Tamed by a Knight Read online

  Did she think he’d be unable to make her his wife this night? “Never fear, Margaret,” he said, smiling to reassure her. “He will rouse again.”

  She stumbled as she approached, but kept her eyes downcast. He thought he heard a low curse, but her sweet lips were pressed into a thin line when she looked up.

  Roland kept his gaze above her head as she wiped him dry. When she came to the areas that caused her the greatest embarrassment, she looked away and daubed, joggling his cock roughly. “Have a care, wife. You’ve already held him in your hands, can you not look at what you dry?”

  “I’m a gently bred lady, milord,” she said, her words gusting as though she was out of breath. “Convent-raised. ’Tis a sin for me to see you bare as the day you were born.”

  “This is no sin when we are wed. ’Tis your duty to obey me—and I command you to be at ease. You may look your fill, woman. Accustom yourself to the sight of me.” He gave her a sly sideways glance. “You may also touch whatever you’ve a mind to.”

  She gasped, tossed the towel at his head, and stomped toward the brazier where she made a great show of warming her hands. “Insufferable ass!” she muttered.

  Perhaps, she hadn’t misspoken before. Roland enjoyed her small display of pique, relieved she’d proved she held a little fire beneath her pretty, placid face. He had thought a meek, malleable creature would suit him well, but this wench stirred his blood—and his cock, for it unfurled. “Margaret, love?”

  She remained faced away.

  “I’ll warm you soon enough,” he said, letting his voice drop to a silky growl. “Come away from the fire. I find I’m impatient now to feel your soft body beneath mine.”

  Her back stiffened, and she peeked over her shoulder. Her glance fell to his manhood. “But I’m frozen through, milord.” Her voice sounded as though she strangled.

  He strode toward the bed and settled himself on the edge, and then patted the mattress beside him. “Come, my dear. It is too late to pray for intervention. ’Tis time we do this deed.”

  Margaret hated the little smile that curved his wicked, well-formed lips. He patted the bed as though encouraging a pup to jump up beside him.

  Margaret was no dog to jump to his bidding—no matter how handsome her master might be. She still felt a little breathless at how well the man had cleaned up. His bushy beard had hidden a broad, square jaw with a cleft at the center of his chin. But he was still a ruffian, and she was very nearly his wife, unless she could find a way to deflect his intent in the next few moments.

  Unfortunately, the way his gaze raked over her body told her he wouldn’t be easily dissuaded. Still, she had to try. She couldn’t surrender her freedom or her will so easily to this oaf. “But I’m ill, milord. I’d not want to give you what I have.”

  “Ill?”

  She nodded quickly. “Fevered.”

  “As am I,” he said, his smile stretching wider. “See how well we suit?”

  She very nearly stomped her foot, but suspected her jiggling flesh would only increase his mirth. “Truly, milord. My skin is hot, my breasts ache, and my belly feels as though I’ve swallowed green apples. I think I’m dying.”

  A guffaw gusted from him, shaking his shoulders. “And I’ve the remedy,” he said, laughing so hard he doubled over with it.

  “You mock me?”

  “No, no,” he said, gasping. “Your innocence pleases me, Margaret.”

  She stomped her foot. “You are pleased I’m ill?” she asked, her voice rising.

  “You aren’t sickening, love. You’re experiencing desire.”

  “I most certainly am not!”

  As she had feared, her anger only increased his merriment. He chuckled and leaned back on the mattress, resting on his elbows—which gave her an alarming view of his broad, hairy chest and the oak branch rising from his groin. The thought fluttered across her mind that the man had muscle on his muscles, so ropey and defined were the ridges that crossed his belly and striped his thighs. Her nipples prickled.

  Her husband’s dark gaze swept over her nude body. “Your breasts dimple because they reach for my touch.”

  Margaret’s mouth gaped for a moment. Then she snapped her jaw shut. “They most certainly do n—”

  “Your skin flushes as your blood rushes to ready the places where our flesh will join.” He ignored her sputtered denials. “And your belly tightens, anticipating our joining.”

  She shook her head, her eyes widening. “I’m a good girl. I do not lust for you, milord.”

  “Lust is God’s way of giving us reward for what we are duty bound to fulfill.”

  “You’re talking about…the begetting,” she said, feeling her lips twist with disgust.

  “Yes, it’s time to beget.” He did it again—patted the bed beside him. “Come sit beside me. I promise not to pounce.”

  But his expression didn’t reassure her. His dark eyes glittered, spots of color sat high on his cheekbones, and his jaw flexed, the jerking muscle belying his relaxed pose.

  She lifted her chin. “Will you touch?”

  “Without a doubt.” He raised one eyebrow. “But so may you.”

  Her resolve to escape began to crumble beneath the knowledge that their joining was inevitable. This man was as stubborn as a jackass. “You will not wait until I am more familiar with you?”

  Roland shook his head. “By morning, my sweet, we must show proof of our union.”

  “You mean you must make me bleed.” Her voice trembled.

  “There will not be a great puddle of it—just a small smear.”

  “But I will feel pain.”

  “Only a little—if I do my job well in preparing you to accept me.”

  He sounded so assured, her suspicion aroused. “You’ve deflowered many virgins?”

  “Never.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Then how can you know?”

  “I know I don’t want to harm or frighten you.”

  His quiet reassurance calmed the last butterflies fluttering in her belly.

  He sat and lifted one hand, palm up. “Come.”

  Margaret dragged her feet, walking toward the bed, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure the lout could hear it. She turned and slid onto the mattress, taking care not to touch her thigh to his. This close, she felt even more aware of her nudity, and so very small and inconsequential next to his large, powerful frame.

  His limb grew in proportion as she stared at his lap. He will split me in two with that great trunk of his!

  He placed his hand on her knee and patted her. “All will be well.”

  He does think I am a dog! If he asks me to fetch, I’ll bite him. But his palm warmed her skin, and his fingers curved around her thigh to slip between her legs.

  Margaret stiffened, her breaths coming so fast now she felt lightheaded. Each pant drew in his freshened scent, not as repulsive as it had been before, deep into her lungs.

  He traced the line where her thighs pressed together to just beneath her sex.

  “You may breathe, love,” he whispered and slipped his fingers deeper between, scraping his fingertips along the edges of her nether lips.

  No, she couldn’t breathe—not with his fingers snug against her…woman’s part. Then moisture leaked from inside her to wet her curls, and his fingers circled, drawing more liquid in an embarrassing quantity. “Stop!” She covered his hand with hers.

  He nodded and pulled away, stretching out over the mattress. “If you don’t want me to touch, you will touch me.”

  “But why must we touch? Can’t you just—”

  “Mount you and rut like an animal?”

  Her eyes rounded. “Well, put that like—”

  “Believe me, I’m so hard I could hammer a post with my staff, but you are a virgin.” His face grew still. “You are, aren’t you?”

  “Milord! I am convent-raised!”

  He snorted. “I’ve swived a blessed sister or two in my time. Means naught…so, a virgin it is.” He sigh
ed. “Let’s get on to the touching. You may begin wherever you wish.”

  Although, sitting this close to his rangy frame inspired a fierce curiosity, she remained firm. “I’ve no desire to touch you. I fear, sirrah, that we are at an impasse.”

  His gaze swept over her, pausing once more on her curls. “I’ll have you before this night is through. I am a patient man when the situation needs, but know this—by morning, you will surrender your virginity and your body.”

  Margaret forced her mouth into a straight line rather than the pout that threatened to pucker her lower lip. She’d tried every tactic she knew to delay this moment.

  Perhaps Grania was right. Maybe God had other plans for her.

  She closed her eyes tightly. “I am ready, milord.”

  “No, you’re not, love.”

  She opened one eye and peeked down at her husband.

  The smile that curved the corners of his lips was at once rueful and pained.

  “Well, is there something I must do? I’ve told you I’m ready.”

  “Lie back and open your legs, my dear.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. If she did as he asked, he’d be able to look into a part of her she’d never seen. The tips of her breasts tingled again.

  She lay back and spread her legs a few inches, and then held her breath.

  He sighed. “Well, that’s a start.” His hand lifted and settled on the curve of one breast.

  Heat surrounded the globe, and her nipple puckered. As his thumb rasped over the sensitive tip, Margaret shivered.

  “Like that, do you?”

  “I’m cold,” she replied, not willing to let him know how much turmoil his touch stirred in her body.

  He shook his head and bent over her, shocking her thoroughly when he took her nipple into his mouth and suckled her like a babe.

  She might have laughed at the odd sight if a rush of red-hot heat, like a smithy’s poker, hadn’t shot from her breast to her belly. She gasped, and her hips pulsed upward.

  He groaned, the sound vibrating on her breast. Then he drew back and flickered his tongue on her other breast.

  So overwhelmed with sensation, she could only squirm and gasp beneath him.

  Then one massive thigh slid over her legs, and his knee inserted itself between hers. The crinkly hairs covering his leg tickled the insides of her thighs, and she opened further. He pressed another knee between, and she widened again, now not caring that her sex was fully open to the marauder above her—and weeping for his caress.

  He moved up her body and smoothed back her hair. Below, the soft mushroom head butted against her overheated flesh. The sound their sexes made as they met was succulent, gasping.

  “Margaret?”

  Her breath hitched at the thickness pressing at her entrance. “Hmm?”

  “You’re ready now,” he growled.

  A trembling started in her lower belly. “I’m certain I’m not.”

  He pushed inside, stretching her with just the rounded end of his…stump.

  “Jesus, Mary…”

  He withdrew, until his flesh barely kissed her furrow.

  “That’s better,” she gasped. “Is it over yet?”

  His shoulders shook, and he rested his forehead on her shoulder. “Love, we’ve barely begun.”

  “Oh.” He means to do that again? She braced herself.

  “You wound me with your lack of enthusiasm.”

  “Why are you dallying?” she asked, holding herself rigid against the agony she was sure to experience once he rammed the rest of his sex inside her.

  “Never have I heard of a virgin so eager to get the deed done.”

  Forcing unconcern into her voice, she said, “The sooner you finish, the sooner I may bathe.”

  He lifted his head, and his brow furrowed. “You feel unclean? Lord, tell me you’re not an overzealous religious.”

  “I’m not overzealous.” Could this slacken his determination? “Would that be a bad thing?”

  “It would spoil your enjoyment—but I’d strive to do my duty by you,” he said his tone wryly amused.

  She huffed, irritated now with his unwavering resolve. “All this talk of duty. Methinks it’s just a man’s excuse for frequent coupling.”

  “True.” He grinned down at her. “Do you feel better now?”

  She nodded and realized it was true. Their silly conversation had taken the bite out of her fear. “I’m not frightened any longer.”

  “Thanks be to God.” He nudged her again…down there. “I’m going to hurt you love—just this once.”

  She marveled over the trembling that shook his shoulders as he hovered above her. Never would she believe he strained to support his own weight. Then she remembered what he’d said, and her heart lurched. “Hurt me?”

  “Your maidenhead.”

  “Oh!” She met his gaze, not wanting him to see her sudden fear. “I’m ready.”

  “Good girl.” He kissed her lips. “Now, wrap your legs around me.”

  She did so, slowly and awkwardly, aware that once again the angle of their joining changed. It felt more natural—and cozy. Wrapped tightly together, they were as close as two people could be.

  He pushed against her entrance and tapped something that halted his progress. She felt a tautening, a slight stinging pull.

  “Damnation!”

  She held her breath as he pushed again—this time thrusting sharply against the barrier until it tore.

  Margaret gasped and jerked her hips backward, trying to escape the pain that burned like fire. But he followed her movement, sliding deeper inside, filling her channel to bursting. “We’re finished now?” she asked, a sob hitching her breath.

  He nestled his hips closer to hers, prodding deeper still.

  Was there no end to him?

  Margaret took a deep breath and made herself relax as he tunneled into her, pushing deeper, stretching her inner walls to accommodate his intrusion.

  “You can hold onto me.”

  The way he growled his words sent a shiver through her. She met his gaze, questioning.

  “Put your arms around me.” His voice sounded more strained now. His cheeks were flushed, his jaw tight.

  She reached around his broad back and found his skin was soft and stretched over muscle as hard as an iron shield. Her fingers smoothed over him, exploring his texture, enjoying the ripples that rolled beneath her palms as he started to move.

  “Yes, sweetheart. Touch me,” he whispered.

  She reached lower to his amazing buttocks and glided her hands over the rounded muscles. Remembering her first sight of his pale, powerful backside, she could scarce believe she clutched it, her palms curving to bring him closer, her nails digging into his flesh to urge him deeper. The urgent itch growing inside her seemed to assuage with his movements.

  Roland grunted and pumped in and out, stroking deeper each time.

  Margaret squirmed a bit and discovered that if she tilted her hips, he slid straight and unimpeded.

  “That’s it. Move with me.”

  Margaret didn’t understand what he asked, but friction built inside her tight channel, tingling hot. This time when liquid flooded her, she sighed her relief, for his movements were aided with the lubrication and the snugness seemed to ease.

  He flexed and pulled out, and then paused.

  She moaned and tightly gripped his waist. As close to a complaint as she would allow herself to make.

  He lowered himself on top of her, settling his frame like a blanket over her body.

  Margaret was at once warmed, head to toe, and overwhelmed by all that masculine strength surrounding her, filling her. Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked to clear them.

  His hands cupped her cheeks and urged her gaze to his. “I’ve no experience with virgins, and I know I’m a rough man. But if you tell me you’ve more pain than you can bear, I’ll stop now.”

  Margaret glanced away from the intensity of his stare. “The deed is done?”


  “Yes.”

  She felt his body tense above hers. He’d fulfilled his duty, but didn’t want to end their joining. “There’s more?”

  “If you want it.”

  She could tell he certainly did by the tension that made his body rigid. “Will it be painful for me?”

  “Perhaps a bit at first, but it will ease. You may even come to enjoy it.”

  That gave her pause. If the itch and heat she’d felt were only a hint to the discomforts she would experience…

  But was his eagerness to bed her something she could use as leverage in this one-sided relationship? Something that might give her some small portion of power so that she wouldn’t be swallowed whole by his needs and commands.

  Margaret stroked her hand down his back and watched his nostrils flare. She licked her lips as she’d often seen the dairymaid do when she sauntered past the knights.

  Roland’s avid gaze followed the slow swipe of her tongue.

  She tightened her legs around his waist and discovered that her inner muscles could clench him tightly as well.

  Her husband shuddered, and his eyes closed.

  Perhaps, if God hadn’t given her the knight of her dreams, she held the means to mold him into a more suitable husband.

  With another feminine squeeze, she whispered into his ear, “Teach me, husband. Teach me how to please you.”

  Chapter Three

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  Roland congratulated himself. He’d persevered despite her trepidation. He’d been firm but gentle with her initiation into the marriage bed. His reward for his patience and consideration manifested in her soft husky voice and the snug clasp of her legs as she drew him closer into her embrace.

  Teach me how to please you.

  He’d nearly spilled his seed inside her heated depths then and there. Could a man ask for more than a wife eager to learn her duties? Eager to fulfill his needs?

  But they were far from finished, and he still had to prove that her confidence in his ability and his gentleness wasn’t misplaced.

  Despite the moist warmth that surrounded his cock and the capitulation that shown in her wide, curious eyes, he tamped down the urge to plunge deeply, harshly inside her. Instead, he ground his teeth and pulled away.