Gentle Warrior

"I believe you," she replied. "I was not suggesting that you lie," she qualified, "it was just a surprise."

Her explanation pleased her husband and he favored her with a smile that showed beautiful white teeth. The smile was almost boyish but the scar that marked his cheek canceled any suggestion that he was a playful youth. That, and the way he looked at her, Elizabeth thought with a shiver of nervousness. His eyes held a sensual promise of things to come.

"The boy hides behind Roger whenever the dogs are about. The animals obviously remember your brother," he said, "and are constantly trying to nudge him into play. The future heir of Montwright lands wailed until Roger could not stand the sound another second. If his fighting arm is as strong as his lungs, your brother will be a mighty warrior when he grows up."

It was Elizabeth who now felt like wailing. Tears filled her eyes and she squeezed her hand into a fist, only then realizing that Geoffrey was holding it. She promptly relaxed her grip, lest he think she was being overly emotional. "He never used to be afraid of anything or anyone," Elizabeth said. "Father worried that he would never develop any common sense." Sadness underlined her explanation.

Geoffrey seemed unaffected by her distress. "He has seen much to change him." He handed her a cup filled with sweet red wine before adding, "In time your brother will mend. It is the way of things."

And will I mend? Elizabeth asked herself. Will time make the memory of my mother's screams fade into insignificance? Will time make the murders less an atrocity? And if healing includes forgetting, then perhaps the wounds should stay raw and bleeding. I cannot put the hate aside, Elizabeth thought, not until Belwain is dead.

"Congratulations, my lady." The softly spoken words and the familiar voice shocked Elizabeth. Her head jerked up and she met the stare of her mother's elderly servant, Sara.

"Sara," she exclaimed with a smile. "I thought you dead." Elizabeth turned, the smile still in place, and said to her husband, "My lord, may I present my mother's most loyal servant, Sara. Sara," she said, turning her gaze back to the white-haired woman, "my father's overlord, Baron Geoffrey William Berkley."

"Nay, Elizabeth," her husband contradicted against her ear, "no longer your father's overlord but your husband."

Elizabeth blushed slightly and nodded at the gentle reprimand. She would correct her error now. "My husband, Sara…" she began. Her attention was distracted by the number of familiar-looking servants carrying platters of food into the hall. "Where… how…"

"They have all returned, now that you are here," Sara said, folding her hands in front of her. She was looking at Elizabeth but sensed the Baron's frown and quickly amended her sentence. "When word was told that your husband had rid our home of the defilers, then we returned."

The servant glanced at the lord and then lowered her eyes with respect. "With your permission, my lord, I would help my lady prepare for bed this evening. Her serving girl was slain during the raid."

Geoffrey nodded his consent. The servant smiled, reached out her hand as if to pat Elizabeth, and then thought better of it. Elizabeth caught the action and it was she who patted the servant. "Thank you, Sara, and praise God that you are well," she said.

When the servant had returned to her duties, Elizabeth turned back to her husband. There were tears in her eyes.

Geoffrey was amazed at her composure. There was a fragile strength about her. She was not like other women he had known, but he had recognized that fact from the beginning. A quiet dignity radiated from her. Her temper was quick to flare, Geoffrey knew, but the tears were closely guarded.

He wished to see her smile again. "And do you wail as loud as your brother?" he asked her.

Elizabeth could not tell if he was teasing or not. "I never wail," she said, shaking her head. She thought then that her boast sounded terribly prim.

Her husband grinned with delight. "And do you never smile at your husband?" he inquired against her ear.

The sweet, warm breath against her earlobe felt like a gentle stroke and Elizabeth found she had to pull away before she could answer. " 'Tis too soon to tell," she tried to tease, though her voice sounded like a husky whisper to her ears, "I've only been married a few short minutes, my lord." She lifted her gaze to his then, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and Geoffrey was struck speechless by their intense color. She continued to become more magnificent, more desirable, and he wondered how that was possible.

"And are you pleased to be married?" he asked when he could find his voice.

"It will be a most difficult adjustment," Elizabeth said, her voice serious. She continued to meet his stare and added, "My husband is not well known by me and the stories about him are terrible indeed."

Geoffrey was taken aback. He thought she might be jesting, the sparkle in her eyes told him that, but her expression was neutral and her voice most serious. He found he didn't know how to reply. No one had ever spoken to him in this manner. "I am your husband," Geoffrey said, frowning. "What stories have you heard about me?" he demanded.

"Too many to count," Elizabeth replied, trying not to laugh.

"I will hear them all!" His voice increased in volume, keeping pace with his escalating temper. As soon as he snapped the order, he wished he had not. He did not wish to frighten his bride on this their wedding night, but he obviously had. Elizabeth had turned her head away from him, shielding her face from his view. Now, as awkward as it might be, Geoffrey would try to soothe her. The problem, of course, was that he wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

He slammed his goblet down on the table to vent his frustration and then turned Elizabeth's chin toward him with the tip of his finger. He decided that he would simply smile at her and then she would know that she was still in his good stead.

He was totally unprepared for the smile that formed her expression, the soft lilting laughter that reached his ears. "I was teasing, husband. Please do not frown. I did not wish to upset you," Elizabeth said, trying to control her smile.

"You are not afraid?" He found himself asking the absurd question and had to shake his head.

"You do not like to be teased?" Elizabeth answered his question with one of her own.

"I do not know if I like this teasing or not," Geoffrey said, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. Her smile was like the sun entering the damp, candle-casted room, warming him. "Unless I am the one to tease," he admitted with a grin.

Elizabeth laughed again and said, "Then this marriage—"

"A toast!" The command came from Roger, in a loud, forceful voice. Elizabeth glanced up and saw that the vassal held a goblet high above his head. Balanced somewhat precariously on one shoulder was little Thomas, giggling while he held on to the knight's head of hair with both hands.

Geoffrey found himself irritated with the interruption. He had enjoyed the easy banter with his wife and wondered what she was about to say. He forced himself back to the festivities but first whispered to Elizabeth, "Later, wife, you shall tell me these terrible stories about my character later."

Keeping her stare directed on Roger and her brother, Elizabeth answered in a soft voice, "Perhaps, my lord. Perhaps."

A sense of lightness settled over Elizabeth with each sip of the warming wine. In fact, she felt warm all over, inside and out. "Where have you found this wine, my lord? We are unaccustomed to such quality," she said.

"Even when you celebrate?" Geoffrey asked with surprise.

"We drank ale on every occasion," Elizabeth replied. "And shared from each other's trenchers," she added, referring to the wooden plates the servants were placing on the table.

"Your father was a wealthy man," Geoffrey stated.

"Aye, but frugal," Elizabeth said. She laughed then and leaned toward her husband, her hand casually resting over his. "My grandfather used to tease my father something fierce over his tight purse," she confessed in a conspiratorial voice.

"You have a fondness for your grandfather, don't you?" Geoffrey asked, smiling at her behavior./>   "Yes, we are very alike," she acknowledged. She took another sip of her wine and smiled at her husband over the rim of her goblet.

"Enough," Geoffrey decreed, removing her goblet. "I want you awake on our wedding night."

His indelicate reminder of what was to come removed Elizabeth's warmth. The smile faded and she lowered her gaze to her plate. She had eaten but a fraction of the quail pie and none of the swan or the wildberry tarts prepared for the celebration,

She watched as more and more delicacies were placed on the table. There were appreciative ohs and ahs when the cooked peacock, redressed in its skin and feathers, was placed before her. Geoffrey served her after he had washed his hands with the wet cloth his squire provided him. A page assisted Elizabeth.

The priest and several of Geoffrey's thegns joined the couple at the table. Little Thomas was not allowed to sit with them, due to his age and his position, but each time Elizabeth saw him, she noticed that his cheeks were as swollen as a chipmunk's with food. His manners were equal to her dogs, she thought, but soon he would become one of Geoffrey's pages and learn the correct way of things.

Several of the men broke out into verses of a popular and somewhat risque ballad. And then the red-haired squire, flushed with drink, began to sing in a deep baritone voice. The hall quieted and all listened to his song.

His ballad was about the hero Roland and his faithful sword, Joyosa, and how the brave man led the ancient troops to victory. According to the verse, Roland rode well ahead of the invaders, singing in a clear voice while he tossed his sword countless times into the air like a juggler. He was the first to die and offered no resistance. And now he was legend.

To Elizabeth, Roland was foolish indeed. She decided she was not of a romantic nature. Dead was dead, whether one became legend or not. She wondered if Geoffrey would agree with her observation.

"It is time," Geoffrey announced when the song ended and the cheers to Roland's memory subsided. He took her elbow, nodded to her servant, and stood. "Go. I will join you shortly."

Elizabeth wanted to leave, all right, but her destination was the great doors leading to the outside, and not her bedroom. She almost smiled at her childish thoughts of escape. Almost.

She lifted the hem of her gown and followed Sara, keeping within the tight of the torch the servant carried, stopping only once on her way up the curving staircase. She found her husband in the middle of a group of men, watching her. He seemed ignorant of the soldiers' talk, staring intently at his bride. Elizabeth's heart raced at the sensuous caress, the promise his dark eyes held.

"Mistress?" Sara's voice pulled at her, but Elizabeth couldn't break the force that held her gaze locked with her husband's.

"Yes," she whispered, and then, "I'm coming," but it wasn't until the servant tugged at her elbow that she was able to turn back to the kind woman.

Sara kept up a steady chatter of village news until she had Elizabeth stripped of her garments and a new fire blazing in the hearth. Elizabeth's hair remained twisted in the ribbon atop her head with several wisps falling and framing the sides of her face. She brushed a loose tendril aside and slipped into the robe the maid held open for her.

Having Sara there, helping her, did much to calm Elizabeth. The day had been quite overwhelming. Elizabeth felt both exhausted and keyed up.

"Your hands are trembling," the old woman remarked. "Is it from joy or fear?"

"Neither," Elizabeth lied. "I am just overly tired. 'Tis been a long day."

"Mistress? Did your mother ever talk to you about the duties of a wife?" Sara asked with a bluntness that made Elizabeth's cheeks grow warm.

"No," she answered, avoiding Sara's gaze, "but I have overheard stories my sisters exchanged. Besides, a woman doesn't have to do anything, does she?" Her voice held a note of panic, an echo of her inner turmoil.

The servant nodded. "When a man becomes excited, he wishes his mate to respond," she said very matter-of-factly. "I worry that you will make him angry if you—"

"I do not care if he becomes angry or not," Elizabeth replied, straightening her shoulders. "I just hope that he will be quickly done."

"There are ways you can make the deed quick," the servant hinted. She folded back the covers on the bed and turned back to Elizabeth. "But it will take courage… and boldness, my lady."

Elizabeth found herself intrigued with the conversation. Sara wasn't acting the least bit embarrassed by their delicate topic but stood there with a tranquil expression on her face and spoke as if they were discussing new ways of stuffing quail. Sara, Elizabeth reminded herself, was at least three times her own age, . and maybe that was why her attitude was so blase.

"What must I do?" Elizabeth asked, determined to do anything to get the night over and done with.

"Entice him," Sara announced, nodding her head at Elizabeth's puzzled expression. "He is eager to bed you," she said. "I saw the look in his eyes. Every man has only so much control, mistress. You must—"

The door to the bedroom suddenly opened and Geoffrey filled the entry. Elizabeth was standing in front of the fireplace, unaware that the light from the fire outlined the slender shape of her body through the thin robe. Her stomach knotted at the look in her husband's eyes as he slowly took his fill of her, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, which peeked out beneath the robe, but she matched his stare and his appraisal and prayed that her trembling would soon stop.

Sara left the room and she was alone with her husband. His gaze was intimidating, and when she could stand it no longer, she turned her back to him, pretending to warm her hands before the fire. Her mind raced for an ending to the discussion she was having with Sara. Entice him? Play the whore? Is that what the servant suggested? No, she decided, she could never do that. And why would enticing speed the deed?

Realizing that she probably looked like she was hiding, Elizabeth slowly turned back to her husband. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his boots and staring at her.

If only he would smile, Elizabeth thought, instead of looking so serious, so intent. She felt like he was trying to see inside her, know her thoughts and feelings, find her soul. And capture it. He looked capable of the task, and Elizabeth almost made the sign of the cross but caught herself in time.

Without saying a word, Geoffrey stood and began to remove the rest of his clothing, surprised to find that his hands were fumbling with the simple buckles. Had he not known better, he would have thought his hands shaking. He continued to look at his wife, willing her to show him some of the fear she kept so well hidden. He knew it was there, locked behind the rigid stance. Yet he was not displeased when she did not. She was his wife, his property. And he had chosen well.

Elizabeth watched him try again and again to undo the latchings. She wanted to suggest that he give some attention to his task instead of staring at her but did not think he would understand that she was teasing. Instead, she slowly walked over to him, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth, and unlatched the three buckles.

Geoffrey watched her, inhaled the sweet clean scent of her.

"I should change your bandage," Elizabeth said, taking a step back, "and apply more salve."

"It has been attended to," Geoffrey answered, his voice husky. He was removing the rest of his clothing as he talked. Elizabeth tried to remind herself that she had seen him naked before, but that was when he was unconscious and raging with fever. His desire now had changed his physique considerably, and the transformation terrified her.

"Do not be afraid." The softly spoken command confused Elizabeth. Geoffrey placed his hands on her shoulders. He did not draw her to him but seemed content to lazily study her eyes, her nose, and most especially, her mouth.

"I am not afraid," Elizabeth contradicted, her voice clear and strong. "I have seen you without your clothes on." At Geoffrey's puzzled look, Elizabeth explained, "When I took care of you, it was necessary—"

"I remember," Geoffrey said, smiling inside at the way his wife's face co

lored with her admission. His hands began to gently massage her shoulders, stroking the knots of tension he knew he caused. "And I have also seen you without your clothes," he said.

His words startled Elizabeth and she was only vaguely aware that his hands had moved to her waist, to the knot that held her robe secure.

"When was this?" she asked, frowning.

"At the waterfall," Geoffrey answered. "You were bathing."

"And you watched me?" she asked, both embarrassed and somewhat indignant.

"I had already decided to wed you, Elizabeth. It was my right."

Elizabeth pushed his hands away and took another step back. She felt the bed behind her knees and knew she could go no farther.

"When did you decide," she asked, her voice a whisper, "that you would wed me?"

Geoffrey did not answer her but stood there and waited.

He wasn't making this moment less awkward, and the uncertainty of what was to come was agonizing. I must get the deed done, Elizabeth decided. Slowly she untied the belt to her robe. Before her courage could desert her, she removed the covering and let it drop to the floor. "And do you still want me?" she asked, her voice husky and, she hoped, enticing.

From the surprised look on her husband's face, Elizabeth decided that maybe enticing was easy work. His stare was so hot that she felt the heat, like an embrace, wrapping around her. She felt like she was being caressed. "Aye, wife, I want you," Geoffrey answered, his voice hypnotic. "Come to me, Elizabeth. Let me make you mine."

It would not take much more to push his control over the edge, Elizabeth naively decided. Then, in her mind's view, he would most probably throw her upon the bed and take her. It would be painful, she knew, but quickly over.

An overwhelming need to have him hold her first, to stroke and comfort her, made Elizabeth's head spin. She took the first step and was but a breath away from touching him when she stopped and lifted her hands to her hair. She pulled the ribbon free, and the tight crown of curls quickly unwound, falling down below her shoulders. And still her husband did not move. He did not seem overly crazed with excitement or lust either, and Elizabeth realized that she would have to play a far better temptress than she first thought, if she was going to cause him to lose all control.