Cherries and apples had been stewed, made into pastries, and served fresh, garnished with flowers from the Pershwick garden so lovingly tended by its mistress. There were a dozen cheeses and wines, and a huge wedding cake with almonds and sugared figures decorating the top and sides.

Leonie tasted none of it.

The hour was late when Judith finally rose to do her duty by escorting Leonie to her chamber. By this time Rolfe was so drunk he did not notice her leaving. Leonie sent up a silent prayer that he would be in no condition to visit her. It was customary for the wedding guests to help in the disrobing for the bedding ceremony, and several women Leonie did not know came into the room with Judith and Amelia. Enough was enough, and she sent them all away.

When she was alone, Leonie quickly hid her knife beneath her pillow, hoping she would not need it. But she knew that, while Rolfe might not come to her on his own, his guests would see that he did. That might happen at any time, so she undressed quickly and climbed into the large bed. She had to give up her veil, but with the bedcurtains drawn, she would still be hidden from the guests who would enter the room with Rolfe. And with her long hair unbound, she might be able to hide her face from him, too.

She waited, shivering with tension, until at last the door crashed open and a group of men stumbled into the room bearing Rolfe d'Ambert to his marriage bed. They were all drunk, and there was much ribald jesting until Rolfe's deep angry bellow ordered everyone out. She buried herself under the covers, attuned to the slightest noise, bracing herself for the sound of the bedcurtains opening. After several agonizing moments she heard the curtain open and gave a muffled squeak of fear as his heavy weight dropped onto the bed.

Leonie held her breath until her chest ached. She cringed, imagining every horror she could, until his voice rumbled next to her. "Go to sleep. I do not rape children."

Leonie didn't try to understand what he meant. Something or other had saved her. She was so relieved that she was asleep only moments after she heard her husband's snoring.

Chapter 10

THROUGH the thick haze enveloping Rolfe's mind, he felt a soft form pressed against his chest and thighs. Amelia was not one to snuggle close to him in bed, not even for warmth, and he had been with her long enough to have that awareness deep in his mind.

Yet here was a soft form warming him in sleep, and he threw his arm around her, thrusting his hand between her breasts to rest there. She whimpered in protest, and the sound registered. With a sigh, Rolfe took his arm back and started to turn away. But her warm body snuggled even closer. Fleetingly he wondered what could have brought about this change, and again he put his arm around her. When she did not protest, he began to caress her, gently so as not to wake her. He was in no hurry and still half asleep.

His hand was discovering things that confused him. Amelia's skin seemed softer, like fine satin, and he touched no bony protrusions. Her curves were firm, yet full fleshed, her breasts fuller, too, more of a handful. He did not recall noticing all these changes . . .

Rolfe was instantly awake. It was his wife he was caressing, his wife who had managed to arouse him. He had thought her a child, but those curves belonged to no child.

The girl stirred, moving her backside against him provocatively, almost as if she sought... did she? Was she still asleep, or had he awakened her and now she was telling him to continue? He was shocked that a virgin should be so forward, but his body was reacting far more positively, blood rushing to his manhood, making him crave release despite his bewilderment and hesitation.

She had done it. She had made him want her, even though he didn't know what she looked like, but suspected the worst. It was the opportunity he had prayed for. As long as it was dark and he didn't have to look at her, he could do his duty.

Next to him, Leonie was having an extraordinary erotic dream. She had not known such feelings were possible. She clung to the dream, wanting it never to end, but she was slowly coming awake. She knew, vaguely, that she lay pressed against a man, and that his hand was touching her as no one had ever touched her before. She could not fit the man who was her husband to the man who was beside her because of the pleasure he was causing. She was set to expect pain from her husband, not these sweet sensations.

When her face began to hurt, and pain intruded, she came instantly awake. Scared, she reached under her pillow for the knife.

Rolfe was unaware that he had hurt his wife when his knuckles flicked against her bruised cheek. He meant only to move the great mass of her hair away from her face before turning her onto her back, for he was ready for her and he knew by the sounds coming from her that she was ready too. An annoying pain pricked his side, throwing him off balance.

It was several moments before he reacted to the pain, touching his side, and his fingers came away wet and sticky. He roared in anger.

Leonie, first paralyzed with fear over what she had done, scrambled from the bed when he bellowed.

Rolfe did not know she had left the bed, for he left it from his side in the same moment, making his way to the door of the antechamber where his young squire slept. He threw the door open, calling, "Get light in here, Damian! Then wake a servant. I need a change of bedlinen, and the fire needs to be built up."

Leonie dashed for the area containing her chests. A hasty search produced the bedrobe. When a light appeared outside the door, she quickly turned around to finish tying it.

This was what Rolfe saw when Damian entered the chamber with a candlestick. The sight made him catch his breath, for it was his first intimate look at his wife. She was no more than an inch or two over five feet, but what there was to her was perfectly formed. The curves were beautiful, the slim back narrowing to a tiny waist, then rounding to gently swelling hips. She lifted her hair out from beneath the robe and tossed it back like a silver cloud. Lord, she was exquisite from that view.

She went to the bed and bent to pick up the knife she had dropped, but he drew closer, saw what she was reaching for, and shouted, "Leave it, madame!"

Leonie jumped back, frightened, and nearly flew to the shadowed part of the room. It was stupid, so stupid to have hurt him, for now her hurt would be doubled. She had only made things worse for herself.

Rolfe stared furiously at her huddled form, wondering what she had hoped to accomplish with the tiny knife. The blade was not big enough to do him great damage. The cut in his side was no more than a pin prick compared to the wounds he had suffered in all his battles. Perhaps she hadn't meant to hurt him. Perhaps the stabbing was an accident. Yet she'd had the blade in bed with her. Why?

Rolfe stiffened as the thought intruded. Had she meant to prick herself with the blade and smear blood on the sheets because she had no other blood to give up? How foolish to try that old trick. He didn't care that she had come to him without being a virgin, but he did not like it at all that she'd meant to deceive him.

He liked it even less when two maids that came in to change the bedlinen looked first at him and then at his wife in surprise. He could see by their expressions that they'd drawn the same conclusion he had. The story would no doubt be well laughed-over within a day.

"Damian," Rolfe said while the maids saw to the fire, "get me the thickest bandage you can find and bind up this cut. I want no blood on the sheets except my wife's."

He heard the gasp that came from the shadows, but he did not look at her. Let her begin to feel the shame she deserved to feel. If, in the morning, there was no blood on the sheets to attest to her purity, she would have to live with shame.

Leonie turned cold as she heard him speak and considered what the man meant to do to her. She was amazed that he would admit before others that he meant to harm her. All of a sudden she had a desire to take a good look at this man who was so utterly despicable. She raised her head just enough for her one good eye to focus on him. He was not looking her way, but he was illuminated by the firelight, so she allowed herself a bold appraisal, the very first she'd had.

He had seated himself on a stool by the hearth, with a sheet draped over his loins. The bright flames cast enough light for her to see him clearly. Her husband? Please, no. It would be too cruel to be married to this beautiful young man, knowing that he could inspire only hate in her.

She knew why he was called the Black Wolf, when it was actually a silver wolf on a black field sewn on his banner. The name was for his dark coloring, his black hair and eyes. The hair that covered the rest of his body was just as black, especially the thick mat on his chest.

She did not find his darkness unpleasant. Far from it—too far in fact.

God help her, the sight of him was enough to take her breath away. His body was overwhelmingly masculine, rock-hard and muscular, big, frightening. But it was his rugged face that was so arresting, framed by the shaggy cut of his black hair, hair that curled on neck, temple, and forehead. His lips were drawn tight just then, but that did not detract from their sensual fullness. His brow was wide, the nose straight and bold, the square jaw smooth and finely defined and aggressive.

It was a beautifully handsome face. How awful that the man behind it was a monster, cold, heartless, vindictive. For a man to have the face of an angel and the heart of a devil was worth crying over.