He had seated himself on a stool by the hearth, with a sheet draped over his loins. The bright flames cast enough light for her to see him clearly. Her husband? Please, no. It would be too cruel to be married to this beautiful young man, knowing that he could inspire only hate in her.
She knew why he was called the Black Wolf, when it was actually a silver wolf on a black field sewn on his banner. The name was for his dark coloring, his black hair and eyes. The hair that covered the rest of his body was just as black, especially the thick mat on his chest.
She did not find his darkness unpleasant. Far from it—too far in fact. God help her, the sight of him was enough to take her breath away. His body was overwhelmingly masculine, rock-hard and muscular, big, frightening. But it was his rugged face that was so arresting, framed by the shaggy cut of his black hair, hair that curled on neck, temple, and forehead. His lips were drawn tight just then, but that did not detract from their sensual fullness. His brow was wide, the nose straight and bold, the square jaw smooth and finely defined and aggressive.
It was a beautifully handsome face. How awful that the man behind it was a monster, cold, heartless, vindictive. For a man to have the face of an angel and the heart of a devil was worth crying over.
While Damian tended his wound, Rolfe sensed the girl’s eyes on him. When he looked toward her, all he could see was a small huddled form cloaked in its mass of silver hair. He recalled her response to him in bed, recalled the soft sounds of pleasure that had come from her. She had wanted him, and knowing that had aroused him. Knowing that she was watching him now had the same effect. His desire to have her was becoming painful.
Rolfe snapped at Damian to hurry and be gone, and Leonie’s trembling worsened as the door closed, leaving them alone again.
“Return to bed, Lady Leonie.”
It was the utter quiet of the room that made it seem he had shouted at her. In fact, his voice had been husky.
Rolfe grinned as she hurried toward the bed, her back to him.
“Remove your robe, my lady.”
Leonie froze, her body stiff with mortification. “My lord, I—”
“Behind the curtains, if you wish,” he said impatiently. “I did not mean I wished to inspect you.”
Leonie climbed into bed, drawing the bedcurtains tightly closed. A moment later Rolfe grinned again as her robe dropped onto the floor. He wasted no time in putting out the candles, and a few moments later he had joined her in the bed.
He had to reach to touch her, for she was lying on the far edge of the bed, her back to him. He pulled her to the center of the bed, and felt her trembling.
“You are cold?”
She would rather have died than admit her fear. “Yes, my lord.”
His fingers moved gently over her breasts, down her belly, then slipped between her legs. “You will not be cold for long,” he whispered.
Leonie could not stop trembling. She couldn’t understand why he was being gentle with her. When was her punishment to begin? He continued to play with her, to tempt her, but there was no room in her emotions for anything except fear. She was certain there would be awful retribution for stabbing him, but what did he have in mind?
So it was a complete surprise when Leonie found herself mounted and penetrated before she realized what was happening. She cried out as he entered her, but that pain was short and soon became only a dull throb. She lay there dazed, amazed that she was being bedded instead of beaten.
Rolfe was amazed as well. She was a virgin after all. That meant his conclusions were wholly untrue. She had stabbed him on purpose, had meant to stab him. That realization made him finish with her quickly. Having done so, he promptly fell asleep.
He did not snore this time, but Leonie knew her husband was asleep. Well, she was no longer a maiden. Because she lacked desire for him, his taking her had been painful. But it was a pain she could bear if she had to—though she would not have to if she were sent away. Holding that hope close to her, willing it to be so, she fell asleep.
Chapter 11
LEONIE was awakened rudely when a troop of women barged into her room early the next morning. She had barely awakened before the bedcurtains were thrown aside and she was whisked out of bed.
The sheets were removed and taken out of the room to be displayed, as was the custom. But the ritual was forgotten when one of the ladies caught sight of Leonie’s face and gave a startled exclamation.
Leonie turned her back and hid her face in her hands, giving the unfortunate appearance that she was crying. Questions rose loudly. The women wanted to know what was wrong with her, but Leonie would neither speak nor turn around.
It was Amelia who took charge, ushering the ladies out. Someone draped Leonie’s bedrobe over her shoulders, making her aware for the first time that she had been standing there naked, with only her long hair to cover her. She put the robe on, and then her veil was thrust at her.
Leonie looked up to nod curtly at Judith before she donned the veil. Only her stepmother and Lady Amelia were left in the room with her. Of her husband, there was no sign.
“Who were those women?” Leonie asked.
“It was remiss of your husband that you did not meet them at the feast,” Judith replied, “but you will no doubt come to know them soon enough. They are the wives and daughters of knights who serve your husband. I understand they were even allowed to follow the army when Sir Rolfe was but a mercenary. Most unusual circumstance. It could not have been easy to find quarters for them in each town. Is that not so, Lady Amelia?”
“I know nothing of that.”
“No, of course you would not,” Judith purred. “I forget that you have not been with Sir Rolfe very long.”
This bit of hostility wasn’t the only thing that displeased Amelia. She had been thoroughly put out to see the virgin blood on the sheets, positive as she was that Rolfe would not touch his wife.
“You missed mass, Leonie,” Judith remarked disapprovingly. “But you were not the only one. Your father is still sound asleep. And since your husband has gone about his business without a word to his guests, I must assume the wedding celebration is over. There is no point in our staying.”
“You have my leave to go, madame, if that is what is required,” Leonie replied stiffly.
“You do not need us?” Judith asked only because it was expected.
Leonie shook her head.
“Then, if I can stir your father, we will go. You wish to say farewell to him? I can’t guarantee he will remember, but…”
“Again, no.”
“Well, we wish you the best, my dear.”
“Of course you do,” Leonie answered tonelessly before turning her back. Dismissed, Judith left.
“I do not blame you for disliking your stepmother,” Amelia remarked. “She is not a pleasant woman.”
Leonie was in no mood for conversation with this one either. “If you will be good enough to have my maid sent to me, I need not trouble you further, Lady Amelia. I would have a bath and tray of food brought here, as I do not mean to leave this room today.”
Amelia’s lips tightened. “As you will, my lady,” she said curtly, hoping she would soon be rid of the arrogant girl.
Leonie had only just finished her bath when Lady Amelia returned to inform her that her escort was ready to return her to Pershwick. This was so unexpected that Leonie was compelled to question it.
“You are sure I am to go to Pershwick? So soon?”
“It is the keep my lord mentioned, as you are familiar with it. No doubt he will supply you with what money you need, and perhaps he will appoint his own steward, but you should not be troubled by him there as long as you do not bring yourself to his attention. I assume that is as you would have it?”
“Indeed! Oh, indeed, yes!”
Leonie was stunned by this turn of luck, and hurried through her preparations as quickly as possible.
Sir Guibert and Leonie’s men-at-arms were to be her escort. Guibert was alarmed when told what his first duty for the newly married Leonie would be. But seeing how eager she was to be gone from Crewel, he kept his doubts to himself. Then, too, he had heard that Rolfe d’Ambert was seldom in residence at Crewel, so he assumed the man wished to spare his wife being alone there. At Pershwick, she could be with people she knew.
Guibert had also learned what Rolfe was about—a monumental feat, the taking of seven hostile keeps with only a small army. He wished him luck, but knew the job would not be finished quickly. He doubted his lady would see much of her husband the rest of this year.
It was with some self-disgust that Rolfe found himself riding through the gate of Crewel at sunset, spurred on by a foolish eagerness to be with Leonie again.
All of last night was not clear to him. His wound wasn’t bad, but he was hardly flattered to have received it. He did know that it had been a long time since he’d been so intrigued by a woman. No doubt the tension had had much to do with it, but it would do no harm to find out, would it?
Disgust with his own boyish eagerness had much to do with his reaction when he found his wife was not there waiting for him. He simply turned around and returned to the siege of Wrothe Keep. Relief was partly why he did so. He did not chastise Amelia for overstepping her bounds. He had told her only that he would send his wife away, not instructed her to see to it for him. But Leonie’s absence was a good thing, for eventually he would have been disgusted with himself over his foolish desire to be with her. He certainly did not want the woman to know he desired her. He was not forgetting how spiteful she was.