by Nicole Locke
He released the fabric; his hand hovered above her belly. She felt the warmth of his hand, tangible to her bared skin, and she stretched a leg.
A predatory gleam returned to his eye. ‘Do you ache for me?’
His eyes were like a riptide pulling her down with him. Her stomach flipped at the sensuous curve of his lips, the flush of his cheeks. She pulled back her leg, lost her ability to breathe.
He watched every move. ‘Aye, you do,’ he said, satisfaction entering his voice. ‘So do I. Ache. And I...should not touch you.’ He shifted. ‘Move your legs for me.’
She swallowed and wetted her suddenly dry lips, but she moved her ankles apart.
‘Wider, Gaira, or I’ll need to touch you.’ A ghost of a smile glided over his eyes. ‘Where is your bravery?’
She moved her ankles a bit more, now feeling the breeze tease her thighs and flow under her knees. Vulnerable, she stopped moving. He was fully clothed; her chemise barely covered her. He had moved the chemise so far up she’d be bare to him if she moved any more. No one had ever seen her this way.
Robert’s brow furrowed, his gaze questioning her. How could she tell him that she wanted to, but...?
The sudden heat and possession of his calloused hands on her inner thighs shocked her. She gasped. He hissed a word she couldn’t hear.
Roughly, desperately, he shoved her legs apart and moved between her legs. As quickly as he touched her, he released her.
‘You won’t deny me this now, Gaira.’ Breath uneven, he settled between her legs. ‘I can’t touch you and I need you to help me. Help me while I’m pulled between my want and your need.’ His gaze changed, questioned. ‘And you do still need, aye?’
He asked for her permission. Even as his body shuddered and toiled with need, he asked for permission. He already had it. ‘Aye, I need,’ she answered. But she felt the loss of the roughness of his hands and their purpose. His hands no longer touched her, but his legs pressed against her legs, the fine wool of his trousers now a sensuous friction against the tender insides of her thighs. ‘Doona stop.’
He exhaled. ‘I’ll open you for me now.’ Watching her reactions, he shifted and pressed his legs more. ‘But you mustn’t touch me—mustn’t move your body, any part, unless I tell you to.’ Slowly parting her legs, he moved his knees again. ‘Do you understand?’
Did she? She couldn’t think; she only felt everything. Further and further he pressed until she was laid bare before him, her chemise now bunched tightly around her waist. Utterly vulnerable, but she didn’t feel that way as Robert gazed at her. His head bowed, she could not see the emotion in his eyes or know if she pleased him, but he told her in other ways. His hands trembled at his sides; his fingers clenched and released. He shuddered once, twice, his hands moved closer to her. She wanted them closer still.
‘Aye,’ she finally answered. ‘I understand.’
No longer vulnerable; there was only Robert. The night, the air, the way the shawl and cool grass felt beneath her no longer existed. Her need increased and she still waited.
‘I fear I will not survive your heat,’ he said.
Pressing his hands beside her arms, Robert leaned forward. Gaze intent with hers, he slowly lowered himself, but again he was touching and not touching; the heat from his body the only caress. He leaned again until his chest brushed hers. The faint caress tightened her breasts, made her nipples ache. He lowered his head just enough until his lips grazed against hers. The kiss was slow, lingering. His tongue, tracing, coaxing a response. When she gave it, when her lips softened beneath his, when her lips opened to deepen the kiss, to invite a response from him, he lifted his body away.
She protested as her breasts felt the immediate chill of the air.
He half groaned, half laughed. His eyes went to her face, to her breasts. Her nipples were visible through the thin material. She wanted more than his gaze on them.
‘Please.’ Begging, she reached to pull him down, to force him to kiss her, to touch her.
He quickly pulled away. Confused, wanting, desperate, she lowered her arms.
‘You cannot touch me, Gaira,’ he said again. ‘I could not control... And you need my control, even if you do not realise.’ He shook his head. ‘But I think I can touch you.’
She listened and sunk her fingers into the dirt.
He waited until she stilled. ‘I will touch, but not in the way...’ He clenched his eyes and opened them, searing her with his need. ‘I’m stretched till I’m about to break. I can’t have what I want, but I will have some part of your need. I’m damned, but I have to know. Are you wet for me?’
His hands returned to her legs, but they were not rough now. His fingertips, whisper-soft, trailed from her knees to the very centre of her. They stilled until one finger glided through her slickness, parting her.
She couldn’t stop the rise of her hips nor the shortness of her breath.
‘Aye, you’re wet, wanting me to fill you.’ He immediately removed his finger and gave a harsh laugh. ‘God, you’ve weakened me, but I will ease your emptiness.’
‘How?’ she whispered. Her body now only felt the cool breeze where his fingers had been. She needed his hands, his body, his touch. Her body clamoured for it.
‘There is a way.’ Staying between her legs, he shifted his body again. He moved so that he touched her not at all. She wanted to protest, but she didn’t get the chance. Not when his lips kissed just where his finger had been. Hot pressure, and she gasped, ‘Robert!’ Moving, shifting, the shawl bunching beneath her, she tried to escape.
But he wouldn’t let her.
His hands returned, lifted her legs to give him more access; his tongue pressing intently. She couldn’t do anything, but dig her fingers deeper into the dirt as she was pulled into his rip tide. He kissed, licked, caressed with his tongue. His hands released her as she bent her knees, raised herself to him. Compelled to drown in heat, want, desire.
‘Robert, please, I cannot—’ She exhaled sharply, and jolted as her body buoyed up then crashed to the surface in a thousand pieces.
When she fell back to the cool earth, Robert lay next to her.
She felt as if she was floating in a gentle stream when she opened her eyes.
Robert did not touch her, did not look at her. Breathing harshly, his body was rigid, locked in a prison he had created.
She moved on to her side. He had given her pleasure, but he had rejected his own. She didn’t understand.
‘Is it this journey? The fact I’m Scottish? Is it me?’
He looked at her. Pain clashed with anger in his eyes. ‘Aye, it’s you. It’s me. It’s this whole damn mess we’re in. I want you. Want you like I’ve wanted no other woman in my life, but I can’t give you that want. Because that’s all it would be. All it could ever be. I’m barely a man.’
A dull flush crept up her neck and she was glad it was dark. She hadn’t thought his rejection was for a physical reason. He was so physically fit, but he did have those scars along his face, neck and arms. Maybe he had hidden injuries as well.
‘Were you hurt?’ She bit her lip. She didn’t know how to finish. Guilt over what she might have put him through was quickly taking away her contentedness. She waved her hand towards the lower half of him. ‘In a battle?’
He rubbed his eyes. ‘Hurt, aye. But not in the way you think.’
She didn’t know what to think. He wanted her. Even if he hadn’t said it, she would know. She also knew she wanted him. But if he wasn’t hurt, was actually capable of being with her, why wasn’t he?
She knew so little about him. What she did know was contradictory. Was he an evil right-hand man to King Edward? Or a man filled with wonder and trepidation by the attention from a five-year-old boy?
He wasn’t giving her any clues, but she wanted to know. She was determ
ined to know something of him at least.
She briefly touched the side of his face. His skin was still damp with sweat, but it felt cooler to her now. He did not pull away from her, but he didn’t acknowledge her, either.
The white scars scattered across his cheek and down his neck. There were some against his shoulders and many she could see beneath the hairs on his arms. She laid her hand back at her side.
‘How did you get these scars?’ she asked.
His face instantly froze. His brown eyes, already cooling, became like ice. An invisible barrier so suddenly erected between them she felt it would have sliced her arm in two if she was still touching him.
Chapter Twenty
He turned his head away and stared at the night sky. ‘So you’ve returned to picking at my soul?’
His taunt hurt. But she wasn’t giving up. She knew it wouldn’t be easy to make the river bend. With her fingertips, she touched the side of his face covered by scars. He flinched, but she kept her hand on him.
‘What happened to you here?’ she persisted.
He looked at her. His hair had fallen back, the waves curling around his ears. Her fingers continued to trace the outline of his face, his cheekbones and the square of his jaw.
He gently grasped her fingers and pulled them towards his chest, laying the flat of her palm against his heart.
‘What happened between us doesn’t change anything.’
She tried to keep her voice level, but she could not stop the tremor in her hand. ‘I did not think it would,’ she lied.
‘I only wanted to help you. I will be leaving in the morning.’
She felt her heart crumbling into tiny fragments. The river had won. She’d given him her heart and her body. She thought she could understand he didn’t share his body with her. But now he wouldn’t even share with her how he got some ruddy scars. It hurt. She refused for him to see how much.
She tried to remove her hand, but he held it firm against him. Lying as she was, she could not move away from him. Her only chance was to go over him to get away.
Robert anticipated her move and he lifted his own leg over hers to anchor her down. He felt Gaira squirm, but he knew he held her firm to his side. It was a small victory and did little to ease the remorse he felt by hurting her. He never meant to hurt her. He was just a man.
No. It was more than that. She was more than that. He would have been able to resist her otherwise. Resist. He was lying here in agony. He could feel every inch of her body.
He had to stop thinking of her body.
‘My mother was a young villager in Dent and my father was a nobleman passing through,’ he said. He didn’t know what possessed him to tell of his childhood. He had never told anyone. Maybe it was because she was trying to leave and he didn’t want her to.
‘I was told by the village healer, who raised me, that he had forced her. I didn’t doubt that. My mother was not well—her mind had been broken since she was a child. She was more a child than a mother. I don’t know what happened to her.’
Gaira stopped squirming and eased some of her weight on to his body. He forced himself not to pull her closer. ‘I was more fortunate than other bastards and knew the name of my father,’ he continued. ‘When Edward’s court travelled nearby, I sneaked in.’
‘How old were you?’ she asked.
His heart eased at her curiosity. Perhaps if he revealed some of his past, she would not be so angry with him. No, he was fooling himself. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was all his heart was prepared to tell her. He wasn’t telling her how he got the scars.
‘Young, maybe ten or eleven. In truth, I don’t know how old I am.’ He shrugged. ‘When I got to court, it was easy to find my father. I demanded a sword and training. He never questioned I was his son. I didn’t either, once I saw him. We looked too much alike.’
‘But you were not the same,’ she said, her voice holding the merest hint of a question.
He curtly shook his head. ‘I’ll never know.’
‘He did not take you in?’ she asked incredulously, her voice rising. ‘He did not train you? How could he! I hope you gave him a kick in the shins or at the very least—’
He pressed his fingers against her lips. It was just like Gaira to champion a child long grown up. ‘He did take me in. Said it was his blood giving me courage to travel to court and I could hardly be faulted for my blood.’
She frowned and bit her inner lip. He felt the slight movement of her lips and the sensation meandered down his arm and into his body. He quickly removed his fingers.
‘Was he standing alone when you demanded your rights as his child?’ she asked.
He glanced at her, surprised she knew. ‘He wasn’t. There were others around him. I could tell from their expressions they didn’t expect him to do it. But when he bragged about our shared blood, they laughed and exchanged knowing glances.’
He breathed in deep, held it. He remembered that day well. ‘I should have hated him, but I couldn’t. I didn’t even know him to have any emotion. I think he kept me as an amusement. But I trained, hard. I didn’t want to be an amusement for long. Not at his expense, not at anyone’s expense.’
Gaira eased more on to him and he felt the full weight of her luscious body, the draping of her legs against his. His blood burned at the contact. He needed to finish his tale.
‘My drive was noticed by King Edward and he took me to his training lists. I never looked back to my father or talked to him since. He had served his purpose, just as my mother had served his. I would see him occasionally, but he was not a favourite of court and I never encouraged otherwise.’
‘Does he live?’
‘I haven’t thought of it.’ He hadn’t, not for many years. What he was thinking of was how well matched Gaira’s body was to his own. How brave and stubborn her heart was. And how he could never have her.
‘We should return to camp,’ he said.
* * *
He heard the slight cry of distress before he heard the dull thump of a sound he knew. Fists against flesh.
He sprang up. It was still early morning and he had probably only been asleep for a few hours. Gaira, Alec and Maisie were nowhere in sight. Flora and Creighton, however, were still in the spot where they had fallen asleep. But they were not asleep now.
Creighton was half-sitting and his fists were swinging. Flora was alternately covering her head with her arms or trying to grab her brother’s arms. She was whispering frantically.
He ran over, grabbed Flora around the middle and dragged her away from Creighton.
‘Nae!’ she cried. ‘He needs me!’
Reaching for her brother, she twisted against him.
‘Not like that he doesn’t.’ He roughly set her away from her brother. She didn’t like it, but he didn’t care. Gaira wasn’t here to intervene.
‘You cannot let him hit you!’
Flora’s eyes got huge and big dollops of tears welled. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out and Flora started crying in earnest. He splayed his hands out in front of him. ‘Stay here.’
He rushed back to Creighton. The boy’s arms were no longer swinging, but he was still locked inside his nightmare. His hands were clenched, his body rigid.
Robert put his hand against his hot brow. The boy woke with a violent shake.
Rage flashed out of the boy’s blue eyes. In all his years on the battlefield, Robert had never seen such absolute hatred. Just as quickly, however, the rage rolled into awareness and terror. Robert brushed his hand against Creighton’s forehead and over the sweat-soaked hair.
Creighton pushed his hand away and scrambled to sit. His eyes found Flora where Robert had set her. Her hair was tangled, her thick dress scrunched and already large red welts appeared across her cheeks.
Creighton shot him a look and he looked again at Flora. His eyes were wide now. Scared. Worried.
Flora was trying to smile, but her bottom lip bled and she quickly sucked it in to stop the blood from dripping.
Creighton let out a cry. It was half anger and half pain. But it wasn’t words.
Creighton knew he had hurt his sister, but Robert had had enough. ‘You need to stop your silence! Now. You’ve hurt her badly—you’ve hurt Gaira badly. It must stop.’
Creighton scrambled and stood; his expression changed to remorse, to anguish.
Robert couldn’t stay angry with the boy, but repairs had to be made. ‘Go to the stream and get some cool water for your sister.’
Creighton didn’t move and he didn’t take his eyes off his sister.
He addressed Flora. ‘He can hear me, aye?’
Flora nodded, but she kept her eyes on her brother. ‘He can hear.’ She sucked in her lip again. ‘And he’ll go if I ask him.’
Creighton let out a sharp sound and ran towards the direction of the stream.
Robert let out a breath. He didn’t know whether to run after Creighton or help Flora. He had no experience with children. He didn’t know how to talk to them even in the most peaceful of times. He certainly didn’t know how to talk to a nine-year-old boy who suffered from the type of anguish he’d only seen in grown men.
And he didn’t know how to get him to talk. Some of his men had been battle-shocked, but they were only silent a day, maybe two. It had never extended to weeks. The boy was purposefully staying mute and he had no idea why. Gaira had never told him and perhaps she didn’t know, either.
But he knew Flora understood something. She had taken her brother’s beating and said he needed her.
She was standing a bit behind him and staring towards the stream where her brother had run.
‘Why doesn’t he talk?’ he asked.
‘He won’t tell you,’ Flora said. Her voice was so soft, he almost didn’t hear her. ‘And...I doona think he’s returning.’ She glanced at him and a speculative light entered her eyes.