Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03

by Heart of the Dragon

  She stood and wandered to the window, absently staring down at the shadowed bailey.

  “No, the threat tolan is from someone he ought to be able to trust.”

  “Who dares to threaten him?” Gillian demanded.

  ““Tis Llywelyn,” Lily told her.

  “He has declared Ian an outlaw.” ‘

  Chapter Sixteen

  An army of servants streamed into the chamber, bringing with them a bathtub and buckets of water. Lily could almost find it within herself to be grateful for the interruption.

  So tired she could scarcely think, she didn’t feel ready to carry on a conversation with Gillian.

  Especially when the topic was Ian.

  Gillian gazed at Lily’s face, then reached out to place a comforting hand on her arm.

  “Forgive me. You look nigh ready to drop with weariness, and yet I’ve done naught but question you.”

  “Nay, milady, it’s all right. I know you care for Ian.

  Please don’t apologize for your concern.” Lily dredged up a smile.

  “I’m sure we both have questions—and many things to discuss. But I am tired, ‘tis true. We’ve had little rest the past few days.”

  Gillian gave Lily’s arm a squeeze, then stood as the last manservant closed the door behind him.

  “I can imagine.

  From the sound of it, you haven’t had a moment’s peace since you left the abbey. But you needn’t worry now.

  L’Eau Clair is a Norman keep—Llywelyn has no power here. You and Ian are safe within these walls. Rest here awhile, spend time with your new husband,” she added with a mischievous grin. She glanced toward the fire, where the bath set up before it sent up a flagrant cloud of steam.

  “We’ll see that you have a chance to relax, to decide what to do.”

  Lily eased herself off the bed.

  “Thank you. Perhaps once I’ve slept, my brain won’t feel so muddied.”

  “We’ll talk again when you’ve rested,” Gillian said, kissing Lily’s cheek. Her gaze never left Lily as she walked from the room and shut the door.

  How different the Normans were from the Welsh! Their clothing seemed brighter, more elaborate, of better quality—even the men’s hair was different. Nicholas and Rannulf wore their hair cropped to the nape, unlike Ian’s shoulder-length mane. They were both attractive men, rugged and masculine in appearance. But to her, the style looked tame.

  Perhaps it wasn’t the hair, but the man, for Ian possessed an untamed quality totally in keeping with his appearance.

  Lily sank back onto the bed, running her hands over the silken coverlet and allowing her gaze to caress her surroundings. Since she’d been exposed to the fine furnishings and way of life of the nobility, she’d discovered a new aspect of herself. She enjoyed the soft, colorful fabrics used so lavishly at Ashby and lEan Clair, savored the sweet smell of herbs scenting the air, relished the feel of soft carpets beneath her feet.

  After a lifetime spent within the austere confines of the abbey, Lily found it very easy to grow accustomed to luxury. Surely it must be a sin, to enjoy these fine surroundings so thoroughly.

  She’d been taught that much in life was sinful, not least the sins of the flesh.

  If that was the case, she had already passed beyond redemption.

  Lily rose from the bed and walked to the tub, absently unwinding her braid. She hadn’t bathed as much in the past year as she had in the past few days—another pleasure she’d come to enjoy.

  But none of these luxuries meant as much to her as Ian.

  Though they had spent their wedding night in a crude hut, it did not matter. That night would stand out in her memory as the richest of delights. The joy of Ian’s touch required no other embellishment.

  He was everything she could ever have wished for.

  Brave, determined, kind. Although she knew he was capable of violence, she also knew he possessed a precise sense of justice. He did nothing without a reason.

  And his loyalty was beyond question.

  Add to that the fact that a mere glance from his deep green eyes made her heart beat faster, that his touch sent fire pulsing through her veins, that the sound of his voice made her shiver deep inside, and she knew she was blessed to have captured the attention of the Dragon.

  For however long it lasted.

  But at what cost to him? She feared he’d pay dearly for his gallantry in marrying her. If what he—and the rest of her family—suspected was tree, Ian was a far cry from the type of man Llywelyn would have chosen to be her husband.

  Clearly, even Llywelyn could not control the Dragon.

  What if the cost of Ian’s disobedience was their lives?

  Only Ian’s skill as a warrior—and a measure of luck in finding Swen—had prevented her becoming a widow already.

  They could not hide behind the walls of l’Eau Clair forever. Eventually they would have to leave—to go where, Lily had no idea—and Ian’s life could once again be forfeit.

  They could not live that way for long.

  Lily sank down onto the carpet before the fire and covered her face with her hands. She could not bear to lose Ian, not now. Not after all he’d come to mean to her.

  But if she had to, she would give him up.

  What would a broken heart matter, if it saved his life?

  She heard a sound at the door and sat up, swiftly wiping away her tears on the trailing hem of her sleeve. Ian entered the room and closed the door, then turned the key in the lock.

  Cursing her sore muscles, Lily struggled to her feet, drawing Ian’s attention.

  “Why were you sitting on the floor, when there are plenty of more comfortable places?”

  he asked, glancing about the room.

  She didn’t want him to know she’d been crying, so she turned away to trail her fingers in the still-hot water of the tub.

  “The rug is comfortable. But I forgot how difficult it would be to get back up, ‘tis all.”

  Ian crossed the chamber to the fire.

  “Why aren’t you in the tub?” he asked, his voice slow and deep.

  “Were you waiting for me to join you?”

  Tears forgotten, she spun to face him, drawn by his teasing tone.

  “In there?” He grinned at her.

  “We wouldn’t both fit in that tub,” she scoffed.

  “It’s impossible.”

  “Don’t you know by now that you should never tell me something is impossible?” He sauntered closer, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

  “I cannot resist a dare.”

  Lily stepped back, coming to a halt when she bumped into the rim of the tub. ““Twas a comment, nothing more.” She held her hand out to ward him off, but he ignored the paltry gesture and swept her into his arms.

  “You dare me every time you look at me like that,” he murmured in her ear.

  “What do you mean? I don’t look at you any differently than I do anyone else,” she protested, fighting the insidious heat pouring through her as his lips brushed the sensitive flesh beneath her ear.

  “But you do.” He nuzzled her neck.

  “You look at me as if you want me as much as I want you. Do you know what that does to me?”

  She didn’t, but perhaps he’d tell her, if she asked. Feeling bold, she turned her head until she could see his eyes.

  “How does it make you feel?”

  Ian sat down upon the carpet and held her nestled in his lap.

  “As though I’m the only man in the world. You make my heart quake with longing—and with fear.”

  He stroked her lips with his fingertip, sending a shiver of longing down her spine. She straggled to find her voice.

  “What do you fear?”

  “Do I please you?”

  Lily raised her hand to cup his cheek.

  “You know that you do.”

  “But I don’t know’ that unless you tell me,” he said.

  “Can’t you tell—” she lowered her gaze, uncertain how
to go on “—when you’ve pleased me?”

  He robbed his bristly cheek against her palm.

  “I know when your body feels pleasure.” He stroked her mouth again.

  “But I don’t know if I’ve pleased you.”

  Did he want her to tell him what she felt when he touched her, caressed her, joined his body to hers?

  She could not. A flood of heat washed over her face, leaving a fiery blush in its wake—her skin burned with it. She had been far too bold already; despite her inexperience, he must think her wanton, the way she’d caressed him, stared at his body, welcomed him into hers with such ease.

  Lily hid her face in the crook of Ian’s shoulder as she recalled how very daring she’d been.

  “Come, sweeting, you cannot claim shyness now,” he teased, cupping her chin in his hand and turning her face toward his.

  “What you and I have shared, I’ve never had with anyone else. I know ‘tis the same for you.”

  Lily still refused to meet his gaze.

  “But must we talk about it?” She brushed her nose along his jaw.

  “I was taught that doing those things is a sin. I cannot imagine talking about them is much better,” she said dryly.

  “You are my wife, Lily. Doesn’t the Church also tell you to ‘cleave unto your husband’?” He held her more firmly within his arms.

  “Besides, if you truly believed that what we’ve shared is a sin, I doubt you would be sitting hem with me now—like this.”

  “I know ‘tis not a sin, Ian.” She raised her head to watch his face, his eyes.

  “But I cannot say that I’m comfortable talking about it, either.”

  She could not think clearly with Ian surrounding her with his body, his presence.

  “Twas too distracting. She placed her hands upon his and slipped free of his grasp to stand beside him then took a deep breath.

  “So much has happened to me, to us, so quickly. Please understand when I tell you I need time, to become accustomed to our life together, to my family,” she pleaded.

  He rose to his feet, as well, but turned his head away.

  “Do you wish to put me aside?” he asked, his voice flat.

  “Nay, Ian.” She reached over and framed his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were dark green, their turbulent depths at odds with his coldness.

  “You are my husband. I swore an oath before God—I swore to you—that I would be your wife. I will not break that vow.” She stroked his cheek.

  “All I ask you for is time, enough time to understand everything that has happened.”

  “Will you leave me, then, until you’re ready?”

  Would it matter to him if she did? Lily wondered. His voice sounded detached, dispassionate. But she refused to believe that he did not care for her—a little, at least. Even the Dragon would not carry devotion to duty so far as to marry a woman he didn’t want.

  Would he?

  “I will never leave you, Ian,” she said, the words a vow.

  “Although you’d be better off if I did. Perhaps then Llywelyn would forgive your disobedience.”

  Ian covered her hands with his and drew them from his face, weaving his fingers together with hers and holding them tightly.

  “Are you mad? You are my wife—you are mine. No man forces me to give up what is mine.”

  He raised her hands to his lips.

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the promises I made to you, my lady wife.

  “With my body, I thee worship.”” He nipped delicately at her fingers, then drew his tongue the length of them, setting her pulse to pounding, despite her efforts to remain unaffected.

  He leaned so close, his lips nearly touched hers, and his gaze held her captive. ““Tis my right—my duty—to partake of the delights you offer,” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes, but she could not shut him out.

  “Ian, please—” “You may have all the time you need,” he told her, his voice rough with some unknown emotion, “But you may not refuse me this.”

  Why couldn’t he understand, give her the distance she sought? If he kept up this sensual assault, she didn’t know if she could bear it if he ever pushed her away. She had fallen into loving so easily; it seemed the most natural feeling in the world to share the delights of the body with Ian. But she knew they needed to share more than that.

  Heart pounding a frantic rhythm, she started to pull away.

  Ian held her captive, his fingers pressed to the pulse at her throat.

  “Please, Lily. I need you.” She opened her eyes at the unexpected plea.

  “Not only with my body, but here…” He took her hand in his and laid it over his pounding heart.

  “Please, at least let me give you this.”

  How could she refuse him, when she needed what he offered, as well?

  Beyond speech, she nodded, then buried her face against his shoulder as he swept her up into his arms. He carried her to the bed and placed her carefully upon the coverlet, then spread her unbound hair wide across the pillows. His touch was tender, deliberate, and he watched her all the while, as though gauging her reaction to each caress.

  He lay beside her and bent to kiss her lips. His mouth brushed against hers in a butterfly touch, teasingly light, heart-stoppingly beautiful. When she tried to rise up and deepen the kiss, Ian eased her back and framed her face with his hands, gently refusing her request.

  “Let me, sweeting,” he murmured.

  “Take this gift from me.”

  Though she found it nearly impossible to simply accept Ian’s touch without touching him in return, every time her hands crept close or she reached out to caress him; he gently pushed her hands away. But she could not seem to stop.

  Finally he grasped her hands and held them, bracketing her wrists with his long, callused fingers. Her initial frustration at not being able to touch him in return gave way to a growing lassitude as he slowly deepened his kisses and pulled her farther into the web of passion he wove so skillfully about her.

  She’d never thought she’d enjoy relinquishing control, but she found she didn’t mind—for the moment, at least.

  Ian lifted her up to unlace her bliaut and slipped it over her head, then tugged off her under tunic as well. Clad only in her silken shift, Lily lay back and watched as he quickly shed his own garments.

  Her blood quickened at the sight of him, gilded by firelight.

  She yearned to smooth her fingers over the hard, lean planes of his body, to stroke the sleek hardness of his manhood.

  But as soon as he joined her on the bed, he captured her hands in his once again.

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered. He kissed her shoulder, then began to nudge at the neckline of her shift.

  The fabric moved so slowly, Lily thought she would scream in frustration before he bared her shoulder. Her flesh was burning for his touch by the time he slid his tongue over her silk-covered breast.

  Releasing her wrists, Ian cupped her breasts in his hands and stroked her through the thin material. The heat of his flesh burned ib. rough the cool silk, the contrast bringing her nipples to aching hardness.

  Lily arched her back, trying to deepen the caress, but Ian would not be hurried.

  “What do you want, Lily?” he-asked, sitting back on his heels and caressing her with his gaze.

  “What would you like me to do?”

  All her inhibitions seemed to have flown away. And she knew that, unless she told him what she wanted, he’d probably leave her lying there, aching.

  She reached for his hands and placed them on her shoulders.

  “I want to feel your hands on my skin.” She swallowed, then slid his hands beneath her shift.

  “Here.”

  He nudged the fabric down over her breasts, stroking his way along her skin until he settled his callused hands where she ached the most.

  “Is this what you wanted?”

  he asked as he shaped her flesh with his fingers.<
br />
  Swallowing a moan, she nodded.

  “Your skin is as soft as a rose.” He nuzzled along her collarbone, then moved his hand and took her nipple into his mouth. By the time he released her, Lily felt as though her heart would bound from her chest, it pounded so hard.

  “You taste sweeter than mead, more fiery than usque-bangh.”

  He sat back and met Lily’s gaze.

  “Am I pleasing you, milady?”

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  “Will you let me please you?”

  “You are. Watching your pleasure pleases me, sweeting

  He tugged her shift down her body and tossed it aside, leaving her sprawled across the silk bed cover.

  “Seeing your beauty makes my heart thunder and my body ache for you.”

  The fabric felt cool beneath her, a stark contrast to the heat of Ian’s gaze as it roamed over her.

  Since it was the only way she could touch him, Lily indulged herself with the pleasure of watching him—his body, his face—as closely as he watched her. A dark flush rode high along his cheekbones, and his eyes looked as avid as a hawk’s.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked.

  “How shall I touch you next?”

  Lily shook her head slowly.

  “Twas beyond her to think, to decide anything.

  “However you wish, Dragon.”

  Ian climbed off the bed and stood next to it, then slid Lily along the smooth silk to the edge of the mattress.

  Her hair lay spread all about her, brushing against her skin in a subtle caress.

  She watched Ian, curious. She could not imagine where this might lead.

  He draped her legs over the side of the high mattress, then gently moved her thighs apart and stood between them. Placing his hands beneath her knees, he began to inch his thumbs up along the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, not stopping until he reached the heart of her desire.

  Lily felt a flush rise from her neck to her face. The way he looked at her, watching, waiting for her reaction, made her blood flow hot through her veins.

  “I wish to taste your desire, love.” He moved his thumbs up, until he cradled her most sensitive flesh within them.

  “May I?”

  Beyond speech, she reached up to him and drew him toward her.