Yearning Heart Read Online Free Page A

her body whenever he pleased. He had paid for her, had he not? He was not required to wait for marriage to sleep with her.
    She undressed, drawing on the only sleeping garment she possessed, a rough material of an ugly shade of rose. Some distant cousin had left it with Mama and nothing was to be wasted, so she now owned the plainly made wrap. It was warm, the only worthwhile thing about it.
    She turned back the woolen quilt, crawled into bed, and hunched against the pillows, her arms around knees drawn up to her chest. A hard lump formed in her throat, and her eyes felt tight. There was little love at home to miss, but at least the small bedroom was her own, with its bright coverlet Lady Elizabeth made while she carried Rebecca for nine months.
    And Richard. She sorely missed him already. Would he forget her immediately as she knew papa would?
    A knock sounded at the door and made her jump. Her heart thudded, and she didn't answer right away. Sir Stephen was coming to claim his rights.
    “Rebecca?” a quiet voice said, and then the door swung open to reveal the man who would soon be her husband. His big frame filled the doorway, and he lowered his head to enter without bumping. He stood just inside the room, staring at the small figure huddled on the pillows, missing nothing in the forlorn face with tear-bright eyes.
    “You are comfortable, Rebecca?”
    “Yes, my lord,” she whispered over the pain in her throat.
    Two steps brought him to the foot of the bed.
    “Do not cry, Rebecca.”
    She shook her head, afraid to speak.
    “How old are you?” he said, pursuing his earlier question.
    “Sixteen, my lord.”
    He frowned and uttered a word she did not understand, but he continued to look at her. “Do not be sad to leave your family. We will visit them within the year.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    It wasn't papa and mama she missed. It was the warm aloneness of her room, the wide-open fields she roamed, dreaming and singing soft melodies she built in her head. And, if she found Richard on the far side of papa's land, joining him to eat fruit as he rested or just being quiet and comfortable together.
    Richard had never wished she were another brother or criticized her for her lack of restraint as she ran through the fields or rode bareback on one of the horses left to pasture.
    An odd gentleness filled Sir Stephen's face, then he straightened to say roughly, “Goodnight, Rebecca. We leave at first light.” He left her, closing the door quietly behind him.
    She let go her breath and lay back, dragging the cover over her. Soon, Sir Stephen would not leave her at night. Soon, he would stay and ... she squeezed her eyes shut.
    What will it be like to have a man touch me so? she wondered. The poems and songs Sister Emilie read aloud in school awakened her romantic dreams. The manuscript pages spoke of tender love, of touches and affection between man and woman. But she was a bought and paid for wife. There was no love or tenderness to be hers. Only to be claimed by her lord and master. Sir Stephen was big, he would hurt her.
    Her hands moved over her small body, over barely existing breasts, a flat stomach with bones protruding on each side, thin legs. She knew a man coveted mostly that part between her legs. She touched herself hesitantly, drew in her breath and pulled her hands from beneath the covers. She could not imagine how it would feel for a man to put his big hands—and more—on her. She shivered and covered up, head and ears. Soon, she slept.
    * * * *
    Rebecca couldn't eat the next morning. Her stomach seemed to be in knots and her throat too tight to let pass anything other than the strong tea served by the innkeeper. Sir Stephen watched her small efforts but said nothing.
    Outside, the sign overhead rasped and groaned as the wind whistled around the corner of the old inn. Clouds hung low overhead like gray drapes. She looked at the sky as their travel cases were loaded onto the top of the carriage. Sir Stephen