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When Vanora realized the situation was leading to an outcome neither she nor Lionheart wanted, she shook her head in vigorous protest. But before she could voice an objection, Mair bustled into the chamber, clucking over her mistress's state of undress.

"There, there, lambie, I will have you dressed in no time."

It was apparent to Vanora that Mair had been lurking outside the door or she could not have arrived so close on Father Caddoc's heels.

"Nay!" Lionheart shouted, clearly astounded by the unexpected turn of events. "Say the words, Father, then take Mair and leave. You have meddled enough in my affairs."

"Lionheart, this is madness!" Vanora cried, finally finding her voice. "Neither of us wants this."

"Maybe not, but I want you." His steely gaze returned to the priest. "The words, Father. Say them before I change my mind and simply take what I want."

"Nay! There will be no marriage," Vanora cried.

"You have no choice, child," Father Caddoc said. "Think of your immortal soul if naught else. Lionheart is a knight; his code of honor demands that he honor his wife. Become his leman and you earn naught but his disrespect. Either way, he will have you."

"The words, priest," Lionheart bit out.

Father Caddoc opened his prayer book, prompting Mair to fetch Lionheart's chamber robe from a bench and drape it around Vanora's shoulders. Then Father Caddoc began the brief ceremony that would make her Lionheart's wife from now to eternity. When the moment arrived for her to pledge herself to Lionheart, the words stuck in her throat.

"Aye or nay, Vanora," Lionheart warned. "I shall have you whatever your answer."

"Vanora," Father Caddoc repeated, "will you take Lionheart for your husband?"

"Aye, but I like it not."

Lionheart's laughter broke the tension, and moments later Father Caddoc pronounced them husband and wife. Vanora was still reeling from shock when Lionheart pushed the priest and Mair from the room and locked the door behind them. When he turned back to her, she was stunned by the look of horror etched upon his face.

"Blood of Christ! What have I done?"

"The unthinkable," Vanora charged. "What madness seized you?"

"Lust," Lionheart said, unable to find a better answer. "I thought with my cock and not my head." He stalked toward her. "But you are mine now, Vanora. You cannot say me nay, and your priest cannot appeal to my conscience."

He yanked away the chamber robe, baring her thinly clad body to his raking gaze. She saw his eyes glitter with dark hunger as he grasped the hem of her shift and whipped it over her head. Then his hands were moving on her body, stroking her throat, her breasts, her belly, her thighs. His touch made her flesh burn and her knees tremble. She was shivering all over, shuddering with a volatile combination of anticipation and fear.

It seemed strange that a man who did not love her should touch her with such gentleness. He had married her because he had been badgered into it, and because lust had stolen his mind, not because he had any true feelings for her.

Her own feelings at this moment were tumultuous. Naught had prepared her for a man like Lionheart. How could an English warrior she had vowed to hate awaken such intense emotions in her?

Lionheart's heart raced as he explored Vanora's body. He marveled at the soft texture of her satiny skin, and was more than a little startled at the strength he felt beneath the softness.

His palms cupped her breasts, tightened possessively around the full, ripe mounds. He brushed the pad of his thumb over her nipples until he felt her respond. His fingers flicked lightly over the rosy crests; he heard her soft cry of protest but ignored it. Seconds before he took one hardened nub into his mouth, he looked into her eyes and saw confusion. His teeth closed about the pink tip. His tongue teased it unmercifully, licking, nipping, tasting and swirling around it in delicate circles. Then his mouth closed over the erect bud and suckled her. He could feel her trembling and increased the pressure.

"What are you doing to me?" she whispered in a voice fraught with panic.

A tormenting ache had started deep inside her and spread through her blood like wildfire. She burned, wanting more of the unthinkable things Lionheart was doing to her while at the same time deploring her wanton nature. Instinctively she arched against him, whimpering a little as she mourned her lost innocence.

"Making love to my wife," Lionheart growled.

His words drove home the knowledge that she now belonged to a man who did not want her. Her dreams of love and fidelity lay shattered at her feet, for surely Lionheart would abandon her once he grew tired of her. However much she regretted her response, nothing could halt the feelings he created inside her. Lust was a powerful force, and lust for her husband rose like a devouring beast within her.

In spite of her reluctance, she found herself waiting breathlessly for Lionheart to quench the heat of urgency within her, to touch her intimately in that place where she ached the most.

As if aware of her need, his hand sought the downy curls and slick folds of the valley betwixt her legs. She trembled uncontrollably at the unfamiliar sensations he was arousing in her. Opening the petals of silky flesh, he caressed her until she was wet and warm and swollen.

"Do you want me inside you, Vanora?" Lionheart asked in a voice made hoarse by desire.

"Nay." It took all the will she possessed to summon that negative answer.

"Liar."

Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to the bed. His gaze never left hers as he shed his clothing and lay down beside her. His mouth found a sensitive place on her shoulder and teased it with his teeth and tongue, causing her to writhe beneath him. Lowering his head, he took a nipple between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue as his fingers tormented her feminine flesh below.

Slipping two fingers inside her, he stroked the length of her with small, fluttery movements that made her cry out softly and arch against him. Then his mouth left her breasts and began to travel downward; a cry of dismay ripped from her lips when she realized what he intended. His lips brushed across the flat of her belly, caressing the velvet softness of her thighs, pressing his face into the sable triangle between.

Something dark and primitive surged through her, and she tried to push him away, but he gripped her slender waist and pressed her firmly into the bed furs. When she felt his tongue flick deep inside her hot, slick channel, she gasped in outrage. Then he began to lap her, tasting her with slow, languid strokes, swirling his tongue in and out and over the swollen petals. The little bud of her secret place flowered beneath the heat of his mouth, and Vanora feared the sinful feelings he was arousing in her.

Feared them because she no longer recognized herself in the woman writhing beneath the powerful English knight. Her husband had turned her into a wanton, and she liked it not.

"Stop! 'Tis sinful."

"Naught is sinful between husband and wife," Lionheart said, looking up from the bountiful feast between her thighs. He heaved a regretful sigh. "Mayhap we will save this for another day. Before I leave, I shall teach you all the ways to give and receive pleasure."

"Mayhap you will not be around long enough," Vanora said hopefully.

"I cannot predict the future, but whatever time is left to me will be put to good use teaching my wife how to please me."

Reaching between her thighs, he drew his fingers along her cleft. Honeyed dew seeped over them as he caressed the swollen folds, still slick and wet from his mouth and tongue. Vanora moaned and unconsciously parted her legs wider as he again slipped two fingers inside her and moved them in and out in hard, deliberate thrusts. Liquid fire spilled through her as the deep penetration of his fingers explored her so thoroughly.

Suddenly she was gasping for air. She struggled against the rising tide of passion, but Lionheart was relentless. Then she burst into a brilliant shower of overwhelming sensation. She cried out, a desperate cry that shook her very being.

Lionheart fought for control; his cock was ready to burst and his balls ached with raw need as he guided himself to the entrance of her body. He wanted to thrust his way inside her, to take her quickly and spend himself violently. The only thing that stopped him was the code of honor he had sworn to abide by when he had achieved knighthood. The code demanded that he should honor his wife, and though his hasty marriage was probably the biggest mistake of his life, hurting Vanora was not his intention.

He had aroused her with his mouth and fingers; she was damp and ready. Nevertheless, he proceeded with caution, penetrating her slowly, until he felt the barrier of her maidenhead. He did not go any further, but pulled slowly back, then dipped inside again, and slowly back, over and over, until she grew accustomed to the feeling of being stretched. It was not easy to breach her, despite the dampness that readied her for him. He rocked his hips back and forth, forcing himself a little deeper with each thrust.

Vanora's body resisted the increasing pressure; the pain surprised her. She had known it would hurt but was not prepared for the degree of pain she was suffering.

"Stop! You cannot fit."

If she had expected him to stop, she was mistaken. He merely tightened his arms and held her firmly beneath him, controlling her struggles with his weight and strength, focused now on his own pleasure. He pushed harder, and her tender flesh gave under the pressure, closing around his thick length as he surged full and deep inside her. Finally he was in her to the hilt; she writhed helplessly beneath him, shifting to ease the pain.

"The worst is over, sweeting," he said, soothing her without withdrawing.

The deed was done; she was truly Lionheart's wife now.

Her breathing calmed, became deeper. Now that she was reconciled to the fact that her virginity had been breached, some of the pleasure she had experienced earlier returned. She felt him deep inside her, pulsing strongly within her tightness, and she moved her hips experimentally. It felt. . . good. Nay, better than good. She wanted more. She looked up at him and met his glittering silver gaze.

"Shall I continue?"

She felt his tenseness ease; until then she had not realized how tight his muscles had been. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

"I want to hear you say the words. Do you want me, Vanora?"

Admitting such a thing bit deeply into her pride, but she could no longer deny her need. While her mind utterly denied him, her body wanted him. "Aye, I want you."

He kissed her, deep kisses that shook her to the very core. Grasping his shoulders, she wanted to move more quickly, to finish this and be done with it. but he controlled her; his hands beneath her buttocks rocked her against him. He urged her to accept his pace, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but always masterful.

He adjusted his weight, leaning into her, pressing her down further into the furs. "I told you we would fit," he whispered into her ear. "Can you feel me inside you?"

She tossed her head back and forth on the pillow, feeling every turgid inch of him filling her. "Aye."

"You are so tight and warm and wet inside."

His words served to heighten her awareness of the motion of his hips, the heat, the pure sexuality of their coupling. She whimpered. He thrust deeper. He overwhelmed her with his passion. The pressure grew, intensified; yet she fought to contain it.

He swore softly. "Do not hold back. Give yourself to me, Vanora. You are mine."

He moved within her, relentlessly, faster and deeper, as if he wanted to touch her soul. She was suddenly frightened of the way she felt, as if she had no control over her body. She pushed aside the inner voice that whispered what she did not wish to hear: that it was Lionheart's right to use her in such a manner, and that she enjoyed what he was doing to her.

Time stood still as she clung to him, their bodies moving as one. She heard her own muffled cries and could not stop them. With each thrust of Lionheart's staff she flew higher, her senses pulsing with soaring ecstasy. Then her body clutched the hard, thick length of him and convulsed in mindless rapture. The pleasurable contractions seemed to go on forever, her cries filling the chamber with sweet music as her body climbed unimaginable peaks.

His hips pounded, his breath grating harshly in her ears. She tightened her muscles on him. He swore loudly, then pushed once more, holding himself inside her, his powerful climax filling her with the vibrant warmth of life.

Breathing deeply, Vanora closed her eyes, aware that something momentous had just taken place. Everything in her world had changed. She was truly and irrevocably a woman now, and to her surprise, she did not regret the loss of her maidenhead. She felt not the pain of ravishment but the joy of being loved. Not loved in the true sense of the word, for Lionheart did not love her with his heart, but loved nonetheless.

Lionheart stared down at her. Her hair was spread in a tangled web of rich sable across the pillow, and her body still gripped him tightly. Reluctantly he left her warm softness and rolled to his side, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her against him.

"That was not so bad, was it?"

His smug expression galled her. "How did you accomplish that?"

He grinned. "Accomplish what?"

"I wanted you not, but you did things to my body that made me ..." She halted, unable to say the words.

"Made you want me? Admit it, sweeting, I gave you pleasure, just as I promised.

"You hurt me."

"The pain is a woman's burden to bear, but 'tis a small price to pay, is it not? You will experience that same pleasure without the pain many times before I leave Cragdon. I shall see to it."

"Your arrogance appalls me, sir knight." She tried to rise, but his arm tightened around her.

"Where are you going?"

"I am famished. I should go below and see what has become of our meal."

"Nay, I suspect 'tis waiting for us outside the door." He rose and pulled a coverlet over her. "Stay as you are while I fetch it."

Rising naked from the bed, he strode to the door. Vanora's gaze went to the taut mounds of his buttocks, remembering how his muscles had flexed beneath her hands as he drove himself inside her. Her gaze roamed upward, noting the scar near his left shoulder and another on the right, only lower, and another still on his left thigh.

His was a warrior's body, strong and muscular without the sturdy bulk of her own countrymen. No doubt about it, Lionheart was a man without equal. Were he not an Englishman . . . The thought slid away as Lionheart opened the door and found the tray his squire had left for them. He returned with it to the bed. Her appreciative gaze was riveted on his loins.

Even at rest his manhood was impressive. Were all men as magnificently endowed? she wondered. Somehow she doubted it. Her gaze followed the line of hair rising from his groin to his chest, admiring his trim waist and the width of his shoulders. But it was his face to which her attention was drawn: dark, elegant brows, lips that could turn hard at will, and changeable eyes that varied in intensity from glittering silver to smoky gray. The combination was lethal. No wonder women went eagerly to his bed.

Lionheart set the cloth-covered tray on the bed and sat down carefully so as not to upset it. He whisked

off the cloth and inspected the contents. The tantalizing aroma of roasted hare and venison pie made Vanora's mouth water. There was also cheese, fresh bread and butter and mugs of ale.

Lionheart retrieved his knife from the night-stand and cut the meat into small chunks. Then he offered the trencher to Vanora. "Help yourself," he said. "It looks delicious."

Vanora pushed a piece of meat onto a hunk of bread and popped it into her mouth, chewing and swallowing with relish. " 'Tis good," she allowed.

They ate quickly, devouring nearly all the food that had been left for them. When they finished, Lionheart set the empty tray on a table and walked to the washstand. He poured water into a bowl, wet a cloth and washed his hands and face; then he carried the water and cloth to the bed. After Vanora washed her hands and face, he took the cloth from her, dipped it into the bowl and pulled aside the coverlet.

"What are you doing?"

"Cleansing my seed and your virgin's blood from your thighs."

She tried to grasp the cloth from his hand, but he would not let her. "I can do it myself. What you intend is not decent."

He sent her a stern look. "I shall decide what is decent and what is not." He spread her thighs, stared at her until she began to squirm in embarrassment, then applied the cloth to her tender flesh.

Mortified, Vanora averted her gaze. When he finished, he used the cloth on himself and returned the bowl to the washstand. Then he lay down be side her. Vanora rolled away and tried to rise, but once again he stopped her.

"Where are you going now?"

"To my chamber."

"This is your chamber. We are wed; henceforth you will sleep with me."

Vanora had no intention of continuing this intimacy between them. Lionheart had succeeded in seducing her, but now that she knew how responsive she was to him, she would take steps to protect herself. She would never forgive herself for falling into his arms like a ripe plum.

She gave him a frosty look. "Sharing a bed with you does not appeal to me."

Lionheart's brows lifted. "It has its advantages. I want your things moved into the solar tomorrow. Since your priest badgered me into wedding you, we shall live together as husband and wife for as long as I remain at Cragdon."

He pulled her into the curve of his body, one hand resting possessively on her breast. Panic seized her when she felt his erection prodding her. Nay, not again! When he rolled her onto her back, she doubled her fists and pounded his chest.

"Why do you fight me, vixen? You know you cannot win."

"You are an animal," she charged. "No human is capable of mating so soon without a proper resther thating period."

Lionheart laughed. "Obviously, you know naught of these matters, else you would not question my prowess. I am more than capable of making love to you again."

"I would prefer you did not," Vanora persisted.

When his hand moved down her body, she tried not to flinch. She held herself rigid, even when he began to caress her. His hand rose to her breast, his fingers splaying over the sensitive mound, deliberately brushing her tingling nipples until they thrust against his palm.

Vanora drew in a sharp breath, finding it difficult to remain impassive. Glancing up at his face, she saw that his teeth were clenched, his expression hard and utterly determined. Sadness overwhelmed her, for she discerned no warmth, no real tenderness in his caresses this time. But he was arousing her all the same.

"Do not attempt to resist me, sweeting, for 'twill do you no good. I can make you want me, and well you know it. I can be tender if you allow it, or I can take what I want. 'Tis up to you how our relationship proceeds."

"I am your wife and must submit, but I do not have to like it."

"Ah, sweeting, you are wrong. When we mate, you will most definitely like it."

As if to prove his mastery over her, his hand swept lower. Vanora bit her lip hard as his palm skimmed over her buttocks and slid slowly over her hip to her belly, seeking the warmth of her woman's mound. Despite her clamped lips, she could not stop the moan that slipped past them when his fingers found her wet cleft. She tried to remove his hand, but he merely laughed at her. Urging her thighs apart, he slid his fingers deep into her.

Her breath quickened audibly.

"You drive me to distraction, woman," he growled as he shifted his position and mounted her, then lowered his loins until they met hers.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Vanora averted her face, refusing to let him see how aroused she was. She felt helpless lying beneath him, her body, her very soul exposed to him. She hated it that he could make her want him with so little effort.

He entered her then, thrusting slowly into her with detached control, relentlessly bringing her to the point of no return. Vanora gasped, tremors shooting through her body at the feel of his uncompromising strength inside her. She felt defenseless like this, impaled by his flesh. Yet, when he began to move, a traitorous heat began to blur the edges of her resistance and she flung her arms around his neck and thrust her loins against his in unconscious surrender.

It ended violently, her climax sending her soaring to the highest stars. Lionheart followed close behind, shouting her name as he poured himself into her. When it was over, Vanora lay spent and exhausted, deploring her wanton nature and vowing to be more cautious in her dealings with her husband in the future.

Lionheart's thoughts followed similar lines. Were he not careful, this woman could become more important to him than he wished. It was amazing how lust could lead a man into trouble. He had gotten what he wanted, but at what cost? He was not the kind of man to settle in one place. He was Edward's vassal, sworn to follow him to hell and back if Edward demanded it of him.

Lionheart had no need of an heir, for he had naught to leave to one; marriage was not important to him. Had Edward wanted Lionheart to wed, he would have chosen an heiress for him. Dimly Lionheart wondered how Edward would react to his hasty wedding. Would he find it unacceptable? Would he be angry and invalidate the marriage?

He turned and studied Vanora's sleeping face in the flickering candlelight, surprised to find that he wanted her again. He knew she was not as cold as she pretended, for he had unleashed hidden fires in her that had nearly incinerated him. She could deny it all she wished, but he was experienced enough to know that she wanted him with the same intensity that he wanted her.

There would be no separate chambers, no separate beds. He would accept naught but total surrender from his reluctant bride.

Gathering Vanora in his arms, Lionheart drifted off to sleep, smiling in anticipation of awakening and making love to Vanora in the pale light of dawn.

Vanora was gone when Lionheart awoke fully aroused the following morning. Cursing, he tossed back the covers and regarded his erection with a sour expression. Vanora had thwarted him again . . . damn her stubborn hide. He had not even heard her leave their bed. After he performed his morning ablutions, he left the chamber in a foul mood.

Sir Giles greeted him with a knowing smile as he strode into the hall. "Your marriage was rather sudden, was it not? You are late in rising. Doubtless you are exhausted, as I would be had I a bride like Vanora in my bed."

"Enough," Lionheart warned. "I admit I thought with the head betwixt my legs and not with the one on my shoulders. The marriage was unplanned, as you well know. 'Twas the priest's doing."

"Seriously, Lionheart," Giles said, "what will Edward say when he learns of your precipitous marriage to a Welshwoman?"

Lionheart shrugged. "My marriage changes naught but my sleeping arrangements at Cragdon."

Giles sent him a skeptical look. "Tell that to Edward."

"Speaking of my bride, have you seen Vanora this morning?"

"I saw her enter the chapel to attend Mass."

His face set in determined lines, Lionheart set out to find Vanora. He found her in the chapel, deep in prayer. He stood in the doorway and watched her until she sensed his presence and looked up.

"Were you looking for me?"

He stalked toward her. "Why did you leave our bed?"

"I always attend morning Mass."

"I wanted to make love to you again," he said in a low voice.

Vanora's violet eyes widened. "Again? 'Tis beyond belief that you would want to do ... that in the light of day."

He shrugged. "Night, day, it matters not. 'Tis called making love, Vanora. Can you not say it?"

"Do you love me, Lionheart?" His stunned expression must have answered her question, for she said, "I thought not. What we did was rut like two animals in heat. I remained in the chapel after Mass to pray for forgiveness."

His eyebrows shot upward. "For what do you need forgiveness?"

"I should not have allowed you to expose my wanton nature. I am praying for the strength to resist your next assault."

Dismay crossed Lionheart's features. "Assault? Is that what you call it? Why would you want to resist that which gives us pleasure? 'Tis no sin, what we did, for your priest said the words that made it right in God's eyes."

"Were you not goaded by lust, you would have never wed me."

"True, but 'tis too late for regrets. Get up from your knees, wife. We shall go to the hall to break our fast and receive congratulations on the propitious occasion of our marriage. Both your people and mine need to see us together."

Grasping her arm, he helped her rise. Father Caddoc chose that moment to appear from the sacristy, holding a sheet of parchment in one hand and an inkpot and quill in the other.

"Ah, 'tis good you are both here. I have prepared your marriage document. It but awaits your signatures."

Lionheart looked at the document with scant enthusiasm. Were he to refuse, would the marriage be invalid? He stared at it so long that Father Caddoc cleared his throat and thrust the inkpot beneath his nose.

"Your signature, Sir Lionheart."

Though Lionheart wanted to rip the document to shreds, something inside him would not allow it. His love of freedom warred with the need to possess Vanora, body and soul. Need won out as he dipped the quill in the inkpot and set his signature to the document. When he handed the quill to Vanora, she refused to take it.

"Sign it, child," Father Caddoc encouraged. "You have no choice. The deed was done, was it not?" he asked, alluding to her wedding night.

She turned to Lionheart, her face set in stubborn lines. "Do you keep your word, sir knight? Will Daffid live?"

"Aye, he will live."

"Will you set him free?"

A long pause ensued. "That depends on how well you please me. But never think you can take Daffid as a lover once I am gone. Father Caddoc will make sure you remain faithful to your vows." He fixed the priest with a piercing look. "Will you not, Father?"

Now, why had he said that? Once he left Cragdon, it should not matter to him what Vanora did.

"Fear not, Lionheart," Vanora spat. "I would not have Daffid were he the last man walking the earth."

Grasping the quill, she signed her name on the marriage document, returned it to Father Caddoc and stormed from the chapel.