Winter’s Desire

by Amanda McIntyre, Charlotte Featherstone

  “That night three years ago, milord…I did not mean for it to happen,” she whispered. Her gaze lowered to my mouth.

  “Any more than you mean for this to happen, Sabeline. Let the blame fall on my head, but I cannot walk away this time.” I lowered my face to hers. I did not want to think on the reasons I should stop, or to think about the risk I was taking. She could never be mine, not the way I wanted. Even now, I could not be sure that I was not a substitute for her failed attempts with Benedict. Still, for one night, to quench the fire she ignited long ago, I would be her substitute.

  Her fingers tentatively touched my lips and, had a sword been at my throat, I could not have stopped myself. I captured her mouth to appease the hunger that lay buried in my soul.

  A small whimper emitted from her throat as I slanted my mouth over hers. She was as sweet as I remembered, pliant and giving with fierce passion, a preview of how she would be in my bed.

  I plucked the combs from her hair, driving my fingers into the silken strands. I sensed the pulse of her heart beneath my palm as I cupped her delicate neck and held her face to mine.

  Fervently pressing for more, our mouths mated and my hands found the lacings at the back of her gown. I freed the knots and her gown loosened, slipping with ease over her slender, pale shoulders.

  I met her eyes and waited for her to reveal how far we would venture into this dark and dangerous moment. With her gaze locked to mine, she lowered the gown farther, exposing the gentle swells of her creamy flesh. My breath caught as I traced my fingers down her throat, over the delicate flesh that lay between her breasts.

  I held my hands around her waist as I bent to lavish one peaked, rosy tip and then the other. Desperate to feel her soft flesh against the hard planes of my body, I unbuckled my jerkin and dropped it to the floor. Her hands joined with mine to draw my cambric shirt over my head.

  In all of my life, I had never been so aroused than by the look of appreciation and desire in her eyes.

  Her palm came to rest on my chest, and I closed my eyes at the savage desire welling inside me. I clenched and unclenched my fists at my sides, allowing her exploration—withstanding the tenderness of her kiss upon my skin, the warmth of her face nuzzling the curve of my neck, until I could no longer keep my hands off her.

  I cupped her face, bringing her lips to mine as I drank deeply of this forbidden wine that consumed all reason. Receiving no protest, I drew her down, turning her beneath me on the soft fur rug warmed by the fire. Driven by passion long denied, I took my fill of kisses that would have to carry me through the lonely years ahead.

  “Milord,” she whispered, pressing her breast into my palm, fiercely holding my face to hers, devouring any noble intent left inside me. Her hips lifted to mine, seeking connection, completion. Our hands tugged together at her skirts as she intermittently captured my mouth, satisfying her need for another kiss.

  My heart pounded against my ribs as a need greater than I feared I could control built inside me. I teased her breasts, drawing her pink pearls between my lips, lavishing them with my tongue as my hand found the heaven of her naked thigh. I wanted her as I had never wanted anyone.

  “Beautiful Sabeline,” I murmured, brushing the pads of my fingers over her velvety mottle and finding her silken glove seeping with arousal. She held my face in a thorough kiss as my fingers slipped inside, stroking, coaxing her arousal, making her want only for me.

  Her sighs soft, she turned her head to allow access to the warm curve of her alabaster neck. Her skin glistened, brought to a fever from the passion and the fire, and I breathed in its sweet, musky scent, searing it into my memory.

  Though my cock was more than ready to find the warm, sweet spot of her core, I fought the need to quell a niggling doubt in my mind. “Milady,” I spoke, kissing her softly. I inserted my fingers deeper inside her warmth. She arched with a soft moan of pleasure. Her muscles contracted around my fingers, her hips bucking gently with her release. I held my breath, nearly coming undone. My body on fire, I held her face so I would see the truth in her eyes when I asked her what I must. She looked up at me, but in her eyes was not the rapture of desire, but sorrow and guilt.

  “Milady, be certain of what you want, for I swear to you in a moment you will be unable to stop me.” I waited with a parched throat for her answer.

  Unshed tears welled in her eyes as she reached to caress my cheek.

  I closed my eyes, pain stabbing my chest. Flogging myself in silence, I struggled to my knees.

  “I—I am sorry, forgive me, Ranulf. I cannot place you at such risk. My father expects me to marry Benedict. It is by his decree, and neither you nor I can change that.”

  I sat up and rested my arms over my knees, my teeth grinding against the thought of taking her anyway, just to appease the burning she had started inside me. I shoved my hands in frustration through my hair. I knew in my heart that she was right.

  In an attempt to relieve the pain, I rubbed my hand over my chest, still sensing her mouth upon my flesh. I could still taste her skin on my tongue. A lump formed in my throat and I squeezed my eyes shut, resigning myself to the inevitable truth. Damn Benedict. Damn the baron. Damn alliances.

  She was not mine, nor could she ever be mine.

  “Well, I do not apologize.” I offered a short laugh, laced liberally with cynicism and pain. “I do not regret what has happened here tonight. I regret only that we are not able to finish this.”

  She placed her hand on my shoulder and my body came alert. “Do not touch me, Sabeline, I beg you. I am no nobleman at present. In a heartbeat, I could deflower you and you would enjoy it most assuredly.”

  She moved her hand away and I heard behind me the rustle of her clothing as she struggled to make herself presentable.

  “You must give me your word that you will not speak of this.”

  My mouth tingled yet from the passion of her kisses. God forgive me, I wanted to taste them again. Pain greater than the thrust of a sword dug deep into my chest. My jaw clenched in frustration. I shook my head at the injustice of it all. “Surely you cannot mean to marry him? Not now.” I glanced over my shoulder, watching as her sumptuous breasts disappeared from my view.

  She adjusted her bodice, covering her shoulders.

  “It is not in our hands, Ranulf. What is done is done. We cannot risk all that my father has worked for, all that your king has worked for, to enjoy a few moments of passion.”

  Was that all it was to her, a few moments of passion? I wanted to roar my indignation in response. How could she think that what transpired between us was nothing more than shallow passion, no better than that which Benedict was a slave to? My chest rose and fell with agitation as I stared at her. What teasing game did she play with me?

  “Can you lace my gown?” She scooted on her knees and faced away from me, lifting her dark hair. With her gown undone, revealing the soft curve of her spine, I could not help but think what it would be like to be her husband, helping her each night with such requests.

  I leaned down and placed a kiss on the back of her neck. My hands came around her, capturing her breasts in my palms, caressing them more roughly than I should. “Do not tell me that this means so little. That the thought of my hands on you doesn’t make you desire the union of our bodies more than life itself.”

  She dropped her cheek against mine as I kneaded her breasts. My lustful urge to push her to her knees and satisfy my craving grew stronger.

  “It cannot be, no matter how much either of us desires it,” she spoke in a dreamy whisper.

  “Then you do not deny it?” I kissed her temple as I pressed her breasts together, memorizing the scent of her hair.

  “I do not deny it,” she said, barely perceptibly, and turned her face to mine.

  Her lips parted as she waited for me to take her. It’s what she wanted, I reasoned, my heart pounding fiercely against my ribs. I wanted to scream for the noble part of me to step forward, the part of me that reminded me the king had no
t appointed me as her husband.

  I leaned my forehead against hers. “Nor do I.” I swallowed, as my hands drifted to her back and I clumsily tightened the lacings on her gown. I reached for her as she rose, but she did not look back as she grasped the latch on the door.

  “Why did you seek me out?” I asked one last time.

  She hesitated with her hand on the latch.

  “To ask how I might find a way to please your friend, milord.”

  I could not hold in my laugh and let it dissipate into a weak cough.

  “It is not my intent to hurt you, Ranulf. But it is my duty to marry Benedict.” She turned to face me. “You are the one that taught me that duty is more important than selfish desire.”

  She closed the door with a quiet click that echoed in the hollowness of my soul.

  Damn duty to hell.

  7

  MY MIND REELED WITH CONFUSION, MY FACE burned with guilt. How could I have allowed it to happen? I wanted to discuss with him his relationship with Benedict, to see if there was something more that I could do to gain his attention. But the dark look in his eye caused me to address another matter altogether that had pressed at me from the moment he glanced back to smile at me on the day of his arrival.

  My head was dizzy, my body vibrating still from the passion of his touch. I hurried from the parlor and nearly ran into Margaret and Benedict as they exited the great hall together.

  “My dear cousin, how goes it with you? We worried when we could not find you.”

  I was grateful she did not give away where I had been. Margaret placed her arm around my shoulders.

  “You look as though you have seen a spirit, my dear,” Benedict interjected, taking my hand in his.

  “I was taking a walk and heard a wolf. I—I guess it must have frightened me,” I lied.

  “Out without your cloak?” Benedict asked in surprise. “You should take better care of yourself than that. May I remind you that our wedding is but a few days from now?”

  I gave a shallow curtsy, unable to look him in the eye. “Yes, milord, it was foolish of me. If you do not mind, I would like to return to my chambers.”

  “I will come with you, cousin. To be certain you do not take a chill.”

  “Be well, my beloved,” Benedict spoke as he leaned in to kiss my forehead. “Your hands are yet warm. That is odd for being outside. Perhaps you have taken a fever?”

  I snatched my hand from his and hurried around him, keeping my eyes to the floor. “I will go to bed at once, milord.”

  He grabbed my arm, his gaze softening with his grip as I glanced up at him.

  “Indeed, that is where I would have you be,” he said.

  The very idea only conjured images of Ranulf in my bed. “Pardon, milord, but I am not feeling well.” Behind me I could hear the swish of Margaret’s gown, but neither of us spoke until we were secure in my private chambers.

  “You must tell me what happened, Sabeline,” Margaret stated, closing the door behind us. “Where is Nuala?”

  “She had to tend to her cousin, ill with fever,” I replied, watching the flames of the fire in the hearth. But I saw only the image of Ranulf’s half-naked body next to mine. Tears welled in my eyes, for what I had done and for what could never be.

  “Sabeline?”

  She came to my side and touched my arm, startling me back to the present. I stared at her, not knowing where to begin.

  “Here, let us get you out of this gown and into your bedclothes.” She turned me so that she could untie my lacings and if she noticed they were not secured in the manner in which she had done earlier, she made no mention of it.

  “How was your discussion with Sir Ranulf?” she asked quietly as she tugged the gown down my body.

  “Thank you for not telling Lord Benedict that I did not go for a walk.” I drew my gown over my hips and the chill on my skin reminded me of Ranulf’s gentle touch.

  “Yet you have not answered my question, cousin?” she reminded me, as she folded my gown over a chair.

  “I wanted to speak to Sir Ranulf to see what Lord Benedict’s interests are. So that perhaps I might use them to gain his attention.”

  “Clever girl. And was he helpful?”

  I worried my lip, wondering whether I should tell Margaret what happened. “I fear he was not as helpful as I had hoped.”

  “’Tis a pity. I find Sir Ranulf a most intriguing man. Quite a catch for a woman who can see past his age,” she replied as she poured each of us a small cup of wine.

  “He is most adequate, for any woman,” I replied in haste as I accepted the wine. She held it from my grasp for a moment, studying me.

  “You speak as if you know this from experience. Is there something more you wish to share with me, cousin?”

  “No, of course not. It is only that I find Sir Ranulf, as you say, a most interesting man. But I daresay he may never marry.” I took a sip of my drink and lowered myself into the chair in front of the fire.

  “Here, let me ready your hair for bed.” She picked up my hairbrush and stroked my hair, smoothing each section with her hand.

  “I must gain his attention, Margaret,” I spoke as I stared into the fire.

  “Lord Benedict’s?” she offered quietly as she brushed.

  “Of course. Much hangs in the balance if he does not find me to be a suitable wife.”

  “I believe that Benedict has made his intentions clear, Sabeline. Look how he showed his care for you this eve.”

  “I sense that he is being kind, Margaret. But a marriage cannot be sustained on kindness alone.”

  “Those are things which can be addressed after marriage, Sabeline,” she responded.

  “I have heard rumors,” I confided in her.

  “Rumors? What kind of rumors?”

  “There is more that goes on behind these closed doors than you think.” The wine and the fire caused my tongue to loosen. “Did you know that two of my father’s female servants find each other attractive?”

  “Finding a person of the same sex attractive is not strange.” She chuckled.

  “I saw them kissing!”

  “Really? In the open?” she asked.

  “There in the great hall, while they were cleaning. And they spoke of meeting with a third person for sexual favors…a man.”

  “And so you assume that this man is Benedict?” She continued to brush my hair, seemingly unaffected by the information I shared with her.

  “Who else? Surely not Sir Ranulf,” I replied. Still, hadn’t the possibility crossed my mind when I heard them speaking of their midnight tryst?

  Margaret sighed as she ran the brush through my straight hair, then began loosely braiding my locks.

  “I do not know what more I can teach you, Sabeline. You know well Benedict’s thirst for passion.”

  I stared into the flames as my mind landed upon a most scandalous idea. “I will go to him,” I blurted. I would show him firsthand the passion inside me.

  “Benedict?” Margaret’s hands paused, holding my hair in their grasp.

  “Of course to Benedict.” I shifted and turned my face to meet her eyes. “I will steal into his chambers and seduce him. He will see firsthand the passion that awaits his marriage bed and ever after want for no other.”

  Margaret yanked my braid as she completed her task.

  “Do you think that wise, cousin?”

  “Margaret, what choice do I have? If I do not do this, I will continue to be a ghost to him and a fool to everyone else.”

  She studied me carefully.

  “Very well, you must then prepare yourself to go to him. Here, drink some more wine.”

  “Should I require it?”

  “It might…help. Your first time can bring a small measure of pain if you are unduly tense.”

  I held my cup and Margaret poured, taking no more for herself, I noted.

  “You intend to go through with this plan, then?”

  I took a deep swallow, letting the sweet
liquid warm my thoughts. As much as I wanted to please Benedict, my body yet remembered Ranulf’s touch and the yearning I sensed when in his arms. I finished my wine and held out my cup for more.

  My cousin glanced at me as she poured me another half cup.

  “Do not go unless you are certain, Sabeline. If you make clear the intent to give your body to a man, nature will take its rightful course. And few men are able to stop themselves once the process is begun.”

  I opened my mouth to refute her claim but brought the cup to my lips instead and took a large swallow.

  “Slowly, cousin, you do not want to take leave of your senses,” Margaret cautioned.

  Too late, I tipped my head back and drained the contents. A slow warmth began in the pit of my stomach and radiated through my body, creating in me a delicious sense of freedom.

  “I no longer wish to be a virgin,” I spoke loudly, grabbing Margaret’s hand to twirl her in a circle. “I want to taste the sweet fruit of desire.”

  I halted and took a step back as the room spun before me. My gaze narrowed on my cousin. “And whose passion will you partake of this night, dear cousin?”

  She looked at me as though I had slapped her. “I do not know your meaning—I believe the wine speaks.”

  “Perhaps.” I wagged my finger at her with a grin. “But, ’tis true that you have been secretly seeing someone, and I think I know who it is.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. Did you not think anyone would notice the mud prints leading to your chambers?”

  She stared at me, her expression not portraying the gaiety that I felt at my teasing.

  “The guard, of course. Have you forgotten so quickly?”

  Her expression softened and she relaxed with a smile.

  “Of course, the guard. Yes, in fact, I nearly forgot.” She raised her cup and took a healthy sip. “It was not what I had hoped, either.”

  Her blithe response gave way to the cold reality of my plan. Was it wise? What if the whole affair turned out to be a horrid experience? “Am I doing what you would do if you were in my place?”