Page 14 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“My lord, I…”
“It wasn’t a question,” he said. “You have known a man.”
She nodded, then parted her thighs wider.
The invitation was too much for his body to resist and he thrust into her, hating himself for the surge of pleasure he felt at claiming her body.
He closed his eyes and withdrew, then he pushed inside her again, silently cursing her and her father for deceiving him. He moved to the rhythm of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The sound morphed into sharper cries, false screams tearing through his mind—a woman who had betrayed him, seduced him and laughed while he suffered for it, forever to be condemned. Cold gray eyes glittered with jealousy and hatred—rough hands dragged him through the dirt, he heard the hiss of the whip, then a searing pain ripped his back open. Words of hatred flung in his direction, solidifying his disgrace, a scream of terror and humiliation leaping from his throat. A fog of dark red swirled across his memories, blackening until all was lost save his hatred for the woman who had ensnared him only to laugh as his body was torn to shreds, leaving him broken, his honor shattered forever.
* * *
As he continuedto push himself inside her, Eloise’s husband closed his eyes. His face twisted in pain and a hoarse moan of anguish and betrayal rattled in his throat.
She closed her eyes and the vision of a dark face overwhelmed her. Full red lips snarled out those hateful words from long ago—bitch,whore,temptress. Dark curly hair clung to her assailant’s forehead as the perspiration caused by his exertions dripped onto her face to mingle with the salt of her tears. Clear, cold blue eyes bore into her, celebrating her ruin, the snarl turning into deep laughter as he poured his hatred into her. Pain exploded in her arm and she struggled and screamed but a great weight held her down, crushing her chest while she fought for breath.
She opened her eyes to find those staring back at her were not blue, but a deep brown, their expression not one of triumph, but of sorrow.
“You played me for a fool,” he said.
The bed shifted with his weight as he stood, pulling his breeches up and tying them, before he leaned over her and cupped her face in his hands. She flinched at his touch, trembling with fear and he brushed her cheek.
He removed his hand. A bead of moisture was on his thumb and he wiped it away.
“Are these false tears?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“It’s no matter,” he said. “Have no fear. I shall not touch you again.”
* * *
Harald looked at his wife,cursing himself for having believed her appearance of innocence. In his experience, all women were harlots, who wore cloaks of virtue to hide their rotten cores. And he’d shown her such compassion, given tender reassurances that he’d be gentle. For him—a man known for his virility and strength—to show such weakness in front of her. How she must be laughing at him!
But she was not laughing.
Instead she closed her eyes and rolled onto her side and curled her body into a ball. Impulsively he reached for a fur and draped it over her shivering form. She flinched at the contact.
“I’ll speak with you in the morning,” he said.
She didn’t reply, but he saw her head nod in acknowledgement. Despite her deceit, she looked frail, like an injured baby bird that had fallen out of the nest. And he was the hungry wolf with blood on his mind. Instead of returning her to safety, he’d devoured her.
He strode into the main hall in search of a flagon of wine, and, with a full goblet in his hand, he settled into a chair beside the main fireplace and watched the dying embers. But he drew little comfort from their warmth—the image of trust and fear in his wife’s eyes burned too brightly in his mind. Her fear had been very convincing and was justified—she was tiny woman and he a big man. As he drifted into a doze, he was not haunted by the sounds of men screaming, or battles, but by his wife’s eyes and the promise he had made to her father.
Chapter 4
Eloise opened her eyes. The sun had yet to rise but the flicker of light from a single candle showed her that her husband had returned during the night and lay sleeping beside her. She slipped out from under the furs, careful not to put any weight on her deformed arm as she pulled her undergown and kirtle on.
The bedropes creaked and she turned to see her husband looking straight at her. His dark brown gaze followed a path up and down her body, and settled on her arm which she cradled defensively. He lifted his hand to reach toward her. Instinctively she stepped back.
“You deceived me.” His voice was low growl.
She shook her head. “Husband, I…”
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Do you believe us Saxons to be fools?”
She bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak.
“Did you expect forgiveness?”
