The short, scrawny priest hitched up his robes and snatched a candle from the wall pricket. Holding it high, he stepped from the room.
“Good eventide to you, Father,” Ian said, his voice polite. He smiled, the Dragon’s smile, all teeth and vengeance.
He could tell the exact moment when recognition dawned. The priest made the sign of the cross, his eyes wide.
“Lord Ian.” He bobbed his head and, reaching behind him, tugged the door closed.
“Why are you here, milord? The prince hasn’t…” He shook his head. It was more of a twitch really.
“No, he couldn’t know about that.” He looked up at Ian, eyes pleading.
“Could he?”
Ian snorted; he actually wanted to laugh, but that was hardly likely to further their ends. He would rely on intimidation alone to get what he wanted. No sense in frightening the worm to death, at least not till he’d done the deed.
“Nay, Father. He doesn’t know.” He took a step toward the door.
“However, that could change—very quickly, as I’m sure you know.”
The priest bobbed his head again.
“Thank you, milord, thank you. What brings you to Llanrhys, then, if not the prince’s business?”
Ian drew Lily forward.
“Marry us.”
“Now, milord? In the middle of the night?”
“I know of no better time to make her my bride,” he said, allowing his gaze to travel in a slow, purely sensual foray over her body.
“Indeed.” The priest stared at her more closely, until he caught sight of Ian’s glare.
“I understand, milord.”
Ian ignored the frowning look Lily sent his way and drew her toward the crude altar.
“A tree wedding, Father, binding before God and man.”
“Aye.” The priest bustled about behind the altar.
“We’ll need a witness, milord,” he added nervously.
“Perhaps ‘twould be best to wait till morning.”
“I’m certain whomever you have warming your bed will do nicely,” Ian remarked, grinning when Lily gave a shocked gasp.
The old man hurried into his chamber, emerging a few moments later with a young woman of incredible endowment.
She finished tugging her gown up over her breasts, then looked at them and smiled.
“Is it your wish to wed this man?” the priest asked Lily. She nodded.
“He isn’t forcing you?” he added sternly, surprising Ian. He hadn’t thought the licentious fool would care.
“No, Father,” Lily replied, sounding shocked.
“Of course not.” “Then let’s get on with it,” he said, moving behind the altar.
In a matter of moments, the ceremony was over. They were wed, Lily thought, shoving aside a feeling of disappointment over the circumstances. What difference did it make that they’d been married in a tumbledown church by a lecherous old priest who evidently owed Ian a favor?
She certainly didn’t expect romance.
Until yesterday afternoon, she’d never expected to marry at all.
The deed was done. She’d bound herself to the Dragon, casting aside all her dreams of freedom in a moment.
But she couldn’t find it within herself to mourn their loss.
“Thank you, Father.” Ian took the piece of parchment containing their marriage lines, then placed something in the priest’s hand—surprising him, to judge by his startled look. The old man smiled and moved his hand, making the coins jingle merrily.
Ian took her by the hand.
“Come along, wife. Time to go.”
She let him lead her through the town in silence, but when they reached the trees, she jerked her hand free.
“I
don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what that was about back there?”
He untied the horse and turned to lift her into the sad-die.
“No.”
“No, what?” She took a step back, intent on eluding his grasp until she got an answer.
“No, I’m not going to tell you,” he replied in an even voice. ““Tis old business, and nothing to do with you.
Wife.” He backed her toward a tree.
She spun away, careful of her footing in the faint moonlight.
But he caught her anyway, and held her close.
“If I promise to tell you, will you get on the horse?” he asked, his voice husky with laughter.
“Twas more than she’d expected.
Lily nodded and allowed him to assist her into the saddle.
Once they picked up the trail again, however, she nudged him with her elbow
“What?” He twitched away from her arm, but she knew she hadn’t hurt him.
“You promised you would explain,” she reminded him. Another thought occurred to her.
“And why were you laughing back there?”
He grinned and shook his head.
“It seemed ironic.
Newly wed, and already making demands.”
“I wasn’t…” She thought back over what she’d said—and how she’d said it.
“I was,” she admitted.
“But you tell me next to nothing. I’ve never liked to be ordered about and expected to blindly obey.”
He nodded.
“And I’m not used to explaining myself to anyone. Not even Llywelyn himself.”
Ian was a true storyteller, reminding her of a hard she’d heard once at the abbey. She found his grasp of human nature remarkable. He kept her entertained with a variety of tales as they traveled through the night.
For the first time, the darkness didn’t seem like her enemy, but rather like a comforting cloak, binding them together—alone.
Perhaps their marriage would work out better than she’d thought. He seemed at ease in her company, far more than she had ever noticed before. In truth, they scarcely knew each other.
Although there had been times when Lily felt she’d always known him.
“I know so little of the world, Ian. Will you answer my questions, even if they seem foolish?” she asked.
“I
won’t expect you to tell me things all the time.”
He sighed.
“I will try, Lily. It could take some time for me to grow accustomed to not being alone any longer.
But I will try.”
It was more than she’d expected. Lily vowed she would take what he offered, and not press for more.
She tried not to notice the way the greedy little voice inside her head laughed.
Chapter Thirteen
Lay wondered about many things as they rode along, searching for a hut or some other shelter where they might spend the remainder of the night. Not the least of which was whether her husband intended to truly make her his wife. The details of how they’d go about that process were still somewhat vague in her mind, but she couldn’t help feeling curious about it.
And what he planned to do.
That was one question she couldn’t ask him. It seemed too bold, too frightening. Her curiosity kept nagging at her, but she refused to give in to it. She could only hope he would answer that question without being asked.
It began to rain soon after they left the church, and she felt thoroughly chilled, despite her cloak and Ian’s shared warmth. Even the fire in her veins at the thought of Ian’s kisses could not warm her. He’d told her there were all sorts of kisses; she hoped that once they got wherever they were going, he’d show her.
If they didn’t fall asleep first.
Lily wrenched her thoughts away from indulgence to more serious concerns. Even now, Llywelyn’s men might be on their trail. But she didn’t really fear that they would catch them. Her trust in Ian was absolute.
They’d scarcely rested in two days. She only hoped that exhaustion didn’t destroy Ian’s vigilance. She’d do what she could to help him, but she knew she hadn’t his skill.
He was the Dragon; she didn’t doubt he could go on for days with litt
le rest, without its affecting him. But he did look tired.
She sat up with a start when Ian halted their mount outside a tumbledown hut. It had begun to rain, a misery in the cold mountain air. She knew they were fortunate to have found any shelter at all.
He tethered the horse beneath a thick stand of firs, then asked her for the candle they’d had in the tunnel. He left her waiting under the shelter of the trees while he investigated the hut.
He returned almost immediately
“It’s little more than four wails and a roof—which leaks–but ‘tis better than staying out here. And there’s some wood inside. I’ll be able to make a fire.”
The flames lent a cheerful glow to the hut, disguising its dilapidated state. Lily spread a cloth and laid out bread and cheese, and a skin of mead. They hadn’t eaten since midday, and she was starved. Ian fell to with a hearty appetite, but despite her hunger, Lily found she couldn’t eat much. Curiosity about what Lan might expect of her made her nervous.
He noticed at once that she only picked at her food.
“Here, try the mead. Catrin makes the best mead I’ve ever tasted. Perhaps it will stir your hunger.”
She drank, savoring the honeyed sweetness and the hint of spice. When she lowered the skin, she found Ian watching her, his eyes dark. Her heart paused, then pounded furiously, at the longing in his gaze.
He took the mead from her and brought it to his lips, then leaned close and captured her mouth with his. His lips skimmed hers, teasing, taunting her with the barest hint of passion.
Groaning, he tossed the drink aside and buried his fingers in her disheveled hair. He tasted of honey, a sweetness she shared as he plunged his tongue deep to toy with hers.
He nibbled at her lips, then worked his way down her throat, teasing and licking the sensitive places he found along the way. She felt his fingers at her ribs, tickling her as he struggled with the laces of her gown. Cursing, he tore at the strings, still kissing her all the while.
Finally the laces gave, and he tugged at her bliaut, pulling it up and over her head, leaving her still clad in her under tunic and shift. But the loose garments made her feel free, relaxed.
Lily wanted to touch his skin, to smooth her hands over the warmth of his lean, well-muscled body. She tugged without success at his tunic.
“Let me,” he murmured against her throat, gently brushing her hands aside. Rearing back, he pulled his tunic and shirt over his head and tossed them over his shoulder.
A mat of dark curls covered his chest, tempting her fingers to explore. Simply touching him set her blood to simmering in her veins. She raked her nails from his collarbone to his waist, glorying in his reaction. He leaned back on one elbow, breath hissing through his teeth. But he did not stop her.
He lay there for a time, allowing her to learn him as she stroked his darkly tanned skin. But he was hardly a passive participant. He undid her braid and swept the long fall of hair over her shoulders, combing his fingers through it as he drew her toward him.
“Kiss me, wife,” he growled, his gaze never leaving her as she moved closer.
Ian’s mouth on hers spread fire over her entire body, sending more heat spiraling through her. It was a wonder she hadn’t burst into flames. He stroked his hands the length of her body and back again, kneading and shaping her flesh until she arched like a cat in his arms.
She ached to feel his fingers touch her skin, and he must have sensed. He found the hem of her under tunic and began to inch it upward, dragging his fingertips in a tortuous path along her inner thigh.
She clamped her legs together, fighting the urge to let them fall open wider, to invite his touch. But Ian would have none of that.
His hand firm on her knee, he said, “Nay, love, let me touch you. Here.” He traced the back of her knee, then smoothed his palm along her calf until she relaxed, sa-voting the caress.
He eased her back onto the cloak, maintaining the soothing, yet exciting, motion of his hand.
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered.
“But you’re wearing too many clothes.”
What did clothes have to do with kissing, she wondered, but she helped him remove her under tunic When she sat up, she ran her hands over his chest again, reveling in the way his eyes darkened even more.
Ian leaned over her and nudged the sleeve of her shift over the curve of her shoulder, making the neckline drape low over her breasts. He nipped at her neck, sending a shiver of delight down her spine.
“You’re so lovely,” he said, staring into her eyes.
Moving slowly, he slipped the shift down to her waist.
But before she had the chance to feel exposed, he covered her aching breasts with his hands. He continued to watch her. The combination of his hands slowly moving over her sensitive flesh and the seduction of his gaze made her body feel heavy, languorous.
Ian could have gotten lost in her eyes, could have drowned in their soothing green depths. He saw each tiny play of emotion reflected there, her reaction to the touch of his hands against the pebbled hardness of her nipples making his mouth yearn to taste them.
Her flesh was soft and sweet, a delight to his senses in the flickering light. The low moan she made when he took the rosy tip into his mouth sent a renewed surge of vigor to his already throbbing manhood.
With her attention focused on what his mouth was doing, her legs had fallen open, allowing him access to her sweetest flesh. He slipped one hand up beneath the rumpled silk of her shift and cupped her soft curls in the palm of his hand.
She arched off the cloak, hands clutching at his back.
Sweat beaded on his face as he drew her nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth gently over it as he stroked the damp petals of her womanhood.
“Ian,” she moaned. She shoved at the waist of his braes, then tugged on the string until it came untied. Pushing at the loosened fabric, she managed to bare him to the knees. Keeping up the rhythmic caress with hands and mouth, he somehow got the leggings off.
His reaction when she tentatively stroked his aching flesh wasn’t very different from her own. Jesu, he thought he’d spill his seed into her hands. She was ready for him, he could feel it. He didn’t know if he could wait much longer.
But he had to be certain that this was what she wanted.
Pressing his hand over hers to halt the mind-stopping caress, he sat back on his heels and moved her hand away.
“Lily, sweeting, look at me,” he commanded softly. Her eyes drifted open, widening when she swept her gaze over his erect shaft.
She smiled, The effect on his body was nearly as strong as if she’d put her hand upon him again.
“Do you want me? Do you want to make love with me?” he asked, his voice taut with desire.
Still smiling, she sat up and touched her fingertip to the end of his staff.
“Yes.” She leaned closer, dragging her hair across his thighs, the cool strands a sensuous contrast to his burning flesh.
“Yes,” she whispered, drawing her fingers over his chest.
When she nuzzled through the dark curls and swept the tip of her tongue over his nipple, he could endure the torment no longer.
Pulling her beneath him, he set about making her his.
Lily welcomed him with an enthusiasm that surprised him, given her inexperience. Her gaze never left him as he moved between her legs and settled into the cradle of her body, allowing her to adjust to his weight atop her.
“Don’t make me wait, Dragon,” she whispered as she pulled him closer.
“Sometimes ‘tis better to wait,” he said teasingly.
“I’m not through kissing you yet.”
He closed her mouth with his, the rhythm he set as he thrust his tongue into her mouth echoing that of his body robbing against hers. Her fingernails scraped along his ribs, digging in when he tore his mouth free and began kissing and licking his way down her body.
She watched him curiously as he cradled her hips within his hands and nuzzled t
he damp curls at the juncture of her thighs. But she was writhing wildly in his arms in no time, her voice a keening sigh as she called his name.
Ian slipped into her as her body began to spasm with satisfaction, easing his way into her grasp. Lily wrapped her legs about his hips and held him tightly, her anchor in the swirl of passion he’d begun, swiftly matching his rhythm, until she plunged with him into the throes of completion.
Lily lay pressed beneath Ian’s weight, unable—and unwilling—to move. She’d never felt so tired or exhilarated in her life. She burrowed her face in his tousled curls and smiled.
“I must be crashing you,” he muttered, his voice sounding as weak as she felt. He levered himself up and settled alongside her, wrapping his arm about her waist and cuddling close.
Now she knew, Lily thought. Her ignorance didn’t matter after all; if anyone had tried to describe lovemaking to her, she never would have imagined this. And there was so much more to it than the physical actions, she realized. The sense of closeness with Ian, the yearning to be one with him—those feelings were as amazing as the explosion of sensation that still echoed through her body.
Eventually the sensations subsided. Lily stared past Ian’s shoulder into the dying flames, tired, but not yet ready to sleep.
“Is this what the priest and that girl were doing?” she asked. She could feel a blush sweep over her at the thought.
Ian laughed.
“Most likely. I told you before what he’s like, the lecherous old bastard. He’s certainly not much of a priest, though he served us well. But the last I knew, priests were not supposed to partake of the sort of activities we just indulged in.”
He turned her to face him and kissed her lips softly, slowly.
“Enough about him. Marrying us was assuredly the best deed he’s performed in a very long time. Now we’re wed, we’re free to indulge as often as we like. If it pleases you,” he added. Taking her hand in his, he nibbled at her fingertips, renewing the echoes of passion lingering in her body.
“Did you like what we did?” he asked, his gaze assessing.
What a stupid question!
“If I liked it any better, I would probably be lying here unconscious,” she told him.
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