Page 4 of A Husband for Esyllt
“I know becauseIam Lord Sheridan, and I am currently not in my bed but in yours, coupling with you.”
He stilled, and she froze.
For a long moment Esyllt stared at him, this man who was buried to the hilt inside her. Her mind refused to accept what she had just heard. Her body was pulsing, poised on the edge of explosion and he was telling her that he had tricked her.
“You?” she said in a deathly whisper. “Youare Lord Sheridan?”
“Me.” He ground his hips against her and it was all Esyllt could do not to scream. That movement had almost been enough to make her erupt. “I am your future husband.”
All thoughts of pleasure fled her mind. “No!” she roared and bucked upward, trying to lift him off of her. Instantly, he flattened her onto her back, pinning her in place.
“Don’t even think about it, or I will tie you down with the rope you kindly provided me with.” He lowered his head so he could speak in her ear. “Listen to me, my lady. This marriage was decided by my king, it is not about my or your personal gratification, and it will go ahead, no matter what you say, no matter what you do, no matter how devious or debauched you are, no matter who you take to your bed beforehand or after.”
“I’m not debauched,” she protested. “I told you what I wanted to?—”
He stopped her with another thrust that made her body arch in supplication. “You wanted to show your groom how much of a wanton you were. Well, you have. Rest assured that I will not forget how readily you surrendered to a stranger’s advances, how you welcomed him inside your body.”
He slid back out, then in again. Esyllt could not stop a whimper from escaping her lips. She was so close, if he could only?—
“I could put an end to your misery now,” he drawled, reading her mind. “It wouldn’t take much, I don’t think. You are on the edge of surrender.”
His next thrust was excruciatingly slow, not enough to cause the friction she needed. Then the wretched man withdrew and stood up. As he fastened his braies, his honeyed voice kept playing in Esyllt’s mind.
Let me give you what you deserve.
Oh! Indeed. He’d not really wanted her; he had only exacted his revenge over her in the most humiliating way, by showing her that she could not resist him. This mad plan of hers had ended up in disaster.
She covered herself with the furs, fighting the urge to cry.
“Get some rest, my lady. You have a wedding to go to in the morning.”
Chapter One
North Wales, February 1296
Earlier that day
“Lord Sheridan is here.”
Esyllt straightened her spine. The dreaded moment had finally come. The man Gruffydd had selected to be her husband was about to walk into the great hall. She didn’t know anything about him, save for the fact that he was English and recently widowed, like she was. It did not seem to matter to the old Welsh rebel that she was about to be shackled to a total stranger. The only thing that mattered to him was the possibility of ridding himself of a powerful lord.
The futility of the enterprise struck her anew. What was he hoping for? To keep offering her up to Englishmen he could then kill off? Even supposing the foul plan could work this time, how many more times did he intend to use the same method before suspicions were raised? And even if, by some miracle, he got away with it, he would only have disposed of three or four men at the most, hardly a significant contribution to his cause... Was she the only one to see how ridiculous this all was?
Apparently so.
From her place on the dais, she watched the door at the other end of the hall, waiting for her groom to appear. A moment later, a tall, blond man entered, and it was all she could do not to gasp. She was so opposed to this union that in the last few weeks she had convinced herself that the man was an ogre, one who could never appeal to her senses or her sensibilities, one who was as coarse as he was unwelcome, not unlike Gruffydd himself, in fact. Well, at least she could be reassured on that score. Her future husband was nothing like the gnarled old man. He was young, strong, and uncommonly handsome. More than handsome. With fine features, a muscular body and an air of masculine ease, he was... perfect.
Just when she was thinking that she had never seen a man who appealed to her more, a dark-haired man drew to his side to whisper something in his ear. His squire, she imagined. Once he had delivered his message, he looked straight at her and Esyllt received the force of his green gaze like a punch to the gut.
Arglwydd mawr!
Her future husband’s beauty was instantly eclipsed. Where did these Englishmen come from? Lord Sheridan’s golden looks had overwhelmed her, but his squire’s dark beauty was almost too intense to bear. She lowered her eyes, like someone blinded after having stared straight into the sun.
From that point on, Esyllt lost track of everything that was being said around her. All she could do was try not to stare at the man standing behind Lord Sheridan while the Welsh lords welcomed him in.
The whole thing seemed to last forever, but at long last, the Englishman was free. He nodded one last time at Gruffydd and then walked over to the dais where she was waiting, heart pounding in her chest.
“My lady. Finally we meet.” His voice was rich and pleasant, his manners perfect but she could barely speak, such was thetightening in her throat. Where was the squire? She forced herself not to go in search of him and answered her betrothed’s greeting instead. Not doing so would be a great slight, one not so easily forgiven.
