she was that Rolfe would not touch his wife.

  "You missed mass, Leonie," Judith remarked disapprovingly. "But you were not the only one. Your father is still sound asleep. And since your husband has gone about his business without a word to his guests, I must assume the wedding celebration is over. There is no point in our staying."

  "You have my leave to go, madame, if that is what is required," Leonie replied stiffly.

  "You do not need us?" Judith asked only because it was expected.

  Leonie shook her head.

  "Then, if I can stir your father, we will go. You wish to say farewell to him? I can't guarantee he will remember, but . . ."

  "Again, no."

  "Well, we wish you the best, my dear."

  "Of course you do," Leonie answered tonelessly before turning her back. Dismissed, Judith left.

  "I do not blame you for disliking your stepmother," Amelia remarked.

  "She is not a pleasant woman."

  Leonie was in no mood for conversation with this one either. "If you will be good enough to have my maid sent to me, I need not trouble you further, Lady Amelia. I would have a bath and tray of food brought here, as I do not mean to leave this room today."

  Amelia's lips tightened. "As you will, my lady," she said curtly, hoping she would soon be rid of the arrogant girl.

  Leonie had only just finished her bath when Lady Amelia returned to inform her that her escort was ready to return her to Pershwick. This was so unexpected that Leonie was compelled to question it.

  "You are sure I am to go to Pershwick? So soon?"

  "It is the keep my lord mentioned, as you are familiar with it. No doubt he will supply you with what money you need, and perhaps he will appoint his own steward, but you should not be troubled by him there as long as you do not bring yourself to his attention. I assume that is as you would have it?"

  "Indeed! Oh, indeed, yes!"

  Leonie was stunned by this turn of luck, and hurried through her preparations as quickly as possible.

  Sir Guibert and Leonie's men-at-arms were to be her escort. Guibert was alarmed when told what his first duty for the newly married Leonie would be. But seeing how eager she was to be gone from Crewel, he kept his doubts to himself. Then, too, he had heard that Rolfe d'Ambert was seldom in residence at Crewel, so he assumed the man wished to spare his wife being alone there. At Pershwick, she could be with people she knew.

  Guibert had also learned what Rolfe was about—a monumental feat, the taking of seven hostile keeps with only a small army. He wished him luck, but knew the job would not be finished quickly. He doubted his lady would see much of her husband the rest of this year.

  It was with some self-disgust that Rolfe found himself riding through the gate of Crewel at sunset, spurred on by a foolish eagerness to be with Leonie again.

  All of last night was not clear to him. His wound wasn't bad, but he was hardly flattered to have received it. He did know that it had been a long time since he'd been so intrigued by a woman. No doubt the tension had had much to do with it, but it would do no harm to find out, would it?

  Disgust with his own boyish eagerness had much to do with his reaction when he found his wife was not there waiting for him. He simply turned around and returned to the siege of Wrothe Keep. Relief was partly why he did so. He did not chastise Amelia for overstepping her bounds. He had told her only that he would send his wife away, not instructed her to see to it for him. But Leonie's absence was a good thing, for eventually he would have been disgusted with himself over his foolish desire to be with her. He certainly did not want the woman to know he desired her. He was not forgetting how spiteful she was.

  Several miles away, in Axeford Keep, where Sir Warren was temporary castellan for Rolfe, his wife, Lady Roese, was telling him how shocked she had been that morning when she saw Leonie d'Ambert's face. Warren, who knew of his lord's troubles with Pershwick, assumed correctly that the lady had resisted the marriage. It was a natural conclusion that if she had been beaten, it was her father who had done it.

  But Warren's wife, who had been away visiting her family for several months, knew nothing of the Pershwick troubles. She knew little of Rolfe d'Ambert, either. Her husband liked him, but that spoke only of Sir Rolfe's being a good overlord. It said nothing about his character. She knew only that Sir Rolfe had a hot temper, and she concluded that he had beaten his new wife. In her opinion, Lady Leonie had been married to a cruel man.

  Unfortunately, Sir Warren did not clear up the misunderstanding. He did no more than grunt when he was told Lady Leonie's condition. In truth, he wasn't really listening. His wife told the story the next day to Lady Bertha, who was staying in Axeford Town, and from there the story spread quickly.

  It did not take long for a firm debate to ensue, and many husbands and wives, as well as the serfs of Axeford, Kenil, Blythe, and Crewel argued the issue in the following weeks. The men knew their lord, and sided with him. The women did not know him, and they felt that men will always defend each other blindly and against all evidence, so they held to their opinions and sorely pitied the lady in question.

  The serfs, who loved gossip, simply divided sides, man for man and woman for woman. And unbeknownst to anyone, the issue went a long way toward winning the loyalty of the people of Kempston for their new lord and lady.

  Lady Amelia was furious when she heard the gossip, not because her lover was being maligned, but because the woman being pitied was Lady Leonie, and this would not help Rolfe to forget about her. He might even bring her back to Crewel just to still the wagging tongues.

  Rolfe was in fact unaware of what was being said about him in the weeks after the wedding. The gossip was not something his men wanted him made aware of. Even Thorpe took pains to keep it from him, knowing his temper very well.

  Briefly Rolfe wondered why his men acted strangely, hushing conversations when he drew near, shouting abuse at their womenfolk in his presence. And, damn him, he had never seen so many disgruntled females. Every woman he encountered was in a pique.

  But Rolfe had too many other things on his mind to ponder the peculiarities of women and serfs. He kept to the camp outside Wrothe Keep for several weeks, conducting the terms of surrender.

  Yes, he had much to occupy his mind. Yet drifting into his thoughts with alarming frequency were images of a petite form with soft curves and whispering sighs.
Lady Leonie, his recent bride, was not forgotten whether or not he wished her to be.

  Chapter 12

  LEONIE'S every prayer had been answered. Her husband was forgotten. Her life was her own again. No steward had been sent to Pershwick to tell her that a man ruled her life now. She had taken great pains to prepare for a steward, abandoning all her hiding places so that the steward could never accuse her of trying to keep anything from her lord. Everything was in order. But no one arrived and she stopped expecting anyone.

  No longer did she have to worry that Judith's steward would come raiding either. She had freedom, independence, and peace.

  But good things do not last forever. One afternoon, working in her garden, she heard the call to halt from the gate, but gave it little thought.

  Sir Guibert was away, leaving her master-at-arms in charge of defending the keep. The man took his responsibilities very seriously, ordering the gatekeeper to question anyone who wished to enter the keep, familiar face or not.

  Leonie continued to fill her basket with parts from her elderberry tree.

  The gatherings would make dyes for the weaving room, black from the bark and root, green from the leaves. Shades from blue-lilac to purple would have to wait until the berries ripened in the fall.

  A second basket, filled earlier, contained herbs and flowers for medicines and cooking: chicory and endive, lovage, sweet marjoram, spearmint and catsmint, white poppy, rosemary, and the petals of marigolds and violets. Leonie trusted no one else to gather these cuttings, for it was too easy for a servant to mistake one herb for another and pick something poisonous for a salad.

  The sound of horses entering the bailey made her wonder who could be visiting Pershwick, for Sir Guibert was not expected back until that evening. Horses heralded either guests or a rich merchant, and few of either came to such a small keep as hers.

  She leaned over the low garden wall to investigate, and spied a man bearing the Black Wolf's colors over full armor. He was dismounting from a huge black destrier. There were two men-at-arms attending him.