"You truly honor me, sire, and I thank you for it," she told the monarch, taking his arm to steady him.

"You will be happy, I promise," the king said to her, and he patted her hand. "A woman is happiest when she is well wed."

"I will remember your words, my lord," she promised him.

Then in his elegant Latin, Archbishop Boniface began the ancient words to the marriage sacrament.

Chapter 15

Rafe de Beaulieu was more amused than angry when he realized he would not be able to consummate his marriage until they reached his estates. While he enjoyed female flesh, he had never been a man to casually bed a woman. The abbess made certain her niece rode by his side each day of their journey. He knew that she was attempting to foster some sort of a rapport between bride and bridegroom, but Rhonwyn was not feeling particularly cooperative. Each day he would attempt to engage her in conversation. She answered him in monosyllables. He gained far more out of her when he taunted her. She would erupt and excoriate him angrily until she realized just what it was he was doing. Then she would grow grimly silent, her lips pressed together tightly in a narrow line.

Finally one day he asked her bluntly, "Why is it that you are angry with me, Rhonwyn? I am not the one who betrayed you."

"You are a de Beaulieu," she answered him.

"So are you," he replied.

A strange look passed over her features, and then she laughed bitterly. "So I am. Twice, by marriage, I vow." Then she asked him, "Why did you wed me, Rafe?"

"For the land, of course, lady," he answered.

"And?"

"Because anyone else who might have you would have mistreated you" was the surprising reply.


"You felt sorry for me?" Her tone bordered on outrage.

"Aye," he readily agreed, "but I also lusted after you. You know how very beautiful you are. I think one reason Edward was angry at me for offering for you is that he, too, sees how lush and ripe you have become. You are no longer the avid little lass who so eagerly sought to go on crusade, Rhonwyn. You are a very desirable woman, and now you are mine."

"Edward thinks I am desirable?" she said, a small smile on her lips. Her green eyes were thoughtful.

"Could you not see the hunger for you in his eyes?" Rafe replied. "He loves my sister, make no mistake, Rhonwyn, but desire you, even briefly, he did. And the secret knowledge of it rendered him full of guilty rage. He directed that anger at you, you will recall."

"I did not see it," she said. "I was too busy defending myself from his cruel charges and half truths, my lord."

"And what do you feel for him?" Rafe asked, attempting to keep the jealousy in his voice from her.

"What should I feel for him?" she countered.

He closed his eyes a moment, and then opening them, said, "You will drive me to murder one day, lady."

"But I suspect not, my lord, before you have plundered my body and gained the pleasures that I can give you," she taunted him.

"What of the pleasures I can give you?" he returned.

"Can you?" she replied coolly. "We shall see, my lord. It is to be hoped you are more skilled in the amatory arts than Edward was. There was very little he aroused in me but a desire to have it over and done with as quickly as possible." That, Rhonwyn knew even as she spoke the words, was not entirely true, but her heart still hurt from the brutal rejection.

"You will find I am an entirely different man than my cousin," Rafe promised her. "You will long for more in my arms, and not less."

" 'Tis to be hoped your actions match or even exceed your boasting, my lord," Rhonwyn mocked him gently.

"As your aunt has so skillfully arranged our daily accommodations, lady, it will be a while longer before I may make good my gasconade," he said with an amused chuckle.

Rhonwyn was forced to laugh. "Passion is the better for the waiting," she advised him, her emerald eyes twinkling. Perhaps this marriage would not be as bad as she thought. To her surprise Rafe de Beaulieu was a humorous man, and she certainly admired his loyalty and devotion to his sister, Katherine.

"Shall I tell you how 1 intend to make love to you the first time I bed your1" he said, his silvery blue eyes making contact with hers.

Rhonwyn felt her cheeks grow warm. "You are indelicate, my lord." Was her voice shaking? Her knees suddenly felt weak as she bestrode her horse. She gripped her reins more tightly and hoped he didn't notice.

His laughter was low and insinuating. "I shall have you naked," he began sollly. "I want to see the candlelight and the firelight flickering over your body, Rhonwyn. 1 will kiss you. Not just upon the lips, but each tiny bit of your flesh will feel the touch of my mouth. You will be warm and yielding in my arms, Rhonwyn."

"How certain you are," she laughed.

"Aye, I am certain!" he said with a smile.

"What will you do when you have finished kissing me?" she demanded.

Now he laughed. He liked her boldness as long as it was reserved only for him. "I shall fondle those sweet breasts of yours and suckle upon their nipples until the flesh is swollen and aching with desire. I shall caress you until you are weak with longing."

Rhonwyn felt a small tingling beginning in her nether regions. She shifted nervously in her saddle.

He saw the motion and grinned wickedly at her. "I shall find your sweet jewel and torture it until you are creamy with your own sweet essence. Then I shall cover you with my body and enter you slowly, slowly, slowly. You shall feel me hard and throbbing my desire inside your sweet sheath, Rhonwyn. You will melt with pleasure within my arms, my beautiful bride, because, Rhonwyn, you are a woman who was meant to be loved, and there is no man on this earth who will love you as I do. And I will not be satisfied until you love me. Not make love, but love. Do you understand what it is I am saying to you?"

Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was shallow. His words aroused her in a way no man ever had. The tingle mushroomed until it shattered itself, and she sighed deeply. Then hearing his words, her eyes flew open, her look startled, her cheeks blushing guiltily.

"By the rood!" he swore softly, realizing what had happened to her. "Lady, it is all I can do not to stop this caravan and take you into the woods. My God, how you whet my appetites! Others might call you shameless. I will not, provided you keep your passion for me in the future. Praise God we shall reach Ardley tomorrow!"

"So soon?" she whispered. She was both astounded and distressed by the effect he had had on her with his wicked words.

"Not soon enough, lady," he told her frankly.

She kicked her horse into a loping canter and rode ahead of their train, the cool wind soothing the heat in her face. What had just happened was truly disturbing, and such a thing had certainly never happened to her before. I do not understand, she thought, confused. Why should this man have such an effect upon me? How can my body desire him when I do not? She shook her head, suddenly irritated. I am tired, Rhonwyn thought, of being controlled by men. First my father. Then Edward. Then the caliph, and now Rafe de Beaulieu. Why can a woman not live her own life without the interference of men?

She had surely asked the question over and over again, but had never received a proper answer to it. Glynn had said respectable women didn't run their own lives, but he had not explained why that had to be.

Only women like her aunt had a certain measure of autonomy, it seemed, but then even Gwynllian was answerable to her bishop, a man, of course. A queen could rule in her husband's absence or in her own right in certain cases, but her counselors were always men. Why not women? Why just men? Suddenly she laughed aloud at herself. She was asking questions to which there were obviously no answers. Men ruled the world, and that was all there was to it. She was married to Rafe de Beaulieu, and for better or for worse, she was going to have to make the best of it, but she didn't intend to be a docile and gentle creature like her sister-in-law, Katherine. As Rafe was now stuck with her, he would have to accept that Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn was who she was, and there would be no changing her!

Early the following afternoon they reached Ardley. Rhonwyn had to admit she was impressed by the house. Rafe always referred to his branch of the family as poor relations, but his house was hardly a humble dwelling. It was constructed of stone with a slate root and, to her surprise, fortified with a small moat that encircled the main building.

"They got royal permission for that somewhere along the line," the abbess Gwynllian noted. "Undoubtedly it is because we are so close to Wales here. The land looks prosperous, niece. You should be happy here, and it is more manageable than Haven."

"You will remain the night?" Rafe de Beaulieu asked politely.

The abbess chuckled. "Alas, sir, we cannot. I will, of course, want to satisfy my curiosity and see the inside. Afterward, however, we must be on our way. They are expecting us at St. Hilda's tonight."

There was a small wooden bridge that led across the narrow watercourse to a gravel path. They entered the house by means of a stone porch. Carved wooden screens were set on either side of the opening into the hall, which was to their left.

"The kitchen, the buttery, the pantry are on the right," Rafe said. "I have a library behind the hall where I do the estate business."

At the far end of the hall the abbess noted two oriels, one on either side of the room, that allowed much light into the room. There was. a fine large fireplace on the right. The high board was set on a low but elevated dais. The table was of well-polished oak. There were herbs sprinkled upon the floor. The house had a well-kept look about it.