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Malcolm was moving—up and off the bed. Judith opened her eyes; but he was merely lifting the coverings to slide inside. Before she could gather up the strength to move, he picked her up and gently deposited her under the blankets.
Then, without another word, he climbed in on his side of the bed.
TWELVE
Malcolm lay next to his bride. His body still hummed, his breathing was just slipping back into normal. His muscles trembled and shuddered gently beneath his skin, little twitches of the orgasm continuing to lick through him.
He should have been snoring by now, easing into the paradise of slumber, empty of tension and stress, fulfilled after enjoying his new wife…but nay. Though his body still basked in the afterward, his thoughts were cold and heavy. He’d seen the tears. They poured from her eyes as she lay beneath him, her face contorted, her eyes closed.
Fool. You are no better than Henry to use her so.
He’d come out of his stupor of lust and desire, hardly remembering what had occurred. Had he hurt her? Been too rough? But earlier, Judith had seemed to be enjoying his touch—her head tipped back to give him access to her neck and throat; soft, panting breaths…her fingers, curling into his hair, around his shoulders, his arms…those proud, glorious breasts, bathed in moonlight…tantalizing with their jutting nipples, perfect in weight and shape.
Malcolm remembered all of those things—the sweet taste of her, at last, after a decade of awareness and desire…the softness of skin, the shiver of pleasure, the softness of her curves…the sensual way she’d pressed herself against him at the window.
What had happened? Had he misunderstood, misread her desire? Was she remembering her time with the king and equating the two men? Mal went cold at the thought.
There’d been no mistaking the tears—they were so profuse she’d had to wipe them away. She hadn’t looked at Malcolm after. Now she slept, curled up in a ball under the covers where he’d placed her. That river of fire-gold hair was spread out over her pillow and his, all but covering one tempting breast.
She was as ripe and beautiful as he’d always believed. Lush, sleek, sweet. Already Mal felt himself stirring again. He’d had only a sample—a mere taste of his wife.
His wife….
He could scarcely believe it. He was wed to Judith of Kentworth. What had been inconceivable only a month ago had come to pass, and he had gained a prize beyond expectation.
But at what price? Mal felt the niggle of guilt he’d tried to subdue for a se’ennight. He’d fairly forced her into wedding him. She tried to renege, tried to break their agreement. An honorable man would have allowed it to happen…mayhap.
She despises the king. And wedding Malcolm was an escape from a dangerous and untenable situation.
Or so he told himself. Judith didn’t want to remain the king’s concubine or the queen’s servant. It would kill her, if one of them didn’t do so first.
He proposed the perfect arrangement. She gained freedom, and the ability to return to her beloved Lilyfare, and Malcolm gained…her.
He’d very nearly convinced himself of this—that it was the right thing, that it was the only way to protect her. And then Gavin of Mal Verne arrived at Clarendon, coming in response to Malcolm’s letter.
“You do not have to wed her,” Gavin told Malcolm, his tones serious, his dark gaze probing. “Though I cannot thank you enough for making the offer, and doing what you can to protect her. I did not know…. ” Gavin was obviously disgusted with the situation—but also with himself, for not taking better care of his cousin’s interests.
“No one knew,” Mal told him.
“She could have written me,” Gavin said, shaking his head. “But now—I can take her from here. I will extricate her from the king. You do not have to wed her to save her, Mal…. Unless that is truly your wish. ”
“I would wed her,” Malcolm told him after the slightest hesitation. He did not wish to appear too desperate. “If she will have me. ”
At that, Gavin smiled with genuine pleasure, sending a bounce of relief through Mal—for if his friend had any doubt of their match, Malcolm would have stepped aside. “Felicitations, then, Warwick,” Gavin said, thumping him on the back fiercely. “I wish you the best of luck taming my wild cousin. ”
With that, Mal’s spirits had lifted. He was exuberant as the pieces fell into place and at last, later that very day, Judith became his. Even the king was thwarted after his visit to her chamber this night. Dirick was confident the king was no longer a threat, for the unification of the barons and their challenge had subdued him.
But now…Mal could only wonder. Had Gavin insisted she accept him? Had she done so only to escape the king? And to once again see her beloved Lilyfare? Did she already regret not finding another way out of her conundrum?
But you are my husband and I would welcome you in my bed—right or no right.
She’d lured him to her, breaking through his shield of honor, coaxing him to couple with her. But now she wept over it. Had she done so, had she forced herself to accept him only to ensure a consummation of their marriage? So they would be truly wed, and even the king couldn’t cleave them apart?
As he lay there—staring at the canopy fixed to the bed posts, feeling the warmth radiating from her, smelling the intoxicating scent of their coupling, still among the sheets—Mal wondered why he even cared what was her intent. She was his wife. Just as it had been with Sarah, Judith’s duty was to give him an heir or two and to warm his bed while doing so. She would be chatelaine of their lands if she knew how to manage an estate; if not, he could employ a steward.
But as he’d told Judith when they went hunting, he cared not whether his wife had any other pleasant attributes—if she could converse, or if she were comely or if she had any other skills as Lady Maris did. It was the way of the world, of the matches between ladies and great lords like himself. So if Judith was unhappy with her decision, why should it matter to him?
Because you coerced her. You made it near impossible for her to deny you.
