Read The Fire in the Flint for Free Online Page B

here.’
    Margaret moved beyond his reach. ‘What ofEdwina of Carlisle, your comrade in spying? Did you sit here on this bed with her?’
    He lay back with a groan. ‘She was also working for the Bruce. You have been told that, and that she is dead.’
    ‘Did you share her bed?’
    ‘I am your husband. I have kept my vows to you.’
    ‘A simple yes or no would suffice.’
    Roger propped himself up on an elbow. ‘No.’
    ‘Then why did you not tell me about her?’
    He sat up. ‘God’s blood, for the same reason I didn’t embrace you on the street in spring, wife, for fear of endangering you.’
    ‘Am I such a simple little thing I cannot be trusted? A lap dog rather than a woman?’
    Roger grabbed her shoulders. ‘Listen to me,’ he said, giving her a shake. ‘I love you, Maggie. I have thought over and over of you on High Street, calling out to me. You cannot know what that did to me, seeing you, hearing your voice. You must have seen that I moved towards you, not thinking how I might endanger you. But my companions were sharp and they drew me away, brought me to my senses.’ He pulled her to him and kissed her.
    It was a passionate kiss. She wanted so to believe him, wanted to feel safe here in his arms. He was her husband. He was kissing her forehead, her temples, her neck. It was God’s will that they be here in this bed, that they comfort one another.He was so warm, stronger, rougher than she remembered, insistent, his hands everywhere, helping her undress. She shut out her anger and hurt and took pleasure in him, kissing his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. She pulled off his shirt and kissed the hollow of his neck. When he was freed from his leggings she pressed her head to his warm, flat stomach.
    Roughly he pulled her up on top of him. His lips closed over her mouth with a new fierceness that felt more like anger than passion. He pressed her lower back against him with such strength she thought her spine would snap, and then rolled so that he was now pressing her down into the bedding. She could barely breathe. Her passion turned to fear. He slipped down to mouth her breasts, kissed her stomach, and then with a groan rolled away and pushed her aside.
    Her body ached with desire. Her fear dissolved into an overwhelming sense of bereavement. He could not follow through with the pretence of loving her. She moved away from him, clutching a pillow as if it were someone come to comfort her, and wept.
    She did not know how long she lay there, mourning something intangible, before Roger moved close to her, and lying on his side, his head on her pillow, stroked her hair.
    ‘I have dreamed of you. Your wild locks, so bright, rivalling the sun.’
    ‘You need not lie to me,’ she whispered.
    ‘I love you, Maggie.’
    She heard a slight catch in his voice and wondered if it could be true. How she had yearned for him. She had hoped for a husband who sought her counsel, shared his thoughts, listened to her; who showed her in simple ways that he cherished her; who knew that she would worry and would find a way to tell her he was safe. Who would not lie to her.
    ‘I don’t think I understand what you mean by love.’ Her voice, trembling and high, made her words sound peevish. She pushed herself up, clutching the covers to hide her nakedness from the stranger lying beside her.
    Roger lay on his back. He ran his hand along her shoulder with a gentle, caressing touch. ‘What happened just now – I have ridden a long way, and I wanted you too much. The heat of my passion – they say it can unman one. But we’ll have many nights, Maggie.’ There seemed a yearning in his voice.
    ‘You mean to stay?’
    ‘I mean to be a good husband to you. Teach me how.’
    She was searching her memory for other nights with him, trying to recall whether he had ever said such words, and it came to her, their wedding night, after he had spent himself so quickly that he rolled away from her just as she was warming to hislovemaking. He