Free Yearning Heart by Zelma Orr Page B

crushed softness of her mouth, cheeks pink where his beard scraped, eyes a deep, deep blue, full of wonder at his words and at what he had done to her body.
    “Do not tell me all young ladies think otherwise. But, pretty or not, I mean what I say about a thrashing. Remember that.”
    With that, he pulled the cover up, kissed her mouth hard and turned to stride from the room. She did not see him again that evening. Instead, she lay staring into the darkness, thinking of the torment her body endured at Stephen's hands. It was certainly what every bride suffered according to her mother and Malvina. But Malvina said it would not hurt past the first time.
    Still, it wasn't too unpleasant. There was something warm about Stephen holding her tightly, forcing himself into her, and crying out when he spent his seed inside her.
    Would she be pregnant? It would be weeks before she knew since her flux had only just ceased.
    * * * *
    In the days that followed, Stephen came several times to her bed, to caress her body and to strain himself against her before giving in to his desire and plunging time and again into her. His appetite for love satisfied, he sometimes raised himself on elbow to look at her with questions in the deep blue eyes.
    One night he asked, “Do you not enjoy my body, Rebecca?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Of course?” He looped her hair around two fingers and with those two fingers, lightly caressed her lips. “Tell me how you want me to love you to make it more than just ‘of course.'”
    “I do not know what you mean.”
    “Women have been known to enjoy the act as much as a man.”
    Rebecca stiffened, not wanting to hear about other women Stephen had done the same things to as he did to her. She did not want to know of his intimacy with another female body. Even if it had happened long ago, she did not want to hear about it.
    “I do not know how else to say I like what you do, Stephen.”
    His features softened.
    “All right, my sweet. If you say that is true, then I will believe you.” He kissed her on the mouth. “Goodnight, Rebecca.”
    She lay in the dark by his side listening to his slow breathing. Oft times, he left her to cross the hall to his own room and she thought he went down the hall once toward the locked door. She did not hear his return, and she wondered if Malvina waited there for him. With the perfume Stephen did not wish Rebecca to use.
    She thought of Grinwold, of Lady Elizabeth still a prisoner of Sir Oliver. She, Rebecca, had escaped. She might still be owned by a man but, at least, Sir Stephen did not use a strap on her. And he was as gentle as any man could be, she supposed, who demanded a woman's body for his pleasure.
    Her biggest regret was not being able to see Richard, to sing to him, to recite silly poems to him—and sometimes, serious ones. Yes, she sorely missed her gentle brother, the only one at Grinwold who had truly loved her.
    She sighed and turned her head on the pillow to look at Stephen as he slept only to see his eyes wide open looking back at her.
    “Is something wrong, Rebecca?”
    “No, Stephen. Nothing.”
    His long arm slid across her to pull her close to him. He pushed her thick hair back and pillowed her head on his shoulder.
    “Then go to sleep,” he said.
    They slept all night in each other's arms and were still wrapped closely together when Malvina opened the door the next morning.
    The maid stared at the couple a long time before she stepped closer to the bed.
    “Sir Stephen, a messenger from King Henry awaits you in the great hall.”
    King Henry's message summoned Stephen to London and after a fortnight, she had heard nothing. It was the first of many summonses, and Rebecca learned that when the king sent for Stephen, it meant immediate departure, sometimes for long periods. Surprised, she realized she missed him and did not like sleeping alone as much as she once did.
    Impatiently, she awaited Stephen's return.
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