“ ’Tis not an easy question to answer.” Lightly, she traced the lines of his face with her fingertips. “To be set in a bed with you so coldly left me feeling awkward and shy.” She shrugged. “I could not think of what to say or do.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and smiled against his freshly shaven skin. “Then you touched my hair and moved closer and the fever started.”
When he tugged her night rail off and discarded it, she gasped and pressed her face against his shoulder. The feel of his warm skin touching hers sent her senses reeling. His lightly haired chest teased at her breasts. She pressed closer.
Botolf turned her face up to his and kissed her. She swiftly matched his hunger with her own. He groaned, held her tight, and rolled until she was sprawled beneath him. A muted moan of pleasure escaped her when the full length of his lean, hard body was pressed to hers.
He cupped her breasts in his large, callused hands, kneading them as he trailed feverish kisses over her throat. Saxan threaded her hands in his thick hair and arched toward him when he touched his lips to the sensitive skin of her breasts. She moaned and shuddered, moving against him restlessly when he drew the hard tip of her breast slowly into his mouth. Each hungry pull raised the heat gathering in her loins. He smoothed his palm over her legs, and when he inched his hand in between her thighs, she was in such a fever of need she offered no resistance to his intimate touch. She opened to his stroking fingers as he edged his stirring kisses back toward her mouth.
“You are already damp with welcome,” he rasped as he teased her lips with his and settled his body between her slim thighs. “I do not wish to hurt you.”
Saxan forced her eyes open to study his passion-taut features. She clasped her hands at the back of his head, urging him to give her the fuller kiss she craved, and moved her body against his in a heated plea to be possessed. When she breathed his name against his lips, calling him Botolf at last, she felt him tremble. Even as he plunged his tongue into her mouth, he began to unite their trembling bodies.
Despite the gentleness of his entry and the blinding strength of the passion gripping her, Saxan was not able to ignore the pain caused by the breaching of her maidenhead. She tried to smother her cry against his broad shoulder, but it was still clear and sharp and she clenched her hands on his back so tightly she scored his skin with her long nails. It proved to be a fleeting pain, however. Botolf had abruptly ceased to move, and she had a moment to adjust. Slowly, his caresses revived the passion that had been cooled by the pain. She relaxed her grip on him and rested against the pillows.
Closing her eyes again, Saxan concentrated on the joining of their bodies. The sensation made her lagging desire soar as she became more fully aware of how they were united. She also realized that something was not quite right. Saxan strongly suspected that Botolf had not yet fully possessed her, may well have even drawn back a little. Now that her pain had eased and her passion had returned in its full demanding glory, she had no wish to be so pampered. She wrapped her limbs around him as she reopened her eyes.
She almost smiled when she saw Botolf’s face, strained from fighting to deny his body what it craved. But another emotion that she could read in his eyes stirred her sympathetic amusement. The pain of losing her innocence had affected him far more than it had her.
“Saxan, the pain—” he began hoarsely.
“Is done, but, I think, you are not,” she murmured as, simultaneously, she pulled him closer with her legs and arched her hips. “Ah, Botolf.” She spoke his name in a tremulous whisper as her movement drove him deeper within her.
Botolf groaned and kissed her hungrily as he began to move. He tried to go carefully; but his need, as well as the way she so eagerly met his every thrust, strained what little control he had. The soft sounds of pleasure which escaped her kiss-swollen mouth and the way she stroked and clutched at him with her soft, delicate hands severed it completely. His thrusts grew fiercer, but she met them without hesitation.
When he sensed that her passion was about to crest, shock cut through the heat of his desire and he faltered. Saxan cried out and clung to him, nearly frantic in her need. She urged him on, and it proved easy to answer her demand. As desire’s apogee beckoned to him, he heard her cry of release. She clung to him as he shuddered, then collapsed in her arms.
He stayed wrapped in her slender, warm body for a long time, savoring the feel of her and the complete satisfaction of their lovemaking. When he finally eased free of her body, he stayed enclosed in her arms and trailed his hand down her side to rest it possessively on her shapely hip.
Her passion was a treasure he had not expected to unearth. He understood what Godric had meant. It would be easy to think she was flawed simply because she met his passion with equal ardor. It was a common assumption that a proper lady did not feel or express such desire. Botolf was glad he had the good sense to see her warmth as the benefit to their marriage that it was.
Reluctantly, he rose from the bed and cleaned them both off. A smile curled his lips as he bathed her womanhood and she blushed deeply, for he easily recalled how thoroughly desire could burn away that shyness. The sweet youthfulness of her face served as a perfect disguise for the passionate woman she was.
Saxan watched Botolf from beneath her lowered lashes as he returned the wash basin and cloth to the table near the window. She enjoyed the way he moved, and found his lean muscular form exciting. He was dark all over with only a modest amount of body hair. That suited her fine; she liked the feel of his warm skin stretched tautly over firm muscles. When he climbed back into their bed, she greeted him with open arms, eager to touch all she had just admired.
As she moved her hands over his chest, Botolf eased the coverlet down to her waist. He watched as the tips of her small breasts hardened with invitation. That indication that she could be aroused simply by touching him renewed his passion.
“Are you sore, Saxan?” he asked as he kissed the hollow by her ear.
“Nay,” she whispered and slid her hand over his thigh.
“Good.” He began to kiss her with a barely controlled hunger.
Even though her eyelids protested almost painfully, Saxan opened her eyes, wondering crossly why she was awake. Dawn’s meager light was only just creeping into the room. It was that eerily uncertain time of not-quite-night and not-yet-day. Her body ached, but, oddly, she rather enjoyed the feeling. There was a soreness between her thighs, but she felt no inclination to complain, for it meant that she was now truly Botolf’s wife. It was not enough to wake her up yet she still felt a need to be awake. It made no sense.
As she was about to force her eyes closed again, she caught the shadow of a movement out of the corner of her eye. She gaped at the man who now stood on Botolf’s side of the bed. When he raised his arm, she saw the glinting blade of a knife in his hand. Saxan screamed and scrambled to her knees. She grabbed the attacker by his wrist with both hands, halting his deadly strike when the knife’s point was a mere inches from Botolf’s broad chest.
Botolf was jerked awake by a piercing scream. His ears ringing and a lingering haze of sleep still clouding his eyes, he saw Saxan struggling to push away a knife blade aimed at his heart. All traces of sleep and confusion were immediately shoved aside. As his attacker prepared to strike Saxan, Botolf drove one hard fist into the man’s belly.
His erstwhile murderer sprawled backward from the force of the blow, gasping loudly for air. Botolf caught Saxan before she could follow the man she still had a tight grip on. Pushing her to safety, he flung himself at his assailant before he could fully recover. A small part of Botolf’s mind noted that his tiny wife had a lot of voice as she continued to scream for help.
Saxan hastily wrapped herself in the bed coverlet as the door to the room was kicked open and men in various stages of dress and alertness stumbled inside in response to her cries. When she saw the crowd gathering in the hall behind them, she grabbed Botolf’s robe. The moment the attacker was subdued, she tossed the robe to Botolf.
“You are hurt,” he said in a near growl as he grasped her by the wrist.
Saxan stared at her arm, surprised to see that at some time during her struggle with Botolf’s attacker she had been badly scored by the knife. Suddenly, she became aware of how much the freely bleeding wound stung. Despite the vast amount of blood, however, she was sure that it was not a severe wound.
“It looks far worse than it is,” she assured a scowling Botolf.
Lady Mary—Thylda and Jane right behind her—quickly reached Saxan’s side and said, “We will tend to this, Botolf.” She led Saxan to the washbowl, adding, “You must find out what this is all about, son.”
Botolf moved to where Hunter stood over the man who minutes before had tried to kill him. “Does he still live?” he asked.
Hunter nodded. “Aye, though it will be awhile ere wakes up.”
“This came too close.” Botolf glanced briefly toward Saxan, who sat quietly as Lady Mary bandaged her arm. As soon as Udolf had shut the door, giving them privacy, he added, “I think it was not particularly wise for me to marry now.”
Hunter walked to the large bed and flung back the linen to reveal the proof that Saxan had been a maid and that Botolf had dutifully consummated the marriage. “It is far too late to change that, m‘lord.” He tossed the covers back over the bed. “This is not how the wedding ceremony should be conducted, but I think we can declare it done now.” There was a murmur of agreement from Udolf, Pitney, Roc, Wesley, Roger, and Talbot. “What you must think about now, m’lord, is the killing of the man who wishes you dead.”
“To strike on a man’s wedding night shows a foolish boldness or rash desperation,” grumbled Wesley.
“Mayhap it was clever planning,” murmured Hunter with a shake of his head.
“True,” Botolf agreed. “After such a celebration many of the people gathered are nearly senseless. The guard would be at its weakest.”
“And a man does not take his weapons to his marriage bed,” Udolf drawled then grinned faintly. “Not at first, leastwise.”
Even Botolf smiled briefly as a ripple of laughter went through the gathered men, but he quickly grew serious again. “He is not one of Regenford’s people.”
“Nay,” agreed Pitney. “He could have come with one of the wedding guests.”
“Aye, or someone in Regenford aided in letting him inside the walls.” Botolf cursed and ran a hand through his hair. “We can only guess until we are able to question the man. Talbot, Roger, see that the man is well secured for now.”
“The guard on you and Saxan must be strengthened,” advised Hunter as Talbot and Roger carried out the prisoner. He lowered his voice so that the women could not overhear him as he added, “Each time you bed with Saxan, you could be seeding your heir.”
“And if it is Cecil who strikes at me, and I feel certain it is, Saxan is now a target as well.” Botolf sighed. “I had thought about that. Howbeit, I had also believed she would be safe within these walls. Now I am shown that, even here, there is no safety to be found.”
“You must hunt the man down,” pressed Wesley. “ ’Tis not only your own life you play with now.”
“I fear that is the only way to put an end to this,” agreed Hunter.
When Botolf frowned blackly, Wesley clapped him on the back in a gesture of sympathy. “We can talk on this later. Our fast will be broken in a few hours. By then the blackguard should be able to talk with us and we should be better able to discuss the matter. We will leave you now.”
As soon as the others had left, Saxan sat in the middle of the bed, her gaze fixed upon a deeply thoughtful Botolf. She wished Cecil dead and as soon as possible, but she understood Botolf’s hesitation. Even if he no longer felt any bond to the brother he had grown to manhood with, his mother did. He could not do what was needed without causing Lady Mary great pain, and he could not easily overlook that he and Cecil shared a father’s blood.
“He forces me to kill him,” Botolf said with a sigh as he joined her on the bed.
Ignoring the coverlet, which had slipped down to gather in a swirl around her hips, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against his back. She could feel the tension in him but did not know how to ease his troubled mind. There was no alternative to offer him. The only way to put an end to the murderous feud with Cecil was for one of them to die. Saxan prayed that one would be Cecil.
“You have no choice,” she murmured. “You either kill him or he kills you.”
“And you. He has added you to his death list.” He touched the bandage covering her forearm. “How is your injury?”
“It but stings. It was a shallow cut.” She took a deep breath and said quietly, “If it is Cecil, and I fear all points to him as the culprit, then it is also whatever children we may be blessed with who are in danger. They, too, could stand between him and all he tries to steal.”
“I know.” Botolf ground the admission out between clenched teeth.
To distract Botolf, Saxan untied his robe and slid her hands slowly over his chest, teasing his nipples until they hardened beneath her fingertips. He gave a murmur of enjoyment and leaned back against her. She touched her lips to the lobe of his ear; when she traced its shape with her tongue, she felt him tremble slightly.
Botolf clenched his teeth as he resisted the urge to turn and take her into his arms. He watched her smooth her delicate hands over his skin, his desire growing with each caress. When she curled her long, slim fingers around his erection he groaned, but still did not move. He wanted to enjoy the feelings her touch and the sight of her caressing him invoked for as long as he could. His control broke when she began to stroke his manhood with a slow, sensuous rhythm as she slipped her other hand down to cup the weighted softness beneath.
With a soft growl, he reached for her and dragged her across his lap. He yanked the coverlet off her and drank in the sight of her slender form as he ran his hand down the length of her side.
Saxan met his heated gaze with a sweetly lecherous smile. Touching him and feeling desire flood him beneath her hands had her own desire running hot and fast. His gaze burned over her, stripping her of all of modesty’s restrictions. While the fire of passion flowed through her, she was willing to let him look his fill if that was what pleasured him. She found that watching him take such delight in her body only increased her own pleasure.
He gave her a slow, hungry kiss, a low growl deep in his throat signaling his approval when she battled his tongue with hers. As he pulled his mouth away to seek out the taut inviting crowns of her breasts, he eased his hand between her thighs. He drew the tip of her breast deep into his mouth at the same time he slipped his finger inside her.
A shudder tore through Saxan. She pondered dazedly that such feelings could race through her body yet not do her any harm. It seemed to her that they were so strong, so overpowering, they should leave her marked in some way. By the time he lifted his mouth from her breasts, she was desperate in her need for him.
“Botolf,” she called in a whisper of a plea.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured and, still seated on the bed, moved her so that she straddled him.
Saxan gasped as he eased their bodies together. She was not shocked by the position, for she had known there were many ways to make love even though she had never experienced them. She clasped his broad shoulders tightly as she shivered with delight. The last clear thought she had was to wonder briefly just how many ways Botolf knew.
“Greedy wenc
h,” Botolf murmured as he arranged their lax bodies comfortably beneath the covers.
“I think the accusation of greed can be laid at your feet, too, my fine lord,” she replied with a sleepy smile as she curled in his arms. Her smile grew when he chuckled.
“ ’S’truth, and I think it will be a long time ere that greed lessens.” He hugged her tightly. “Rest, dearling. It will soon be time to break our fast.”
“Aye.” She yawned. “Time, too, to face all our guests again.” She groaned and Botolf laughed.
Stretching languorously, Saxan met her husband’s gaze and smiled even as she blushed. She decided it was nice to wake up next to him. As she snuggled up to his warm, hard body, she decided it was far more than nice.
“That is quite enough of that, sweetings,” Botolf scolded as, reluctantly, he extracted himself from her hold. “Time to rise,” he said as he got out of bed.
Glancing at the stout proof of his arousal, she murmured, “I can see that.” She collapsed into giggles when he gave her a stern look which was belied by the twitching of his lips.
“You are impertinent.”
“Aye, I fear so, m’lord.”
“Out of bed, wench. I need help tying my points,” he said as he pulled on his braies.
She slipped out of bed and donned her robe. As she helped Botolf into his clothes, she decided it was a good thing that she had had a great deal of practice in helping her predominantly male kin get dressed. If she had not, she and Botolf would have ended in a sorry tangle.
When he began to help her dress, she feared they would end up back in bed. She was feeling strongly inclined to snuggle and make love again, and a quick glance at Botolf’s face told her that he was, too. Almost simultaneously they forced their minds to the guests and retainers who would be waiting for them. She was intrigued that they both had become serious at the same moment.
She knew instinctively that Botolf shared her musings. “We shall have to get a room for dressing so that we may have our maid and squire tend to us,” he suggested slyly. “Otherwise, we may never leave this chamber.”
Only For You Page 15