oversight.”
“Why do you have enemies, Ieuan?”
“Every man has enemies.” He offered a quick, dry smile. “And now I have wealth and a beautiful wife. I shall not gain friends through this marriage.” His gaze dropped to her fingers wrapped around her hair and then down her gown. “Hell’s teeth,” he muttered and stepped forward.
She startled for a moment, not prepared for his sudden movement. Then he took her hands and spoke as though she were a horse ready to bolt. “You’re shaking. Forgive me, I meant not to frighten you.”
Peering at her hands, she realised she was indeed shaking. In truth, she trembled from head to toe, the fine silk of her gown shivering like a leaf in the wind. A mud-smeared, torn leaf at that.
“I am n-not frightened.” At least she did not think she was. Certainly not of Ieuan.
Regardless, he drew her close and wrapped her in a warm embrace. She tilted her head to avoid the touch of hard chainmail—his surcoat did little to hide the unforgiving metal—but with her nose pressed into his bristled neck and those powerful arms encasing her, she felt far from uncomfortable. She could happily stay in his embrace for days on end.
When the shivers that wracked her had subsided, he eased her away. “Come, we must journey on or we shall not make our next stop before nightfall.” Hands to her shoulders, he eyed her gravely. “You must forgive my lack of judgement with Phylip. I swore to your father I would protect you and protect you I will. ‘Twill not happen again.”
Rosamunde imagined that exchange between the two men and perhaps understood better why her father had given her up to this man. Her other suitors had not been made for battle. While their wealth might have offered some protection, political intrigue was always a dangerous game and she doubted she could have counted on those men to protect her physically if needs be. Was that why she was given to the Welshman? To keep her far away from court and the battles of greedy men? She supposed it made more sense than any other reason she could come up with.
When she recognised he was awaiting a response, she nodded slowly. His grip became more insistent.
“I swear it, Rosamunde.”
“Aye, Ieuan. ‘Tis well enough. I do not doubt it.”
With that, he curled an arm about her shoulders and led her back to the carriage. Aye, there was no doubting this warrior would protect her and, while the fear in her body was slowly draining away, it was being replaced by the simmering tension again. It was the one that made her body cry out for his touch. The one that sent heat soaring through her and created an ache low in her belly. But he didn’t want her, she reminded herself. So that heat and ache would have to be forgotten. She blew out a breath. This marriage was going to be a trial indeed.
Chapter Eleven
“We shall be able to see the keep in just a moment.” Ieuan glanced at his wife. She had to be wearied but she didn’t show it. Her posture atop the horse was proud—her shoulders straight, chin lifted. He felt exhausted, however. Exhausted and frustrated. It had only been two nights since they had said their marriage vows, but his need to get her into bed and consummated made him feel as though he had been waiting ten summers for her.
He drew in a breath of Welsh air and held it in his lungs, waiting for it to restore him. But, alas, it did not. Only lying with his wife would do that. And how was he meant to prove himself more than a Welsh barbarian if his blood was fired with need when the time came?
Grip tight around his reins, he motioned for Huw to continue on. He hadn’t helped his situation but not knowing the true nature of Phylip either. Rosamunde said she was no longer scared, but he doubted that. He supposed at least the incident had made her a little more obedient. She had not gone far on her own since.
However, he’d feel much better when he had her behind the stone walls of his castle. Crumbling as
“Why do you have enemies, Ieuan?”
“Every man has enemies.” He offered a quick, dry smile. “And now I have wealth and a beautiful wife. I shall not gain friends through this marriage.” His gaze dropped to her fingers wrapped around her hair and then down her gown. “Hell’s teeth,” he muttered and stepped forward.
She startled for a moment, not prepared for his sudden movement. Then he took her hands and spoke as though she were a horse ready to bolt. “You’re shaking. Forgive me, I meant not to frighten you.”
Peering at her hands, she realised she was indeed shaking. In truth, she trembled from head to toe, the fine silk of her gown shivering like a leaf in the wind. A mud-smeared, torn leaf at that.
“I am n-not frightened.” At least she did not think she was. Certainly not of Ieuan.
Regardless, he drew her close and wrapped her in a warm embrace. She tilted her head to avoid the touch of hard chainmail—his surcoat did little to hide the unforgiving metal—but with her nose pressed into his bristled neck and those powerful arms encasing her, she felt far from uncomfortable. She could happily stay in his embrace for days on end.
When the shivers that wracked her had subsided, he eased her away. “Come, we must journey on or we shall not make our next stop before nightfall.” Hands to her shoulders, he eyed her gravely. “You must forgive my lack of judgement with Phylip. I swore to your father I would protect you and protect you I will. ‘Twill not happen again.”
Rosamunde imagined that exchange between the two men and perhaps understood better why her father had given her up to this man. Her other suitors had not been made for battle. While their wealth might have offered some protection, political intrigue was always a dangerous game and she doubted she could have counted on those men to protect her physically if needs be. Was that why she was given to the Welshman? To keep her far away from court and the battles of greedy men? She supposed it made more sense than any other reason she could come up with.
When she recognised he was awaiting a response, she nodded slowly. His grip became more insistent.
“I swear it, Rosamunde.”
“Aye, Ieuan. ‘Tis well enough. I do not doubt it.”
With that, he curled an arm about her shoulders and led her back to the carriage. Aye, there was no doubting this warrior would protect her and, while the fear in her body was slowly draining away, it was being replaced by the simmering tension again. It was the one that made her body cry out for his touch. The one that sent heat soaring through her and created an ache low in her belly. But he didn’t want her, she reminded herself. So that heat and ache would have to be forgotten. She blew out a breath. This marriage was going to be a trial indeed.
Chapter Eleven
“We shall be able to see the keep in just a moment.” Ieuan glanced at his wife. She had to be wearied but she didn’t show it. Her posture atop the horse was proud—her shoulders straight, chin lifted. He felt exhausted, however. Exhausted and frustrated. It had only been two nights since they had said their marriage vows, but his need to get her into bed and consummated made him feel as though he had been waiting ten summers for her.
He drew in a breath of Welsh air and held it in his lungs, waiting for it to restore him. But, alas, it did not. Only lying with his wife would do that. And how was he meant to prove himself more than a Welsh barbarian if his blood was fired with need when the time came?
Grip tight around his reins, he motioned for Huw to continue on. He hadn’t helped his situation but not knowing the true nature of Phylip either. Rosamunde said she was no longer scared, but he doubted that. He supposed at least the incident had made her a little more obedient. She had not gone far on her own since.
However, he’d feel much better when he had her behind the stone walls of his castle. Crumbling as
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