The Norman's Heart Read online

  She did so, averting her eyes. He tossed the linen aside and for a brief instant had a nearly uncontrollable desire to pull her into his arms, naked though he was. Not sure how she would respond, however, he pulled on his chausses instead.

  “I want to thank you for the present,” she said quietly. “I’ve... nobody has ever given me a gift like that before,” she said in an earnest rush, still not looking at him. “Reginald gave me some clothes for the wedding, I suppose because he was afraid I would embarrass him otherwise and I truly had no suitable gowns, but the mare is so... she’s lovely, and—” Mina looked at him over her shoulder “—I thank you.”

  Roger realized at once, and to his dismay, that he did not know how to respond to her heartfelt gratitude. “It was Albert’s idea,” he mumbled, turning away to hide his blushing face.

  “But it was your doing,” she said, moving one small step closer.

  He risked a glance at her. God’s blood, she was beautiful, even in the plainest gown. How her luminous blue-green eyes glowed, surrounded by the halo of her glorious hair! Her half-parted lips helped to kindle incredible passion, filling him with a burning desire to kiss her.

  Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, as if she felt the unspoken hunger, too. He went toward her and drew her to him. She did not resist, which sent the banked flames within him roaring into fiery life. He kissed her fiercely, with a possessiveness and need that he had never felt before.

  She did nothing for the briefest of moments—and then it was as if she felt not the heat of passion, but a veritable conflagration of desire and need and lust as strong as anything he had ever felt, and more.

  There was no need for him to subdue his want, either, or to hide his yearning for her. He sensed that there was no plan to follow, steps to take, games to play. She clung to him almost desperately, between them an equal, blazing craving.

  With a low moan, he thrust his tongue into her mouth. A scant heartbeat later, her tongue reversed the action, plunging between his lips as if she must—and would—partake of every delight.

  God’s wounds, she was like no other woman, and she was his wife. His hands pressed her to him, his hard arousal against her softness as she leaned into him, her breasts against his chest.

  “My God!”

  They sprang apart to see Dudley standing on the threshold, his face as red as one of Reginald’s tunics. “My lord!” he said, his voice an octave higher than normal. “Forgive my intrusion! The evening meal is ready, and I...” His words trailed off into an embarrassed silence.

  Never had Roger resented an interruption more. “We’ll be there in a moment,” he growled.

  “Yes, Dudley,” Mina replied, her tone a marvel of self-control that Roger found himself envying. There could be no doubt that she had been as engrossed in that kiss as he, but one would never guess it from her calm exterior. Only the ripe fullness of her lips and two bright spots of brilliant red upon each cheek gave any sign that she was embarrassed, too. “I am well aware that Sir Roger does not like to wait for his meals.”

  Still flustered, Dudley merely nodded and ran away.

  Roger grabbed Mina’s arm and yanked her back to him, bringing her breasts and hardened nipples once more into delightful contact with his naked chest. “They can all starve as far as I’m concerned. I want to stay here with you.” His lips wandered down the slope of her cheek and along her neck.

  “I ... they...” she murmured. “It would not be seemly.”

  “I don’t give a damn.” His hands found the laces of her gown.

  “Roger!” she chided, pulling away with conspicuous reluctance, her face flushed and wearing a smile that did nothing to cool his ardor. “They are waiting.”

  “So am I,” he said, following her with a lascivious leer as she hurried to the door.

  “Get dressed and come to the hall,” she commanded. Her lips curved up even more enticingly. “We can finish this ... conversation ... later.”

  She left the room, and only when he was belting his tunic did it occur to Roger that she had given him a direct order.

  So what of that? Her final words made that a very minor point.

  Mina had never eaten a meal so swiftly in her life. She took no note of the food’s taste or texture, or if it had been well prepared or properly presented. Conversation whirled about her, making no impact on her own thoughts, tumultuous emotions or burning desire. She didn’t care what anybody said to her, didn’t want to reply. All that mattered was concluding this social necessity as quickly as possible so that she could be alone with Roger, his lean, hard body against her, promising untold delights to come.

  There were two things she did notice as she sat beside her husband during the meal—Roger was also eating in some haste, and his hand kept straying to fondle her leg. More than once she almost choked as his fingers stroked her thigh. At first, terrified that someone would see what he was doing, she tried to shift enough to make it clear that he should stop.

  He did not, and eventually, she gave up her subtle protests. Indeed, what he was doing was simply too unbelievably arousing. Short of actually telling him to stop inflaming her desire, she was helpless to resist.

  Finally, enough time had elapsed that they could retire, and they both stood at nearly the same instant. Roger said a good-night to the assembly, she nodded hers, and together, they walked decorously, if rather quickly, toward the stairs. As soon as they were out of sight, Roger halted and pulled her into his arms.

  He pushed her back against the wall as he gave her a long, heated kiss. She returned his kiss ardently, letting the force of her passion sweep her along like a twig caught in a river’s rushing current until, with a low growl, he lifted her into his strong arms and carried her to their bedchamber, kicking the door shut before setting her down.

  Mina said nothing. There were no words for what she felt, no means to express her emotions. Only actions. Immediate actions, with no more hesitation. She knew what she wanted, and she wanted Roger. She went to him and hastily started to undo the lacings at the neck of his tunic. She said no soft words, made no tender whispers, uttered no mild entreaties.

  Passion took command of them both, making them nearly frantic in their need. In minutes their clothes lay in a pile on the floor, and they were in the bed, naked and unashamed, aware only of each other and the longing that could no longer be denied.

  As they explored each other’s bodies, Mina vaguely realized she had never felt this way. Her body was hers, yet not hers. She was clay in Roger’s hands, molded to his desire. Not just by his hands. His lips, his tongue, his fingertips—everything combined to provide the delightful sensation of his touch.

  But he belonged to her, too. As he caressed her, she caressed him, letting him teach her. Soon, very soon, the pupil had mastered enough to mold the teacher. His gasps of pleasure were her reward, the fervent want in his face the sign of her newfound skill.

  His knee pressed between her legs and willingly, like the flower seeking the sun, she opened for him. Grasping his powerful shoulders, she kissed him again, letting all the raw potency of her released emotions guide her to him.

  He thrust inside her, pausing a moment when she uttered a sharp cry at a brief pain. Then she drove her hips against him, forgetting the pain as she sought to bring him nearer to feel every inch of his naked flesh against her. She wrapped her legs around him, clutched at him, held him tight.

  With soft cries, Mina undulated beneath Roger, instinctively, almost thrashing, in a dance of such incredible animal sensuality that Roger felt as if he were a virgin again, experiencing the delight of being in a woman’s arms for the first time. Never had he felt anything like this, never had he known such freedom to give rein to his passion and his need.

  The crescendo came quickly, for both of them. Her fingers gripped him as she suddenly arched, rigid, when the overpowering tension burst into an astounding release for them both.

  Panting, spent, enraptured, Roger rolled onto his back, taking her wi
th him so that he was still enveloped by her, letting her lay her head on his chest, holding her gently there. It was a moment of tenderness such as he had never known. His heart swelled to think that she was responsible, this woman, his wife. He could have this experience again and again, and he was quite sure that the joy of the compassion... the love ... he felt for her would never diminish.

  Yes, love. There could be no other word, no other explanation.

  Mina sighed softly, her breasts rising against his chest. He marveled at her perfect form and pale silky skin as she lay enfolded in his arms. She was no weak vessel, no fragile creature. She was strong, powerful, desirable as no woman had ever been to him before. And to think she was his wife!

  “I am sorry I was so rude to you before,” she whispered, raising her head to look at him. “I wouldn’t have been, if I had known the sacrifice I was making.”

  He chuckled and brushed back a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear as gently as a mother tucks a blanket around a sleeping infant. “And I must be sure to give you more presents, if this is how you thank me.”

  Her brow furrowed slightly. “You make me sound—”

  “Forgive me, Mina,” he said at once, guessing her supposition. “I didn’t mean it that way at all.” He raised himself on his elbows to press a kiss between her eyes.

  When he lay back, he saw that she was smiling. “You would not have apologized before,” she noted.

  He grinned and ran his hands over her back. This time it was his brow that furrowed. “These scars, Mina. You must have had a terrible life.”

  She nestled against him. “Some parts of it. My father was not an easy man, especially after my mother died. He became convinced that his other children were right, that he had debased the family by marrying a Saxon. There I was, the evidence, always before his eyes.”

  “He should not have beaten you.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. He is dead, and I have you.”

  Her words made him more proud than any prize he had won or honors he had been given. “Mina, Mina,” he whispered, cradling her in his arms, pleased beyond words.

  She rose slightly. “I am so happy, Roger!” she said, a delightful giggle breaking from her lips. “After how I have tormented you, surely I don’t deserve it!”

  His deep laughter joined hers. “I was so uncivil, I don’t deserve it, either!”

  After a moment, when they had little breath left, they both sighed and smiled. “I must say, Mina,” Roger said pensively, touching her cheek, “I don’t know how you can have any sense of humor left.”

  Her expression grew serious, and she bent close to whisper in his ear, her voice like a caress. “It was laugh or die, Roger. Some days, my sense of humor was all I had.”

  “You will never feel that way again, Mina. I promise you,” he replied, equally serious.

  Mina lay back down upon his chest, content for the first time in years, happy to the core of her soul. She had never, in her most secret dreams, guessed that being with a man could be so intoxicating, so wonderful, so exciting. He was no lovelorn youth, nor afraid that she would find his caresses too much for a mere woman. He had loved her fully, without restraint, with passion and a flagrant need. Somehow, by a fluke of fate or perhaps the intervention of an unknown saint, she had been given the best husband in the world. A man she could honor and respect. A man she could trust.

  A man she could love.

  Yes, love. There could be no other word, no other explanation. A soft sigh of happiness turned into a yawn of tired serenity.

  “We should sleep,” Roger mumbled, his lips against her forehead.

  “Yes.” She shifted, lifting herself from him, and gasped.

  “What is it?” he murmured.

  “I’m a little sore,” she said softly, grimacing as he withdrew.

  “I was too hasty, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said solemnly, lying beside her and running his finger along her chin, his deep voice intimately tender. “I’ll be more careful next time. And every time. I will never hurt you again. You have my word.”

  She looked at him gravely, knowing it was time for the truth. “You didn’t before.”

  He blinked and his hand became still. “What?”

  “You didn’t hurt me before, not the way you think.”

  His eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened as he abruptly sat up. “Mina, you had best tell me exactly what I did do.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Frightened by the harsh anger in Roger’s midnight dark eyes, Mina reached for the coverings and wrapped them around her as a sort of shield. “You fell asleep.”

  “I fell asleep? When did I fall asleep?”

  Her desperate though necessary words came awkwardly, but she would not be a coward. She would tell him everything. “I was angry with you. I heard you talking to the baron the day before our wedding, and your words... hurt me. I know I am not a beautiful woman. You were marrying me only to please the baron. But to hear your arrogant dismissal of me ... I wanted to hurt you, the great, powerful Sir Roger de Montmorency. So I tricked you. I put some sleeping potion in the wine in the bedchamber. You kissed me and went to the bed ... and then you fell asleep.”

  Still he stared at her. “You hed to me.”

  His words were as cold and unforgiving as his expression.

  “You talked of me as if I were your property,” she replied, a tinge of desperation in her voice.

  “My wife is my property,” he said scornfully, rising from the bed like an angry god of ancient lore roused by the follies of mortals. “What other tricks have you played on me? Were you still a virgin when I married you, or was that another lie? Is that how you had the skill to inflame my desire for your?”

  “I was a virgin until a moment ago, when you took my maidenhead. Here is the proof.” She pulled back the coverlet to reveal a small stain of fresh blood.

  “There was blood before,” he noted with an unbelieving sneer.

  “From my finger. Can you doubt you took my virginity tonight? Can you honestly believe that what I did with you was only art? That I have been taught by some other, unknown man?”

  He yanked on his hastily discarded chausses. “I can believe almost anything of you, my lady.”

  Horrified by his accusations, dismayed by his words, she could only stare at him, too speechless to respond.

  Straightening, he said, “Two things I prize above all else, Mina. Honesty and loyalty. I see that I cannot trust your honesty. You had better not give me any reason to question your loyalty.” He grabbed his tunic and strode toward the door.

  “Roger, I am being honest with you now!” she exclaimed, drawing on all her strength to protest the fierce, completely unjustified condemnation she had seen in his eyes.

  His hand paused on the latch of the door.

  “Are you?” Roger demanded, his eyes inscrutable once more. “How can I ever be sure?”

  “Because I give you my word!”

  He stared at her for one long, unbearable moment before he yanked open the door and was gone.

  Mina sat motionless on the bed. How could he have so quickly and so completely changed toward her? How could he not believe her? Would he prefer to think that he had beaten her?

  What had she done that was so very terrible, anyway? She had only tried to retain her dignity in the one way she could. She had tricked him—but was his rigorous judgment of her fair?

  Who was he to act so wounded? Her slight fraud had been a secret one. She had not exposed him to the jeers of others. She had not shamed him before his men.

  She racked her mind trying to see a reason for his extreme reaction and remembered that first morning, when it had dawned on him that he had apparently injured her. He had been very upset, she realized now, certainly far more than others who had truly laid a hand on her. Afterward, those others had barely noticed her cuts and bruises, and carried on as if nothing at all existed to imped
e her in the continuation of her tasks.

  But Roger—Roger had looked horrified. She knew him well enough now to understand that any expression of his innermost reaction revealed its strength. Then had come his angry defensiveness, calling forth a similar response from her.

  Yes, now she knew how to gauge his responses, but she hadn’t then, and she didn’t think it was right that he should have expected her to. She was no mind reader. What was she supposed to do, judge his moods from that throbbing vein in his temple or the way he tilted his head?

  Why should she, when he was not prepared to make the same effort for her? She had put her thoughts into words, and still he would not hear, not even after what they had shared.

  She was who she was, and there was nothing so very wrong in that. Regrets would not help. They were a weakness, and she prized strength, just as he prized honesty and loyalty.

  If he could not understand her, if he would not listen to her or hear her words, it did not matter. If he acted like a willful child, she would treat him like one. She would ignore him. Certainly she was getting used to that.

  And as for her stupid notion of loving him ...

  Mina turned her head into the pillow, which still held the scent of Roger’s hair, determined to forget everything that had so recently happened here. Instead, she burst into stormy, anguished tears, and raged against the weakness that brought them.

  The next morning, Roger strode into the stables.

  “My lord!” one of the stable hands cried, snapping to an attentive position and pulling his forelock. Roger could tell from the worried frown on Neslin’s face that he was afraid some mistake had been discovered in his work.

  “I’ve come to saddle my horse,” Roger snarled, in no mood to lighten an underling’s worries. He had enough of his own.