‘Let me.’ His fingers, deft, loosened the laces. His fingers, warm, brushed her back.
‘No!’ She ripped herself away from him, tugging awkwardly, until dress and chemise fell in a heap on the floor. She kicked them out of the way.
She had no more love for her wedding garb than he.
Keeping her back to him, she scrambled into her high, narrow bed and drew the covers to her chin. ‘I am ready.’
He loomed over the bed, eyebrows raised. ‘For what?’
Her heartbeat drowned his words. She swallowed. What words could she use for such intimacy? ‘For…the act.’
Settling on the bed barely big enough for more than one, his knee nudged her legs. Yet when he leaned forwards, arm on his bent knee, he looked more comfortable than she.
‘You appear ready for an execution.’
‘Oh?’ She sat up, but then slouched beneath the covers again as they fell away. ‘Is my body not enough? Must you have heated glances and breathless moans? Then you must seek a different woman.’
She waited for him to simply take her, as he nearly had the night of Beltane. Or perhaps he would try to tempt her with the seductive smile that always coaxed the worst of her nature into the light of day.
But this time, no lazy smile lifted his lips or lit his eyes. This time, his furrowed brow reminded her of a golden eagle, about to destroy its prey.
He grabbed her shoulders, not gently, and the covers fell away, leaving her breasts cold and bare. And the moan she had disparaged threatened of its own.
‘Hear me well.’ Anger shimmered in every word. ‘There will be no other woman. I may not be the chivalrous knight you dreamed of, but you forget that the token of such a knight’s affections is a woman married to another man. I will not be so “chivalrous” as to court another man’s wife, nor so generous as to forgive one who wants mine. Let there be no confusion. You married me.’
He released her shoulders, grabbed her left hand and held it up, rubbing the wedding ring circling her shaking finger. ‘Vous et nul autre.’ The French words sounded like a death sentence. ‘You and no other.’ He leaned closer. ‘Falcons mate for life.’
He dropped her hand and sat back.
She swallowed and nodded, unable to answer such intensity. His teasing smile had deceived her. She had assumed he cared no more for her than for any woman who tempted his eye. But the man meant to possess her entirely, whether because he owned her or because he cared for her was less certain.
He assessed her silent nod, and returned it. ‘I would prefer that we both enjoy the marriage bed, but we are, and we will be, man and wife, in every sense.’
She held the blanket against her chest and straightened her bare shoulders, struggling to regain her composure, hoping he could not sense the rapid rise and fall in her breath. ‘Yes, we are wed. And I will do all that is required of a wife. But do not ask me to enjoy it.’
The sensual shade returned to his gaze. ‘I will not ask. I will simply make certain that you do.’
A soft flutter rippled between her legs. She wanted to call it fear, but it was not. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Before the falcon and the falconer can work as one, the bird must become accustomed to the new master.’
Now, her shiver was fear. The process of ‘manning’ a falcon, or making the bird comfortable around people, took weeks. During that time, bird and man were never apart. ‘Do you mean to deprive me of sleep and food until you break me to your will?’
‘Do you break a falcon when you train her?’
Reluctantly, she shook her head.
His finger trailed the side of her cheek, down her throat. ‘And when the training is done, don’t bird and master hunt better together than either could alone?’
She nodded, unable to speak.
His lazy smile reappeared. ‘And doesn’t the falconer tend to the bird’s every need, finding her prey to hunt, food to eat and water to drink?’
‘Of course.’ His finger, feather light on her throat, still seemed to block the words.
‘So the man also serves the bird, does he not?’
‘Yes!’ She threw the word at him, resentful. Even his slight touch made her tremble.
‘Then who owns whom? And who trains whom?’ His finger drifted over her left shoulder and lightly down her arm, pausing on the delicate skin inside her elbow. ‘The falcon and the falconer are wedded to each other.’
She summoned the spite that would free her speech. ‘The bird follows the gloved hand because it carries the food. Not the hand itself.’
But her eyes followed his hand, as his finger, whisper soft, hesitated on the blue veins of her wrist.
‘Make no mistake, mine is the glove with the food. And you will learn to love it.’
And that threat was more frightening than anything that had come before, because he promised what she most feared.
She forced her eyes to his. ‘You’ll find I am not so gullible as the hawk. I can find my own food.’
The liquid smile touched his lips and he leaned close to whisper, his breath tickling her ear, ‘There are many kinds of food, my falcon.’
She could near taste the banquet he offered. All that she had resisted in herself seemed to find a mate in him. If she surrendered to her desires instead of her judgements, could she escape the bounds of earth?
No. That was just a dream. If she surrendered, he would learn her weakness and leave her, embarrassed and alone. ‘You shall not trap me so easily.’
‘You have trapped yourself,’ he said. ‘You’ve put on jesses and a hood without even choosing a worthy falconer. Now you have one who can teach you to fly higher. Faster. Further.’
Shaking at his words, she pulled away from his touch. Had she not thought the very same? But she could not submit without a struggle.
Her eyes clashed with his. A dare. ‘Do you think to make me captive with your training?’
‘I think, dear Clare, you have made yourself the captive. Shed your training. Then you’ll be free,’ he whispered in her ear now, so close he must have been able to sense her heart pounding at her temples, in her throat, in her breast. ‘Let me teach you to soar as you were meant to.’ He held her hands and squeezed, his fingers gentle enough to make her tremble. ‘Now lie back, my dear. I shall keep you with me, day and night, until you learn to ride my fist and trust my touch.’
He pressed her back into the bedclothes. Her breath, her heart, fought with her blood. She knew he would touch her, could already feel his fingers.
And thought she would go mad with the wanting.
And with the fear.
Not of him. It was herself she feared, that she would break into pieces beneath his fingers.
He kneeled, legs on either side of her, leaving her unable to move.
The covers slipped down, leaving her breasts almost, almost exposed to his gaze. He towered above her, golden head, broad shoulders, strong arms. Then he pulled the covers the rest of the way down, sliding them across her breasts.
She bit back a scream.
Looking down, she tried to pull away from his hands. What would he do now? Worse, what would he cause her to do?
‘Ah, I see, as with the bird, I shall need to keep you from seeing what goes on around you until you are accustomed to your new surroundings.’
Fresh foreboding beat in her throat. ‘Do you mean to cover me in a leather hood?’
There was that smile again. The sensual one, full of promises and secrets. ‘You are much more delicate than a haggard bird. You need something softer.’
He reached into his sack and pulled out a blue silk scarf, wrapped it across her eyes, and knotted it firmly behind her head before she could protest.
The smooth fabric, soft and not too tight, caressed her face. Without sight, each sound, acute, vibrated against her skin as well as in her ears. The whine of the wind at the tower’s corner. The rustle of straw as he shifted his weight. The soft plop of feet hitting the floor.
Arms s
traight, she waved her hands, but caught only empty air. ‘Darkness may comfort the birds. It does not comfort me.’
His palm cupped her shoulder, then slid down her back. ‘If I do something you do not want, just say “stop,”’ he said. ‘Will you do that?’
She mouthed the word, silently. It gave her a strange sense of power. ‘Yes.’
‘Promise. Tell me you promise.’
And with those few words, she felt something tug at her heart more dangerous that lust. ‘I promise.’
‘Now turn over on your stomach.’
With relief, she turned her back to him, and pressed into the mattress, feeling safer with breasts and belly hidden.
She felt a tug on her braid, hanging down her back, as he unlaced the intertwined ropes of hair, then combed through it with his fingers. It rippled across her back, soft as the silk against her face.
‘Now, I will touch your back, as you might stroke the falcon’s feathers.’
The cloak of her hair was swept aside. His hand, at once sensual and comforting, stroked her skin from shoulder to spine to the small of her back. Again. And more. Relentless rhythm, until she thought she might go mad with it.
Until she wanted to scream stop.
Yet she did not speak and he did not stop.
Finally lulled, she fell under his spell, halfway between waking and sleep, day and dream, arousal and relaxation, barely knowing who or where she was floating in a world of sensation and darkness.
Hooded by scarf and pillow, she could not tell whether hours or minutes passed. Her fear ebbed.
She breathed in the scent of dried lavender stuffed in her pillow, revelled in the smell of juniper, oak and pine crackling into flame on the hearth.
And always, the pressure of his hands.
Finally, she let go.
And slept.
She woke to darkness, opened her eyes and saw no light. Frightened, she sat up, then realised the cloth still covered her eyes. She started to pull it off.
‘No.’ His voice. Calm, firm.
Reaching out, she tried to see with her hands. Her fingers grazed bare skin. His. Warm.
She had seen his chest before, but never truly touched it. Now she pressed her palms against him, learning him by touch, reading him with her fingers, first exploring a soft tangle of hair on his chest, then letting her fingers follow the trail of warm skin down to his hip, naked now.
And then, discovering something straight, strong and alive between his legs.
She snatched back her hands, but he captured them in his and cupped them around his staff.
She felt him swell, heat against her palms. Strong, yet strangely fragile, too, jerking wobbly against her as would a staggering young lamb.
‘Now let me touch you.’
She stiffened as his hands swept over the skin of her shoulders and arms. She faced him now, naked and exposed, no longer protected by the armour of her back. But a sliver of trust had grown within her and she stilled, allowing his touch.
Was this how the falcons became fearless of men?
His fingers found the tips of her breasts. She gasped, breath chasing the sensation. He moved, slipping away from her hands, and laid her gently against the bed.
He was not touching her now.
She turned her head, trying to see with her ears, sense him by smell. The bed shifted beneath her, releasing a whiff of lavender. Hot wax, melting from a candle.
Him. Him, ever him.
She gripped her breath, knowing he must be looking his fill.
Did he like what he saw?
His hand touched hers. She jumped, pulling away. Then, slowly, she laid her hand on the sheet again and his covered it, warm, strong and gentler than she expected.
‘There is no hurry.’
Patient. She had not expected him to be so patient. Persistent as he had been when he stroked her back, he sat, touching only her hand, and moved no more.
A feeling of safety settled over her. An illusion. Temporary. Deprived of his touch, her skin craved it, ached for it. The very air kindled the feeling his hands had raised.
How long would he make her wait?
‘What do you intend to do?’ Her voice, unused for hours, rough in her throat.
‘Teach you to trust me. And yourself.’
Herself. The word ripped away her blindness. She was naked with a man who called to the wickedest longings that lurked beneath her skin. A man she should not trust or want.
But did.
She pulled her hand from his and folded hers in her lap. ‘That will be hard.’
‘Not as hard as you think.’
Be sure the man gets you with babe. And she must. ‘You are my husband. Do as you like. I’ll submit.’
‘I don’t want you to submit!’ She felt the air move. Was he waving his arms in frustration? ‘I want you to choose. To come to me with desire.’
‘I never will.’ But she lied. ‘Do it. Now.’
‘Not until you want this union. Not your father or Lord Douglas. You.’
She raised her head, still blindfolded, wishing she could see his eyes. ‘I have no choice here.’
‘I give it to you now.’
‘The falcon does not choose.’
‘Every flight is a choice. Each time, the bird can choose freedom instead of returning to you.’
Did he fear to lose her, too? Did he want more from this marriage than land and a home?
No. She could not believe that. Because if she did and were disappointed, it would be worse than if she had expected nothing at all.
His hands, his lips, touched her again, covering her skin, whispering in her ear, stealing her doubts.
Stealing her choice.
She ripped off the scarf, needing to see his eyes, read his intentions.
But the first thing that assaulted her was his body. Naked.
And hers.
Wavering candlelight cast moving shadows across their skin, hers pale, his more golden.
She wanted to cover her eyes again. This was too coarse, bodies no longer disguised by colour and cloth.
But then, her eyes feasted on him as her hands had done. Muscles of his arms softly rounded as the hills. Golden hair a soft contrast to the strength of his chest. A wandering warrior, as much a stranger in her bed as the tercel in the mews.
He let her look, unmoving beneath her eyes, as if he knew what she was looking for.
You’ll wake with a smile on your face.
And that was just what she feared.
Words. She wanted words. She wanted reassurance that if she howled like the lowest limmer he had ever bedded, she would not regret it.
But to ask for words would guarantee nothing. Alain had given her such pretty words. All lies.
So she searched his eyes by the wavering firelight. ‘I cannot choose. I do not trust you.’
His gaze, dark and intense, did not reassure her. ‘It’s not me you distrust. It’s yourself.’
This man, reviled, had made his own choices, refusing to explain or defend himself against the vilest accusations. And he challenged her to do the same.
No. That was a risk beyond taking.
He wanted her to choose. Very well. She could submit and still hold herself away from him. She did not have to give him all to give him a child. He would not know the difference.
She stretched out her arm in the dark, palm up, fingers spread. He met it. Their fingers entwined. ‘If I say yes, it is only for tonight.’
‘Only for one flight.’
‘Yes.’
He blew out the candle, leaving her in the safety of darkness again, and his lips took hers.
His hands, firm, but not forcing, flickered over her skin, teasing the tips of her breasts, lower, caressing her waist, hips, then the secrets hidden between her legs.
As she had lost herself and time in his touch before, she did so again. Her legs parted, her body seemed to open of itself, eager for more of his lips, his fingers, of things she couldn’
t yet express or understand.
He mounted her, finally, filling her slowly and fully, as the hand of the falconer fits the glove. She moaned. Or did he?
Then he started moving.
Something within her surged to meet him, desire spiralling like the falcon towards the sun. And if he took her too high, she would lose herself in the golden glare and never find her way back to earth.
She felt herself start to break into pieces and wanted to shriek, to yell, to scream like a wild thing.
She had said yes, but to something she didn’t know. Now, faced with it, she pulled back. The creature in this bed was a succubus, with no connection to what a lady must be, think and do.
Panting, she pushed against him. ‘Stop!’
He paused, leaning on his arms over her, breathing hard, as if reining in a galloping horse. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I can’t do this. I can’t be this.’ If she let go, if she went where he was leading her, everything she knew of who she was would be lost.
‘Have you the courage to choose what you want?’
Eyes open, she could see him fighting his desires, waiting for her answer. She didn’t want to choose, didn’t want to reveal her hidden demons, demanding to join his.
It will kill me, she thought. If I reach for this and seize it, I will die.
But if I don’t, I will die, too.
‘Yes.’
And there were no more questions, no more doubts, no more words. He took her higher, faster, until there was nothing but flight, joined to him. Until he and she and now were the whole world.
And then the world exploded.
Light. Blind feeling wiped everything else away. A scream? A moment so close to the sun she must be aflame.
Another person. New. Free.
And she waited for him to recoil.
He didn’t. He held her as she drifted down from the sky and found herself in bed, her arms clinging to his neck, not wanting to let go. Here was a moment of happiness she must savour, fleeting as a breath. Calm. At peace. In the arms of her husband.
A half-English fire-starter.
She curled against him, her face buried in the curve of his shoulder, wanting the darkness, the blindness again so she would not have to face what she had done with him.
His Border Bride Page 15