Ysbail of Ellesmere is a pawn in her guardian's war. For decades there has been unrest between the marcher lords and Owain Gwynedd ap Gruffydd, King of Gwynedd. The most recent war had been the bloodiest she could remember in her eighteen years. Madog ap Maredudd, Prince of Powys, and his allies lost untold numbers of men at the hands of Owain's soldiers. When a settlement of truce is presented to Madog, it's at Ysbail's expense. She is to marry Bedwyr ap Owain, one of King Owain’s bastard sons, and his most notorious henchman. If all the rumors and stories she's heard are true, she knows her marriage will be rife with horror and fear.
Since proving himself worthy with his sword, Bedwyr fights at his king's side. He's shed oceans of blood and sent untold numbers of men to their graves. He's become what his name foretold—the grave-knower. He's afraid of nothing, least of all death. All men fear him, including those who fight at his side, and sometimes even his own king. Terror of him lives within women's hearts; only the bravest of whores accept him into their beds. And children weave their own tales of the monster they hear him to be, embellishing the details to their own gruesome degrees.
When King Owain informs Bedwyr that he's to marry Ysbail of Ellesmere as part of a peace settlement with Madog, Bedwyr is furious. A man such as Bedwyr can only survive on the battlefield. For without love, hatred will send a man like him to the edge of insanity. Then push him over. But when Bedwyr sees Ysbail for the first time, blood-thirst turns to blood-lust, and he vows to show her that she should have no fear of him.
AWAKENING
The ABCs of S-E-X: Love by the Letter series
{book one}
Scarlett Valentine
Published by Tirgearr Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-4659-8612-2
Smashwords Edition
Author Copyright 2011 Scarlett Valentine (http://www.scarlett-valentine.com)
Covert Art: Dara England (http://www.daraenglandauthor.com)
Editor: Charlene Raddon (http://www.charleneraddon.com)
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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Always for Peter
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AWAKENING
by Scarlett Valentine
CHAPTER ONE
Rhyd Ddu, mountains of Eryri, Cymru—1149
“Take it off, Ysbail.”
She stood her ground, shoulders back, gazing into her husband’s black eyes, daring him to make her.
Their marriage was still fresh in her mind, as was the humiliating bedding that followed. He had granted her some respect in the task by ushering would-be witnesses from the chamber, but he had done no more than that before laying her on the bed, lifting her gown, and taking her most precious possession. While he had apologized for what must be done, she still had not liked it. His taking of her had been swift and every bit as horrible as she had heard it would be.
Her father, Alun ap Wnffre of Ellesmere, had been the governor and close friend of Madog ap Maredudd, Prince of Powys. Her mother had died in childbirth, and Ysbail had barely been out of swaddling when her father was killed fifteen years previously during one of the frequent border wars. Madog had promised to raise her until she was of marriageable age. With the rapidity of the event, she felt Madog could not wait to be free from his responsibility. So, afraid she might bolt, he had waited until her arrival in Oswestry from her home at Ellesmere to tell her of her betrothal.
He was right to worry, for she was to marry Bedwyr ap Owain, one of King Owain Gwynedd’s bastard sons, and his most notorious henchman. Legends preceded Bedwyr. She grew up hearing tales of his bloodlust and the carnage left in his wake. He was what his name foretold, for Bedwyr meant grave-knower.
“Take it off, Ysbail. I would see you now.”
She inhaled sharply at his repeated command, his gaze piercing through the chamber’s heavy shadows. The only light came from the small fire in the hearth, which only served to enhance her husband’s fearsome visage.
Bedwyr was not unpleasant to look upon. Had she not already known of his reputation, and despite the scar crossing his left brow, she might have called him handsome. Dark, unruly waves hung about his shoulders. More often than not, they also shielded his eyes and hid high cheekbones. Belying his shaggy and unkempt appearance, he preferred a shaven face, which accented his ever-present scowl and served to deepen his features. His smile, if it could be called such, looked more like a snarl—the white of his teeth being the only brightness about him.
Just the size of her husband should have frightened her, never mind his looks. But in the time it took to travel from Oswestry to Bedwyr’s keep high in the mountains, he had been nothing but considerate and thoughtful. He had not tried to bed her again during their journey, but she knew once they arrived he would waste no time forcing himself upon her. He was a man after all. At least he had given her a pair of weeks to adjust to her new home before making it clear he would come to her. Earlier in the day, he had ordered she and her meager belongings be moved into his chamber. The lustful look she saw on his face told her in no uncertain terms that he would take her again this night.
She knit her brows together, hoping to emphasize her scowl and displeasure at what was to come. When she made no effort to yield to him, he reached up and pulled free the laces at the top of her gown. He slipped a single finger under the edge of the fabric, letting the back of it brush one of her nipples. She gasped at the sensation.
“Remove it or I will do it for you.” His voice was deep in timbre and low in volume, yet spoke of his determined insistence. Stranger or no, she knew she would do his bidding or suffer his wrath.
She felt her nostrils flare as she breathed deeply, trying to control her racing heart.
With trembling fingers, she loosened the ties and pulled the gown over her head, letting it fall to the floor beside her. The fabric of her shift rasped her breasts. She knew without looking down that her bosom was well in evidence, for the look on her husband’s face told her.
“The shift as well.”
She swallowed hard while continuing to gaze at him. She kept her spine stiff, refusing to cower before him. She would not let him see her apprehension.
Removing the final barrier between them, she let it slip from her fingers onto the pooled gown.
It was her wifely duty to give her husband what he wanted without their private chamber, and within. Her only solace was that if the task went as quickly as before, she could endure it. Just.
“Ysbail,” he murmured, gawping at her and unmoving. Was there a hint of surprise in his voice?
Perhaps he had changed his mind about bedding her once he saw her petite form and the smallness of her breasts. Now that he was seeing her fully for the first time it was very possible she repulsed him.
Not so, she found. Her flesh prickled as he raked her with his burning gaze. When she tried to shield herself, he gently brushed her hands away.
“No, cariad. Do not hide yourself from me. You are exquisite. I wish to look at you.”
Reluctantly, she lowered her arms to her sides. Bedwyr touched every bit of her with his gaze. The defiant flush she felt on her cheeks a moment before now warmed her entire body. Or was it heat from the fire prickling her naked flesh?
He stepped slowly around her and came to a stop at her back. She would not look to see what he was about. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished it over with, whatever was to come.
Then his warm, battle-roughened hands were on her shoulders. He sought not to still her or keep her from running — ‘twas just a touch. Her bedding had been little more than pushing her skirts about her waist. He had not even touched her when he leaned over her and thrust himself into her. But now . . .
His hands slid across her bare shoulders to the nape of her neck. Licks of fire trailed in the wake of his fingers. A moment later she felt him unweaving her hair from the long plait she wore. He finger-combed the strands and spread them over her shoulders, the long fair curls tickling her breasts. Her heart quickened at his gentleness.
Then his head dipped to her nape and she heard him inhale, long and slow.
"Mmmm—" His breath washed across her flesh.
Bedwyr stroked the length of her arm. Taking her right hand in his, he placed delicate kisses on her fingertips, her palm, her inner wrist. Fire raced through her to pool in her belly. The sensation ignited something within her, and it was not entirely unpleasant.
She looked up over her shoulder and their gazes met once more. The look in his black eyes had softened, yet at the same time had become more intense. A length of dark hair fell over his face, further shielding his expression in the shadows. Not that she could name it. She was ignorant in the ways of lust, but she felt sure that would change when this night was over.
She looked away. Emotions whirled inside her. She did not want a repeat of her bedding, yet Bedwyr’s touch ignited something within her with just a light touch and the way he looked at her.
He tilted her head sideways and whispered in her ear. His breath stole along her nape.
“You shake. You have no need to fear me, cariad. I will not harm you. I will honor you each time we are together. Especially in this.”
“There is no . . . honor . . . in this.” Her voice betrayed her with its breathlessness.
“No honor? I am sure it was a shock to learn of your betrothal as you had, then forced to surrender yourself to a stranger in such a barbaric way. But, were I any other man, I would not have waited this long for you to heal from your bedding. I would have had you on your back many times by now, with my cock buried deep within in you.” He ground his erection against her bottom as if to prove his point.
She emboldened herself. “If that is what you want, then take me and get it over with.”
Bedwyr growled. “You know not what you tempt me with, gwraig.”
“I tempt you with nothing. I only wish to get this over with. If you wish to honor me, I pray you do not toy with me. If this is what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life, I would rather have it done quickly than have blood sport made of me.”
“Oh, Ysbail, I will toy with you. But there will be nothing quick about it.”
Ysbail did not want him to see her alarm at of his promise. She was sure she was not afraid of him, but the reality of what was to come crept over her suddenly, stealing her strength.
Bedwyr slid his tongue along the edge of her ear. Her belly quivered with the sensations shooting through her.
“Does this pain you?”
“Nay,” she gasped.
His lips moved to the curve of her nape and placed a kiss on the delicate flesh there. “And this?”
“N-nay, my lord.”
When he palmed her breast, he seemed to rob her of her senses. He rasped his thumb across her nipple, rolling it into a stiff peak. Pinching it lightly weakened her knees. Her body felt suddenly weak. Were it not for his strong arm around her waist, she would surely collapse onto the flagstones.
“And what of that?”
How could she reply without breath in her lungs?
She felt his free hand slide down the curve of her waist to her hip . The flat of his palm pressed against her belly, holding her gently while he continued toying with her breast with his other hand. His warm lips lingered along her nape before moving to another spot.
And for a moment, she let herself lean into him.
So attuned to his kisses and what he was doing to her breast, she gasped when his other hand slipped lower and cupped her mound. The heat of his palm instantly enveloped the center of her. Bedwyr held her to him and continued kissing her, but her focus was now trained on his lower touch.
He shifted, moving a leg between hers from behind. She had no choice but to part her stance or lose her balance. This must have been what he wished, for as soon as her legs parted, he slipped a finger between her cleft. She shuddered at his intimate touch . Still he held her, rubbing gently. It was a sensation unlike any other. She had not the words to describe the feelings hastening through her.
A moment later, he took her hand in his and guided it to where he’d just touched her. She felt her dampened curls in her palm and the heat from his touch. He squeezed her palm over her mound.
Whispering into her ear, he promised, “By night’s end, you will know my every touch. I promise you, the pain from your bedding was only once. This is but the beginning of your awakening. You shall know only pleasure at my hands. First, you must trust me.”
She did not want the sensations to end, but how could she willingly give him what he wanted without trust?
“How am I to trust you, my lord? You are still but a stranger to me. I know only of the atrocities you have caused. Yes, you have been kind to me since our . . . introduction. But how can I trust you when I do not know you?”
“Look at me, Ysbail.” He spun her to face him, keeping her in the circle of his arms. “What is it you wish to know?”
“Everything.” His invitation was almost too good to be true. Surely she could come up with many questions in order to draw out the night and delay her fate.
“On my death bed, you will still not know all there is to know of me.”
“You seek to keep secrets from me?”
“Let us say I am multifarious.”
“Then tell me something simple, for I am but a woman who would not understand such complicated facets of a man’s life.” Did he think she was a simpleton?
Bedwyr’s gaze darkened. For a moment, he was silent and she was unsure he would continue. Then he said, “Ask me your question.”
“Tell me of your childhood.”
“I did not have a childhood. And that was not a question.”
She thought for a moment. “Why would a man, able to choose between the paths of good and evil, chose evil?” This was something she truly wanted to know about her husband. She did not understand the ways of war, but from the tales she had heard, his tactics seemed excessively barbaric.
It was obvious by his scowl he was not prepared for such a candid question. Or perhaps not one such as this from a mere woman.
“You think me evil?”
“Do you deny you have taken many lives?”
“That is the nature of war. It does not make me evil.”
“Is it the nature of war to rip out a man’s throat with your bare hands?” Ysbail remembered stable hands at Ellesmere swapping horrific tales from Bedwyr’s latest battle conquests. “How can a man who makes death for his living live with those deaths on his hands?”
“One does what one must to survive. I would rather live to fight another day than die without honor.”
“The same honor you mean to give me by taking from me what I am unwilling to give?”
Bedwyr’s lips curled back over his teeth. He looked like he would devour her.
“By the time I take what you have to offer, you will be giving it freely.” He brought his hands into view, palms up. “Aye, these are responsible for causing untold pain and suffering. But I assure you, rumors tell false tales. Yet as much pain and suffering as I am responsible for, I am also capable of equal pleasure and suffering of another kind.” He grinned at her. “You must trust me on this.”
He drew the backs of his fingers between her breasts and down to that quivering place within her belly.
“Would you know what this feeling is? I will show you. If you will but trust me.” He placed his hands palm side up before her once more. “Place your hands in mine and I will make a fire within you like no other.”
She glanced between his earnest gaze and his battle scarred palms and back again.
She would be a liar to say his touch had not awakened something within her, but he was a stranger and the pain of their first coupling was still fresh in her mind. So was the feeling of his hands so delicate on her skin moments before. Could there be more to this than she knew?
He gently took one of her hands into his and, pulling open his shirt, splayed her palm on his chest. She felt his heart pounding within his ribcage. His taut, muscular skin was warm and slightly roughened by the few dark hairs curling beneath her fingertips. His masculine scent filled her nostrils.
“On my honor, Ysbail, give me your trust and I will show you pleasures you never knew possible.” His voice was low, seductive, hypnotic. His words melted her resolve, surprising her, as a man with Bedwyr’s reputation was used to taking what he wanted. He gave her a choice.
She looked upon his upturned palm, felt his heart pounding beneath her fingertips. If she could not trust the man she was to spend the rest of her life with, especially one as fearsome as Bedwyr, whom could she trust? And what of his promise of pleasure? Was it not better to be on the receiving end of pleasure than that of retribution?
She gazed into his eyes for a moment then slowly placed her free hand in his. The grin creasing his mouth emphasized the glint in his eyes. She had pleased him. Relief washed over her.
He stepped back and removed his leather jerkin after pulling the thick belt from around his hips. He tossed them aside without taking his gaze from her. The rest of his clothing followed and he soon stood naked before her.
Ysbail could not contain her gasp when she saw the size of him. Could this have been the reason for the intense pain of her bedding? She recalled women servants at Ellesmere who laughed about the smallness of men, often comparing them to their little finger. What jutted out from Bedwyr’s hips was nowhere near the size of a finger, little or otherwise. She had only seen something of similar size on Ellesmere’s stallions.
She gulped and stepped back. He held her hand to still her.
“But, my lord . . .”
Bedwyr cupped her face and turned her gaze up to his. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones, trailing down to her lips. He looked long at her, his gaze penetrating. “Have no fear, cariad, you will take all of me.” Then slowly, he leaned down and kissed her tenderly.
Not even standing before the priest to seal the marriage contract had Bedwyr kissed her. Save for the brush of his lips along her arm and nape, no man had ever kissed her. Her mind instantly erased every horrible thing she’d ever heard about her husband and succumbed to the new sensation. She closed her eyes and let him build the fire within her.
He slanted his lips across hers, this way and that, each kiss firmer and more demanding. His lips were moist and hot, soft yet insistent. Warmth drew up from her center and spread into every limb. She felt herself lean into Bedwyr’s body, felt each bulge of his taught muscles pressing into her flesh.
His tongue traced the curve of her upper lip, urging her lips to part, then he slid his tongue into her mouth to touch her own. At first she was shocked by the concupiscence of the kiss, but Bedwyr was gentle with her—forceful but not forcing. Soon she realized this kiss was more of a dance and she let herself move in time with the rhythm he set.
Her every sense came alive—his spicy scent assailed her nostrils, his essence tingled upon her tongue, her blood inculcated in her ears, lights flashed behind her lids, his hot breath was on her cheeks and in her mouth. She thought she would collapse had he not held her in his strong arms, such were the sudden heady feelings racing through her and making her weak.
Instinctively, she wound her arms about his neck. The act was as much to hold herself up against his onslaught as it was to hold him to her, for she did not want this kiss to end.
She felt his fingers slip down her back to her hips, then his large hands cupped her mound. With little effort, he lifted her. She wrapped her legs about his waist and let him hold her aloft. Ysbail knew she was small in stature so it seemed little effort on her husband’s part to hold her thus. To prove her thought, he wrapped one arm about her waste while his free hand kneaded her bottom. Cool air rushed between her cleft as he parted her.
Something soft rubbed against her. Slick. Warm. It nudged that secret part of her. She felt herself awakening in ways she had never before experienced. The ache in her belly moved lower and pulsed at her center. She tilted her hips against the soft prodding, for she felt a new heat building there and wished to stoke it.
Only after carrying her to the wide bench before the hearth did Bedwyr break his kiss. He straddled the bench then laid her back on the sheepskin covering it. She felt vulnerable to him with her legs still wrapped around his hips, the center of her so exposed.
Her skin prickled between the heat from the fire and the coolness of the chamber. Or was the heat of her husband’s scrutinous gaze?
His strong hands gently stroked her legs to her knees, pulling them from around him. She was totally exposed to him and turned away with embarrassment. She felt something prodding her again. Her curiosity got the best of her. She forced a look at what he was doing to her.
Bedwyr fisted himself, using his hand to rub his . . . She could not say the word, but he was rubbing it against her sensitive core. The tip of it was soft and slick. The sensation made her breath quicken.
“Ah, Ysbail,” Bedwyr groaned. “You know not how desperately I wish to drive my cock into you at this very moment.”
He touched her with his fingers, moistening them with the moisture her body created. She fought between curiosity and the impiety of how her body reacted to such intense stimulation.
She moaned when he slid a thick finger into her. This invasion was nothing like her bedding. The sensation was new, thus startling, but without pain. She tilted her hips, pushing his finger deeper into her. He withdrew and then thrust into her once more. Her breath came in sharp pants with each stroke. An uncontrolled whimper slipped between her lips when he withdrew, only to thrust again with two fingers. He stroked her gently with the one hand, while the other caressed her belly and hips, then settled on her breast. He pinched the nipple, forcing her to arch off the bench.
“My lord.” She squeezed her eyes shut as her head lolled back, not wanting the feelings rushing through her to cease.
Then he withdrew his fingers. Her eyes shot open and she looked up at him. This could not be over so quickly. It just could not!
Bedwyr held his glistening fingers up to her. “See what you have created? You are ready and I cannot wait any longer.”
Ysbail cast her gaze upon the size of him. Her fear returned. She could not possibly contain all of him. He held her firmly by her knees when she tried to edge away from him. “You gave me your trust, now let me use it.”
She reluctantly remained where he held her.
He grasped her by her hips and pulled her closer. He stroked the center of her with his thumb until he had her panting and writhing on the bench once more. He used the tip of his sex to rub where his fingers had been. She pulsed with each stroke and felt her hips move in time with him.
Then he was prodding her opening. She felt herself stretch as he eased into her, the wetness between them buffering any discomfort she might have. There was discomfort, but it was not as intense as her bedding. Gasping, she rose up enough to look between them. Incredibly, only the tip of him had gained entrance.
“My lord, surely —” she started, but what could she say? This was all new to her. She wanted to please him. It was not her fault she was too small to take him.
“Ysbail, you must relax if you are to take all of me.”
Bedwyr gently pulled her up to him, wrapping her arms about his neck. He held her within his strong arms and lowered his lips to hers. He touched her upper lip with his tongue. She took this to mean he wished to spar with her with his tongue and she opened to him. Warmth rushed through her as he sucked and toyed with her tongue and lips. She used her legs, still wrapped about his waist, to pull him closer as he deepened his kiss.
His palm enveloped her breast. He pinched her nipple, but not so gently this time. She arched at the sensation.
He kissed her fully, breaking away from her lips to kiss her cheeks, her jaw and throat before returning to her mouth. His pure male scent assailed her nostrils; the taste of his mouth was delicious on her tongue. Emboldened, she kissed him back with as much emotion as he built within her. The kiss was so intoxicating she felt she could devour him.
Releasing her breast, he grasped her bottom, being none too gentle as he parted her flesh. He rocked in time with her, nudging his tip in and out of her. She could not contain the moans escaping her throat as he filled her.
Bedwyr broke his kiss to say, “Look now, cariad. You have swallowed me whole.”
Ysbail looked between them to where they were joined. Where she thought it impossible, he had filled her to the hilt and she had accepted him with little discomfort. She knew in time her body would easily be able to accept him when he came to her, for he was a lust-filled man eager to put his claim on his new wife, and no doubt create an heir. But right now, his gentleness endeared him to her all the more.
His strong hands lifted her against him and she rocked with his rhythm. The fullness as he moved within was unlike anything she’d ever known and had her sighing. She was unable to control her tilting hips, matching each thrust with one of her own.
His mouth covered hers, more demanding. He wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her tightly as he used her body to stroke himself. He swallowed her gasps with each thrust.
She felt his hand on her bottom squeezing, his nails scraping at her flesh there. Then suddenly, she felt as if her husband had pulled lightning from the sky and doused her flesh with liquid fire. She cried out. Her body spasmed and jerked against his as the bolts assailed her. She inhaled sharply as the first strike hit her, but it was not until the second that she could release her breath. It flew from her mouth, the sound of it echoing off the chamber walls.
Bedwyr laid her back on the bench and, with both hands on her hips, pumping hard and fast as he buried himself between her thighs. Her inner muscles clenched repeatedly as she exploded in lightning arcs of pleasure. His member swelled inside her just moments before he too cried out. She thought he would split her in two, but the sensation only made her spasm again. And again when his spine arched as he threw back his head, burying himself deeply in her. His guttural growl rattled through her body.
When he was finally spent, he collapsed over her, supporting himself on his elbows, breathing hard. He buried his face between her breasts, kissing the valley there before moving up to her lips. He kissed her chastely then rested his head on her breasts.
She had given him her trust and he had proved to her that coupling could be a pleasurable experience. The pain of her bedding had truly just been an isolated incident. If making love with her husband would always be like this, she would surely accept him whenever he demanded it of her.
Ysbail wondered how he would feel should she wish to bed him rather than waiting for him to come to her.
She grinned at the thought, then said, “My lord?”
He inhaled deeply as he lifted his gaze to hers. “Aye?”
“May we do that again?”
CHAPTER TWO
As much as Ysbail wanted a repeat of their lovemaking, she had exhausted herself with her first coming. Bedwyr wanted nothing more than to bury his cock deep within her again, for, god’s teeth, he was still hard. But no sooner had he lifted her in his arms to carry her to the bed then she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. So he placed her in the center of his bed and went to stoke the fire.
While he used a cloth dampened from a jar of water on the stone hearth to clean himself, he tried to understand why this woman affected him so. No other woman stirred him the way Ysbail did.
He was a man of few emotions. Anger, rage, and hate were among those he did express. His baser lusts were normally controlled simply because most women would not have him in their beds. That was not to say he was a novice. He considered himself an experienced lover. But with other women, he thought only of slaking his own need. And when a woman was not available, he used his own palm to give himself relief.
But Ysbail stirred something in him from the moment she stepped into Oswestry’s Great Hall. She had taken away his breath. He’d stiffened instantly and was still hard as they gave their vows before the priest. All thought of relieving himself were forgotten the moment he parted her thighs. He was as gentle as he could have been in her bedding, but there had been little more time than for him to wet his cock with saliva before taking her. He had wished to take his time with her as he had done this evening, but he heard their witnesses outside the chamber door and knew they refused to go back to the Great Hall and wait for him to produce the bedding cloth as proof that he’d taken her maidenhead.