Her eyes came wide as she felt how hard he was, how large. She attempted to sidle away, but his leg trapped her thighs, holding her in place.
“Don’t move away from me,” he said as he shifted against her, edging closer. “Let me make love to you, Alana, in a way Gilbert never did, in a way I always will.”
His eyes were darker than midnight, lids heavy with desire. Alana knew he wouldn’t hurt her, knew he intended only to give her pleasure. Ecstasy—how would that feel?
“Close your eyes,” he told her again.
This time Alana obeyed him willingly. She felt him lean nearer. His lips traced her jaw, then nibbled their way to her mouth. He kissed her fully, deeply, but when she was ready to respond, he withdrew, his lips and tongue sliding to her neck, then downward still. Again he laved her nipple. Alana felt it rise, harden painfully. She gasped as his teeth nipped lightly.
He kissed the peak, then his fingertips replaced his mouth. His caress was gentle, teasing, eliciting the most delicious sensations inside her.
From her breast, his fingers trailed feather-light to her abdomen. Where each one touched, Alana felt her belly constrict then ease. Lower and lower, he played, until his fingers were in her curls.
Alana stiffened instinctively. She tightened her legs, and caught his hand.
“Open to me, sweet.” He twisted his wrist, shaking her hand away. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
His pledge, and the way in which it was said, made Alana relax. Gently he spread her legs, fingers grazing back into her curls.
When he touched her there, Alana was tempted to catch his hand again, but she fought against her fears. His fingers delved with care, then slid into her folds. His actions were tantalizing. She grew moist and arched toward him.
“That’s it, love,” he whispered as he probed her secret place. “Allow yourself to know what pleasure really is.”
Alana moaned as he slipped his finger inside her. He withdrew then plunged. His thumb trifled with the bud, making it erect.
Her skin was afire, her loins throbbing. Then Paxton was kissing her again.
This time Alana responded with a passion she’d never known or imagined was possible. Her fingers threaded through his thick locks, forcing his head closer. Eagerly her tongue entwined with his, and when he began to imitate the motion of his hand, she groaned with delight.
“Touch me,” he said on drawing back.
His hand coming from between her legs, he pulled her own hand from his head, down his chest.
Alana marveled at the crispness of each hair covering the broad expanse, was amazed by the smoothness of his skin, the tautness of the muscle beneath. He pushed her hand lower to his belly. Her knuckles brushed his erection.
“Touch me,” he repeated.
As Alana took him in her hand, he shuddered. Air hissed through his teeth, then a groan vibrated in his throat. He urged her to stroke him, his own hand atop hers. When she attained the rhythm he desired, he again attended her, fingers probing and teasing.
She wanted his lips on hers. “Kiss me,” she breathed.
His eyes darkened even more. “With pleasure.”
His mouth was on hers, devouring and hungry.
Alana never knew lovemaking could be like this. Her heart hammered wildly as her hips began to writhe against the wizardry of his hand. She was shaking inside, wanting something, unaware of what it was.
Paxton suddenly ended his kiss and rose above her. His knee edged between her thighs, followed by the other. He knelt before her, his manhood hard, erect, its crown glistening and wet.
“’Tis time we join,” he stated. His fingers still priming her, twirling inside her and out, he leveled himself above her and braced his weight on one hand. “Guide me there. Show me the way to paradise, love.”
Wanting also to know what heaven would be like, Alana couldn’t resist his request. She took hold of him and directed him to her. He was opening her folds in anticipation of their meeting, and when they touched, sparks showered through her belly; Alana released him, allowing him to take command.
His knuckles grazed up over her stomach as he eased forward, gliding into her. There was no barrier to stop him, and he soon filled her completely.
Both hands now beside her shoulders, he gazed down on her, eyes glazed with passion. “Now for the ecstasy—yours and mine.”
He sank to his forearms, covering her, and when he began to move, Alana was amazed that there was no pain. His short strokes were delivered with ease, almost lazily. He seemed unhurried, wanting to enjoy each sensation as it came to him. This was nothing like what she experienced with Gilbert.
“Move with me,” Paxton said, his voice husky with desire.
Was that how it was done?
The question floated through her mind as his hand burrowed beneath her hips, raising her to him, urging her to learn the rhythm that he orchestrated.
With each of his deepening thrusts, the feeling within Alana increased. Sensation abounded. She clutched his shoulders and gazed at where they were joined, watching as he drove in and out of her. Soon she was matching the pulse of his hips with an eagerness that surprised her.
Then he seized her bottom, stopping her movements. He buried himself and swayed against her. Alana’s eyes widened. The new attack on her senses threatened to send her sailing into oblivion. She started to pant. Something was blossoming in her loins, something she never knew existed.
She looked at Paxton to see the mark of pride and satisfaction on his face. He knew what was happening to her, had given it dawning.
“Go with the feeling, Alana. Let it take you where it may.”
He continued the magical sway of his hips, lifting himself, then brushing against her in the most enticing way, teasing her to fulfillment.
The rush of excitement became unbearable as her craving mounted. She arched her hips and back, allowing him do what he wanted. Then it happened. It was as though the sun had burst inside her. Heat flooded through her to stream from her pores, moisture flowed from her as she was racked by spasms of rapture, frenzied and wild.
Somewhere beyond this she heard Paxton’s voice. “Ah, love, your caresses are bewitching.” Then his lips were on hers, hot and wet.
His kiss intensified as he thrust into her, faster, deeper. In a few more strokes, he jerked his head back. His cry of ecstasy echoed through the glade as he shuddered and spilled his seed at the crest of her womb. Then he collapsed against her.
Alana bore his weight. He lay so still, she at first feared he’d died. Then his laughter rumbled in his chest. Pulling back, he smiled down on her.
“Sweet Jesus, I’ve never come that hard before,” he declared.
His words stabbed at her heart. She knew there had been others before her. Else he’d not be this adept. But his mentioning such, especially on this occasion, had hurt her. But then he didn’t love her. And she didn’t love him. If that were the case, why did she feel so forlorn?
Yet joined with her, he was rolling to his side, carrying her with him. He grabbed one of their garments, draping it over her shoulders. Then he pressed her head against his shoulder. He held her close in his arms.
“And I don’t think I’ve ever been this sleepy, either,” he mumbled.
As Alana gazed up at him through her lashes, she saw his eyelids were growing heavy. Soon they closed completely. After a bit, his soft breaths of slumber stirred her hair.
Lying quietly, Alana once more felt herself becoming restive. He’d shown her what lovemaking could be like, left her desirous of experiencing the same again. The joy they had shared was unimaginable, indescribable. Though he didn’t love her, he desired her. But Alana wondered, after time, when their passions cooled: What would become of her then?
The old fears rose in her anew. Silence and coldness—she couldn’t bear that sort of existence, not with Paxton. And what if he someday learned the truth about Gilbert. She couldn’t withstand his hatred, his censure.
But why?
Then Alana knew.
Despite her claims to the contrary, she was falling in love with Paxton de Beaumont.
The realization stunned her. She lay so very quiet that she forgot to breathe. When she next did, it was on a disjointed sob.
Nay, she thought. She couldn’t possibly hold feeling for this man, this Norman. He was her enemy. And her executioner, if he ever learned the truth.
Anxiety pummeled through Alana. To love Paxton would be an act of betrayal—to her kinsmen, to her heritage, and to herself.
As Alana searched the angles and planes of his handsome face, she knew the passion they had shared was now a memory she would always treasure. He’d promised her ecstasy and the vow had been fulfilled. But those joyous feelings would never come again, for it would end here.
She knew what she must do.
To save herself and her sanity, to protect her heart and her life, Alana understood that she had no choice but to…
Run.
Paxton came awake with a start.
Thunder rumbled through the glade again. He examined the sky to see the black clouds rolling ever closer. His gaze dropped to the area beside him, seeking Alana. The air was instantly suspended in his lungs and his brow furrowed. He jerked his head to the opposite side of where he lay.
She was gone!
On an oath, Paxton bounded to his feet. Standing there, nude, he searched the perimeter of the glade and the trees beyond. A flash of yellow caught his eye as it disappeared deeper into the wood.
Lightning jumped through the clouds, thunder crashing down around him. Paxton was too busy fumbling with his clothing to pay it any heed.
Donning his stockings, braies, boots, under and over tunics, he spun around, searching for his sword. Then he remembered: This being his wedding day, he hadn’t worn it.
With another oath, which was more vivid than the first, he dashed off in the direction where he was certain he saw Alana vanish from sight.
What the hell was she up to? he wondered as he now darted through the trees. God’s wounds! She was the most annoying creature he’d ever come upon. And the most exciting, he conceded. “Alana!” he shouted with sudden rage, his eyes scanning the wood.
Then he spied the telltale yellow ahead. She was at the top of the next hill. Clenching his jaw, Paxton took off at a full run.
When he reached the rise where he’d seen her, he stood there searching the hillside beyond. Nothing.
Where was she headed?
Rhys, he thought.
The sky lit above him, thunder cracked, while the treetops began to sway, the wind whipping through them with fury. He was nearly at the crest of the next hill when the heavens opened, drenching him to the skin.
Slipping and sliding on the sodden leaves that cluttered the forest floor, he didn’t know how far he’d come or how far he had to go, but he instinctively headed due west, the direction where Sir Goddard said the ringwork lay.
Why had she run from him? What made her think she could escape him? Why the hell did she want to?
The questions shot through his mind as his anger drove him onward. When he got hold of her he would…
Paxton was loping through a small glade when he skidded to a halt. From out of the trees beyond the clearing stepped four men, their spears aimed straight at him.
Backing away, he spontaneously reached for his sword and hissed a curse when his hand came up empty.
Then Paxton stiffened as the point of a spear met the center of his back.
“Move ahead, Norman,” a voice commanded. “Else I’ll skewer you like I would a pig.”
Paxton had no choice but to obey.
CHAPTER
14
It was well after dark when Alana stumbled through the ringwork’s iron-banded log gates, several of her distant kinsmen granting her entry.
She was cold and wet and nearly in tears. Most of all, she was fearful of the questions Rhys would pose when he saw her.
The rain beat down on her in force as she took the familiar path that wound past several circular buildings, their conical-shaped thatched roofs pitching sharply downward, ending just a few feet above the ground. The cooking fires that usually flamed just outside each hut had been drowned out. Not even a curl of smoke or wisp of steam rose from their ashes.
Alana’s feet slid on the muddy trail as she wended her way ever closer to the safety of her uncle’s home. Just as when she left him, her thoughts were on Paxton.
He had followed her, shouting her name. Ignoring his call, she’d plunged onward through the trees. Was he yet roaming the wood searching for her? Or had he turned back when the sky had opened, knowing the river would soon be impassable?
For his sake, Alana prayed it was the latter. She would hate that he was lost in the dark in the forest in a torrential rain.
And for her own sake, if he did make it back to the fortress, she hoped the deluge that was upon them prevented him from crossing over for days to come.
By then, Alana thought to be far away from here. Away to the northernmost climes. Possibly to Anglesey, well beyond Paxton’s reach.
Her uncle’s hut was just ahead, and Alana tripped along more quickly, wanting to seek its safety. Ducking beneath the thatch that was cut away above the door, she rapped on the wooden panel. As she reached for the latch, the door was jerked open.
“Alana?”
Dylan stared at her as though he were seeing an apparition.
“’Tis me,” she said, wanting to throw herself into his arms and sob out her misery, but she resisted the urge. “Might I come in?”
“Forgive me.” He stood back and waved her inside. The instant she ducked through the door, he took her into his embrace. Almost as fast he pulled away. “My God, you’re sodden. Come, let’s get you out of those clothes.”
Alana followed Dylan deeper into the circular hut, which was naught but a large room. Glowing coals lay in the clay hearth that was situated in the room’s center. Fragrant rushes were scattered across the dirt floor.
The place was crudely furnished—a few benches and stools, a table for food preparation, several storage chests, and four rush-filled pallets covered in rough cloth.
Swords, spears, darts, and longbows with arrows and their quivers were neatly stacked to one side. The dwelling stated that it was inhabited solely by men. Even so, the place was warm and, in some ways, quite comforting.
“Where are your father and brothers?” she asked, noting she and Dylan were alone.
Dylan had crossed to the far side of the room to fetch a piece of toweling from a chest. “Rhys is visiting at another hut,” he called over his shoulder. “Caradog is with him. Meredydd is off in the wood somewhere, getting soaked the same as you.”
Having retrieved a length of flannel, he was soon at Alana’s side whereupon he began drying her hair.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Did your Norman overlord chase you off? Or did you have the good sense to escape him?”
Alana froze beneath the cloth that was ruffling along her scalp. Though Dylan had been jesting with her, he’d come so close to the truth that it frightened her.
She was loath to reveal that she and Paxton had wed. Rhys would be livid! But what excuse could she possibly provide as to why she’d come here, as to why she wanted to exile herself to Anglesey, without telling all?
None, she decided.
The towel came away from her head, and Dylan peered around her shoulder at her. “Well? Are you going to answer?”
“’Tis a little of both, Dylan,” she said at last.
His dark mustache lifted at the ends as he smiled. “I had figured he’d soon pique your anger to the point of absolute madness. What did he do to drive you out into a rain such as this?”
“It wasn’t raining when I left.” She looked about the room. “Do you mind if I get out of these wet garments and into something dry?”
“Forgive me again.” He handed her the toweling and strode off to another
chest. “Caradog is closer to your size, but I’d not be offering you any of his clothing. He hasn’t washed it in weeks.”
Nibbling at her lower lip, Alana watched as Dylan rifled through the chest. Again she wondered what she would tell him. The lid slammed shut and he came to his feet.
“Here we are,” he announced, shaking the folds from a short tunic and a pair of braies. Beside her once more, he gauged the length of the tunic to her own height. “I doubt you’ll be needing these.” He tossed the braies over his shoulder at the chest and handed her the tunic.
“For modesty’s sake, I think I will need those,” she returned as she marched away from him to snatch up the discarded braies.
Dylan crossed his arms over his chest and turned his back to her. “It’s not as though I haven’t seen your legs before, Cousin. In fact, I’ve seen a lot more than that. If you’ll recall, I was the one who taught you to swim. And I did so while we were in the altogether.”
“If you’ll recall, Cousin,” Alana replied, as she quickly stripped from her clothes, “I was eight and you were ten. A lot has changed since then.”
“Aye, it has. And definitely for the better.”
Her wet garments lying on a bench, along with her slippers and stockings, Alana dried herself off, then donned the braies, folding the hems of each leg.
“So,” she heard Dylan say as she tightened the drawstring about her waist and tied it off. “What exactly did he do to cause you to run from him?”
Alana drew on the tunic. “I could be running to something and not from. Had you thought of that?” she asked as her head came through the neck opening.
“Unlikely, Cousin. You’re here because something has frightened you. Tell me what it is.”
Alana came away from the area where she’d dressed, her wet clothing and slippers in hand. She still didn’t know what to tell Dylan or just how she should broach the subject when she did. “I came for a visit, that’s all.”
His arms yet crossed over his wide chest, Dylan was now facing her. He scrutinized her face. “A visit, hmm?” He shook his head. “Alana, thus far I’ve been more than patient with you. Without pressing, I’ve waited for you to apprise me as to exactly why you’ve come here. But I’m not a fool. You wouldn’t be running through the wood in the dark in a drenching rain such as this unless something has happened. What has the Norman done to make you flee?”
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