Nightshade by Jaide Fox Read Free Book Online

to soothe the ache between her thighs. His man’s flesh, she thought wryly, was like the rest of him, mammoth. The ache wasn’t altogether pleasurable though it stirred pleasant memories.
     
    Pushing the thoughts away, she sat up and moved from the bed to the water to bathe herself. Her inner thighs shook and groaned with effort and she bit her lip, stripping her nightrail off as quickly as her complaining body would allow. His seed had dried upon her thighs and the musky reminder of their night together tickled at her nostrils as she quickly bathed herself.
     
    She had not expected to find such joy in their coupling. Embarrassment colored her cheeks as she recalled how verbally she had displayed her pleasure, how wantonly she had encouraged him, demanded of him. What must he think of her, she wondered in sudden anxiety? She had meant only to yield, but then she had not expected to gain anything for herself. She had thought she would only give him ease.
     
    She shook that thought off. In his single-minded pursuit of his own pleasure, it seemed doubtful that he would have noticed how gloriously she’d reveled in her disgrace. Doubt speared her when she recalled that he had looked down at her as he had thrust into her body, watched her face, but she pushed that away, as well.
     
    It did not matter. He was not likely to carry tales. Perhaps he had even used some of his dark powers against her and that explained why she had enjoyed what she had never before been able even to tolerate?
     
    It had felt like magic, but not of the unearthly sort.
     
    When she had dressed, she resolutely pushed all thoughts of the night she had spent with Nightshade from her mind and went down to break her fast. She could not seem to contain the joy that kept trying to burst forth, however, the sense of hopefulness and cheerfulness that made the day seem brighter.
     
    Zella and Marta could not refrain from remarking upon it either.
     
    Embarrassed when she caught herself humming under her breath as she went about her chores and the curious gazes of the servants upon her, she tamped the urge, but it only returned and she would find herself smiling idiotically, or humming a tune.
     
    “There’s none that would like ta see ye happy, my lady, more’n me,” Marta said finally. “But the servants are beginnin’ to talk.”
     
    They were in her solar once more, where they usually gathered in the afternoon and Bronwyn had her head bent over her needlework. At Marta’s chiding tone, she felt a blush rising in her cheeks. “And what are they saying?” she asked, feeling a mixture of anger and anxiety welling in her.
     
    “That ye’re behavin’ far more like a woman in love than a widow.”
     
    Bronwyn lifted her head to gape at the woman who had tended her from her earliest memories, struggling against the guilt that flamed her cheeks.
     
    “Yer husband’s scarce cold in his grave. ‘Tisn’t at all seemly ta be goin’ about hummin’ an’ smilin’ to yerself.”
     
    The blood that had rushed to her cheeks abandoned them with a vengeance, leaving her feeling lightheaded. “Have I?” she asked self-consciously.
     
    “It’s nae my business, I know, but ye’ll nae want them gossipin’ when the king’s man arrives, else he’s liable to inform the king yer nae behavin’ like a woman in mournin’.”
     
    Bronwyn took a deep breath to steady her nerves and tamp the rush of temper that swelled inside of her. As angry as she was with Marta for telling her such things, she knew Marta was right. It didn’t matter that she had no reason to mourn her husband, that she’d felt nothing but fear and contempt for him. “I was ill--nearly died. And now I feel well. Is that not reason enough for me to feel cheerful?”
     
    “Aye--and I make no doubt its even more cheerin’ to discover yer rid of that brute of a husband. I’m only sayin’ ye should be careful to behave the way yer expected to behave.”
     
    Subdued, Bronwyn