Page 38 of The Raven and the Rose
They cheered and stamped their feet. Roseanna was thrilled and strangely moved by his words. “I want you to take her to your hearts—as I have.” His warm eyes caressed her; he raised his goblet to her, then drained it.
She held up her hand, and the crowd politely quieted for her. “I raise my goblet to you, the people of Ravensworth and Ravenspur.” Her words were drowned by thunderous applause as one by one every man and woman stood to offer her tribute.
They sat down, and the meat was served. Roger gave her a warm look of approval. “That was prettily done. I’m very proud of you.” His eyes lowered to his initial and lingered on her breasts. When he raised his eyes, he saw that she was blushing furiously and had to lower her lashes to her cheeks. He laughed deep in his throat. When she glanced up quickly, he let his eyes lick over her like hot flames.
Tristan leaned forward and said laughingly, “You look as if you want to eat her.”
“I do,” said Roger suggestively. Roseanna shivered.
Tristan grinned at her; the devil was glittering in his eyes. “Why don’t I stand up and propose a bedding for the new bride and groom?”
“Tristan, don’t do this to me,” she hissed.
“There’s something about newlyweds that turns us all into voyeurs.” He laughed. “Everyone in this hall is dying to see you two in bed together.”
“I’ll kill you, Tris!” she threatened.
His merriment increased. “In two or three years I’ll start to worry!”
Roger leaned forward and said, “Find your own woman. This one’s mine.”
Tristan grinned wickedly, “I was the one who laid her naked at your feet, brother. How soon you forget!”
Roseanna was utterly still for a moment. She looked from one dark face to the other, then said quietly, “What do you mean?”
“Nothing—just a jest,” said Tristan. But he looked as guilty as sin, and Roger’s lips tightened in a warning that he had said too much. Roseanna searched her husband’s face. She’d get out of him what they had done to her, but not here, not now in front of their people.
Roseanna finished her meal in silence without once looking at her husband. But she was very much aware of him sitting close beside her. The physical power of his body could actually be felt when she was this close to him; he silently overwhelmed her. When his thigh brushed hers beneath the table, she drew in her breath as if she’d been burned.
She forced her mind on to another subject. Her interest fell on the other women in the hall as she watched them covertly. She was relieved that none could compare to her in beauty or dress, but there were many women with voluptuous bodies who cast inviting glances to the men at the head table. As the meal progressed and the goblets were drained, the laughter and license increased apace. She glanced at Tristan and said primly, “This looks like a night for torn bodices or worse!”
He whispered, “Or better, depending on how you look at it!”
She turned her back on him and said to Roger, “I’ve had enough, my lord. May I retire?”
A heavy, sweet ache suddenly flooded his loins. His dark eyes showed clearly the desire he felt. “We shall retire together,” he murmured.
Her eyes threw back her challenge: “We shall not.”
“And if I order it, madame?”
“I am your wife, my lord, not your slave. I don’t take kindly to orders.” They spoke as softly as they could, yet still Tristan heard and was shocked to hear her speak so to her husband.
“How dare you, madame?” Roger demanded. Tristan’s face mirrored the exact same phrase, as if he himself had spoken it aloud.
“I must dare or be crushed, married to Ravenspur.” Her breasts heaved in her agitation, and Roger could see that in another moment she would throw away discretion and fly at him. The light of battle was in her eyes, and her blood was up. In a flash he pushed back his chair and swung her up into his arms. The hall went wild. Under the din they had made, Roger said, “If you put your arms around my neck, I will carry you to your bed. If you resist, I shall carry you to my bed and teach you to be an obedient wife!”
She gasped, then slowly slipped her arms around his neck. He carried her from the hall. She could feel the cords in his neck; the arms that held her so possessively were like iron. A weakness came over her that she could not control. She was utterly amazed at herself.By God, he’s so handsome he almost makes me swoon,she thought. She did not yet realize that a strong-willed woman needed a man who would try to master her. That delicious lesson lay in her future—to be dreamed of, anticipated, and devoutly desired.
Suddenly, she stiffened in his arms. “Sir, this is not the way to my chamber.”
“Of course not. It is the way to mine,” he said easily, mounting the stairs without even breathing hard.
“But you promised! You promised that if I didn’t make a scene, you would take me tomybed.”
He grinned down at her. “Promises are made to be broken. You taught me that,” he added with relish. He shouldered open his bedchamber door, then leaned back against it to close it firmly.
“I?” she faltered as the bed loomed large before her, seeming to fill the room.
