The Long Betrothal Ch. 01

It had happened so fast.

Kerin perched on the edge of her father's old bed in the room she'd inherited upon his death. After Jonette assuaged her initial anxiety, Kerin had brooded, wondering what she could have done to avert their current plight. Miles of pacing convinced her that the answer was "naught"; there was no way she could have anticipated Maxen's remarkable proposal. If she had, she would have sent her men away.

With Milot and Geralt safe, Kerin wouldn't have objected to a wedding. Despite what he surely believed-- because of the way she'd chosen to behave-- Kerin had never stopped wanting to be Maxen's wife.

She'd been just a child when first they met and he a tall young man, but as their fathers bartered, Kerin and Maxen had formed a more primal bond. They'd walked the moors and cliffside for hours, talking of many things, and laughing often. He'd been handsome and kind and she'd looked forward to being his wife. In different circumstances, she'd welcome it still.

Kerin stopped pacing and sank to the edge of the edge of the bed, the thick feather mattress billowing around her.

Wishing served no purpose.

If she married Maxen, her men would be expected to pledge fealty to him, and sooner or later, their deception would be discovered. Then she, Milot, and Geralt would die.

Their only chance of survival lay with Kerin avoiding the match.

Briefly, she considered using the tactics she'd employed to get rid of him before, but she suspected the same disdainful attitude would yield different results this time. She doubted she'd be allowed to live, much less leave the keep with her men and maids.

Kerin pulled her feet up on the mattress beside her.

Besides, she was a different person now. She'd been a stupid child then, terrified and desperate enough to try anything. Now... now she was tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending, tired of spending every day worrying how she'd keep her household fed and her people safe through the coming years.

Tywyll Keep had been Kerin's home since birth, but losing it hadn't sounded like such a tragedy. The thought of being responsible only for herself-- and mayhap a few others-- had seemed like the door to freedom. Instead, she found herself burdened by some of the same responsibilities, plus the added threat of a new master, one who would not be so easy to fool second time.

-- --o-- --

Maxen stood beside his bed, watching Kerin sleep. She'd removed the long, loosely-fitting brown surcoat she was wearing earlier and now wore only the fitted gown of fine white linen that gentlewomen wore beneath. With her head-covering removed and her hair loose for the night, she looked younger than her years.

The vixen looked like an angel now, he thought. If he didn't know better... with his hand halfway to her shoulder, he stopped.

Her men didn't know better, Maxen reflected, thinking of his time below. After leaving Edon, he'd gone to visit the two soldiers they'd taken this afternoon, kept separate by design. With no time to plan, they nonetheless told the same story. Their lady intended to take a few faithful servants west to her cousin's home, where perhaps she might be allowed to stay on. She was returning two of her ladies to their parents along the way, and would try to find positions for the others. After seeing her settled, her men planned to find work.

When Maxen asked for a pledge of loyalty, both refused politely, in nearly identical phrases. "Not without my lady's leave."

He'd been trying to get a sense of how she'd behaved as mistress of the keep, so he'd have some idea of what to expect. The older of the two men saw a hint of that. "Her people love the Lady Kerin, my lord," he'd volunteered without a question asked of him, "but she spoke to them before the battle and all are prepared to pledge their fealty to you without reservation."

Maxen hesitated. "To me, or to any victor?"

"She spoke of you alone for most of these past weeks, since we had word of the coming conflict. Only twice did she mention the possibility of another, and only in passing. She was positive you'd be victorious."

Maxen asked no more of Geralt. Oddly, he liked the older man. Maxen thought if Geralt pledged loyalty, he was the kind of man who would keep that pledge until death. Maxen didn't trust him, of course, but it was another fact he'd secret away for when he might need the information.

Milot, the younger of Kerin's two men, was a gallant hot-head, demanding reassurances of his lady's safety until Maxen was forced to slam the lad against the stone wall, threatening him with the lady's death unless he answered Maxen's questions. His face was sullen after that, but confirmed Geralt's stories of what she'd told her people about their new master. "She said you were stern, but fair, and would not hurt them if they were loyal and spoke the truth."

Maxen let his hand fall from Milot's chest and backed away, his face showing nothing of his suspicions.

-- --o-- --

After they'd supped in the Great Hall and the rest of his men had departed for their various beds, Maxen asked Edon what he'd learned, "Tell me about her men."

Edon was reluctant to relay what few scraps of information he'd collected.

Despite Maxen's stated reasons, Edon found it hard to believe that this marriage was entirely about property rights. If there was something else behind the plan... he too hated Kerin for what she'd done to Maxen, but if his friend was wedding her for revenge, he'd be sacrificing the rest of his life, as well as his immortal soul. Maxen was a far harder man than he'd been a decade ago, but Edon still hoped his future could be different. Part of that hinged on Maxen someday softening enough to care for another woman, one with whom he could have a family. But if Maxen wed Kerin--

"Her men." Maxen prodded.

Edon lifted a shoulder. "Nobody. The elder of the two, Geralt, was with her father the king, and has known the lady from birth. The younger, Milot Sayer, was fostered here a few years back. His family have since died and he stayed on, having nowhere else to go."

Maxen heard the hesitation. "And...."

Edon glanced around. " 'Tis rumored that he spends much time visiting the Lady Kerin in her chambers-- alone."

Maxen grimaced. "He's how old?"

"Twenty, though he's small for it-- doesn't look more than sixteen or seventeen winters."

Maxen nodded; he'd had the same thought when he shoved the lad... the lad, not the man... because that's what he'd been thinking at the time. Milot had the fine features of nobility, though, no matter his age, and the kind of mournful eyes which made women swoon. Maxen stifled another grimace and left Edon sitting alone before the dwindling fire.

-- --o-- --

In the king's narrow chamber atop the stairs, Maxen let his hand fall at last to Kerin's shoulder.

He shook her five or six times, progressively more abruptly, her head rolling back and forth on the pillow as though not attached to her neck, and still she didn't wake.

On the landing outside the door, he nudged her maid awake with a leather-shod toe. Once was enough to wake that particular woman. When she saw who loomed above her, she scurried back into the corner as though expecting an actual kick.

"Did your lady consume an excess of wine?" he asked, as mildly as he could.

The girl went from a terrified animal cowering at his feet to a giggling maiden. "No, my lord. My lady Kerin sleeps as soundly as a corpse with naught but water to drink. I've heard she was so as a babe, and since."

"Huh." Maxen returned to the side of the bed, where he shook Kerin for several minutes before giving up on the idea of speaking with her before morning. He dropped to the bed beside her and lay staring at her face in the firelight. Angelic, indeed, and from only a foot away, he could smell her sweetness. Under tunic and leggings, his cock stirred, and Maxen sneered at the disloyal snake.

More fool he, to lie with her 'til morning simply because she slept so well.

"Kerin. Kerin!" He shook and growled until she at last began to rouse, mumbling and blinking endlessly.

Finally she moved, half-heartedly shoving his hand away from her shoulder. Either the feeling of her hand bumping against his chest or the curse he muttered when she struck his bandaged wounds penetrated her slumberous fog. Kerin's eyelids lifted and she smiled sleepily up at him.

"Caradoc," she mumbled, rolling toward him as her eyes closed again. She wound up with her cheek resting on his shoulder, her arm draped across his hip, and those delicious breasts pressed against his ribcage.

Maxen froze, listening to the blood thundering wildly through his temples. He gazed down at her.

Kerin's eyes were closed, her lashes soft against the pale cheeks.

Caradoc, she'd called him. Her beloved. Without a thought, Maxen pulled her body more tightly to his and bent to claim her mouth.

Kerin had been dreaming of him, as she often did, her mind unhampered by what happened in daylight hours. She'd fallen in love with Maxen ap Dyfed at the tender age of eleven and had never fallen out. Sending him away five years ago was one of the two most difficult things she'd ever done. Despite their lack of contact, Maxen was as real in her dreams as Milot and Geralt, and as consistently tender as only a dream lover could be. The night she surrendered the keep, life and dream melded seamlessly. She wasn't truly conscious when she rolled into his arms, but in her dreams, Maxen always called her his beloved, and in return, caradoc sprang easily to Kerin's sleepy lips.

Maxen kissed her gently until she responded, opening to encourage the bold explorations of his tongue and tightening her grip on his torso. When he deepened the kiss and pulled her in, Kerin instinctively fitted her body to his, draping her leg atop his.

Maxen groaned against her lips. The long white chemise she wore covered her completely, but it was thin and didn't stop him from feeling what lay beneath. He let his hand trace her spine downward, over one fine curved rib and into the dip of her waist, where it rested uncertainly. Her nipples had hardened beneath the gown and pressed against his chest, beckoning his fingertips, but her lower half won out, and his hand dropped to cup the soft curve of her bottom.

Kerin's passionate response astounded Maxen, given her previous treatment of him. The one miniscule corner of his mind not wholly consumed by sensation shouted for him to halt the mad plunge, but his body rebelled. Stroking from her bottom down onto one slim calf, Maxen drew Kerin's leg high onto his hip, sliding his thigh between her own. Through the worn linen of her gown and the stiffer fabric of his leggins, he felt her heat. His hand returned to her bottom and he rocked Kerin sideways, his leg parting her hidden folds.

She arched, mindlessly compelled to seek more contact. It was too much for Maxen, and his mind ceded control to his body's needs.

Like his, Kerin's body was consumed by delicious sensation but, unlike Maxen, she had no idea what was happening. For endless moments, Maxen moved her, and Kerin rode his thigh helplessly, writhing as an inescapable legion of new feelings assaulted her, all of them too real, too sharp, too torturous to be a dream.

His hand on her bare calf rent the final shreds of the spell sleep and wishfulness had wound about her, and Kerin tore her mouth away from Maxen's.

He lifted his head and found Kerin looking at him in a mixture of panic and confusion.

"M-Maxen?" She stuttered, her entire body tensing.

He watched her face as impending climax stole her self-control. Her confusion gave way to yearning as her eyes closed again, her mouth opened, and her spine curled, her fingers clutching handfuls of his tunic. A low moan slipped from between her lips, announcing her orgasm to anyone who couldn't see her expression or feel the convulsions wracking her body, as Maxen did.

He continued to rock her against him as she quieted, though his own faculties had returned in full when he saw the shock in her eyes. Finally she collapsed, her muscles useless. Dislodging his arm from where it was pinned beneath her body, Maxen rolled Kerin away from him, furious with himself and the temptress who'd made him forget his vow only hours after making it.

He would marry her to secure his lands, but her place in his life would have less import than that of the cook who fed him. He meant to honor that pledge, and if he had to sleep in the stable to do it, he would.

Stifling a groan at the unrelieved pressure in his loins, Maxen showed his back to her until he turned to seat himself at a tiny table before the hearth.

He was watching dispassionately when she regained her senses. Kerin's eyes blinked open and the first emotion he saw on her face was dismay.

Hurriedly she pushed herself to a sitting position, scrabbling backwards toward the head of the bed as she tugged her skirt down to cover her bare legs. A long silence preceded her weak first words.

"My lord Maxen?" She offered, clearly still addled.

"Yes, and a pity for you, since I'm sure you were expecting someone else." He didn't look away, and saw the horror on her face when she realized she'd been caught.

His suspicions confirmed, Maxen snarled. "The real pity is that I didn't know earlier: I could have slaked my lust on you without paying your commutation fee."

Kerin's eyes widened and she gasped at this second accusation.

A fine actress, Maxen thought as he rose and turned away. He could almost believe she was the virgin she pretended to be. A few small licks of flame danced around the glowing coals on the hearth, and he used them as distraction while regaining control of his emotions. A moment was all it took before he faced her again.

"My lady Kerin, your men tell me you were sure I would win the battle and take possession of Penrhyn Tywyll."

After a moment of disorientation, her eyes brightened. "They are well? Geralt and... Milot?"

He noted the minute pause before the younger man's name and coached himself to calm. No doubt it had been Milot to whom her body responded before awakening. "A few bruises, but nothing that won't heal in a day or two. Since you seemed sure of my victory, I wonder why you didn't grant your men leave to pledge fealty, as you did the rest of your people."

Kerin lowered her eyes. "I had hoped to have their protection on our journey west."

He stared as she shifted uncomfortably, drawing her feet up under the hem of her gown. Maybe she wasn't lying, but she was definitely hiding something from him. "And now, my lady? Now that we are betrothed, and your vassals free to stay as well, will you grant them leave now?"

"I-- " She lifted her eyes, finally, grateful that she couldn't see his face. " 'Tis a generous offer, my lord, but I cannot marry you."

With the dying fire behind him, Maxen was only a looming silhouette across the room, but she felt the intensity of his stare. While anything was better than the look of loathing he'd been wearing earlier, Kerin didn't harbor any hope that the feeling had faded. The transgressions she'd committed against him in the past would brook no forgiveness, and tonight would only strengthen his hatred.

He didn't bother replying to her refusal.

Kerin's face remained serene, though his accusations had hurt her badly. She'd been so stunned by his lovemaking that Maxen's words hadn't penetrated right away, and shock had done the rest. Any reply she might have made after that long, unintentional pause would have been irrelevant. In light of the enmity she now realized Maxen bore for her, Kerin doubted anything she ever said would matter to the man.

Underneath the tranquil exterior, Kerin was terrified. She could only hope Maxen didn't discover the more serious crimes she'd committed after treating him so ill. God only knew, he had no motive for keeping quiet, when turning her in would pay so well.

-- --o-- --

Stay tuned for Chapter 2-- I'm shooting for a new post every two weeks again with this story.