raging desire. His hand went about her neck, his thumb digging into the soft flesh. "You are my wife," he said in a low voice. "You are mine!"
She resisted him with all her strength, but it was nothing compared to his. Easily, he pulled Judith's face to his. "Never will I belong to you!" she spat at him before his lips closed on hers.
Gavin meant to be gentle with her, but she enraged him. This woman made him want to curse her, to strike her again. But most of all he wanted to possess her. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers.
Judith tried to move away from him; he hurt her. This was no sweet kiss of the afternoon, but more of a punishment to discipline her. She tried to kick at him, but the sheet that separated them entangled her feet and she could hardly move.
"I will help you," Gavin said and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress. His hand still held Judith's neck, and when the sheet was gone and she lay nude before him, he relaxed his grip as he gazed upon her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, small waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could have stopped him from taking her. He acted as a starving man—one desperate for food—who would kill or maim to get what he must have.
He pushed her to the mattress and Judith saw the look in his eyes. She did not understand it, but she was afraid of it. He planned more than a cuff of his fist now. Of that she was sure.
"No!" she whispered and struggled against him.
Gavin was a seasoned knight. Judith had no more strength to him than a gnat to a piece of granite. And he paid her as much attention. He did not make love to her, but used her body. He was beyond thinking of her as anything but what he desired and so desperately needed. He moved on top of her, one thigh forcing hers apart. He kissed her again, hard.
When Gavin felt the tiny membrane that stopped him, for a moment he was bewildered. But he plunged on, oblivious to the pain he caused Judith.
When she cried out, he stopped her lips with his and continued.
After he finished, he rolled from her, one heavy arm across her breasts.
It had been a release for him, but for Judith there had been nothing resembling pleasure.
In minutes, she heard his slow breathing and she knew he was asleep.
Silently, she slipped from under his arm and left the bed. The coverlet of squirrel pelts had been knocked to the floor. She picked it up and encircled her body with it. She stared at the fire, telling herself she would not cry. Why should she cry? Married against her will to a man who vowed, on her wedding day, that he would never love her, could never love her. A man who told her she was nothing to him. What reason had she to cry when the life before her appeared to be so pleasant? Could she look forward to years of doing little else but bearing his children, sitting at home while he roamed the countryside with his beautiful Alice?
She would not! She would find her own life and, if possible, her own love. Her husband would come to mean as little as possible to her.
She stood silently, controlling her tears, and all she could seem to remember was the sweetness of Gavin's kiss that afternoon, so different from his attack of tonight.
Gavin stirred in the bed and opened his eyes. At first he did not recall where he was. He turned his head, saw the emptiness beside him. She had gone! Every inch of his skin tightened until he noticed Judith in front of the fireplace. He did not think of his sudden fear, but was relieved that she was still with him. She seemed to be in another world and did not hear him turn onto his back. The sheets were liberally sprinkled with blood and Gavin frowned at them. He knew he'd hurt her, but he didn't understand why. Alice had been a virgin when he took her, but she had shown no pain.
He looked back at his wife, so small, so alone. It was true he had