LITMIR.BIZ

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Saxon princess in a garnet-coloured damask gown. His princess. She raised the goblet to her lips, sipped and offered it to him. ‘Truly I won’t.’

      ‘I’m glad of that,’ he whispered, ‘because I’m woefully out of practice.’ Setting the goblet aside, he reached for her, positioning her so the warmth of her body was where he wanted it, next to his. Gently, he removed her circlet and veil. ‘Gwenn died two years since.’

      Her eyes became even larger. Down in the Hall, the drums speeded up.

      ‘Yes, there’s only ever been Gwenn. My first and my last.’

      ‘Your last? You mean you only ever…? I mean you…only…only with Gwenn?’

      Nodding, he ran his hand down one shining golden braid. That wayward curl—the one that was always escaping—twined round his finger and he felt his loins begin to throb. ‘Aye, only ever with Gwenn. Until now.’ He bent his attention to unfastening the ribbon on a plait and hoped she wouldn’t see the trembling in his fingers.

      Reaching on her tiptoes, she planted a light kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ she whispered.

      Adam grunted and fumbled with the ribbon. She smelt of desire, warm and womanly. She smelt of all he had thought he had lost. He felt a pang in the region of his chest. He thrust it aside. ‘What’s the English word for this?’

      ‘Ribbon.’ Her voice sounded almost affectionate. He felt another distinct pang and frowned. No more wine for him tonight.

      ‘Ribbon,’ he repeated, as the ribbon fell away and the thick tress of hair unravelled. Adam began working on her other braid. More glorious hair unravelled; unbound, it almost reached her knees. He wove his fingers into the golden strands. It was soft, and held the fragrance of summer flowers and herbs. It made his head swim.

      ‘The candlelight makes your hair gleam like gold—gold silk.’ He had to clear his throat. ‘I saw your hair before.’

      ‘Did you?’ She was watching him almost tenderly.

      ‘Aye.’ He lowered his head and nuzzled her ear through her hair. Surreptitiously he inhaled. Rosemary, and underneath it that particular fragrance that he was beginning to recognise as her own. It was far more intoxicating than the spiced wine they had been drinking. ‘I saw it, when you helped that woman in labour. I thought you pretty,’ he added with a lop-sided grin. ‘Too pretty by far to be a nun.’

      ‘And now I’m your wife,’ she said, impulsively catching his hand and bringing it to her cheek. ‘But how I wish…I wonder…’

      ‘Mmm?’

      She shrugged. ‘It is foolish, perhaps, but I wonder how it would have been if we had met otherwise. If you had not come with Duke William. If my parents were still living. If…’

      He frowned. ‘We cannot change what’s done. If I had not accompanied Duke William I would never have come to Fulford, and you would still be in the convent.’

      She heaved a sigh, her expression so woebegone that Adam heard himself say, ‘We could pretend, though, while we are here in our private room. In our bed. We can make believe matters are otherwise.’ He recaptured her wrist. ‘Come here, wife.’

      ‘I am here. Where else would I go?’

      Where, indeed? There was nowhere he wanted her to be save here. She would have been wasted in the convent—wasted. Adam tilted her chin up and pressed his lips to hers, tasting the spicy sweetness of the mulled wine on her tongue. His heartbeat caught up with the pace of the drums, and he felt her body soften in a surrender that was more welcome than he had dared hope for. She reached up, found his shoulders and clung, and when his hands circled her waist she slid hers round his neck.

      ‘Adam,’ she murmured. ‘My husband.’

      Amazement in her tone. And acceptance? Not yet—but one day, God willing. Planting a series of kisses across her cheek, he nipped gently at her ear. She was such an innocent. An innocent who nipped his neck. But an innocent who heated his blood and was wreaking such havoc with his senses that he almost forgot that very innocence and brought his hips more snugly against her. Her breathing changed. Her cheeks were pink.

      ‘Cecily?’

      ‘Mmm?’

      ‘Your lacings? May I?’

      Her shy nod gave him permission, and then his fingers were at the ties on one side of her gown, teasing the garnet fabric open. Underneath the heavy damask her shift was light and silky to the touch, her body warm. He must touch her skin. He must…

      Finding the lacings on the other side, he loosened them, and tugged impatiently at the material. Had he felt this desperate with Gwenn? Had he felt this needy? It had been too long. He was like a starving man. ‘Lift up your arms.’

      Silently, silhouetted in the light of the braziers, cheeks dark with colour, she obeyed him.

      The damask whispered and then she was free of it, standing before him like a white lily in a cream undergown with an eye-catching neckline. A white lily who was biting her pretty lips…

      He smiled, fighting a losing battle to keep his clasp light as he took her wrist and led her to the bed. Flipping back the covers, he sank down on the mattress, drawing her with him.

      ‘Adam, m-my shoes.’

      It was the work of a moment to tug them off and toss them into the corner along with his boots.

      ‘I see I have married a tidy man,’ she said with a smile.

      ‘Maurice despairs.’ Taking her shoulders, he leaned back into the pillows and she fell onto him, her hair, her glorious hair, flowing over his chest.

      ‘C-can we keep some of our clothes on?’

      An objection rose to his lips, but he bit it back because she looked so adorably unsure of herself, gut-wrenchingly innocent—and anyway she was so near him that all he had to do was wind his hand into her hair and bring her head down to his. He did so, and enjoyed a long, long kiss that he never wanted to end. When it did end, he knew he was as flushed as she.

      ‘Gudrun said I had to be naked,’ she said, swallowing hard. ‘B-but…oh, Adam, I…I can’t.’

      He stroked her cheek and looped a length of hair round her ear. ‘You’re shy…’

      ‘I…I’m sorry. Can we do it if I keep my shift on?’

      ‘Aye, but, sweetheart, I told you—if you’re not ready, we can wait. The last thing I want is your unwilling body.’

      ‘No, no—I’m not unwilling,’ she said, and small fingers skimmed over his mouth. ‘Don’t think that. It’s just that…’

      ‘The convent?’

      ‘Yes. Lying as we did in the Palace at Winchester, lying as we are now, it seems so…so…intimate. Mother Aethelflaeda…’

      ‘Is not here. And I will not allow that woman into our bedchamber. So, please, Cecily, leave her back at the convent.’

      ‘I’ll try.’

      ‘Good.’ Running his hand down her back and over her buttocks, he pulled up the hem of her shift and found her stockings. He ached to know her skin, every warm, seductive inch of it, could only think about losing himself in her body, but somehow he kept his voice cool. ‘What are these in English?’

      ‘Stockings.’

      ‘Stockings,’ he repeated. ‘They’re next. Of course you can keep some of your clothes on, but these will get in the way.’

      ‘Th-they will?’

      ‘They will.’ He slid his hand up her leg and dealt with the fastenings. Ignoring the gasp of breath as his fingers trailed over her stomach, he drew off her stockings. One. Two. ‘Me next,’ he said, clearing his throat. Taking her hand,

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