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Anticipation
Adelina enjoyed moving from table to table in order to greet and thank the people of the castle who were clearly overjoyed to see Roland wed. She thanked Thyst and the other crew members who had helped save her husband’s life.
However, her thoughts were on the bridal bed she and Roland would soon share.
A few made cryptic comments about Roland’s philandering days being over, but she supposed most young noblemen sowed wild oats in their youth. In truth, she was glad Roland knew a thing or two about pleasing a woman. He’d already gifted her with sexual delights she hadn’t even known were possible, and they’d yet to join their bodies. The anticipation sent a spasm of desire into her lower abdomen.
She’d previously sat patiently through the speeches. Roland whispered that his father was deliberately prolonging his monologue, aware his son wanted to whisk Adelina off to their chamber. He was probably right, judging by the teasing glint in the comte’s eyes as he extolled Roland’s virtues, and pointed out some of his shortcomings. The crowd applauded loudly, obviously finding it all amusing, and Adelina perceived the deep love Comte Barr had for his son.
Becket’s short tribute in praise of Adelina’s bravery in aiding Marguerite’s escape from King John brought tears to everyone’s eyes.
Adelina had barely sipped the fiery apple brandy served for the toast when Roland abruptly got to his feet, took her hand and announced they were leaving to attend to pressing matters.
The jovial laughter and banging of tankards on tables echoed down the hallway as they were borne aloft—Roland atop the broad shoulders of his brother and father, Adelina perched in a chair carried by Steward Bonhomme and his son.
* * *
Roland expected Becket and his friends to orchestrate some sort of mischief in the bridal chamber, and he wasn’t disappointed. Even his father joined in the good-natured teasing about the impressive weapon between his legs. It went without saying they all wished Adrien was present.
However, Roland declined to rise to the bait when his tormentors refused to let him have a bed-robe to cover his nudity.
“You’re no fun,” Becket complained.
“The fun will come when your wife, my mother and their ladies are finished preparing Adelina behind yon screen and they pass by us on their way out,” Roland replied with a shrug. “Your silly grin will disappear when Marguerite sees my…”
“Enough,” Becket shouted, tossing the bed-robe at him as his wife and mother appeared from behind the screen.
Roland hastily donned the robe, the breath hitching in his throat when he saw his angelic bride clad in a white silk nightrail. He thirsted to feast his eyes on the bounty that lay hidden beneath. However, propriety dictated the nightrail would have to stay for the blessing of the marriage bed.
With great ceremony, the ladies escorted Adelina to the four-poster, turned down the linens and assisted her to climb between the sheets. Roland got into bed beside her and pulled the linens up to their chins just as Père Lacharité entered.
Roland reached for Adelina’s hand and meshed his fingers with hers while the priest intoned the blessing and sprinkled them with holy water.
He hoped his bride wouldn’t be too disappointed by the proposal he intended to make once everyone had left.
* * *
Roland’s chamber seemed strangely quiet after the bawdy revelers left them alone. Adelina had longed for this moment since the first time she’d met Roland, yet she felt apprehensive. He’d brought her to rapturous sexual heights, and she believed she’d succeeded in pleasing him. However, the ultimate joining of their bodies was a different thing and she could only hope she’d prove to be adequate.
Roland seemed unusually nervous as well. She’d expected him to peel off his silk robe right away. Instead, he got out of bed and came to stand beside her.
“All my life,” he began, taking her hand, “I’ve been the impetuous one in the family.”
She frowned, puzzled by the confusion in his blue eyes. “I love that about you.”
“I’m not saying I regret my nature. Right now, I itch to tear off that lovely nightrail and fall upon you like a wild beast.”
His words sent a spasm of desire arrowing into her womb. Her nipples tingled. “I want to be yours,” she whispered.
“And you shall be,” he promised. “But, for once, I plan to take things slowly and relish every moment of our joining.”
The prospect of Roland taking her maidenhead swiftly had been arousing enough. The promise of savoring a long slow climb to the ultimate surrender made her giddy with anticipation.
