An Exchange of Vows: Chapter Three
An Exchange of Vows
Chapter Three
Author: Violet
Chapter Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Guy/Marian (Robin/Marian)
Canon: Up to 2.10, "Walkabout"
Summary: Marian brokers a deal for Nottingham and England.
Note: Please note the rating change. This chapter contains adult material and is not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen.
Click to read the prologue, chapter one, and chapter two.
***
CHAPTER THREE
SEPTEMBER 1193
They had tried to keep the news of their impending marriage as quiet as they possibly could, but apparently their efforts were to no avail: as they returned that afternoon after the wedding, the entirety of Nottingham Castle was alive and engrossed in preparations for a marriage feast later that evening. “Oh, no,” Guy groaned as he saw several kitchen servants ferrying in the ingredients for elaborate dishes. “How did they know?”
“It wasn’t exactly a secret,” she pointed out. “At least Vasey isn’t here.”
He exhaled. “Thank God for small favors,” he muttered, giving her a meaningful look.
“I need to go to my chamber and rest,” she blurted suddenly. She needed to be away from him, so that she could have time to process what she had just done.
“All right,” he assented readily. “Do you want me to-“
She didn’t wait for him to finish. “No, no, I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you in the hall for dinner.”
He frowned and shook his head, but pressed the question no further. “Very well, then.”
His boots clacked against the stones of the floor as he strolled away from her. “My lady,” Agnes whispered loudly. “We should get you upstairs. You look like you could faint dead away!”
“I do not faint,” Marian snapped, shaking Agnes’s concerned hand from her arm. “I just need some water. And I want to lie down until supper.”
“Yes, Lady Gisborne,” Agnes replied softly.
Marian whirled around, surprised. “I thought it would be nice to be the first one to call you by your new name,” Agnes offered shyly.
Something in her chest tugged a little, and her features softened. “Thank you, Agnes,” she murmured.
“I’ll fetch you the water, ma’am,” Agnes said, backing away slowly toward the pump room.
She realized that she was shaking as she made her way up the stairs toward her bedchamber. The low light of the afternoon had descended, and she had to squint a little bit as she slipped quietly down the arched hall. Her vision went fuzzy just as she pushed her way through her door, and she let her body fall in a heap on top of her bed. She reached up and tore the flowered crown from her hair, crumpling it up in her hands and tearing it to petals and pieces.
She had done it. She had done what he had asked of her. And now she was going to have to be his wife - in every way. She shook harder and stared up at the canopy draped over the bed, eyes unfocused. She could scream. She wanted to. But if she did, he might come running. And if he were in the same room with her and a bed, he might want to … assert his rights. She shuddered harder at the thought. She had enjoyed his gentle kisses and his polite caresses for the past few weeks, but to share her bed with him - surely she could postpone that for a few hours more.
When the light from the sun was gone, she sat up, pressing one palm against her forehead to ward off dizziness. She realized that clouds were building outside, and storms were threatening on the horizon. A single streak of lightning shot down from the heavens, building a frisson of strange pressure in the air that was broken only when a long, loud roll of thunder boomed over head.
She hugged her torso tightly. Agnes had come and gone with the pitcher, but even the slide of cool water down her throat didn’t ease her discomfort. She knew that she needed to try to arrange herself for the fest, so she let her feet graze the floor. As she stood unsteadily, she had to grasp the bedpost to maintain her balance.
“Can I help you, mistress?” a voice rang from the shadowy corner.
She gasped and tumbled to the floor. The figure came rushing toward her, and in the sliver of silver moonlight that filtered through her window, she could just barely make out Much’s face. “Much!” she whispered as he put his hands on her upper arms.
“My lady,” he rasped. “You look unwell.”
“I am fine,” she assured him, trying to make herself believe it, too. “What are you doing here?”
Much ducked his head shyly and stepped back. “He wanted to know that you were alright.”
“He?” she asked. “He has no right to know anything about me anymore.” She lifted her chin imperiously. “He has bargained me for England. I have done what he has asked.”
“He still cares for you, Lady Marian,” Much murmured, unwilling to meet her eyes. He glanced over at the tattered circlet that lay the bed. “I see you found the flowers.”
“If he cared for me, he would have come and saved me from a wedding to a man who I cannot love,” she snarled, scrabbling to her feet and dusting off her dress. Another pounding burst of thunder reverberated through the room, and she heard the pattering of raindrops begin to beat against the castle walls.
“My lady…”
She sighed and pressed her palms to her face. “I’m sorry, Much. It isn’t your fault.”
He shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. “Well, not exactly. I mean, when we all talked about it, I thought it would be a good idea, too…”
That earned him a raised eyebrow from Marian. “Thanks for your loyalty.”
He blushed. “Sorry.”
“Not necessary. Tell him I’m fine. Tell him I’m ecstatic, for all I care,” she dismissed. “But before you go…” She crossed the room quickly and opened one of the drawers of her heavy wooden desk. She produced the parchment that Guy had smuggled to her the night before. “Take this to the camp.”
Much took the letter and scanned it. His eyes grew round. “This is-“
“I know what it is,” she replied impatiently. “You should go before anyone finds you here. The feast will begin soon.”
“This could change everything for us,” Much marveled.
She shook her head. “Come on, Much. If my husband finds you, he will kill you with no questions asked. You know that.” My husband.
Much’s eyes grew even wider than they normally were. “I will tell my master that you are well.”
“I am just fine,” she confirmed icily. “You can tell him that I’ve done my part. The rest is up to all of you now.”
***
She turned her back on him, and before she knew it, he was gone, and Agnes was at her side once again. The maid fussed at Marian’s hair and dress before leading her wordlessly out of the chamber and downstairs to the hall, where the festivities had apparently already begun. The rain made the air inside the castle thick and humid.
A great cheer went up from the assembled guests when she approached the high table and took the place beside Sir Guy. Her head was whirling as he reached under the table and grasped her hand. She clung tightly to him, if only because he was a fixed point in the tumult, a harbor in the tempest that swirled all around her.
“You are pale, my dear,” he murmured gently. He reached for the decanter of wine beside him and poured a healthy serving into her goblet. “Here, drink this.”
She nearly spluttered at first at the rich and heady taste of the spiced vintage - she was used to watered-down wine - but soon she felt it warm her as if it were coursing through her veins. “Thank you,” she muttered, sitting back in her chair and watching as a group of minstrels performed a ballad of a gentle lady and a gallant knight for the guests.
He filled her goblet again; she could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye as she sipped the warm liquid. Course after course was delivered to the table: quail and roasted boar, heaping plates of sallat with chives, radishes, lettuce leaves, and soft carrots, hunks of brown bread with cheese and butter, even small plates of raspberries and currants. Guy ate heartily, but Marian felt that she might be sick if she took even a few bites, so she nibbled at a few bits of dishes before sending them away barely touched.
The wine settled over her like a fine mist, shrouding the world in a gentle haze. Her body felt anchored to the ground again; her lips moved slower, and her hands felt heavy. “Another, please,” she asked Guy, who didn’t even raise an eyebrow as he obliged her, pouring another glass.
Her face felt warm, and she leaned forward as a bevy of servants brought forth the last course. It was her favorite: a bowl heaping with sweet figs. She glanced over at Guy. “This is my favorite.”
“The kitchen must have heard,” he replied blithely. Thunder cracked once more outside the hall.
She narrowed her eyes. “And who would they have heard from?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you said that you didn’t know about this.”
“I may have gone downstairs and made some arrangements when you went to rest,” he admitted. He pushed the dish toward her. “You should eat, my lady.”
She gave him another exacting look before turning back to the figs and eating quickly. As she finished the dish, she noticed that tables were already being moved aside for dancing. “Oh, no,” she mumbled.
“No dancing tonight for you, Marian?”
“I think not, my lord,” she said, pushing away the bowl and taking one more long, heady swig from her goblet.
“Shame,” he offered. “You never look more beautiful than when you’re in a round, cheeks flushed, hair flying around your face…”
His dark eyes unnerved her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her options were limited. She could dance, but her head and her belly still suggested that spinning around might not be the best idea at the moment. And if she said that she wanted to retire … her cheeks flushed for a different reason.
The room began to tend chaotic as the guests abandoned their seats to crush toward the dance floor. Servants clogged the table, clearing away trenchers and cups, and the music and voices rose to a cacophony.
She realized that Guy was watching her, concerned etched on his features. “Come on,” he urged her. Fearing that he was going to press her toward the dancing nobles, she resisted, but he added, “Trust me.”
Her heart began to beat faster and faster, even as her entire body felt slow and soft from the wine. It was inevitable - he was going to want to take her to his chamber, to exercise the rights that were his as a husband. She cringed at the thought of all of the people in the room noticing their exit - she’d been to enough wedding feasts to know that, before long, the young men would be creeping toward the room to sing and mock and tease outside the door.
But she had promised him that she would be his wife. She had few options. If she didn’t share his bed, he might decide not to share any more information with them, and then all of this would have been for naught.
She took Guy’s hand as he grabbed the decanter of wine from the table and pulled her gently to her feet. Tucking her against his side, he pushed through the throng toward a door - but it was the wrong one. They were headed away from the main part of the castle, but when she tried to protest, he merely shook his head.
It was easy just to follow him, to let him take the lead and not have to worry about making decisions for once. Allan was waiting for them at one of the courtyard arches, looking cold and miserable in the rain. “Hope this is worth it,” he sighed, leading them toward a waiting horse and handing Guy a pair of heavy cloaks.
“Everything has been arranged?”
“I did what you asked me to,” Allan replied, sending a meaningful glance in Marian’s direction. “Have fun, children.”
She paled and looked away as Guy draped one of the cloaks over her shoulders and raised the hood over her head. “Ignore him,” he growled as he lifted her onto the horse and handed her the bottle of wine. Tossing his own cloak over his head, he mounted the steed in front of her and urged the animal forward through the rain.
“Where are we going?” she called out over the roar of the rain.
“You’ll see,” he replied, looking back over his shoulder for a moment. He grasped one of the hands that held him around his waist and drove the horse on faster. She closed her eyes and pressed her face to the damp cloth on his back.
The whole of him was hard and strong against her body. She could feel the strong muscles of his back moving as they rode on.
***
Soon he was softly commanding the horse to slow and then stop, and the warmth of him suddenly disappeared as he jumped down from the saddle. His large hands spanned her waist as he lifted her to the ground. She stepped unevenly and nearly stumbled, and as if by reflex, he swung her up in his arms and carried her in to shelter. He rushed back out again into the rain, leaving her alone.
They were in a house, she realized, but it was so dark that it was difficult to know exactly where. Her heart pounded, and her body ached. Everything around her felt muted and a little fuzzy - everything but the heavy and strange sensation that had blossomed between her legs as she had pressed against her husband on horseback. She knew something was going to happen tonight. She knew that he was going to take her to his bed and touch her, kiss her, but the uncertainties - the parts of a wedding night that she didn’t really understand - were starting to intrigue her more than they had frightened her.
When he touched her, she liked it. She wanted to know what else he could do. She wanted him, and her already flushed body grew even redder as she thought it.
She stood silent in the middle of the room, hugging the rain-soaked cloak to her body and clutching the bottle of wine that Guy had given her. The door was flung open again, and his tall, imposing shadow darkened the doorway. “Guy,” she murmured. “Guy…”
“Come with me,” he whispered, taking her free hand and leading her slowly up the wooden stairs.
In a bedchamber upstairs, a small fire burned low in the hearth. She shivered as one more bolt of lightning zagged across the sky, flashing brilliant light for a moment and letting her get a good glimpse of the man beside her. He looked so much as he had the day he’d found her following him in the market: hair plastered to his head with rain, eyes dark and hungry for she knew not what. This was the man who would soon be her husband in more than name. For England, she thought sluggishly. For all of us.
He loves you, something in her brain whispered as he took the wine from her hands and set the bottle on a nearby table. He wants you. He wants to make you happy. He thinks of nothing but you, he wants no woman but you…
She breathed in sharply as he stepped toward her and pushed the cloak from her shoulders. “Are you well, my lady?” he rasped, leaning in and kissing her beneath her ear.
“Yes,” she replied breathlessly, swallowing.
“I thought you might want to be somewhere private,” he murmured, kissing her temple, her eyelid, her cheek, between his words. “Somewhere that no one will disturb us.”
She nodded haltingly as his long fingers reached up and loosed the first lacings at the neck of her gown. “Guy.”
“Yes?” he asked, kissing her jaw softly.
“May - may I have another sip of wine?” She wanted to be warmer. She wanted to think less.
“Not a bad idea,” he replied, pulling away from her and walking over to the table. She swayed a little as she moved closer to the bed, leaning against the bedpost. He filled one cup with wine and walked toward her. He took a long draw from the cup and then pressed it to her hands, watching her as a hunter watches prey as she swallowed gratefully.
He took the cup from her hands and set it on the floor, rising back up and pressing his mouth to hers without preamble. Their lips caressed slowly at first, but as the heat of the wine hurried through her body, she felt bold enough to let the tip of her tongue venture against his. One of them made a sound - she wasn’t sure who - and Guy took her in his arms, pressing her body tightly against his and letting his hands begin to roam.
She felt her breath begin to quicken, and she pulled away, pressing a hand just below her collarbone. “Are you-“ he began.
Marian simply nodded and clumsily tucked her hair behind her ears. Guy watched her for a long moment before reaching up and slowly unthreading the laces of her blue gilded bliaut. He worked with such concentration - it was fascinating. All she could do was stand motionless and watch him focus. Soon the gown was open and falling from her shoulders; he hooked his fingers into the fabric and drew it down, letting it pool on the floor.
She was left in a tunic and a chemise, and she already felt naked under his gaze. “Take this one off,” he requested, his voice an octave lower than normal and rough as gravel.
Biting her lower lip, she slowly divested herself of the garment, letting it drop to the floor with its mate. She knew how thin the chemise was, knew that he could see through to the shades and curves of her body. He closed his eyes briefly before shrugging out of his tunic and pulling his shirt over his head. His torso was lean and muscled, and she watched the play and pull of his abdomen as he stepped toward her with hungry eyes.
“Sit down,” he ordered gently, urging her toward the edge of the bed. She obliged. The warmth of his hands against her bare arms was distracting. “It’s alright. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid,” she blurted, flushing again.
He climbed onto the bed beside her, scooting back toward the center of the blankets. “Come here, my love.”
She swallowed hard as she grasped the fabric at her chemise’s hem and drew it upward, allowing her to kneel and draw nearer to him. He helped her sit down in front of him, her back pressed to the solid wall of his chest.
“You are so lovely,” he murmured against her ear, taking the lobe gently in his teeth. “So lovely.”
She wriggled, pressing her knees together as his hands moved to her belly, caressing the skin through the thin layer of linen. Her limbs felt heavy and slow. As his hands moved to her upper arms, he began to press slow kisses against her neck and the pulse point beneath her ears. She couldn’t hold back a soft moan.
His tongue traced slow circles at the nape of her neck as he slowly, so slowly, moved to cup her breasts through the chemise. She gasped as he first stroked the soft swell close to her ribcage, and then boldly let his thumbs flick and rub at her nipples. “Oh…” she breathed.
She could almost feel him smirking against her neck. Quickly the warmth of his hands was gone, and just as fast he was tugging at the wide straps of the chemise, dragging them down her arms and exposing her naked breasts to the cool air of the room. Her nipples tightened even more as he replaced his hands. Her arms were pinned close to her body by the fabric of her shift, and she had nowhere to put her hands as his fingers cupped and massaged her breasts. Finally she pressed her palms against the tops of his thighs, earning a soft grunt from him.
He pinched a nipple experimentally between his thumb and his index finger, playing, and she whined softly, letting her head drop forward. He tugged a little harder, and it was like a shot of sensation had zipped down between her legs. She felt herself swelling and aching, and she shifted restlessly as he teased her nipples to hard points.
“You like that?” he asked softly, and she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This was wrong - she didn’t want this - oh, God, his touch felt so much more electric than anything she’d ever experienced or imagined.
He drew her mouth to his with one hand as he continued to finger her soft flesh with the other. She had to crane her neck to meet his mouth, but she didn’t care. The combination of his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her breasts made her body feel so strange and new and good.
“Up,” he muttered as he broke the kiss, urging her to her knees and helping her turn around to face him. She looked down at his face as his hands on her back pressed her forward. He leaned in to touch the tip of one breast to his tongue. She didn’t know what to feel - she couldn’t believe that she was allowing this man to touch her body in this way, but she wanted him to do more, wanted somehow to ease the pressure building inside of her, so she just moaned again softly and sank her fingers into his dark hair.
He suckled harder and harder, drawing her nipple in and out of his mouth, tasting her with his tongue and nipping softly at the flesh on the underside of her breast. “Marian,” he murmured as he pulled back.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, barely sensible of what she was saying. She thought she heard him groan in response, but she couldn’t be sure.
She tried to press her knees together again to assuage the building sensation, but his thighs kept her spread open just slightly. As his mouth descended again, switching lazily from breast to breast, teasing and sucking and swirling, one of his hands smoothed down her covered abdomen and tangled in the bunched fabric at her knees. To her shock and initial horror, he moved the fabric upward to the exact place where she was aching - the place she had no name for but a childish right there - and touched her there through the linen. “Oh!” she cried as his fingers began moving in slow, careful circles, mimicking his tongue.
“Good girl,” he muttered against her skin as she instinctively pressed down against his hand. “Feels good?”
“Yes,” she breathed, clutching his shoulders to help steady herself. “I don’t-“
“Shh,” he commanded.
She pressed her lips together into a thin white line. She felt the fabric under his fingers growing damp, and she closed her eyes, trying to battle the sense of shame that threatened to wash over her. She looked down, saw his dark head and her naked flesh, saw his hand moving busily between her legs, and had to shut her eyes quickly again to keep from pulling away and trying to cover herself. But she didn’t want it to stop - it felt too good.
It would have been in vain, because he leaned up and captured her mouth again, kissing her senseless, as he pulled the straps of her chemise down her arms, freeing them from their captivity. He shoved the rumpled linen down to her waist and wrapped his arms around her naked torso, pressing her aching breasts and belly against his own taut and supple skin. He was soft, she marveled as they kissed. She had never expected him to be so soft.
He bit her neck, sucked the skin between his lips until she cried out. She wanted him to touch her again - she wanted him to help her find a way to end the pumping and surging feeling between her thighs. Her nipples rubbed against his chest, and it just increased the aching. It didn’t help when he grasped her hips and lifted his own to rub against her as their tongues tangled hotly. She could feel him stiff inside his clothing - she knew enough to know what that meant - and was shocked at how dizzy it made her feel. She wanted more. She wanted something.
As if he could read her mind, he bade her to “Lay back, my lady,” and pressed her back against the blankets. He hovered over her and reached for her chemise, pulling it down her legs and tossing it behind him on the bed. He groaned quietly as her naked body was revealed completely, and she couldn’t help moving to shield herself with her hands. “Don’t,” he ordered sternly. “Christ, let me look at you.”
His gaze was hot on her, and he leaned down to kiss the soft roundness of her abdomen. She tensed suddenly when she remembered the jagged scar on her side - surely if he saw that, he would know that she- “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you in my bed?” he rasped. He hadn’t seen it. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “I dreamed of you. I dreamt of touching you, kissing you …” He let his fingers slide back down to the place where she wanted his touch so badly, and she couldn’t stop herself from arching off the bed as his fingers met her bare, swollen flesh. “…I dreamt of being inside of you, making love to you.”
She gripped the bedclothes in tight fists as he explored gently between her legs, rubbing soft circles, then quick, then pressing the aching place between two fingers and making her gasp and groan. “Marian,” he mumbled, bringing her leg up to his side and opening her to him. He kissed the skin behind her knee, making her squirm. She felt his fingers shift down further, abandoning that very sensitive place and slipping down.
It was an incredibly foreign feeling - he dipped one finger inside of her, stretching and sliding. He hushed her confused moan and continued his gentle stroking. “Trust me,” he instructed her. “I won’t hurt you, love.” She heard him suck in a breath, and he added, “God, you are so wet.”
“The girls in the village said it would hurt,” she slurred softly, her head thrashing as the prickle of pain she’d felt suddenly gave way to an even more intense pressure.
He reached up and touched her hair, and then slid his hand down to tug once more at her nipple. The twin sensations were almost too much - she saw stars behind her eyelids as she pressed them closed and arched again. And then suddenly he was stroking her again just where she needed him to, and the pressure was ebbing and breaking, and she was crying out, and her body seized up, opening and closing around his hand, and, somewhere over the rushing of blood in her ears, she could hear him groaning, too.
She took a moment to come back to her senses, and her sluggish brain took an even longer moment to process what he had just done to her. Was that what everyone had been talking about, the thing to be feared that happened in your husband’s bed? That couldn’t be it. She felt perspiration cooling on her body as he continued to stroke her softly between her legs. He hovered over her, his mouth exploring hers. It didn’t make any sense. Why would anyone fear that?
His hands left her body, and she realized that he was opening the laces of his trousers. She watched as he rolled from the bed and swiftly shoved the leather down his legs, taking his linen braies down, too. Her eyes grew wide as he knelt between her thighs, naked as she was. She felt heat prickle all over her body as she saw his naked body for the first time. He was long, lean, and muscled. His skin was smooth. And his … he was large. His ... part stuck straight out from the dark, curly hair between his legs - she knew that was what she had felt against her earlier, but she had no idea that it would look like-
He reached down and grasped himself, rubbing the tip against the still-throbbing spot between her own legs. It felt so good, and she called out his name, pleading with him not to stop.
She watched as he bowed his head and breathed in sharply. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I must-“
“What?” she asked naively as he reached down again and suddenly pressed himself against her so that he sank inside of her aching flesh. The pleasant haze surrounding her broke. She cried out, overwhelmed by the stinging pain that rocketed through her body. “No, Guy…”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice thick and tremulous. “It only hurts at first, I promise.”
She bit back a moan of pain as he pressed further and stalled. He rested his weight on his elbows and breathed in and out steadily, groaning on each exhale of breath. “Marian,” he moaned.
He began to move, first slowly and then increasingly faster. The quicker he moved his hips, she realized, the better it began to feel - his flesh slid against hers, and she almost started to enjoy the whisper of pleasure on the edge of the consuming pain. The bed creaked, and his lips parted. He moved, and moved, and groaned, and as his cries became louder, his hips moved more erratically. Suddenly he reared up and tossed his head back, baring his teeth as he groaned, low and long, and a sudden warm wetness flooded her body.
Somehow she knew that whatever the preamble had been, this was it: she was to know now that she was no longer a maid, but instead a wife. That maybe she would have a baby in her belly soon. Her heart sank. There was no way of getting out of this now, after the intimacies they had just shared. She felt somehow full and empty at the same time.
She lay wordless beneath him as he hovered over her, his arms beginning to shake with the effort of keeping his weight off of her. “I’m sorry,” he said once more as he withdrew from her, earning a sudden cry from her as he brushed against her still-sensitive skin. He collapsed on the blankets beside her, reaching one hand out and drawing gentle circles on her abdomen.
“Are you well, my lady?” His voice was drowsy, and the wine was beginning to finally make her so sleepy that she could barely keep her eyes open. She did not answer, just rolled to her side and shifted so that her bare body pressed against his, seeking his warmth.
The last thing she was sensible of before sleep claimed her was his large hand stroking gently against her naked back.
***
TO BE CONTINUED
Chapter Three
Author: Violet
Chapter Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Guy/Marian (Robin/Marian)
Canon: Up to 2.10, "Walkabout"
Summary: Marian brokers a deal for Nottingham and England.
Note: Please note the rating change. This chapter contains adult material and is not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen.
Click to read the prologue, chapter one, and chapter two.
***
CHAPTER THREE
SEPTEMBER 1193
They had tried to keep the news of their impending marriage as quiet as they possibly could, but apparently their efforts were to no avail: as they returned that afternoon after the wedding, the entirety of Nottingham Castle was alive and engrossed in preparations for a marriage feast later that evening. “Oh, no,” Guy groaned as he saw several kitchen servants ferrying in the ingredients for elaborate dishes. “How did they know?”
“It wasn’t exactly a secret,” she pointed out. “At least Vasey isn’t here.”
He exhaled. “Thank God for small favors,” he muttered, giving her a meaningful look.
“I need to go to my chamber and rest,” she blurted suddenly. She needed to be away from him, so that she could have time to process what she had just done.
“All right,” he assented readily. “Do you want me to-“
She didn’t wait for him to finish. “No, no, I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you in the hall for dinner.”
He frowned and shook his head, but pressed the question no further. “Very well, then.”
His boots clacked against the stones of the floor as he strolled away from her. “My lady,” Agnes whispered loudly. “We should get you upstairs. You look like you could faint dead away!”
“I do not faint,” Marian snapped, shaking Agnes’s concerned hand from her arm. “I just need some water. And I want to lie down until supper.”
“Yes, Lady Gisborne,” Agnes replied softly.
Marian whirled around, surprised. “I thought it would be nice to be the first one to call you by your new name,” Agnes offered shyly.
Something in her chest tugged a little, and her features softened. “Thank you, Agnes,” she murmured.
“I’ll fetch you the water, ma’am,” Agnes said, backing away slowly toward the pump room.
She realized that she was shaking as she made her way up the stairs toward her bedchamber. The low light of the afternoon had descended, and she had to squint a little bit as she slipped quietly down the arched hall. Her vision went fuzzy just as she pushed her way through her door, and she let her body fall in a heap on top of her bed. She reached up and tore the flowered crown from her hair, crumpling it up in her hands and tearing it to petals and pieces.
She had done it. She had done what he had asked of her. And now she was going to have to be his wife - in every way. She shook harder and stared up at the canopy draped over the bed, eyes unfocused. She could scream. She wanted to. But if she did, he might come running. And if he were in the same room with her and a bed, he might want to … assert his rights. She shuddered harder at the thought. She had enjoyed his gentle kisses and his polite caresses for the past few weeks, but to share her bed with him - surely she could postpone that for a few hours more.
When the light from the sun was gone, she sat up, pressing one palm against her forehead to ward off dizziness. She realized that clouds were building outside, and storms were threatening on the horizon. A single streak of lightning shot down from the heavens, building a frisson of strange pressure in the air that was broken only when a long, loud roll of thunder boomed over head.
She hugged her torso tightly. Agnes had come and gone with the pitcher, but even the slide of cool water down her throat didn’t ease her discomfort. She knew that she needed to try to arrange herself for the fest, so she let her feet graze the floor. As she stood unsteadily, she had to grasp the bedpost to maintain her balance.
“Can I help you, mistress?” a voice rang from the shadowy corner.
She gasped and tumbled to the floor. The figure came rushing toward her, and in the sliver of silver moonlight that filtered through her window, she could just barely make out Much’s face. “Much!” she whispered as he put his hands on her upper arms.
“My lady,” he rasped. “You look unwell.”
“I am fine,” she assured him, trying to make herself believe it, too. “What are you doing here?”
Much ducked his head shyly and stepped back. “He wanted to know that you were alright.”
“He?” she asked. “He has no right to know anything about me anymore.” She lifted her chin imperiously. “He has bargained me for England. I have done what he has asked.”
“He still cares for you, Lady Marian,” Much murmured, unwilling to meet her eyes. He glanced over at the tattered circlet that lay the bed. “I see you found the flowers.”
“If he cared for me, he would have come and saved me from a wedding to a man who I cannot love,” she snarled, scrabbling to her feet and dusting off her dress. Another pounding burst of thunder reverberated through the room, and she heard the pattering of raindrops begin to beat against the castle walls.
“My lady…”
She sighed and pressed her palms to her face. “I’m sorry, Much. It isn’t your fault.”
He shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. “Well, not exactly. I mean, when we all talked about it, I thought it would be a good idea, too…”
That earned him a raised eyebrow from Marian. “Thanks for your loyalty.”
He blushed. “Sorry.”
“Not necessary. Tell him I’m fine. Tell him I’m ecstatic, for all I care,” she dismissed. “But before you go…” She crossed the room quickly and opened one of the drawers of her heavy wooden desk. She produced the parchment that Guy had smuggled to her the night before. “Take this to the camp.”
Much took the letter and scanned it. His eyes grew round. “This is-“
“I know what it is,” she replied impatiently. “You should go before anyone finds you here. The feast will begin soon.”
“This could change everything for us,” Much marveled.
She shook her head. “Come on, Much. If my husband finds you, he will kill you with no questions asked. You know that.” My husband.
Much’s eyes grew even wider than they normally were. “I will tell my master that you are well.”
“I am just fine,” she confirmed icily. “You can tell him that I’ve done my part. The rest is up to all of you now.”
***
She turned her back on him, and before she knew it, he was gone, and Agnes was at her side once again. The maid fussed at Marian’s hair and dress before leading her wordlessly out of the chamber and downstairs to the hall, where the festivities had apparently already begun. The rain made the air inside the castle thick and humid.
A great cheer went up from the assembled guests when she approached the high table and took the place beside Sir Guy. Her head was whirling as he reached under the table and grasped her hand. She clung tightly to him, if only because he was a fixed point in the tumult, a harbor in the tempest that swirled all around her.
“You are pale, my dear,” he murmured gently. He reached for the decanter of wine beside him and poured a healthy serving into her goblet. “Here, drink this.”
She nearly spluttered at first at the rich and heady taste of the spiced vintage - she was used to watered-down wine - but soon she felt it warm her as if it were coursing through her veins. “Thank you,” she muttered, sitting back in her chair and watching as a group of minstrels performed a ballad of a gentle lady and a gallant knight for the guests.
He filled her goblet again; she could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye as she sipped the warm liquid. Course after course was delivered to the table: quail and roasted boar, heaping plates of sallat with chives, radishes, lettuce leaves, and soft carrots, hunks of brown bread with cheese and butter, even small plates of raspberries and currants. Guy ate heartily, but Marian felt that she might be sick if she took even a few bites, so she nibbled at a few bits of dishes before sending them away barely touched.
The wine settled over her like a fine mist, shrouding the world in a gentle haze. Her body felt anchored to the ground again; her lips moved slower, and her hands felt heavy. “Another, please,” she asked Guy, who didn’t even raise an eyebrow as he obliged her, pouring another glass.
Her face felt warm, and she leaned forward as a bevy of servants brought forth the last course. It was her favorite: a bowl heaping with sweet figs. She glanced over at Guy. “This is my favorite.”
“The kitchen must have heard,” he replied blithely. Thunder cracked once more outside the hall.
She narrowed her eyes. “And who would they have heard from?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you said that you didn’t know about this.”
“I may have gone downstairs and made some arrangements when you went to rest,” he admitted. He pushed the dish toward her. “You should eat, my lady.”
She gave him another exacting look before turning back to the figs and eating quickly. As she finished the dish, she noticed that tables were already being moved aside for dancing. “Oh, no,” she mumbled.
“No dancing tonight for you, Marian?”
“I think not, my lord,” she said, pushing away the bowl and taking one more long, heady swig from her goblet.
“Shame,” he offered. “You never look more beautiful than when you’re in a round, cheeks flushed, hair flying around your face…”
His dark eyes unnerved her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her options were limited. She could dance, but her head and her belly still suggested that spinning around might not be the best idea at the moment. And if she said that she wanted to retire … her cheeks flushed for a different reason.
The room began to tend chaotic as the guests abandoned their seats to crush toward the dance floor. Servants clogged the table, clearing away trenchers and cups, and the music and voices rose to a cacophony.
She realized that Guy was watching her, concerned etched on his features. “Come on,” he urged her. Fearing that he was going to press her toward the dancing nobles, she resisted, but he added, “Trust me.”
Her heart began to beat faster and faster, even as her entire body felt slow and soft from the wine. It was inevitable - he was going to want to take her to his chamber, to exercise the rights that were his as a husband. She cringed at the thought of all of the people in the room noticing their exit - she’d been to enough wedding feasts to know that, before long, the young men would be creeping toward the room to sing and mock and tease outside the door.
But she had promised him that she would be his wife. She had few options. If she didn’t share his bed, he might decide not to share any more information with them, and then all of this would have been for naught.
She took Guy’s hand as he grabbed the decanter of wine from the table and pulled her gently to her feet. Tucking her against his side, he pushed through the throng toward a door - but it was the wrong one. They were headed away from the main part of the castle, but when she tried to protest, he merely shook his head.
It was easy just to follow him, to let him take the lead and not have to worry about making decisions for once. Allan was waiting for them at one of the courtyard arches, looking cold and miserable in the rain. “Hope this is worth it,” he sighed, leading them toward a waiting horse and handing Guy a pair of heavy cloaks.
“Everything has been arranged?”
“I did what you asked me to,” Allan replied, sending a meaningful glance in Marian’s direction. “Have fun, children.”
She paled and looked away as Guy draped one of the cloaks over her shoulders and raised the hood over her head. “Ignore him,” he growled as he lifted her onto the horse and handed her the bottle of wine. Tossing his own cloak over his head, he mounted the steed in front of her and urged the animal forward through the rain.
“Where are we going?” she called out over the roar of the rain.
“You’ll see,” he replied, looking back over his shoulder for a moment. He grasped one of the hands that held him around his waist and drove the horse on faster. She closed her eyes and pressed her face to the damp cloth on his back.
The whole of him was hard and strong against her body. She could feel the strong muscles of his back moving as they rode on.
***
Soon he was softly commanding the horse to slow and then stop, and the warmth of him suddenly disappeared as he jumped down from the saddle. His large hands spanned her waist as he lifted her to the ground. She stepped unevenly and nearly stumbled, and as if by reflex, he swung her up in his arms and carried her in to shelter. He rushed back out again into the rain, leaving her alone.
They were in a house, she realized, but it was so dark that it was difficult to know exactly where. Her heart pounded, and her body ached. Everything around her felt muted and a little fuzzy - everything but the heavy and strange sensation that had blossomed between her legs as she had pressed against her husband on horseback. She knew something was going to happen tonight. She knew that he was going to take her to his bed and touch her, kiss her, but the uncertainties - the parts of a wedding night that she didn’t really understand - were starting to intrigue her more than they had frightened her.
When he touched her, she liked it. She wanted to know what else he could do. She wanted him, and her already flushed body grew even redder as she thought it.
She stood silent in the middle of the room, hugging the rain-soaked cloak to her body and clutching the bottle of wine that Guy had given her. The door was flung open again, and his tall, imposing shadow darkened the doorway. “Guy,” she murmured. “Guy…”
“Come with me,” he whispered, taking her free hand and leading her slowly up the wooden stairs.
In a bedchamber upstairs, a small fire burned low in the hearth. She shivered as one more bolt of lightning zagged across the sky, flashing brilliant light for a moment and letting her get a good glimpse of the man beside her. He looked so much as he had the day he’d found her following him in the market: hair plastered to his head with rain, eyes dark and hungry for she knew not what. This was the man who would soon be her husband in more than name. For England, she thought sluggishly. For all of us.
He loves you, something in her brain whispered as he took the wine from her hands and set the bottle on a nearby table. He wants you. He wants to make you happy. He thinks of nothing but you, he wants no woman but you…
She breathed in sharply as he stepped toward her and pushed the cloak from her shoulders. “Are you well, my lady?” he rasped, leaning in and kissing her beneath her ear.
“Yes,” she replied breathlessly, swallowing.
“I thought you might want to be somewhere private,” he murmured, kissing her temple, her eyelid, her cheek, between his words. “Somewhere that no one will disturb us.”
She nodded haltingly as his long fingers reached up and loosed the first lacings at the neck of her gown. “Guy.”
“Yes?” he asked, kissing her jaw softly.
“May - may I have another sip of wine?” She wanted to be warmer. She wanted to think less.
“Not a bad idea,” he replied, pulling away from her and walking over to the table. She swayed a little as she moved closer to the bed, leaning against the bedpost. He filled one cup with wine and walked toward her. He took a long draw from the cup and then pressed it to her hands, watching her as a hunter watches prey as she swallowed gratefully.
He took the cup from her hands and set it on the floor, rising back up and pressing his mouth to hers without preamble. Their lips caressed slowly at first, but as the heat of the wine hurried through her body, she felt bold enough to let the tip of her tongue venture against his. One of them made a sound - she wasn’t sure who - and Guy took her in his arms, pressing her body tightly against his and letting his hands begin to roam.
She felt her breath begin to quicken, and she pulled away, pressing a hand just below her collarbone. “Are you-“ he began.
Marian simply nodded and clumsily tucked her hair behind her ears. Guy watched her for a long moment before reaching up and slowly unthreading the laces of her blue gilded bliaut. He worked with such concentration - it was fascinating. All she could do was stand motionless and watch him focus. Soon the gown was open and falling from her shoulders; he hooked his fingers into the fabric and drew it down, letting it pool on the floor.
She was left in a tunic and a chemise, and she already felt naked under his gaze. “Take this one off,” he requested, his voice an octave lower than normal and rough as gravel.
Biting her lower lip, she slowly divested herself of the garment, letting it drop to the floor with its mate. She knew how thin the chemise was, knew that he could see through to the shades and curves of her body. He closed his eyes briefly before shrugging out of his tunic and pulling his shirt over his head. His torso was lean and muscled, and she watched the play and pull of his abdomen as he stepped toward her with hungry eyes.
“Sit down,” he ordered gently, urging her toward the edge of the bed. She obliged. The warmth of his hands against her bare arms was distracting. “It’s alright. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid,” she blurted, flushing again.
He climbed onto the bed beside her, scooting back toward the center of the blankets. “Come here, my love.”
She swallowed hard as she grasped the fabric at her chemise’s hem and drew it upward, allowing her to kneel and draw nearer to him. He helped her sit down in front of him, her back pressed to the solid wall of his chest.
“You are so lovely,” he murmured against her ear, taking the lobe gently in his teeth. “So lovely.”
She wriggled, pressing her knees together as his hands moved to her belly, caressing the skin through the thin layer of linen. Her limbs felt heavy and slow. As his hands moved to her upper arms, he began to press slow kisses against her neck and the pulse point beneath her ears. She couldn’t hold back a soft moan.
His tongue traced slow circles at the nape of her neck as he slowly, so slowly, moved to cup her breasts through the chemise. She gasped as he first stroked the soft swell close to her ribcage, and then boldly let his thumbs flick and rub at her nipples. “Oh…” she breathed.
She could almost feel him smirking against her neck. Quickly the warmth of his hands was gone, and just as fast he was tugging at the wide straps of the chemise, dragging them down her arms and exposing her naked breasts to the cool air of the room. Her nipples tightened even more as he replaced his hands. Her arms were pinned close to her body by the fabric of her shift, and she had nowhere to put her hands as his fingers cupped and massaged her breasts. Finally she pressed her palms against the tops of his thighs, earning a soft grunt from him.
He pinched a nipple experimentally between his thumb and his index finger, playing, and she whined softly, letting her head drop forward. He tugged a little harder, and it was like a shot of sensation had zipped down between her legs. She felt herself swelling and aching, and she shifted restlessly as he teased her nipples to hard points.
“You like that?” he asked softly, and she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This was wrong - she didn’t want this - oh, God, his touch felt so much more electric than anything she’d ever experienced or imagined.
He drew her mouth to his with one hand as he continued to finger her soft flesh with the other. She had to crane her neck to meet his mouth, but she didn’t care. The combination of his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her breasts made her body feel so strange and new and good.
“Up,” he muttered as he broke the kiss, urging her to her knees and helping her turn around to face him. She looked down at his face as his hands on her back pressed her forward. He leaned in to touch the tip of one breast to his tongue. She didn’t know what to feel - she couldn’t believe that she was allowing this man to touch her body in this way, but she wanted him to do more, wanted somehow to ease the pressure building inside of her, so she just moaned again softly and sank her fingers into his dark hair.
He suckled harder and harder, drawing her nipple in and out of his mouth, tasting her with his tongue and nipping softly at the flesh on the underside of her breast. “Marian,” he murmured as he pulled back.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, barely sensible of what she was saying. She thought she heard him groan in response, but she couldn’t be sure.
She tried to press her knees together again to assuage the building sensation, but his thighs kept her spread open just slightly. As his mouth descended again, switching lazily from breast to breast, teasing and sucking and swirling, one of his hands smoothed down her covered abdomen and tangled in the bunched fabric at her knees. To her shock and initial horror, he moved the fabric upward to the exact place where she was aching - the place she had no name for but a childish right there - and touched her there through the linen. “Oh!” she cried as his fingers began moving in slow, careful circles, mimicking his tongue.
“Good girl,” he muttered against her skin as she instinctively pressed down against his hand. “Feels good?”
“Yes,” she breathed, clutching his shoulders to help steady herself. “I don’t-“
“Shh,” he commanded.
She pressed her lips together into a thin white line. She felt the fabric under his fingers growing damp, and she closed her eyes, trying to battle the sense of shame that threatened to wash over her. She looked down, saw his dark head and her naked flesh, saw his hand moving busily between her legs, and had to shut her eyes quickly again to keep from pulling away and trying to cover herself. But she didn’t want it to stop - it felt too good.
It would have been in vain, because he leaned up and captured her mouth again, kissing her senseless, as he pulled the straps of her chemise down her arms, freeing them from their captivity. He shoved the rumpled linen down to her waist and wrapped his arms around her naked torso, pressing her aching breasts and belly against his own taut and supple skin. He was soft, she marveled as they kissed. She had never expected him to be so soft.
He bit her neck, sucked the skin between his lips until she cried out. She wanted him to touch her again - she wanted him to help her find a way to end the pumping and surging feeling between her thighs. Her nipples rubbed against his chest, and it just increased the aching. It didn’t help when he grasped her hips and lifted his own to rub against her as their tongues tangled hotly. She could feel him stiff inside his clothing - she knew enough to know what that meant - and was shocked at how dizzy it made her feel. She wanted more. She wanted something.
As if he could read her mind, he bade her to “Lay back, my lady,” and pressed her back against the blankets. He hovered over her and reached for her chemise, pulling it down her legs and tossing it behind him on the bed. He groaned quietly as her naked body was revealed completely, and she couldn’t help moving to shield herself with her hands. “Don’t,” he ordered sternly. “Christ, let me look at you.”
His gaze was hot on her, and he leaned down to kiss the soft roundness of her abdomen. She tensed suddenly when she remembered the jagged scar on her side - surely if he saw that, he would know that she- “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you in my bed?” he rasped. He hadn’t seen it. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “I dreamed of you. I dreamt of touching you, kissing you …” He let his fingers slide back down to the place where she wanted his touch so badly, and she couldn’t stop herself from arching off the bed as his fingers met her bare, swollen flesh. “…I dreamt of being inside of you, making love to you.”
She gripped the bedclothes in tight fists as he explored gently between her legs, rubbing soft circles, then quick, then pressing the aching place between two fingers and making her gasp and groan. “Marian,” he mumbled, bringing her leg up to his side and opening her to him. He kissed the skin behind her knee, making her squirm. She felt his fingers shift down further, abandoning that very sensitive place and slipping down.
It was an incredibly foreign feeling - he dipped one finger inside of her, stretching and sliding. He hushed her confused moan and continued his gentle stroking. “Trust me,” he instructed her. “I won’t hurt you, love.” She heard him suck in a breath, and he added, “God, you are so wet.”
“The girls in the village said it would hurt,” she slurred softly, her head thrashing as the prickle of pain she’d felt suddenly gave way to an even more intense pressure.
He reached up and touched her hair, and then slid his hand down to tug once more at her nipple. The twin sensations were almost too much - she saw stars behind her eyelids as she pressed them closed and arched again. And then suddenly he was stroking her again just where she needed him to, and the pressure was ebbing and breaking, and she was crying out, and her body seized up, opening and closing around his hand, and, somewhere over the rushing of blood in her ears, she could hear him groaning, too.
She took a moment to come back to her senses, and her sluggish brain took an even longer moment to process what he had just done to her. Was that what everyone had been talking about, the thing to be feared that happened in your husband’s bed? That couldn’t be it. She felt perspiration cooling on her body as he continued to stroke her softly between her legs. He hovered over her, his mouth exploring hers. It didn’t make any sense. Why would anyone fear that?
His hands left her body, and she realized that he was opening the laces of his trousers. She watched as he rolled from the bed and swiftly shoved the leather down his legs, taking his linen braies down, too. Her eyes grew wide as he knelt between her thighs, naked as she was. She felt heat prickle all over her body as she saw his naked body for the first time. He was long, lean, and muscled. His skin was smooth. And his … he was large. His ... part stuck straight out from the dark, curly hair between his legs - she knew that was what she had felt against her earlier, but she had no idea that it would look like-
He reached down and grasped himself, rubbing the tip against the still-throbbing spot between her own legs. It felt so good, and she called out his name, pleading with him not to stop.
She watched as he bowed his head and breathed in sharply. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I must-“
“What?” she asked naively as he reached down again and suddenly pressed himself against her so that he sank inside of her aching flesh. The pleasant haze surrounding her broke. She cried out, overwhelmed by the stinging pain that rocketed through her body. “No, Guy…”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice thick and tremulous. “It only hurts at first, I promise.”
She bit back a moan of pain as he pressed further and stalled. He rested his weight on his elbows and breathed in and out steadily, groaning on each exhale of breath. “Marian,” he moaned.
He began to move, first slowly and then increasingly faster. The quicker he moved his hips, she realized, the better it began to feel - his flesh slid against hers, and she almost started to enjoy the whisper of pleasure on the edge of the consuming pain. The bed creaked, and his lips parted. He moved, and moved, and groaned, and as his cries became louder, his hips moved more erratically. Suddenly he reared up and tossed his head back, baring his teeth as he groaned, low and long, and a sudden warm wetness flooded her body.
Somehow she knew that whatever the preamble had been, this was it: she was to know now that she was no longer a maid, but instead a wife. That maybe she would have a baby in her belly soon. Her heart sank. There was no way of getting out of this now, after the intimacies they had just shared. She felt somehow full and empty at the same time.
She lay wordless beneath him as he hovered over her, his arms beginning to shake with the effort of keeping his weight off of her. “I’m sorry,” he said once more as he withdrew from her, earning a sudden cry from her as he brushed against her still-sensitive skin. He collapsed on the blankets beside her, reaching one hand out and drawing gentle circles on her abdomen.
“Are you well, my lady?” His voice was drowsy, and the wine was beginning to finally make her so sleepy that she could barely keep her eyes open. She did not answer, just rolled to her side and shifted so that her bare body pressed against his, seeking his warmth.
The last thing she was sensible of before sleep claimed her was his large hand stroking gently against her naked back.
***
TO BE CONTINUED