Page 76 of An Earl for the Archeress

“I knew you were something special when I saw you in my archery tent, Mari. You have better character than all of Europe’s noblewomen to settle for this on your wedding night.”

She noted his disparaging tone and brought his hand up from her stomach, placing a kiss upon it. “I have it with you. And now, if you don’t mind, benevolent husband and lord, I’m bloody freezing.”

He laughed at her jest. “I assume the mocking titles you bestow upon me will be a regular occurrence?” She smiled, and he winked. “Then two can play. Come, lowly woman. Your husband demands his rights.”

She opened her mouth to launch an objection when she noted his naughty grin. He dismounted and helped her down in her cumbersome gown, withdrawing a candle and flint from his saddle packs and leading her inside. Moments later, he cracked the flint until a prearranged pile of kindling took hold in the center of the hut. He then placed a dry log within it and lit the candle from the flame.

She looked around. A fur had been laid out on the dirt and weeds. A decanter of wine and two goblets sat beside it, and a thick blanket sat folded in the middle. Clearly Robert had gone to pains to plan this on short notice, for it had only been a matter of hours since news of her father’s arrival had interrupted their practice.

“Would you care for wine?” he asked, though his gaze didn’t meet hers as he tended to the fire.

Was he, perchance, sheepish? Indeed. He was. Which was a far cry from the overconfident Earl of Huntington. He fidgeted with the candle and poked the growing fire unnecessarily.

“I’m happy to serve it, my laird,” she replied, a twinkle now lighting her eyes. He looked up at her now. “Your servant.” She curtsied in a graceful dip that proved she was a lady of breeding. “’Tis my role as your wife, is it nay? But do not get used to it,” she added gushingly, causing him to laugh.

She moved the few paces it took to reach the wine, dipped down and removed the cork, pouring the contents. Holding a goblet out to him, he took it, nodded his thanks, and threw back the contents with such speed Mariel no longer questioned if he was nervous. So was she. Since their ceremony, they had both been reserved.

She sipped at her wine, watching him play with the fire like a lad on his first overland trek. At long last, she came up behind him on her knees and draped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder to watch the flame. His hands shot up and gripped her forearms, clearly pleased with her advance. He turned so that he faced her and stood, pulling her up by the hands.

She stood as well. “Yes?”

He didn’t offer a reply, but guided her to the fur. He reached up to the buckle holding fast her cloak. He pulled it free, opening the cloak and pushing it from her shoulders. It fell to the fur beneath them. Standing before her, he did nothing, simply waited. She reached up with hesitant hands and did the same to him, her ring glittering in the firelight.

…

His cloak drifted down to meet hers and he breathed in, breathed out, sensing her doing the same.

It was really happening. This woman was going to receive him and seal their marriage. He was humbled. He took both her shoulders and turned her around so her back was to him. She complied, looking over one shoulder, her eyes downcast. It was a modest look, wholly unlike her, and it intrigued him.

He watched her profile in the shadows dancing upon her skin as he began to pop loose each fastening down her back, seeing more and more skin revealed as the gown slacked open. He then reached up to her shoulders once more, leaned in, and placed a gentle peck at the crux of her neck and shoulder. She still smelled of the rose water and scented oils that Charlotte and Alice had used on her. Sweeping her hair over her shoulder to drape down her breast past her waist, both hands pushed her gown down her arms.

Unaware of it and yet completely fixated on it, he knew he stood at full attention, hard as a castle tower. He had to have her with such sudden fervor it was all he could do to move slowly. She sighed as he placed kisses on her neck, her shoulders, as he pulled free the lacing of her corset. It too slackened until he had pulled it open completely, adding it to the cloaks and the gown lying in a puddle around her boots.

Her chemise now hung loose and with her back to him, he stepped against her, reaching around her shoulders to her front. Finding the laces of her chemise, his arms brushed against her breasts as his fingers pulled the bow open so the neck hole slackened, all the while his lips still placing kisses along her shoulders. Gooseflesh rose on her skin. He felt her tremble, heard a whispered moan in her throat, and knew he was going to enjoy this moment more than any moment in his life.

“Turn around, love,” he whispered in her ear.

She did so and looked at him. He waited before her, holding out his arms. She seemed to understand the give and take, and began opening the ties of his coat with shaking fingers, pushing the garment open and back, sliding it down his arms, letting it land atop her corset. The whole time, his eyes remained fixed on hers, no smile, no frown, as if all his concentration rested on this one task. His chest rose and fell beneath her hands as she untied his tunic, pulling open the neck.

Her hands shook, as if she had never undressed a man. His trousers needed untying next, as did his codpiece need to be unfastened. God, but as she slowly knelt in front of him, glancing up at him, he flexed painfully in anticipation. He stood still. Once at the proper level, she lifted hesitant hands to his hips where they rested, his codpiece and thus, maleness, before her eyes. He remained motionless, watching. Her hands slid around behind him, over his rear, and his muscles twitched and flexed of their own accord under her roving fingers. She fumbled with the clasp, glancing up at him as her cheeks reddened, but he didn’t wink, or grin, or tease in any way.

“I’m nervous,” she finally admitted.

Robert brushed a wisp of hair behind her ear. “So am I,” he confessed. “You’re doing fine.”

He didn’t move, allowing her explorations. With the garment finally unclasped, it fell to the ground with a heavy jingle, filled with his traveling money. Her eyes riveted to the plume of fine linen undergarments at the joining of his thighs where the legs of the trousers didn’t come together. And the column of fabric wasn’t simply loose linen bunched together between his legs. It was filled completely with the thick pillar of his endowment and bollocks straining against the material for freedom.

She inhaled, and he shuddered, knowing she was taking in his musk mixed with the smell of his soap. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he used his threads of restraint to keep from grabbing her head and drawing her to him. With her hands still unsteady, she brought them back around his hips and slid her hand over his shaft, then leaned forward, bracing each hip, and brought her cheek against him. She inhaled again, sliding the tip of her nose along his manhood until she reached his helm dampening the fabric as it pulsed.

He hissed, sucking in, and now his hands instinctively clasped each side of her head in the cradle of his palms, kneading her hair and ears as she trailed her cheek back down to his base.

“Mercy, Mari,” he whispered, his voice harsh as he fought for control. “’Twill be over before it’s begun if you stay this course…”

He pinched his eyes shut, his head tipped back, and his manhood jumped. His broad hands gripped her face to hold on for dear life. She caressed him once more with her nose. His eyes shot down to her in disbelief and appreciation. He was at her mercy,

Placing a gentle peck to his damp helm through his undergarments, she reached to his laces, pulling them loose until the two flaps of his trousers enclosing his waist laid open. And then she did the same to his undergarments. And as she pushed them down, they hung upon his shaft like a washrag thrown over a rod to dry. His hair, darker than that of his head, tufted out in coarse curls.

She pulled his tunic loose from his waist, standing back up, and lifted it so that it bunched beneath his armpits. He released his hold on her and raised his arms dutifully to allow her to drag it over his head, bending forward so she could pull it down his arms. She let the garment slip to the accumulating pile of clothing and looked at him.