Terri Brisbin by The Betrothal

began and followed the soft skin down to the now-exposed nipple. Braden felt Joanna’s hands move to his chest and grasp at his tunic, but she did not stop him.
    Sliding his hands down to her waist, he knelt before her and took one of the tightened buds in his mouth, licking and sucking at it until he felt her legs tremble. Then he moved to the other and soon, her ragged breath echoed through the chamber. Braden kissed the line down the center of her stomach and slid his hands around to caress her bottom when she tensed and pulled from his embrace.
    “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No.”
    He stood and watched as she tugged the edges of the tunic together and held them tightly. Her breaths were still uneven and he was pleased that she had been affected by his kisses and by his touch. She might be a virgin and not know the ways of physical love yet, but her body was ready for his as much as his was for hers.
    “Consummation is all that is left for us, Joanna. The final step in making you my wife. Our last step.” He adjusted his belted hose and tunic to ease the tension against the part of him that urged for that act more than any other at this moment.
    “I will not say the words at the church door, my lord. I will recant my consent.” She stepped away from him and walked a few paces in the direction of the altar. “I still claim sanctuary here.”
    Her fear of him had lessened and he had tasted of her innocent passion again, but nothing had changed between them. In the morning, it would take force to remove her from this chapel and that sin would be added to his long list of previous ones.
    “So be it, lady. I will take you from here if need be.”
    “I will not come willingly, my lord.”
    Nodding at her, Braden turned to leave. Mayhap the loneliness and darkness of the church for the rest of the day and night would give her time to relent. If not, he knew what he had to do.
     
    He had no idea about what to do.
    Lord Orrick’s invitation to dinner had surprised him. He expected to be seated in the back of the hall, but instead found himself at the lord’s table. His men were offered every comfort again as was he. The only strange thing was that the women were missing. Lady Margaret and her ladies were gone from the table. No explanation was offered until the meal was finished and then he knew that his mission was in trouble.
    “My ladywife is eating her evening meal in the chapel, Lord Braden,” Lord Orrick began.
    “As is mine,” said Sir Royce, Orrick’s chief knight and castellan.
    “As is mine,” added Sir Richard, the knight who oversaw Orrick’s interests in the salt lathes and monastery properties.
    “And mine, I fear,” said Sir Hugh, captain of Orrick’s guards.
    “And mine.” The words continued down the length of the womanless table as each of Orrick’s knights and retainers reported the same occurrence—all the women were in the chapel.
    With Joanna.
    This could not be a good thing.
    Braden did not realize he’d said the words aloud until the men grunted and nodded in agreement. Two pitchers of wine were placed on the table and quickly shared by all. The men ranged in age from young knights about one score in years to Lord Orrick at just past two score and even older.
    “What is their purpose there, my lord?”
    “Companionship for Lady Joanna, I am certain,” Orrick replied but his expression did not look as though he was certain at all.
    “Mischief and mayhem,” answered another of the men farther down the table. When all the others nodded or grunted in agreement, he could not tell who had spoken the words.
    “I do not understand, Lord Orrick. How is it that you allow your wife such behavior? Should you not exert more control and guidance over her? I tell you candidly that she is not setting a good example of wifely behavior for my betrothed.”
    Every man to a one at the table stopped and stared at him. Had he gone too far and offered too great an insult to his host?