place.
What could he possibly be doing in there so late? She sincerely hoped the nights of their marriage would not pass in the same fashion. In truth she hadn’t given much thought to her wifely duties in the new husband’s bed. She expected little from it. Her first husband, Henry, had been a wonderful lover, patient and always gentle. It would not be wise to expect another man to make her feel the way he did.
Yet watching Raedwulf at supper had given her a little tingling thrill. He was a stranger to her—a rough-handed, over-grown, ill-mannered stranger with some of the most intense eyes she’d ever had pinned upon her—and tomorrow he would bed her. If he could tear himself away from the wood shed long enough.
He wouldn’t be gentle like Henry. A quiver of trepidation leapt up and down her spine, but her sex softened at the mere thought of all that brawny power driving into her. The sensation shot upward into her belly, then to her breasts where it touched her nipples and pinched them hard.
When Henry died she’d never expected to know a man again. And she’d certainly never expected to feel this level of fear and excitement at the thought of lying beneath a large, angry Saxon.
“Best get some sleep,” Joan advised gloomily, pulling down the coverlet on the bed. “After that journey and with a wedding tomorrow, you need to gather your strength, my lady. I can’t imagine how you’ll put up with that big oaf sweating and grunting all over you. Not a patch on your first husband. This one’s all muscle, no brains. A great stupid ox. You won’t get much sleep with him. I daresay he’s a filthy animal with no manners in bed either. I know, with most men, we are merely sheaths for their bloodied swords. The way he stared at you tonight, I thought he was going to eat you still living.”
Oh that did it. Now she was too hot to sleep. Already her shift was damp, sticking to her back. Even the wooden floor was warm under her feet. “I’ll come to bed shortly.”
Grumbling about her aches and pains the elderly woman climbed onto her own pallet at the foot of the bed. “Fancy the king marrying you off to a Saxon beast. I always thought you were one of his favorite wards, but this is a spiteful measure he makes you drink, to be sure. And after all you’ve been through.” The maid paused. “Not that you were right for that convent. I never agreed with that for you my lady, as you know…”
“Indeed I do, Joan. You told me so many times.”
“…But to send you here to marry that monster. What could the king be thinking?”
Emma turned from the window and smiled into the moonlit room. “I am thankful not to be stuck with my mother-in-law. Almost any home would be preferable to that one now Henry’s gone.” Constantly, since her husband’s death, Emma had been reminded by her mother-in-law that she was kept under that roof out of charity, an unwanted burden. It was almost as if the woman had to blame someone for her son’s death, so she picked on Emma as the cause. A wife who failed to give her husband any children in eight years of marriage, she was viewed by his family as a blight on their noble tree. Once Henry died she was superfluous, good only for housekeeping chores to earn her keep.
She understood their malice; all she’d given Henry was the love in her heart. And what was that worth to most people? If they’d never had it, they wouldn’t know. They wouldn’t understand how it exhausted her to give so much and then have her heart crushed, her love snatched cruelly away by disease and death.
Below in the woodshed that lantern light flickered and swayed. Was the Saxon coming out?
No. He must have moved the lantern, but the door didn’t open.
With a sigh, Emma left the window and climbed into bed. Although she didn’t think she was tired enough to fall asleep in this wretched heat, her eyelids eventually drifted shut.
* * * *
She woke with a start. A loud rumble shook the
What could he possibly be doing in there so late? She sincerely hoped the nights of their marriage would not pass in the same fashion. In truth she hadn’t given much thought to her wifely duties in the new husband’s bed. She expected little from it. Her first husband, Henry, had been a wonderful lover, patient and always gentle. It would not be wise to expect another man to make her feel the way he did.
Yet watching Raedwulf at supper had given her a little tingling thrill. He was a stranger to her—a rough-handed, over-grown, ill-mannered stranger with some of the most intense eyes she’d ever had pinned upon her—and tomorrow he would bed her. If he could tear himself away from the wood shed long enough.
He wouldn’t be gentle like Henry. A quiver of trepidation leapt up and down her spine, but her sex softened at the mere thought of all that brawny power driving into her. The sensation shot upward into her belly, then to her breasts where it touched her nipples and pinched them hard.
When Henry died she’d never expected to know a man again. And she’d certainly never expected to feel this level of fear and excitement at the thought of lying beneath a large, angry Saxon.
“Best get some sleep,” Joan advised gloomily, pulling down the coverlet on the bed. “After that journey and with a wedding tomorrow, you need to gather your strength, my lady. I can’t imagine how you’ll put up with that big oaf sweating and grunting all over you. Not a patch on your first husband. This one’s all muscle, no brains. A great stupid ox. You won’t get much sleep with him. I daresay he’s a filthy animal with no manners in bed either. I know, with most men, we are merely sheaths for their bloodied swords. The way he stared at you tonight, I thought he was going to eat you still living.”
Oh that did it. Now she was too hot to sleep. Already her shift was damp, sticking to her back. Even the wooden floor was warm under her feet. “I’ll come to bed shortly.”
Grumbling about her aches and pains the elderly woman climbed onto her own pallet at the foot of the bed. “Fancy the king marrying you off to a Saxon beast. I always thought you were one of his favorite wards, but this is a spiteful measure he makes you drink, to be sure. And after all you’ve been through.” The maid paused. “Not that you were right for that convent. I never agreed with that for you my lady, as you know…”
“Indeed I do, Joan. You told me so many times.”
“…But to send you here to marry that monster. What could the king be thinking?”
Emma turned from the window and smiled into the moonlit room. “I am thankful not to be stuck with my mother-in-law. Almost any home would be preferable to that one now Henry’s gone.” Constantly, since her husband’s death, Emma had been reminded by her mother-in-law that she was kept under that roof out of charity, an unwanted burden. It was almost as if the woman had to blame someone for her son’s death, so she picked on Emma as the cause. A wife who failed to give her husband any children in eight years of marriage, she was viewed by his family as a blight on their noble tree. Once Henry died she was superfluous, good only for housekeeping chores to earn her keep.
She understood their malice; all she’d given Henry was the love in her heart. And what was that worth to most people? If they’d never had it, they wouldn’t know. They wouldn’t understand how it exhausted her to give so much and then have her heart crushed, her love snatched cruelly away by disease and death.
Below in the woodshed that lantern light flickered and swayed. Was the Saxon coming out?
No. He must have moved the lantern, but the door didn’t open.
With a sigh, Emma left the window and climbed into bed. Although she didn’t think she was tired enough to fall asleep in this wretched heat, her eyelids eventually drifted shut.
* * * *
She woke with a start. A loud rumble shook the
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