Page 67
Chapter 27
“Tonight, we forget about the rebellion,” Conrad whispered to his wife.
Freshly dressed, newly married, they sat beside each other on Sarnac’s raised dais, honored guests. Even so, he’d arranged to be seated at the very end of the table, not wishing to share Cait with the others just yet. He snagged a morsel of meat from their shared trencher.
“Tonight,” he said, just before placing it in his mouth, “we celebrate.”
Conrad had never been happier in his life.
At first he’d thought Terric was jesting about marrying them, but the look in his eyes had assured him his friend was quite serious. There was trust and respect in his gaze, and a fair measure of you will marry my sister after being alone with her, which he’d expected. He had known it from the moment he’d chosen not to force her back to Licheford.
She might deserve a better man, or at least one who was not about to risk his life, but Conrad could no sooner stay away from Cait for a single night more than he could call off the whole rebellion. The torture of holding her, pleasuring her, without full consummation . . .
The memory of Cait’s hand wrapped around him made him hard even now, sitting in the hall, with hundreds of men and a few women staring up at them.
He’d have given her a grand wedding, if he’d been able.
But Conrad vowed, at least, to give her the wedding night she deserved.
“Husband.”
He finished chewing, the spiced meat tender but not so delicious as his wife’s expression.
“I enjoy saying it.”
Conrad’s response was cut short by their host, who pounded the table with his mug to quiet the hall.
“A toast to the new bride and groom! To the man who brought us all together and the one who will lead us through the gates of Aldgate three days hence.”
He would not celebrate that feat prematurely, but Conrad did raise his mug in deference to the woman he now called wife. She beamed, her smile as radiant as the sun.
The audience’s cheers and banging mugs did not appear to be ceasing. The sound echoed through the hall, louder and louder until Conrad leaned over to Cait.
“Kiss me.”
She didn’t hesitate.
His wife leaned up to him, and Conrad kissed her so thoroughly Terric finally shouted, “Enough, ’tis my sister!” next to her. The crowd laughed, and drank some more.
Taking advantage of the jovial mood, Conrad stood, unwilling to wait a moment longer. Cait joined him, and as he’d expected, the crowd roared. Guy and Lance, along with their wives, smiled as he took Cait’s hand and led her from the hall. His gaze lingered longest on Terric, who was laughing, a sound Conrad had sorely missed.
He didn’t let go of Cait until they reached their chamber. Not his. Nor hers. Theirs.
Smiling at her, Conrad slowly opened the door.
He had been explicit earlier in his request to Sarnac. The man had done much for the movement—his agreement to host the forces likely placed him second on the monarch’s list of rebel barons—and yet he had come through again.
The quite ordinary room he’d occupied for a bath earlier had been transformed, filled with deep pink camellias mixed with crocuses the color of Cait’s kirtle.
“’Tis beautiful,” she said softly.
Candles sat in every crevice of the chamber, and the fire had recently been stoked. Silently thanking his host once again, Conrad wasted no time. Gathering Cait in his arms, he murmured his agreement.
The kiss, as sweet as the one he’d given her in the hall, quickly became much more. He’d had a taste, but now Conrad wanted it all. Reaching behind her, he deftly unlaced the back of her gown, his fingers actually trembling. That day at the tournament, when she’d asked him to “meet me briefly by the river,” he’d little thought the beautiful, timid, and bold young woman would one day become his wife.
Unlaced, he gathered both sides of her gown in his hands and lifted it above her head. Cait’s shift was next to go. As she reached down then to untie the laces on her boots, Conrad focused on ridding himself of his own clothing, knowing their night might be over before it started were he to look upon his wife’s breasts as she stripped off her stockings.
Slowly, Conrad.
