Page 68 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

B y the time they arrived at Nottingham Castle, it had been dark for some time.

Matilda’s retinue finally arrived at the safest stronghold until London. A fortress among fortresses, its lord a strong supporter of the future queen who had already agreed to supply men for the final portion of their journey, Nottingham would provide much-needed rest for weary travelers.

Including Roland.

Though they’d not endured another attack since leaving Lincoln, bad weather had slowed their travels and made moving Matilda’s coach from place to place more difficult. She had volunteered to abandon it and ride on horseback, but her men refused the offer, saying the coach provided more protection.

And so, it had been slow going, the threat of another attack imminent.

They’d stayed one night at an abbey, another in a small village that had been secured and the others as guests of minor barons.

None had provided Roland the opportunity to seek out Amalia privately.

Tonight, however, was an exception. Nottingham was much larger than the others, and all the men were given beds within the castle walls.

At the meal, though she sat with Matilda, serving almost as a second lady’s maid to her, Roland had been able to speak to Amalia long enough to learn where her private bedchamber was located.

It was that chamber he sought now.

Since the attack, Amalia had not been herself.

More withdrawn than usual. It concerned him enough that he’d asked her, on the rare moments they’d been able to speak privately, if something was amiss.

She had said little, and by the time they arrived at Nottingham, he had become convinced ’twas more than remnants of unease from the attack.

Knocking at her chamber door had him unsettled. Roland would rather face all the Flemish mercenary’s men alone than have Amalia hurt in any way, but their quick exchanges had left him feeling that he’d somehow done just that.

She opened the door.

He resisted scooping her into his arms until it was closed behind them. He’d hoped to reassure himself all was well, but Roland sensed the opposite. He’d been about to kiss her, but instead, he pulled away and looked into Amalia’s eyes.

Ignored the fact that she wore only a shift and that he had thought of little these past days except Amalia moaning his name as he pleasured her.

“Tell me, Amalia. I can sense something is amiss with you. Is it the attack?”

She bit her lower lip.

Roland let her go completely. They needed to speak, and he could not think clearly with her so close.

Though not as large as her chamber at Lincoln Castle, Roland having bribed the steward into giving her the room, this one was well-appointed. Her time spent with Matilda would likely have Amalia treated well on this journey, and he was glad for it.

If we married, she would always be treated as such. She would be a lady. His lady.

Roland vowed to apologize to Gareth the moment he saw his friend again. He’d teased him for wanting to marry so quickly, but now Roland understood.

So this is what it is to love a woman?

“Amalia?” he repeated when she did not answer.

“Nay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I do not feel unsafe when you are around, despite the attack.”

He almost wished she had said “aye.”

“But something is amiss?” he urged.

She sat on the edge of the canopied bed, looking defeated. “The empress noticed our...affections. The day of the attack.”

Roland was not surprised. He was certain the discipline he’d honed over the course of his life, one he prided himself on, was not as present when he was with Amalia. He’d found himself glancing her way as they rode far too often.

“Did she say something to you?”

“She did.”

It only took him a moment to fully understand. Roland sighed. “Tell me.”

“She said you would never be free to marry me.”

First Lady Elara, and now the future queen of England. God save him, but there was just one way to convince her. And Roland would do it...would fetch the priest now and take Amalia as his wife, but that would surely be the breaking point in his relationship with his father.

“I will marry you,” Roland said. “When the empress is installed as queen, we will go to my father. Having supported the true sovereign of England, I will be in a much different position than when I left. And I will tell him of us, get his blessing.”

“From all you’ve told me of him, it seems unlikely he will give it.”

Roland did not wish to think of that particular circumstance. “He must. We’ve no need of more land, and with my family having supported Stephen, it will be my contribution to Matilda’s cause that will save us from losing everything.”

“If he does not?”

Roland’s jaw set. He’d made his decision on that front as well. “If he does not, I will forge a new path. We,” he amended, “will forge a new path.”

He thought his answer would please her, but Amalia did not seem pleased at all.

Roland went to her. Took her hands in his.

Rubbing circles on her palms with his thumbs, he spoke sincerely.

“I was raised to be the next earl of de Vere. And while it is a role I would very much like to fulfill, I made peace before, twice, that it may not happen. I’d not have repudiated the betrothal or joined the Guardians of the Sacred Oak if I was not prepared to forsake my inheritance. ”

“The thought weighs heavily on me, that you could be forced to give up so much.”

“I would be gaining more. Amalia, I’ve not known love until now. But I’ve no doubt that I’ve fallen deeply in love with you. I think of nothing else. Desire no other woman. You are unlike any others, and I wish to spend my days with you alone.”

He’d not prepared to say the words, uncertain if she would return them, but Roland meant them nonetheless. Watching as her eyes filled with tears, he waited for her response. A wait unlike any he’d ever experienced before.

“I’ve loved you since our first kiss.”

It was all she said, but it was more than enough.

In response, Roland leaned down to kiss her again.

This time, the touch was slow and sensual.

When his tongue tangled with her own, it was not meant to overwhelm but to arouse.

Roland slanted his head to the side, pulling Amalia toward him, deepening the kiss.

They stayed that way for some time. It was Amalia that pulled away first.

“Make me yours in truth, Roland.”

He looked into her eyes. Looked for any sign of doubt, but there was none.

He considered the consequences. She had nothing to prevent a babe, and there was little chance Roland could pull from her once they started.

But he’d meant the words he spoke. He preferred his father’s blessing, but Roland’s desire to retain the earldom was not stronger than his need to be with Amalia.

Matilda would be sworn in as the next queen very soon. His duty at Blackwood was completed. They would go directly to his father, and their fates would be decided. Either way, he would not be parted from her.

Reaching down, he pulled off his boots and removed his chausses as Amalia climbed into the bed, moving up toward the pillow. When he joined her, the magnitude of what they were about to do overtook him.

Suddenly impatient to see her, as Amalia aided him, Roland removed her shift. She wore nothing underneath it, and seeing her breasts for the first time, he could not decide what to worship first.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, his hands everywhere at once.

Kneeling between her legs, Roland worshipped every bit of Amalia’s body.

He ran his hands up her waist, his fingers brushing the sides of her breasts, before Roland allowed himself to cover both completely.

They filled his hands, and as he began to rub his thumbs over the peaks of Amalia’s nipples, she reached up, tugging on his linen shirt.

Momentarily taking his hands from her, Roland lifted his shirt off his head.

Amalia’s expression would be one he’d never forget. Eyes wide, worshipping him as he had done her, Amalia reached up to touch his stomach.

“So strong,” she said, her hands roaming as freely as his had a moment ago. Closing his eyes, Roland relished the touch. There was an intensity to it, to Amalia’s exploration, that no other touch before hers could rival.

He opened his eyes.

Held onto both of Amalia’s thighs, and gently pushed them open.

As she watched, he ran his hand up one of her sweet thighs until his fingers found their goal.

Slipping one inside, he cursed the men she’d been with before, who clearly had not taken the time to give her pleasure—the look of surprise on her face at what he was doing was not lost on him.

With a second finger, Roland ensured she was ready for him. Amalia moaned, circled her hips, and thrust to meet his touch.

“Roland, please.”

He knew what she wanted, and Roland was more than ready to give it to her.

Positioning himself between her legs, he pulled out his finger and then slowly entered her.

Little by little, giving Amalia time to adjust, he strained with the effort of taking it slow.

So slow, that by the time he was fully inside her, Amalia was already pushing against him.

Roland met her thrust with one of his own, holding himself above her, wanting to see her face. “I would kiss you while we make love, Amalia, but I wish to see you too.”

She stared into his eyes, the love she’d professed evident. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, this joining of two people, becoming one. Roland reached his hand down between them, determined to bring Amalia to climax before he found his own.

“Roland,” she said, his name on her lips, in that tone, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Aye, love?” he asked, already knowing what she wanted.

“That feels . . . so good.”

He redoubled his efforts, Roland wanting nothing more than to watch as Amalia found her pleasure. She was close, and admittedly, he was too.

“Roland.” She thrust her hips to meet him as he slowed his pace. That was enough to put Amalia over the edge. Pulling his hand from between them, Roland leaned over to kiss her just as Amalia’s entire body tensed.

With a final few thrusts, he lifted his head once more and came with her, Roland’s entire body seizing with the intensity of their joining.

As the throbbing subsided, he continued to watch Amalia’s expression.

More convinced than ever that she’d not experienced that before, even if she’d not been a virgin, a rush of protectiveness overcame him.

Roland scooped Amalia into his arms, not pulling from her yet, and pulled her so they lay side by side.

Wishing never to let go, he nearly bounded from the bed and fetched the priest immediately.

This woman would be his wife.

Finally, he did pull out of her, the brief separation giving them enough space that they could look upon one another.

“That was not like the other times,” she said.

“No,” he agreed, “it was not.”

“Surely you jest. You’ve been with so many women?—”

“Amalia,” he said, pushing back a strand of her hair.

“I’ve never made love to a woman that I intended to marry.

I’ve not been in love before. No matter what anyone tells you—about my past or my intentions—believe this.

I love you and will have no other in my bed from this day forward. It is you, and only you.”

She blinked. Believed him, hopefully.

“I am glad that brought you as much pleasure as it did me. And I believe you, Roland. That you love me. I will trust in your words, and no others, from this day forward.”

He kissed her nose, remembering one thing he had said. “And have no other man in your bed but me?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling. “Did that need to be said?”

“Perhaps not. But I would be certain. There are some marriages?—”

“Ours will not be one of them.”

That he wanted reassurances from her told Roland all he needed to know about the truth of his feelings toward Amalia. Not once had he sought, or cared, for such assurances before.

“I would stay with you, if I could,” he said, not wanting to let go just yet.

“And I would have you stay. But ’twould cause quite the scandal, I am certain.”

“It might be worth a scandal.”

“Mayhap one scandal, that we are about to aid in overthrowing the king of England, is enough for this journey.”

“Mayhap you are right.” The elation of their lovemaking was replaced with a caution, a hesitation about their quest, that Roland did not wish to examine.