The Warrior's Maiden (The Warriors Series Book 2)

by Denise Domning

  "I run for good reason," she threw over her shoulder. "You want to kill me and my father."

  "Not you," he said, his arms tightening around her. "It was never you I meant to threaten."

  "I don't believe you," she shouted, her raised voice hiding both her fear and her own disconcerting reaction to their nearness. "Now, let me go!"

  Her demand rang in the trees that surrounded the pond, startling the birds into silence. Beyond that, no one else heard. Nor would anyone. The fold of the hills around this place kept it private and quiet.

  "After what you heard me say to your sire, I cannot fault you for your fear, but give me a moment to explain and apologize," he offered, his tone quiet, even placating.

  As if she had any choice in the matter. Until he chose to release her, he owned her. "A moment, but no more," she told him, her voice harsh.

  "Forgive me," he said. They stood so close that she felt the words rumble in his chest as he spoke them. "I was overwrought at the ice house. My lord father was dear to me, and seeing him bound for burial was…" his voice trailed off into a pained silence.

  The memory of the grief radiating from him at the ice house assaulted Elianne's fear. He'd loved his sire, despite that the only life Lord Haydon could give his bastard was a tainted one. Hadn't she been beyond bereft when her own mother died? Aye, and in her grief she'd behaved just as Sir Josce, accusing her father of murder, saying his debts and all his schemes to win coins had caused her dam's passing. That Reiner hadn't struck his daughter for her insults stood as proof that he knew he'd wronged his wife.

  Twisting a little in his hold, Elianne looked over her shoulder at him. The water had darkened his golden hair to a warm brown. Sunlight sparked against the droplets clinging to his skin. Honest grief glowed in his clear blue eyes. Beneath the pain lurked the loneliness that had drawn her to him at the ice house.

  "He was the last of my close kin," Sir Josce whispered, as if to explain what Elianne saw in his gaze.

  All her fear ebbed with his words. What took its place was that subtle sense of connection she'd known. She relaxed in his hold. As she did, something sparked beneath the pain and loneliness in his gaze.

  "Can you forgive me?" he begged softly of her. "I'd not have you despise or fear me, Elianne du Hommet."

  It was the way his deep voice curled around her name that did it. Her heart skipped a beat, her pulse lifting until it sang. "All I can forgive is your vehemence, and you must be content with that," she warned, yet looking over her shoulder at him as she waited for him to release her

  He nodded in agreement, but his arms around her didn't loosen a whit. A shiver shot up Elianne's spine.

  "I have given you what you want. Now you must free me." Her voice was no louder than a whisper.

  Tantalizing heat sparked deep in his gaze. "Must I?" he breathed in return. As he spoke he pulled her closer still, his arms no longer imprisoning her.

  Elianne should have shoved away from him. Instead, she stood frozen against him. His mouth lowered until his lips rested against the spot just below her ear. She gasped. His kiss was warm, his beard soft. He smelled of Aggie's soap. Her knees weakened as the heat of his body flowed into her until he set afire. It was a sensation akin to how she felt when she'd drunk too much hard cider.

  Only then did Elianne identify what that urgency within her was, and it stunned her that she hadn't recognized it before this moment. The good Lord knew she'd certainly heard enough warnings and lectures on this subject. Holy Mother save her, but it was lust for him that worked on her senses.

  That made him far more dangerous to her than when she thought he meant to harm her. If she was to remain a virtuous woman, she needed to end the contact between them, and right quickly, too. Even as she opened her mouth to command him to cease, envy stirred.

  Was this pleasure what other women knew, women who'd been fortunate enough to have sires who found them husbands? If so, then she'd been doubly cheated in her life. The need for a taste of what she'd been denied spiraled, only to collapse against her father's threat of abandonment. If she gave way to this man, she'd be begging for her bread.

  Anger lifted its vengeful head. Years, she'd held tight to virtue to honor her sire, and what had it bought her but the opportunity to become his pawn as he destroyed her future. No matter how she lived her life from this moment forward, she'd end it disgraced or abandoned, come that fate this week or years hence. Against that, her sire no longer deserved her honor or her loyalty.

  Her eyes narrowed. Aye, from this day on she'd do as she pleased, and what pleased her right now was to know more of this.

  Josce savored the cool freshness of Elianne's skin as he traced his lips along the line of her jaw. He'd been angry when he found her clothing in yon tree and realized that she was also at the pond. It seemed too fortuitous, Richard sending him to the pond to meet his master's daughter. Against the certainty that she meant to seduce him, he'd stretched out his bathing, giving her the opportunity to reveal herself. But she hadn't.

  That wasn't proof that she didn't intend to use him. To that end, Josce sought to force her hand. Thus his own attempt at seduction, which was going well, indeed.

  He touched his mouth to the spot beneath her ear. She loosed a breath, the sound fraught with pleasure. All remaining resistance drained from her. As she relaxed against him, their bodies melded as if made one for the other.

  Unexpected hunger roared to life in him. God help him, but this was what he needed. In passion's cleansing heat could he forget, for at least a moment, his father's passing, his stepmother's threat to deprive him of what family he had left, and the yawning emptiness left inside of him.

  He moved his mouth to the curve of her neck. She tilted her head to the side, inviting him to do more of this. His pulse lifted. Releasing one of her wrists, he cupped her breast in his hand. Heat, glorious heat, washed over him as he closed his fingers over her nipple.

  She gasped and thrust away from him. With a quiet cry, Josce reached to grab her back. He couldn't let her go, not when all that kept him alive just now was joining with her.

  Rather than run, she turned to face him. He'd been wrong to think she wasn't beautiful, for he'd never seen a woman more lovely. Her wet hair streamed in rich strands over her shoulders. Thin fabric clung to her, revealing and concealing her in one glorious instant. Need ate up all sense and purpose. Reaching out, he pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear, then traced his fingertips along the line of her jaw. Her skin was smooth and cool to his touch.

  Sighing, she rested her cheek against his palm. He threaded his fingers into her wet hair, the pressure of his hand urging her closer. She did as he bid, then took another step. Nipping at her lower lip, she hesitantly rested her hands upon his chest.

  Josce caught his breath. Need flowed from where her fingers touched him, seeping into every corner of his being. Aye, more of this is what he craved.

  Leaning forward, he touched his mouth to hers in a tiny kiss, a bare brush of his lips across hers. She trembled at his caress and eased another step closer to him. Her hands slipped up until she clasped her fingers at his nape. Her breasts came to rest against his chest. With nothing between them save her chemise, he could feel every inch of her against him. His ready shaft lay against her belly, the sensation close to heaven.

  Josce shook, wanting her more than he'd ever desired any other woman. He cupped her face in his hands. A desire to match his own burned in her green eyes. When he stroked his thumbs over the jut of her cheekbones, her expression softened, passion's promise filling her face.

  "Cry that I must cease this," he commanded her. If she refused, was that proof that she wished to make him her pawn?

  A tiny crease marred her smooth brow. Fear, nay, concern lurked beneath the heat in her gaze. "And if I do not stop you?" she asked, her voice so low he barely heard her over the tumble of water down the hillside.

  "Then I will kiss you again," he breathed, his body afire with need for her. "
After I've kissed you, I'll take you. If that isn't your intent, then say me ‘nay’ now and leave. Stay, and I'll not warrant that I can stop myself, even if you later beg me cease."

  She considered his warning for a moment, then freed a shallow sigh and lifted her lips to his. "Kiss me again," she breathed against his mouth.

  Josce groaned. He caught her lips with his, his mouth slashing across hers. Pawn or not, he craved the release she was offering him.

  Elianne gasped beneath his onslaught, all the while praying that he might never cease what he did. Her heart raced, her skin burned. Wherever they touched, heat grew. The feel of his shaft trapped between them fed the demanding throb that now lived in her womb.

  He released her face. Wrapping one arm around her, his other hand went to once more cup her breast. The stroke of his thumb across its peak set her to quaking. When he did it again, she panted. In all her life she'd never felt so alive.

  Just when she thought she couldn't tolerate his caress another moment, he ceased his torment and slid his hand down her belly. His fingers halted against her nether lips. Before she knew what she meant to do, Elianne shifted, her legs opening as her body invited him to touch her most private part. And when he did, even with the fabric of her chemise between them, she melted.

  Something about his caress demanded movement from her. She reacted to her body's bidding without thought, shifting against him. He groaned, then grabbed at her chemise, wrenching it up from between them until its hem floated in the water around her waist.

  Her mouth yet clinging to his, Elianne gasped when his hands came to rest against the bare skin of her hips. He lifted her a little, far enough that her feet left the pond's floor. His shaft slid between her legs.

  Startled, Elianne fell against him. Without the muck to anchor her toes, her legs floated. Needing more security than this, she wound her calves around his thighs.

  He stiffened. His fingers tightened on her hips as if he meant to hold her just where she was. He tore his mouth from hers to gasp. Beneath the heat that filled his eyes, awe blossomed in his gaze.

  "Oh my God," he breathed, "I've never—this is—," he gasped. Raw need for her blazed in his eyes. "Touch me," he begged. "Want me."

  She did as he commanded, stroking a hand down his nape, only to shiver at the feel of his skin against her hand. With her lips she traced the line of his neck as he'd done to her. The taste of him was intoxicating. Even with her chemise between her breasts and his chest she could feel the springy hair that grew from his skin. When she shifted against him she learned that the brush of those hairs against her breasts made her tingle all the way to her toes.

  He groaned, the very sound feeding her roaring need for more of this. She touched kisses to his neck, his ear, then caught his mouth with hers.

  "Jesu," he breathed against her mouth. "Love me," he begged, his voice gruff and quiet, then once more claimed her mouth as his own.

  With the heat of his kiss, the throbbing within her became an insistent pulse. His shaft moved between her legs, finding its way between her thighs to the entrance to her womb. Josce freed her mouth. His breathing rough, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, the tip of her nose, then caught the lobe of her ear in his mouth. Elianne melted, pure and simple. He shifted, his shaft pressing into her, only to have her maidenhead bar his path.

  Not until that instant did the enormity of what she intended hit Elianne. How could she have forgotten the terrible rending that both the nuns and her father assured was the price of losing her virginity?

  As if startled Josce released his hold on her hips. In instinctive reaction Elianne tightened her legs and arms around him, even though there was no chance she might fall when the water buoyed her so. It was enough to move his shaft farther into her. There was a little pinch, then she held him within her, the fullness both foreign and welcome in one astonishing instant. Beneath the strangeness a new warmth woke, whispering that there was yet more pleasure to be discovered in this lust of hers.

  Josce groaned. He kissed her ear as he held her against him. At his caress, that throbbing within Elianne demanded she be closer still.

  She shifted. Her legs tightened around him. He growled. The sound rumbled deep in his chest, then he moved within her.

  A wave of delight crashed over Elianne. Again and again he moved, creating still more of what pleased her. His breathing grew ragged and hoarse. His body tensed. His heart pounded against her own.

  Then, with a harsh cry, Josce clutched her against him and thrust a final time. A moment later, he relaxed. Gasping, he once more laid his mouth on her, but the passion she now craved with all her heart was gone from his kiss. From her womb came demanding pressure, the sensation clamoring for something else, something more, something that Elianne couldn't begin to name.

  It was this sensation that brought home the idiocy of what she'd just done. Giving her father's enemy her maidenhead hadn't repaid her sire's betrayal. All she'd achieved was to completely ruin herself.

  Elianne lowered her legs, releasing Josce from within her as she once more rested her feet upon the pond's mucky floor. Struggling against shame and her own stupid petty need for vengeance, she let her arms fall to her sides. Josce straightened. Concern darkened his blue eyes. So, too, did the knowledge of what she'd given him.

  He raised a hand to trace his thumb across the fullness of her lower lip. Rather than comfort her, the gentleness of his caress woke mortification. God help her, but what could he think of her now save that she was a whore? She whirled and splashed for the shore as swiftly as the water would allow her to move.

  "Elianne," Josce called after her. Behind her water splashed, marking his progress toward her. "Wait," he called to her.

  Needing to escape him and everything wrong she'd done here, Elianne snatched her clothing, not caring that she left his attire tangled as she went. With her gowns clutched close to her chest, she raced along the pathway that led away from the pool.

  Before Josce could reach the bank Elianne disappeared into the greenery. Even though he knew it was futile to follow her, he snatched for his clothing. His shirt snagged on a twig. Cursing, he yanked.

  The sound of rending fabric was loud in the silence around him. He stared at the torn shirt in his fist. Ruined, just like he'd ruined Elianne.

  Josce dropped to sit upon the log at the pool's bank, his shirt crumpled in his fists. When she agreed to lovemaking, he'd assumed she'd played the whore for her sire, or perhaps for herself and that experience served as her guide. At her age and with her bold manner, what else was there to think? Instead, she'd been a maiden still.

  Why had she agreed? That du Hommet might have commanded his untouched daughter to give herself to his enemy was beyond impossible. Then, it wasn't to use or seduce him that Elianne had spent her maidenhead on him.

  That left the question of why he hadn't stopped himself when he realized that she was untouched.

  Here, at last, was a question to which he knew the answer.

  By the time he understood the meaning of the barrier that stood between him and his entry into her, she was past saving. But God help him, between her wrapping her legs around him and the novelty of making love in the water, he'd been out of his mind with need for her.

  "Damn, damn, damn," he muttered, burying his head into his shirt.

  This hadn't worked out at all as he intended. Not only had he destroyed any chance that she might serve him instead of her father, in his passion for her he'd forgotten all his father taught him of caution and sowed his seed with abandon. Jesu, but what if he'd planted his bastard in her?

  Under massing clouds and with a cool breeze at his back, Josce rode toward Coneytrop from Knabwell. He hadn't believed his spirits could sink any lower after confronting his sire's body in the ice house yesterday. He'd been wrong. Today, he'd arranged for his father's and sisters' burials.

  The sister who served the convent's dead had been matter-of-fact when she suggested Josce return only the seats of his kin's
souls to Haydon for burial. Of course she was right. Distance and the time since their deaths really left no other choice. Thus, most of his father and sisters would find their eternal rest in the priory's cemetery while their hearts, packed in plain clayware with salt for preservation's sake, would return to Haydon for interment in the family chapel.

  Never had Josce considered himself squeamish, having done a good deal of slicing flesh in his life's time. Aye, but when he plied his sword, it was with the heat of combat upon him. Such a state left room for no other emotions. To coldly cut open a body felt so disrespectful that he'd insisted on overseeing the deeds.

  His stomach lurched despite that it was well into the afternoon and he'd eaten nothing but a bit of bread and cheese this morn. God help him, but he prayed there was no slaughtering going on at Coneytrop this day.

  "Sir Josce, the gate?" called Nick from behind him.

  Pulling himself out of his stewing thoughts, Josce found he'd ridden past the entrance to the sheriff's home. He turned his mount to face Nick and the three soldiers who'd accompanied him for today's grisly duty. Like him, Haydon's men had foregone yesterday's armor, their helmets and hauberks replaced by more comfortable attire. Their short tunics were of Haydon's green, a hue the color of spring grass, worn atop yellow chausses.

  Josce's clothing was the color of the forest, hunting attire. It was all he had with him. When news of his father's demise reached Josce at Rafe Godsol's manor, Josce had rolled his armor into his pack and ridden hell-bent for Haydon, leaving everything else behind him, including his servant. Rafe, along with Josce's other friends, had all assured him that Perrin would have the coin and supplies he needed to follow after his master.

  "Pardon, Nick, I was paying no heed," Josce said, although there was no reason to offer an excuse.

  Josce had known Nick for all the years of his life, so long had the man been Haydon's master-at-arms. In all that time he'd never once seen the soldier's expression as sad as it was at this moment. Today's chore sat no less heavily on Nick than it did on his lord's son.