Chosen for the Marriage Bed by Anne O'Brien Read Free Book Online Page A

gave the impression that the last thing she wanted was to spend a night in his arms, as if the act of love would be nothing more for her than an assault, the touch of his flesh against hers simply a matter of loath some tolerance. Richard prayed wordlessly to God that she would not flinch from him. He could not—really could not—tolerate his wife shrinking from him yet again.

Chapter Four
    L edenshall looked cold and rain-washed from the vantage point of Elizabeth’s bedchamber, with a nasty little teasing wind, but she felt no inclination to remain in her bed.
    ‘This is now my home,’ she stated firmly to the empty room.
    Weeks of rules and in sis tent bells had awakened her before first light. With the stir of the castle around her as the servants took up their duties for the day, and no urgent need to break her fast, Elizabeth was driven by a desire to explore. She pulled on the first gown to hand, hating the coarse material, but it was not as if she had a choice in the matter, even if the garment had curled Lady Anne’s mischievously disdainful lips. She covered it with a heavy fur-lined cloak borrowed from one of the clothes presses. Considerably shorter than Elizabeth’s own garments, barely reaching down to her ankles, yet it was fine and luxurious, better than anything she had ever possessed. Elizabeth pulled the collar close around her throat with a little shiver of pleasure at the touch of the soft fur, and would have left to begin her investigations until she remembered, with a little moue of distaste. Hurriedly she pinned a plain linen veil into place to hide her shame from the view of any interested eyes.

    For the next hour she indulged her own whims with no one to hinder or forbid. From the main family rooms in a comparatively new wing, she descended into the Great Hall, remnant of the original castle with its square keep. Here the windows were still arrow-slits, the roof timbers high above her head, the spaces vast and the draughts lethal enough to swirl the smoke and shiver the tapestries that deco rated the walls.
    On to the kitchens, where, with a brief smile and a word of greeting, Elizabeth accepted the offered heel of a loaf, before climbing the outer stair case to the battlements, to look out over the bare hills and leafless trees, the muddy track leading back to Llanwardine. Her spirits lifted. By the Virgin, she would never return there! Then back down to the stables, brushing crumbs from her fingers and the damask of the cloak. The chapel. Pantries and store rooms, a rabbit-warren of corridors and doors. Aware of the glances and whispered comment from soldiers and servants who knew this inquisitive newcomer was to be their mistress.

    Richard Malinder, another early riser, watched her investigate. He saw the flutter of movement, saw her emerge from the Great Hall in a well-worn cloak which swirled some ten inches from the ground as the tall figure strode across the inner court yard. Noted the energy, the light, confident step as the lady explored his home. Her curiosity, her quick agility as she ran up the stair case, striding around to inspect the view on all four sides. And she talked to people as she passed. The guards on duty. His steward, Master Kilpin, answered some query with a nod and a wave of his arm. The servant girls from the dairy. Anyone who crossed her path. It was as if the pale, damply reserved creature of the previous day had been reborn, a butterfly, if still a sombre one, so perhaps a moth—his lips twitched—emerging from a dull chrysalis.
    He should speak with her. He had agreed to take her in matrimony, had he not? Lord Richard had to resist a sigh after that one vivid memory of her, naked and vulnerable, wary as a wild hare before the hunting dogs. No time for regrets now. He climbed the stair case to meet his betrothed where she leaned on the stone parapet to look to the distant Welsh hills.
    Elizabeth turned quickly at the sound of his boots on stone. Solemn, her