WinterofThorns

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  She groaned and, as though they had a life of their own, her arms came up to wrap around his neck.

  “Good,” he mumbled against the underside of her chin before placing his lips on the hollow at the base of her throat. With a slow, firm rhythm, he began to move in and almost out of her—going deeper each stroke then easing back just as leisurely.

  Her arms tightened on his neck and her hips came up to meet his at the next downward thrust.

  “Lift your legs and wrap them around my waist,” he instructed.

  There was a moment’s reluctance then she obeyed, hooking her ankles together at the base of his spine.

  “That’s right,” he acknowledged. “Now hold tightly to me.”

  He increased the speed of his thrusts in measured increments. Though his body screamed at him to push harder, faster, deeper, he kept a tight rein on his cock. The strokes were deliberately shallow but now quicker. Her body was responding to his with every downward press. The scent of her was a heady aroma that tightened his balls as his drove into her.

  Once more he spiked his hands under her rump and lifted her to him. The speed of his plunges increased and the strokes became shorter, not going as far in as they could. He was sweating profusely in an attempt to control his lust. It was all about pleasuring her, making her entirely his, bringing her to a mindless passion of her own.

  Her breasts were rubbing against his chest—the hard buds poking into him. He swiveled his hips as he pressed into her and she groaned, arching her back as he slipped almost out of her.

  “Milord, no!” she pleaded and writhed under him.

  He smiled.

  He had her.

  With a grunt, he snapped his hips forward and drove as deep as he could. She cried out. Her legs locked fiercely around him and he began the rapid, dive-bombing plunges that had her grunting along with him.

  She clung to him like a drowning woman to a life preserver with her legs wrapped tightly and securely around his hips as she met him thrust for thrust. Her upper body was slick with sweat the same as his and her arms were so snug around his neck he could barely draw breath. He dropped his head to her shoulder and jacked his lower body savagely against hers.

  “Aye!” she yelled.

  “Do it,” he said between clenched teeth. “Do it, baby. Do it! Let me have it!”

  A powerful orgasm took her over, and the tight little squeezes that began milking him were his undoing. He released the hold he had over his body. Hot cum shot from him in wave after satisfying wave. His entire body felt as though it was being drained as he creamed her sweet, hot sheath. Vaguely he could hear her sobbing from the force of her own release as she hung on to to him—arms and thighs—as though she’d never let go. Her hips collided brutally with his as she sought every last measure of satisfaction he could give her. One last squeeze and she went as still as death.

  He collapsed atop her. Her arms and legs gave way and she freed him. He lay panting on her chest, his cheek cushioned upon her breast, as he struggled to draw a decent breath. Sweat ran down his temples and clung to the center of his chest so that where their bodies met, there was a slick slide as they gasped in air.

  He would never know how long they lay like that but at some point he raised his head and met her eyes. They were filled with wonderment as they stared back at him. He pushed his body up until he could claim her mouth. The kiss he gave her was returned in full measure—their tongues dueling as if they’d been lovers for years.

  “Jana,” he whispered against her lips.

  And when her arms enfolded him, her fingers laced through his wildly tousled and sweat-wet hair to press his cheek to her breast again, he knew he had found something he didn’t realize he’d been searching for.

  The trouble was it wasn’t his to have or keep.

  Chapter Five

  “How long do you intend to keep her here against her will?” Lady Millicent asked. She was walking arm in arm with her godson along the banks of the stream that ran to the north of Wicklow Castle.

  “Are you sure it is against her will?” Vindan asked.

  “I have come to know my son’s wife in the week I have been here, Vin. She wishes to be with her husband and not locked in this limbo in which you are keeping her. She needs to be with him and he desperately needs to be with her.”

  The prince grunted but made no comment to her words.

  “You are a better man than this,” she told him.

  “Than what, milady?” he asked.

  “One who would do what you have done,” she said, and when he looked down at her she gave him a hard stare. “One who I believe regrets what he did but doesn’t know how to remedy the situation.”

  “I could annul the marriage and Join with her myself,” he said, holding her gaze.

  Lady Millicent stopped walking. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You would not do that, Vindan.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Wouldn’t I?”

  “You’d best not,” she said in a voice rife with warning.

  “What will you do, milady? Run to my father to condemn me?” he asked, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  “To my knowledge your father doesn’t know what you’ve done and I shan’t be the one to tell him, but unless you do right by Seyzon, the king will learn of what transpired at Riverglade. Think you he will be pleased, Vindan?”

  “I doubt he’d care one way or the other.” The prince unhooked his arm from hers. “I haven’t seen him since my thirteenth birthday nor have I received one missive from the great man. Presents on my feast day, aye, but even those were chosen by my mother or one of her women. As far as King Nolan is concerned, I am little more than an afterthought.”

  “He would care, Vindan. Your father has always been a moral man.”

  “If he was a moral man, milady, he wouldn’t have spread his seed far and wide over this land and several others,” he quipped.

  “A bad trait you have copied it seems,” she said with a hard edge to her voice.

  “Don’t berate me for my appetites, milady,” he cautioned. “They could get worse.”

  “Let me take her with me when I leave on the morrow. Jana needs to be where she belongs.”

  “And if I believe she belongs here with me?” he questioned.

  “Then you are deluding yourself and causing a good woman—and a once-loyal friend—great stress.”

  “Once-loyal?” he repeated. “Is that how Seyzon views himself now?”

  “Truthfully?” she asked. “I don’t know. I do know he isn’t happy with you.”

  “Tough shit,” the prince said and ignored her hiss of reprimand. “He defied me.”

  “And was punished. Let it go at that.”

  “What if I can’t?”

  “Allow her to accompany me tomorrow,” she said, ignoring him. “This punishment you delivered to my son has run its course.”

  He dug his hands into the pockets of his slacks and looked out over the lake.

  “He hurt me,” he said.

  “No less than you hurt him,” she countered. “At least he did no damage to your immortal soul, Vindan. Can you say the same of his?”

  * * * * *

  For two weeks he kept the Lady Millicent waiting on his decision. When he finally decided to give in to the disappointed looks she kept aiming his way, he told her she should return to Lavenfeld.

  He did not see her off.

  Nor did he actually give Jana permission to leave with her. What he did do was have Jana’s belongings ready at the stables when the Lady Millicent’s carriage was brought round. As the carriage rolled away, he stood atop the battlements and watched until it was out of sight.

  But just because she was out of sight did not mean she was out of mind. If anything, she was even more firmly entrenched there. Anger at his godmother, at Seyzon boiled inside his blood. Misery at having Jana leave burned a hole in his heart. He missed her even before he watched her step inside the carriage. After that, he had to grip the sharp edge of
the stone parapet to keep from shouting to the guards not to allow her to leave.

  “He doesn’t deserve you,” he said to the wind whipping around him. “You should belong to a man who could lay the world at your feet.”

  A man like him.

  He would never forgive Seyzon Montyne.

  * * * * *

  Seyzon was as miserable as a man could be. Prowling Lavenfeld like a caged animal, he could not seem to rid himself of the ennui that had killed his appetite and the depression that had destroyed his sleep. He rarely spoke to anyone and never smiled. His heart hurt so badly he had trouble drawing breath. And his soul?

  His soul was as murky as the waters around the moat at Riverglade.

  Or as foggy as the midnight beyond the dark windows.

  He reached up to scratch at his chest with fingernails that needed clipping—and cleaning. His shirt hung open—the sleeves rolled up his forearms—and it wasn’t clean by any stretch of the imagination. Neither were his pants. Minus a belt and with the waistband button undone, they precariously hung on his hips. The disinterest in eating had caused him to lose weight. The pants looked on the verge of sliding off his lean body as he stepped on the cuffs.

  And he was in dire need of a haircut. The dirty, lank mop of dark hair that flopped into his face gave him the look of a homeless man.

  He shuffled his bare feet along as he meandered through the Great Hall and into the library where there were decanters of liquor calling to him. He was reaching for the Chrystallusian brandy decanter when his mother’s lover entered the room.

  “Your mother is home,” Arbra told him. When a shrug was the only indication he had heard the Master-at-Arms, Arbra sighed. “She arrived half an hour ago. I’ve been looking for you ever since. Where were you?”

  Another shrug.

  Another sigh.

  “She did not return alone.”

  A grunt was Seyzon’s reply as he splashed brandy into a crystal snifter. He lifted the brandy to his lips but Arbra spoke before he could take a drink.

  “I believe your lady-wife was her traveling companion.”

  As though he’d been goosed by a lightning bolt, Seyzon jerked up his head. “What?” he managed to ask.

  “I was told there is a very lovely young woman with Lady Millicent.”

  The snifter slid out of Seyzon’s hand and hit the floor where it shattered.

  “What?” he repeated.

  Arbra frowned at the mess on the floor. “Carlson took her bags up to your room so I’m assuming that’s where they should be and that’s she’s your—”

  With a whoop of joy, Seyzon lunged at the older man, flung his arms around him and lifted the heavy warrior from the floor. He could barely hold him and nearly toppled the two of them to the floor had Arbra not prevented it.

  “Go, brat,” he told Seyzon with a laugh. “Your lady waits.”

  Sprinting from the room, Seyzon took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, his arms pumping as he ran.

  “Jana!” he yelled.

  His mother poked her head out of her room and smiled as he sped past. It was doubtful he even saw her standing there. Her greeting to him was drowned out by the heavy beat of his thundering heart.

  “Jana!”

  He skidded to a halt before his door and with shaking hands opened the portal.

  She had her back to the door, her arms up as she stood before the mirror pinning her long braid atop her head. In the corner of the room was the copper bathtub from which steam drifted. She turned—her smile as radiant as the sun. Peeking out from beneath the hem of her traveling gown, he saw her bare toes and for some reason that put a huge lump in his throat.

  “Jana,” he whispered.

  “Seyzon,” she whispered in return.

  He thought his heart might well burst from his chest as he stared at her. He stood frozen in the doorway, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst, barely able to believe she was there in his room. Plowing a shaky hand through his hair, he took a step toward her—afraid she would vanish if he as much as blinked his eyes.

  “How are you, milord?” she asked.

  “Well,” he managed to reply. He took another step. “And you?”

  “I am better now that I am here with you,” she answered.

  He swept his gaze over her from head to toe. “He did not hurt you.”

  “He did not,” she said and it seemed to him the shining light dulled a bit in her lovely eyes. “He was most respectful.”

  “For that I am grateful,” he said. He went to her but stopped just short of dragging her into his arms as he so longed to do. “I was terrified that he would keep you from me.”

  She bit her lip then closed the distance to within a foot of him. Looking up into his eyes, hers filled with tears. “Do you still want me, milord?”

  For a moment he was unable to speak. That she would doubt that he did cut him to the quick but he understood all too well why she asked. To some, she was damaged goods and perhaps in her own eyes that was what she believed herself to be.

  A single tear eased down her cheek. “Milord?” she pressed, her eyebrows drawing together.

  He reached for her hand and when she put her palm in his, he sank to his knees before her.

  “With all my heart,” he said, his voice breaking. He lowered his head and laid his forehead on the back of her hand. “With all my soul and all my being.”

  She smoothed her other hand over his hair. “I prayed that would be the way of it.”

  He lifted his face to look at her, brought her hand to his lips and spoke, looking up through his eyelashes. “Know that it will always be so.” He let go of her hand to put his arms around her then pressed his cheek to her stomach, closing his eyes as she gently stroked his hair.

  Neither of them saw his mother standing at the open door. They did not see her smile nor hear her as she gently closed the door to give them their privacy.

  “I love you,” he said on a hitching breath. “With all my heart, I love you.”

  She took hold of his upper arms and tugged gently to bid him rise. When he did, she took his hands in hers, brought them together then kissed the tips of his fingers. Her eyes were locked on his.

  “I love you, Seyzon Montyne. With every breath I take and every beat of my heart.”

  Easing his hands from hers, he slipped an arm beneath her legs and another behind her back and lifted her. She placed her arms around his neck. Silently he asked the question that had formed a lump in his throat as though he were a green youth.

  “Aye,” she said. “A million times aye.”

  He carried her to the bed he had tossed and turned in for weeks. Little sleep had occurred there for a long time. No dreams had dented the pillows—only tears. As he lay her down, he could not prevent the moan that escaped his lips.

  “This will be our wedding night,” she said. “No other has existed before now.”

  He nodded, unable to speak. If this was the way she wanted to remember their first time together, so be it. The night at Riverglade did not happen. He would do everything in his power to see it wiped from her memory and in its place, the sweetest memory he could give her. He would erase Vindan’s touch and replace it with his own. He was about to join her on the bed when he got a whiff of his body order and he stopped breathing.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, quickly sitting up. “Have I done something to…?”

  “I stink,” he said and he turned his head to the tub where steam was still curling up from the surface of the water. “I need a bath.”

  She watched him strip off his shirt, shuck off his pants and march over to the water. Had she never seen a man’s naked body before, the sight of Seyzon removing his clothing might have caused her to blush. As it was, she stared at his solid frame and without conscious thought compared it to the prince’s.

  “You have a beautiful body, milord,” she said.

  He was about to step into the tub and completely missed the rim as he s
napped his head around at her words. His teeth clicked together as his foot hit the floor. It was he whose cheeks were bright crimson as he realized he had unceremoniously stripped in front of her without any concern for her sensibilities. He slapped his hands over his dangling cock.

  “Milady, I am…”

  “Beautiful,” she said, boldly sweeping her gaze from his tousled hair to his bare toes. “Remarkably so.” She swung her legs from the bed. “Broad shoulders, narrow hips, flat belly. An artist would consider herself lucky to have you as a model.”

  His eyes flared. “Beg pardon?” he croaked.

  She stood and came slowly toward him, running the buttons of her bodice as she did.

  “Just this one time I will say something of him,” she said and it was obvious she had no desire to give him a name and, truthfully, there was no need to. “He took away my shyness so that I can appreciate the handsomeness of my husband’s naked body. A body far superior to the other I saw.”

  He seemed incapable of movement as she drew near him.

  The buttons of her gown opened, she peeled the gown from her body and stepped out of it. Crossing her arms over her chest, she took the hem of her camisole and wrenched it over her head.

  “Oh,” he gasped as her bare breasts swung free and he saw that all that hid the rest of her shapely form from his view were the hip-hugging lace panties that molded to her like a second skin. The moment she slid her hands beneath their waistband and began pushing them down her thighs, he grabbed the rim of the tub as though to steady himself.

  “I took my shoes and stockings off as soon as I came into our room,” she said, wiggling her toes. “The carpet is so thick I could not resist.”

  He snapped his head down to stare at her toes for he could not allow himself another glance of the shadowy triangle at the apex of her beautiful legs. The one brief sight of it had all but dropped him to his knees.

  She came to stand beside him—so close he could feel her body heat.

  “Why don’t you get in first?” she asked.

  He swept his gaze to hers. “Aye,” he said but didn’t move.

  He couldn’t.

  “I will bathe you if you get into the water, husband,” she said. “Otherwise, I can’t.”