and lame.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now! He’s also called Vulcan, isn’t he? Did you name him Hephaestus because he’s as black as the smoke from a smith’s forge, or a blacksmith’s anvil?”
“I like the name, and he’s a clever beast.”
“You sound proud of him.”
“He is the first horse I have ever truly owned. The first I chose for myself.” He slid her another glance, not so sharp or searching. “Despite my father’s wealth, I’ve had little I could call my own.”
“I can say the same,” she replied, thinking they had this in common, at least. “That’s why I thought he wouldn’t let me have Sweetling.”
Roland raised his hand to halt the cortege. They had come to a bridge over a swiftly moving, narrow river. Tall beeches and aspens lined the banks, and a part of the edge sloped down to the water. The trees were bare, the ground hard and one bold squirrel chattered at them from above.
“We’ll rest and water the horses here,” Roland announced, sliding from the saddle.
“I’d like to walk about a bit,” Mavis said, looking at him expectantly.
He helped her dismount, then abruptly turned and marched off along the bank of the river, away from where Arnhelm, Verdan and the rest of the men were watering the horses and ox.
It was too cold to simply stand and wait, so Mavis gathered up her skirts and followed her husband. His pace was brisk until he came to a halt some distance from the others in a pretty spot shielded by graceful willows and where the clear water rushed over the rocks beneath.
He appeared startled when he saw her. “You should stay with the wagon,” he said. “There is a wineskin and some bread and cheese.”
“I’d rather be with you.”
To that, he said nothing. But since he didn’t appear angry and he didn’t send her back, she said, “Isn’t it a pity winter has to come? I wish it could always be summer.”
“I like the cold.”
“Because you’re from Yorkshire, I suppose. I’ve heard the dales are quite windy and barren.”
“And cold.”
Clearly he didn’t care if he was painting an attractive picture of Yorkshire or not. Nevertheless, he was talking.
“If Yorkshire is cold, I hope your castle will be warm.” She decided she would have to be bold if she were to learn if he desired her, or had only wed her for the alliance. “Although if it’s chilly inside as well as out, we’ll simply have to spend more time under the blankets.”
She might have been wrong, but she thought his cheeks turned pinker, as if he was blushing. She would never have guessed that a man like Roland would blush, yet apparently he did.
But he was also frowning, his eyes hard as stone, and he very sternly said, “It will be warm enough.”
Such an answer and such a look might have dismayed and silenced her before, but because of that blush, she dared to say, “Nevertheless, we shall have to spend some time beneath the blankets if we’re to have a child.”
“A child?” he repeated, as if such a thing had never occurred to him.
“You do want children, don’t you, my lord?” she asked.
“What nobleman doesn’t want an heir?” he replied. He tugged down his tunic. “You took me aback. Having only recently become the lord of Dunborough, I hadn’t yet considered an heir of my own.”
She took some comfort from the knowledge that he hadn’t married her only to produce an heir.
“I’m happy to hear you want a child, my lord,” she said softly. There was a chance, of course, that the child could be a girl, but she was not going to suggest that. Once, in a rage, her father had told her that daughters were useless except in trade, and she didn’t want to learn that Roland shared the same opinion.
“Can I assume then, my lady, that you also wish to have children?”
“Yes.” She took a chance that she might hear something that would upset her and added, “A child will also strengthen the alliance between our families.”
“I had not considered that.”
Did that mean he hadn’t considered that a child would strengthen the alliance, or that he hadn’t considered the alliance at all when he asked her to be his bride?
He studied her face with even more intensity. “So you will do your duty?”
“I didn’t marry you because of duty,” she said firmly. “I wed you because I wished to. As for why you married me—”
She fell silent and waited for him to answer. To hear from his own lips why he had married her.
He didn’t answer, not with words. He gathered her into his arms and took her lips with an almost desperate passion, that wistful yearning made manifest with his embrace.
As she eagerly responded, she could believe no alliance or the need for an heir had brought them together and made them man and wife. They were united by another kind of need—for affection, for respect, for security in a world that was too often volatile and uncertain.
She put her hands on his broad chest and slowly slid them to his shoulders, wrapping her arms about his neck and leaning into his body. Her legs turned to water when he pressed her body closer to his and slid his tongue between her open, willing lips.
It didn’t matter where they were, or that the air was cool, for she was hot with need. Gasping, anxious, ready and willing, she broke the kiss and hurried to untie the drawstring of his breeches while he moved her so that her back was against the wide tree trunk.
The instant he was free, she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him again. He pulled up her skirts and, with his hands beneath her buttocks, lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him and uttered a soft cry of pleasure as he plunged inside her. There up against the tree they made love like wild, primitive creatures with but one need and that was to mate.
In a few short moments she buried her face in his neck to stifle the exclamation that burst from her throat, while he gripped her tight and made a sound like a cross between a growl and a gasp.
“My lord!” Arnhelm called a short distance away.
They stilled at once.
“My lord, the horses are watered!”
Hot, disheveled, embarrassed but not ashamed, Mavis slowly slid to the ground. Red-faced and silent, Roland turned away to tie his breeches while she adjusted her skirts and tucked a stray lock of hair back into place.
Then he held out his arm to escort her back to the cortege as if they’d done nothing more than admire the view.
* * *
“Good God, you don’t mean t’say they did it right there?” Verdan demanded in
