Page 32 of The Raven and the Rose
“I’m not a child, I’m a woman!” she said hotly. He took her mouth in a savage kiss. His heart was thudding, and she could feel the echoing beat inside her as his strong arms crushed her to his chest.
“Whose heart is beating so loudly?” she whispered.
“Ours,” he murmured. “Roseanna,” he whispered against her mouth, “I am going to show you what a woman gives to a man and what he gives her in return.” His right hand slid between her legs, and his fingers unerringly found the sensitive jewel of her womanliness. Coaxingly, he whispered, “Marriage is a matter of give and take.”
Her body jumped back from his touch, and she again took refuge in anger. “Ah, yes, Ravenspur. I give and you take!” she cried.
He raised his voice for the first time. “Be fair, Roseanna! I give you my name, my protection, all my worldly goods, a position of honor in my castles, and more. I am willing to give you freedom—the same freedom you’ve always enjoyed, to come and go as you please, to consort with whomever you wish, freedom to breed your horses or whatever. What are you prepared to give me?”
There was a heavy silence in the room as she thought desperately for long moments. Finally she said, “Nothing,” and lapsed into silence.
“Let me love you, Roseanna,” he said low.
“No! You won’t turn me into a frightened little rabbit to do your bidding!”
“I would not change you by one hairbreadth. I want you exactly as you are!” His hands cupped her buttocks and drew her against his hardness. She went stiff in his arms and cried, “Don’t touch me!” Her breath was cut off as Roger kissed her thoroughly. The taste of her on his tongue and the scent of her fired his fantasies until his mind reeled with the delicious things he was going to do with her.
Roseanna’s body was awash with wicked sensations. Any moment now she would arch against him wantonly unless she fought it. His mouth left hers, and his lips seared a fiery path down her throat to her breast. She recoiled from him. “I love another. Don’t touch me again, or I shall retch!”
Angered at last, he flung himself from the bed with a fertile oath.
“Leave me in peace. There are scores of other rooms.”
“I’ll not make us the laughingstock of the whole damned Court,” he said, and threw himself down onto one of the couches. An ominous silence filled the room, broken only by the crackling of the fire.
Roseanna’s mind and body were filled with contradictory impulses. Her mind rejected Ravenspur and cried out for the sweet, safe love of Sir Bryan. But her body lusted for the primitive, wild experiences Ravenspur’s very touch promised. She crushed down those wicked impulses, vowing that she would not be guilty of sins of the flesh as her mother had been. Then in a complete turnaround, she asked herself how it could be a sin when they were married in the eyes of God. As always after Roseanna had uttered something particularly cruel, her conscience began to bother her. A half hour of heavy silence passed; she hoped he had fallen asleep but knew in her heart that he had not. “Ravenspur?” she whispered. There was no reply. “I—I’m sorry if I was cruel. It’s just that we are total strangers.” Silence. “I would like to get to know you so we could become friends.” Again silence. “Tell me of yourself. Talk to me.”
Even the air was still. Then after a long time she heard a low laugh. It held no happiness, yet it was not bitter, just self-mocking. “Perhaps it is poetic justice,” he murmured. She listened. After a pause he went on. “My first marriage was arranged by my parents to a widow ten years older than myself. I protested like hell, but I had no say in the matter. I was fifteen years old.”
Roseanna drew in a startled breath.
“My mother was an avaricious bitch. The widow brought me land and a fleet of merchant ships, and that was all that mattered.” He paused as the memories came flooding back. “She had bad teeth and foul breath and could not get me to bed fast enough.” The mocking laughter came again. “I covered myself with shame on my wedding night. I could not complete my husbandly duties.” He wondered why he was telling her all this. What was the profit in giving a woman weapons she could use against him? Why expose his past weakness?
Roseanna imagined the fifteen-year-old in the bed, and she was filled with compassion for him. He went on quietly. “She died in childbed. Poor Lady Agnes. No matter what our differences, I would not have had that happen.”
“I’m truly sorry, my lord,” whispered Roseanna.
“It was long ago.”
“What of your second wife?” she dared.
“We will not speak of it.” His words were cold and final. He turned his back to her and seemingly went to sleep, but his mind was relentlessly dredging up his past. He’d been the greatest young fool in Christendom after that. He was so hell-bent on a wife of his own choice, he’d flown in the face of his parents’ advice and had married a girl from the lower classes. He craved someone beautiful who would please him in bed, but unfortunately for him, Janet pleased other men in bed, too—half his knights, if the rumors were true. It had all ended in murder.
He deliberately stopped all further thoughts of his second wife. To allow his mind to dwell upon it, going over and over it, was a sickness. Roger questioned his own wisdom in marrying for a third time after he’d vowed never to remarry; then slowly a smile came to his lips, and he knew with a certainty that Roseanna had been made for him.
Roseanna lay awake for a long time. She did not feel sorry for herself, but her heart ached for Sir Bryan. This would be a night of a thousand hours for him, yet she felt proud that she had not betrayed him.
Roseanna drifted upward through a pleasant dream in which she lay in a sunbeam in a field of new-mown hay. Then her eyes opened slowly and focused on the blue brocade couch. He was gone! She sprang up, suspecting that he had crawled into bed with her.
He chuckled. “Did you expect to find a viper in your bed?” He loomed over her. She had to tilt back her head to take in the great height of him. As she did so, she was struck by his dark, masculine splendor. This primitive, godlike creature was her husband. The thought sent shivers down her spine. He saw her shudder, and his pent-up frustration demanded that he touch her one way or another. “If you insist on acting like a spoiled child, then I shall have no alternative but to spank you.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she challenged, sparks instantly flying between them. He sat down on the bed and dragged her across his lap. Exquisite sensations flooded his loins as her body lay across his thighs. His anger melted as he lifted her nightgown to reveal her deliciously round buttocks. The smell of new-mown hay again filled Roseanna’s nostrils, and she realized that the attractive smell was woodruff, which Ravenspur must have used in completing his toilet. She tried to struggle out of the vulnerable, undignified position in which he held her but to no avail.
Kate Kendall was outside their chamber door listening. The moment she heard voices, she nodded to Alice. They entered, carrying a new riding outfit. They were rendered speechless when they saw their new master kissing Roseanna’s bottom. Embarrassed herself, Roseanna felt pity for what she knew Alice must feel. She scrambled to a semidignified position, smiled at the girl, and murmured, “I’m so glad you picked that outfit.” The tunic was of golden wool, edged in scarlet with a matching cloak and scarlet riding boots—the Plantagenet colors.
Ingenuous as always, Alice replied, “Oh, my lady, it was chosen by Baron Ravenspur.” Kate sent Alice a look that could kill and only wished she’d been close enough to give the feckless girl a good pinch.
Roseanna’s expression changed. “On second thought, I think I have a very pretty lavender outfit with matching riding gauntlets. I have a fancy for that one today.”
