Chapter Six

J oanna stared at her groom—a stranger but not. He was tall and handsome, good to look at, it was true, but she also longed to run her fingers through his blond hair and feel the touch of his lips on hers, know the shape of him without clothes on.

It was a need that was growing in her belly, expanding, gripping her, becoming her entirety.

Never in her dreams had she thought Philip of Habsburg would look this way, would be this way. Confident. Commanding. Alluring. Possessive. She wouldn't have dared to even hope.

But now, standing before her, in this room that was quickly vacating of all other people, she knew he had suddenly become her everything. Whether they had been matched or not, she would have wanted the archduke. She would not have been able to resist the way she had resisted Raul.

Philip was looking at her with his steel-blue eyes that blazed hot and passionate. And like her own, his breaths were coming fast, as though impatience and longing had gripped his chest.

Within a minute, the room quieted, and then the door shut with a resounding bang. Silence descended.

"It is quite improper," she said, "to be alone before our wedding has been blessed."

He didn't reply, just studied her closely.

She lifted her gown an inch and walked to the window, staring out at the vast expanse of greenery and the trees jabbing the sky in the distance. Her mind was spinning. What was happening to her?

Suddenly, she was aware of him behind her, close, his warm breath caressing her neck.

"I will not touch you," he said, "until we have been blessed by the bishop."

His nearness weakened her knees. She fought to remain still and dignified. "And you could not wait until tomorrow to touch me?"

"Could you, me?"

She didn't answer. Couldn't find the words.

"My beautiful Joanna, I have never set my eyes upon a woman so exquisite as you. My flesh longs for yours. My heart aches to be near to you, as near as a man and woman can be."

She closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. A quiver in her cunny had her pressing her thighs together.

"Each moment that we are not as one," he said, coming closer still but not actually touching her, "is a moment that pains me. Pains every inch of my body." He groaned softly, as though it did actually hurt him.

She turned and looked up into his face.

He looked down at her with an intensity that caught her breath. She took a step backward, her shoulders bumping into the coolness of the window. "Your need is—"

"Great. Yes. Isn't yours?" He dipped his head to hers.

She stared at his lips, slightly parted. Was he going to kiss her?

"We have waited so long," he murmured. "Years, months, weeks, days, and hours to be together. It has only ever been you and will only ever be you."

"Philip," she said, his name like a love potion spreading on her tongue. "My husband."

"Joanna. My wife."

She set her palm on his tunic, over the Habsburg crest. It was cool, though she was hot. Heat had spread right through her—her sternum, her breasts, her belly, and between her thighs. She wanted to know Philip without his tunic, without his breeches. She wanted him. All of him.

The way he wanted her…or so it seemed.

"You have enraptured me with the speed of an arrow," he said, his lips hovering over hers. "I will commit to you with my heart, my body, and my soul."

"As I will you." Lust was a new, almost violent sensation. She cared not for propriety, or God's will. "Kiss me."

His mouth twitched into a smile. "We should wait for the bishop."

"I care not for any of the ceremonies or blessings." She gripped his collar. "Kiss me. Now. I command it."

Suddenly, his arms locked around her, hauling her close.

She caught her breath and squeezed in close.

"If I start kissing you, I should warn you, I may not be able to stop."

"I will not want you to."

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Hard rapping on the door blasted around the room, echoing up to the high ceiling and down the stone walls. It was about as graceful as cannon fire.

Suddenly, he released her. His cheeks held a flash of red and he did not take his eyes from her. "Soon," he said. "Soon I will kiss you…everywhere."

Everywhere?

Joanna stepped away from him and straightened her gown. What had just come over her? It had been powerful and intense, all consuming. She'd been ready to strip him of his clothes and shed hers, to do all the things she'd thought of doing with a man right there on the floor, or over the long table, perhaps on the throne at the head of the room. She wouldn't have cared. She'd have done anything to have Philip join his body with hers and drive them both wild with pleasure.

A tall man with dark, curly hair strode in. Thomas, if she remembered his name correctly.

Behind him came a rotund bishop dressed in white robes and with a tall, red miter perched upon his head.

"Ah, good." Philip rubbed his hands together. "You are here, Bishop, and just in time, I would say."

Thomas held out his hands and shook his head, as if exasperated. "Shall I call everyone in?"

"No, no, no need for that." Philip gestured to the bishop. "If you could just give us God's blessing, quick as you can, that will be all."

"Your Grace, the ceremony is tomorrow, is it not?"

"We will still have the ceremony tomorrow so the masses can enjoy our union, but we wish to start our married life right away." He reached for Joanna's hand and knotted his fingers with hers. "In fact, I believe for the sake of my wife's reputation, it is of the utmost importance that we do."

"Her reputation?" The bishop raised his eyebrows at Joanna.

Joanna's cheeks heated further. Never had she been looked at this way by a man of the church. He was shocked, shocked by her . She studied her feet and bit on her bottom lip.

"Do I need to spell it out?" Philip asked. His voice held a sharper edge now.

"Well…I…" The bishop fiddled with the Bible he held, twirling the golden thread that hung from a bookmark. "It's very unusual and…"

"You see my wife standing before you," Philip said, leaning closer to him as if a conspirator.

"Yes."

"She is beautiful, is she not?"

The bishop nodded.

"She is so beautiful that I cannot wait another minute to claim her as my own. To bind our souls together for all of time. I wish to feel her body under mine, around mine. I wish for us to procreate as God intended, and I plan for that to happen soon…very soon."

"Never have I…" The bishop looked from Philip to Joanna and back again. His red jowls wobbled.

"So, as I previously said, you should get on with it." Philip gestured to the Bible. "Or God, you, and Thomas here might find yourself bearing witness to the consummation itself, over the very solid table right in the center of this room."

"In the name of the Lord, what a thing to utter." The bishop kissed his rosary and then sent his eyes heavenward.

"I think you should just say the words, Bishop," Thomas said. "Before you and I regret it."

"Yes. Yes of course." The bishop opened his Bible.

Philip turned to Joanna and took her other hand. He smiled, his eyes softening but still brimming with desire.

Her heart did a leap of longing and happiness and she squeezed his fingers.

"Please repeat after me. I, Philip of Austria, Duke of Burgundy, take thee, Joanna of Castile, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; for fairer or fouler; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish; till death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance and thereunto I plight thee my troth."

Philip repeated the words. His voice sure and sound.

Joanna did the same with her own vows. The blessing wasn't how she'd imagined. Alone in a quiet room with just the bishop and one other man she didn't know. But she didn't care. It was the best thing that could have happened—the only thing that could have happened.

"I now pronounce you man and wife and your matrimony blessed by the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." The bishop crossed himself. "May God be with you today and every day of your marriage."

"Excellent." Philip stepped up close, cupped Joanna's face, and pressed his lips to hers.

Joanna gripped his forearms and accepted her first kiss. It was sweet yet sure, exciting and full of delicious promise.

He moaned softly and pulled back. "We really should take this somewhere more private."

She giggled, floating on happiness. "I do not know what you mean, husband." The disappointment of Philip not being at the port to greet her was long forgotten.

"You will."

A twinkle in his eye made her body tremble with longing.

"This way," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. "I will show you."

They walked the length of the room and then the doors opened. Her two knights stood directly outside, behind them a swell of people.

The moment Philip and Joanna appeared between the knights, the crowd quieted.

"Noblemen and councilors." Philip held up his hand. "My wife and I are now blessed by God. Tomorrow, we will celebrate in style. We will feast and dance and enjoy excellent music as we celebrate our marriage."

Joanna studied the sea of faces. Surly-looking men she didn't know. For a moment, she felt small in this strange land with strangers, but then Philip slid his arm tighter around her waist and pulled her against the length of his body. "I am sure you will understand that my wife and I wish to…" He paused. "Wish to…" He paused some more. The crowd shifted uneasily. "Wish to get to know one another."

There was a collective exhalation.

"So if you will excuse us." He suddenly stooped and slipped one arm behind her legs and the other around her waist and scooped her up.

"Oh!" She clutched his shoulders, his body solid beneath his clothing.

He grinned at her. "Shall we?"

Before she could answer, he stepped forward.

The crowd parted. Murmurs of congratulations and good wishes followed them to the stairs.

As they climbed, she glanced over his shoulder. The knights were close, their helmets shut as always and their hands on the grips of their swords. Their armor rattled softly as they took the steps.

"They will have to wait outside," Philip said without turning. "Like my father, I wish for a rule that I am the only man permitted inside my wife's bedchamber."

"I am sure that will be acceptable to them."

"As long as when you scream in pleasure"—he grinned—"they do not think I am murdering you and rush in, swords at the ready."

She gasped. "Philip, what a thing to say. I fear I have married a very bold man who cares not for propriety."

"I care very much for propriety," he said with a chuckle as they reached the top of the stairs. "That is why we have just had our marriage blessed before we spend the night together consummating it." He strode toward the room she'd used earlier to freshen up. "And, my sweet one, I thought you would have more questions about screaming with pleasure than propriety."

She swallowed, nerves suddenly gripping her. Perhaps she'd pushed that comment away on purpose. Was it really possible to scream with pleasure? "Doesn't one usually scream in pain?" She curled her toes in her shoes.

"Let's just say there are different types of screams, and I look forward to showing you exactly what they are."

They arrived at the bedchamber. Philip shoved the door open and stepped inside.

Her nerves doubled when she saw the large, four-poster bed she'd practically ignored earlier. It was dressed with heavy, blue-and-gold curtains and canopy. Two golden doves decorated the peak at the top. At the end was a plush long chair upholstered in sunshine yellow and with plumb-green cushions.

Her chests had been stacked in the corner. She doubted Beatriz had unpacked them yet.

Philip back-kicked the door and it shut with a slam. A sound that was very clear to everyone not to enter.

"I have thought of you for months," he said, "and now finally, we are alone in the bedchamber together."

He set her down, but the moment her feet touched the rugged floor, his mouth crushed against hers.

She clung to him and kissed him back. Her heart rate rocketed when her shoulders hit the wall and his solid body pressed against hers, toe to chest. Her headdress fell off, landing on the ground forgotten.

He groaned and slid one hand to her waist and the other into her hair. He delved his tongue to find hers.

She opened her eyes, the feel of his urgent, wet tongue a surprise and the taste of him dark, sweet, masculine—a flavor she could become drunk on.

"We will be very happy together," he said, kissing a trail across her cheek. "I can tell."

"Yes. Yes, we will." She lifted her right leg, needing to get closer despite the already possessive hold he had on her.

Her gown shifted and he took full advantage, reaching for it, rucking it up. Cool air washed over her legs and her cunny trembled. Her breasts were heavy, her nipples tight peaks poking at her gown.

He was kissing her again, desperately, his breaths coming as fast as hers. Excitement raced through her, anticipation like another living creature inside of her. She wasn't frightened of her first time, just desperate to know, to feel, to experience. Have it all. All of him.

And it certainly seemed like her new husband was up for the job of showing her everything she needed to know… and more.