Henry, when told of the events of the day, had agreed to witness the wedding and rousted the bishop from his prayers in order to say yet another marriage. Thus, the guests and witnesses to the joining of the Lord of Ludingdon and the Lady of Langumont had been limited to Henry and Eleanor, several men-at-arms from Langumont, Madelyne and Gavin of Mal Verne, and Gavin’s cousin Judith. Maris’s mother, Allegra, had not been found in time for the ceremony.
Maris pressed close to her new husband after she curtsied to the royal couple, enjoying his warmth and solidness. Though she’d had time to bathe and dress for the ceremony while Dirick was making the arrangements, she’d been unable to shake off the horror of the scene in the wood…and the knowledge that Michael d’Arcy had not been found. There, she realized, lay the reasoning behind Dirick’s insistence that they wed immediately.
She remained in a happy daze throughout the quick meal of cold pheasant, cheese, and bread that they ate in the great hall, and she imbibed a more generous amount of wine than usual. It made her warm and trembly, especially when she thought about being with Dirick in the marriage bed. Though she’d expected this wedding between two of the more powerful nobility to be a grand affair, with feasting, dancing, and entertainment, Maris was not altogether displeased at the outcome.
Taking another sip of the rich Bordeaux from Aquitaine, she reflected that ’twas just as well that she did not have to make merry among a throng of guests and well wishers until it was s
uch a time as to go abovestairs, else she would surely go mad from the wait.
Her heart skipped a beat every time Dirick looked at her with the hooded grey eyes that bespoke of his own impatience for the evening to end. He offered her a small bit of cheese and lightly caressed the center of her bottom lip as she opened her mouth to accept it. The lids of his eyes swept down, and he looked at them from under them. The flare of desire was unmistakable.
“Let us go abovestairs,” he told her.
“Aye,” she breathed, nervous heat rushing through her body.
They stood and the chatter of their companions stilled. “Whither are you off to, Lord Dirick?” grinned the king.
“I am certain you are wise enough to divine my destination, your majesty,” growled Dirick.
“Aye, then, be off with you. ” Henry waved them away.
Maris looked at Dirick in surprise as they backed away from the king and the other well wishers. There was to be no bedding ceremony?
“Come,” Dirick hissed, taking her hand and pulling her quickly from the hall, “before they decide to follow us!”
She stumbled along as quickly as her long skirts would allow, thankful that she was not to be disrobed in front of a gaggle of women and gawking men before being urged into bed with her husband.
They reached the chamber that had been set aside for them, safely and without escort.
Dirick ushered Maris within, closing the door firmly behind him. Agnes had stoked the fire into a low blaze to keep the night chill from the damp room, and now she dozed on the floor near their bed.
Maris shook her maid awake and dismissed her. “There is no need to attend me this night,” she told Agnes, watching as Dirick sat to remove his boots. “My husband will assist me. ” She found those words—my husband—to be both exciting and welcome, coming from her lips.
She barred the heavy door behind Agnes, then turned slowly to face her husband. He’d pulled off his surcoat and tunic, and was naked from the waist up: a golden statue of muscle and glittering eyes and coarse dark hair in the firelight. He sat on a stool near the blaze, watching her as he had done the night she treated his stab wound.
Maris shivered in anticipation. This night would end much differently.
“Maris, my love, come to me. ” His voice was low and smooth, and his eyes never wavered.
Nervous, excited, anticipatory, she moved quickly to him and allowed him to pull her onto his lap. He drew the transparent veil from her head and thrust his fingers into the long thickness of her hair, gently combing through the braids and untangling the mass of waves and curls. “Your hair is so beautiful,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the end of a thick lock.
He stroked the edge of her chin, his touch leaving tiny sensations of pleasure, then closed his lips over her mouth in a sleek, sensual kiss that left her breathless. His long, tan fingers unfastened the golden girdle that rested on her hips and eased the heavy overtunic above her head, then flung it into a heap on the floor. And when he bent to kiss her once more, it was a long, thorough, and easy one, as if to remind her that they had all the night to taste each other.
Closing his hands over her breasts, still covered by the gossamer undertunic, he stroked his thumbs over her nipples. They tightened into miniature erections, and then he shifted the fabric across them, the soft cloth rasping over their sensitive points, Maris felt a delicious dart of pleasure shimmy down to her core.
A sort of heaviness grew low in her belly, and she felt as if she were filling and swelling in her private areas. Damp heat rushed and centered there, and Maris realized she was beginning to feel a sort of itchy, needy sensation in the pit of her belly.
Dirick’s muscles tightened and shivered as she smoothed the flats of her hands over the muscular slabs of his chest, down the sides of his ribs and abdomen. Lightly, lightly, she ran the raggedness of her fingernails over the back of his shoulders, then down and around to the ridges of his belly. Tiny bumps followed their paths and he shivered, his breathing becoming rough and unsteady.
Abruptly, Dirick stood and directed her toward the large bed where the curtains had been pulled back. Sprigs of rosemary and violets lay on their pillows, and he swept them to the side before easing Maris onto the plush bed. She watched, unafraid, as he slid his breeches down over lean hips and well defined, muscular thighs. A sigh culled the back of her throat when he came to lie next to her, pulling her to the long, warm length of his body.
Her chest rose and fell, and he placed his hand over the swell of one breast, allowing it to rise and fall with it.
“Maris,” he spoke, looking at her directly. “Do you know what is to happen?” The gentleness in his grey eyes stirred her and she reached up to smack a playful kiss onto his lips.
“Aye, Dirick, ’tis no secret to me what a man and woman do when they mate. And, I am not afraid,” she told him. “I’m not afraid of you. I welcome you. ” Her fingers twisted in the thick hair that fell over his forehead, then trailed her hands lower, drifting down his chest and boldly to the hardness between his legs. When she brushed against that hot, tumescent skin, he stiffened, catching his breath in a sharp, pained groan. Maris couldn’t help a self-satisfied smile, and, with delight at his obvious pleasure, she closed her fingers over hard, velvet-skinned erection. This time, the groan that came from the back of his throat was primal and needy.
She began to explore its warm reach, not at all certain she knew what she was doing…but sliding up and down along it seemed like a good idea.