Queen Of Knights Page 11

  “I had given my consent, and contracted with Guildswood for a marriage that would keep Devonshire strong. At the same time, I had found a mate for Gwendolyn who could tame her wild spirit. I was wrong in not waiting as I had promised my daughter.”

  Hughes paused then, shaking his head slowly. “My daughter told me that Gwendolyn would marry for love. I did not believe her. Who would have a woman who dwarfed her husband? But Morgan had seemed to care not. Yet I know he had only desired her for her inheritance. You have taken that from him, and I must warn you that he will do what he can to kill you and claim both Radstock, and Gwendolyn for his own.”

  “I fear him not,” Miles stated.

  “I know that, but you must be on your guard just the same.”

  “I thank you, my lord.”

  “Do not thank me. Just produce strong sons. Our land needs it. Richard is a mighty fighter, perhaps the best that has ever ruled England, but he will not be a good king, and God help us with whomever follows. It will be your children who will make our land strong. Remember that!”

  “Sir Hughes—” Miles began, but the duke silenced him with a gesture.

  “Gwendolyn is a wild-spirited woman, as I’ve already said. But there is more. I must tell you of her birth.”

  “It is not necessary. I know of it. “

  Hughes stared at him for a moment, then shook his head sadly. “Not all of it. However, I shall not belabor the point, you will learn of it one day. Now, let me tell you of the dowry you so foolishly keep ignoring.”

  Hughes spoke, and Miles listened. When the duke was done, Miles gazed warmly into the older man’s eyes. “You are too generous,” he whispered.

  “Nay ...generosity has nothing to do with it. When I die, if there are no deeds already signed, the barons will try to take Devonshire. I will not have it. Upon my death, you will inherit my title. It has already been decreed, and Richard, because he likes you has so agreed.”

  Miles nodded his head slowly, before a slow smile spread across his features. “And what did Richard demand in return?” he asked.

  Hughes’s barking laugh echoed powerfully from their little corner, forcing several people to gaze at the two. “I did not buy London, which is for certain.” Hughes’s words were a standing joke among the nobility. Because of Richard’s desire and obligation to fight a holy crusade, he had sold titles, lands, and anything he could to build up his coffers. Richard had once stated, rashly, that to anyone who had the price, he would sell London itself.

  “I am in your debt,” Miles responded in a low voice. “No, Son, I am in yours. Now, I believe your friends await you.” Hughes cocked his head in emphasis to point to the dozen knights who were standing impatiently near them.

  Miles tensed, and then forced himself to relax. He turned back to Hughes and nodded his head slowly. “Devonshire shall survive, and the name of Kildrake will not be lost,” he promised.

  Hughes clasped Miles to him and kissed both his cheeks.

  Then, still holding him in a bearlike hug, he lifted the Earl of Radstock from the ground and carried him to the waiting knights. “Make him do his duty!” he cried jovially, tossing Miles into their waiting arms as if he weighed nothing.

  A loud cheer swelled in the air, as Miles was passed above the knights’ heads, from eager hands to eager hands. Then, when he rested above the group of rowdy knights, they started off, following the same path that Gwendolyn and her women had taken an hour before.

  Miles flowed above their heads, feeling as if he were on an undulating wave. But when they stepped inside the tower, he was suddenly returned to the ground. Still in the midst of the knights, he was pulled forward by their very numbers, until, at last, they stopped before the marital door and rapped upon it with a half-dozen dagger handles.

  The door flew open, and as they entered, the tittering of the women ceased. Miles stood in the center of the room, staring at the large bed and the golden-haired woman within it. A blue coverlet separated the sight of her body from the men, but Miles only saw her eyes, calm and waiting, the way he’d always pictured them.

  Gwendolyn’s heart raced when the knocking came. The women screamed quickly, and then began to laugh as they rushed to open the door. When the men entered, with Miles in their center, Gwendolyn knew her tension would soon end.

  She watched the women arrange themselves against the walls, while the men undressed her husband. She was also conscious of the open stares of the men, already anticipating what they would see.

  Suddenly the room became silent and Gwendolyn gazed at the naked form of Miles. His body was perfect—lean and strong—with his hard muscles outlined as if he were a statue. Then the knights lifted him again, to spin him three times. With that custom finished, they carried him to the bed and waited.

  When they were at the edge of the bed, Miles supported carelessly among four of them, the women rushed forward and deftly removed the covering from Gwendolyn. A collective gasp came from the knights, who unabashedly stared at Gwendolyn’s naked body. Then, together, the four who held Miles, lifted him and tossed him onto the bed.

  “You have indeed won a prize,” advised one.

  “And if you have a problem subduing her, call me. I know well how to handle such matters,” called another.

  Gwendolyn met each knight’s gaze with her own, feeling no shame at their eyes upon her body, accepting this custom, and letting them view her.

  Miles smiled tolerantly at the open-mouthed stares, surprised by the way they restrained themselves from the usual heavy-handed comments.

  Again, the chamber burst forth with motion, as the women, having drunk their fill of Miles’ s body, began ushering the knights from the room, until at last, Miles and Gwendolyn were alone.

  Miles stared at her for a moment before he spoke. When he did, his voice was heavy with desire and need. “From this moment on, I shall have to spend all my waking hours guarding you from those who feasted on your body this night, for it is a fact, they will never forget the treasure they have seen.”

  “So long as you do not forget, my lord,” Gwendolyn whispered. At that very moment, Gwendolyn realized that the time had come for their vows to be sealed. She tried to say something, but Miles had seen the look on her face, and his hand came to rest on her cheek.

  “Have no fear, my lady. I shall be gentle,” he told her a moment before his mouth descended on hers.

  Fire burst forth when their lips met, and Gwendolyn’s body arched against his. Her mouth opened to accept the heated thrust of his tongue as his lean body pressed down upon hers.

  Then he moved, tearing a wrenching moan from Gwendolyn’s throat when his mouth ran a hot line from her lips, along her neck, until he captured her already stiff nipple in his mouth. He lavished the tip of her breast with caresses, until he bit it gently and moved across her satiny skin, to kiss and caress the other waiting peak.

  Gwendolyn’s fingers wove through his dark hair, entwining them within its thickness until she arched her back again, and pressed him harder to her. But Miles moved away from her grasp; his mouth wandering maddeningly across the expanse of skin beneath it. His tongue rasped across her abdomen, and his hands slipped beneath her tightly muscled rear, cupping it and raising her up to him.

  Then he was between her silken thighs, kissing and caressing her passionately. Gwendolyn cried out when his tongue dipped within her, her body tensing, even as her blood rushed faster.

  Her mind spun wildly, and she reached out for Miles. But he refused to obey her commands as his tongue and lips continued to burn fiery trails upon her.

  Finally, Gwendolyn cried out, and Miles returned to her arms. But before he could fit between her legs, she, using all her strength, twisted her body and turned them onto their sides.

  “I must learn of you, too, my lord,” she said in a husky voice, her desire-laden eyes skipping across his face. She kissed him passionately, for a long moment, before she drew her lips away. Then Gwendolyn followed the same path that Miles
had trod upon her skin, and her lips tasted the sweet saltiness of his skin. She captured each of his taut nipples between her teeth, teasing, biting, and sucking on them until his moans bounced from the stone walls of the nuptial chamber.

  Her hands took on a will of their own, as they slowly explored Miles’s body. She was filled with wonder while her fingers skimmed over the tight skin and powerful muscles of her husband. His stomach was fiat, and every muscle was outlined perfectly. Suddenly her lips replaced her hands, and she kissed every inch of his skin until her hands went lower, and she grazed along his hardened length.

  She gasped at the unfamiliar power, and slowly drew her eyes from it to look into his. “I . . ." she tried to speak, but her mouth became dry. Then it no longer mattered as she stroked his inner thighs, the strong muscles quivered under her ministrations, and he grew large before her eyes. Then her hands moved again, to capture him and feel the velvet skin throb within them.

  Miles’s hands went into the long gold of her hair, and grasped it tightly. He drew her slowly and inexorably back to him. ‘Turning her gently, he rose above her and gazed into her eyes. Gwendolyn smiled, her breasts rising and falling quickly, and she opened herself for him. She had no fear of him, only desire and love.

  Their lips met and Miles lowered himself to her. He entered her slowly and carefully, and Gwendolyn met him the same way.

  Miles stopped when he felt the tight barrier within her break, then lowered his mouth to hers. “I love you, my wife,” he whispered and plunged himself deeply within her.

  Gwendolyn arched to meet him, holding him tightly to her as he filled her with his length. Then, Miles paused for a moment, until the heat of her passion flowed strongly again, and they became lost in themselves, moving together as if they had been lovers all their lives. Their mingled cries filled the chamber, as did the labored sound of their breathing. An endless time later, they lay locked in each other’s arms, their breathing gentle and calm, gazing deeply at each other.

  “Now, my husband, we are truly united,” Gwendolyn whispered.

  <><><>

  The chamber was dark and the sounds of revelry had finally quieted. Miles lay back on the bed, content for the moment to gaze at Gwendolyn, silhouetted within the first gray light of the new dawn. She stood perfectly straight, her body a curved profile for his hungry eyes, while she looked out the window.

  “You are troubled?” he asked at last.

  “No, Husband, I am at peace,” she replied honestly, but her body was filled with a restless energy. It had been so since they had made love and sealed their vows. Twice more they had joined, explosively, passionately, uninhibitedly, and when each loving ended, her body seemed to become more and more vitalized until she had to leave the bed.

  “Then what?” he asked, sitting up slowly.

  “There is much I have to tell you, much I must show you.”

  “The day is still long away; come back,” he ordered.

  Gwendolyn walked slowly to the bed. Standing at its edge, she shook her head. “Come with me now. It is important.”

  Miles stared at her for a moment, and then gazed at the swell of her breasts, remembering the feel of them on his lips and hands.

  “I yield,” he laughed, jumping from the bed to capture her within his arms. Her breasts rubbed against his chest and her thighs pressed tightly to his.

  “Nay, Miles, you yield to no one.” She kissed him deeply before spinning from his arms.

  “The guests will be upset if we are not in our connubial bed when they barge in,” he warned.

  “They will find what they seek,” she replied, pointing to the smattering of blood on the bedcovering. “And their curiosity will be piqued even higher by our absence. Come,” she said impatiently, already moving to the clothing Roweena had put out the night before.

  <><><>

  The gray of dawn was slowly transforming into the pink and blue of the coming day. On the silent moor, two riders galloped through the trees, uncaring of the early chill or lack of sunlight. They rode in silence, their only communication that of occasional glances, until, an hour after they’d begun, they reined in their mounts.

  Gwendolyn dismounted and removed the hood of her riding cape, letting her lustrous hair fall free before glancing up at Miles and motioning him to join her.

  He alighted from the horse and stood next to her. “Here?” he asked, and spoke the first word since riding out of Kildrake Castle.

  “Here,” Gwendolyn confirmed. “Sit next to me, my husband, for I must tell you the truth about myself. It is time.”

  “Another mad Kildrake!” Miles muttered even as he sank to the soft mossy grass next to his wife. “First your grandfather, and now you. What?”

  “Be not so harsh, Miles, for what we must discuss is for your ears alone. Whatever my grandfather had to say could not be what I must tell you.”

  “Then tell the story,” he whispered, sensing the time for playacting was past, and the mystery surrounding Gwendolyn would now be revealed.

  “Last night we sealed our love, and throughout the night, we held each other closely. I know I have presumed much with all I have asked, but there has been good reason. There,” she said in a louder voice, and her finger pointed toward the mouth of the cave in emphasis. “This cave is part of my heritage, just as is the pool I had bathed in the day you first saw me. Know you, Miles Delong, I am bastard born?”

  “So it is said,” he replied. “Yet it bothers you not?” Miles shook his head slowly.

  “Then you are truly the man chosen for me. Doubt it not, my husband, we have been destined for each other since the day the earth was formed. No,” she commanded, holding his gaze with hers. “What I have to say must not be interrupted. Just listen, my husband, and when I am done, you will understand all.”

  Miles stared at her, a strange feeling swirling in his mind, but he nodded his head, realizing that no matter what form of madness held her, he would not give her up.

  Then she spoke, and Miles’s mind expanded madly. He was the second man to hear the tale of Gwendolyn’s conception, and suddenly he knew what Hughes had tried to speak of last night. He listened to the story and heard the Druid’s prophesy. The birds which had been coming to life within the moor’s forest had stilled when Gwendolyn spoke. Everything had an unworldly silence which forced him to listen with his every sense to what his wife was saying.

  She told him of her practicing with her father’s sword whenever she could, and of the day he had found her, and what had transpired since. She told of the new prophesy, and of her strange new powers, and when she was finished, she stood suddenly, motioning Miles to stay where he was.

  Miles watched her disappear into the cave, his mind numbed with her words. His body was paralyzed by her revelations, and he tried to rid himself of the shock she had given him. Was she truly mad? he wondered.

  A moment later Gwendolyn appeared before him, cradling a long object wrapped in a chamois cloth. Slowly, reverently, she laid the object at his feet. Then she stood tall and gazed down at him.

  “This is the sword of my father, the sword that shall permit me to attain knighthood. Miles, my husband, wipe the doubt from your mind and replace it with belief.”

  Gracefully, Gwendolyn knelt on the earth. She glanced up at her husband and then over his shoulder. Blue sky was visible through the tree branches as day arrived to Devonshire. She unwrapped the sword and grasped its pommel. Lifting it slowly, her eyes locked with Miles’s, and she held the longsword high.

  The sun crested the horizon at that exact moment, and a lance of sunlight struck the silver shaft. Suddenly, the forest was filled with an explosion of silver light, a ball of infinite power surrounding Gwendolyn like the cocoon of a moth. He stared at her until he could not deny what he witnessed. Then, slowly, he breathed the scents of the morning even as the silver cocoon spread over him, engulfing him and all that was around them. She stood there for long minutes, her eyes never leaving his, while the power of the
sword filled her entire being.

  Then Miles stood, his eyes wide as he stared at his wife and the sword she held. All questions, doubts, and wonderings were wiped from his mind in that instant, because he, too, felt the unearthly power she had unleashed. He faced her and suddenly she lowered the sword. The brightness faded, and Gwendolyn dropped to her knees before her new lord.

  Gracefully, with the blade now in her hands, she lifted the sword’s handle to Miles. Rather than take her offering, Miles bent and lifted Gwendolyn to her feet. Then his hands covered hers upon the blade, and he kissed her lips gently.

  “As I once gave my oath, I now affirm it, Gwendolyn, Lady of Radstock.”

  Silently Gwendolyn stepped back. “For that, and for your love, my husband, I pledge my life to you. For together, we shall become as no other mortals before. Take the sword, my love, and heft it. Feel it as I have done.”

  Again, light shimmered along the length of the blade.

  Gwendolyn extended it to Miles, and he grasped the hilt tightly. His eyes widened when he felt the weight of the sword, and when he raised it above his head, he knew that in his hand was something no mortal man had ever held before.

  A moment later he handed the sword back to Gwendolyn.

  “Come with me, my husband, for I wish us to bathe in the Pool of Pendragon, and seal our love beneath the open sky, for my mother and father to acknowledge.”

  Together, they mounted their horses and rode to the pool.

  There, with the birds singing, and the insects calling to them, they entered the cool waters and bathed each other before lying on the grassy carpet to once again join their bodies in a proclamation of love.

  Book II

  Of the Coming of Sir Eldwin,

  Knight Protector of Radstock

  Chapter Seven

  IN Radstock, as in many areas of England, the castle sat high above the lands, looking down upon them with either benevolence or malevolence, as was the wont' of its lord. With the ascension of Miles to the Earldom of Radstock, the countryside had prospered under his stem but well-guided reins.