The Warrior's Reward by Samantha Holt

Author:Samantha Holt [Holt, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2015-03-19T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Ieuan had spent more comfortable nights on the forest floor. He masked a groan as he rolled and found his arm tingling and painful. Slipping it out from under Rosamunde’s head, he allowed himself a breath of relief as she slept on. It had to be only just past dawn but enough light crept in through the gap in the curtains to highlight her sleeping form.

He yawned and rubbed the grittiness from his eyes. She had slept well at least. Mayhap she would be rested enough for him to finally take her as his this night. He couldn’t very well hold off any longer or else their marriage could be called into question if it was found out she was still a virgin. And while he wanted to ensure she wasn’t uncomfortable or tired or found him to be as rough and as barbaric as she believed him to be, there was only so long a man could continue with such torture.

He recalled her soft voice and even softer body. He was hard even now. Thank the Lord she hadn’t felt his arousal during the night or she might have been even more terrified of him. Rosamunde had an awful habit of rubbing her hands up and down him during the night as if searching for comfort. Whilst he wished to keep her warm, he did not want her finding anything that might startle her. His wife had to be as innocent as they came.

Sliding out of bed, he allowed himself one last look at her. Curtains drawn back slightly, the sunlight and dust motes surrounding her like a halo. Innocent. Everything about her said innocent. This burning need to bundle her to his body again jarred through his chest.

Ieuan turned away and let the curtains fall back over the bed. He did not need this distraction. He had a castle to repair and a village to see to. If she wanted to sleep in a warm castle, she’d better stay out of his way.

Shuddering as a blanket of wind wrapped around his bare legs, he found his braies and chausses and pulled them on. He wouldn’t bother with the chainmail as he only intended to ride into the village and there would be little danger there. Though Wales was fraught with peril, his home was in a position that they would be able to see potential danger from miles off. Instead he slipped his tunic on over his shirt and tied up his boots. Meanwhile gentle feminine breaths told him his wife slept on.

His wife. In such a short time, he’d gained a wife and a castle. And now a goodly amount of wealth. Not bad for a bastard.

Hand to his hair, he shoved it from his face and finger-combed it. He would clean up at the well rather than disturb Rosamunde. The water would be like ice but that might be a good thing. At present a whole ocean full of ice water would not douse the memory of Rosamunde’s naked body or the way she wound herself around him at night.

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