Ella's Desire (Borderland Ladies Book 3)

by Madeline Martin

  He refrained from grunting with satisfaction as the weight was lifted off him. “It is new.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to feign that it’s been worn to countless victories for my benefit and regale me with stories of your military prowess?”

  He held her stare. “You’re not that kind of lady.”

  “Nay.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not.” She perused the small cave. Light shone in from outside despite the rain, the cast gray and muted, but still sufficient to see. Sufficient even to make out the color blooming in her cheeks, her mouth.

  “What kind of a lady am I?” She stepped toward him and his heartbeat tripled.

  “A lady who knows what she wants. Who she is.” He couldn’t take his eyes from her. The chainmail rested over the length of her torso, rising over the swell of her breasts.

  She stopped directly in front of his chest and slowly looked up. Her mouth was scarcely a whisper from his own, her breath sweet and warm. Her fresh scent of sunshine and flowers curled around him and held him captive.

  “What do I want?” she whispered.

  He had lost Ella’s heart, he knew that. But it did not mean he couldn’t try to still win her over with the mutual pleasures they had shared.

  “Me.” He ran his hands down her arms and intentionally skimmed the sides of her breasts. “This.”

  She gasped against his mouth.

  “I’ve missed you, Ella.” He brought one hand up to her face. The rain and cold had chilled her skin and left it damp to the touch. He ran his thumb over her jaw. “I’ve missed your mouth on mine, your hands on me. I’ve missed those sounds of pleasure you make when I—”

  She threaded her hand up the back of his neck, pushed up on her toes, and pressed her red lips to his mouth. Her kiss was hungry, desperate, and he returned it with equal vigor.

  24

  Everything that was wrong in the last few days suddenly went right as Ella’s mouth connected with Bronson’s. The spicy, heady taste of him, the way he cupped her bottom firmly in his grasp and flexed the hardness between his legs to the sensitive softness between hers. The metal plating of their leg guards clacked together.

  He held her to him and gently walked her backward until she was pressed between him and the stone wall, its cold barely registering through the frenzy of her desire. His hand moved over her chainmail shirt to her breast to tease at her with a skill she hadn’t spent nearly enough time appreciating.

  “Take it off,” she panted between kisses.

  He obliged, first pulling hers away, then removing his own. She bent over and worked furiously at the straps of her leg guards. Her cold fingers fumbled with the water-swollen leather straps. It was all she could do to keep from pulling out her dagger and slicing through them. Her body was burning with longing for Bronson’s touch, for the fire of his loving.

  Lust pounded an impossible beat between her legs. She wanted him. More than when they’d first begun to play, more than that first night she’d gone to him. She hadn’t known the extent of his affections then. Not like now when she’d spent nights alone dreaming of his strong body moving with hers, his tongue teasing and tasting, his fingers—

  The straps at her greaves finally gave way and the right one fell. She gave a little grunt at her victory. So close. Only one more.

  Bronson had already freed his leg guards. It was enough. She needed only one leg to wrap around his waist, to pull him deep inside of her.

  With a moan, she straightened upright, into his arms. Their mouths slanted over one another’s, their frenzy shared. He fumbled with the belt of his hose as she did the same with hers, so that they sagged down her thighs. He shoved the hose lower on her freed leg and lifted it to his waist, opening her to him.

  His hand moved, positioning himself. Ella threw her head back, unable to take the waiting anymore.

  He slid inside of her with a solid thrust that left her crying out with the most incredible pleasure. She clung to him as he pumped into her, their bodies flexing and rolling in the same desperate rhythm they’d always matched so well together.

  He clung to her bottom, his face buried in her hair as he nipped and kissed her neck and drove into her again and again and oh-so-blissfully again. The bud of her sex had swollen to almost impossible sensitivity and each thrust sent promising heat radiating through her. She was close. So close. She buried her face in his chest as her body began to tighten.

  “Nay,” he groaned. “Look at me.”

  Overwhelmed by her senses, she obeyed, her eyes finding the intensity of his dark green gaze as his hips jerked into her. He clenched his teeth and gave a savage growl as her crises gripped her. She spasmed around him as waves and waves of pleasure dragged her under until she was breathless from crying out.

  All at once the energy of their coupling dropped away, like a candle flame snuffed out. Bronson put his sweaty forehead to hers.

  “Ella.” There was a deepness to his voice, a sensuality that came only after they’d been intimate. It touched her in the most fragile, painful place of her heart. The exact spot that had once been certain she’d loved him.

  She gasped for breath and leaned her head back against the hard stone behind her. She needed distance from Bronson now that their lust had been sated. He’d brought incredible release to her body, aye, but he was still the same courtier; the same fraud of a man he had been before their joining.

  Her supporting leg shook with the effort of holding her upright as she uncurled her other from his waist. He held tight, as though hesitant to let her go, of sliding free from her.

  Ella released a shuddering breath as she lowered her unarmored leg and the intimacy between them fell away. The heat they’d generated between one another still blazed against her skin and ran like wildfire in her veins. She had expected, nay, hoped, their passion would chill as soon as they separated. She did not want his lingering affection, lest it tear deeper into her heart.

  Bronson leaned over her. “Did I hurt you?” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Was I too rough?”

  Ella shook her head, unable to trust herself to speak. How could she when the ache of her loss was so great? She had loved him. Loved him. And he had been nothing but lies.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked again. He lifted her face with his fingertips and frowned. “I didn’t mean to be so vigorous.”

  She shook her head with more conviction. “You didn’t hurt me.” At least not in the way he thought. “I wanted it as badly as you. As intensely as you. I felt only pleasure.” It was true. Her body still hummed with delight at the force of their loving.

  She glanced out toward the mouth of the cave where the rain appeared to have relaxed into a drizzle. “The guards will be gone by now and the rain has relented.” She pulled up her hose, fastened the belt into place once more and popped the greaves off her other leg. It was a far easier task when her hands were not shaking in anticipation.

  “Let us wear only our gambesons and pack the rest on our horses.” She shoved her helm and chain shirt into her bag. “The reivers will not be in full dress and we should not be either. We need to appear like everyone else.”

  Quickly, Bronson assisted her with fastening her plated gambeson and she aided him into his. Once done, they strode from the cave to where the horses had been tied out of the rain. Ella ignored Bronson’s pointed gaze on her, grateful he refrained from speaking whatever it was he clearly wanted to voice. At least for now. She was certain once they were on the road, he would continue to try.

  She wished he wouldn’t. For how would she ever know if he told her the truth, or simply offered another appealing lie?

  She swung up into her saddle and waited for him to follow, then she urged Kipper from the woods. She didn’t know when she’d made up her mind about bringing Bronson to Scotland, but he did not ask, and she did not offer an explanation. After all, she knew how much he cared for Lark, as she did for Leila.

  Silently, they headed not in the
direction of Werrick Castle and its safety, but to Scotland and the debatable lands filled with danger. To rescue their sisters together.

  Scotland was not as treacherous as Bronson had assumed. After all the stories he’d heard, after all the wariness of the inhabitants of Werrick Castle, the lands didn’t appear much different than those they had left behind on the English side.

  At least until the first set of riders approached on stubby-legged ponies, wearing grimy gambesons that had seen battle. The men eyed Bronson and Ella with suspicion. In the end, they said nothing and went on their way without pause.

  Ella ignored them and Bronson did the same, although he remained tense, ready to draw his blade at a moment’s notice. The need never arose, thanks be to God, and the men passed by without issue, but it was enough to set Bronson on edge.

  “We’ll need to visit a tavern,” Ella said. “I have not been to the debatable lands but I know how to get the information we need.”

  Bronson looked behind him to where the men had nearly disappeared in the distance. “I doubt the men here will talk.”

  “That’s why I’m going to speak with a woman.” Ella indicated a cluster of houses and steered her horse in that direction.

  The only tavern in the small village, if it could even be called a village, had no name and was denoted simply by a beaten-up wooden sign with a mug of ale painted on it. There was a boy at the entrance who took several coins to see to the safety of their horses out front. Still, Ella and Bronson took their packs into the tavern with them, and Ella hesitated to leave Kipper.

  Inside, the air was thick with greasy smoke that clogged in Bronson’s lungs and left him swallowing down a hearty cough. Multiple candles were scattered about, emitting as much black smoke as they did light. Regardless, the room was dark, almost blindingly so, when coming in from outside.

  Ella led them both to an open table near the hearth. As Bronson’s vision adjusted to the darkened room, he couldn’t help but notice how nearly every man stopped to stare at Ella. The gambeson hugged her fine figure and the hose extending beneath showed off her long, slender legs. The binding on her braid had slipped free at some point and her wavy blonde hair fell around her shoulders, wild and beautiful.

  Bronson gritted his teeth.

  Ella sat at the table, oblivious of the attention she drew. The man at the table beside her grinned, revealing a missing bottom tooth, and the reiver beside him nudged one of their companions with appreciation. Bronson hurried to take his seat opposite her.

  A woman appeared before them; her clean dark hair bound back from her face. Her dress was brown and flecked with spatters of ale and grease. “What can I get for ye?”

  “Ye, to warm my bed,” the man missing his bottom tooth said. The table laughed and clapped their mugs on the table in appreciation.

  “We’ve got some sheep ’round the back.” The woman put her hand to her hip and turned her attention to Bronson. “What about ye?”

  Ella chuckled at the woman’s retort. The barmaid tossed a grin in her direction. “If those men bother ye, let me know. I’ll see to them.”

  “I can take care of them if need be, but thank you,” Ella said.

  “Aye, looks that way.” The woman nodded in appreciation at Ella’s gambeson. “In that case, I might be calling on ye if I need help.”

  “My battle axe is yours.” Ella smiled. “Two ales until then.”

  “Aye, of course.” The woman nodded and slipped away.

  “Everyone is staring at you,” Bronson said under his breath.

  “I’m not the only one.” She lifted her brows at his new gambeson. It was a deep blue wool, the edges crisp where everyone else’s were soft and fading. “You call quite a bit of attention yourself.”

  He glanced discreetly around the room and noticed the number of eyes that had settled on him. She was right. He was attracting a good bit of attention. Initially he had been loath to remove his armor and be left vulnerable. Now, he was grateful for her suggestion.

  The barmaid appeared and set two ales in front of them. Ella gave her several coins and shook her head when the woman tried to pass some back. “For your troubles.” Ella indicated the men behind her.

  The woman laughed and slid the coins into a small pouch at her side. “Thank ye, m’lady. That’s kind of ye.”

  Bronson lifted the ale, not realizing he was thirsty until that very moment. He drew a deep sip and nearly choked as the grainy liquid hit his tongue. He swallowed hard, gulping down what he wished he could spit out. A residual sourness lingered on his tongue, thick and unpleasant.

  Ella drank hers without expression.

  “I can appreciate a lass who likes a good battle,” said a man at the table behind them.

  Bronson glared toward the table.

  Ella shook her head slightly. “Don’t listen to it.”

  “I bet she can put up a fight between the sheets, eh?” Another man added.

  Bronson clenched his fists under the table. “They are insulting you.”

  Ella glanced across the room at the barmaid. “Calm yourself. I need to speak with her a moment, and it won’t do us any good if you start a fight.”

  Bronson frowned and glared at the men. If he were in court, he would have addressed them posthaste about their lack of consideration for a lady. If they still persisted, then he would have challenged them to a duel.

  Ella got up from her seat with a warning glance in his direction. She walked across the room, much to the appreciation of almost every eye within the tavern.

  The man at the table licked his lips with lewd appreciation. “I’d like to peel those hose off her legs and taste what she’s got in that honeypot of hers.”

  “I bet the hairs there are as golden as those on her head,” said another man.

  It was too much. Ella had asked him not to fight, but the level of disrespect for a woman had gone too far. It was more than he could bear.

  “Such thoughts ought to be kept to oneself,” Bronson said in a low, dangerous tone.

  At court, such a tone would have stopped most men. Here, every gaze at the table next to Bronson slowly turned toward him, shocked into silence. And then they laughed. At him.

  “Is that yer woman?” The man with the missing bottom tooth asked. “Mayhap we ought to have a go at her once we knock this jackanape to the ground.”

  Bronson pushed up from the table. “Mind what you say.”

  “I see a lass in hose that need to be pulled down to bare that shapely arse.” The Scotsman stood up and stalked closer. “A lass in need of a good fucking.”

  Before Bronson could even think about what he was doing, his fist shot out and connected with the whoreson’s jaw, hopefully knocking out another tooth. His opponent’s head snapped back, and the man slumped to the floor.

  25

  Ella knew a fight had broken out by first the shout and then the thud.

  The barmaid looked to where the heavy crash sounded. “That man of yers is fighting.”

  Ella sighed. She had told him not to bother listening to the reivers. Apparently, he had not heeded her warning. She turned and found that the young woman wasn’t entirely correct. Bronson wasn’t fighting, but the Scotsmen certainly were. One lay on the ground unmoving, while two more held Bronson in place and another drew back his fist.

  Before the women could rush across the room to put a stop to it, the man punched Bronson so hard in the face that he sagged back into the arms of the men holding him in place.

  Ella jerked her battle axe free. “Cease this at once, or you’ll feel my blade in your skull.”

  The men didn’t so much as acknowledge her.

  “And ye’ll no’ get another drop of ale from me.” The barmaid crossed her arms over her chest.

  That got their attention. The men grumbled and let Bronson go. He sat down hard on the bench and gingerly touched a hand to his cheek. The man on the floor groaned. Alive, at least.

  The barmaid nodded to the rear of the room
. “Take him in the back. Tell anyone who questions ye that Ceirs sent ye. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Ella gave her a grateful nod. Bronson, however, continued to sit. She grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet. He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “Ceirs is willing to help us if you’re done making an arse of yourself.”

  His strong jaw clenched. “You didn’t hear the things they said about you.”

  Ella scoffed. He was protecting her. Again. Even though it was she who had gone to his aid with her battle axe at the ready, even though it was she who had enlisted assistance in locating the Armstrongs.

  She stalked away toward the door Ceirs had indicated. If Bronson wanted to stay and be beaten for his heroism, Ella wouldn’t stop him. Still, when she pushed through the door and he followed behind her, she found herself relieved.

  She hadn’t wanted him beaten, of course. Although God’s teeth, how she craved to be free of him for a moment. His nearness seemed to cast a thinness to the air, which made it hard for her to breathe. It was the costly spices of his expensive scented oils; it was the way her heartbeat continued to trip over itself when he was around; it was how her legs nearly gave out every time she recalled what they had shared in the cave. It had been so fast, so explosively vibrant with passion and raw need.

  The room was hot and humid with the savory scents of roasting meat and baking bread. A large man glowered up at them and lifted the cleaver he’d been using to hack at what appeared to be a pig. “Who are ye?”

  Bronson squared his shoulders and shifted to stand in front of Ella. Ever the ready hero.

  Ceirs pushed through the door. “Calm yerself, Hamish. I told them to come back here.” She waved them deeper into the cramped kitchen. Once they were near the back wall, she stopped and held up a wet cloth. “For his face.”

  Bronson took the wadded linen with thanks and squinted his eye as he pressed it to his reddening cheek.