by Laura Glenn
He shifted the reins to his other hand. “Give me your leg.”
She grabbed his thighs to steady herself, distracted for a moment by how his muscles did not yield at all to her touch. She pulled a leg to the side and he grasped her knee to assist her.
He smoothed her skirts as she settled against him. Then he pulled her hair away from her neck and pressed a slow, lingering kiss against her skin. “Do you always concern yourself with being ladylike?”
She closed her eyes, her belly heating at his touch. “I just don’t like drawing attention to myself.” Her eyes darted to the men riding around them. They weren’t watching, were they?
His soft laugh against her hair sent a pleasant vibration through her skin. “Funny, the more you attempt to escape attention, the more mine is drawn to you.”
His hand smoothed over her hip, pressing fingers into the flesh of her inner thigh, brushing against her pussy. She gasped and placed one hand over his to stop him from going any further. But it was too late. An erotic fullness grew in her core, her nipples peaking and rubbing against her chemise with every movement of the horse.
“Too late, lass,” he whispered into her ear. “You are already thinking of spreading your legs for me.”
“I am not,” she protested, heat rising to her cheeks. But, damn it, he was right. Ugh. What the hell was wrong with her? Why did her body always respond the instant he touched her, even if they were in public?
“Your pulse is quickening, I can see it at the base of your throat.”
Goose bumps scuttled along her flesh and she filled her lungs with a slow, calming breath.
“You remember last night when I tasted you?”
Her heart thudded and she dug her fingers into his thighs. Remember? How could she forget? His tongue tracing her folds, flicking her clit. Her breath caught in her throat, her core slickening in anticipation. It had been years since a man had done that to her. Since well before Simon.
Rathe nipped her ear. “I want you to come on my mouth before I spread you wide and fuck you.”
She sank back against him, biting her lower lip to trap the whimper tickling the back of her tongue. Damn him.
“I am so hard for you, lass. I could pull your skirts up and sink into you right here, right now. I would not care who saw.”
Her eyes widened. He wasn’t serious, was he? She could never, in a million years, have sex while others watched but his lurid words were too tempting to her vivid imagination. She would lean forward, more than wet enough for his cock to slip inside and fill her. The swaying of the horse moving him in and out. Her clit grinding on the saddle, the fabric of her chemise rubbing back and forth across her nipples.
He laughed and pecked her on the cheek.
She could kill him. She shoved his hand off her thigh and crossed her arms. “You are the devil, aren’t you?”
“I like how I can make you wet just by talking to you.”
“You didn’t,” she snapped in mortification.
“Really? Maybe I should check.” He tugged at her skirts.
She gasped, shoving them back down. “Not in front of everyone!”
He laughed again. “I am teasing you, lass. You think I want any other man’s eyes to have access to any part of you? I talk and I tease, but rest assured no one watches you take your pleasure but me. That is my privilege.”
A deep ache formed in her core, coaxing her hips back against him. “Sorry, I’ve been told you had…dark lusts. I just thought—”
“Dark lusts?” He shrugged against her. “It is no secret I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh.”
She pressed her lips together, casting her eyes down. Words escaped her. Was that all it was? That he liked and had a lot of sex? Why did she always let her imagination scare the crap out of her? Lady Alpina and Andrew hated Rathe. Trusting their stories about him was stupid.
He pressed his lips to her neck again and added, “Especially with you.”
Her heart almost sang out but she silenced it. Of course he did. He liked sex, period. Well, so did she, but ever since meeting him, it had turned into an insidious craving. Not having enough experience in this area left her clueless over how to control it.
He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against his chest. “Truth though, lass. I did make you wet, right?”
Her whole face turned hot. But for some reason she gave him a hesitant nod. Her face fell into her hands in mortification. “Oh God, did I just admit to that?”
He laughed and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Are all women from the future as easily embarrassed as they are aroused as you?”
She yanked her face away from her hands. “Future?” she whispered. “How do you know about that?”
“The mormaer told me. You have come to us like my friend’s wife did. And, like her, we will keep it a secret. That stone of which you spoke. It was enchanted by the old Graham witch.”
Her eyes shifted back and forth in apprehension. “Your friend’s wife?”
He nodded against her head. “About four or five years ago.”
Excitement shot through her and she twisted in his arms to face him. There was someone else like her here in the thirteenth century! “And she’s like me? From the same place?”
He nodded and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling again.
“Do I get to meet her? What is she like?”
He laughed, threading his fingers through hers. She covered the back of his hand with her other hand, sandwiching his between.
“Soon,” he promised, his eyes softening. “We shall stay the night with them on the morrow. Anna is wonderful. Very smart…very odd for a woman. She has some strange ideas at times and is very strong-willed. The MacAirth has his hands full with her.”
“What strange ideas? And what do you mean by odd?”
“She just thinks differently. Acts as though women are equal to men.”
Leah stilled. And here we go. “We are,” she murmured.
It was his turn to stiffen. “What?”
She swallowed in an attempt to dislodge the nervousness arising. Ugh, why hadn’t she just kept quiet? Debating feminism with a thirteenth-century man was surely a lost cause. But the notion that he thought less of her because she was a woman ate at her.
Finally, she spat out, “Your penis doesn’t give you more intelligence or automatic dominion over me because I am female.”
His fingers twitched beneath hers. “My what?”
Seriously? Was that word not in English usage yet? “Cock,” she forced out. “Your cock.” She rolled her eyes and exhaled as she prepared for his teasing.
He nuzzled her neck. “I like how you say that word.”
“Rathe, I’m being serious.”
“I am too. I thought I was hard before, but now—”
He’d finally driven her to open exasperation. “Rathe!” she scolded.
He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “All right, lass. I will play along. The fact of the matter is we live in a dangerous world. Women are at the mercy of men, especially those who wish them harm.”
“But it’s only because you already consider us inferior. If you didn’t, then women wouldn’t be attacked or abused as often. The problem is men here see women as a possession. As something with which they can do as they please. Give away or steal, much like land or money.”
“Not all men abuse their power, Leah.” His tone was low and measured. “But women need to be taken care of and guided. Their weakness—”
She snorted, amazed by her sudden comfort around Rathe. “I’ve been taking care of myself for years, thank you very much. I’ve lived on my own, held a job, kept track of my own money. A man—”
“A job? What do you mean?”
She paused at the shift in topics. “I worked to help take care of a library. It’s what provided me with an income.”
“What is a library?”
“It’s a building with a large number of books people can borrow. Either to read for enjoyment or
to learn about something.”
“Who the hell reads for enjoyment?”
She laughed at his dismissive tone. “I do, for one. So do lots of others. Most people in my time and area are taught to read.”
“Warriors and peasants? Barmaids too?”
She nodded, tickled by the change from patience to wonder in his voice. The ability to read would be an unusual claim here in the thirteenth century. Most people had little use for it and literacy generally only reached the upper echelons of society. Even then, it wasn’t uncommon for even members of the nobility to not read or write. “Can you read?”
He shrugged. “Some. The mormaer mentioned how educated you are. What about writing? Can you do that too?”
“Yes. It’s generally taught along with reading beginning during childhood.”
“Tell me more about this future. It seems strange.”
Tell him about the future? Where to even begin? “I don’t know. People live in cities mostly where I’m from. They go to work, go to their individual homes. Maybe meet friends or family on the weekend to spend time together.”
“They do not live with their families?”
“Younger children and parents typically live together, but adults have separate houses a lot of the time. Some even live by themselves. It’s not uncommon to live far away from family and not even know your neighbors’ names.”
“Did you live by yourself?”
“For a time. I also lived with the man I was supposed to marry for about four years.”
“But you never married?”
She shook her head.
He leaned closer to her ear. “I do not understand. You lived as a wife to this man but there was no marriage?”
The incredulity in his tone was not lost on her. Her ire built—she was definitely no stranger to this question. “Now you sound like my mother.”
“You shared his home and his bed, I presume? It was not he simply took you once or twice before abandoning you, but many times? Over years?”
Words escaped her. Their worlds were so different. How could she describe in a mere sentence or two the cultural and social chasm that had developed in the Western world over the last eight hundred years?
“You were nothing more than his mistress.”
The contempt in his tone stung, sending her into a spiral of agitation and self-doubt. Okay, so maybe her mother had been on to something. Maybe the signs had been there all along with Simon. Maybe she didn’t ask enough questions, didn’t have the courage to speak frankly. She sighed and shook her head. Funny, how she—shy, unobtrusive Leah Gunn—who always tried so hard to blend in and not attract attention was little more than a rebel here in the thirteenth century. Educated, independent, and now a “kept woman”. She stood out like a sore thumb.
“And in all that time, you never bore this man’s child?”
“Look, it’s different in my time. People often live together when they’re not married. They have sex. And they use birth control if they don’t want kids.”
“Have sex?”
This lack of a shared English vocabulary was getting annoying. All of the words she would generally use were so sanitized compared to the earthy, direct-to-the-point words Rathe would use. Which meant she was going to have to say it out loud. And not because she’d stubbed her foot on the coffee table or spilled coffee on her library usage reports.
She turned toward him, but kept her gaze down. “It means fuck, all right?”
He grinned and smacked a big kiss on her cheek. “And birth control?”
“It just means preventing conception. There are lots of different ways.”
“What way did you use?”
She cleared her throat in discomfort. “It was a little pill I took every day. It was just a mixture of ingredients.”
“Like herbs or something? Like what a healer might mix?”
It wasn’t but this line of questioning was challenging her vocabulary. It had already been a long day. She nodded instead.
He stiffened against her. “Are you still using these herbs? Do you have access to the ingredients?”
She swallowed hard. This was about the son he needed. The son he wanted her to carry. And, damn it all, she was well on her way to making him a very happy man since she always melted into a weak puddle of desire every time he touched her and reveled in the pleasure he took in her body. The sensual, utterly feminine sensation of power coursing through her as he came inside her was heady stuff.
“No,” she whispered.
His relieved exhalation caressed her ear. She dropped her eyes to her lap, fidgeting with her skirt. Children had always been in her plans. They were so easy to be around. So naturally loving and accepting. But Simon had been less than interested. They were messy, demanding, and far too expensive, he thought. It was the one thing she pressed him on and he eventually caved, promising one child once he made partner in the firm.
But now here she was married to a man who would be more than happy if she were knocked up already. It was so sudden. Much too soon. Such a thing was going to be planned and prepared for at the appropriate time, if she had had any say about it. Was she even ready for this now?
“Were there other men before your betrothed?”
A sharpness edged his curious tone. She gave him a hesitant nod. “Two.”
“Just two? How old are you?”
His surprise drew a soft laugh from her throat. Perhaps if they weren’t so busy having sex every chance they got, they’d know each other a little better. “Almost twenty-nine years. What about you?”
“I have seen about thirty-three summers.” He paused and leaned forward. “Do you really want to know how many women?”
“No,” she snapped, raising her brows. Janet. His wives. And the fact he had had a habit of cheating on said wives. It was more information already than she needed. “You can keep that to yourself, thank you very much.”
She turned to face him and he grinned down at her before casting his eyes toward the horizon. She tilted her head, tracing his strong profile with her eyes. Sharp, chiseled jaw and cheekbones. An almost hawklike nose. Solid, masculine brow. Everything about him exuded a powerful, alluring masculinity.
When he turned his gaze back to her, a shy smile spread across her lips. “I suppose I’m too old for you then. Don’t men like you marry young virgins?”
“What would I want with a spoiled, mere slip of a woman when I have a lusty wench like you?”
She shook her head in exasperation but the smile did not fade from her face. He laughed and squeezed her against him. She settled back against him and sighed as the silence fell upon them. Enveloped by strong arms, leaning against a solid, warm chest. It was all too inviting and comforting. Too easy to get used to.
“I have already had my fair share of almost childlike brides,” he admitted in a whisper. “I like this better.”
“How old were they?”
“About sixteen.”
She shuddered. So young. Too young. But it was unfortunately typical at this time. Men had been so concerned with virginity throughout much of history and perhaps even docility in certain cases. Young women, some even far younger than the ones Rathe had married, were easier to control, and political and wealth connections always trumped compatibility and maturity.
He exhaled against her hair. “I was not the best of husbands, I will admit. So I suppose a fair share of the misery should rightly be laid at my feet. I was impatient and far too lusty for such inexperienced girls so I took up with other women. Neither marriage was one of my choosing but pairings endorsed by the king.”
“You were forced into them?”
“Politically speaking, yes. They did not like me nor I them. Both preferred finer things than I could give them. They were used to being waited on and fond of complaining when they did not receive what they thought due to them because of their station. I have little patience for either.”
She remained motionless, afraid to disturb his sudden
openness. His honesty touched her. Made him seem more vulnerable—more human. And her heart went out to the young women as well. Marriage and family when that young? It was hard enough coming to terms with it now at her age.
He touched her chin, coaxing it back to him and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was tender and warming all the way down to her toes. Heat seeped into her from his body, a renewed swirl of desire pooling in her belly.
Her lips tingled as he pulled back and brushed against them. “But you,” he whispered. “You I like.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
He chuckled, his gaze caressing the contours of her face before coming back to her eyes. “Is it so hard to believe, Leah? That your husband actually likes you?”
Her breath caught in her throat at the earnestness in his eyes. No, this was ridiculous. They were strangers still. “But I thought…”
“You thought what?”
She shook her head, dropping her gaze. “I’m not exciting or…” The words swirled through her head but wouldn’t come out. Beguiling. Sexy. Alluring. Sociable. All the things she was told she should be by society at large, but wasn’t. Instead, she was quiet, private, cerebral. All flaws according to the dominant culture. “I’m shy. I’m not brave. I’m…”
He tilted her chin up, forcing her eyes back to his. “You excite me. I will admit it was your body I was after at first. But your shyness intrigues me. As do the quirks of your mind now that you are revealing them.”
She tried to shake her head, but his hand gripped her jaw tighter, preventing her from moving. “But the land,” she protested. “Your need for a son. It could easily be another woman. It could—”
“I like how you make me feel,” he breathed.
And then his lips were on hers again. Demanding, possessive. A foreign thread of tentative joy wound through her. He did want her. Her. Not just some random warm body, but her.
He pulled away but she followed him, drawing him into a deeper kiss. Parting her lips, she made a hesitant sweep of her tongue across his upper lip.
A soft groan rumbled forth from his chest. He wove his fingers into her hair, pressing her mouth hard against his and then breaking the kiss. He sucked in a breath, touching his forehead to hers. “I think it is time we stopped for the night.”