Page 27 of Wed By Proxy

“How did you protest?” burst out Temur, who looked like he couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. Guy sent him a quelling look, but Temur was enjoying the tale far too much to pay him any heed.

“Well, I seized upon his arm, and bade him take his hands off my horse,” said Mathilde reasonably. “When he refused, I was forced to take more direct action.”

“The direct action you should have taken,” said Guy darkly, “was to call for assistance. Loudly.”

“Oh, Rob came running out as soon as he saw us scuffling,” Mathilde assured them. “And hurled himself into the fray.”

“I’m sure,” said Guy dryly, as Robin nodded his agreement, his mouth too full of stewed leeks to verbally concur. Guy turned back to Mathilde. “And was that the point when you bit him?” he asked coolly. Temur gasped, staring at Mathilde.

“Oh, you heard about that, did you?” she asked looking a little disconcerted. She fidgeted a moment in her seat. “I do understand that was not quite proper conduct for a fight, but you see, he was quite four times my size, and I did not bite him until I found myself knocked to the ground.”

“Knocked to the ground?” repeated Guy carefully. He placed down his knife.

“She bit his ankle,” said Robin, swallowing down his mouthful. “And didn’t he roar?” He grinned.

“I sank my teeth in as far as they would go,” said Mathilde, nodding with quiet pride. “I spat out a mouthful of blood after. Mind you,” she conceded. “Some of it might have been mine, for he kicked me off so violently, my teeth rattled in my head!” They both laughed, and Temur joined in, but Guy pushed his plate away, his appetite suddenly gone.

“Would you recognize him, if you saw him again?” he asked grimly.

“Oh certainly,” agreed Mathilde, dabbing her mouth delicately with a napkin. “So would Destrian. He’s a vastly intelligent horse.”

“I wouldn’t,” admitted Robin regretfully. “Though both his eyes are likely still blacked.” He inspected the knuckles on his right hand.

“Good lad!” said Temur, pushing the ale jug toward the boy.

“And when the carter started shouting ‘Stop thief!’ at the top of his voice,” Mathilde continued, “Destrian kicked him into the street, which only goes to show how clever he is. If only the beadles had noted who he took for his true owner, then we need never have been put in a jail cell at all.”

“A jail cell?” spluttered Temur, plunking down his cup. Between them, Robin and Mathilde explained their unjust arrest. Temur’s mouth was practically hanging open by the end of it.

“I often say beasts are more intelligent than people,” Temur said at the conclusion, stroking his short blond beard. He started telling a long rambling tale about a mule his grandfather once owned. Mathilde and Robin were vastly entertained by it, but Guy lapsed into a seething silence. He found it hard to recover so quickly from the account of her assault and detention. It had happened practically on his own land! If he had known the full extent of what had happened, he would have had every man in that jail hauled over the coals, irrespective of station. The officials had been almost as culpable as the carter himself. If it had not been for that merchant’s son performing his civic duty, then the story could have taken a very different turn that night. What if she had been flogged? His blood ran cold at the idea.

“Guy?” He looked up to find Temur regarding him with some concern.

Unclenching his fists, Guy reached for his ale cup. He would stay another half hour and then leave. Being around her was dangerous. He was feeling all kinds of unaccustomed things. She was churning him up inside. “Is there anything stronger in the house?” he asked, holding up his empty cup.

Prudence had just set down a dish of fried battered apples and a dish of cheese.

“There is a fine large bottle of mead, my lord which was brought over to be used for a hot winter punch,” she admitted with a frown. Clearly she had meant to make it last for quite some time, thought Guy, seeing her reluctance to fetch it out.

“Bring it, and I don’t want it mulled,” he said, seeing she was quite capable of watering it down with fruit and spices. “I’ll drink it as it comes.”

Prudence ducked her head, he suspected so that he should not see her vexed expression. He did not know what Waldon could have been thinking to suggest such a displeasing wench. The bottle was a large one, and once uncorked he realized of a very good vintage. He drank deeply of the first cup and offered it around. Everyone else declared themselves well pleased with ale.

As Guy refilled his cup to the brim, he heard Temur describing his wife Lettys’s fondness for wine made of the wild plum. As the others chimed in, in relaxed conversation, Guy drank deeply. He needed to be easy, not coiled tightly as he was, and ready to spring. Another cupful would do it. Another cup and he would be able to relax his face from its tight, grim expression. To loosen his rigid, hard body from the grip of this terrible tension that had overtaken him. Another cup. Another cup would do it.

XIV

Mathilde gazed admiringly at the broad, muscular back in front of her. She had been a little shocked at first, when Temur had stripped her husband right down before pulling the blankets over him the previous night. But perhaps, after all, that was how husbands slept in their beds? Temur was a husband, so he should know. Instead of gaping at the spectacle, she had busied herself tidying away Guy’s boots and clothes as Temur had thrown them over his shoulder. She had to try very hard not to ogle the astonishing body that was revealed to her in tantalizing glimpses. After that, Temur had bid her a hurried goodnight and taken off into the night, explaining that Lettys would be expecting him at home. Robin and Prudence had gone to their own beds. Mathilde had noticed Rob had the cat cradled in his arms as he disappeared down the passageway. Mathilde had slowly washed and undressed down to her shift. Then she had hesitated. Did wives sleep in their shifts as unmarried women did? She had no clue. At first, she had blown out the candle and climbed under the covers with her shift on. But as she lay on her back, her hands folded over her stomach, the darkness seemed to reproach her for a faint heart.

It stood to reason that if husbands were naked, then wives should be too. Biting her lip, she reminded herself that she was no longer the weak and pitied little mouse about court that she had been. She was a woman now, and brave as a tigress. Sitting up in bed, she had pulled the shift up and over her head and discarded it over the edge of the bed. Then she had settled back down, her heart thudding in her chest. Turning her head, she made out his bulk in the darkness beside her and listened to his breathing. In truth, the bed was so large, there was no reason why their nude bodies should collide at all over the course of the evening. However, she found herself considering the possibility. The thought of it made her quake with both anticipation and fear. He was so big. She was so little. Would she not be squashed like a flea by that large golden body?

Her cheeks burned as she thought of the well-turned muscular limbs and the strange smattering of hair she had seen, which covered him in unfamiliar places. She traced the smooth skin under her own belly button. He had seemed to have a trail of hair leading down from his. Her breath quickened. If only, she could have had a better look! It had been fascinating. Daringly, she recalled the fleeting glimpse she had caught of his actual manhood, and caught her breath. If she was not terrified of waking him, she would have liked to turn the sheet down and take another look at it. Doubtless Temur had thought her well-acquainted with it already, she thought wistfully. She should be of course, as his wife of four years!

She had dozed fitfully all night, keenly aware of his presence in her bed. A handful of times, she had woken to find she had inched forward or rolled right into him. Whenever this happened, she lay breathlessly a moment or two, thrilled by his nearness, and savoring the amount of warmth his big, hard body threw out. She was acutely aware of the fact his bare skin was in direct contact with her own. Where they touched, she tingled. Could he really not feel it?

But Lord Martindale had not woken once, alas. Indeed, he had seemed entirely oblivious to her company. Perhaps that was the mead. It must have been strong, for it had felled him entirely. Then again, he had scarcely eaten a thing for his supper. Such a big man should have a matching appetite, she would have thought, listening to his deep, steady breathing. Reluctantly, each time, she had retreated from him to her side of the bed. He did not reach for her once, and did not change his position all night. She felt a slight pang at that, but the important thing was that he was here, and that finally she was in the marriage bed!

She sighed, and looked around the large bedchamber with satisfaction. This is how it felt to be a wife, waking up next to your spouse. She wondered if she could edge closer to him without disturbing his sleep. Feeling greatly daring, she drifted closer to him under the covers. She could feel his heat even from this distance, and she shivered, though not with cold. What would he do if she plastered herself up against his back? Would he wake? Would he — turn to her? Her pulse raced. She ached to touch him. Would that be wrong?