This wasn't at all how Baudwin had imagined their wedding night going. Not that he minded. Not in the least. Rhiannon felt amazing in his arms, and the hunger in her touches seemed equal to his own. Moving his hands from her hips to cup her face, he deepened the kiss, matching her fervour stroke by stroke. She clung to him as if he alone kept her from sinking, and if he'd had the strength to resist her, he might have wondered why.

For a moment, nothing else existed other than the woman in his arms. Her body against his. The stark need in her touch. The alluring scent of bergamot and pine. Her fingers curled in the hair at the back of his head and pulled him closer still, as if she couldn't quite get close enough. Dropping one hand to her hips and the other to her shoulder, he placed a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She tilted her head to the side, allowing him better access, and he quickly took advantage, kissing and gently biting at the sensitive spot where the neck met her shoulder.

She made a noise he could only interpret as approval, spurring him on. Carefully he pushed her dressing gown to the side to reveal more of her, the sheer fabric slipping down her arm. Pulling back slightly, he trailed his fingertips across her skin, taking the thin strap of her satin nightdress with him. She watched him silently, but didn't object. With his breath in his throat, he repeated the procedure on the other side, and watched in amazement as the garment slid down her body to pool on the floor by her feet.

If he'd thought Rhiannon was mesmerising when she'd straddled him in a nightgown, seeing her completely naked before him was simply breathtaking. Her pale skin and golden-red hair both glowed in the flickering light of the candles. He'd compared her to the moon goddess before, but even she had nothing to the ethereal beauty of the woman standing in front of him. Before he could admire her further, she took the step separating them and pressed her lips to his again.

There was no hesitation in her movements as she began unbuttoning his simple, white shirt, and he helped her, wanting it off as quickly as possible. Wanting her hands on him. She pushed it down his arms, trapping them for a moment before he could get it off completely. He sighed in relief when she placed her cool hands on his feverish chest, slowly stroking her way down along his abdomen. At her touch, his muscles tensed, his body as electrified and ready now as in any battle. When she reached the top of his breeches and began unbuttoning, he put his arms around her and pulled her close.

The moment his hands touched her back, she froze. So did he.

She pulled away, backing out of arm's reach. Baudwin stared at her. His fingers flexed at the sensory memory of her back. Unlike the smooth skin of her shoulders, her back felt... He frowned. Her back felt like some of his scars. Not the knotted ones where his muscles were damaged, but the ones that were pure scars.

"I... I told you not to touch me." The words lacked their usual vehemence. Her arms came up to hug her chest, as if she felt cold.

Baudwin shook his head, still grappling with the sensation of what he'd felt. "Rhiannon..." He trailed off, not sure what to say. "Can I see your back?"

She shook her head, a jerking movement that betrayed her distressed state.

He wanted to take her back into his arms, but it was obvious she wouldn't accept the nearness right now, so he kept his distance. Bending down, he picked up her nightdress and handed it to her. She snatched it out of his hands and quickly slipped it over her head.

"What happened to you?" He tried to keep his voice even, but wasn't sure if he managed. "You've seen my leg. I know what scars feel like."

As if she could not bear to look at him, her eyes drifted over to the chess box on the table. "Do you remember that I told you my stepfather punished me after I ran away?"

"Yes. After his friend attacked you and you got away."

She nodded. "When my stepfather finally caught me, he dragged me back home and tied me to the whipping post..."

"He whipped you?" It didn't matter how much he might have tried, he could not keep the anger and shock out of his voice.

Saying nothing, Rhiannon turned around, and with a simple movement pushed her hair over her shoulder to reveal her back. The silky nightdress was designed with a plunging neckline, leaving her bare to the waist. Thin marks marred her skin. Pinkish raised lines that created a patchwork of past pain. Horror filled him as he stared at the canvas of suffering in front of him. There were more strokes than he could count, more scar tissue than unblemished skin. How could someone do this to another human being? Let alone someone barely more than a child. Someone they were meant to protect.

"I have no words," he finally said. It was the truth. What did one say to something like this? I want to kill your stepfather. It was the truth, but not necessarily something he could voice out loud.

"It is what it is." She shrugged.

"It takes a special kind of person to inflict this much damage on someone else."

"My stepfather never did like me much. I suspect I only gave him the excuse to do what he always wanted."

"Does it hurt?"

She glanced at him over her shoulder. "No, not exactly. Sometimes it feels tight. Other times they ache dully, but it's more like a shadow of the memory."

"But you don't like anyone touching your back?" It didn't surprise him. The idea of someone touching his leg had never sat well with him either. He was ashamed of how different it looked and felt. Rhiannon was the first one he had allowed to touch it since the medics finished his treatment years ago.

Her head turned away again, and he wished he could see her face. For a moment, he thought she might not answer, then finally she quietly said, "No. But I don't like being touched unless I'm in control. I choose when and where." She laughed, it sounded hauntingly hollow. "Another gift from my stepfather, courtesy of his friend."

"I'm sorry you've had so much pain in your life." It was the truth. If he could make it all go away, he would. That she was still standing there, back straight, was testament to her strength. "It's no wonder you hid away in a swamp. If I were you, I wouldn't have wanted to see your parents again, either."

"I wasn't always in the swamp," she admitted. "But it was the place I liked best."

"May I..." He hesitated. "May I touch you?"

He could see her tensing up, her posture becoming impossibly straight. A moment later, she surprised him by nodding. Taking the steps that separated them, he placed one hand on her shoulder and squeezed, wanting her to know he was there. That he cared. Slowly, he raised his other hand. When he placed his fingertips on her back, she jumped, but didn't move away. Gently, he traced the lines across her skin, and as he went on, he could see her relax.

"Maybe it was fate," he said thoughtfully. "Bringing us together. We both carry our battle scars with us."

"Not all are visible." Her voice was so quiet that he only barely heard it.

"True." He placed his hand flat against her back and caressed up and down. "Maybe we can help heal each other."

"Baudwin..."

Her voice sounded different. He frowned. She wasn't crying, was she?

"What's wrong?"

"You need to stop being kind to me."

"So you've said." Continuing to caress her back, he frowned. "Yet you refuse to tell me why."

"I can't." Her voice definitely didn't sound like normal.

"What could happen if you told me?" Pushing her maybe wasn't the best idea, but he wasn't sure what to do. Something was obviously gnawing at her, and if he didn't know what it was, he would be of no use to her. When she didn't answer, he leaned down and placed a kiss on her shoulder blade.

"You're beautiful." Another kiss. "Inside and out."

She shook her head. "I'm not. I'm ugly." She turned around, and the tormented look in her eyes hit him right in the gut. "If I told you, you would hate me."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I don't think that's possible at this point, Rhiannon."

"I'd rather you just kissed me," she muttered. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"No." He took a step away from her just in case. "You won't distract me from this again. For better or worse, I am your husband now and I would like to help you. I don't want you feeling like you can't tell me things."

"Trust me, you don't want to know all of my secrets."

He raised an eyebrow, hoping to sound teasing. "All of them? How many do you have?"

When she avoided his eyes, he sobered up. How many secrets did she have? He realised that there was a lot he didn't know about his new wife. Where had she been between leaving her parents' home and settling down in the swamp? How many years of her life was unaccounted for?

"I'm a hypocrite," she admitted, still not looking at him. "Lashing out at you for lying to me, when I harbour so many secrets of my own."

"It was a foul lie though. You've never lied about who you are."

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. When her moss-green eyes finally came back to rest on him, she smiled grimly. "Needless to say, I forgive your deception. It was only the one."

He frowned. Why did he feel like she was slowly raising the wall around herself again?

"Rhiannon?"

Another smile. This one didn't reach her eyes either. "I think it's best we return to our original agreement. Tonight was a mistake. I shouldn't have thrown myself at you."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Baudwin took a deep breath. "Right. Okay." Opening his eyes again, he watched as she picked up her robe and put it on, tying the sash at the waist. Like a very fine armour. "So, marriage in name only, right?"

"Exactly. Thank you for understanding."

"I don't," he admitted. "But I promised I would honour your wishes."

She yawned. Was he boring her?

"Some rest will do us both good," she said, walking over to the bed and climbing in, settling under the covers. "Since they expect to find us in bed together in the morning, you're welcome to sleep on the bed."

"What am I? Your trusty dog that's allowed to curl up at the foot of your bed?" Maybe he was being unfair, but her change in tone rankled him. How was she able to act as if nothing had happened? As if she'd not been in his arms not long ago. As if she'd not revealed some of herself to him.

Not raising to the bait, she turned over on her side, her back to him. "No, you may sleep with your head on a pillow."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, he stared at his wife's back, wondering how they had gone from kissing to this in such a short space of time. Would he ever unravel all the strings that bound her and kept her from fully opening up to him? He truly hoped so.

~~~~~~