Teodora gasped with surprise, squirmed with uncertainty. But Cullen held her firmly, easing her into the world of passion as only his hands and lips and tongue could. As he tasted her, he found himself wishing this night could last forever. As much as he knew it was wrong to bed his liege’s wife, even though it had been a direct order, nothing could erase the fact that never in his life had something, no matter how surreptitious, felt so right. And nothing could erase the fact that, already, he knew he was in a good deal of trouble.
He was sinking fast.
A free hand moved unhurriedly to the dusting of curls between her legs. Warm, thick fingers touched her with the gentleness of a butterfly but, still, Teodora leapt with uncertainty. Cullen murmured in her ear, tenderly kissing the lobe, feeling her relax beneath him. Again, he began his exploration, coaxing her trembling legs apart. Stroking her tender pink folds, he was pleased to note she was already wet for him. Whatever he was doing was working, and she was clearly responding.
Cullen wanted to spend all night playing with her, arousing her to his passion. But he also wanted to make love to her in the worst way. It wasn’t the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman in some time; it was simply the fact that Teodora aroused him more than he had thought possible. One hand fumbled with his hose, freeing his swollen manhood. Wedging his knees between Teodora’s thighs, he grasped both of her hands tightly and kissed them.
“Relax, Teodora,” he whispered. “You must trust me.”
Teodora gazed up at him as he trapped her hands above her head. The dark eyes were liquid with desire and she knew instinctively that this duty he had taken for his liege had become something more. In every touch, every kiss, she could feel his passion even though she had never in her life known a man in the intimate sense. It wasn’t necessary to have experienced it before in order to know it now; the language of human emotion wasn’t spoken with words or actions. It was something she felt in her heart, more strongly than if he had shouted it at her.
His penetration was slow, steady. Teodora felt the pressure, lulling her from her warm thoughts, and she instinctively tightened. When gentle whispers failed to calm her, Cullen took to kissing her cheeks and hair. Still, she tensed and he knew it would be painful unless she relented fully. She was incredibly tight but he felt no maidenhead, more than likely from the horse riding she had done her entire life. Not that she ever told him that, but he saw her that day astride her horse as a man rides, and she rode with the confidence of someone who had been riding that way for a very long time. He suspected she’d surrendered her maidenhead to the saddle long ago.
But she was a virgin; no doubt about it. She was tight and slick and delicious. Coiling his buttocks, he nibbled on her ear to distract her from his first powerful thrust.
Teodora gasped, her legs coming up to embrace his hips. He thought, perhaps, she was attempting to push him away, but she remained steady. In fact, her legs seemed to be embracing him, encouraging him on. His arms tightened around her, the teeth that had nibbled her lobe continued to bite her gently. Then he suckled hard and she groaned again, and he thrust into her a few times, acquainting her with the feel of his body. His attentions were careful, but the first few cautious strokes gave way to strokes of power and lust, and within little time, Cullen’s control had vanished.
Teodora held on to him as though drowning. His body was warm, musky and powerful, and his attentions were hardly alarming. Thoughts flitted through her mind, thoughts of the feel of him, the way he touched her, and the passionate madness he seemed to evoke. Even though this world was new and foreign, she knew that it was nothing to fear. How it was possible for any woman to fear the excitement of a man’s touch, she did not know. But as Cullen stroked and touched, arousing alien fires in her belly that seemed to consume her from the inside out, she murmured a prayer to God in thanks that Preston de Lacy had left this duty to his champion.
Under normal circumstances, Cullen could hold out indefinitely, arousing a woman to her release with skill and patience. But there was something about Teodora’s delicious body that shattered his control. Perhaps it was in those long, beautiful legs encircling him. Or perhaps it was in the way that her arms held him, a soft strength that he had never known. For whatever reason, each powerful stroke brought him closer to the brink and he was determined that she should know her first release before he took his own pleasure. Putting his hand between their bodies, feeling where they were joined in hot, slippery passion, he briskly manipulated her pulsing little bud.
Teodora jerked, twisted, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. A muffled scream emitted from her lips, absorbed by Cullen’s sweaty flesh. He could feel her wet heat pulsating, pulling at him, and he growled as he gave forth his release. But he continued to thrust, not wanting the moment to end, until exhaustion overtook him and he collapsed on top of her. As their bodies cooled and his senses returned, he realized that, throughout the entire time, he had never once removed his arms from her.
Always, he had held her.
And always, he had held her tightly.
Teodora immediately fell asleep in his embrace, her face buried in his chest, her legs still wrapped around him. Cullen didn’t bother to withdraw himself. He knew the time would come this night that he would grow hard once again and arouse her to his passion.
Staring off into the darkness, he relished the feel of her in his arms. He shouldn’t have, but he did. He also knew that he should leave immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. What had started out as a duty had become something else, and he knew without a doubt that his trouble was multiplying by the moment.
He couldn’t even guess where it would end.
And that scared the hell out of him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cerenbeau Castle
“How long have we known each other, Brafe? Twenty years?”
Bradford smiled at the man seated across from him, a pitcher of mulled wine between them. The drink was particularly warm this night, as the temperature of Cerenbeau’s great hall hovered barely above freezing, which wasn’t unusual in early May. The only light was that from the great hearth, spitting sparks and smoke into the air. In spite of the lively fire, however, the room seemed eerie and still.
“A long time,” Bradford replied after a moment. He regarded his chalice of wine and murmured again, thoughtfully. “A very long time.”
The visitor sensed the mood dampening. But today was a joyous day, in his opinion, and he would not let Bradford believe otherwise. “So your daughter is wed finally. God be praised.”
Bradford nodded. “She was married last night I am told. Anthony returned this morning and informed me that Barklestone took her to the monastery at Leominster Abbey.”
The man smiled. Then he chuckled, knowingly. “By God, Brafe, the story you have told me is incredible. In truth, I cannot imagine Teodora running from anything, least of all her husband. I am surprised she didn’t stand her ground and challenge him to a fist fight, winner take all.”
Bradford smiled weakly. “You forget that de Lacy has de Nerra serving him. Even Teodora cannot outfight de Nerra.” His smile faded. “Not even you, Sloan, if you will recall.”
Sloan de la Roarke’s eyes narrowed in the dim light. He was a thin man, unhandsome, yet meticulously dressed and neat. And he was very, very intelligent. He took a long drink of wine and smacked his lips before replying.
“My men were outnumbered, Brafe.”
“You ambushed him.”
Sloan held up a finger in defense of himself. “Aye, I did. But my intelligence reports were faulty. I was not told that de Nerra was leading an entire column of heavily-armed men northward. I was told he was merely leading a few dozen and nothing more. I was obligated to attack the man, considering that he was passing through my estates.”
“De Nerra was moving Richard’s troops north to fortify a strategic northern holding.” Bradford shook his head. “He was a young knight and he bested you. He probably does not even re
call the incident. It was long ago. Now, he serves de Lacy, who serves the rebellion. John must surely be aware that the barons are building a force against him. Richard has been gone nine long years and John’s throne is in jeopardy, now more than ever.”
Sloan was silent a moment. “John knows only what his spies tell him. And you and I are both in agreement that John is our rightful ruler, are we not?”
Bradford cocked an eyebrow. “That is not the singular factor behind my loyalty, Sloan. We are, indeed, in agreement that John is the rightful heir. Henry decreed this before his death. Richard should have never taken the throne, but he did, and now he is gone. That mistake has been righted. John is our true king and those who oppose his rule are our true enemies.”
Sloan took another drink of his wine, contemplating the fire. Even though their reasons for supporting the king were different, still, all that mattered was that they were on the same side. “Do you miss serving him, Brafe? Henry, I mean. Do you miss it?”
Bradford shrugged. The crackle of the fire and the warm wine were lulling him into lethargy. “Of course I do,” he said. “It seems so long ago. I suppose it was. But I could never serve Richard, not in good conscience. It was a difficult choice to leave my post as a commander of the king’s armies, but I knew that I must.”
“If your daughter is successful, we will be one step closer to eliminating the threat against John. Would you ever consider returning to your post as a castle guard to serve our king, then?”
Bradford drained the rest of his mead and ignored the question. He tossed the cup to the floor and the dogs lurking in the corner of the great hall rushed forward to lick up the drops.
“We were quite clear on this, Sloan,” he said. “I will not permit Teodora to commit murder, not even to Preston de Lacy. I’ve been quite specific with her role in this; she is a link, and nothing more. We may ask her for information from time to time, as wives are sometimes privy to their husband’s plans, but if there is to be any true murder or mayhem, it will not be done by her. Your own men will do the deed, or mine will. Is that clear?”
Sloan smiled. “You brokered a marriage contract with Ridley de Lacy, a known brute, only to have the lad die and his uncle assume the contract. This is even better than we could have hoped for, Brafe. To actually have Teodora wed Preston de Lacy…”
Bradford rose swiftly, scattering the dogs. “I know it’s far better than we had hoped for. But I am taking a terrible risk for my daughter’s sake by permitting her to marry de Lacy. The man isn’t stupid. Certainly, he knows my affiliation and suspects my motives. How could he not?”
“Of course he knows,” Sloan said quietly. “We must be careful that he does not turn the tables. He wed Teodora for the same reason you permitted her to wed into the House of de Lacy; to use her against the opposition. God’s Bones, Brafe, she’s a pawn for both sides. Do you not understand that?”
Bradford was only too aware of that. “The sooner we accomplish our task, the better for my daughter. She’s an innocent in the midst of chaos.”
Sloan stood on his skinny legs, his eyes glittering with excitement. “The sooner we dispose of Preston, the better for us all. With de Lacy gone, the rebellion will be left without the earl’s substantial support. ’Tis well known that Rodstone House in London is a virtual hive of rebels and Quellargate Castle, de Lacy’s ancestral holding, controls a main road in and out of Lincolnshire. We cannot control the region without controlling the fortress, and we cannot control the fortress without your daughter’s help.” He continued on, animated with hand gestures. “And now, what about de Nerra? No one can best the man, not even my own knights. He has proven immortal thus far and it is imperative that we eliminate him as well. He’s damned near as formidable as his liege.”
Bradford sighed heavily, staring into the flickering fire. This scheme was growing bigger than the both of them; he could feel it.
“I only do this for England, you know,” he said quietly. “Not John, not the rebellious barons, but for England. Henry wanted John to sit on the throne and, being sworn to Henry, it is my duty to ensure his son fulfills that wish. Even at the expense of my own daughter. Clearly, we’ve had enough civil war and we cannot have the last surviving brother removed from the throne. He may be a terrible king, but he is our only king. He is English.”
Sloan nodded with agreement. “You are a true patriot, Brafe. You love England enough to place your only child in peril.”
Bradford didn’t feel quite so heroic. “I’ve devoted my life to England,” he muttered. “I would make it a better place for the very sake of my only child.”
Sloan’s fine slippers made soft noises as he shuffled across the stone. Lightly, he placed a hand on Bradford’s big shoulder. “John knows of your loyalty and sacrifice. He appreciates it. And he is depending on you, and Teodora, to rid his cause of a major obstacle.”
Bradford was still gazing into the fire as if dazed, perhaps seeing visions of the future in the brilliant orange flames. Ambiguous, disturbing visions. “You have served John a long time.”
Sloan nodded proudly. “Since we were children, playing in the courtyard of Westminster,” he said. “I think it only natural that I grew up to serve John, just as my father served Henry as one of his most trusted advisers. But I don’t think even Ewan de la Roarke was involved in such politics as we are now. They seem to grow more complicated by the day.”
Bradford moved away from the hearth. “And so they do,” he said. “Have you any plans as to how you will accomplish the complete elimination of de Lacy?”
Sloan resumed his seat, moving the chair closer to the fire. “It is still being discussed. John is weighing his options.”
“Teodora has no knowledge of my politics, you know. I’ve been very careful to keep her ignorant.”
“That was wise.”
Bradford gazed off into the darkness. Strange that he not only saw the darkness, but felt it as well. It was difficult to describe the sense of foreboding that consumed him.
“Make it soon,” he mumbled. “I should not like Teodora to be wed to that bastard one moment longer than necessary.”
Sloan smiled thinly. The flames danced before him and it was strange that he not only saw the light, but felt it as well. It was difficult to describe the sense of victory.
“She will not be, as long as she does what she is told,” he replied.
Bradford tried to remember the last time Teodora did as she was told.
He couldn’t recall when that was.
CHAPTER SIX
Cullen was riding beside Preston, the two of them leading a column of fifty men. The morning after the rushed and brutal wedding of the Earl of Barklestone and Lady Teodora was very cool, very bright, and the countryside was lush and green in mid-spring. In fact, the color reminded Cullen of Hampshire and the days of his youth, before the advent of adulthood made things so complicated. Those carefree days of childhood were heavy on his mind, of his brothers, of his sisters, and of his parents and their happy home.
His father, who served the crown, had been very unhappy with Cullen’s apparent turn of loyalties and his fealty to Preston de Lacy, something that had caused a bit of a rift between father and son until William Marshal had made a special trip to Selborne Castle, where Cullen had been born, to tell Valor de Nerra that his son wasn’t a traitor.
He was only pretending to be one.
It may have eased the relationship between father and son, but it didn’t make Val any happier to know his son was deeply entrenched in espionage and politics. He worried greatly over his boy. Cullen looked forward to the day when he and his father could have an open conversation and clear the air between them, and things would be well again once more.
But that day was a ways off, still. For now, Cullen’s life was as de Lacy’s champion. But as of last night, there was an added ingredient to the mix that was causing him great confusion.
Great angst.
God, he had to get through this someho
w.
“Has she said anything to you?”
Preston’s voice rattled him, dissolving daydreams like a hammer shattering glass. Cullen hid his irritation as he glanced over his shoulder at Teodora, riding to the rear of the column and surrounded by a sea of soldiers.
“Of what, in particular, do you refer to, my lord?”
“Anything at all,” Preston replied. “Surely the two of you spoke last night.”
“Briefly.”
“And?”
“There is naught to tell, my lord.”
Preston cocked an eyebrow. “Christ, de Nerra, don’t be so evasive. I know you bedded her, for I saw the evidence on the bed. And I don’t care if she was happy or sad or indifferent to the entire affair. That is not what I am referring to.” His horse stumbled over a rut in the road and he struggled to steady the fat beast. “I want to know if she has said anything about her father.”
Cullen shook his head. “Not a word, my lord.”
“Nothing at all?”
Cullen thought a moment. Of everything they had spoken of yesterday, Bradford de Rivington had hardly entered into it. “She only mentioned that she did not believe that her father would permit her to marry a brute. She said this, of course, after you struck her in the stables.”
Preston snorted. “Bradford de Rivington knew exactly what he was doing when he pledged his daughter to Ridley. He intends to use his daughter in the exact manner we intend to.”
Cullen could feel the disgust rising in his throat, for he knew what Preston was referring to. A strange protective instinct began to surge. “It is my opinion, my lord, that she is ignorant of all of this.”
“Spies are never ignorant.” Preston glanced back at his new wife. She was pale this morning and he was not surprised. One night with the virile de Nerra would be enough to weaken the strongest of women. “Don’t think for one moment that de Rivington isn’t planning on using his daughter to spy on us. But he has no idea that his plans will turn on him.”
Noble Line of de Nerra Complete Set: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 7