He kissed her and prodded at her lips with his tongue. They trembled and parted to allow him access to the soft flesh behind, though she kept her teeth together. He fondled her breasts through the cotton of her dress—lovely full, firm breasts. And he pressed his palm down over her ribs and stomach and abdomen until he could push his fingers down between her legs and feel the heat of her there. He felt her stiffen before she relaxed again.
He kept his hand where it was as he lifted his head and looked down into her flushed face. “Are you a virgin, Ceris?” he asked. He did not know quite how he would feel if the answer was no.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He tightened his hand a little. “Let me show you how pleasant it will be to lose it,” he said. “Here, Ceris, in the warm sunshine? And on Sunday I will have the banns called in church for the first time.”
He watched her gnawing at her lower lip while her eyes roamed over his face. “If it is very important to you, Matthew,” she said. “But if it is all the same to you, I would prefer to wait.”
“For a marriage bed?” It was very important to him. He was hard and throbbing, and denying himself would cause several minutes of acute pain. She had not said no. And he would make it pleasant for her. He knew how, even though he had never broken in a virgin. “The marriage bed it will be, then.”
He lay down beside her and set his arm over his eyes again. He tried to focus his thoughts on something other than his arousal.
“Thank you, Matthew,” she said.
“What do you know about the Rebecca Riots?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she said very much too quickly, her voice breathless.
Ah. “It seems very possible,” he said, “that there are rioters here in and around Glynderi as there are everywhere else.”
“No,” she said. “I think not, Matthew. I would know. There has been no mention. Everyone is law-abiding about here. No one has reason to be so foolish.”
It pained him to know that she would lie to him when she had just agreed to be his wife. Though he had known that she would. He ought not to have introduced the subject. He had not meant to. He should drop it. He should take her back home. If he kept her out much longer, her parents would imagine that he was doing to her what he had just asked her to let him do.
“I suppose you are right,” he said. “I have told Wyvern as much. It is a waste to keep constables here, I have told him, when they could be used to better effect elsewhere.”
“Yes,” she said. “It is foolish.”
“Those men from other places,” he said, “and their Rebecca—it was thought by some that they might be out again last night. There are those of us who know that almost certainly it will be tonight. A trap is being set for them if they but knew it. The Earl of Wyvern has one or two reliable informers, and we know exactly where they will attack next. There will be a reception committee awaiting them there. I believe we can hope to catch the leaders at the very least—Rebecca, Charlotte, some of the other so-called daughters. We will nip this thing in the bud tonight. It is a good thing that no one from around Tegfan is involved.”
No, he did not imagine it. He was holding her hand. It turned cold and clammy in his grasp. And he was furious with her and furious with himself for ruining the afternoon. It was tonight, then. He had guessed correctly. Whom would she try to warn? The blacksmith? And what sort of a hell of a night would she have, imagining all the various traps her people might be walking into?
He hated himself for teasing her. When she was his wife it would be as well if he did move away from here so that her loyalties would not be divided. When she was his wife, she was going to be his. All his. He was going to have all her loyalty and all her love for himself.
But a thought came to him suddenly. What if he took it a little further than teasing? If he was right, and if he had scared her sufficiently that she would try to warn someone, he could discover the identity of at least one follower of Rebecca. It would be difficult to prove, though, that she had called on that person for that particular reason. He frowned. He would have to prevent her from giving her warning too early. If there really was to be an attack tonight and she arrived too late to warn her friends, would she follow them, hoping to prevent disaster? Was Ceris brave enough to do that? And did she care enough? He thought so. With any luck she would lead him and a few constables, and perhaps even Wyvern, to a gate smashing and to Rebecca himself. And he would be the one everyone would have to thank for it.
But he would be using Ceris to trap her own people. And he was in love with Ceris. He wished fervently that he had not touched on this subject at all.
He scrambled to his feet and stood looking down the slope to the house for a few moments. Then he turned and reached down a hand for hers.
“It is time I took you home, Ceris,” he said.
“Yes.” She allowed him to pull her up and busied herself brushing grass from her skirt and picking up the empty picnic basket. Her face was like parchment. Even her lips looked bloodless.
“We will call at Tegfan first,” he said. “There is something I must do there. It will take only a few minutes. And then home.” He smiled. “I will come inside with you and we will tell your parents our news, shall we?”
“Yes, Matthew.” She made a pitiful attempt at a smile.
Once inside her father’s house, he would be invited to stay. He would do so, even staying past his welcome if necessary. Past the time when Rebecca and all her followers could be warned to abandon tonight’s outing.
Chapter 20
IT was a night that was sometimes almost light and sometimes almost pitch-black. Clouds had moved over the sky since the afternoon, though they were not in a solid mass. Sometimes the moon and stars beamed down; sometimes they were obscured.
Idris Parry made his way uphill with dawdling steps in the direction of home. He kicked a few stones as he went and then remembered that he was wearing his new boots and had been warned to take care of them. He stopped to take them off and hang them about his neck by the laces. He felt more comfortable in his bare feet, anyway.
How boring it was to be nine years old! He wished he was old enough to join in all the excitement with Rebecca. It was not fair that only men were allowed to go—and Mrs. Evans. He had considered going himself—he had just been watching all the hushed excitement of the gathering—but a boy his size would be spotted in a moment, even on the darkest night, and he would be sent home. Or, worse, his dada would be called and he would have his trews pulled down and his backside walloped in sight of everyone else. In sight of Rebecca.
