She cried out in surprise, then clutched Rogan’s hair in her hands, pulling it hard while she brought her mouth down on his.
Her sudden passion was enough to finish Rogan and with a final thrust, he went limp against her, pushing her back hard against the stones as he leaned against her, his heart pounding.
Liana wanted more. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, but what she’d received wasn’t enough. Her nails bit into his shoulders.
Rogan drew his head away from her shoulder and looked at her, startled. He could see that he had not pleased her. Instantly, he dropped her legs and stepped away from her and began searching for his braies in the debris on the floor. “You may go now,” he murmured, feeling anger rising in himself.
Liana was energized by the too-brief lovemaking. “I have a bedroom off the solar prepared for us.”
“Then you can go there and sleep,” he said with anger, but when he turned to look at her, his anger vanished. Her eyes were bright and alive and her hair was wild and free about her head. He almost reached for her again, but he forced his hands to remain at his side. Women who were new to him were always exciting, he told himself.
Liana didn’t try to repress the anger she felt. The vision of him in bed with another woman was too fresh and too painful. “So that you can go to another woman?” she hissed at him.
“Why, no,” he said, surprised. “So that I can sleep. There is no bed in here.”
This statement, delivered so solemnly, made Liana smile. “Come with me,” she said softly, holding out her hand to him. “I have a clean, fragrant bed rea
dy for us.”
Rogan didn’t want to take her hand and he knew he shouldn’t sleep with her, because he’d learned from experience that when you slept the whole night with women, they began to think they owned you. He’d been “owned” by a woman once and—In spite of his sensible thoughts, he took her hand, and her smile at him deepened.
“Come,” she whispered, and he followed her like a little dog on a leash as she led him down the stairs to the kitchen, then out into the courtyard. It was quiet now and she paused to look up at the stars. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
At first Rogan didn’t know what she meant. Stars were to guide you when traveling at night. “I guess they are,” he said softly. The moonlight on her hair made it silver.
She stepped back against him, her back against his chest. This was what she’d imagined marriage to be, her husband holding her in the moonlight. But Rogan made no move to put his arms around her, so Liana put her hands about his wrists and guided his arms about her shoulders.
Rogan was startled for a moment. It was such a waste of time to be standing outside in the middle of the night, holding a bit of a girl and looking up at the stars. Tomorrow he had so much to do. But then he put his nose in her hair, smelled the clean, spicy fragrance of it, and he couldn’t remember what he had to do tomorrow. “What’s your name?” he whispered against her hair. He had trouble with women’s names and had years ago assigned them a date as opposed to a name.
Liana didn’t let her little lump of anger rise to the surface. “I am Lady Liana, your wife,” she said, then turned in his arms and put her face up to be kissed. When he didn’t kiss her, she kissed him, her hands caressing the back of his neck as she did so. Then she put her head against his shoulder and snuggled her body close to his.
Rogan found himself holding her, just standing there and holding her close to him. He’d never done this before. Women were for sex, for fetching what a man needed, for doing whatever a man wanted. They were not for standing in the middle of a courtyard and just holding. There was no purpose behind such an action, yet he was powerless to move.
Liana heard the movement behind her, someone who couldn’t sleep, perhaps. She was not used to being married and so immediately felt wrong for touching a man so intimately. “Come, let’s go before they find us.”
Again, Rogan followed her as she led him up the stairs, past the Lord’s Chamber and up to the hall that led to the solar. Here was the bedroom that had once belonged to his father and his wives. He hadn’t been in it for years. This girl, this Liana, had hung a tapestry on one wall. There were fat, fragrant candles burning. There was a bed against one wall, a holy cross above it.
Rogan took a step backward, but the girl tugged on his hand.
“Come, I have wine, good wine from Italy, and I will pour you a glass.”
Rogan wasn’t sure how she did it but moments later he was nude and in her soft, clean bed, a silver goblet of wine in his hand and her pressed to his shoulder, his arm holding her to him, his fingers playing with her hair.
Liana snuggled her body against his as if she were trying to become part of his skin. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him about the castle, about the people. Who was the Lady she’d seen spinning? She wanted to know more about Severn’s Iolanthe. And why wasn’t Zared fostered to another knight and in training?
But she’d poured out too much emotion tonight and was now too tired to talk. She put her hand on the hair of his chest, felt his big, strong body next to hers and, contentedly, she drifted into sleep.
Rogan heard her soft breathing of sleep and thought that he should go. He should leave her now and go find somewhere else to sleep. He remembered the way she’d set the bed on fire. If he hadn’t wakened, he could have burned to death. By rights she should be in the dungeon now and at dawn he should tie her to a stake and burn her—just as she tried to burn him. But he made no movement. Instead, he lifted her hand from his chest and looked at it with curiosity. It was such a small, weak, useless hand, he thought just before he fell asleep, still holding her in his arms.
When he awoke, it was full morning and he could hear the noise of the courtyard below. With the daylight, his senses returned. He was wrapped about the girl as if they were the entwined roots of a tree. He shoved her from him and rolled out of the bed, then started toward the garderobe. There was a urinal in the little hall before the room with the seat and he paused to relieve himself.
Liana awoke and stretched luxuriously in the bed. She had never felt so good in her life. This was what marriage was supposed to be: standing in the courtyard in the night in your husband’s arms and looking at the stars, sleeping in his arms, waking to know that he’s near you, hearing a man in the garderobe. He walked out of the latrine, scratching his bare chest and yawning.
“Good morning,” she said, moving her legs about under the blankets.
Rogan’s mind was on the day’s work. Now that he had the Neville gold, he could begin hiring knights to help him fight the Howards. Of course he’d have to train them properly. Most men were lazy louts with the strength of children. And speaking of lazy, he’d better get Severn out of that witch-woman’s bed or there’d be no strength left in his brother. He left the room without once looking at, or remembering, his wife.
Liana sat up in the bed in shock when he walked out without acknowledging her. She had half a mind to run after him and—What? she wondered. She lay back against the pillows and smiled. She had been quiet and meek and obedient and he had ignored her. She had tried to burn him to death and he’d spent the night with her. The lady who’d been spinning had said men never fought battles for women who were meek and mild. Would Rogan perhaps fight a battle for a wife who tried to set him on fire?