The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok #3) - Alice Coldbreath Page 0,10
relief to me.”
“I can only imagine it would be,” he responded and turned back to the King. “Perhaps your Highness, you might suggest we now withdraw and leave the married couple to their nuptials.”
“Eh? Oh, er, quite,” Wymer agreed, still looking like he had suffered something of a shock. “Everyone out!” As they turned to go, she heard him murmur to Lord Vawdrey. “What the hells happened to all that hair!”
The court jester was the last to tear his gaze away, and in keeping with his character, he tripped over his stick on the way out. Una wondered if he felt obliged to exit all rooms in such a fashion. Either way, when the door was finally shut after them, she breathed a sigh of relief. Only then did her eyes travel down to where her naked husband lay sprawled on the covers. Oh my.
Slipping out of the bed, Una crossed to shoot the bolt across the door and then returned to try and haul the inert body up the bed so she could cover his nakedness with the sheets. To her surprise, he roused from his stupor sufficiently to aid her in this task. It was just as well that he did, for she would have stood no chance without his cooperation, for his body was large and heavily muscled.
She tried not to stare as she pushed and rolled him over the bed. She was no sheltered maiden, despite the distinction of her birth. A lifetime of military campaigns meant she had been fully exposed to all the privations of the battlefield. She had seen men’s bodies before, whether it was a flash of buttock as they peed in a field, or stripped for the attention of a surgeon. She had never seen one “stark ballock naked” up close though, as she believed the term went. She could not help stealing a few glances at him now, as she maneuvered him between the sheets.
He may have little prowess in the field, but his body was truly magnificent, she acknowledged. No wonder the King thought he looked the part of a bruising knight. With such mighty limbs, muscle, and sinew, any onlooker would be fooled into thinking him a serious contender. What a pity he could not actually deliver in the field. She bit her lip as her eyes wandered down over the expanse of muscular stomach and below.
Pragmatically, she considered the likelihood that the equipment between his legs would be just as ineffectual after his heavy afternoon of drinking. She had frequently heard ribald talk between men and had some hazy awareness that the efficacy of their pizzle was somehow related to the quantity of drink they had consumed.
Certainly, he was not “hard,” that much was evident, though he seemed to be of impressive proportions down there as everywhere else. Unkindly, it crossed her mind that perhaps in all areas of his life, Sir Armand de Bussell might look the part, but otherwise be lacking. Robkin the jester had sworn the Northern mare needed a stallion to master her, but in the end, it seemed he had given her naught but a gelding after all.
Strange to say, her heart squeezed with sudden sympathy for the handsome sot. She knew only too well what it was like to be considered one of life’s disappointments. She drew the covers carefully over him before walking around to the other side of the bed and climbing in.
To her surprise, Sir Armand rolled over the mattress toward her, one arm closing about her, to draw her body to his. She could only suppose him well accustomed to a sleeping companion. Indeed, with a face like his, why should he not be? Even at close quarters, she could see no flaws in those handsome features.
She had fully resigned herself to a night of failed consummation when he shifted over her and began sloppily kissing her neck. His breath was hot and his mouth wet and though she should find his drunken handling distasteful, she was shocked to find she did not. She was relieved he kept the brunt of his weight off her as one hand came to squeeze her backside while the other fondled her breasts through the filmy material. He fumbled a moment with the neckline of her undershift, unable to find access under the close fit of the material.
“Wait a minute,” Una said, struggling to slip the thin straps down over her shoulders, before peeling the garment down to her waist.