Chapter Seventeen

“I s there a problem?” Augustin watched his wife take a bite of meat from each of the trenchers on the huge serving tray. “Are you that hungry, lady?” Concern marred his brow.

“I’m not hungry.” As she sampled yet another bite from the third tray, Augustin stayed her hand and growled low in his throat, “Is there a reason for your unusual appetite?”

His face was darkening with what she could see was anger. Fascinated by the change, she paused to watch the play of muscles across his jaw. They alternately clenched, then relaxed.

“Nay.”

He waved the next tray away and pulled her away from the table, across the hall and out of the side door.

“Gertie added extra salt to the meat and bread she served to your men.”

Though the opposite of what she expected, her words eased the taut line of his jaw.

“Go on,” he urged.

“She served them sour wine too.” Eyreka qualified, “She only tried to help. She noticed your indifferent attitude and assumed that I had been forced to wed you.”

“Why did you not tell me of this difficulty?” he asked.

“That is not the whole of it,” Eyreka said sadly. “There is more.”

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“I do not want you to take your anger out on my people, they truly mean no harm, ’tis just that—”

“They assume that because we do not share a chamber together as man and wife, we cannot abide one another.” Her husband’s tone softened; at least he was no longer angry. “Is that it?”

Eyreka nodded. “I heard about the patrols,” she said.

Augustin clenched his jaw and bit out, “I intend to have the offenders flogged.”

“But you won’t because you also wish for peace among our people,” Eyreka finished for him.

“We need to settle the unrest. I know you wished for more time to become used to our marriage, but I think we have just run out.”

Eyreka brushed the side of his cheek with her fingertips, “I understand and appreciate your concern. But you should realize, I am almost forty summers,” she said slowly. “My body is riddled with the scars from carrying and birthing my children.”

At his narrowed gaze she added, “I no longer have the type of figure that would attract a man.”

He let go of her and stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. “When I look at you, I see a woman who is aware of who she is and what she has accomplished in life. I have survived a great many battles,” he paused, “nearly losing my life at the Battle of Hastings, and I have the scars to prove it.”

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

He fell silent. Taking her hands in his, he lifted her right hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. Then he repeated the caress with her other hand. “Monique was beautiful, but too fragile to survive the rigors of childbirth.”

She watched pain slide across his finely chiseled features, settling them into a look of acceptance.

“I will be five and thirty come winter,” he said haltingly, watching her face closely. When she remained silent, he continued, “I have come to appreciate that there is no beauty more pure than that of a woman who has embraced life and lived it fully.”

Stunned by his words and the depth of feeling behind them, Eyreka bit her trembling lip, holding back her tears. She could hear the catch in her voice, “Then, you do not mind that you have not married a young maid?” she asked.

“I did not wish to remarry,” Augustin confided. “I understand why you sought to bargain with the king. I was unsure of your loyalties at first, and not willing to trust,” he said haltingly. “After all you have done for my men and tried to do to smooth our way here, I realize that I am the one who should be seeking your trust.”

Eyreka was so surprised by his words that she could not speak.

“I would rather have a woman of your experience, unafraid of life, by my side, than a young maid,” he said, striving for a lighter tone. “I do not have the time or inclination to instruct a bride in my likes and dislikes.”

Eyreka felt the urge to laugh out loud at the idea, but wisely suppressed the urge. “I am afraid that I would not be inclined to listen to your instruction, husband.”

Augustin took a step closer. “Why is it that I am not surprised?”

“Mayhap because you are old enough to understand that strong women tend to have their way in most things.”

She watched his nostrils flare out and his eyes turn dark gray and knew she was playing with fire, but she could not wait to fan the flames.

He captured her lips, commanding her to respond in kind. The desperate longing to be caressed by his strong hands, and held against his hard body, overwhelmed her. She could not think, only react. His lips sped across her cheekbone and down her throat. When he could not push her bliaut down far enough to reach her aching breasts, he swept her into his arms and strode along the path through the herb gardens, stopping only when he reached the far corner and the protection of the tall yew bushes.

He set her down long enough to remove her bliaut and spread it on the grass beneath the flowering pear tree. The faint scent filled the soft night air, surrounding them with the sweet, fragile fragrance. Hidden from prying eyes, he wooed his wife until she melted into his embrace.

He laid her down upon the soft fabric and leaned back to remove his tunic. She watched as he folded it, surprised when he placed it beneath her head. “I would not be able to rouse such passion in a young maid,” Augustin said, pulling her chainse over her head. “She would be afraid of my touch, unaware of the delights I could show her.”

Eyreka could not breathe—his lips were so hot, they seared the tender skin of her breast. She moaned aloud as he nipped and suckled both breasts. “I need—”

Augustin made the breath snag in her chest as he ran callused hands up and down her sides, stopping to knead her hips until she moaned.

He settled himself between her legs, raised himself up on his arms, and paused. “Ask me,” he commanded through gritted teeth.

Without further words, Eyreka understood what he wanted. “I want—” She never finished speaking, because her husband drove into her with one powerful stroke. Her throat went dry, and her eyes rolled back in her head. “By Odin!” she cried out.

“God’s blood!”

Eyreka grabbed his muscled buttocks with both hands and lifted her hips to meet his measured thrusts. Again and again, she met him thrust for thrust, until at last she felt her inner muscles clench and the wonder of her release flow through her like honeyed mead.

Agustin’s entire body tensed before he thrust into her one last time. He poured his seed into her welcoming warmth before collapsing on top of her.

Eyreka was so tired, her arms and legs did not have any strength left to move. As the wonder of their lovemaking dissipated, and Augustin remained silent, a gnawing fear settled in. Would this be all Augustin was willing to give, the sealing of their vows? Would he want to hold her in the night and take the time to learn her secret places as Addison had? She tried to swallow past the lump that formed in her throat. Did she want him to? When he remained silent, she tried to push him away, but Augustin’s grip tightened.

He pulled her closer and inhaled her woman’s scent. Mon Dieu , what had just happened? He had taken other women after his wife died. She was not the first. God’s blood, he had not been able to wait to walk back through the hall and up to their chamber. He had to have her. But why did she draw out every drop of energy he had, filling in the void Monique’s death left behind with contentment? Was this one moment all that she wanted? To seal their vows with the pretense of living together. Would she ask him to sleep on the floor of their chamber? One final question speared through him: Did he want more from her?

Augustin reluctantly rolled off of her, confused, and started pulling his clothing back on. He felt awkward now that he was dressed, and did not like the feeling one bit.

Eyreka pulled her chainse and bliaut over her head and brushed bits of leaves and grass off of her. She glanced up at her husband through her lashes and wondered what he was thinking. He felt so stiff now, so awkward, when moments before they had been tangled together in the sweet-scented grass. ’Twas almost as if in removing their layers of clothing, their inner selves were revealed as well. They were no longer two people from different ways of life with different beliefs. They were two lonely people, trying to lose themselves in the fires of passion. Trying to become what she now knew they could never truly be—the loved one each of them had lost.

Neither said another word as they walked around the perimeter of the garden and back around to the front of their holding. The distance between them stretched wide. Eyreka wondered if she would ever be able to cross the void, or if she wanted to. Caring for someone was safe—no deep emotions were involved. Loving Addison, then losing him, ripped the heart from her breast and sucked the life from her soul until she was no longer a person, but a mere shell of what she had been. Her body shuddered, remembering the pain. She could not live through it again…she would not love again.

At the door to their chamber, Augustin bowed to Eyreka before turning on his heel and walking away.

“Can he not stand to be in the same room with me?” Eyreka sank onto the low stool and rested her head on the table. Confusion filled her until she did not quite know what to think. She had never thought to taste mind-numbing passion again, honestly believing that only her first husband would be able to take her there, and only because she loved him.

“Is there nothing special, then, that links two people together? Would I feel the same, had I let a stranger take what I willingly gave to Augustin?”

She thought long and hard about her reaction to Augustin then shook her head. Aimory’s embrace had been unwanted and unmoving. Then a dark memory engulfed her. De Jeaneaux’s face, distorted with anger flashed before her, his fingers biting again into her flesh, as he held her down on the floor.

Eyreka shuddered at the memory. Patrick had saved her from being raped, for which she was eternally grateful. Though she would rather erase the incident completely, she was wise enough to retain tiny piece. It had helped her to realize that she was not willing to let just any man touch her intimately. Only Augustin.

Not just any man would do. Yes, she was passionate; Addison had oft told her how much he enjoyed their love play. But she did not feel the ache of awareness in any other man’s presence the way she did when Augustin walked into the room. Mayhap it was more than missed passion that flowed through her whenever she was near him.

More tired than she had been in ages, she lay down upon the bed, alone. She curled herself into a ball and fell into an exhausted sleep, unaware that her husband returned to their chamber to lie down beside her, pulling her close while she slept.