The Deed by Lynsay Sands

  Feeling the stirring in his nether regions, Amaury quickly shook the image away. It would not do to get excited already. He suspected he had a long stressful night ahead of him in wooing his virgin bride. He intended on making it as easy and bearable an experience for her as he could manage. With that intention, he began to quickly strip. He was unsure how she would handle seeing him in full nudity and thought it might be best to be already abed when she came out.

  Best intentions aside, he had only managed to strip his tunic off before she stepped out around the screen and presented herself. Amaury's hands froze on the waist of his braies as he caught sight of her, his eyes widening in shock.

  God's tooth, even the woman's nightgown was black! Did she not own a single item of cloth that was not? he wondered in dismay as he took in the voluminous folds of the gown that covered her from her neck to her very toes.

  Emma took in her husband's wide-eyed face and tried not to fidget under his gaze. His expression merely assured her that she had been correct in assuming he was untried. Forcing a reassuring smile, she walked cautiously past him to the bed and crawled carefully beneath the bedclothes, then took a great deal of time and care straightening all the wrinkles out of them until they lay across her in a nice smooth wave. That done, she glanced furtively at her new husband, only to find him still standing where he had been, eyeing her with wide eyes. Frowning slightly, she started to speak, then realized he was probably shy.

  "I promise I shall not look," she told him gently and to prove it, closed her eyes and covered them with both hands.

  Amaury straightened at her action. Giving his head a shake at her odd behavior, he stripped his pants quickly off and moved to the side of the bed, lifting the linen and slipping beneath the bedclothes beside her.

  Emma dropped her hands as soon as she felt the bed depress. Turning, she shone a bright smile on him. "There. That was not so bad, was it?" she asked gently. "Now, just lie back."

  Amaury swallowed his shock as she pressed him gently back to lie on the bed, wondering what exactly was occurring. Was his wife truly taking control of the situation? His virgin wife?

  Once she had urged him to lie flat on his back, Emma smiled sweetly, tucked the bedclothes gently about his neck, then lay back herself, pulled the covers up to her neck as well, and sighed.

  Amaury lay silently beside her for a moment, then glanced at her curiously. His bride's eyes were closed, a serene smile on her face. "Lady Emmalene?" he asked uncertainly.

  Her eyes fluttered open. "Aye?"

  "What are we doing?"

  "Consummating the marriage," Emma whispered with a reassuring smile and closed her eyes once more.

  "We are?"

  Emma frowned at the perplexed tone in his voice. "Aye. We are sharing a bed, sleeping together, lying together."

  Amaury groaned as her words tumbled out. His bride, it seemed, was more innocent than he had thought if she believed this to be consummating the marriage. How was he to tell her . . .

  "My lord?"

  Eyes popping open, he nearly jumped out of the bed when he saw that she had sat up and was now leaning worriedly over him.

  "You groaned. Are you in pain? I had heard there could be some pain the first time."

  Amaury groaned again and turned his head away. How was he to tell her--

  A pounding at the door scattered his thoughts to the wind, and Amaury sat up instinctively, knocking his head with Emma's as he did.

  "Sorry," he muttered as the pounding sounded again.

  "Is the deed done yet?" The question was called anxiously through the door.

  Emma rolled her eyes as she recognized her cousin's voice. Truly, this was going too far. "Aye!"

  "Nay!"

  Emma's head swiveled, her mouth dropping open at Amaury's negative answer. Why would he lie, she wondered in dismay.

  "Well, get to it," Rolfe roared impatiently.

  "Get you back to the celebrations and leave us be!" Amaury thundered, then turned to his wife and sighed. "My lady," he began carefully. "I fear you have misunderstood . . ." He paused to frown. "You do not seem to . . . You appear to be a bit lacking in knowledge of what consummating the marriage entails," he got out finally.

  "I do?" Emma worried her lip uncertainly.

  "Aye," he announced heavily. "There is more to it."

  "There is?" She was definitely anxious now, and Amaury cursed her cousin, the bishop, the king, and Bertrand, along with her husband, for this situation. Especially her husband. Had Fulk attended to his duties as he should have--

  A pounding at the door distracted his thoughts again and Amaury sighed. "Damn me! Can a man not have a little privacy on his wedding night?!"

  "There is a party approaching!" It was the bishop this time. "We fear it may be Bertrand come from the King!"

  "Damn!" Amaury cursed helplessly, seeing his dreams of owning this castle slipping away.

  "Get the deed done!" Rolfe bellowed.

  "My lord?" Emma clutched his bare arm anxiously. "Is there truly more?"

  "Aye." He sighed miserably.

  "Then we must do it," she said firmly, and Amaury turned to her in surprise.

  "We must?"

  "Aye, my Lord. Of course we must. I cannot allow my people to suffer under the rule of Lord Bertrand's mother. She would misuse them horribly."

  "Aye, my lady, but--"

  "There are no buts, my lord. If there is more, we must do it."

  When he simply stared at her in an agony of uncertainty, she twitched the bedclothes away from her body and began dragging her black gown off.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I am naive of what is expected, my lord, but I am no fool. You came to this bed nude, so I must assume that what ever is required necessitates our both being so, else you surely would not risk a chill." The gown flew over her head as she concluded that statement, and Amaury was left staring at quite the loveliest chest it had ever been his pleasure to view. And it was all his, he thought with greedy glee. Then he frowned. It was his if he could consummate the marriage before--

  " 'Tis Bertrand!" The dismayed bellow shook the door. "He is flying like the wind. Do the deed!"

  Muttering under his breath, Amaury wasted a moment glaring at the door, then turned back to his bride. "My lady. As you said, the first time is usually painful. But not for the man--"

  "Prithee, my lord, do not waste our time on niceties. Simply tell me what to do."

  "He be at the gate! My lady, he be at the gate!"

  "Who the devil is that?" Amaury asked with a frown at the new voice.

  "Sebert," Emma answered with a sigh, then when he looked confused, reminded him, "My . . . our steward."

  "What? Have they got everyone out there?" he muttered unhappily.

  "My lord," Emma said impatiently. "What do I do?"

  Amaury turned back to his wife and sighed. "You do not seem to realize the pressure--"

  "He be in the bailey!" This time it was Maude's voice. Even Amaury recognized the voice of the plain-faced servant who had refused to let him enter the castle on first arriving.

  "They do have everyone out there," he muttered.

  "Do the deed!" the bishop roared.

  Emma could only think that a series of watches were keeping the people outside her bedroom door up to date.

  "We are both under pressure, my lord," she pointed out grimly.

  "Aye, but . . ." Muttering, he tugged the blankets aside and gestured to his-- at the moment--nottoo-impressive manhood. It had been quite impressive moments ago, while he had been thinking of his bride undressing behind the screen and imagining the night ahead. But it had shrunk and shriveled with every new shout through the door, until now, it seemed almost to be trying to hide within itself. All was lost, he thought miserably.

  Emma stared at the third appendage between her new husband's legs with fascination. Never having seen a naked man before, she had not known they carried one of those around with them. She had been too embar
rassed to look when Fulk had been stripped and set abed with her. She leaned forward to get a closer look at the item now. It looked to be a shrunken, deformed leg, much like the arm of the girl in the village who had been born not quite right. She didn't have any fingers or thumbs on her small stump of an arm either, just as Amaury's extra small stump of a leg seemed devoid of toes. Perhaps this was not common to all men, she realized suddenly. Perhaps her husband was displaying a deformity.

  "My lord, this is not the time to be confessing your . . . er . . . oddities," she said in a strained voice. "We all have our flaws. Now, please tell me what I am to . . ." Her gaze was still fixed on the rather tiny appendage as she spoke, so when it started suddenly to grow, the words stuck in her mouth and she watched with renewed fascination. As far as she knew, the village girl's arm did not grow. What an odd ability her husband had!

  "He's dismounting!" someone-- Emma suspected it was Mavis-- screeched.

  "Have you done the deed?!" Rolfe roared, panic edging his voice.

  "My lord?" Emma tore her gaze to her husband's face.

  "Lie down," Amaury instructed grimly, hope rising up in him again as the simple act of her eyes on his body sent it back into action.

  Emma immediately dropped back on the bed, gasping in shock when he suddenly shifted to lie atop her, his sprouting third leg pressing against her inner thigh.

  "Is this the consummating?" she asked anxiously, for while it was a bit more difficult breathing with him atop her, there really was no pain and she was sure he had said--

  "Not yet," Amaury muttered grimly. "Open your legs."

  "Open my . . . ?" Her expression was bewildered.

  "He's at the castle door!" came the half-hiss, half-whisper as the castle seemed to shudder under the impact of that door slamming open. Then there came a rustling as everyone rushed back down the stairs.

  "My lady . . ."

  "Aye."

  "I am sorry."

  "Is it done?"

  Amaury stared down into her anxious face, and had to wonder how just having her peer at his manhood had made it stand proud in seconds. That had been unexpected. It had also saved them, or was about to, he thought grimly as a man's bellows moved up the stairway drawing closer to the room.

  "I am sorry," he repeated, once again apologizing for the pain he was about to cause and thrust forward.

  Emma's cry of startled pain ended on shocked dismay as the bedroom door suddenly burst open.

  Chapter 3

  THE population of the entire world appeared to stand in that open doorway, Emma thought faintly. At least the population of her small world. Lord Bertrand, the bishop, her cousin Rolfe, Lord Blake, Lord Amaury's men, and every single servant of the keep-- including those who had been sent out on watch-- appeared to be at the door to that room. Every single one of them was vying to see the couple on the bed. Eager to assure themselves that the deed had been done and they were safe from the man standing panting in the doorway, exhaustion and defeat struggling on his face as he stared at the entwined couple through the bed curtains she had thoughtlessly left wide open on crawling into bed.

  There was a heartbeat of time where everyone simply froze. Then Amaury suddenly moved. Leaping from atop her, off the bed, and sweeping the blankets up to cover her in one fluid movement, he snatched his sword from where it leaned against the wall and turned to face the intruders, completely and gloriously nude.

  "What is the meaning of this?"

  Emma glanced sharply at him. Despite the fact that he had been more than aware of the events occurring, he was giving a most credible portrayal of a groom unexpectedly interrupted on his wedding eve. She took a moment to marvel at his ability, then glanced toward Bertrand.

  Her memory had not served her well. While she had known that Fulk and his cousin had been of a similar size and were both smaller than Amaury, she had not realized by quite how much. Good Lord, the man looked like a boy before her new husband. It did not help that Blake and her cousin Rolfe crowded the doorway behind him, towering over him by a good head. He was like a dwarf amid a room of giants. A very diminutive, fair-haired dwarf. There was not a bit of bulk on his frame, and while his features were handsome, they were soft and weak next to the harsh planes and angles of her new husband. There was no doubt in Emma's mind that should there be a battle, Bertrand would not fare well against Amaury de Aneford. That being the case, she was a bit surprised when the man suddenly drew himself up to announce, "I come from the king."

  When Amaury merely raised an eyebrow, the bishop pushed his way through the crowd to the front of the onlookers.

  "Our apologies, my Lord Amaury," the older man said smoothly, none of his earlier panic evident in his voice. "As Lord Bertrand says, he comes with a letter from the king stating that should the wedding not already be consummated, it should be made null. However we can see--"

  "We can see no such thing." There was a note of panic in Bertrand's voice now. "All we saw was them embracing. They have not consummated the marriage. 'Tis null."

  Amaury allowed the tip of his sword to drop to the floor, and he leaned on it in a seemingly relaxed manner. "I beg to differ with you, my lord. Unlike your cousin, I did not dally. This marriage is well and truly consummated."

  Bertrand's face twisted briefly in defeat mingled with weariness as he glanced to where Emma sat wide-eyed on the bed, the bed linens clutched to her chest. Then he smiled suddenly. "Prove it."

  Emma blinked in confusion as all eyes turned to her, wondering how they were to prove it. Were they truly expected to perform that atrociously painful act again? And in front of them? Again? For they had certainly been well and truly joined when everyone had burst into the room. At least she thought they had.

  Peering at the bed, Amaury knew at once the problem. The bedclothes were black . . . as was everything else in this bloody castle. Blood would show on white sheets, but doubtless would not on black.

  "True, the sheets would not show," Rolfe said confidently, stepping up beside the bishop now as he too caught the drift of Bertrand's thoughts. "Howbeit, Amaury carries the proof himself."

  All eyes, including Emma's, now turned to Amaury and dropped to that odd appendage she had noticed earlier. At the sudden unexpected attention, the appendage, which had remained tall and proud throughout, suddenly shriveled under the weight of so many eyes. But that was not what made Emma gasp. It was the blood that covered the member. Amaury had hurt himself. She glanced worriedly up to his face to find that, despite his injury, he was suddenly smiling.

  Lifting the tip of his sword off the floor once more, Amaury took a menacing step forward. "If one and all are quite satisfied that I accomplished what Lord Fulk obviously neglected to do, my lady and I would enjoy some privacy," he said pointedly.

  "Of course, my lord," the bishop murmured, and with the help of Sir Rolfe, managed to urge the shocked Lord Bertrand out of the room. Turning back at the door, Rolfe paused long enough to give his cousin a cheerful wink, then tugged the door closed.

  Amaury sighed his relief and set his sword back to lean against the wall, then turned reluctantly to the bed, only to see that it was now empty.

  Eyebrows rising, he glanced sharply around the room to find his wife standing naked by the washstand. She apparently had not wasted a moment in hopping out of the bed once the door had closed. He could hardly blame her after the painful fiasco she had just endured. No doubt she would never wish to repeat the act again, he thought glumly, and sank onto the side of the bed. Face dropping into his open hands, he propped his elbows on his knees and sighed wearily.

  "My lord?" Her cool hand on his knee brought Amaury's head up swiftly. "If I might?" she said quietly, carefully avoiding looking at his manhood, even as she urged his legs apart.

  "What?" Amaury asked uncertainly, his legs spreading automatically, but her next move explained all as she began to bathe his stained manhood.

  "You have injured yourself," she said quietly. "It must have occurred during the . . ."<
br />
  "Joining," Amaury finished for her, catching her hands in his own as he felt himself stir under her gentle touch. "My Lady--"

  "Emma."

  "Emma?"

  "Aye, Emma," she said simply. " 'Tis my name."

  "Oh, aye. Emma. Here." He urged her up off the floor to sit on the bed beside him, smiling wryly when she suddenly noticed her nudity, blushed, and drew the bedclothes up around her shoulders to hide herself.

  "We should tend to your wound," she said uncomfortably when he continued to simply smile at her, then regretted her words when that smile faltered.

  "But I am not the one injured." Careless of his nudity, he stood and urged Emma's legs up on to the bed so that she was lying down again. "I fear 'tis you who has been injured," he informed her.

  "Me?" She looked startled at that. "But you are the one bleeding."

  "Nay." He shook his head and gently drew the sheets away to reveal her body again. " 'Tis you."

  Emma glanced down when he gestured, and noticed with surprise the blood on the inside of her legs. Sitting up abruptly, she stared at herself in horror. It was not her woman's time. She should not be bleeding, and yet she was . . . from inside.

  "Are you not still in pain from the joining?"

  "Aye, but I have been since . . . I thought . . ." Putting her hand to her head as the room began to spin around her, she fell back on the bed with a gasp. "Am I dying?"

  "Nay, my lady," he said reassuringly, then frowned at her pallor. "You've turned quite white."

  "I fear I do not handle the sight of blood well," Emma confessed faintly.

  Amaury's eyebrows rose at that. "You did not react so to the blood on me."

  "Aye, nay. Well, but then I did not know it was mine own."

  "Oh . . . aye," Amaury said wryly. Bending, he retrieved the cloth she had used on him, wrung it out, and tended to her even as she had done for him.

  Face going from white to red, Emma grabbed at his hands. "Nay, I . . ." she began with embarrassment, falling silent when her new husband turned a determined look on her.

  "I am your husband," was all he said, and it was enough. Emma released his hands and lay back, suffering his gentleness in silent embarrassment.

  "Besides, 'tis no more than you did for me," he added as he finished cleaning away the blood and tossed the cloth back into the bowl. "Rest now."