Summer's Storm

by Denise Domning

  It was a request of great intimacy, for only a husband looked upon his wife’s unbound hair. Much to Philippa’s surprise, beneath the nervous leaping of her stomach new warmth woke. Stepping out of his embrace, she removed her head covering. Setting the linen square and the leather band that held the garment in place onto a clean patch of ground near her feet, she freed one braid, then the other. Crimped into waves by plaiting, her hair flowed down her back past her hips.

  Temric reached out to lift a tress. “It’s like spun gold,” he murmured. “Philippa, you’re so beautiful. Can you truly be willing to bestow yourself upon a man like me?”

  Startled by his almost fearful tone, she looked at him. The possibility that he might also harbor misgivings over what they meant to do had never occurred to her, yet there it was, in the tenseness of his eyes and not quite hidden beneath his careful expression. Only twice before had she seen his fear. The first time had been in Graistan’s tower when he’d dreaded she’d reject his affection. The second had been here in Stanrudde just prior to his departure, when he feared she’d despise this life he offered her.

  That he should think she’d not wish to be with him did much to ease Philippa’s worry over what must come next. However if her own fears were well founded in reality, his were far easier to assuage. Temric was a man bound by his belief in oaths and vows. Once he heard her swear to her love for him, he’d never again doubt her affections.

  “How can you dream I might refuse you?” she asked with a smile. “You’ve owned my heart since that first day in the glade when you said I should have been yours.” Reaching out, she took his hands in her. “Richard FitzHenry of Graistan, I pledge to you my love, my heart and soul, in full knowledge of what it may cost me. Take from me the everlasting affection I bear for you and give me yours.”

  Temric grinned at this, his eyes an amber-brown. This time, he grabbed her to him, lifting her off the ground as he embraced her. Although he didn’t kiss her, he held her where he could look directly into her eyes. “Ah, love! You cannot know how I’ve wondered if I’d return to find you hating me for what I’d done to you.”

  “What you’ve done?” Philippa retorted in surprise. Not all of that surprise came from his response. A good part of it was rooted in how much she enjoyed being held by him. “What have you done to me save give me my freedom? Know that I hold precious and dear this life you and my mother bought for me.”

  The delight in his smile was dazzling. His laugh rang out, the sound of it free and clear. “For that I give thanks to God,” he replied, then touched his mouth to hers.

  Philippa caught her breath at the light caress. How could she have forgotten the wondrous pleasure of his mouth on hers? Against it, it seemed almost impossible to fathom there couldn’t be at least a little of the same when it came time to consummate their vows.

  In the next instant, he lowered her until her feet again touched the ground. When he released her, she nearly sighed in regret. Catching her hands in his, he entwined their fingers and stepped back, still smiling.

  “I see someone has told you my true name.”

  This reminder of her encounter with the Almighty sent a frisson of emotion dancing up Philippa’s spine. “Aye, and you’d not believe me if I told you who,” she murmured, then frowned. “So, if you’re named Richard, how came you to be called Temric? All Alwyna would say is that it was a name made in anger.”

  Temric grinned wryly as he combed the fingers of his free hand through his drying hair. “Sometimes young men are stubborn and foolish and can see no farther than the ends of their noses. I took insult when my father’s will made no mention of me as he’d promised. For spite, I refused the name he’d given me. Mama was incensed. In her rage she meant to ask me if I’d been only temporarily Richard. Instead, she stuttered so badly what she actually asked was if I were tem-ric.” He laughed again. “You should have seen her spit and hiss when I made a name of her stutter.”

  “Ah,” Philippa replied with a smile. Now that she knew Alwyna, she could see the woman doing just such a thing. “So, which name do you prefer?”

  “Either,” Temric replied swiftly. “Or, you may call me simply your love if you prefer.”

  “You will always be my love, but by name I’ll call you Temric,” she answered without hesitation. “I’ve liked Temric from the first moment I heard it, while Richard is almost as common as William and I think me there’s nothing common about you.” As she smiled up at him, the shyness hit again with new force. She let her gaze lower to the throb of his pulse in his neck. “I’ve given you my vow. Will you share yours with me as well?”

  His grip on her hands tightened. Philippa lifted her gaze back to his face and saw him fight for words. After a moment, his expression softened and his mouth lifted at the corners. “I’ve thought much about what to say, but could find nothing to match my heart’s emotions. What I settled on now seems inadequate,” he said by way of explanation.

  “Speak your words,” she urged. “They cannot be inadequate to me.”

  “At your command, love,” he replied with a nervous smile. “Philippa of Stanrudde, from this day forward you will be my own love, to have and to hold. I’ll keep you in sickness and in health, in wealth and poverty, despising all others and cleaving alone to you. Keep you these words as my solemn vow.”

  What he said made her smile. “They are good words,” she assured him. “Know that I’ll treasure them always.”

  “Just as I’ll treasure you.” He released her hands to ease his fingers into the heavy fall of her hair at either side of her face.

  Philippa trembled, uncertain whether it was fear or anticipation that made her do so. He meant to kiss her again. A sudden giddiness raced through her, making her knees weaken. Against it, she braced her hands against the strong swell of his chest and raised her face in invitation. The touch of his lips to hers was gentle, but it still woke a flare of pleasure in Philippa. As she’d done in Graistan’s tower, she moved her mouth against his. The rasp of his beard against her jaw was welcome, but his lips tasted of apples; shame on him, but he’d been eating raw fruit!

  A moment later and he lifted his mouth from hers to kiss her cheek and the hollow where her jaw met her neck. Philippa’s breath jolted from her as a strange sensation shot through her. With a tilt of her head, she give him the whole length of her neck to caress in the same way. He accepted her invitation, his lips moving from jaw to shoulder, his fingers combing through her hair as he kissed her.

  Pleasure lifted, teasing a warmth from the depths of her stomach as a low sound left her throat. Again, his mouth returned to brush against her lips. This taunting glance of flesh to flesh teased a gasp from her. She leaned against him, relaxing against the hard lines of his body.

  He closed his arms around her and slowly, gently, his embrace urged her closer as he steadily pressed her form more tightly to his. Her hands splayed against the contours of his chest, her palms burning as if his bare skin beneath them were hot, while her heart rose to meet the beat of his as it throbbed into her hands. The pressure of his mouth on hers deepened, the new pressure making her feel as if her bones were melting. Every inch of her felt as if it were afire. From a hidden place deep within her came a new and searing heat. The warmth grew until it fair replaced the blood in her veins and left her dazed. She shifted against him, only to find that simple motion made her whole body tingle. At her movement, his mouth slanted across her lips, the pressure now demanding and forceful with his need for her. His arm around her tightened, pulling her even closer.

  Fear roared out of hiding. She was crushed to him, buried beneath his need for her. Old memories of tearing pain, of lingering aching and burning, wouldn’t be denied. With a wild, tiny cry, she shoved back from him. Instantly, he released her. She staggered back several quick paces.

  He made no attempt to grab her back, only extended his hand to her. “Philippa,” he breathed, “come back.”

  Philippa stared at his hand and the love it re
presented. Shame, fright, and self-hatred filled her. Tears filled her eyes. After all he’d done for her, why couldn’t she freely give this man what he needed?

  “Love, why do you run?” he asked, his voice owning nothing but gentleness in its depths.

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered in humiliation, not daring to lift her gaze to his face.

  Silence rose between them, punctuated by the soft drone of insects and the trill of a lark. The breeze lifted her hair and toyed with the wide sleeves of her overgown. Lured by their stillness, a mouse darted toward Philippa’s shoe, squeaked in alarm, then retreated.

  “Is it me you fear?” he finally asked, a tense edge to his voice.

  That she might have insulted him was more than she could bear. “Nay,” she cried out. “I fear the pain of what must happen between us.”

  She hadn’t meant to tell him this much. Chewing on her lower lip in worry, she dared to peer up at him. To her absolute shock, he was grinning. Even as Philippa breathed in relief, the tiniest twinge of irritation woke. Did he find her fear amusing?

  Reaching out, he touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “Love, as long as you don’t fear me, there’s a cure for what ails you. We’re private here. Come within and let me show you that what passes between us has nothing to do with pain or fear.”

  This time, when he held out his hand, she accepted. Philippa let him lead her into the stable. He paused just inside the doorway to claim the blanket he’d used as bedding during his travels, then led her to the small building’s back.

  What with the pack animals gone for the summer, the stable was empty and clean; the air within was fresh and blessedly cool. Streaming through the tiny, square windows carved from the walls, sunlight sliced into the hazy shadows. Where its warmth reached the straw it teased dust motes into an airy dance. He stopped in the final beam of light. Without relinquishing his hold on her, he kicked together a thick pile of clean straw, then dropped his blanket atop it. When he was done he turned toward her, lifted her hand to his mouth to press a kiss against her fingers, then released her.

  In confusion, Philippa watched him release his cross garters and kick off his soft boots. A moment later he untied the string of his chausses and slipped them from his legs. That left him clad only in his breech clout.

  “Will you run if I remove this?” he asked, his hand at the garment’s waist.

  “Run?” she asked in confusion. Why would she run from him, the one who was her protector? “Where would I go?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I’m only remembering our kiss in the glade after I’d taken you from Lindhurst. I saw then that you feared my touch, but that after our kiss you were surprised that you’d found pleasure in it. It was the same in Graistan’s tower, save that it was you who kissed me there. Did you do so fearing what would come of my touch?”

  “Nay,” Philippa replied with a shake of her head. “In the tower, I knew only that there would be pleasure between us. I craved it, thinking I’d never have another chance to kiss you again after that day.”

  He smiled, his hands still at his breech clout. “Ah, then by experience you’d learned that my kisses don’t hurt. Now, you must teach yourself that what we share between us will cause you no pain.” With that, he stripped off the garment that served him as underwear, dropping it to one side as he bared all of himself for her to see.

  Philippa drew a quick, surprised breath. The sunlight caressed the naked length of him, of strong legs, marking the swell and fall of his broad chest, revealing his powerful arms and gentle hands. Her gaze followed the faint line of hair that began near his belly, then led downward to widen and enclose the part of him most male of all. Not a little worried, her startled gaze raced back to meet his. “What are you doing?” she cried out, when what she meant to ask him was what he expected from her.

  Temric only smiled. “Philippa,” he said quietly, “teach yourself about me. Touch me, secure in the knowledge that I’ll not touch you in return until you give me leave to do so. When you’re easy with my body, you’ll be able to lie with me without fear. If you find your fear too difficult to overcome, know that you may say me nay and I’ll honor your wishes, loving you still.”

  “Come love,” he urged gently when Philippa still stared at him in shock. “Come find there’s pleasure for you in touching me.”

  Philippa’s eyes flew wider with his words. He couldn’t be serious! There could be no pleasure for a woman in lying with a man. Everyone knew that. Didn’t every priest preach that because of the first woman’s grievous sin in the garden that all women who followed endured the pain of coupling and childbirth?

  A silent moment passed, then another. Still, he stood before her, waiting. Philippa hugged herself, her hands clutching at her upper arms. She chewed her lip in consternation. Still Temric watched her, his brows now quirked as if he truly expected her to touch him.

  Despite her confusion, the memory of how she’d kissed him in the tower chamber lingered. Then, as now, he’d sworn not to touch her. That meant he’d not grab or force, ignore or hurt her. Mayhap, he was right. If she were more familiar with him, she might better tolerate what had to be between them.

  Slowly, she extended a hand and lay a forefinger at the place where his neck met his shoulder. Temric closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. He made no other movement or sound.

  With her fingertip she traced the powerful slope of his shoulder, then followed the heavy curve of his upper arm until it turned into the bend of his elbow. His skin was soft, belying the hard strength that lay beneath it.

  She smoothed down the hair on his forearm, then let her touch descend until her finger outlined his thumb. When she drew a soft circle in the cup of his palm, Temric released his breath in a long, quiet sigh. A flash of heat seared through her. Her finger tingled. How strange that touching him could make her feel as if she’d been touched as well.

  Taking a step closer, she lay both hands on his shoulders and drew them slowly down his chest. Her palms barely grazed across his flesh. It felt like fine silk against her skin. She shivered as a strange throbbing awoke within her, sending waves of heat through her. Her cheeks burned with it, her blood pulsed to the same beat.

  “You’re soft,” she said quietly.

  Temric’s eyes opened, his laugh low and gentle. “What a thing to say to a man.”

  Philippa frowned in confusion. “What should I have said?”

  His eyes took light in pleasure and humor. “You should ask after each of my scars, so I might relate to you my many courageous deeds. You should say that my chest is like iron and my arms, like steel. Soft is for little boys and old, fat men.

  She watched him for a moment, then smiled. “You’re teasing me.”

  “Aye, so I am,” he agreed, grinning.

  His eyes were warm and so golden she sighed against the beauty of them. When she touched a fingertip to his mouth, he pressed his lips to it. The sensation was so inviting she couldn’t resist. Rising to her toes, she leaned against him to touch her mouth to his, pressing her lips this way, then that, to his. Beneath her hands she felt the flesh on his chest quiver in response to her little game.

  Of a sudden, it was play no longer. From deep within her came a searing need. Her arms rose to encircle his neck. She pressed herself hard against him, her mouth slanting and moving across his to feed the aching emptiness within her.

  He made a deep sound, reaching out as if to clasp her to him, only to stop himself. She could feel his chest and shoulder tense as he fought his need to hold her close. Still, his lips took hers, his kiss deepening until she had to break away, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

  Philippa leaned her head into the curve of his neck, her lips pressed to his shoulder. He tasted salty sweet. She buried one hand into his hair, while the other stroked his nape. If this much was good, how much more wondrous would it be if she touched all of her skin to his?

  Shocked by so wanton a thought, Ph
ilippa released him and staggered back a step. Without thought, her gaze fell to his shaft. Stunned, she stared at it. Without any of the help Roger required, it had grown thicker and risen to stand as if it had a life of its own. Indeed, it was already longer and harder than Roger’s shaft had ever managed.

  “How does it do that?” she breathed as she reached out to lay her finger against its tip.

  “For love of you,” Temric replied simply, then groaned when she ran her fingertip down its length. “Love, I perish in wanting you. Don’t touch me too much like that or I’ll not be able to give you the pleasure you deserve.” His voice was gentle, but in its tones she heard how hard he worked to control his need for the release her body offered him.

  Still, she couldn’t resist touching it again. “It’s soft and hard, like the rest of you,” she murmured, watching it quiver as if it had senses separate from its master. Trapped in wonder, she lay her palm against its tip, then slid her hand down its outer length. The skin below it was softer yet than any other place on him.

  He tensed. She glanced up at him in concern, worried that she’d hurt him. His face was taut, his eyes closed. She watched him as she slid her hand back up the length of his shaft. He caught his breath in a quick gasp. She felt the heat of his pleasure against her palm.

  Eyes opening, he looked at her. “Please, love, I would”--his words fell away into a quiet moan as her hand enclosed his shaft. “Jesu, little one, you’ll make me spill my seed if you don’t cease,” he breathed. “Please, I’d feel your skin against mine. Will you touch me with your body?”

  His words shivered through her. Margaret’s many sermons against just such a thing followed, bringing with it the promise of sin and damnation. Philippa slammed the door on Margaret’s words. If Temric asked it of her, she’d do it. Oh, to feel all her skin moving against him instead of just her hands! The very thought sent glorious waves of pleasure through her.