by Brit Darby
Liam chuckled. “Most of the shelves, books, tapestries and furniture I found here and there throughout the abbey when we first arrived. Somehow they survived a leaky roof and rodents over the years. I believe this room must have been the abbot’s. Even the grand bed,” he gestured to it, “was already here.”
The huge, four-poster bed filled the corner and after glancing at it, Alianor paled as if she realized the danger of being alone with him in his bedchamber.
“I try to add to the book collection here whenever I can.” He tried to reassure her by returning to a safe topic, but she looked anxious to escape.
“I must go,” she said, gripping the book like a shield to her chest. She moved to dart past him. On instinct Liam grabbed her elbow to stop her and Alianor dropped the book with a startled gasp. He swept it up from the floor and handed it back to her.
“Now that the dust has been knocked off this ancient tome, may you enjoy your reading, milady.” He spoke lightly to hide his real feelings, but feared his expression gave him away. Alianor looked as if she wished to say something too, perhaps an attempt to smooth their encounter. A flash of emotion touched her eyes, before she dropped her gaze and silently slipped away.
LIAM PACED THE HALL. The closed door almost seemed to mock him, yet he hesitated. He glanced down at the book clutched in his hand, knowing it was only an excuse. An excuse to see Alianor again.
Three days had passed since their encounter in his room. Three days that seemed a lifetime. He hoped not seeing her might ease the inner ache she caused him and break the tension in the air. He was mistaken. He thought about her more than ever.
After about the twentieth time he paced past her door, he forced himself to stop and knock. The moment he did so he knew he lost the battle.
“Yes?”
Her soft query behind the door made him swallow. “It’s me.”
He sensed an unspoken question in her silence.
“I’ve something to give you, Alianor.”
“Come in, then.”
He tucked the book under his arm and opened the door, and she glanced up from her mending. She sat in a chair, making use of the light filtering in through the small, high window. The same light gleamed off her hair, distracting him.
Suddenly he felt like a lad with his first crush, nervously scuffing his boot on the floor. “I found this last night and set it aside for you. It’s a psalter, but the illustrations in this one are particularly beautiful.”
She arched an eyebrow. The challenge in her eyes touched a nerve.
“You are avoiding me,” he blurted. His accusing tone held more disappointment than anger.
“You told me to keep away.”
Well, that was true, but Liam frowned anyway. “I did not mean you must keep to your room day and night.”
She looked thoughtful as she tied and bit off the dangling thread on the garment she held. “We seem to be at constant odds with one another. I thought it best if I did not chance our meeting, William.”
Liam gritted his teeth. He knew Alianor used the name on purpose, hoping to keep a wall between them, like the high, safe ones embracing the abbey. He tossed the book on the bed and folded his arms.
“You call what is happening between us being at odds?”
“There is nothing between us.” With every bit of discipline she possessed, Alianor shrugged and kept her own turmoil from entering her voice. Alack, even to her own ears she sounded cold and unfeeling. She picked up the needle again. The garment she mended was ripped from her hands. It landed in a heap in a corner of the room.
“Don’t play the haughty court vixen with me!” Liam’s outburst startled her. “I’m not one of your courtly swains who’ll bow and grovel and endure such games.”
Alianor’s throat constricted. “True,” she whispered, with a touch of shame. “You are not.” The needle pricked her finger and she dropped it. She was glad for the distraction, painful though it was.
Liam saw her wince and something in him softened. He stepped closer, took her hand in his and examined it. “No blood, milady. Best leave sharp weapons to those who can safely wield them.”
She smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood. When she tried to withdraw her hand from his, though, his grip tightened. “What is it you fear?” he demanded.
She looked up at him with a plea. “There can be nothing between us.”
“There already is, Alianor, and you know it.”
“No.” She closed her eyes and sought excuse. “What of Rosy?”
“What about her? She’s Torin’s woman. She’s nothing to do with us.”
Surprised, she opened her eyes, but she saw the honesty in his own. She shook her head and summoned anger to save her. Desperately she said, “You are only my kidnapper. A thief in the night, and likely far worse.”
Liam yanked her to her feet to face him. He gripped her by the upper arms. “If I am the villain you claim, milady, mayhap I should take you, and be done with this cruel dance we have danced these past weeks.”
Curiously, she did not feel any fear at his threat; quite the opposite, in fact. A rush of dizzying emotion exhilarated her; secret desires long stifled were driven to the surface. Never before had she risked so much. Never before had she wanted so much. The realization startled her; her blood pounded in her ears as bit by bit her control melted. “Do so, and let’s be done with it.”
Mere inches away, Liam’s gaze hunted hers down, chasing, confronting, demanding. The muscle in his jaw flexed and he spoke through clenched teeth. “You play with fire, Alianor.”
“I care not.”
His nostrils flared. “Careful. You are about to take me to a place from whence I cannot easily return. The temptation is too great.” His voice was deep, thick and threaded with dark emotion, quivering, but not with fear. Raw and primitive passion. Desire pulsed between them like a tangible thing, and it seemed an inexplicable madness had overtaken them both. They squared off, neither able to break their gaze from the other, their rasping breaths loud.
Alianor knew Liam was on the edge. One slight push, and there would be no return. An inkling of fear crept forward, but the burning need inside her demanded relief. Fire, aye. She could not step back and save herself from these flames. No more than he could.
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” She heard herself whisper the challenge to him, as if in a dream. In a distant place she was aware she acted brazen beyond belief, but it thrilled her even more.
A hazy memory flicked across her mind. So many years, so many men. All the men she had refused, that is. She had never taken a lover, though there had been plenty of offers, both before and after Walter’s death. No one awakened even the tiniest hint of desire within her. Until this man. Now it exploded in a violent storm of heated passion.
It no longer mattered Liam was her enemy, a mercenary who’d stolen her from another man. De Lacy was a stranger she did not love. She had no misconceptions Liam loved her either; they were virtual strangers. Nor did she try to convince herself the Irishman might, in a noble gesture, offer to marry her — it was not even a possibility. It all mattered not.
She wanted him, and he wanted her. Clean and simple. There was something refreshing about facing facts, in facing her own needs too and sending consequences to the devil.
“Aye, Alianor,” he said. “’Tis what I want. You’ve known it from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”
She smiled at his husky reply. She did know. She rose on her tiptoes, her lips poised, nearly touching his. “What do you fear?” she whispered, and teased her mouth lightly across his. “Why do you hesitate?”
Liam’s grip tightened on her shoulders. Without another word he claimed her lips and kissed her, almost punishing, and the passion coaxed up moments before burst into an all-consuming flame.
Alianor felt his grip relaxing and his hands slipping down her upper arms, curling about her waist, pulling her close. She felt his hard, muscled torso pressing into her like a caress. H
er flesh burned through the woolen gown, itched to escape the confines of the cloth and the invisible tethers binding them both.
Liam slid the kiss from her mouth to her forehead. “Alianor,” he whispered, her name lingering like a caress on his lips. He sounded on the verge of weeping; so much did his voice tremble. “Say No, and I’ll go.”
“I cannot,” she said. “I will not.”
He stepped back to look at her, his pupils dilating with a threat and a promise. “Heavens preserve me from my silver witch,” he growled as he swept her up into his arms. He carried her back to his room, to the great bed and its mattress filled with soft goose ticking. Gently, he laid her down, and eased down beside her. Though the bed was big, they pressed together in the intimate confines of one corner; it seemed natural they should share space as well as passions.
Despite their burning need for one another, Liam took his time. At a leisurely pace he unlaced her bodice, freeing her breasts to his admiring gaze and the brush of his fingertips. Alianor trembled as his callused thumbs brushed her sensitive nipples, causing the pale rose peaks to blush deepest carmine and rise in hungry accord.
As he peeled the rest of her clothing from her, she saw Liam absorbing the view. She was devoured by his hungry, hot gaze; his skilled touch caused her to tremble beneath him. For the first time in her life, Alianor understood the true power of being a woman and reveled in the potency she inspired in Liam.
When he started removing his own clothing, she stopped him, shyly reciprocated and removed his simple tunic and breeches. Alianor explored the hardened ridges of muscle revealed beneath, her hands drifting with increasing courage over his masculine frame. She examined him boldly, lovingly; her senses reeled with the feel, the taste, the scent of him.
She did not ignore the seat of his masculinity, and as her confidence grew she took the fullness of his manhood into her hand. It was hot, pulsating, the most intimate part of him, and she wanted him deep inside her feminine counterpart.
Liam could not suppress a moan at her gentle caress, and his own hand slipped between her legs, softly stroking her woman’s mont until she gasped and trembled with need. Without words she invited him to become a part of her, to claim the prize she offered, to join her in a slow dance of perfect intimacy.
Alianor squirmed against the mattress. She was ready, willing, and rose in aching accord to meet his demands. Liam rolled on top of her, sampled her swollen lips with his own.
His mouth drank the agonizing sweetness of her. Her tongue melded with his, dueling, tasting of his in turn. Her hips rocked against his, nature’s rhythm claiming them both. She wrapped her legs about his waist to bring them even tighter together. But he was not ready to take her, not yet.
Slowly, he slid down the length of her, kissing, nibbling, sucking each tender, pointed breast until he ached from wanting her and Alianor almost wept for wanting him. Still, he continued his journey down to her gently rounded belly, lower yet to the succulent center of her femininity.
He delicately nuzzled the fluff of silver down framing the essence of Alianor’s womanhood. He found her sweet and damp, her pleasure pearl throbbing beneath his ardent attentions. His hands parted her rosy flesh in search of secret treasure, his tongue flicked out to taste of her, the honey she produced like the rarest of nectar. He feared he might not be unable to hold back his own yearnings as he pursued Alianor’s passions, coaxing her ever-closer to the precipice of desire, both of them dangling above the edge of no return.
Her rising gasps of pleasure told him he was right to hold back his own desire so he might build hers into a raging bonfire, as his ancestors might have danced around beneath a wild, high moon. He wanted to stir her passions so deeply she would never doubt she had been made love to, and never forget by whom.
Knowing how much she enjoyed his mastery made him harder. The fire in him grew to the point he feared he might go mad from it. When she clutched his head and dragged him up again by the hair, he willingly succumbed, pulling himself up and claiming her mouth again.
Silvery hair spread around her like a shimmering mantle, she surrendered to his passions, her own driving need as fierce. In his arms he held a silver flame, her blue blaze meeting his emerald fire. Liam’s desire met hers, plunging deep into her ready moistness and together they blended, burning into one harmony. He felt a brief resistance, but his passion-hazed mind was beyond thought or understanding.
Sheer want drove him deeper, harder, faster, until he felt his seed spill, the splintering of his soul into hers complete, twin flames merged as one.
Alianor cried with wonder, her own release coming in spasms shaking her to the core. Her climax urged Liam to match her thrusts, pushing her beyond the realm of need and forcing her to embrace the shattering pleasure of it.
WHEN ALIANOR AWOKE, SHE found herself alone. A single candle on the table near the doorway provided a dim light, enough for her to see by. Quickly she gathered up her clothing and dressed. She wondered how long she had been asleep, how long since Liam had gone.
Anyone could have come in and found her, sprawled naked upon his bed. She trembled at the thought, though there was none there to witness it except God and her own conscience.
What possessed her this night? The shame she should have felt earlier came too late. Was she a wanton? Had she coerced Liam into making love to her? Alianor frowned, dismayed. Despite the fact she was appalled by her actions, her traitorous body remembered Liam’s touch, his gentle caresses, and the ferocity of their mutual need. She ached to feel him beside her again.
She was a wanton indeed. She lusted after her kidnapper, demanded he take her. No, even worse, she dared him to. The emptiness of the room mocked her and she felt abandoned, vulnerable. Guilt tumbled in on top of it all, and she feared she would suffocate if she remained there a moment longer.
Alianor rose and picked up the candle holder, sheltering the wavering flame behind her cupped palm. She slipped from his room and cautiously navigated the narrow corridor. Instead of returning to her own room, she went downstairs to the outer door of the abbey. Alianor needed cool, fresh air to think. She opened the heavy portal and the iron hinges squealed in protest, the sound loud in the silent night.
To her surprise and dismay, Alianor found herself face to face with Niall entering the abbey. She almost collided with him in her haste. Alianor’s cheeks burned and the heat of remorse roared through her. He nodded at her, their gazes meeting.
Niall knew. Tears threatened and Alianor turned and dashed back down the hall; away from his knowing eyes. Her soft cry of mortification echoed off the walls. What he must think of her. What they must all think of her!
Chapter Twelve
NIALL WATCHED ALIANOR DISAPPEAR around a corner in the abbey. Her look of despair had stopped him in his tracks. Her sob reached him and his fists clenched. He’d known Liam all his life, and never had he experienced this burning anger towards one he loved like a son.
Earlier he wondered what was going on when he spotted Liam slipping furtively from the abbey, hair and clothing disheveled and a distracted look upon his face. Now, he knew the lad had ravished her. Alianor was unable to conceal her shame, her humiliation.
Knowing Liam had hurt the wee colleen spurred him into action. A deep, smoldering fury gripped him like a vise as he stalked in the direction Liam had gone.
Some distance ahead he spotted Liam entering the granary and he quickened his steps in pursuit. Curse his idiot nephew. By the time he caught up to him, he could have easily throttled the lad.
“Uilleam,” Niall bellowed, his voice ringing off the stone walls with ominous portent.
Liam appeared from behind sacks of grain stacked higher than a man. “What are you hollering about? You’ll wake the whole place.”
Niall staked his ground, hands on his hips. “Why did you do it? Tell me why,” he continued on in a furious rant, not waiting for Liam to answer. “Hell, I know why. Because you were intent on having your revenge. You ravished the
poor defenseless widow an’ like a skeevin’ Sassenach, you left her there to wake up alone. No doubt congratulating yourself on defiling de Lacy’s prize.”
Niall spat to one side, disgusted. “Why, I ought to …” He let the threat fall by the wayside, unfinished. There was something in Liam’s eyes, a flicker of emotion that gave him pause. For a moment, Niall saw his sister Caireen again, her light blue eyes pleading for understanding. He shook his head, banishing memories. His stance softened and Liam responded to his accusations.
“Niall, you needn’t be so damned angry with me. I didn’t force Alianor. ’Twas only …”
Liam trailed off. Niall folded his arms, waiting. “Only … what?”
A strange look crossed Liam’s face. Not bewilderment, but close. Niall couldn’t put a finger on it but he sensed Liam’s distress was genuine and so he asked in a softer vein, “What’s happened, lad?”
Liam looked at him, shaking his head. Niall had never seen him in so much agony.
“Never mind. No matter how Alianor felt, you’re right, I should have had more control. I never meant for it to happen. I swear it on St. Brigid’s bones.”
Niall’s anger was melting away. Liam was like a son to him, the son he’d never had. It was near impossible for him to remain angry with the lad for long.
“Aye, I know it’s hard for a man not to let his passions rule instead of his head,” he said. “But what will you do?”
“About Alianor? Nothing. Nothing’s changed.” Liam’s voice was remote, his expression grim. Whatever emotion had seized him before had vanished like mist burned off by the morning sun. “We wait for word from de Lacy, as planned.”
Liam was stonewalling. Niall sensed it. Everything had changed. How, he wasn’t entirely certain. He only knew he didn’t like it. A bit gruffly, he said, “You’d best go back an’ see the colleen is all right. I saw her in the abbey an’ she seemed upset, lad.”