Chapter 18

As Abrielle slowly opened her eyes as the rays of the morning sun fell upon her, something seemed wrong, but she couldn't remember what, until she realized to her horror and consternation that she was naked. With a gasp, she sat up, holding the quilt to her chest, but she was alone. The clothing that had been dropped haphazardly was now folded in a neat pile on the chair. With a groan, she fell back on the pillow. She was a married woman, no longer a virgin. But he had taken that last choice from her.

She threw back the bedding, and was only angered more at the spot of blood on the sheets. After foolishly covering it back up, she drew on her robe and paced. What was she to do? How was she to face Raven? He was truly her husband now, in every way; he had made sure of that.

But she could not spew her wrath at him. What would that accomplish but misery for all involved, including her parents? Nay, the deed was done, and she would have to live with it. Many women married men they had not chosen. She was just another one. She would smile and pretend to others that everything was fine. That would not extend to her bedchamber, of course, but she would face that when necessary. There was a hesitant knock on the door, and since Abrielle knew her bold husband would probably swagger right in as the new master, she called for the person to enter.

Nedda peered in. "M'lady?" Abrielle greeted her with a smile, and the servant relaxed as she came in.

"Sir Raven said ta let ye sleep," Nedda said, "but I heard ye movin' about. Would ye like a bath?"

"Oh, please, that would be wonderful," Abrielle said. She knew that Nedda continued to watch her almost suspiciously, but Abrielle remembered her vow to act like a normal wife.

As a normal wife, she bathed and dressed, and then went down to the great hall. Again, she hated her feeling of relief when she did not see Raven. The trestle tables were being folded against the wall after the morning meal, and Abrielle found Elspeth speaking with the servants.

On spying her, her mother hurried over and gave her a hug, then searched her face with trepidation. "Abrielle? Do you fare well this morn?"

She was a normal wife, Abrielle reminded herself, and forcing a smile on her face, she said to her parent, "Aye, Mama, I am well. I am simply a wife now, which is nothing unusual."

"Hmm" was all her mother said in reply, for she knew her daughter well, and readily surmised that indeed she did not fare well, regardless of her claim.

A bit too brightly, Abrielle looked about the hall. "I see I have slept through the meal. Forgive me for not being here."

"Nonsense. Yesterday had to be trying for you." Unspoken was the query asking if the same could be said for the wedding night, but Abrielle pretended ignorance. Elspeth sighed. "I'll have someone fetch bread and pottage for you."

"Nay, I'll go to the kitchens myself." Clearly her daughter was not herself, though understandably so.

"You do not ask where your husband is," Elspeth said slowly.

"I assume he is about somewhere, enjoying his status as the new master of the keep." Abrielle winced as her bitterness peered through her masquerade. "Forgive me, Mama," she said before her mother could speak. "I will become better at my new role, I promise."

Elspeth put a hand on her arm. "Every woman must learn the role of wife, my dear. The adjustments are not easy even when you're deeply in love with your husband."

"But what happens when you cannot respect him?" Abrielle said softly, feeling once again the sting of silly tears. She dashed a hand across her face and forced a smile. "It is only the first morning. Things will be better," she assured her mother, though she could not foresee how that could be so when she neither trusted nor respected the man whose ring weighed as heavily on her hand as their marriage weighed on her heart.

Abrielle spoke to the kitchen staff, consulting on the meals for the day, leaving her mother in charge of examining the food stored in the undercroft for the coming winter. She decided to show her people that this transition to having a new lord could go smoothly, so she toured the castle, speaking to the servants, learning of their lives and their work. By the time she reached the courtyard, her people's cheerfulness had her feeling a little better. She examined the harvesting in the kitchen garden, watched the dairymaids at work, and spoke with the grooms in the stable.

At last she was drawn to the sounds of clashing metal, and followed it to the rear of the keep until she reached the tiltyard, where the soldiers and knights practiced their warcraft. It was there that she found Raven and her stepfather. But it was to Raven that her eyes were reluctantly drawn. He was wearing a sleeveless leather jerkin that fell to his midthigh; his bare, muscled arms gleamed with sweat in the sun. He was speaking to a group of men, all of whom carried swords. Then Raven began to demonstrate as he spoke, sparring with Vachel, who comported himself as well as any younger man.

There seemed to be no animosity here among warriors, and for that Abrielle was grateful. The knights looked upon Raven with respect, and she saw more than one man nodding in approval at whatever maneuver he had performed. Raven may have caused dissent in the countryside, but at least here among men he must command, he was respected.

Yet only yesterday, these same men had smirked at Raven when he'd been found alone with Abrielle. Did marriage so easily satisfy their sense of honor? Would that she could be so easily reconciled to her fate. But then, they were not the ones who'd been deceived and used and had what was their choice to freely make stolen away, and a tarnished substitute forced on them instead.

Suddenly Raven's gaze fell upon her, and the smoldering intensity there froze her. He came striding toward her, still carrying his sword, and she couldn't move, couldn't even dream of escape. All she could think about were the things he'd done to her in the dark of the night, and the pleasure she hadn't wanted to feel sweeping over her. Even now, her traitorous body grew warm as her blush spread to every part of her skin.

To her shock, he slid one arm about her and pulled her to him. Her hands landed on his chest, but she couldn't push him away, not before all the men he would command. Then his mouth took hers in a searing kiss that was too sensual for such public display. She felt helpless and aroused and angry with both herself and him, especially when she heard the cheers of the men echo on the tiltyard.

When at last he lifted his head, she whispered, "You brute! How dare you handle me like this!"

He only arched a dark brow and grinned. "Ye can no longer play the outraged virgin, lass." She would have retorted with a scathing comment, but she saw Vachel coming toward them. So she donned her false smile and, in an overly sweet voice, said, "You are still embarrassing me before your men."

"Our men. And I think they're cheered by the obvious success of our marriage."

"Success—?" But then Vachel was too close and she turned to face him, conveniently stepping away from Raven to kiss her stepfather's cheek. "A good morning to you, Vachel."

He blinked at her display of affection, then warily said, "And to you, my dear. You look radiant this morn." As if a night in Raven's bed was supposed to change her for the better? she thought darkly. "I see the two of you have wasted no time in getting back to work after the festivities."

"'Twas necessary," Raven said, his face sobering. "I needed ta see what months under the dubious command of Desmond de Marlé had done to the keep's fighting force."

"And 'tis not good," Vachel added.

Abrielle forgot her own concerns. "What is it?"

"Many of those men arrived with us," Vachel said, "and four with Raven. The rest have allowed themselves to grow lazy, for Desmond was more concerned about spending his newly found wealth on himself than on his soldiers. What incentive is there to train when the pay is irregular at best?"

"How terrible." Abrielle's gaze returned to the tiltyard, where the men began to spar with blunted swords.

"But now they understand what is required of them," Raven said.

"And the rewards they'll receive," Vachel added. "Your new husband has been generous."

With my money, she thought with bitterness, then chastised herself. Raven was doing his duty to her castle and her people, nothing more. If only for their sake she had to stop ascribing base motives to everything he did.

"The stores set away in case of a siege are seriously depleted," Raven said. "Much will have ta be done."

"Of course," she said, "my thanks for seeing to it."

"And why wouldna I?" Wearing his best charming grin, he put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "I will do everything in my power ta protect ye and our people."

She patted his chest and again managed to step away. "Then I shall see you both for dinner." Yet when the midday meal was being served, Abrielle received word that Raven, Cedric, and Vachel had been called away to a nearby manor, and though the servants seemed to be trying to protect her, she heard the whispered fears of "invasion" and "Scots."

Throughout the day, she told herself that if there were any truth to such rumors, Raven never would have left the castle gates open, with the soldiers continuing their training rather than manning their positions. But nighttime fell, and still he didn't return. On this, the second night of her marriage, she finally went to bed alone. She would have felt relieved at the peacefulness of sleeping in the big bed, except her fate and future were now tied to her husband's. What if something worse was happening? Should she have sent a contingent of men in support? Surely Raven would have sent word if he needed assistance.

It seemed as if she had barely fallen asleep when dawn's light woke her and she stirred, feeling herself suddenly trapped. She realized that Raven was there, and they were entwined together, her head pillowed on his shoulder, the broad, naked expanse of his chest before her. Thankfully, she had worn a nightgown to bed. His hand rested familiarly on her back, and to her horror, her knee rode his. She was planning the best way to escape without waking him when she glanced up and saw him watching her with amused eyes.

"What a wonderful way ta wake ta the day," he rumbled, coming up on his elbow, rising above her with too much threat.

She quickly slid out of his arms and out of the bed. "I am glad to see that you returned safely. I have so much to do, and I'm certain you do, too, what with the…lazy soldiers," she finished lamely.

He fell back on the pillows, folding one arm behind his head, the better to watch her. He saw how flustered she was to find a man in her bed, and, remembering her tears, had decided to allow her to escape—for now. But a newly married man had only so much patience, and she would have to accept that.

She stood shivering on the rug before the hearth, where the fire he'd tended late last night had died down to a few embers. He could see her hesitation, knew she wanted to dress, but did not want to do so before him. And he was not about to help her with that dilemma.

She hugged herself and rubbed her arms. "Why were you absent so long yesterday?"

She didn't even know if he would discuss what some men would consider falling within a man's domain, but his smile faded and he frowned as he began to speak.

"We received word from a courier that Thornton Manor was ‘attacked' by a contingent of Scots."

"Oh my." She went still in sudden fear. What would happen to her and her people should a war break out, when they now had an "enemy" as their lord?

His expression eased. "Fear not, lass. It wasna an invasion, but a half-dozen poor Scots chasing their cattle and not realizing how close ta the border they were. They crossed inadvertently."

She closed her eyes with relief at the news he'd brought, thankful that an invasion had not taken place.

"I wasna meant ta be summoned, of course. The courier didn't realize he wasna supposed ta alert everyone in the area. My arrival almost made things worse, as if I were in collusion with these other Scots. We were lucky that Thurstan de Marlé was not at home ta be summoned. Your stepfather has a cool head about him, and my da's joviality helped everyone stay calm. The Scots were freed at last ta return home."

She sank down on the edge of the bed, her face in her hands. "This will never end, will it?" She felt his hand on her back, and when she stiffened, it dropped away.

"Ye mean this distrust of my people?"

Not just that, but her distrust of him, of the fact that his being a Scot would forever put him at odds with her people. When would he have to side against her? When would this supposed loyalty of a wife to a husband be tested?

"Abrielle?"

She gave a start, then stood up briskly and went to busy herself by choosing her garments for the day. "Do you think you'll be called away often, especially by your king?"

"I dinna ken. Now that I must care for property in both countries, I willna have as much time ta devote ta the king. He will understand this."

Abrielle glanced at him with surprise, for truly there were many things about her husband's life of which she was not yet aware. "I did not know you had other property."

"Ye've never asked me," he said drily. "I have land adjoining my da's in the highlands, and someday his land will be mine as well."

She nodded thoughtfully and, although she was curious, did not ask him more for fear of being misunderstood. She believed that if he wanted to tell her about his home, he would do so, but since he'd not seen fit to mention it till now, and had been so eager to acquire her property, she suspected his own was modest. She did not care overly about his holdings, as they were not her concern. "Will we be…visiting?"

"Aye, I want ta show ye everything that's now yours, too."

Nodding, she stood indecisive, her hand smoothing over her garments. She told herself that more than once she'd moved away from the only home she'd known, what with her mother's marriage to Vachel and then her own betrothal to Desmond. She would accept whatever she had to, and remain strong.

Hesitantly, she began, "I…don't suppose you would be leaving the chamber anytime soon."

"Nay, I am still too tired from a long, tense day."

When she glanced over her shoulder at him, he was stretching languidly, and she watched wide-eyed at the way his muscles seemed to ripple over his bones. She had never seen him with a day's growth of beard, and it made him seem like a rakish scoundrel, one who took his pleasure in bed whenever he wanted to, and from what she'd felt before she left the bed, he wanted to now.

She felt somewhat confused, for he had just willingly shared a military matter with her, and she had not expected him to so easily confide in her, as if he truly trusted her. He had his own property, and surely he'd been well compensated by his king. She wondered if he could actually desire her more than her wealth, but didn't know what to think.

She could not remain in her nightgown all day. Thank heavens she had bathed yesterday evening, for she could not imagine doing that in front of him. It was bad enough when she had to turn her back and pull the nightgown over her head. She fumbled with frantic fingers for her shift, knowing she was naked, waiting with dread for him to approach her from behind and demand her submission once again.

But at last the shift covered her, and she felt a little less frightened as she donned her kirtle and the braided belt that hung low about her waist. Only when she was settling a veil over her hair did she hear his approach. She stiffened and glanced over her shoulder.

He put his hands in her hair, drawing it across her shoulders, smoothing it. She shivered.

"Must ye cover such beauty?" he murmured, and to her surprise, he put his face against it and inhaled. "The smell of ye makes me long ta be in your bed, in your arms. I thought about it all day."

Even his words made something inside her shift uncertainly. "I…I must wear a veil. I am a married woman now. You've seen to that."

And there was the conflict between them, what she had to force herself to remember—he had made this marriage happen, giving her no choice about accepting him as her husband. He ignored her challenging words, whispering, "Then don't braid your hair beneath the veil. Let me imagine touching it all day long." His nudity and his sweet words were far too confusing. She hastily put on the veil and secured it with a band about her forehead before fleeing the bedchamber.

AbrIELLE FOUND HERSELFwishing that another emergency would call Raven away for the day, because he seemed to be everywhere she went. When she visited the serfs' village, they hastened to tell her that her new husband had been coming by every day, and that she'd just missed him, and what a good man he was. When Abrielle went to speak to the laundry maids in the courtyard, she saw children gathered around Raven as he examined the horses. One little boy, so thin, but moving about with vigor, took to following Raven for the rest of the day like a little shadow. Never once did her husband show his impatience. In fact, when she came upon them unawares, she heard Raven tell the boy that he could be Raven's second squire, and could begin his training on the morrow.

At supper, even her mother sang Raven's praises. Abrielle felt like she was being assaulted on all sides. Vachel, Cedric, and Raven were hefting tankards to one another, toasting whatever success they'd had that day, while several knights approached by ones and twos as if tempted to join in. Married not two days, and Raven was winning over everyone—but her, she insisted to herself, deciding to retire to bed early and feign sleep.

Raven watched Abrielle's quiet departure, and although he continued to respond to his father, his mind was much on his young wife. He had allowed her to escape their bed this morn, and now she was in full retreat, as if she hoped he wouldn't notice her. Did she not yet know that he noticed everything about her? It took all his will to concentrate on his duties, when he wanted to follow her about all day like a lovesick swain. Her gentleness with the abused serfs moved him, her loyalty to her stepfather and her willingness to aid him though it might have cost her her sanity, astounded Raven. Falling in love with her had happened so easily, so completely, that he could not imagine his life without her. He wanted her to feel the same way toward him. But her fears and doubts and mistrusts were strong, and he knew it would take much to overcome them. She would consider his love a burden, so he chose not to tell her.

It took all of his control to allow Abrielle time to settle into bed. Then he set down his tankard and rose to his feet, yawning quite deliberately.

Vachel eyed him with amusement, but it was Cedric who said, "Lad, ye must be exhausted. 'Twas a dreadful, tiring day seeing ta the horses and chickens."

Several men openly laughed, and Raven took that as sign that they were beginning to accept him. "Well, Da, someone had ta see ta keeping ye housed and fed. Have a good night, all."

There was much good-natured laughter as Raven left the hall, and he was in a cheerful mood when he finally approached his rooms. In the antechamber, candles had been left lit to guide him, and he blew them out one at a time as he went through. In the bedchamber, he closed the door quickly to keep in the heat. There was a deep feeling of satisfaction as he stood there and looked on his sleeping wife, buried beneath quilts, with the firelight flickering over her. He removed his garments quickly, folding and setting them aside. When he lifted the bedclothes and slid beneath, the warmth and the scent were all hers, and if possible, he wanted her even more, with a painful need.

She didn't move, but he sensed a faint tension in her, and he guessed she did not sleep. Gently he moved against her, his hand reaching. He encountered the curve of her lower back, and realized that she lay facedown, as if protecting herself. He began to pull her nightgown up her body, wondering how long her pretense would last.

Abrielle kept her eyes clenched shut, her face turned away, concentrating with every fiber of her being to keep relaxed, as if she slept. But that didn't seem to matter to Raven. His body was hot, pressed to her side, and she knew he was naked. She felt her nightgown slide up, gritted her teeth to keep from yanking it down and betraying her wakefulness. Surely he would give up, if only she could last long enough.

And then Raven slid down beneath the quilts, and she bit her lip against crying out. The bed moved up and down as he crawled. To her horror, she felt his mouth on the back of her knee, and the shock and excitement almost made her jerk. But nay, she held on to her control, even when the moist wetness of his mouth slid up the back of her thigh, to the base of her buttocks. How could she continue to make herself lie still if he was going to—

His mouth left her, but her absolute relief was short-lived, for she felt his kisses move up her other leg, and begin to climb up the hills of her body. A squirm of mortification and languid heat escaped her now, and she felt his low laughter where his face was pressed to her back.

And then he slid on top of her, his loins cradled against her buttocks, his face buried in her hair. She should have been smothered by the heaviness of him, but he held himself gently against her.

"Ah, ye left your hair unbraided for me," he murmured.

Curse it all, in her haste to feign sleep, she'd forgotten.

And then he was moving against her, rubbing slowly, easing one hand beneath her to capture her breast. The sensual haze that descended on her made her forget why she even fought him. All she could comprehend was how gentle he was, how loving, and when at last he eased her onto her back and kissed her, there was nothing she could do but kiss him back, clinging to him, opening her thighs to him, groaning when he made them one by thrusting home. Again, he gave her a woman's ultimate pleasure and took his own.

But afterward, when he eased from her and she was left with the cold reality of what she'd done, she found herself crying again. She wanted him, but she was too afraid to trust him, to trust that he would stay with her as husband even when Scotland called him. And where that mistrust had once led her only to anger and resentment, it now made her heart ache in a way she had not known was possible. My God, could she be falling in love with him, she wondered, then firmly told herself no, and right after that repeated it to herself for good measure. No, she absolutely was not falling in love with her husband, and firmly refused to do so. He might be able to woo her body to surrender, but she would never willingly give him her heart, and at that she cried even harder.