If she made him angry, he’d release her and step away. Wouldn’t he?
“Nay,” Tye repeated. His eyes narrowed.
He didn’t look at all deterred. Indeed, he appeared even more determined to prove her wrong.
Oh, God—
Without warning, Tye’s mouth came down on hers. Before, his lips had invited. This time, they mercilessly tempted. His mouth plundered, following hers as she tried to turn her face away.
With a rough growl, his hands rose to capture her face. Without breaking their kiss, his thumbs settled under her chin. He held her firm and kissed her with relentless skill. This wasn’t just a kiss; it was a promise that she would never, ever forget this moment.
A tremor of uncertainty rippled through her. She tried to summon a protest, but a thrilling friction had spread from where their lips met. The exquisite fire rushed like a greedy flame through her torso to her womb, making her whole being come alive with yearning. The force of his kiss pushed her head back against the stonework. With his body crowding hers, she was helpless to stop his onslaught.
And, of all shameful imaginings, she didn’t want to. Never had she felt so incredibly alive .
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She could barely draw a breath. Tye consumed her whole focus with the shocking sensation of his lips claiming hers.
Claire gasped, starved for air. Starved for him.
He lifted his mouth from hers, allowed her the barest chance to inhale, before his lips ravaged hers again, the kisses faster, fiercer.
Too much .
A moan welled inside her. As she yielded to his seduction, as her lips opened and kissed him back, his tongue slid inside to glide against hers.
Pleasure.
Her legs buckled. Still kissing him, she sensed her body slowly sliding down the wall, her hair and gown snagging on the stone. His broad arm slid around her waist, catching her, hauling her back up, keeping their mouths locked in a frantic, wet dance as he pulled her forward against his hard, muscled—
A knock rattled the chamber door. “Milord,” a mercenary called from outside.
Claire blinked, startled in Tye’s arms.
Tye lifted his mouth from hers. “What?” he bellowed. As the door slowly opened, he let her go and spun away, leaving her to find her footing. A sudden sense of loss, of having something extraordinary wrested from her, tore through Claire. Sagging back against the wall, she dragged in a breath, tried to clear her muzzy mind.
The maidservant who had delivered the food earlier peered around the doorway. “I have the water you ordered, for her ladyship to wash,” she said, clearly afraid to move farther into the chamber.
“Leave it on the table,” Tye said, striding to the doorway.
Concern etched the girl’s features as she glanced at Claire and then hurried inside.
The lingering bliss within Claire vanished, and she raised an unsteady hand to her lips. She had kissed the conqueror who had led the takeover of Wode. He’d made his intentions clear, and even knowing what was going to happen, she hadn’t screamed for help, or struggled, or rammed her knee into that place that supposedly hurt men so much. Instead, she’d let him do as he’d wanted.
And she’d loved it. Even now, she wanted him to kiss her again. Those kisses had felt so beautiful and right …which only proved just how cleverly the rogue had seduced her. A skilled master at wooing women, he’d known just what to do to make her surrender to him.
Her eyes stinging, she whirled and stared at the fire. How had she let that kiss happen? Why hadn’t she found the strength within her to fight him? Her weakness was a betrayal, especially of Henry.
“There are others behind me,” the maidservant was saying. “They have firewood.”
“Good,” Tye answered. “Send them in.”
A chestnut-haired woman knelt beside Claire and added more wood to the blaze. A younger girl dropped down beside her to stack extra logs on the tiles. “Are you all right, milady?” the woman asked quietly. “We were worried.”
“I am fine,” Claire said. “Thank you.”
As the servants finished with the fire, Claire mentally crushed all lingering thoughts of Tye’s kisses. She was a fool to focus on the pleasure he’d shown her; he was the enemy. Her anger kindling anew, she recalled Tye and the mercenary forcing their way into her chamber, the confrontation with him in the hall, and poor Lady Brackendale being hauled away. Those were the moments for her to keep in the forefront of her mind.
Once the servants had left, Claire faced Tye. His gaze clashed with hers, and again she felt his lips pressed to hers, his hands on her waist, his breath on her skin. Traitorous excitement soared within her, but she stiffened her spine.
Tye’s mouth curved in a knowing grin. His expression suggested he knew exactly how she felt: torn by guilt, but also desire. Had he planned to bring her to such torment? Mayhap his goal all along had been to make her want him.
Resentment prompted her to ask him. Yet, just as she was about to speak, Tye strode out. The door closed behind him with an uncompromising click .
Chapter Twelve
Tye strode past the mercenaries guarding Claire’s chamber. Smoke wisped from the wall torches and filled the passageway with murky shadows; the acrid haze stung his eyes, but he welcomed the discomfort, for his whole body was wound tight with pent up tension…and unfulfilled desire.
Moments ago, he’d kissed Claire because he’d wanted to—and just because he could. He knew how to pleasure a woman with his lips and tongue, how to bring her to such an exquisite state of lustful craving, she’d whimper, moan, gasp, and plead for him not to stop. When haughty little Claire had pretended to be indifferent to him, had insisted they’d never kiss, had claimed to have already experienced the perfect kiss, his masculine pride had roared within him like a beast answering a challenger’s cry.
At first, he’d kissed her as a sheltered, highborn lady like Claire would expect of a suitor: with reserve and gentleness. He’d witnessed such kisses in the past, on the few occasions he’d visited noble courts, usually as a guest of his mother and her lover at the time. A small, foolish part of Tye had wanted to show Claire that while he wasn’t her equal, and never would be, he understood her expectations and what it meant to be chivalrous.
When she’d said his kiss wasn’t comparable to her perfect one, though… That had obliterated his desire to be gallant. The familiar driving need to vanquish, to excel, had risen within him, and he’d drawn upon his years of skill to give her a kiss she’d never forget.
He’d kissed her the way he’d seduce a courtesan or an experienced widow who knew the sensual games played out between men and women in the bedchamber—and Claire had bloomed in his embrace. She’d answered his sensual assault with an astounding passion he’d never expected.
Even now, he still felt her lithe body arching against him, her soft hair brushing his wrist, her eager sighs against his mouth. He’d aimed to remain in control, to kiss her until she yielded, eyes glazed, to whatever pleasure he offered next. Yet, when she’d kissed him back, his manhood had hardened with a hunger stronger and more urgent than any he’d experienced in a long time.
He was still rock hard. Bloody hell .
Halting in front of the doors to the solar, Tye dragged his fingers through his hair. What was wrong with him? A maiden’s kiss shouldn’t have aroused him this much.
He shoved open one of the solar doors. A few moments alone would help him regain control of his groin and clear his mind—
His mother, kneeling in front of a square of cloth laid out on the planks, looked up at him. “Tye.”
“What are you doing in here?” He slammed the door behind him, with enough force to warn her he
wasn’t in the mood for verbal sparring.
Her fingers tightened on the cloth bag she held. “What is the matter with you?”
“Naught that concerns you.” He strode past her to the trestle table, where a servant had left a jug of red wine. He poured himself a goblet full and downed a large mouthful.
His mother’s gaze hadn’t left him. Her assessing stare traveled over him, and he glared at her, while glad that his tunic concealed the most pressing reason for his foul temper. His mother thrived on sexual gratification, but in no way was he talking sex with her right now, especially when he was so damned starved for it.
“You look like a tomcat that got his paw stuck in a door,” she said with a sultry laugh.
Tye downed more wine, letting the piquant liquid swirl in his mouth before swallowing. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Her laughter grated on his frayed nerves. “Order one of the maidservants to pleasure you. There are plenty about. They cannot deny you. Spend your lust and you will feel much better.”
Was that supposed to be good, motherly advice? Tye forced the wine down before he would choke on it. “There are more urgent matters right now.”
“More important than you enjoying your rights as lord of this castle? More important than establishing your authority here? I do not think so.”
With a thud , he set down his goblet. Hands on his hips, he glowered at her, still down on her knees on the planks. “You never did tell me what you are doing in my chamber. On the floor.”
Her ruby red lips curved into a smile of disdain. “Do not worry. I have not forgotten that the solar is yours. Once I am finished here, I will join Braden in the tower room we are using.”
Tye gestured to the bag she was shifting in her fingers; the contents rattled. “I am guessing, then, that you are here because of what is in that bag?”
She nodded. “I wanted to test my new rune stones.”
“Rune stones?”
“For fortune telling. I bought them a few sennights ago, to help me see how the future was going to unfold. Specifically, your future.”
Tye fought an impatient sigh. “Mother—”
“I needed some way to find the answers. My set of finger bones would have worked, but as you know, those were stolen from me at Waddesford Keep.”
He remembered those finger bones. Ghastly things. They’d been cut from the hands of French prisoners and given to his mother as a gift from a smitten suitor. She’d cured the bones, kept them in a bag among her most prized possessions, and claimed that casting them had given her insight into the days ahead. The bones hadn’t helped them triumph at Waddesford Keep and, truth be told, he’d been relieved when they’d disappeared. Now she was placing her faith in rune stones?
“Actions, not foolish stones, are going to see us win in the days ahead.”
She lifted one perfectly shaped eyebrow. Stones spilled onto the swatch of cloth. “I believe there is great power in this chamber. Your father was born in this room.”
Tye shrugged and drank more wine.
Annoyance tightened the set of her shoulders. “You do not care? ’Tis even more fitting that you will slay your sire at this keep. The circle of destiny will be complete.”
His mother sounded so certain, if not a bit addled in the head. As Tye raised the vessel to his lips again, his gaze shifted to the items on the cloth. “What in hellfire—?”
Studying the blanket, his mother’s right hand hovered, as though she assessed the pattern of strewn objects before her.
“Are those teeth ?” Tye stepped closer, leaned down, and picked up one of the small bits of white bone, unable to tamp down a jolt of revulsion. The one in his hand was a back tooth, with a blackened patch of old, dried blood underneath. “Judging by the size, this belonged to a child.” His stomach rebelled. “I hope you did not cut this out of the gums of some poor little French boy.”
“Of course not,” his parent said. “They are your infant teeth.”
“Mine?” Tye laughed, the sound empty of any humor. Before he could caution the words, he demanded, “Did they fall out on their own, or did you wrest them from my mouth?” Surely he would have remembered that kind of pain, but then again, his mother was devious. She could have accomplished that particular goal in numerous ways if she’d wanted: drugging herbs, a swift blow to the head…
“You have to ask?” Shock widened her eyes. She blinked, as though fighting a rush of tears. “I would never hurt you like that.”
Tye steeled himself against a tug of remorse. His mother was a damned good actress; he almost believed her. Yet, in his heart, he knew she would hurt him if it served her purpose. ’Twas a foul thing to acknowledge about one’s parent, but he’d witnessed the depths of her cruelty many times over the years. Still, he perceived no guile when it came to the teeth. “Why bother to keep my teeth?”
“I did not save them all, only a few. I thought they might come in useful. Indeed, they have.”
“Useful,” Tye echoed. “In what way?”
“They help guide the stones.” Her expression turned intense and focused as she leaned closer to the blanket. A thoughtful sigh parted her lips.
Another object that had tumbled closer to the blanket’s edge caught his attention: a chunk of amber, containing a bee, locked forever in its resin prison. A glimmer of memory scratched the back of his mind. He picked up the amber, entranced by both the beauty and the grimness of the memento. “This was mine, too.”
“Mmm,” his mother murmured.
“Someone gave it to me,” Tye said. “I cannot remember who.”
“Nor I,” his mother said briskly. “Not that it matters.”
Turning the smooth object in his palm, he asked, “Why do you have this amber? Did I tire of it and no longer want it? Or—”
“I took it away. You were too attached to it. You were distracted, when you needed to concentrate on other matters.”
His fingers closed around the amber, the resin cool against the roughness of his palm that bore permanent calluses from wielding weapons. Anger crawled along the edges of his nerves. By her own admission, she’d taken away yet another possession that had been important to him, because she’d wanted to control his focus. What else had his mother kept from him that he might never know had happened or existed, because he’d been too young to remember?
His mother pushed back on her knees with a grunt and the pop of joints. “Do not think too long about that silly amber. ’Tis not important.”
“You are right. Still, I will keep it.”
“Why?” Mockery tainted her features. “’Tis a trinket. ’Tis of no use to a lord.”
“I like it. ’Tis reason enough for me to keep it.” Rising, he turned and set the amber atop the journal and letters he’d taken from Claire.
His mother cursed under her breath. Stones clattered. He glanced back to see her raking her fingers across the cloth, gathering up the items to put them away.
“Did you find out what you wanted to know?” he asked.
“The stones were unclear. I found it hard to concentrate. Next time, the path will be clearer.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” She folded the cloth, tucked it into the bag, and then drew the bag closed. When she pushed up from the floor, he took her arm and helped her to her feet. “Now.” She patted his arm. “Go find yourself a wench. Several, if you wish. The bed is big enough.”
He grinned, but didn’t answer as she strolled out of the chamber. As the door shut behind her, he sighed. He hungered for only one woman, and she was not going to willingly lie with him any time soon.
The memory of Claire standing in her chamber, eyes sparkin
g with both desire and fury, roused a fresh stirring of lust within him. He could go to her now, toss her down on her bed, and slake the heat in his loins. She couldn’t stop him. She might hate him for the way he made her yearn for his touch, but he could bring her pleasure.
Did he dare?
Was he a fool not to dare?
He downed the last of his wine and strode for the door.
Chapter Thirteen
Claire woke with a start. Her sluggish mind acknowledged her chamber was still as black as ink, as it had been when she’d blown out her candle to go to sleep. That meant ’twas still night. As her senses sharpened, she realized someone was standing beside the bed, holding a burning taper.
Tye .
Her eyes flew wide. Lying on her back under a mound of blankets to keep out the nighttime chill, she stared up at him, his face cast in pale gold and murky shadow by the flickering candle. The light, although weak, revealed he was still dressed in the garments he’d worn earlier.
What did he want?
“Do not scream,” Tye said quietly. “Agreed?”
She pushed up to sitting, hugging the blankets to her bosom. Her mind raced with explanations of why he was in her chamber. Every new reason was more unsettling than the last.
Was she wise not to scream? Even if she did, Tye might have told his men not to heed cries coming from her room.
Just because he wanted her to remain quiet, though, didn’t mean he intended her any harm.
Praying she wasn’t being completely foolish, Claire nodded.
Stepping away from the bed, he gestured to the chamber door. “Come.”
She was to leave with him. Was he taking her to another part of the keep, away from his men?
“Now?” she asked.
“Now.”
“’Tis the middle of the night.”
“Aye.”
“I am not dressed.”
His mouth flattened, and in that subtle shifting of his expression, she saw the weariness in his features. “Wrap yourself in a blanket. You will understand why soon enough.”
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