by Tamara Leigh
His eyes narrowed on her, his jaw clenching as the silence stretched.
Aye, he was dangerous ... too dangerous.
Her resolve began to fray, causing her heart to pound furiously and her breathing to turn shallow. Then something taut and trembling snapped within her.
Nay, she could not do this thing! She took a step back, but the man lunged for her, closing a hand: around her arm and dragging her up the sloping ground to her feet.
A distressed sound tumbled past her lips as she threw out a hand to balance herself. It found the taut muscles of his abdomen, and though the feel of his warm flesh disconcerted her, she did not drop her hand.
"What are you?" he asked, the warmth of his breath reaching her from that great height.
What? The question confounded Graeye so much that she momentarily forgot her state of undress. Drawing a shaky breath, she dropped her head back and looked up at him.
"Perhaps you are a fairy turned woman, come to tempt me with your wiles," he mused.
She saw the softening in his face, the slight curve of the tight corners of his mouth, and felt his bunched muscles ease beneath her palm. The danger was past.
An inexplicable emotion rushed through her, taking with it the fear-and shame that had urged her to flight, and replacing it with something that had naught to do with the reason she had sought out this intimacy.
Her wakening senses were patient with her inexperience, gradually yielding to her their discoveries. Her palm tingled where it lay against his chest. He felt splendid. And there was a scent about him. Not perfumed, but of muscle and sinew. She inhaled it, her gaze sliding over him to his burgeoning manhood. She wondered at that—not understanding, yet somehow knowing. Reflexively, she stepped nearer.
When a hand's breadth was all that separated them, she impulsively slid her hand to his shoulder and trailed it down his arm, her fingers finding his own, still clutching the dagger. He did not resist when she uncurled his fingers, allowing the weapon to fall to the water.
In size Graeye felt like a child before this giant, but in all other ways—from the odd, insistent heat coiling up from her depths, to the carious longing to be held in those strong arms—she felt like a woman come of age.
How to explain it? she wondered. Swept by something she did not understand, she breached the last space between them, feeling the force of that strong, male member rise between them.
Was that her breathing? she wondered, hearing a shallow, raspy sound. What was this incredible song singing through her that made her pulse speed? She reached up and touched his face, threading her fingers through his crisp beard as she focused on the mouth hidden there.
Suddenly, she wanted very much to feel those lips upon hers. Daring to hope they would be unlike William's rumblings, or Michael's brotherly peck, she raised herself onto her toes. Still the man was too tall for her. Curling a hand around his neck, she urged his head lower.
Letting go his held breath, he encircled her waist with one arm and pressed her into the hard contours of his body.
A shiver of pleasure rippled up Graeye's spine, causing every part of her roused femininity to tremble. Without surrendering his stare, she met his lips and felt a jolt of light pierce her core as he proceeded to coax the breath from her. She gave it to him.
They were as two who had been without sustenance for a long time—touching, caressing, each searching the other with wild abandonment.
Not until his hand slid up from her breast and slipped through her hair did the magic fall away, cruelly pulling her back to the present.
Gasping, she jerked her head back and lifted a hand to smooth her hair, relieved to find the mark had not come uncovered.
The man straightened, a frown creasing his brow as he reached again to brush her hair aside.
Again she resisted. Raising her hands before her to ward off further exploration, she locked her gaze with his and shook her head.
Though his frown deepened, he accepted her entreaty with a shrug. He contented himself instead with running his fingers through the length of hair that swept her hips; then he molded the warm, fluid lines of her to him and lowered his mouth back to hers.
Graeye accepted the caress that slid over her lips and then inside, responding as he had shown her only minutes earlier. Though she was inexperienced in such things, she took the new and wondrous discovery to heart and soon forgot the awkwardness driving her responses.
A sound, animal-like, erupted from her as his hands slid over the curve of her buttocks and inward to her woman's secret, leaving trails of flame in their wake. Now she knew ... and wanted more.
Heat rising from the forbidden regions of her body, she instinctively began to move against him, her fingers tracing the contours of his body. Quickly, she learned the hard feel of the muscles bunched beneath his skin, and unconsciously committed all to memory.
Aye, here were the desires too long suppressed demanding a release from their bonds. Though she sinned, she could not stop herself.
Through a haze of warring sensations, Graeye realized she was being lifted, her thighs settled about the man's waist. She clung to him, shivering when his lips trailed down her face and lingered at the sensitive place between neck and shoulder.
A sudden, sharp sensation drove up into her, turning her pleasure to pain. Gone was the promise of heaven and the spreading of wings that longed to fly. Here was the pain of woman the nuns had warned of.
"By my troth!" the man exclaimed.
His words did not register in Graeye's protesting mind. Seeking escape, she arched back and thrust her hands to his chest. The tearing pain did not ease, it only burned more. Tears gathering in her eyes, she closed her lids against the dark.
Why would he want to hurt her? she wondered as she attempted to twist out of his hold.
With little effort he clasped her wrists in one hand and pulled her back to him, holding her firmly against his chest and affording her no chance of escape. Then he began to murmur soothing words into her ear.
Slowly, the burning flame up Graeye's center faded and she found herself relaxing, her spine softening until she became slack in his arms. It crossed her mind that if this was what mating was like, it was a wonder women subjected themselves to it at all.
Had he been in as much pain as she? she pondered, then thought better of it. Nay, he would certainly have withdrawn. He had not, and it seemed he had no intention of doing so.
When she felt his renewed movements and the pain, though less intense, returned, she resumed her struggles. Still he did not release her, apparently determined to make her suffer.
"Shh," he breathed, pressing kisses to her moist face. " Twill not hurt long. There is pleasure at the end of it."
She wanted to believe him, but he offered no evidence that he spoke the truth. As his thrusts deepened, she continued to squirm, thinking she might find a way down from the discomfort this brutal, giant was causing her.
Intent on escape, she did not notice when the pain subsided altogether. She only became aware of the change when the pleasure he had promised arrived—a sweet, drawing ache that grew to a breath-stealing sensation. Full of wonder, she tried to match Iris movements, her attempts awkward yet satisfying.
How was it something so painful had turned enjoyable in so short a time?
Finally, finding the elusive rhythm he set, Graeye joined him, not quite knowing what to expect, but certain there was something beyond this ... that it was not far off. It was building, lifting her ever higher to soar on those gilded wings she aspired to. It bid her find completion.
He gripped her tighter, his large hands molding them into one as his rhythm quickened. Then, as if from afar, she heard his shout and felt his body shudder violently as he gave his liquid heat to her.
And she was plummeting, her own moment of satiation stolen from her.
The man's chest rose and fell heavily, his breath like a wind through her hair as the calm that followed was broken by the tremors of his subsiding p
assion. Knowing she had missed something important, Graeye leaned away, frowning her question, but he pulled her back to him and pressed her face into the curve of his neck.
"Forgive me," he said. "It has been ... a long time."
Confused, she settled her cheek to his damp skin, warming to the feel of the strong, erratic beat of blood coursing through his veins.
He had certainly exerted himself, she acknowledged. Impulsively, she touched her lips, then the tip of her tongue, to his skin. She liked the taste of him, and unashamedly ventured another.
She did not realize he had moved until he lowered her to the bank, himself atop her. Her back pressed to the moist ground, she watched as he raised himself above her to search her shadowed face.
Immediately, her hand went to the hair covering the mark. To her relief she found it still in place.
The man's raised brows asked the question before his words. "You are not going to tell me who you are?" he said in those deep, resonant tones she found pleasing.
Denying him her voice again, she shook her head. Then, her eyes lighting, she touched a finger to his chest and cocked her head questioningly.
An unexpected lopsided grin transformed his face into one of humor. With a bob of his eyebrows, he shook his head.
'Tis for the better, Graeye assured herself after a bout of disappointment. For the first time since she had set herself this course, she reminded herself of her objective. It would be best if she did not know his identity, for she would never see him again. Still, such cool logic did not stop her from wishing it could be otherwise.
She did not flinch when he cupped her chin in his palm, his thumb drawing lazy circles over her jaw and twice dipping inward to brush her parted lips. Turning her head, she laid her lips to his palm.
"You are real?" he asked. "Or are you a spirit come to distract me from my labors?"
She smiled, offering naught but a lazy shrug.
Mild irritation at her continued obstinance had his brows drawing together, but he refrained from further coaxing.
"You are beautiful, little one," he said, his voice deepening as he lowered himself to her and tucked her head beneath his chin.
Beautiful? Truly? She recalled the image she had caught in the pool earlier. Aye, she was not unbecoming, but to be told she was beautiful ...
It warmed her to know he desired her, and she felt a sudden sadness this could not last—that after tonight she would never see him again. Deciding to spend her last minutes cherishing him, she searched out his body again, feathering her fingers over him and thrilling when she felt him tremble at her touch.
Were it possible, she thought she could stay with him forever. Though she was unfamiliar with the notion of love beyond what she had felt for her mother, there was something here she desperately wanted to hold to.
A noise from the wooded area broke through her dreamy consciousness. Immediately, the man raised his head. A moment later his body followed. Moving so swiftly Graeye momentarily lost sight of him, he retrieved his sword.
She wrenched herself from her stupor and stumbled to her feet There was no cover for her, though, and the person moving through the woods was making good speed. He would be upon them any moment. Frantic, she stepped back into the water.
"Wait," the man called.
Graeye spared him only a glance, then waded farther out. She simply could not be discovered, especially if the person approaching was one of her father's men—or the king's—come to battle the trespasser. There would be time aplenty to feel the old man's wrath, but now she had to escape.
Looking one last time over her shoulder at the man who had become her lover, she was surprised to find him following. Lunging forward, he caught hold of her and pulled her back to him.
She tried to push him away, but he held fast. Desperate, she met his gaze and shook her head, entreating him to release her.
"My lord," a voice called from the trees.
She felt the man's tension dissolve.
" Tis but my squire," he explained in that wonderfully thrumming voice. "You need not fear."
Finding no comfort in his words, she again tried to pull free. It was to no avail, for he had no intention of releasing her.
"Joseph," he called, "come no nearer."
The crackling of leaves ceased immediately, and a short-lived quiet fell over the wood. "But, my lord—"
"Remain where you are!" the man commanded, then looked back at Graeye. "Stay with me," he murmured. "I have yet to give you what you gave me."
It was all she could do not to shout at him and demand her release, but she kept her lips sealed and shook her head.
He searched her face a long moment, then, unexpectedly, recaptured her lips with an urgency that vied with his earlier possession of her.
In spite of her body's yearnings, Graeye was too fearful to respond, remaining still beneath his expert ministrations.
When he finally lifted his head, he wore a puzzled expression. "I will release you that you might seek cover," he said, "provided you vow to stay near until I have finished with my man."
Surprised at his stipulation, Graeye paused before setting herself to a course she prayed God would forgive her for. She placed one hand over her rapidly beating heart and nodded, knowing all the while it was a vow she could not keep. She saw doubt in his eyes, but then his hands fell from her.
Fearful that he might change his mind, she wasted no time in crossing the pool to the opposite side. Without a backward glance she boosted herself from the water and hurried to where she had left her clothes. She snatched them up and sprinted for the shelter of trees. There, immersed in the tall shadows, she peered back at the pool and saw that the man stood unmoving.
She would have donned her clothes then, but she had the most peculiar feeling he was every bit as aware of her location as she was of his. Unmindful of the chill that raised the fine hairs along her arms, she turned and ran deeper into the woods, her vow to the man shredded upon the breeze stirring the leaves.
***
Leading his destrier into the clearing where a temporary camp had been erected for the night, Baron Gilbert Balmaine headed directly for the large glowing fire at its center. There the messenger he sent ahead awaited him.
Immediately, Gilbert's squire, Joseph, appeared at his side and began a recounting of the messenger's call upon the castle.
Joseph was not the person Gilbert wanted to hear from. Still irritated that the woman had run off, he threw his hand into the air, bringing an immediate halt to his squire's ramblings. Tossing the stallion's reins to the boy, he curtly instructed, "See he is properly fed and watered."
"Aye, my lord, 'twill be done," Joseph assured him, poorly disguising his frustration at his lord's strange mood. Though he did not understand what had brought it on, the baron's displeasure had been immediately evident when Joseph had interrupted his bathing a short while ago.
" 'Tis an undine I have seen," the baron had muttered, referring to those mythical water spirits who it was said could earn a soul by marrying a mortal and bearing his child.
Joseph had not understood then, and he did not understand now. Shrugging, he turned and led the destrier to where the others had been penned for the night.
Gilbert drew a hand through his damp hair, then began kneading the muscles at the back of his neck as he advanced upon the group of men gathered around the fire. The news he awaited was important, yet it seemed less so since his encounter at the bathing pool. The barely controlled anger beneath his calm surface quickened.
She had deceived him. She of the witching mouth and beguiling curves had dismissed her vow to him and disappeared as simply as she had appeared. Damnation, if she was real, he would find her. If not ...
Ridiculous! Of soft flesh and warm blood she had been. She was no wraith, but a woman.
"I will have me a leman on the morrow," he muttered as a knight disengaged himself from the others and came forward.
"My lord." Sir Lancelyn respectfully in
clined his head. "I bring news from the king's man, Sir Royce."
Setting his feet apart, Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest. "And?"
"All is secure. There will be no resistance. On the morrow all of Medland will be given over to you."
Gilbert considered the tidings, then nodded his approval. "What of the old man?"
The knight shrugged. "Naturally, he would fight you for Medland, but he is without recourse. Nearly all his men have deserted his cause. I am told his vassals are eager to pledge themselves to you."
This pleased Gilbert. He had recently set himself the task of ridding the world of all Charwycks. Edward was the last one. With a grunt of discomfort he shifted his weight off his aching right leg. "Then Charwyck will not give me his oath of fealty?" he asked, his sarcasm just below the surface.
"Not likely, my lord."
Shrugging his indifference, though a comer of his mouth turned up, Gilbert began grinding the heel of his palm into his aching thigh. "Good."
The vassal stepped nearer, urgency etched in the grooves and furrows around his mouth and eyes. "My lord, methinks it best you expel this Charwyck from Medland at the first opportunity. He is certain to prove a difficulty."
Gilbert stilled, his brows arching high. This time he smiled fully. "He is of the same bent as Philip?"
"This I do not know, but Sir Royce believes him mad. He raves incessantly with threats against both you and your sister."
A fire leaped to Gilbert's eyes. "He has been detained?"
"Aye, he was." Lancelyn frowned before he continued. "However, this morn Sir Royce allowed him his freedom. Although he does not think the old man much of a threat, he warns he is not to be trusted."
Gilbert shook his head. "He is old and now without an heir. What can he gain from resisting? Even had King Henry not given Medland into my care, 'twould likely return to the crown upon Charwyck's death."
Lancelyn's face lit.
Catching sight of the man's expression, Gilbert raised a questioning brow. "So ... tell me."
" 'Tis not as thought," Sir Lancelyn said in a rash. "It seems the old man does have another heir—or nearly so."