Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

"Y ou are as weak as a woman!" William cried, trying to wrestle Boden to the ground with one arm. "A Wellesbourne can always beat a de Russe!"

Boden grunted, both in effort and in pain. "Only you would think so," he said. "I will show you otherwise."

With that, they doubled their efforts, each man trying to send the other to the ground. There was a great deal of gambling and drinking and shouting going on inside the great hall of Shrewsbury this night, a massive place with an enormous pitched ceiling, two stories tall, with a roof covered in thatching.

Nights here were usually the same. There was a vast open firepit in the middle of the hall, almost always with a roaring fire in it, and the smoke went up into the soaring roof, finding an outlet in the many holes that were in the eaves for that very purpose. The hall had been built in the Saxon fashion three hundred years earlier, and the building was still holding up quite nicely. As always, it was full of food and drink, and men having a good time.

Tonight was no exception.

William was seriously trying to break Boden's arm as Dastan and Syler stood by and watched. Charlisa was on the dais, speaking to her young cousin who happened to be Syler's sister.

Charlisa's father and Syler's father were brothers, and two months ago, Syler's youngest sister had arrived to serve Charlisa and learn something of the world. She was a little old to foster at fifteen years of age, but Charlisa was happy to take the girl under her wing. Young Laria de Poyer had the dark de Poyer eyes and a head full of curly dark hair. She was a pretty girl, but a little silly, something Charlisa suffered from as well, and she only had eyes for William Wellesbourne.

But William soundly ignored her, as he was doing now by trying to snap Boden's arm in two. Men were betting on who was going to win.

"Well?" William yelled as he tried to twist Boden's arm. "Who are the men betting on?"

He was yelling at one man in particular, the older sergeant who had a good grasp of command with the men. He'd been with Shrewsbury nearly forty years, and he and the old duke had known each other well. With a grin, the old sergeant checked on the two soldiers who were the bookmakers for the event, and nearly every other event held in the great hall. They were busy organizing the pot, and one man muttered a name to the old sergeant. His smile grew.

"Sir Boden, my lord," he said. "They are betting on the bigger man."

William didn't like that at all. With a shout, he elbowed Boden in the ribs, causing the man to falter. When he did, William jump on him and the two collapsed onto the ground. After that, it was part wrestling match, part fist fight. As Dastan and Syler watched the goings-on, Dastan shook his head.

"Those two are exhausting," he said. "If they were not such good knights, they would be positively worthless."

"Agreed, my lord," Syler said grimly.

Dastan was torn between disgust and amusement as he watched William and Boden throw punches. "Do you know that Dane has three more brothers just like Boden?" he said. "Well, I'm not entirely sure if they are all just like him, but he has at least two that fall into that category. There is a younger brother, Gage, and then an older one, Cort. I have seen them together and they all behave like this."

Syler was trying not to laugh. "I have no brothers," he said. "Only sisters, and they do not wrestle like this."

"Thank God."

"Should we stop this? Lord Dane will be arriving with the new duchess any moment."

But Dastan shook his head. "Nay," he said flatly. "Let the woman see the rowdy family she has married in to. Better she become accustomed to it because I suspect this is what she can expect at her family reunions."

Syler did laugh at that, turning away from the fighting, as Dastan did, and they made their way back to the dais where the ladies were. They had barely made it to the table when Dane and Grier entered through the enormous front entry.

The women at the table caught sight of the couple first because they were facing the door. Charlisa pointed towards the entry, and Dastan turned to see Dane and Grier making their way across the floor as the crowd of men in the hall parted the way for them.

The fact that Grier was beautifully dressed was not lost on them. Resplendent in the green silk, she was washed and rested, looking nothing like the rather dirty little waif they were acquainted with. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair carefully pinned, and she had a certain grace about her that they hadn't seen before. It was something that couldn't be taught, perhaps the innate sense of her bloodlines finally showing its elegance. In any case, the transformation was rather shocking.

" That is the woman we collected from St. Idloes?" Syler asked, awe in his tone.

Dastan nodded. "Indeed, it is," he said. "God's Bones, it looks as if she has the making of a duchess, after all. I will admit that I had my doubts."

Syler nodded in agreement, taking a second look at the woman as Dane brought her to the table. His face was rather prideful as he indicated the exquisite creature next to him.

"My lords," he said, "my ladies, may I present Grier de Lara de Russe, Duchess of Shrewsbury and Lady of the Trinity Castles. Make her feel welcome in her own hall."

Charlisa was on her feet, rushing to Grier as her cousin tagged after her. "Lady de Russe," she greeted. "I was hoping you would feel well enough to attend the feast. It is in your honor, after all. We are very glad to have you."

Grier smiled into Charlisa's rosy, beaming face. It was difficult to be standoffish when the lady was so open in her manner. Not that she wanted to be standoffish, but Charlisa made her feel like she wasn't a stranger at all. Having that kind of instant acceptance of another person, especially another female, was an admirable quality.

"Thank you," she said, looking at the beautifully set table. "Have you been waiting for me? If you were, my apologies. I did not realize."

Charlisa shook her head, indicating the cushioned chairs in the center of the table. "Nay, we have not been waiting on you," she said. "But please be seated. I am sure you are famished."

Grier headed for the indicated chairs with Dane coming along behind her. "Lady du Reims has been acting as my chatelaine before your arrival," he told Grier. "She has been quite competent."

Grier was struggling with the skirt of her green gown; she wasn't used to the volume and she struggled to move it aside so that she could sit.

"Then I hope she will teach me everything I need to know," she said, finally pushing it aside. "I am sorry to say that I do not know much about managing a house and hold."

Charlisa was moving eagerly behind her, taking a seat at Grier's left hand. "It would be my pleasure, my lady," she said. "I can help you with anything you wish to know. I fostered at some of the finest homes in England, including Castle Questing. Have you heard of it?"

Grier shook her head, reluctantly. "I am afraid not," she said. "Where is it?"

"Far to the north," Charlisa said. "It is the seat of the Earls of Warenton, the de Wolfe family. Surely you have heard of de Wolfe."

As Grier thought about the name, which she was fairly certain she had never heard before, she caught sight of Charlisa looking past her, over her shoulder. There was someone, or something, greatly annoying her from the look on her face. Whatever it was seemed to be directly down the table, behind Grier. As she turned to see what had the woman irritated, Charlisa spoke.

"My lady, this is my cousin, Lady Laria de Poyer," she said. "She has only come to Shrewsbury recently to foster under my tutelage. She is Sir Syler's younger sister."

Grier quickly noticed the dark-eyed lass who was sitting down at the end of the table, a few seats from Dane. She was a young, little thing who lifted a timid hand to wave when she saw that she had Grier's attention, and nearly everyone else at the table. Grier smiled at her.

"Greetings, Lady Laria," she said before returning her attention to Charlisa. "It looks as if you will have two women to tutor. I hope you are patient."

She said it with a rather foreboding wriggle of the eyebrows and Charlisa giggled her charming little snicker. But ever the dutiful lady, who knew her role in the hall, she quickly lifted her hand to the servants standing on the fringes of the room, near the dais, and they suddenly began to move. Almost immediately, trenchers and bowls of food were being brought to the table, a lavish feast for the eyes as well as for the palate.

The guest of honor had arrived, and the feast had begun.

It was an army of people, moving forward with food and drink as the diners settled down to their meals. Terrified of a repeat of the night before at the inn, Grier was much more timid this time around as food was placed before her. A large trencher with a great hunk of beef was the crown of the meal, surrounded by beans and boiled carrots.

Being that the beef didn't sit well with her the night before, she didn't try to grab at it and shove it in her mouth. She simply looked at it, rather fearfully. As she sat there and wondered if she should try to eat it, Dane reached over and took it off of her trencher, putting it on his own.

"Better to remove the temptation," he said quietly. "We do not want history to repeat itself."

Grier shook her head quickly, and gratefully, as Dane instructed the servants to give her white bread and butter, and a fruit stew of apples and pears and honey. There was also something called May Eggs, which were eggs that had been partially boiled, the yolks removed and mixed with spices, and then the yolks returned to the eggs and cooked all the way through. They were quite delicious, but Grier only took one even when Charlisa encouraged her to take another. She begged off politely, even though it was more food than she'd ever seen in one place in her lifetime. She honestly never knew there could be so much food.

Everything smelled and tasted delicious. There wasn't much conversation while the meal went on, mostly Syler talking about the home in Wales where he was born, Netherworld Castle, and Laria chiming in once in a while. Dastan seemed to be watching William and Boden, still wrestling and knocking over chairs, while Dane and Charlisa were focused on Grier to ensure that she had enough to eat.

After her tasty egg, bread and butter, and a few carrots, Grier wanted another egg so she took one, taking small bites from it so she wouldn't overwhelm her tender stomach. A servant also brought out fried turnip slices, hot from the kitchen, which were liberally sprinkled with precious salt from the salt stores. They were crunchy and tasty. She must have had too many because, before she realized it, Dane was leaning in her direction.

"Easy, my lady," he said quietly. "You've been quite liberal with the turnip crisps."

Grier had one halfway to her mouth. Sheepishly, she set it down. "I have not been keeping track," she admitted. "They are very good."

Dane smiled at her. "They are," he said. "But they have also been fried in fat and it may not settle well with your belly. You do not want to overdo it. Here, have some ale."

He picked up a pitcher from the table and poured a measure into her cup. Grier picked it up, looking at the milky liquid.

"I have not had ale," she said.

"Never?" he said, interested.

"Not that I can recall. What is in it?"

He shrugged. "I am not an ale wife, but I believe it is made from barley and honey and a little yeast."

"Is it sweet?"

"Not really," he said. "The honey is just for flavor. Ales all taste differently depending on the ingredients and who is making it. All ale wives have their own recipes; I have had ale that tasted of lemon, and others of roses. It just depends. What did you drink at the abbey?"

She cocked her head thoughtfully. "Wine," she said. "But very bad wine. Sometimes we had boiled apple juice, or sometimes just boiled oat water."

Dane thought boiled oat water sounded terrible, but he didn't comment. It was just one more distasteful thing about her life at St. Idloes. Instead, he lifted his cup to her.

"No more boiled oat water," he said. "From now on, you shall only have the finest in your cup. Welcome to Shrewsbury, Lady de Russe. It sounds odd to say that, and probably odder still for you to hear it. To me, Lady de Russe was always my mother. It never occurred to me that it would also be my wife someday."

Grier smiled faintly as she lifted the heavy pewter cup to him. "It never occurred to me that it would be my name, either."

He chuckled as he took a healthy swallow of ale. Grier did, too, nearly choking on it as she swallowed it down. It was a strong ale with the distinctive taste of roasted nuts. Dane grinned as he patted her on the back as she coughed.

"Too strong?" he asked.

She stopped coughing, clearing her throat instead. "Nay," she said. "It is simply… different. It seems thick."

Dane took another swallow. "You will become accustomed to it. I prefer it over wine."

Grier wasn't sure if she did, but she took another drink because he was. She didn't want him to think she was being rude. As she choked down another swallow, William and Boden appeared in front of the table.

They were sweaty, smiling, and moderately drunk, which wasn't unusual with them. Red-haired William had his hair plastered to his face with moisture as he picked up another pitcher of ale on the table and held it up.

"Welcome, Lady de Russe," he said loudly. "We are very glad to see you within these old walls, and I am sure the men are comforted to know that a de Lara is at the helm again. Do you have a few words to say to your loyal men, my lady?"

Grier was mortified at the sudden attention on her. She looked around the hall, and most of the men had come to a halt and were now looking at her as William announced her welcome. She looked at Dane, wordlessly asking the man what she should do, but he took it as a cry for help.

"The lady is exhausted from her journey today, as you can imagine," he said loudly to the men who were expecting something from her. "She will be more than willing to speak with you at another time, but not tonight. You must be mindful of her frail female constitution."

Grier was watching the faces of the men as he spoke and she could see the disappointment. Not wanting to make a bad impression on her vassals, and given that she'd never had vassals before, she thought she should say something. She put her hand on Dane's wrist.

"I will say something," she said quickly. "Will you allow it?"

He looked at her. "Are you sure? You do not have to, you know. They can wait."

She nodded, grateful that he was looking out for her. But it was more than that… he was being protective and kind, the same qualities she'd seen from the man since the beginning of their association. Even though their marriage had been unwanted to them both, he'd never made her feel unwelcome or unwanted. She felt as if she owed the man something for that, for certainly, she had been very fortunate to have married such an agreeable man.

A man she was coming to appreciate more by the hour.

"I am certain," she said. Hesitantly, she stood up, facing the expectant throng and lifting her voice. "Thank you for your kind attention and your warm welcome. I hope in the days to come that we may come to know one another, and you shall think me worthy to be your lady."

It was a tidy little speech and the men began to cheer. William, who still had the pitcher of ale in his hand, held it up again.

"A toast to Lady de Russe!" he said.

The men shouted in response, downing whatever was in their cups. At the table, Dane and Dastan and Syler stood up, also saluting their new lady with a toast of honor. Dane still had his cup to his mouth when he gently tugged at Grier's arm.

"Drink," he said. "That is what they want– to share a drink with you."

Quickly, Grier collected her cup and choked down more of the thick ale. As she tried not to cough, Boden stepped forward, his cup lifted to the room.

"The House of de Russe is greatly honored to be joined with the House of de Lara," he shouted. "We will drink to the success of this union."

More drinking. Dane lifted his cup and so did Grier. She ended up draining it, thinking that it wasn't so bad now that she'd had a few swallows. It was strong, and thick, but she thought she might be able to become accustomed to the taste. As she set her empty cup to the table, William rushed forward with his half-empty pitcher and poured her a full cup.

"We shall drink to the House of de Lara," he said loudly. "God rest the soul of Lord Garreth!"

More drinking all the way around as men drank to the memory of their beloved duke. Dane drank, and so did Grier, without coughing this time. It was going down a little smoother now. But she had just managed to swallow the burning drink when one of the men back in the hall held up his cup and began to shout.

"A drink to Lord Garreth's daughter!" he said. "May she make her father proud, and may we make him proud by honoring her!"

That had the entire room drinking yet again, men pouring ale down their gullets and enjoying every last drop. Dane glanced at Grier, who was now swallowing down her fifth gulp of the strong ale. She looked a little pale, but she didn't want to disappoint the men. He admired that. Thinking she might need a break from the continual toasts, he held up his cup and spoke loudly.

"Lord Garreth is already proud of you for accepting his daughter with great warmth," he said, wondering how long he was going to be able to talk before someone made another toast that they couldn't refuse. "You have served her father well and I know that you will serve me well, also. I am already proud to know you and to have your fealty. The House of de Russe has a long and important legacy in England, and I am proud to merge that legacy with the great de Lara name."

"A drink to Lord Dane!" someone shouted.

The entire room lifted their cups again and Dane gave a sigh of regret, turning to Grier and wondering how the poor woman was going to down yet another big drink of ale. Much to her credit, she wasn't going to insult the men by not accepting their toast. In fact, as he watched, she downed the entire cup and licked her lips.

It was then that Dane knew there was going to be trouble.

"Truly, you do not have to drink anymore," he muttered to her. "The ale is strong and if you are not used to it, it might make you ill."

She was looking at him with a rather earnest expression. "I feel well enough," she insisted. "And I do not want them to think me rude."

"They will not."

"But I want for them to like me, as they liked my father."

"They will," Dane said, pulling the cup from her hand. "Give them time. For now, sit down and I will turn the men back to their food and games. You have had enough to drink."

Grier did as she was told. Plopping back in the chair, she wasn't feeling terrible at all. In fact, she was feeling rather good. The stuffed eggs were near her and she reached out, taking another one and pushing the entire thing into her mouth because it was so delicious. Her stomach was well enough, so she saw no reason not to eat a whole egg. But that egg was followed by another dish on the table, an apple and raisin and almond pudding, and she put her spoon into it, tasting it. It was quite good with honey and cinnamon, so she pulled the bowl over to her and began to eat it.

Meanwhile, there was more drinking going on.

Men were calling to her to have another drink with them and William went so far as to fill up her cup before Dane could stop him. The food was excellent, and Grier was feeling quite good now, so she took another drink with the men and they cheered. She rather liked that feeling, when they all cheered her on, so she took still another drink with them before Dane thanked the men and encouraged them to turn back to their food. He took her cup away from her for a second time.

Grier was well into the raisin and apple pudding by then. She didn't even notice that Dane had removed her drink. As he sat there and watched her, wondering what all of that ale was going to do to her, Charlisa struck up a conversation.

"The men like you already, my lady," she said to Grier. "That is a very good sign. Your days will be those of joy here, I am certain."

Grier looked at Charlisa, wondering why the room tipped sideways as she moved. "Do you think so?" she asked. "I hope so. I did not wish to come, you know. I wanted to stay at the abbey. But I think I shall like it here."

Charlisa grinned. "You will," she said. "I like it here very much. I have since Dastan and I were married, but I have been lonely for want of a lady friend. That is why I was so excited for you to come. I do hope we can be friends."

Grier smiled at her, a rather open gesture as the ale began to fuel her actions. "Of course we can," she said. "You have been very kind to me already. You remind me of my friend, Eolande."

"Who is that? Is she another nun?"

Grier both nodded and shook her head at the same time, which threw her off balance. "She is not a nun," she said as she gripped the table to keep from falling. "She is an oblate. Do you know what that is? It means that her parents gave her over to the abbey with the intention that she should take the veil. That is what I was, you know– an oblate. Now, I am a wife, but I do not feel like a wife."

Charlisa looked concerned. "Why not?"

Grier leaned in to her as if to tell her a secret. "Because I have not been stabbed yet."

Charlisa had no idea what she was talking about. "Stabbed? By what?"

Grier's reactions were those of a drunkard by this point. The ale had flooded her veins and was beginning to do its damage. She looked at Charlisa in surprise, but it was in an odd, exaggerated gesture.

"You know ," she insisted. "A man's fleshy sword. I do not think my husband is very pleased with me, because he has not stabbed me with it yet."

Over her shoulder, Dane had been listening to the conversation and when she said that, he spit out the ale that he'd just put in his mouth. It went spraying out onto the table, enough so that both Grier and Charlisa turned to him in concern. Grier knew immediately that it had been because of her, that she had said something wrong.

"I am sorry," she said quickly. "I do not know why I said such a thing. But… but it is true. Euphemia says that men and women make a child when his stabs her with his fleshy sword!"

Dane's eyes widened and it took every bit of self-control he had not to burst out laughing. He didn't think it would be well-met. But he could quickly see one thing; the ale had gone straight to Grier's head and she was, in fact, quite tipsy. He could see it in everything about her, and much more quickly than he would have expected. It would probably only grow worse, so he thought it might be a good idea to remove her from the feast immediately. God only knew what else she would say now that the alcohol had loosened her tongue.

He didn't want to wait around and find out.

"It is time for us to retire," he said, standing up and reaching out to pull Grier from her seat. "Lady du Reims, you will excuse us."

Charlisa had a wide-eyed, shocked look as Dane pulled Grier to her feet. She simply nodded as Dane took his wife and led her away from the table, to the edges of the room where he could slip her from the hall through the servant's entrance. He knew if he took her to the entry doors that there were hundreds of men who would see them, and quite possibly stop them for more drinking, and he didn't think it would be good for her to engage in any manner of conversation or drinking right now. At least, not with anyone other than her husband and his fleshy sword…

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he managed to remove Grier through the servant's entrance, out into the cold night beyond.

"You are displeased with me," Grier said, hiccupping as she tripped over her too-long hemline. "I am very sorry. I do not know why I said that."

Dane had her by the arm, holding fast so she wouldn't fall. "I am not displeased," he said. "But you have had too much to drink and it would be better if we retire for the night."

Grier frowned. Then, her eyes filled with a pool of tears. "That… that ale ," she said, unhappy. "I did not want to be rude. Do you not understand? I had to drink it."

Dane put his left arm around her slender shoulders, holding on to her right arm with his right hand to brace her up because she was weaving all over the place.

"I know you did," he said. "It was very accommodating of you. It made the men happy."

She sniffled as she looked up at him. "Did it?" she said. "Do you think they will like me?"

"I am sure they will."

"Do you?"

"I do."

"Then why have you not stabbed me with your fleshy sword?"

Dane could hardly hold back the smile. It was becoming more and more difficult. "Because I did not feel as if last night would have been the best time to do it," he said. "Do you even know what you are asking, Grier?"

She nodded, but that threw her off balance terribly, so he bent down and swept her into his arms. Grier yelped, throwing her arms around his neck, and quickly realized that their heads were very close now. She found herself looking at his stubbled jaw and the shape of his lips. That reminded her of something else that Euphemia has said.

Has yer husband kissed ye?

"Is a husband not expected to kiss a wife?" she asked.

Dane eyed her as they neared the keep entry. "Of course he is."

"Then why have you not kissed me, either?"

Dane couldn't help the grin then, but it was a weak one. He wasn't sure he could explain all of this to her in a way she would understand given her drunken state. Therefore, he simply tried to placate her.

"I will," he said. "You needn't worry about that."

"But when ?"

"Will you at least let me do it in private? When I return you to our chamber?"

Grier didn't have anything to say to that. She was still contemplating everything Euphemia had told her but in her drunken state, it was all rather confusing.

"You will kiss me in private first," she said, "and then stab me with your fleshy sword?"

He was carrying her up the mural stairs to the floor above with little effort. "Who told you about a fleshy sword?"

"Euphemia."

He grunted, perhaps in disapproval. "I see," he said. "You should not repeat that, Grier."

"Why not?"

"Because it is something only whores call a man's member. It is not something fine ladies speak of."

Her eyes widened. "Euphemia is a whore?"

Dane didn't know, but he didn't want to speculate. "It does not matter if she is or not," he said. "But what you are speaking of is not something fine ladies mention. Do you understand?"

Perhaps she did, perhaps she didn't. There was really no way to tell. They arrived at the big master's chamber and Dane kicked the door open, charging into the room.

Euphemia was on her knees in front of the hearth, stirring a small pot that was brewing over the gentle fire. When she saw Grier aloft in Dane's arms, she lurched to her feet, her eyes wide.

"What is it, my lord?" she cried. "What has happened to the lady?"

All Dane could think of when he looked at her was fleshy sword. Because she is drunk and speaking with your whore's tongue for all to hear! It was a struggle not to scold her for it.

"Nothing," he said. "Get out."

Euphemia fled. As the door slammed behind her, Dane put Grier upon the mattress and, leaving her there, went to bolt the door. By the time he returned, Grier was trying to slither off of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Dane asked. "It is time for you to sleep."

She was still moving off of the bed. "But I cannot sleep in this dress," she said. "It will ruin it. Can you help me remove it?"

That was perhaps the best invitation Dane had in a very long while. He could have easily called for Euphemia for help but, somehow, he didn't want to. Besides, he'd just kicked her out of the chamber. Grier was his wife and, perhaps, this was the best time of all to get to know her on a more intimate level.

He couldn't think of a better opportunity.

This was the first time he'd had a wife, after all.

Unlike his older brother, Trenton, who had been married four times, Dane had never been married once. It wasn't because he hadn't met women he might have taken as a wife; he'd met a few. He'd even had a couple that he'd called on, but none that he'd seriously courted. He'd spent his life living as a knight, and that meant he ate, slept, and breathed warfare. He had been the captain of the Duke of Warminster's army for several years until his appointment to Blackmore Castle, which still belonged to him, only now it was part of his Shrewsbury properties.

His ambition and dedication to duty had prevented him from taking a wife, and he'd only married Grier because he'd been given no choice. Had he not been forced to do it, he'd probably still be a bachelor knight. True, the marriage to Grier had been unwanted but, as the days passed, he was coming to think it wasn't unwanted any longer. He rather liked having a beautiful young woman he could call his own.

He liked it a great deal.

Therefore, Grier's request for him to help her undress was met by an inclination to do it on his part. Grier belonged to him, and she was horribly na?ve, so it was up to him to indoctrinate her into the world of men and women.

Of man and wife.

He was ready.

"Aye, I'll help you," he said after a moment, pulling her all the way off the bed and turning her away from him. He inspected it, looking for the obvious way to get her out of it. "How did Euphemia get you into this bloody dress?"

Grier lifted up her arms. "Something on the side," she said. "Do you see the fastens?"

He did. Quickly, he unfastened the ties and the dress loosened up dramatically, but when Grier tried to pull it over her head, she ended up pitching forward onto the bed, tangled up in the green silk. Dane had to unravel her from her garment and pull it the rest of the way over her head as Grier sat up on the bed and smoothed at her mussed hair.

"You saved me, my lord," she said, puffing out her cheeks. "I thought I was doomed."

He grinned as he tossed the dress over a chair. "I am good for many things," he said. "Saving women from their murderous garments is one of them."

Grier continued to smooth her hair back. "Have you saved many, then?"

He shook his head. "Actually, you are my first."

Grier wanted to look up at him but tipping her head back made her feel as if she wanted to fall over, so she kept her head level. "As you are my first," she murmured. "Husband, I mean. God's Bones, I never thought I would say those words. May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"You introduced me earlier as Lady of the Trinity Castles," she said. "I have not heard that title before."

He smiled faintly. "The Trinity Castles are a very old de Lara lordship," he said. "It goes back more than three hundred years, according to your father. He told me about them, once, in one of the many conversations we had before his death. The Trinity Castles are Hyssington, Trelystan, and Caradoc Castles along the Welsh Marches. That was the original de Lara holding. Shrewsbury came later."

Her mouth formed an "O" shape as she understood what he meant. "I do remember hearing those names when I was younger," she said. "I'd forgotten until you mentioned them."

"I will take you with me when I go to visit them. I've not seen them yet."

Grier was touched by the fact that he would think enough of her to take her with him when he went to visit the rest of his holdings. He was treating her like she were truly a part of all of this, which she was.

"I would be happy to go with you," she said, pausing a moment before continuing. "Truthfully, part of me wonders if this is all a dream and I shall soon wake from it, sleeping on the cold earth next to Eolande."

"Eolande? Who is that?"

"She was my friend at St. Idloes. We have been friends since we were small."

Eolande . That reminded Dane of what he'd heard in Welshpool, about the Welsh warlord who had asked for Grier's hand. The man had a sister at St. Idloes, which is how he knew about Grier. Dane wondered if this Eolande was that sister, but he didn't ask. Now was not the time, with her head swimming with drink.

Besides, none of it really mattered; even if Davies ap Madoc had offered for Grier's hand, Dane had been the one to actually marry her. He'd gotten the prize. But in the same breath, he wondered if Grier had wanted to marry ap Madoc. Had she been fond of the Welshman who had offered for her? That question didn't settle so well with him. The thought of Grier being fond of another man made him feel tight inside, as if something was wrong with his belly.

Nay, he didn't like that thought in the least.

"I see," he said belatedly, his thoughts lingering on Eolande and Davies, and Grier's affection for one or both. "To answer your speculation, this is no dream, I promise. You are my wife, and you are the Duchess of Shrewsbury. In the days to come, you will grow accustomed to that."

Grier dared to look up at the man, as he was standing over her, but the gesture caused her to tip right back onto the bed.

"I cannot sit up straight," she said sadly. "Forgive me for being so foolish, my lord. I am very sorry."

"Dane. You promised to call me Dane in private. A few times you have addressed me formally and I have ignored it, but in our bedchamber, I will not ignore it. Say my name."

A smile spread across her lips with unnatural speed. "Dane."

He laughed softly as she murmured it in her low, sweet voice. "Good," he said. "I wanted to make sure you knew it."

"I do, indeed, know it."

He looked at her, lying flat on her back on the bed, and he couldn't help but think how beautiful she was. By the light of the fire and the few candles that were burning about the room, she had an angelic glow about her. She was clad only in a fine shift and as she lay there, he could see the outline of her breasts and hips.

His thoughts turned to pleasures of the flesh.

Drunk or not, she was his wife. He hadn't consummated the marriage the night before because, given her state at the time, it simply wouldn't have been a good situation for either of them. It was his right, and he knew it, but he wasn't so demanding or selfish that he was going to demand his husbandly rights regardless of her physical condition. But tonight… tonight, things were different.

It was time to get down to business.

Reaching down, he pulled her up into a sitting position.

"Can you remove your shift yourself or do you need help?" he asked.

A little woozy, Grier looked down at the fine garment she was wearing. "I can remove it, I think."

Dane nodded. "Good," he said. "Remove it and get into bed."

She blinked as if she didn't quite understand the order. "Why?"

"Do you want your husband to kiss you?"

That was all she needed to hear. Staggering up from the bed, she fumbled with the shift as Dane moved towards the hearth and turned his back. He gave her some privacy, pretending to stoke the fire as he listened to the sounds of a struggle behind him. Something hit the floor. He thought it might have been her and he turned slightly to see that she was getting to her feet from a position on her knees.

Dane had to smile at the woman's inebriation. Perhaps, he should wait and consummate the marriage when she wasn't so tipsy. But he thought that, perhaps, it was a good thing she was a little drunk. Perhaps, she wouldn't be so fearful about it; she certainly didn't seem fearful. He wanted her to be relaxed, so this was as good an opportunity as any.

A few minutes passed and he could hear the bed give as she climbed into it. Taking that as his cue, he realized that his stomach was twitching with anticipation as he approached the bed. As he moved, he blew out one of the iron candle sconces as he walked by; melted tallow dripped from the iron onto the floor, creating big white splotches.

Dane's gaze remained on the bed, where Grier was now laying, the heavy coverlet pulled up to her neck. But as he looked at her, he also noticed the table next to her side of the bed where the marriage brooch he'd given her had been placed. She'd worn it almost constantly since he'd give it to her.

A modest wife knows a chaste bed.

They were finally coming to the meat of that statement. Smiling at Grier's anxious face, he sat down on the bed to remove his boots.

"If you have any questions about what we are about to do, I would be happy to answer them," he said. "Or did Euphemia tell you everything already?"

He had a smirk on his face, one that Grier could see in the darkness. "How do you know she told me anything?"

"You said she told you about the fleshy sword. I will assume she told you everything."

Grier seemed a bit sheepish. "I… I did not wish to seem too ignorant."

"You have spent your life in a convent. You are supposed to be ignorant."

"Are you angry that I asked Euphemia about the ways of men and women?"

He shook his head, tossing his boots against the wall. He went to work on unfastening his breeches.

"Of course not," he said. "And you should have a woman to talk to, which is why I allowed Euphemia to accompany you to Shrewsbury. But you can talk to Charlisa, too. She might be a better source of information when it comes to how to please a husband. And you can always ask me. I will tell you the truth."

He turned to look at her, to see her reaction, and he was met by a wide-eyed gaze. When he smiled at her, faintly, the wide-eyed gaze became thoughtful.

"When I was told that I was to marry, I never expected someone like you," she said. "I am not sure what I expected; mayhap, someone old and gruff. Mayhap, a foolish man with no hair. I really do not know. But you… I never expected you ."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I am assuming that is a good thing?"

She nodded, or at least she tried to. "You are handsome and kind," she said. "You are like the knights from the stories mother used to tell me."

"You remember your mother's stories?"

"I do," she said firmly. "She would tell me of strong knights, men who were handsome and virtuous, and how they saved their ladies fair. You are like those knights from my mother's stories– you are handsome and virtuous and compassionate."

Leaning over, he blew out the taper next to the bed and, in the darkness, pulled off his breeches. They ended up in a pile next to the bed as he climbed in, pulling the coverlet up.

"My father is a great knight," he said. "I learned everything I know from him."

"The Duke of Warminster?"

"Aye. Did someone tell you that?"

She turned her head to look at him, lying next to her in the bed even though he was at least an arm's length away from her.

"Sir Dastan did," she said. She was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "You love your father a great deal, don't you?"

He turned his head to look at her, her haunting beauty in the darkness. "What makes you say that?"

Her gaze lingered on him a moment before she laid her head back and looked up at the ceiling.

"There was something in your expression when I spoke of my feelings towards my own father," she said. "It is difficult to describe, but I saw both understanding and sorrow. As if you completely understood, yet you felt pity for me."

Dane pondered what he considered a perceptive observation. "I understand your feelings because the man I call my father, the Duke of Warminster, is not my actual father," he said. "My father, the man whose blood I carry, died many years ago. He was a beast of a man, a vile piece of humanity, and I hated him. I do not speak of him, but I will this once so you understand what it means to me. It is your right, as my wife. My father by blood was a man named Guy Stoneley. He was a powerful warlord in Yorkshire. When he died, my mother married Warminster and it is his name I carry, by choice."

Grier was looking at him again, surprised by the confession. "Then you do understand my feelings about my father."

"I do, indeed," he said. "But I also know what it means to have a father to love. I love Gaston de Russe very much. He is my father, regardless of the fact that there is not a drop of de Russe blood in me. I am his son."

"I look forward to meeting him."

"And I look forward to introducing you."

"Do you think he will like me?"

"I am certain of it."

Grier appreciated his candor, but her alcohol-hazed mind was easily distracted. She was in bed, without a stitch of clothing on, and from what she saw with Dane, so was he. She didn't want to talk about fathers any longer– the promise of husbandly kisses was of more interest to her at the moment. Laying her head back on the pillow, she found herself staring up at the ceiling once again.

"Have you forgotten already?" she asked.

He looked at her, curiously. "What do you mean?"

"You said you were going to kiss me if I removed my shift and got into bed. I do not wish to talk about fathers anymore."

He fought off a grin. "Nay, I have not forgotten," he said. "I would very much like to kiss you. May I?"

Grier simply nodded. "Aye," she said. "And… and do you intend to stab me, too?"

"We'll get to that."

Anticipation and fear welled up in Grier's heart. She kept the coverlet up around her neck, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for him to make the first move. Dane finally rolled onto his side so he could look at her; every woman he had ever bedded had taken the aggressive role with him and he'd simply gone along for the ride. Given that Grier had never done this before, he was going to have to be the aggressor.

It was a role he was more than willing to take.

Leaning over, he kissed her naked shoulder, the only thing that was peering out from the top of the coverlet other than her head. Her skin was warm and soft, and she smelled faintly of lemons. Then, a big hand snaked under the covers and cupped her left breast, feeling her jump with surprise at his action.

"That is not a kiss!" she gasped.

He laughed low in his throat, moving closer to her. "That is coming. Be patient."

Beneath his hand, he could feel her tremble, but she didn't pull away. Her breast was warm and soft, and he was instantly and madly aroused as he fondled her. From one breast to the other, he squeezed gently and caressed, pinching her nipples and feeling her quiver in response. It excited him so much that he buried his head beneath the coverlet, which was still pulled up to her neck, and began suckling her nipples.

His hot, wet mouth on her breasts caused Grier to gasp, first in shock but then in pleasure. She could never have imagined a sensation like this, something that made her entire body quiver and bolts of lightning race through her limbs. His mouth was aggressive, moving from breast to breast as his hand kneaded the tender flesh of her belly. His roving hand seemed to be everywhere as he nursed against them hungrily.

It was quite a first kiss.

In truth, Dane was having difficulty controlling himself. He knew she was virgin, but her soft skin and sweet body had his blood boiling with need. The moment he touched her, he could feel it. The flame of passion had been turned into a wildfire. He continued to suckle her breasts, his hand finally moving to the junction between her legs. The moment he touched the dark curls there, she started violently and tried to move away from him, but he wouldn't let her.

Holding her fast, he gently parted her thighs.

A big finger began to stroke the outside of her woman's center and Grier put her hand over her mouth because she was startled, embarrassed, and aroused all at the same time. Her head was swimming with ale, but what Dane was doing to her caused it to spin wildly out of control. When the finger that had been stroking her invaded her private folds, gently but firmly, she drew her knees up, gasping in response.

Her hissing reaction was all Dane needed to roll his big body on top of hers, his head coming out from beneath the coverlet and his mouth fusing to her lips. It was the kiss Grier had been waiting for, and he kissed her passionately, his tongue forcing her teeth apart to lick the pink interior of her mouth. The finger that had wormed its way inside her body was still there, now joined by a second finger, thrusting into her, making her wet and heated as it mimicked the lovemaking they would soon be engaging in. Dane was still kissing her deeply when he placed his manhood against her swollen, wet folds and thrust into her virginal body.

It was a sharp and startling action, and Grier tore her mouth away from his, gasping with the shock of it. She barely had time to draw another breath when he thrust again, and then again, finally seating himself fully in her tender, trembling body.

Finally, it was done.

It was an overwhelming and painful act, and Grier squirmed beneath him, unaccustomed to a man's body inside of hers. But Dane's senses were heightened, his sense of passion and lust boiling over, and as Grier continue to twitch beneath him, he began the ancient primal rhythm of mating.

His thrusts were firm and measured. Unaccustomed as she was, Grier grunted with every thrust, struggling not to gasp at the sensual intrusion. Dane's lips had moved to her neck, her shoulders again, nibbling on her flesh and causing bolts of excitement to race through her body. But the more he thrust, the more she relaxed, and before she realized it, she was even coming to respond to him.

Her hands reached for him, timidly, feeling the naked flesh of his body for the first time. He was warm with a fine dark mat of blond hair covering his chest. She liked it very much. But as she moved to touch him, she ended up touching herself as well, which brought about an unexpected result. Her hand brushed against her right nipple and the moment she touched herself she could feel a wild explosion in her loins that caused her entire body to seize. The sensations were heightened as Dane impaled her on his manhood repeatedly. It was like nothing she had ever experienced in her life, causing her eyes to roll back in her head and her breathing to come in shrieking gasps. The more Dane pounded into her, the more heightened the exquisite sensation.

It seemed as if it went on forever when, in fact, it was only a few seconds because the moment Dane realized that she had found her release, there was nothing to hold back his own pleasure. Feeling her body draw at him brought about the greatest climax he had ever experienced. He spilled himself deep, feeling his hot seed as it made her very slick and very wet. He liked the feel of what he had put inside her as he finally marked her as his own.

It was the sweetest thing he had ever experienced.

When the tremors faded away and Dane lay on top of Grier, it took very little time for the still-tipsy, exhausted, and satisfied lady to pass out. Dane realized it when she began snoring softly against him, and he didn't even try to wake her. He simply shifted so his weight wasn't on her, wrapped her up in his arms, and settled in for the night.

And what a night it had been.

Lady de Russe had finally been stabbed with her husband's fleshy sword… and liked it.