Chapter Three

The next morning, a surprisingly large company of young men turned out on the great lawn a little before ten to observe the fencing match between Graham and Emma. Killian had no choice but to join them, reluctant as he felt. The fencing master met them, offering a choice of weapons, laid down a few rules, and the two of them commenced. Although their match was lighthearted and punctuated by occasional jibes and laughter, Emma's performance was impressive. She was extraordinarily light and quick, making up for her comparative lack of size and strength with her speed and agility. Although Killian could tell from his long personal experience sparring with Graham that his friend was holding back a bit, although he could see that Graham found her challenging, and began to exert himself more and more as their match progressed.

After Graham and Emma agreed to calling it a diplomatic draw, a few others asked for the opportunity to spar with her. She readily agreed, matching them thrust for thrust though Killian could see she was beginning to tire. He was as impressed and surprised by her as any one of them, but he began to feel more and more perturbed as he watched the cut and thrust before him and the frequent body contact as they feinted and lunged. He suspected – no, he knew - that his friends were deliberately throwing moves that would enable them to touch his wife and press themselves into her lithe body as if by accident of combat. He wasn't jealous, he told himself, no, no, not in the least. It was the disloyalty he minded, the sheer disrespect that his supposedly loyal companions were openly displaying to him as her husband. After all, none of them other than Graham knew that it was a marriage in name only! And consummated or not, he was her lord and master. Their conduct was a flagrant insult and a challenge to his masculinity and his proprietorship of his wife, and she was allowing it, he was allowing it all because he was so guilty. But he wasn't jealous!

He felt a simmering, primal rage that drove out every rational thought. He forgot about Milah and he forgot about how he had rejected Emma on their wedding night. He forgot about her tears and how he had virtually ignored her for weeks. Instead he found himself saturated with a burning instinct to demonstrate his ownership of her – publicly.

"Enough!", he shouted at Emma and Lord Willoughby, still circling one another, trying to keep his voice light and teasing. "I believe it is my turn to match swords with my wife."

Surprised, Emma inclined her head in agreement. As they moved around each other warily, Killian, already agitated, began to parry and thrust, hoping to catch her on the side with a quick feint. But as she repeatedly dodged his carefully executed moves and slipped away just out of his reach, he began to attack with greater ferocity. Emma rarely counterattacked, preferring instead to roll and twist her lithe body in an effort to save her strength and tire him out. Infuriated, he raised his sword high, whirling around in a graceful turn, and aimed for her shoulder. His execution was perfect, but she had anticipated his turn with a delicate sideways duck of her head, putting her in position for an easy touch to his side.

He barely conceded the point with an incline of his head, their swords clanging loudly in the morning air as a slightly stunned hush came over the spectators, discomfited as Killian and his beautiful wife went at one another with a seemingly deadly intensity that had been entirely absent in her earlier contests. Feeling the uncomfortable silence and the disapproving stares, he threw caution and gentlemanly manners to the winds. As if demon possessed, he could think only of his need to subdue her unquestionably and immediately. Using the advantage of size and weight, he gave her a shove, and while she wobbled, he kicked her leg up from behind, knocking her flat on the ground. Smirking at her triumphantly, he threw himself on top of her, his sword held to her delicate white throat, her breasts heaving beneath him as she inhaled ragged breaths.

Shocked by his outrageous behavior, Emma looked at him with narrowed, furious eyes as she felt his all too obvious arousal pressing against her thigh. Feeling the waves of heat rolling off his body and inhaling the musky odor of his animal desire, she could hear the embarrassed murmurs of the onlookers as Graham pulled Killian free. As if he had suddenly become aware of his uncouth behavior, his face froze in horror and he turned away from her in shame. She ignored him as Graham gallantly helped her to her feet.

"I believe my husband has temporarily forgotten his manners in the heat of battle," she said as gaily as she could manage, brushing the grass from her breeches. "We shall have to have a rematch later. Is anyone ready for lunch? I believe it will be served shortly on the terrace."

The tension relieved, the group began moving back towards the house, most looking forward to spreading the juicy piece of gossip they had just witnessed at the earliest opportunity.

Graham offered Emma his arm and walked her back to the house as well. "Are you quite well, my Lady?" he asked kindly, his voice filled with concern. "I'm so sorry about … what happened…Killian's behavior. It's not like him, really it isn't."

Emma gave a shaky little smile. "I wouldn't really know what my husband is like. He barely speaks to me." Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, huge tears formed in her eyes and began spilling down her cheeks. She ducked her head and angrily wiped them away with her hand.

"Here, let me," said Graham, taking out a handkerchief and gently daubing her eyes with it. He put his arms around her and pulled her into him, letting her sob quietly into his chest as he stroked her hair, making soothing little clucking noises as if to a distraught child. "I'm so sorry, Princess, I truly am. I know it is very hard for you, and that Killian is not all he should be as your husband. I know that he could be, but you have to understand he's not really been himself these past few years."

She looked up at him then, her face questioning. "You know something, Lord Hunt, something you're not telling me! Why hasn't Killian 'been himself'? Why won't my husband, why …. why won't he ….touch…me, I mean, as a husband… ," she added in an embarrassed, stammering whisper.

Graham took a deep breath and gave her a compassionate look. "I'm sorry, Princess, but all I know was told to me in confidence, but I suggest you ask your Lord Husband to be honest with you."

"I see," she said, at last, "Thank you for your kindness. Please excuse me."

She fled upstairs to change her clothes and collect herself before lunch, her hurt giving way to rage as she entered her bedchamber, crossed the room, then flung open the connecting door and stormed into Killian's room, taking him by surprise.

He had been standing at the window, paralyzed for some time, reluctant to face anyone after the humiliating spectacle he had created. There he had watched as his friend Graham had dried Emma's wholly warranted tears and taken her in his arms to comfort her. He was in no position to complain about it, but he was jealous and felt too confused to wonder why he even cared. Shouldn't he be pleased that Emma had found another man to comfort and entertain her? Isn't that what he wanted? Wouldn't that justify his own desire to be with Milah instead of his wife? Why wasn't he happy? What in God's name had possessed him to behave so scandalously? It was more than his unsportsmanlike and ungentlemanly fencing with a woman, as unforgivable as that was. He'd lost all control and thrown his wife down on the ground and virtually rutted against her in full view of at least twenty well born personages of the land. And when Graham had pulled him off her, he'd been a hair's breadth away from tearing off her breeches and taking her on the spot. Had he gone mad? God, why couldn't Milah be here to take away his confusion?

"What the hell was that all about?" she demanded furiously, breaking through his thoughts with all the authority of a future queen.

He turned abruptly, catching her flushed cheeks and clenched fists, mind instantly flung back to that moment when his body had been covering hers with a demanding arousal. Filled with shame, he hung his head. "I'm sorry, deeply and sincerely sorry, for the whole shaming incident. My conduct was irredeemably bad. I don't know what came over me… some kind of madness seized me. I do not even understand it myself. I offer no explanation or excuses, for there are none. All I can do is beg for your forgiveness, and I will understand if you cannot." He hoped she would accept his apology and leave his room, where he could be free of her distracting presence.

"I can offer an explanation, if not an excuse," she retorted hotly. "You were flat out jealous! I've seen you watching me. And don't think I didn't feel you against me. You wanted me," she accused, shaking a finger at him, her hair disheveled and her green eyes flashing with anger.

"That's not true…I just got caught up in the heat of the moment, I forgot myself and lost control and I realize it's unpardonable…" He was babbling now, and knew he sounded like an imbecile.

Emma gave him an appraising glance, then took a few steps forward, invading his personal space and causing him to flinch in reaction. Undeterred, she seized him by the collar with her fists and yanked him towards her.

Startled by the touch of her lips against his, he felt her delicate tongue gliding over his mouth, seeking entrance. Hoping to shock her out of her boldness, he opened his mouth and thrust his own tongue into hers, then deepened the kiss by forcing his way into her yielding mouth. He tangled his long fingers into her silky hair and held her head in his hands as he probed her, his lips now hard and insistent. His passion rising, he moved his hands to her shoulders and pushed her to the nearest wall, his hard thigh pressing between her legs to part them as she moaned in response, and he found that he liked her boldness very much. Hand wandering into the open collar of her shirt, he sighed with pleasure as he captured one of her full breasts in his hand, feeling her nipple harden under his touch. She was greedy for him, her responsive body shivering under his touch, so different from the way he and Milah had been for longer than he cared to remember….

Milah. Oh God, Milah.

With a strangled groan, he pushed himself away from her, his eyes wild and his face anguished. "I'm sorry, I can't…I mustn't…" he broke off and stumbled away to the door, then bolted out into the corridor, leaving her once again aghast and frustrated.

"Coward!" she screamed at his rapidly retreating figure.

Then he was gone.

WOULD LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU WITH FEEDBACK OR A PM!

I REALIZE THIS FIC IS MORE CONTROVERSIAL IN ITS SETUP AND IN THE ROLE OF MILAH.