Page 29 of An Ill-Made Match

“Nay,” he agreed, running a hand up the back of her neck, in a soothing motion. “You’ll sleep up at the house.” And so will I, but he did not feel the need to say that aloud. She was already skittish as a colt. At his words, she slumped in relief, and he took the opportunity to claim her lips, half-rolling on top of her. She squeaked when he licked along her bottom lip, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. There was no way in hell he should find kissing Eden Montmayne as exciting as this. He wished someone would tell it to his heart which was pounding almost out of his chest. She made a strangled sound into his mouth and he slid his hand down between her shoulder blades and down to her slender waist. “Kiss me back,” he said huskily, tearing his mouth away for an instant. “Give me your mouth.” She huffed, and guessing she was about to say something disagreeable, he forestalled her, by crushing his lips to hers. He almost groaned when he felt her hesitant hands land on his upper arms, in what he guessed was her approximation of an embrace. He broke off again. “Put your arms round my neck, Eden.”

“But your-?”

He stopped her words again with his lips, and after a few seconds, she removed her hands and wrapped them tentatively around his neck. Shit. Why did it feel so good? He groaned, and felt her gasp beneath him in alarm. He shifted over her, insinuating one leg between hers. Her heavy skirts were in the way, but still, he was breathing heavily through his nose like a gods-damn bull. It was only supposed to be a taste, he reminded himself, suppressing the impulse to toss up her skirts. That was out of the question, even if he only wanted to feel her legs tangle with his. To comfort himself, he palmed her breast over her dress. Eden was a modest dresser and wore her necklines rather higher than fashion dictated. At his touch she jumped so hard, it startled even him. He drew his head back to look at her quizzically. “What?” he asked. Eden stared up at him in confusion, instead of answering, her gaze dropped to his mouth. That was invitation enough for Roland. He returned to her pretty lips, but was less demanding this time. Ravishing her mouth was just getting him hot and bothered, and he could hardly bed her here, like a camp follower. When his hand covered her breast again, she whimpered, but did not bridle. He stroked his thumb gently over where he guessed her nipple would be, and coaxed her lips teasingly with his. As it was, he was aroused beyond all reason. Mayhap the six months of celibacy that had afflicted him was partly to blame? For whatever reason, he was at risk of embarrassing himself if he did not calm things down. One thing was clear, he thought, his head reeling, as he was overtaken by desire. His instincts had not led him astray at midwinter. Eden Montmayne was his, and his alone.

Someone coughed behind them. Roland stiffened, turning his head to look over his shoulder. Eden immediately turned as rigid as a board beneath him. His friends Bev and Attley stood gaping at them in astonishment. At the murderous look in his eye, they both fell back, clearing their throats and scratching the back of their necks.

“Do you want us to try and rig up a curtain as partition?” asked Bev uncertainly, as Roland levered himself off his mortified bride. “Only we need to wash and…”

“No,” Roland answered shortly. He held his hand out to a scarlet-cheeked Eden, and after a moment’s pause, she took it and he hauled her off the bunk to stand beside him. Strangely enough, his overwhelming impulse was to soothe his affronted wife. He deliberately stepped in front of her, obscuring her from view as she tugged this way and that at her dress, trying to right herself. He eyed her headdress which was hanging off to one side at a rakish angle. Picking up his cue, her hands flew to right it.

“Is it on straight?” she muttered, looking uncertain and seeking assurance.

Why the fuck that made his chest squeeze, he had no idea! It was straight, but he reached out anyway to lightly touch her silky hair beneath the beaded band and gauzy scarf. Was this what it was going to be like from now on? Forever looking for excuses to touch her? The thought unnerved him, but at least it served to damp his ardor sufficiently so that he could turn around and face his friends.

Attley was staring like a fool, but Bev was studiously looking anywhere but at them.

“We’re going to watch the Challenge to Arms,” Roland said coolly, feeling anything but. He stretched out his hand, but Eden slipped her arm through his more formally. He frowned, but bent his arm anyway to accommodate her.

“Mayhap we’ll join you later,” suggested Bev.

“Aye,” Roland agreed readily. “We’ll look to see you.” He grabbed his doublet off the bench and flung it over his shoulder before leading Eden from the tent.

“I should probably warn you, Sir Christopher Lelland is here.” she said haltingly, as they made their way back toward the main field.

He turned his head. “Who?”

“He is one of the King’s attendants.”

“What of it?” asked Roland sharply. Who the devil was this fellow to her?

“Naught, save that he is a courtier,” explained Eden with raised brows.

Her words sank in. “Oh,” he shrugged. “Well, my brothers will be informing the King as we speak, so it little signifies.”

“It appears he has lately married one of Sir Aubron’s neighbors,” she elaborated.

Roland frowned. On the one hand Eden was talking to him, which he felt he should encourage. She did not strike him as the naturally voluble type. Indeed, she had been entirely silent for large stretches of their journey there. On the other hand, he could care less about Sir Aubron’s neighbors, or the King’s attendants for that matter. He made a non-committal noise which he fancied struck the middle-ground he required. From the frown on Eden’s face, it seemed he had aimed and missed. “Indeed?” he added lamely. Perhaps he should have attempted this polite conversation thing at some point previous to now. He’d never realized he would need such a skill in his arsenal. “What did you think of the melee?” he asked, steering things into safer waters.

A pained expression crossed Eden’s face. “It was very difficult to keep track of you,” she said. “Amidst all the chaos.” There it was again. A warm feeling spread through his chest at the idea of her looking for him in the crowd. Since his father died, he had not had anyone watching in his corner. Not family anyway. “I fancy I will find the joust tomorrow easier to stay abreast of,” she added awkwardly. “They have an announcer, do they not?”

“Aye,” he agreed, covering the hand in the crook of his arm with his. She looked up startled at his touch. “Best you get used to it,” he said.

“Tournaments?” asked Eden.

“My touch,” he responded, shooting her a wink. She colored up and looked away biting her lip. He grinned to himself as they crossed the field.

“Are you really not as bothered as you seem,” asked Eden suddenly, as they neared the observational benches.

“By what?”

She hesitated. “All the people staring at us,” she said at last.

Had they been staring? Roland glanced around at the milling crowds of people. A fair few did look hastily away at his confrontational stare. “Why should I be?” He asked, returning his attention to her. Her gaze skittered away. “Eden?” He wanted those blue eyes trained back on him.

“No reason. I suppose I envy your composure,” she said lightly, but he wasn’t sure he believed her answer.

“You have no reason to be self-conscious,” he found himself telling her, as he led her to a vacant bench. “Are not brides usually a source of interest?”