by K. A. M'Lady
Gabriella gasped as he cupped her, his lips quickly taking hers to take in her moan of pleasure as he parted her folds and slid one finger into the warm essence of her. He continued to kiss her senseless, his finger moving to the rhythm. He slid a second finger in and she thought she had died from the sheer pleasure coursing through her.
“Cherie, so hot and wet for me,” he whispered to her lips before moving back to take her breast into the hot core of his mouth.
He quickened the pace his fingers had set, suckling her deeply into his mouth, bringing her to the edge. The edge she knew of but until now had never experienced. She was imploding from the inside out.
“Damon,” she whispered, the edge of heaven just around the bend. She arched into him, her hips meeting the rhythm his lips and fingers had set.
“Come for me, Cherie, heaven is waiting,” he said, adding his thumb to the sensitive spot above. She was new to this, Damon knew, and he wanted her to feel and enjoy the experience before claiming her as his own, branding her and sending her to the next realm of heaven.
She clutched his hair tightly, her breath coming in ragged pants. “Damon, oh God, oh God,” she chanted, her head tossing from side to side until she was exploding into a million pieces.
Damon watched the glow of her eyes when she slowly opened them. She was beauty incarnate, and before the dawn, he would claim her in every way. He laid on his side, nuzzling her neck, her scent filling his senses, making him harder than he thought a man could ever possibly be.
“I must have you Gabriella,” he whispered, his hand skimming her side beneath her dress. “But I think we will need a few less clothes,” he said, a wry smile upon his lips, burning hunger in his eyes.
He helped her up, turned her to stand before him, her breasts bared for his perusal. His dark eyes sent chills through her body. She wasn’t embarrassed as he spilled her bare breasts into hands, wasn’t embarrassed as he brought his lips to her, suckling each one in turn as he gathered the dress in his hands and tore it down the center, shedding it from her body.
Hot flaming desire sent her blood boiling. He pulled her closer, lifted one leg to the edge of the bed, opening her to him. “How your body weeps for me,” he said, parting her folds and touching his tongue to her soft core.
Gabriella thought she would truly die as he kissed her core. Her back arched as her orgasm soared. She grabbed handfuls of his hair to keep from falling into a ravine of pure bliss. Each lave brought her closer and closer until she exploded into heaven, her body soulless as it wept and she screamed out his name.
Damon turned her, leaning her back onto the bed, her body silhouetted in the fire light. Slowly he removed his tunic, each cord of muscle rippled in the light as Gabriella gazed across the expanse of his large chest. His tight, muscular belly made her fingers tingle with anticipation. He leaned over her, her heart pounding in anticipation. As his lips met hers, a loud banging began in her ears. The sound was out of sync with her racing heart.
Damon reluctantly pulled himself from Gabriella, swearing, “Sweet Jesu, if it is that damn mother hen of yours, I swear I will wring her bloody neck myself.” Rising, he flipped the fur blankets over Gabriella’s naked form and stalked towards the door, ripping it open and bellowing, “What?”
Tanak stood at the door, respectfully not looking past Damon, but direct into his eyes. “The village burns, my friend,” he said, his tone matter of fact and not taking umbrage at Damon’s aggravation. “It is spreading towards the crop line and the forest edge.”
“Damn,” Damon swore. “Gather the men, wake the villagers inside the keep, set up bucket lines and put together a search party. The bastards must still be close,” he said vehemently.
Tanak nodded and turned away.
Damon turned back to Gabriella. He picked his shirt up from the floor and pulled it over his head. “Do not leave that bed until I return for you,” he warned.
His eyes smoldered with leashed desire, and other things she could not read. It was an order, one she knew she had better follow. Gabriella sighed.
The door slammed closed.
Chapter Nineteen
Gabriella gathered the fur blanket around her and ran towards the small window overlooking the inner bailey. She could see the horses stamping and snorting in the evening light, their breath huffing in the cool autumn air. Damon was somewhere in the crowd of men bellowing orders and she wondered again for the thousandth time what the hell had happened to her. What have I gotten myself into? She looked out in awe over the sea of people gathering together to fight against this latest horror.
She pulled the fur tighter around her, Damon’s scent still clinging to it. His taste still lingering upon her lips. Her stomach fluttered, and she wondered if it was from the remembered delights his knowing fingers and lips had brought, or worry over what he would find at his village.
Damon ordered his men and tenants to gather buckets, pitchforks and other items. He stood beside his horse, foot in stirrup, hands upon pommel, and looked up to the east wing of the keep. Cursing, he mounted Fallon and guided him towards the gates.
Gabriella knew he had seen her, and stepped back from the window. Her pulse raced as she worried her lower lip. She wondered what he was thinking, if he would blame her for this mishap. She worried over the nameless people of the village, who at this time could be suffering and dying. She knew these people may not like Damon as their lord, but she knew he would protect them at all costs. Her thoughts tumbled as she watched the riders exit the bailey and thunder across the bridge, the portcullis slamming behind them.
How the hell do you know that he’ll protect them, Gabriella? You’ve just met the man. Granted, he may have saved your life, and provided you with the care to see you well. Despite the fact that he has made you feel like you’ve been driven over by a truck full of desire, how do you really know? What if he does blame you for this tragic event? What then?
That made too much sense. If the tables were turned, she would probably blame him, too. Maybe I should get the hell out of here while the getting’s good. “Good idea, but how? There are still guards here at the keep, and the gates are closed.”
She looked around the room. The fire was still a glow of warmth, the bed comforting and calling out to her tired body. “No! You will not do this, Gabriella,” she said to the empty room. “You will get dressed and get out of Dodge while the opportunity is good. You will find a way out of this room and out of this keep. And when the gates open, even if you have to crawl on your belly and slink away, you will get out of here.”
She ran over to the armoire, hoping that her clothes would be in it. But hope died a tragic death when the only thing she found was a thin nightgown, like the ones she’d been in since her arrival. “Damn it,” she cursed.
It was a toss-up between the nightgown and the dress she had worn earlier that evening. She decided to put on both just in case she needed the extra warmth. The dress didn’t seem to cover as much as it had before Damon had torn it from her.
She decided it didn’t matter as long as it covered the majority of her. She ripped an edge of hem from the dress to tie it around her like a robe. She pulled on the little slippers she had worn to dinner and ran to the door.
“It’s locked,” she yelled indignantly. “Damn him for locking me in.” There’s gratitude for you! So much for trusting me, she added with an annoyed huff. I’m obviously good enough to seduce, but not good enough to trust. She kicked the door for good measure, then crossed her arms, glaring at it as if it would unlock itself by her angry will alone. “Damn you, Damon DeGracey!” she yelled, plopping down onto the bed and glaring.
* * * * * *
Damon felt the fine hairs at the back of his neck rise up as though someone had walked on his grave. Or the witch I’ve tucked into my tower is spewing curses. Shaking away the unnerving feeling as he and his men rode from the inner bailey, the first breath of smoke carried on the breeze by the sea gulls wings stirring his anger.
The people within the castle proper were already on their way towards the village. The scent of burning peat filling the sky as black whirls of smoke blended with the night. Screams could be heard as they rode into the village. Women and children were running around, trying to gather water from the well to throw upon the flames.
Damon ordered half of his men to get water to the field line to stop the flames from spreading to the crops. As wagons of people from the castle arrived and made their lines from the well to the homes, he directed the remaining men to the forest. They would search till dawn if necessary to find who had started this. If any rebels were found, they’d have a nice long stay in his dungeon.
The forest was a thick mass of trees and underbrush. Even the moonlight could not penetrate the darkness. Damon, Tanak and Sedrick moved in a line ten men apart so not to lose any men in the darkness. With his men loosely spaced in a line, they’d be able to hear the call if any rebels were to be stirred up from a burrow like a hidden rabbit.
They picked their way through the foliage, searching for tracks of horse or man. They checked every bent or broken limb, every trampled hedge. They were two hours deep within the forest before Damon called a halt to the search.
“These rebels are good,” Tanak commented to Damon. They sat and watched the last of the flames sputter out beneath the waterlogged and blackened remnants of the villagers’ homes.
“Aye,” Damon agreed grudgingly. “They had not the time needed for slaughter, but the people have lost much. We were lucky this time. Either our enemy is growing bold with striking so close, or they hide among us.”
“Aye, it would seem likely so, my friend,” Tanak agreed.
“Mayhap ‘tis time we question our guest,” Damon stated, his voice unemotional and flat. “‘Tis time she provide us some answers, or the dungeon can be her lot. I want Sir Richard advised ‘tis time to return to our course and plan our next search.”
“Aye,” Tanak agreed. “I’ll send a runner with your orders.”
Damon nodded, and both turned their horses homeward. He had already given orders for the remaining villagers to be sent to the keep. It would be crowded within its walls, but the people would be safe from any more treachery. Damon’s brow furrowed as his ire peaked again. He wondered again if his flame haired witch had brought this down upon them. This time, he would find out before the rise of the day’s new sun.
* * * * * *
Gabriella paced the room for what seemed like forever. The window provided so little view and the quiet of the castle just made her more nervous. She knew she wasn’t to blame for this, but she also knew—call it instinct—that Damon would blame her. He had no reason to trust her. Her word meant nothing. Who could trust the word of a stranger, anyway? If the situation were reversed, wouldn’t she think the worst of him? Wouldn’t she blame him?
Her stomach ached from worry and fear. Fear of what they had found in the village. Fear that if angry enough, if provoked enough, that she would be harmed because of this. Why, God? Why have you placed me here? What is it you want from me?
As more time passed, she swore she had worn a hole in the rug from her pacing. The sky was an inky black mass of darkness as she heard the gate rise and horses rumble across the bridge.
Damon dismounted his great black horse. His skin was flecked with dark black spots of soot. His back was ramrod straight as he tossed his reins to a stable boy and glared up at the eastern window.
She could feel his wrath from across the castle as she quickly stepped away from the window, her hand to her heart as if to keep it from exploding from her chest. Oh God! He is going to kill me! She ran to the farthest corner of the room, placing the chair by the bedside between her and the bed, as if it would protect her. It seemed like mere seconds before Damon burst into the room.
Chapter Twenty
His eyes held flames, and Gabriella swore she could feel the heat from the fire of his wrath. He took in the room with a quick glance before alighting on her, hiding in the corner.
“Come here,” he said slowly, his voice rasped with suppressed anger.
Gabriella shook her head no, clinging to the back of the chair, a pitcher hidden behind her back. Her fear felt so immense she thought she’d pass out.
“I will not tell you again, Gabriella. Come here this instant, or you will suffer even more.”
She could only hold his gaze for a moment. She was paralyzed by her fear. Her heart raced uncontrollably. She didn’t know what he was going to do to her, but his anger rolled off him like the waves crashing outside the castle walls. Gabriella gripped the pitcher tighter. How dare he intimidate me! This is ridiculous and I’ll not stand idly by and let him boss me around.
Damon watched her intently. He was so angry that it all but boiled under his skin. He took one step, and she threw the pitcher at his head. The pitcher shattered against the door mere inches from its mark. Damon glared at her even harder—if that were possible.
Gabriella knew she should listen to him, but really, this was the most ludicrous situation she had ever been in. She glared back at Damon.
With a bellow, Damon lunged for her, and she screamed. He grabbed her arm and dragged her from the room. His hand felt like a vice around her wrist, and he was pulling her so hard behind him she thought he’d pull her arm from its socket. “Let me go, you stupid idiot,” she cursed.
She tried to drag her feet to keep him from moving, but it was like trying to drag a locomotive. She tried to jerk her wrist from his grasp, but he only squeezed harder. She resorted to trying to hit him, but it was like hitting an oak, and he only seemed to get madder.
Damon’s anger was so immense he could barely contain it. He dragged her down the stairs and through the great hall, where the injured were being tended. Children were being cleaned up and the survivors were given pallets on the floors. The bailey was not large enough to provide space for all of these people and there was no place else to put them but within the castle walls.
Gabriella gasped at the wounded all around the hall. The stench of burned flesh, blood and smoke filled the air. The senselessness of it filled her with anguish and horror. She staggered with the shock of violence that surrounded her.
Damon jerked her arm to straighten her. He strode on through the hall, past the kitchens and down a back staircase that curved as it wound downward beneath the castle to the dungeon below. Flames from the sconces sputtered in the breeze of their passing as he continued to pull her behind him. She could smell the dank stink of mold and rotted rushes, old blood, dirty bodies and urine.
Damon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and grabbed a ring of keys from a hook on the wall. A giant of a man sat in an alcove and watched his liege pulling the woman behind him. His gnarly, black-tooth smile made his eyes squint. Gabriella gasped in fear. The man was huge, filthy and meaner-looking than any person she’d ever seen before.
Damon pulled her down a line of cells, some empty, some occupied with other filthy residents. He stopped at the end of the row and turned the key in the lock, opening the door on squeaky hinges. Pulling her arm, he whipped her inside, where she stumbled into the cold, clammy wall.
“Now, milady, do you wish to tell of how you came to be in that field? Who you are in league with? Because as God is my witness, you will rot in this dungeon until you do,” he growled. Damon stalked towards her and grabbed the front sides of her dress, pulling them together and bringing her toes up off the floor.
Gabriella squeaked.
“Speak,” he roared.
Gabriella shuddered and closed her eyes. She had never been so afraid in her entire life. She knew that even if she told him that she didn’t know how she arrived in the field, that she came from another time, that he just might decide to kill her. She didn’t know what to say. She could barely breathe with him so close. His anger seeped into her pores, and she was frozen speechless.
“So be it,” Damon growled, his face a study in anger, his eyes a flat steel gray. He released h
er so suddenly that Gabriella’s knees buckled and she fell to the floor. Looking up, she watched his retreat.
He slammed the door behind him and turned the lock, not once looking at her.
“Gavin,” Damon bellowed.
“Aye, milord,” the jailer responded.
“If she so much as utters a word, beat her. She is not to be disturbed by anyone without my personal orders. Is that understood?”
“Aye, milord.”
Gabriella cringed as tears began to flow down her cheeks. What the hell have I gotten myself into? With that thought, she wrapped her arms around her legs, holding them close to her body as she quietly sobbed her anguish and fear.
* * * * * *
Damon mounted the stairs without a backward glance. He was covered in soot and weary to the bone. He would not allow her tears or fear to change him from this course. If she chose not to speak, she could stay in the damn dungeon forever.
Damon met Tanak and Rosalynn in the great hall. All had watched Damon drag the girl to the dungeon, and no one dared to speak to him of his behavior. The glare of his eyes and his clenched jaw proved it would be a dangerous undertaking.
“Tanak, I want Sedrick and five others to go back to the forest, search for three hours and return. I want every leaf, bush and rock turned over. If they find nothing, I want six more men sent out.”
“As you wish,” Tanak replied and turned to follow his friend’s orders.
“Rosalynn. I want these people cleaned up, this blood stench removed from my hall and these children kept from my sight.”
“Aye, milord,” she replied. “And the girl?” she asked cautiously.
“Heed me well on this, Rosalynn, for I will have no rebuke. She is not to be trusted. You will keep her wound cleaned and her body fed. That is all. She is not to leave that cell, nor speak to anyone but me. Is that understood?”