Love Thine Enemy by Carolyne Cathey Page A

armored body atop hers.  The metal strips of his
brigandine vest pressed as hard and complex as the man who wore them.  His
breaths increased.  His eyes steamed that he wanted her, and that he hated that
he wanted her.
    Rochelle bucked to throw him off but only tightened the
pressure against his manhood.  "Beast!"
    "I had hoped to make this more pleasant for you,
Lady Rochelle, but I will have you.  And there is naught you can say or do to
stop me from taking both you and DuBois." 
    Becket locked his gaze onto hers as he reached his hand
between her legs.  Then through the gossamer of her chemise she felt his
rigidness press against her femininity.  In one thrust he could pierce through
the delicate gauze and through her innocence.
    Panicked, she arched her back in an attempt to pull
away, wrenching against his body, but his weight held her to the bed and at his
mercy.  He rocked his hips into the wedge of her legs.  His maleness rubbed
against the silken barrier that covered her womanhood, teased, taunted, hot
against her chilled flesh.  Tension tightened like a bowstring along her spine,
for once he made the plunge for victory, she would forever belong to him like
chattel, his to do with as he willed, to abuse at his whim---released from
bondage only by death.
    Becket leaned forward and brushed his lips against her temple. 
The scent of cedar sifted into her senses.  "Lady Rochelle, 'tis either
the surrender of your virginity, or the attack of my army.  You choose."
    And then Pierre and others she loved might be killed,
for certain.
    Rochelle stiffened in defeated resignation and
retreated behind her stone wall of defense where no one could touch her or hurt
her.  Against her will, tears slipped from her eyes in slow surrender; her lips
trembled; the pulse in her throat beat like a trapped bird lunging against a
windowless prison. 
    "I submit to your strength, knight, but I pray no
child comes of this loveless planting."
    Becket stilled, and the unexpected act pulled her from
behind her protective wall.  He had closed his lids, shutting off his hidden
secrets.  Then he fanned open his lashes and studied her, his eyes revealing a
mysterious inner struggle, but why, she couldn't imagine.  All she lived for
and loved would become his with one thrust.  And yet, without doubt he fought
an internal war, for his body trembled as if he didn't want to take her, as if
he did.
    "A child."  He rocked his hips again, once,
twice.  Then ceased.  Perspiration beaded his brow.  "A tainted mingling. 
A permanent reminder."  He closed his eyes.  "And yet, I must do this
for DuBois." 
    He pulled aside the hem of the chemise to give him
access to her, and cool air swirled over her damp flesh.  She felt exposed,
shamed, vulnerable, available to his cruelty.  Knowing in a heart-rending
moment she had lost, she tensed in fear of the pain of when he would tear past
her maidenhead.  He drew back his hips, then...
    " Non!"   Becket rolled from atop her to
his feet, rage emanating from him like a tangible force.  "Never fear,
wife.  I have not the stomach for this after all."  He turned his back and
adjusted his maleness to beneath his braies.
    Disbelief stunned her to inaction, then her face burned
with a mixture of relief and humiliation, for she had won, and yet he had
rolled away from her in revulsion.  A dubious victory.  She scrambled from the
bed as her mind scrambled for insight.
    Fumbling to button her bodice, Rochelle watched while
Becket studied the tapestry on the wall above the hearth, the one she had
created with her own hands, the one with the maiden surrounded by gentle
creatures of the forest---and no men.  A fortunate woman. 
    And then she remembered Becket's threat that he would
claim DuBois by the consummation of the marriage, or by war.  Insult jolted her
already fractured self-esteem.  Becket preferred battle to bedding her,
although she berated herself for the stupidity of that thought.