Chapter Nine
Riding with Garren was far different than riding with Fergus.
For instance, she had always ridden behind Fergus in the saddle, but Garren put her in front of him.
He held her tightly with one hand and reined the muscular charger with the other.
As dawn broke on the first day of their wedded life together, they found themselves on a misty road surrounded by dripping trees.
It was wet and cold, but wrapped in Garren’s arms, Derica had never felt warmer, or more content.
The nuns had worked furiously during the night to clean and hem the pale blue gown that had caused so much trouble.
It was packed away in the borrowed satchel the sisters had filled for her.
She was dressed in a heavy broadcloth peasant gown that was a bit too snug, the very same garment she had taken her vows in.
Her waist was narrow, her hips shapely and her breasts full, and she filled out the dress better than a peasant ever could have.
The bodice of the gown was crisscrossed with a series of string ties, which Sister Mary Felicitas and another nun had worked furiously to cinch up across her rounded breasts.
She had spent a good deal of time exhaling to shrink down while they pulled.
Finally, the garment was laced, but Derica was clearly squeezed into it like a cork ready to pop.
Garren had thought the dress quite pleasing on her figure.
He had no complaints whatsoever. But she was obviously out of place in such a plain dress, like a beautiful painting set in a latrine.
With her hair plaited into a long braid that tumbled over one shoulder, she looked positively angelic.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and he made sure that he always had hold of her with one hand or the other.
Never in his life had he felt more fortunate, and the more time passed, the more deeply attached he could feel himself becoming.
Gone were the fears he had possessed when he had first met her; he had surrendered fully to his emotions and had never been happier in his life.
Derica fell asleep less than a half hour into their journey.
Garren scanned the countryside with his trained eye, every so often glancing down at the lady in his arms. She was wrapped in the brown cloak Fergus had given her, also cleaned by the nuns along with the blue dress.
Her head was cradled in the crook of his right elbow, her face pressed against his cold armor as she snored softly.
Every so often, she would shift and her left hand would come into view, the silver ring gleaming in the misty light.
Garren smiled every time he looked down at her; he could hardly believe she was his.
She slept well into the day. He never stopped, traveling in a southwesterly direction.
The fog lifted eventually, giving way to a semi-clear day.
Garren stayed clear of the towns as Fergus had, choosing instead to stick to the trees and less-traveled paths.
He expected to make terrible time this day, hardly to where he would have liked to have been.
But Derica was sleeping, exhausted, and he wanted to be considerate of her.
Still, his senses were painfully attuned to everything around them.
He knew they were not safe from her father’s patrols and was torn between doing what he knew needed to be done for their own good, and wanting to be indulgent of his wife’s exhaustion.
Sunset came and there had been no signs of de Rosa’ patrols.
He could only hope that Fergus had been successful in diverting them.
The berg of Kettering loomed up ahead. Going against his instincts of staying to the woods, he wanted their first night as husband and wife to be spent in a place that was warm and comfortable.
There were three inns in the town. At sunset, most of the avenues were closing up for the night and there was little traffic on the streets. Garren reined his charger towards the largest of the three inns, a place called the Rough Head. It appeared good enough for his purposes.
When the charger came to a halt, Derica roused immediately. She blinked her eyes and sat up so quickly that she bashed Garren in the chin.
“I am sorry,” she said, rubbing the spot she had hit. “Are you all right?”
He let her massage it. “I have been hit harder,” he quipped. “So I see that you have awakened, Lady le Mon. Are you ready for a decent meal and a decent bed?”
She nodded gratefully. “More than you know.” She yawned. “I could sleep for a week.”
He dismounted the charger and lifted her off, kissing her twice before he set her feet on the ground.
There was a boy sitting in the dirt outside of the inn; Garren tossed the boy two pence and asked him to feed and stable his charger for the night.
The boy eagerly took the money and led the beast around the side of the building.
Collecting Derica’s bag and his own saddlebags and weapon, they proceeded inside the establishment.
It was a smoky, loud place. Men and women were everywhere, eating and drinking and relieving themselves on the floor.
Derica had never been in a tavern before; were she not used to the wild ways of her brothers, she might have been shocked.
As it was, she was not easily startled. Garren was pleased to see that she was observing the happenings without stress.
Holding her by one arm, he made his way through the madness to the barkeep.
He asked for a room and was told there was none.
But a gold piece on the counter proved that there was indeed a room to be had.
At the top of the stairs and to the right, Garren and Derica found themselves in a small room with a small bed.
Oddly enough, it seemed relatively clean.
Garren closed the door, bolted it, set their bags down.
The noise from the room downstairs was a distant roar.
“I shall start a fire,” he said.
The fireplace was small and dark, but Garren soon had it smoking with a weak blaze.
Derica sat down on the only chair, watching the flames glisten off of Garren’s coppery-blond hair.
The events of the previous days seemed like a dream to her, but the reality of the silver ring around her finger told otherwise.
“It must have been a very uninteresting ride for you today with me passed out like a drunkard,” she said.
He turned from the fire, smiling at her. “It wasn’t uninteresting at all. I spent the entire day staring at my new wife.”
“And?”
“And I think I have married an angel.”
She blushed. “Oh, but you do flatter me, Sir Garren.”
“I speak the truth.”
He set the poker down and stood up. Derica watched with anticipation as he came over to her and pulled her to her feet.
He took her in his arms, gazing deeply into her eyes before kissing her with such tenderness that Derica’s knees went weak.
He suckled her top lip, her bottom lip, before his tongue carefully entered her mouth.
Derica had never been kissed like that before, but took to it with eager abandon.
She was eager to experience anything he wished to teach her.
He slid the cloak off of her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
With his wife in his arms, he moved to the small bed and carefully set her upon it.
Slowly, he pushed her back until she was laying down, with his big body over her.
He wrapped her in himself, feeling and tasting something he would gladly risk his life for a thousand times over.
Although he didn’t want to scare her, he was eager to explore her.
But he restrained himself for the moment, kissing her, acquainting her with his touch and taste, before gently moving to the laces that his sister had struggled so to cinch up.
With a tug, he released the tie and her bodice instantly loosened.
She didn’t resist him, nor did she utter a word of protest, so he continued.
He was careful about loosening the bodice.
But soon it was falling off of her shoulders and his hand snaked inside, stroking the silky flesh of her collarbone.
Moving lower, he could feel the swell of her breast and he could not restrain himself from gently stroking, touching, moving toward the swollen nipple.
When his fingers finally moved across the hard, red peak, he let out a ragged sigh.
Had he possessed any less self-control, he would have taken her at that very moment.
His desire was beginning to overwhelm him.
Her gown came off in inches, moving down her torso, exposing her breasts, before moving to her waist. He tugged gently, removing his own armor in pieces even as he undressed her, which was no easy feat.
He kept his lips on hers constantly, kissing her until she could hardly breathe, tasting her deeply.
In time, her gown was off and his tunic with it.
His leg armor was a bit trickier and more than once he apologized, left her mouth, and unlatched something.
Sections of armor hit the floor like metal rain drops.
When his breeches finally came off and they were both as naked as the day they were born, he stopped long enough to look at her; she was all he had known she would be.
Her breasts were round and white, her stomach flat, her legs smooth and shapely.
He admired her as one would have admired the most magnificent of sculptures, a work of art that could never be duplicated.
“What’s wrong?” Derica whispered.
“Nothing, sweetheart.”
“Then why do you stop?”
“To look at you.”
It was her first flash of self-consciousness and Garren gently grasped the hand that came up to cover her nakedness. He kissed her hand, her lips.
“No, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You will not hide from me. You’re the most glorious beauty I have ever laid eyes on.”