Tamed by a Knight

She stomped her foot. “You are pleased I’m ill?” she asked, her voice rising.

“You aren’t sickening, love. You’re experiencing desire.”

“I most certainly am not!”

As she had feared, her anger only increased his merriment. He chuckled and leaned back on the mattress, resting on his elbows—which gave her an alarming view of his broad, hairy chest and the oak branch rising from his groin. The thought fluttered across her mind that the man had muscle on his muscles, so ropey and defined were the ridges that crossed his belly and striped his thighs. Her nipples prickled.

Her husband’s dark gaze swept over her nude body. “Your breasts dimple because they reach for my touch.”

Margaret’s mouth gaped for a moment. Then she snapped her jaw shut. “They most certainly do n—”

“Your skin flushes as your blood rushes to ready the places where our flesh will join.” He ignored her sputtered denials. “And your belly tightens, anticipating our joining.”

She shook her head, her eyes widening. “I’m a good girl. I do not lust for you, milord.”

“Lust is God’s way of giving us reward for what we are duty bound to fulfill.”

“You’re talking about…the begetting,” she said, feeling her lips twist with disgust.

“Yes, it’s time to beget.” He did it again—patted the bed beside him. “Come sit beside me. I promise not to pounce.”

But his expression didn’t reassure her. His dark eyes glittered, spots of color sat high on his cheekbones, and his jaw flexed, the jerking muscle belying his relaxed pose.

She lifted her chin. “Will you touch?”

“Without a doubt.” He raised one eyebrow. “But so may you.”

Her resolve to escape began to crumble beneath the knowledge that their joining was inevitable. This man was as stubborn as a jackass. “You will not wait until I am more familiar with you?”

Roland shook his head. “By morning, my sweet, we must show proof of our union.”

“You mean you must make me bleed.” Her voice trembled.

“There will not be a great puddle of it—just a small smear.”

“But I will feel pain.”

“Only a little—if I do my job well in preparing you to accept me.”

He sounded so assured, her suspicion aroused. “You’ve deflowered many virgins?”

“Never.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then how can you know?”

“I know I don’t want to harm or frighten you.”

His quiet reassurance calmed the last butterflies fluttering in her belly.

He sat and lifted one hand, palm up. “Come.”

Margaret dragged her feet, walking toward the bed, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure the lout could hear it. She turned and slid onto the mattress, taking care not to touch her thigh to his. This close, she felt even more aware of her nudity, and so very small and inconsequential next to his large, powerful frame.

His limb grew in proportion as she stared at his lap. He will split me in two with that great trunk of his!

He placed his hand on her knee and patted her. “All will be well.”

He does think I am a dog! If he asks me to fetch, I’ll bite him. But his palm warmed her skin, and his fingers curved around her thigh to slip between her legs.