Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

His answer seemed to rouse her, for she stopped staring at the Cathedral entrance long enough to dart him a quick sideways look. ‘Aye, sir, as you wish.’ And with that her gaze returned to the door.

He shook his head. He was eternally grateful that his heart was not involved in this betrothal, but it was galling to have a woman hardly react when a man agreed to wed her. What was going on?

‘You make me very happy,’ he said dryly. ‘I must inform you that I have had a scribe write to the Duke saying formally that you will take your sister’s place. I will not change my mind. Do you think there can at least be amity between us?’

A swift nod, a cursory glance, and once again her eyes slid away from his, back to the great door.

Adam sighed and determinedly walked her round the outer wall of the north transept. She came meekly enough. In the lee of the wall they were, as he had hoped, shielded completely from watchful eyes and the noise and bustle of the forecourt. At the heart of Winchester, they had for a few moments a world to themselves—albeit a small one—bounded on one side by the wall of the Cathedral and on the other by a wooden fence the height of a man.

White teeth were worrying away at her bottom lip.

With careful determination, Adam manoeuvred her against the wall. When she offered no resistance, some of the tension began to leave him. And when he saw that the panic was dying from her eyes, he relaxed further, reaching up to touch her mouth, fingers as gentle as he could make them. She was so tiny. Next to her he felt huge and ungainly. ‘No need to eat yourself up with anxiety,’ he murmured, voice suddenly husky. ‘I know you are innocent, a maid. When we wed I will be gentle, take care of you.’

Her eyes were huge and fastened on his. He felt her tremble. Forgive me, Gwenn. Telling himself that Gwenn was not here, while this girl most definitely was, he slid his fingers across her cheek—so soft—and under the starched edge of her wimple. He held her head steady, keeping his touch light, and slowly, so she could have no doubt what he was about and could break free if she wished, he lowered his lips to hers.

Warm. Her lips were warm and sweet.

Adam wanted to linger, but he knew better. Pure—she is pure. Easing back after the lightest of kisses, careful to keep the rest of his body away from her, he looked into her face. Her expression was startled; her colour had risen; her breath was coming faster. But there was no fear—not of him. He’d wager Flame on that.

He smiled. ‘Lady Cecily, I make you this promise. I will marry you, but I will never force you. We shall wait to consummate our marriage until you are ready.’

‘I…I thank you, but I was not always in the convent. My mother explained something of the duties of a wife to me. Our marriage will not be a true one unless it is consummated. I will not refuse you, sir.’

More reassured by her words than he cared to admit, Adam stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and was startled to realise that his heartbeat was not as steady as it should be. Which was odd, given that she was the one lacking in experience, not he. ‘Adam—my name is Adam,’ he reminded her once again. ‘And, since you are my betrothed, it is not unseemly for you to address me by it.’

‘Adam.’

Her cheeks had gone the colour of wild roses. She lowered her gaze, but Adam would have none of that. He looked at her mouth, aching for another, deeper kiss. This was just lust, he told himself. It had been an age since he had loved his Gwenn. The tender feeling he had for this girl was not dawning love, it was mere lust. He wanted to kiss her and he would kiss her. It did not mean anything—not as it had done with Gwenn. He could kiss Cecily Fulford without putting his heart at risk. He tipped her chin up. ‘Kiss me again, little Cecily.’

‘If you would free me, S…Adam.’

Belatedly Adam remembered his hold on her wrist. He opened his fingers. ‘My apologies. I did not mean to constrain you.’

Shyly, she smiled and looked at his mouth.

Their lips met. This kiss began innocently, as the first one had, with no more than their lips touching. Adam withdrew, then kissed her again. And again. Light kiss after light kiss. Another, another.

Cecily stood passive under his measured onslaught, and then, when Adam felt his control was about to snap—for he burned to sweep her into his arms and press her against the wall with his body—he felt the touch of a hand on his. Their fingers entwined. A small response, but one that had a jolt of sensation sweeping through him to his groin.

Startled, he pulled back. He had never been profligate. Gwenn had always been the world to him. His response to Cecily’s delicate touch caught him unawares. It was hot. Urgent. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes rested against her cheeks, her lips were trustfully lifted to his. He fought down a groan. Such innocence, it could tear a man apart.

Experimentally, Adam touched his tongue to the fullness of her lower lip. He heard her indrawn breath. Her eyes remained shut. He repeated the gesture with her top lip. She leaned towards him. He took her other hand and moved closer, so they stood a mere inch apart, fingers clinging. Adam wanted to press his body close, so he could feel her breasts against his chest, but she was wearing his cloak and he his padded leather gambeson—and besides, it was full day, and they were in the middle of the old Saxon capital behind St Swithun’s Cathedral, and he was Duke William’s knight and a grown man, and he ought to know better…

It was so innocent, this gentle kissing. He was likely the first to kiss her. She did not know how to respond to a man, and had yet to open her mouth, but Adam had never felt so aroused in his life. Making certain he kept his lower body clear of her, for fear his ardour would frighten her, he rubbed his cheek against hers, pressing kisses against her neck, absorbing her scent.

She gave a soft moan. He nudged her headdress aside and managed to kiss her ear, nipping softly at the lobe. Another little moan. And when he next nuzzled her neck she turned her face into his, and he was almost certain…yes, it was only the most fleeting of touches, but she kissed his neck back.

He worked his way back to her mouth, gradually, oh, so gradually, increasing the pressure of his lips against hers. Kissing, kissing, kissing, hungry for a stronger response from her…

‘Cecily,’ he groaned. ‘Sweet Mother, open your mouth.’

Dazed blue eyes met his. ‘Wh…what?’

He dropped her hands and took her face in his. ‘Relax your jaw, sweetheart. Let me in. Like this…’

She jolted in his hands when his tongue first pushed past her teeth. She quivered, but she did not draw back. He took his time, letting her grow accustomed. And then, all at once, it was as though his kiss had brought her to life. Her arms slid up and around his neck and she held his head to hers, even altering the angle of her head to grant him better access. Her tongue flickered over his in a tentative response.

Yes! Smiling, Adam tried to raise his head, but with a murmur she held him close, and then it was she who was covering his face with kisses, it was she who was kissing, kissing, kissing…

Her fingers tunnelled into his hair. She was stroking and petting his head so much his ears burned. If this was a taste of what was to come in their marriage bed, Cecily Fulford might bring him great joy.

Closing his eyes, Adam held still while untutored fingertips explored his eyebrows, his cheekbones, the shape of his lips. Still smiling—he could not seem to stop—he gently trapped her forefinger in his teeth.

She gave a little laugh and his eyes flew open.

A curl of long yellow hair peeped out from under her wimple. Idly, still using every ounce of control not to pounce on her and devour her as he wished, he wound it round his fingers. With her cheeks flushed, her lips red with his kisses and her bosom heaving, she was temptation incarnate.