Return of the Rose Page 13

  One hand lay beneath his head as he looked to the wooden beams above. By the time he lowered his gaze to the woman next to him, she was asleep, a contented smile across her lips. His eyes coursed over her and a frown wrinkled his brow. It dawned on him that the innocent way she had looked at him all these days had perchance been real. No wonder she had been frightened at the lake. She had been a virgin, and he had made it clear that day that he had no intentions of coddling her.

  He brushed the pad of his thumb across her soft cheek. She was more beautiful than King Henry promised. She was also far different from any woman he had ever met. Although she told ridiculous tales of being from another world and had a vocabulary of absurdly strange words, she seemed naught but sincere with her feelings. Somehow she had even managed to bring forth feelings of his own…feelings he had thought dead and buried.

  After a few moments, Derek maneuvered himself from the bed, placing her head on a soft pillow. He donned his breeches and wandered to the window where he stared pensively over his lands. After a while he turned back to gaze upon his betrothed, wondering what cruel fate she had planned for him.

  ~~~~

  Morgan’s eyes flittered open the next morning to the sounds of swords clanking together outside. No sweet chirping of the birds today, she thought with a smile as she snuggled closer to Derek, disappointed to find him gone.

  She sat up, wincing at the sight of the blood-stained linens. She slid off the bed and rolled the linens into a ball. As she brought the bed sheets across the room, she moaned at the stiffness she felt in her legs and the soreness between them. It felt as if she’d been riding Emmon’s horse instead of Lord Vanguard. She chuckled at her own devilish thoughts.

  Returning to the bed she picked up the torn chemise. Amanda would not be happy at all when she saw what Morgan had done to her clothes. She chuckled again, surprised by the giddiness consuming her. She walked like a bull-legged cowboy to the basin. How could something so good make her feel so darn sore? She splashed cold water on her face before dressing in a mauve-colored tunic.

  As she returned to the bed, she heard a knock on the door. Before she could say ‘come in’ Odelia swept into the room with a tray of food. She set the tray down, grabbed the dirty linens and hastily headed for the door.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about last night?” Morgan asked her.

  “Aye,” Odelia said, turning back. “What did you do to the poor man?”

  Morgan smiled. “I made the man groan with pleasure. Can you imagine?”

  Odelia’s cheeks bloomed with color. “Nay, and I have no desire to imagine any such thing.”

  “Derek Vanguard, Lord of Braddock Hall loves me,” Morgan said happily.

  “Did he say the words?”

  “No, not exactly,” Morgan confessed. “But he said we were going to ‘make love,’ and then we did.”

  “I have no wish to ruin your mood, my lady, but a man will say anything to get a woman to bed him.”

  “Maybe,” Morgan agreed, “but I saw more than desire in his eyes. He loves me. I felt it every time he touched me.”

  “The only thing I sensed as his lordship stalked through the keep this morn was fury,” Odelia said. “He wore the scowl of a wolf, he did. And without bothering to break his fast he stormed outside before the sun had time to rise.”

  “Where did he go?”

  Odelia shook her head. “I know not.”

  “That’s strange.” She began searching for her slippers. “Maybe I should talk to him.”

  “The chambermaids are heating water for your bath. Perhaps you should wash first.”

  “Good idea. I’ll take a bath first. Thanks for everything, Odelia, especially for being my friend.”

  Odelia peered into her eyes as if she were searching for something…or someone, as if she wondered who exactly had taken over Amanda’s true form. Then she muttered a few nonsensical words and headed for the door again.

  “Before you go,” Morgan said. “Could you tell me if anyone else in the castle knows that Derek was here in my room last night?”

  Odelia smothered a cough with the corner of her apron. “I…methinks they are not…” Odelia dropped defeated arms to her sides. “Of course, they all know. ‘Tis the same here as it was at Silverwood. There is naught at Braddock that goes unheeded, my lady.”

  Morgan cringed. “I guess I’ll be considered loose.”

  “You are his betrothed.” Odelia chuckled. “The consummation of a marriage before the actual event is not an uncommon practice. There will be no taunts or jests coming from these friendly people. Now quit your worry.”

  After Odelia left, Morgan slumped back into the feather mattress. “No big deal,” she said aloud. “You lose your virginity to a medieval man, what did you expect? A friendly thank-you note? A good-morning kiss?”

  She frowned at the idea of Derek being upset. Men in this century were warriors first, second, and probably third, too. He might as well be a caveman. Did she really think that sleeping with him was going to make a difference in the way he felt about her or the way he treated her? She sighed. She hadn’t had time to think about any of that last night. And even if she had, it wouldn’t have made any difference. Derek had made her feel things she never could have imagined possible. She had no regrets.

  By the time she finished with her bath, Morgan felt her confidence dwindling. Why hadn’t he come to say good morning? Where was he? She hated to think of herself as the jealous insecure type, but images of Derek frolicking outside with a newly trained kitchen wench or bonding with the castle’s bloodletter somehow managed to invade her mind.

  Without putting much thought into what she was doing she shuffled hurriedly through Amanda’s chest, searching for the daring red gown she’d seen more than a dozen times. After she ripped the fur-lined collar off of the dress, she noticed that it had a very revealing neckline, too. She put it on. The silky fabric hugged every curve. The dress was sure to catch Derek’s undivided attention.

  As she entered the hall, she noticed all eyes were on her, and suddenly she felt sort of stupid. She could hardly walk. Not only because of the soreness between her legs, but because the dress was incredibly tight. She had no choice but to sway, a Mae West kind of stride as she crossed the seemingly never-ending room. She pushed a flimsy strap into place, praying the fabric would keep hold of her very compressed bosom. Her breasts had a rhythm all their own as she made her way outside and down the wide steps.

  She followed the sounds of clattering swords. Moments later she stood paralyzed by the spectacular sight before her: knights, dozens of them, were outfitted in chain mail. Hundreds of tiny links of metal covered each knight from head to foot. Their blades flickered in the sunlight and the clashes of swords reverberated off one another. The heavy shields they held in front of them provided a barrier of defense.

  It wasn’t hard to spot their lord, who stood easily a foot above the others. He wore no helmet and his chain mail covered only his upper body. The man was as big as the Jolly Green Giant. Only he wasn’t green and he certainly didn’t appear to be too jolly either.

  With one quick thrust of his sword, Derek easily knocked his antagonist to the ground before turning quickly to another ready opponent. The man on the dirt yanked off his helmet, revealing the angry red face of Emmon McBray.

  Unmistakably peeved at being so easily defeated, Emmon stalked by her without glancing her way. A river of sweat trickled down his pouty face and neck, disappearing beneath his padded armor.

  “Did he hurt you?” she asked.

  Emmon stopped in his tracks as if she were a rattlesnake ready to attack. He glared at her as he turned back her way. His blue eyes narrowed and his face turned a shade of lavender.

  Shoot. She’d embarrassed him. She shifted her weight uncomfortably as he studied her attire with a look of disgust. Then he shook his head and stalked off.

  Emmon was beginning to like her, she could tell.

  Turning back to watch t
he men on the field, Morgan suppressed a gasp at the sight of Derek stomping toward her, every stride eating up an incredible length of distance between them. His chiseled jaw appeared hard and his lips looked like a tight line across his face. He was definitely upset about something. As he grew closer, his expression remained stony and unreadable.

  “Wench!” he shouted for all to hear.

  Every knight on the field looked her way. An incredible wave of heat shot up her neck as she braced herself for what Derek might say or do next.

  “Females are not allowed upon these grounds. Has Matti taught you naught? It is a known fact that women of such high-born breeding as yourself are well versed on what is right and what is not. Perchance when we are married I shall have to also rehearse with you your wifely duties?”

  Morgan glared at him as she swallowed the knot in her throat, refusing to shy away in front of a crowd of lance-toting knights. “Obviously you think I’ll wait for you with bated breath every time you waltz into my room and then leave me without a word. I won’t. And—”

  “Cease your foolish prattle, woman, or I shall turn you over my knee right here for all to see the castigation of an unruly wench.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  He pointed toward the castle and waited for her to leave.

  She raised her chin high, refusing to budge.

  He cocked a brow and said, “Have it your way.” He picked her up and heaved her over his shoulder to the enthusiastic cheers of his men.

  Not again! Refusing eye contact with any one of his men-at-arms, she buried her head in the hard metal links of Derek’s back as his lengthy strides brought them quickly back to the castle.

  Within the keep Shayna waved at her, Matti winked, and three little kids giggled as they followed Derek’s quick steps to the bottom of the stairs.

  He brought her to his room, dropping her on his humongous four-posted bed as if she were a bolt of cloth. With hands planted on his hips, he stared down at her. And he wasn’t looking into her eyes.

  She pulled at the top of the dress, feeling suddenly cheap and ridiculously modest.

  “I would ask that you disrobe,” he said in a brusque tone.

  “What?”

  “Strip for me now,” he commanded.

  “Me?” She glanced behind her, and then back at him. “My clothes?”

  “Strip until you are as naked as the day you were born. That is an order—not a prayer.”

  “You’re a madman.” She lifted her nose to the air and swished him away. “You’ll just have to pursue your shameless, self-enjoyment elsewhere. I’m sure there are other women waiting in line for your lordly caress.” But none that wanted him as much as she did, she thought pathetically. He was visibly firm beneath his tight leather medieval pants. And the fact that she noticed at all made her moan.

  “Then I will have no choice but to relieve you of those garbs myself.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “‘Twould seem you know me not.”

  “I can do it myself, but I won’t be ordered around by you. Besides,” she added haughtily with a small wave of her hand, “I’m not in the mood.”

  “That meager bit of cloth you wear can only mean you are in the mood for one thing.”

  She huffed. “It’s not my…I mean, I didn’t know…” She sighed, frustrated at herself for wearing the ridiculous dress in the first place. “I’ll never wear it again, okay? I’d like to leave now.”

  “Nay. Not until you show me the rest of that which you flaunt about my men.”

  It dawned on her then, hitting her full force. The man was jealous. Could it be? The idea of it seemed a little bit ludicrous and a whole lot wonderful. “Is that what this is all about?” she asked, unable to stop a wide grin from spreading across her face.

  “And what, I am fearful to ask, are you talking about now?”

  “You’re jealous.”

  “‘Tis not a trait I possess.”

  She waggled a finger at him. “You are. I can see it scrawled all over your face.” She laughed, pleased with the way things were turning out.

  His expression remained steadfastly inscrutable.

  “Why is it so unbelievably hard for you to open up to me?” she asked. “Did last night mean anything, or was I just another notch on your headboard?”

  The puzzled look on his face made her smile.

  “Would it make you happy if it were so?” he asked.

  “Would what make me happy?”

  “If I were to say I was jealous?”

  She thought for a moment. “Yes, I guess it would.”

  “And if I were to confess to being jealous, although ‘tis a ridiculous notion, you would then be eager to reveal what little is not already exposed?”

  Morgan laughed at that. “Maybe. But only if I choose to and not because of any threats you make. And not, mind you, until you have fully admitted to being jealous.”

  “Agreed. I, Derek Vanguard confess to having been momentarily envious of every man, boy, and animal whose glance, peep, or gander crossed over thy fair maiden’s form.” He tapped his foot to the floor. “I am waiting.”

  Morgan swallowed, mortified at the idea of undressing within his sun-drenched room. “One thing,” she said, ignoring his impatient scowl. “For every item I remove, you must extract two of your own.”

  “‘Twould seem you drive a hard bargain, my lady.” With that said, he hardly struggled at all as he promptly removed the cumbersome chain mail, tossing it to the floor with a clank and a thud. Quickly following was his leather belt along with a clasp of precious stones.

  Morgan gulped at the swiftness of his agreement. Smiling halfheartedly, she realized she didn’t have many clothes to discard. She eyed her slippers.

  Derek cleared his throat impatiently.

  “Okay, okay.” Slowly, she slipped off her shoes and handed them to him so he could add them to the pile.

  “You decry this a fair game, my lady?”

  She smiled coyly.

  Derek hastily removed two leather boots and his woolen stockings. He stared at her, drumming his fingers against his muscled thigh.

  This was not the scene she’d envisioned. First of all, she never intended for him to take her seriously. Secondly, she had no desire to stand before him stark naked in the brilliant sunlit room. Sure, he’d seen it all before, she thought, but that was in the midst of passion. She was too embarrassed to reveal her modesty to this cocky warrior though, and she tried his patience to the hilt as she wondered what to take off next.

  “It seems you are in need of assistance after all.”

  “I can handle this myself, thank you very much.” She unhooked her necklace and looked at it lovingly before placing her rose pendant carefully on his bedside table.

  He was way ahead of her, throwing his tunic and cotton shirt atop the pile before her necklace was fully removed. He waited another minute as she struggled with what to take off next. “Enough,” he said. “I refuse to wait another moment whilst you brood over what to extract next.”

  Her gaze followed his hand as he reached into the top of her gown. She felt his knuckles against her breasts, and she gave a startled gasp when he ripped her gown clean off with one swift sweep of his hand. Wide-eyed, she watched him throw the dress atop the mounting heap. “You can’t go around ripping all my clothes off. I won’t have anything left to wear!”

  “I will purchase any cloth needed to replenish your wardrobe on the morrow. Now help me out of these,” he demanded with a good deal of exasperation in his voice.

  Her hands shook as she attempted to loosen the leather laces that held his breeches tight against his thick muscular thighs and narrow waist.

  He groaned as her fingers fumbled along and finally he yanked the breeches off impatiently and tossed them to the pile. He towered over her, leaning close so that he could nuzzle her throat as his hands slipped beneath her back.

  She eagerly wrapped herself within his arms while his mouth
claimed her breast. A small moan escaped as his thumb gently rubbed at her lips.

  Her hands explored the lean ripples of his back, wandering lower until she felt the firm contours of his buttocks. She let out a contented sigh of ecstasy as he entered her, slowly, gently. There was a small gentle ache, but no pain this time as he kissed her, moved within her. Her legs quivered and she took pleasure in the sounds of his low, rumbling groans. She tightened around him and sucked in a breath at the quickness of her release as they were both brought to fervid, spiraling satisfaction. A blissful oblivion consumed her as she felt him shudder inside of her.

  Still on top of her, using his forearms to hold most of his weight, Derek kissed her chin and then her neck.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked after a moment.

  Derek considered revealing the truth, letting her know how she unsettled him, wreaking havoc upon his body and mind. He should tell her all that was once stable and rational was now unreliable. And why? Because every wakeful thought was of her emerald eyes and bewitching smile. He no longer had to touch her to imagine fully the velvety smoothness of her skin. He had gone to the training fields this morn in hopes of exuding her from his mind. It had been working, too, until he saw her standing there, fairly naked at that, in her crimson gown. Verily his brain was now impotent when it came to concentrating on his duties, and this last thought caused him to say instead, “I was thinking of all the work piling up because of my being here.”

  Her frown told him that any feelings of pleasure were abruptly eclipsed by irritation.

  “Were you always this insensitive?” she asked.

  Derek looked to the hearth. Before the fire appeared a ghostly image of his father as the elderly Vanguard poked at the burning logs with a stick. “Go away, boy,” his father said, “I have no time for your useless whining.”

  “But father,” Derek tried again, “my horse is dead. The stable master said you ordered it to be so.”