Free The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) by Claudia Dain Page A

to Isabel.
    He swallowed his rage and held it down, rendering it harmless, impotent, dead.
    It was possession, not tenderness that drove him across the dirt of the yard to stand before Adam, breaking that illicit contact. It was duty that made him say, "I shall escort my wife to Vespers."
    There was no tenderness, no fondness, in his laying claim to Isabel—there was only duty fulfilled. By God's law, he had been placed in charge of her, body and soul; she would not stumble into sin with him at her side. He would not fail in this. And he would not let Isabel fail. There would be no cause for repudiation and there would be no repudiation, no matter what Nicholas hinted. He would not cast Isabel to that. He would save her. Perhaps that was the reason behind God's will in arranging this marriage: he would guide her into righteousness.
    With that thought lifting him toward heaven, Richard strode into the chapel with Isabel firmly in hand.

 
     
    Chapter 8

     
    Vespers became Compline. After Compline, most made for their beds. Richard kept praying. Isabel remained at his side. Richard had insisted, and she did not know how to resist without appearing an ungrateful and unloving child, so she did not resist. Hours passed, and the full weight of night fell upon Dornei. All were abed. All was still. The night pressed against her until she collapsed against its weight and fell, fitfully, into sleep. She only knew she swayed on her knees when Richard jerked her awake.
    Nocturn came, was sung, and passed.
    She slept sometime between Nocturn and Matins, unaffected by his nudges.
    The chapel filled at Prime, and she stirred. The air was soft with morning and birdsong, and the gentle light of dawn dimmed the candles to insignificance. She realized that her face was resting on the warm wall of his chest and that his arm was wrapped around her for support; it was comforting—and peculiar. Richard's embrace while he sang the office—an odd pairing of experiences. He was her husband and he was turning her into a nun. She had spent her wedding night in a chapel saying prayers. The only blood of the evening had been the blood of Christ. Her virgin's blood was still intact.
    Upon realizing she had awakened, he put her from him. Yet she counted it as gain that he had touched her willingly.
    The people of Dornei came into the chapel quietly. Of them all, only she and her husband had spent the night in prayerful vigil. And of the two of them, only her husband had stayed awake for the whole of it. The Mass that started each God-given day began, the Latin rising sweetly into the spring air. She stood at Richard's side, proud in her place as wife, though the night had not fulfilled her maidenly dreams of a wedding night. Still, if nothing else, it was obvious to all that she and her husband had spent the night together. She was a virgin, still, yet a wife, and Richard was her husband. Nothing would change that.
    Truly, there was much to thank God for this day, her first day as Richard's wife.
    He knelt beside her, tall and strong, a man to dream about. Worthy of every dream she had spent on him. His hair was dark, blacker than her own, and his eyes the dark blue of sapphires. His throat was fine and long, the veins that carried his life's blood thick and full. And his mouth—his mouth had fired her imagination as no other part of him had done in all her years of dreaming. She had experience of that mouth; she knew what fire could dwell there.
    She twitched as she knelt at his side, her blood afire with longing and expectation. He would claim her today. He would mark her as his, as she had longed for him to do since a girl. Today the long waiting would end. God had given her Richard, and she would take the gift and gladly.
    Richard looked down at her out of the corners of his eyes, his look disapproving as the Latin rolled over them, washing them in sanctity. She stilled her trembling and looked downward piously. Yet she was not pious. He could