Carried Away by Anna Markland Page B

tables and served plentiful vegetables, including cabbage, carrots, onions, beets and garlic. Kippers made from herring caught in the North Sea were a delicacy appreciated by the guests, and Blythe was secretly pleased she’d long ago coaxed Trésor, the cook at Ellesmere Castle, into sharing the secret Montbryce recipe for trout. As soon as the guests tasted the delicate flesh she saw their amazement. Praise ran high for the roasted swan and peafowl. Beer and wine flowed freely, and by the time the krapfen— fried pastries with sweet fillings—were served, everyone was well into their cups—everyone except Dieter and Blythe whose intoxication came from heated glances exchanged between them. Johann had fallen asleep and been taken to his chamber by his nursemaid.
    Dieter squeezed Blythe’s hand and leaned close. “I fear the Archbishop is so far gone he may collapse before he has the chance to bless our matrimonial bed. Let’s adjourn to our chamber.”
    He rose and announced to the guests, “My bride and I will await you in our matrimonial chamber.”
    Cheers and guffaws broke out.
    When they reached their chamber, Dieter gave her a conspiratorial wink and urged her into bed fully clothed. She hesitated. “Wait! Let me take off your cloak.”
    She raised her shaking hands to the ornate clasps holding his white cloak in place and unhooked them. The cloak fell to the floor and pooled at his feet. He put his hands on her waist and growled. “Maybe we’ll lock the door and dispense with the blessing.”
    To her surprise an answering growl emerged from her throat as he brushed his lips over hers, lifted her on to the bed, and tucked the bed linens up to her neck. Then he climbed in beside her after pulling off his boots and tossing them against the wall.
    Five minutes later their giggles were interrupted by the solemn entrance of the tipsy Archbishop, leaning heavily on his crosier, his mitre askew on his bald head. A crowd of well-wishers gathered behind him as he intoned God’s blessings on the marriage bed.
    They tried to be serious, holding hands beneath the covers, and burst out laughing when the last of the group left. Blythe sobered a little at the wistful expressions on the faces of her father and brother.
    The newlyweds flung the bed linens aside and stood facing each other, hand in hand, breathless, still fully clothed. “Dieter,” Blythe said at last, “I want to take off all your clothes. I want to see my Black Knight naked. I’ve dreamt of it for so long.”
    He undid the topmost fastening of his tunic then held out his arms to her in a gesture of submission. She grasped the hem of his tunic and slowly, tantalizingly, raised it over his head as he held his arms in the air. She tossed the garment aside then smoothed her hands lovingly over his shoulders and arms.
    “Raise your arms again,” she commanded. He obliged and she touched the black hair of his underarms, inhaling the scent of him. “Silky,” she whispered as a bolt of longing shot through her. His eyes never left her face.
    He wants to see my reaction to his body.
    She laid her cheek against the black hair on his chest, gasping at its softness. Her fingertips ran over the muscles of his broad chest, her thumbs grazing his nipples. He shuddered and she paused to gaze into his smouldering eyes.
    He stood with his legs braced. She lowered her eyes to look at his manhood, straining against the wool of his leggings. This man’s most private part would soon be revealed to her once more. She’d longed for it since the stolen glimpse at the lake, but now she hesitated, a little afraid.
    She untied the bindings, hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slowly peeled the garment from his body. Her hair brushed against his swollen phallus, covered now only by his linen braies. He growled deep in his throat and laid his hands gently on her shoulders. She helped him free one foot then the other from the leggings. His toes were long, the nails