The Blood and The Bloom (Men of Blood Book 1)

by Rosamund Winchester

  See? He means ye nipping at the big one’s ankles for a scrap of meat. The ghost of a smile haunted her lips, but then she thought better of showing him he’d found even the slightest favor with her.

  “If ye keep starving me, ye just might get what ye want,” she snapped, trying to sound less overwhelmed than she felt.

  The humor in his expression fell off, and his face turned to stone in a blink.

  “That will never happen again. I swear it.” The absolute truth in his eyes and the conviction in his words left her with no doubt.

  “As ye say,” was all she could think of uttering.

  Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he called, “Do not stare like lack wits. Rest. We depart at first light.” The men seemed to scatter like chaff on the wind, frantically moving to do as their commander bid, lest he let loose his new insanity on them.

  She hid a smile behind her hand. Fools, indeed.

  When Tristin turned back to her, he extended his hand to her. “I will take you into the woods a ways. There is a creek. You can see to your needs there.”

  A creek? Nay, she wouldn’t have a repeat of her humiliation by the river.

  “I only need to…” How could she explain that she needed to make water without actually telling him that? She didn’t need a creek for that, only a high bush far enough away from camp to keep prying eyes at bay. Though, she should see to her feet before any infection set in. Already, they were swelling and the throbbing was sapping away her strength.

  Best to get it over with.

  “I need to care for my feet,” she finished.

  “I know what you need, Bell. You only need to take my hand…” he murmured, a hint of something hidden in his words. A trembling began in her belly, a trembling that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the unspoken meaning.

  Did he know about the sensations he wrought in her? Could he tell that he flipped her like a fresh cake?

  Before she could ponder that, Tristin bent down and scooped her up, holding her against the hardness of his chest.

  She squeaked, and then heat blasted into her cheeks. “Ye should warm me before ye do that,” she grumbled.

  Laughter rumbled through his chest. “Where would the fun be in that?”

  ***

  Tristin didn’t know whether to chuckle or groan, so he settled for grunting as he settled Bell Heather in his arms, tight against his chest, and stepped from the firelight into the gloom of the forest. She was a light weight, only about as heavy as a wee sack of flour. But she was much more lush and warm than any sack of flour he’d ever held. And as light as she was, it took little effort to hold her aloft, but far more effort to not notice how supple she was…how perfectly formed she was. Her chest wedged against his chest, he could feel the plump globe of one breast pressed against him, and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to a certain waterfall where she’d stood bare to his gaze. He remembered how deliciously round they were, how heavy yet perfectly weighted they looked. He hadn’t seen her nipples, for she’d covered them with her arm, but he could guess they were the same dusky rose as her lips.

  God, he wanted to kiss her lips and her nipples, sucking the sensitive flesh of both into his mouth. He’d nip them, suckle them, tease them, until she groaned…until she moaned his name.

  “Tristin…” her husky voice interrupted his stirring thoughts.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

  “When we reach the creek…will ye give me some privacy—for but a moment?” she asked, her voice wavering from unsure to imperious. He much preferred her imperial tone. Despite being born a pauper and not having the sense to not barter her boots, she had a regal, proud bearing that made one gaze upon her with wonder.

  Even his men were curious about her, the witch who wasn’t a witch. He wasn’t a fool, he knew his men had seen his reaction to her—he’d laughed for the first time in three years, for God’s sake—but that is as far as he would let it go. Neither he nor his men were to form an attachment to the queenly apothecary…

  So why are you holding her as though you cannot get close enough to her?

  “Tristin?” Again, her voice broke through his thoughts, and he remembered she’d asked a question.

  “Once we reach the creek, I will set you down beside a bush. Once you are done there, I will carry you to the water’s edge. You can wash and bind your feet there. While I did not bring a torch, the moon is full…it should provide enough light to see by.”

  It had certainly provided enough light for him to see her pleasuring herself beneath a waterfall. His manhood rose to life, thickening, lengthening. The ache was more than one man should bear…and this one woman had brought upon this exquisite suffering. And only she could relieve him of his anguish.

  Enough of that!

  As if knowing the focus of his thoughts, Bell Heather shifted in his embrace, trying to turn herself outward, away from him. Could she see the dark wanting on his face? Could she feel the boom-boom-boom of his heart thundering away in his chest?

  She must…

  The sound of the creek met his ears and he nearly sighed in relief. Soon, he’d be rid of the lovely bundle in his arms, and he could take a long, deep breath that didn’t smell of heather. Though the forest was gloomy, he’d taken note of the path toward the creek, having cut his way there through the underbrush with his sword. Stepping from the forest and onto the wide barren bank of the creek, he paused only long enough to turn and make his way to the bush he’d seen there earlier. It was just the right height to hide someone who needed privacy, but not so high he couldn’t see her if she signaled for his aide.

  Slowly, Tristin squatted, lowering Bell Heather to the ground. Despite his desire to loose her, his arms tightened around her instead, and she gasped, turning her beautiful face to look up at him. Her eyes were wide, and in the moon light he could see they were brilliant with unspent emotion. Holding his breath, Tristin summoned his strength and released her. She slid from his arms easily…and he immediately felt the loss of her.

  Shooting to standing, he peered down at her. “I will leave you until you call for me. I will be just there,” he said, pointing to an area by the creek; at least two yards away.

  She nodded, and he turned and left her, just as he promised her would. But he didn’t like it. The woman had crawled into his blood, becoming a part of his every thought, and in such a short time. He didn’t like how he couldn’t put her from his mind, or stop his body from responding to even the whisper of her scent. He wanted her…more than he’d ever wanted any woman. But was that because he’d been celibate for three years? Was his obsession with the woman only because he’d denied himself a woman’s touch for too long?

  No. Three years of celibacy, three years of beautiful women’s advances. Many a noblewoman and chamber maid had made their desires for him known. Some of them even openly inviting him to their beds. He turned down each one. Not a one of them drew him as Bell Heather did. And he couldn’t explain why; it wasn’t his flesh that was yearning for her…it was something else.

  Time crawled by—at least that’s how it felt—as the breeze rushed over the tops of the trees, and the branches danced in the moon glow. He knew he should be alert to the dangers in the forest, both animal and man, but he couldn’t keep his mind off of the woman making water behind a bush. Lord, but he was ill, there was no other explanation for his need for her.

  “Tristin,” a soft and tremulous voice called. Bell Heather waved at him, her hand just peeking over the top of the bush.

  He made haste, coming around the bush to find her much as she was when he left her, the only sign that she’d done anything was the dark puddle to the very right of the bush. He noticed the puddle just when she had, and if the moonlight hadn’t been casting a blue hue, he would have seen her cheeks turn a dark pink.

  What a shame. She was lovely when she blushed.

  Without a word, she raised her arms to him and he stalled, staring down at her. Her arms
spread wide, her lips pouting, her eyes glimmering in suppressed anger…she looked about as succulent as any feast he’d ever eaten. He could imagine her, just like that, in his bed. Her arms reaching out to him, silently begging him to come to her, press his body down on her, fill her arms just as he filled her tight, wet, channel.

  Bell Heather left out an impatient huff. “Well, ye going to stand there or are ye going to carry me as ye keep insisting? I have a mind to crawl to the creek and leave ye standing there, brooding all on yer own.” With that, she lifted her chin and pulled her arms back to cross them over her chest.

  He let out a bark of laughter. She was certainly a prick to the pride.

  His laughter only made the anger in her eyes burn all the more. Good. The stiffness of her anger was better than the softness of her supplication.

  “Have a care,” Tristin said as he bent and gathered Bell Heather into his arms once again.

  Ah, but she fits just right, his heart bellowed into the space where his mind should have been.

  In three strides, he was at the creek, but when he took one more step to set her at the edge, his foot slid on a loose path of rocks and he teetered backward. Bell Heather gasped, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest. Before he could land on his arse, he righted himself, still holding tight to the woman who was now holding tight to him.

  Once his legs were under him again, the truth of his situation dawned. She was pressed so closely to him, he could feel her breath against his chest. He could feel the blood pulsing through the wrists encircling his neck. He could feel the whisper of her fingers against the hairs at his nape. To have her draped around him, her arms, her scent, her very presence cloaking him was a spell he never wanted to break.

  He looked down at her face, she was turned into him. He could only see the flesh of her cheek, the fan of her eyelashes, and the gently sloping shell of one ear. Even that was enough to sing of her beauty. She was effortlessly lovely.

  After a few more moments, Bell Heather turned her face and met his gaze, and what she saw there made her eyes widen and her lips part in a mouthwatering “O”. Tristin growled low, his gaze arresting on the generously plump lips, his hunger to taste them overriding every other sense.

  He bent his head, slowly, giving her time to pull away, to slap him, to scream her “nay.” And when she didn’t, when she only watched him with stark interest and scorching fire in her eyes, he knew she felt the same pull, the same enchantment he did.

  And so he allowed the enchantment to overcome him, descending the last fingerbreadths until they were a mere breath apart. He stopped, languishing in the feeling of her heated pants blowing over his cheeks. There was a hitch in her exhale that told him she was just as impatient as he.

  With his last clamoring thought spinning into nothingness, Tristin brushed his lips against hers. The world burst into a thousand lights, and he was lost in the brilliance of it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bell Heather abandoned all good sense, leaving her morals behind as she silently begged Tristin to kiss her. She hadn’t meant to throw herself at him as she had, but she didn’t want to fall, either. She was set to apologize, and to tell him he should be more careful of where he walked, but when she looked up into his face, she could only think of the blazing heat in his black eyes, the flare of his nostrils, the muscles working in his jaw, and the stark hunger written into the planes of his face.

  She wanted him to kiss her like she wanted to draw her next breath. So, when he finally brushed his lips against hers, she knew one touch wouldn’t be enough. And when he did it again, slower, she moaned, both in yearning and in pleasure.

  At her moan, he answered with one of his own, pressing down harder, his teeth skimming along her bottom lip. She gasped when he nipped her there, the pain and pleasure mingling in her belly, filling her with ever burning desire. Sensing her enjoyment of his treatment of her mouth, he nipped her again, and again she gasped, but this time, he worked her mouth further open. The heat of his mouth overwhelmed her, and the intrusion of his tongue stole her breath. She’d never heard of such kissing before. It was wicked, it was profane…it was absolutely wonderful.

  Bell Heather loosed one arm from around his neck and slid her hand to his cheek. The roughness of the stubble there only added to the sensations swirling in her belly. With her other hand, she slid her fingers into the surprising softness of his hair. It tickled her palm, and she shuddered.

  An answering tremor vibrated through Tristin, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth. She melted against him, uncaring of wanton or wicked she felt. Never in her life had she experienced such bliss, such incredible need. Her dream of him, of Tristin, couldn’t compare to how truly marvelous it was to be in his arms, held against the hardness of his chest, and kissed as though his breath and her breath were entwined.

  The iron bands of his arms tightened, drawing her ever closer, and she groaned. Bell Heather couldn’t understand the driving need, the hunger for something more…she just knew she would die without it. Without him to give it to her.

  A rustling noise, followed by a loud cough, startled her and she froze, her body stiffening. Tristin heard it too, but instead of loosing her as she thought he would, he slowly pulled away, breaking their kiss. Bell Heather drew great gulps of air into her body, and Tristin shuddered, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against hers, as if trying to steady himself.

  Without looking, Tristin called, “Elric, what is it?”

  Elric? Humiliation filled her with a new kind of heat, and it sucked the pleasure from her body. She wriggled, desperate to get away, to hide away from what Elric had seen.

  What must he think? Does he think I seduced his captain? Terrified, Bell Heather let go of Tristin’s neck and tried to remove her legs from his grip.

  He only held her tighter.

  Groaning in shame, Bell Heather hid her face in her hands, so she could only hear Elric approach.

  “I had wondered where you had gone off to. You told no one of your plans,” Elric said, accusation in his tone.

  Tristin shifted, lifting his head from hers. “I brought Bell Heather here so she could wash and bind her feet.”

  There was a weighty silence, and then, “I see.” Bell Heather tried to burrow deeper into Tristin’s arms, but it was no use. She couldn’t run from Elric or what he’d witnessed.

  “Was there something you needed, Elric?” This time, Tristin’s voice was accusatory. As the commander, he didn’t have to answer to his men, but Bell Heather knew there was more to Elric and Tristin’s relationship than just commander and soldier.

  Another weighty silence filled the creek bank. Strange that silence could be louder than the booming of the blood through her ears.

  “I came to tell you that I sent Glenn ahead. He will scout the route and wait for us fifteen miles from here.”

  Why would they send Glenn to scout ahead? Were they expecting trouble? Bell Heather knew from tragic experience that reivers were active in Yorkshire, especially the areas ringing the moors. But would a group of mindless scavengers really attack a group of skilled warriors?

  Desperate men do desperate things…

  “Good,” Tristin said, his deep voice rumbling through Bell Heather. “We will return to camp shortly.”

  Bell Heather knew that there was more being said than she could hear; they were more than likely glaring at one another. And she would more than likely become the focus of many pairs of eyes once word spread of what they’d been caught doing in the moonlight.

  Holding her breath, Bell Heather waited for the sounds of Elric’s departure. And she waited…and waited, her ear pressed to Tristin’s chest. She counted the steady beats of his heart, and was lulled by the slow inhale and exhale, lifting and falling… For the first time in days, Bell Heather felt safe…calm…at peace.

  “You can come out now, he is gone.”

  Startled out of her false quiet,
she stiffened again.

  “Then let me down. I will work hastily,” she choked out, still dazed from their kiss, the interruption, and the stupor that followed.

  Without pause, Tristin leaned down and sat her at the water’s edge. He dropped her bag beside her.

  Damn, but she’d forgotten all about her bag. I suppose that is what a kiss can do to a woman—she loses her senses. Nay…for some reason, she knew that only Tristin’s kisses could do that. As another wave of heat rushed into her cheeks, she grabbed her bag and opened it. Inside was her only other tunic dress. When she added the extra five inches of hem, she never thought to use it as bandages. Usually, her dresses would fray at the bottoms from her work in the garden, her gathering of herbs in the forest, and her walks through the moors and meadows. Once the exposed hem frayed, she’d fold it up and sew it, and a new, unfrayed hem would show.

  Trying to ignore the man standing behind her, she used what little light the moon cast to find the knot she’d tied in the hem. Once she found it, she cut it with her teeth. With the knot cut, she easily pulled the extra hem from the dress. Her makeshift bandage was only as long as her spread arms were side, but the five-inch width would allow her to tear it into two strips.

  It would have to work.

  She tore the fabric into two bandages, leaving a scrap of fabric with which she could wash her feet. Scooting forward, she slid her feet into the cool water, and immediately the throbbing stopped. She groaned at the relief, just stopping herself from throwing her head back at the simple pleasure of having pain-free feet.

  After a moment, she leaned forward, took the bar of soap from her bag and created a lather with the soap and the scrap of fabric. She pulled her left foot from the water and crossed her ankle over her knee to get a better view of her sole.

  It wasn’t bleeding, but there were four dark areas where the flesh had been torn away. Pressing the soapy cloth onto her foot, she hissed as the sharp burn it created. Quickly, she scrubbed away the dying skin to allow for proper healing. What she wouldn’t give for her herbs!