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

by Rosamund Winchester

  “They were wet. You were shivering terribly. I needed to get you warm. I took your clothes off and laid them out over there,” he said, pointing to a bale of hay across the small space where they were huddled…like two lovers.

  She tried to get up, to get to her clothes and get dressed, but his hand on her belly stayed her.

  “Where are you doing?” he asked, his hot breath whispering over the back of her neck. She shuddered, at once ashamed of her reaction to him and thrilled by his closeness.

  “I am going to get dressed, then, I am going to get away from here,” she replied, her words clipped.

  He chuckled again. “Oh? And where will you go in your sodden clothes?”

  She lifted her chin, which seemed ridiculous, since he probably couldn’t see it from behind her. “I cannot say. I have no inkling of where we are now,” she replied with grudging honesty.

  “It is an abandoned stable. There is a house across the yard, but it has been gutted with fire.”

  A trickle of fear skittered down her back. “Reivers,” she hissed.

  “Yes. There was little left. I was able to find this horse blanket and some old cloth that I used to bandage your head.”

  So, he had treated her wound…but why?

  Long, silent moments passed, and Bell Heather’s thoughts swirled in her head. No matter if he dressed her wound, he still meant to take her to Cieldon. He was her captor and her savior…and she didn’t know which truly captivated her more. His heavy arm was still draped over her, the heat of him poured into her, through her, and the feel of him, so close…it stoked a fire he’d lit that night by the waterfall.

  “Do you remember what happened?” he asked, his voice low, almost like an intimate murmur. She tensed, wondering if he’d somehow read her mind. “With Gaubin,” he clarified.

  Relief doused her sudden humiliation, and she swallowed the ball of trepidation that had lodged in her throat. “Well…I…”

  She remembered Gaubin appearing. She remembered the feel of the dagger point at her throat, pressing in. She remembered the sharp prick of pain, and being thankful that he hadn’t drawn blood. Yet. She remembered wanting to get away and tying a loose knot around her legs. She remembered him hauling her onto his beastly horse… And she remembered the yells, the screams, the sounds of battle. She remembered her abject terror—not for herself, but for Tristin. She remembered watching in the direction of the cottage as Gaubin rode away, the cottage and Tristin getting farther and farther away.

  “I remember Gaubin…he heard ye coming. He tried to ford the river…”

  “Yes…” he confirmed in a low tone, as if trying to draw her out.

  She continued. “I remember how terrified I was that…that I would fall off… And then-then ye were there.” The memory of the rushing, frigid water, as it began to swallow the horse made the whole of her shake. Trembling, she couldn’t form her next words, she could only think on how relieved and happy she was to see Tristin riding toward them, the look of the devil on his face. He was enraged…but he was also worried. She sucked in a breath, trying to contain the shuddering. Tristin’s arm tightened, pulling her ever closer to him. She realized then that they were touching, flesh to flesh.

  Tristin was naked, too.

  A new kind of tension—heavier, more desperate—filled the space. Bell Heather focused her gaze on the hay bale, trying to steady herself, to bring her body back under her control. Tristin was Homme du Sang, he was dedicated to doing his god’s will. What would he want with the likes of her?

  She felt him tense, the muscles in his arms flexing, his hand spreading open so his fingers could lay flat against her belly. His thumb just below the globe of her right breast.

  He sucked in a slow breath, the air teasing a lock of hair over her ear. Small prickles danced over her flesh.

  “I thought I was going to watch you die,” he ground out, his voice hoarse.

  “If ye want me dead, ye will have to do better than an abduction and a near drowning,” she said, forcing out a strained laugh.

  But he didn’t laugh with her, instead he pulled away, leaving her back exposed to the chilly air. She laid her back against the prickling hay and immediately realized her mistake. As she was, she couldn’t help but look up into his eyes as he stared down at her.

  Holding her breath, she watched him lean over her, pinning her in place with his black gaze.

  “You think I wanted you dead?” he snarled, his voice as deep as his face was hard, his dark eyebrows lowering over glimmering eyes.

  Unable to stop herself, she shrugged. “It would save ye the trouble of delivering me. Put the witch out of yer misery and be home in time to bed a proper lady, no doubt.”

  He didn’t curse and pull away as she expected him to, as she needed him to, in order to save herself from the blazing sensations burning through her. He was too close, he was too male, to strong…and she wanted him too much.

  So take him…a voice breathed through her, caressing her as she wished Tristin would.

  He continued to stare down at her, and she took the time to stare back. Her whole being seemed to be filled with waiting…yearning. She yearned to fulfil the wicked dream she’d had of him. She hungered to taste him, to have him taste her. She knew it was wrong to want such things, especially with a man of blood like Tristin, but, for her, there would be no other. It was as if she’d been waiting her whole life for him…for this moment.

  As she let her gaze burn into him, he seemed to hold his breath. He was waiting, too. He’d seen her naked—twice!—and she felt it fitting that she get the chance to see him in all his masculine beauty. Braving his censure, she lowered her gaze from his face, letting it slide down the thick cords of his neck, and down to the broad expanse of hard chest. A mat of dark hair covered the plains of his chest, and the hair trailed down…over rippled muscles in a flat belly, and even further still…into the waistband of his stockings. So, he wasn’t completely naked. Her eyebrows shot up, disappointment coursing through her, along with her sudden need to peel every last piece of clothing from his body and see what was making the noticeable bulge.

  He groaned, and her gaze snapped up to his.

  “What are you doing, Bell?” he ground out as if in pain.

  “Ye have seen me naked, I only thought it fair ye return the favor…” she purred, uncaring of how wanton she sounded. So be it. If Gaubin returned, if Willem Mason had his way, if Cardinal Calleaux called for her death…she was finished. But…before that, she wanted to know what it felt like to be caressed, loved. By Tristin.

  “When I removed your clothes, it was not to take advantage of you,” he said, removing his hand from her belly so he could comb through his black hair with frustrated movements. By Dagda, he looked glorious with his dark hair mussed, the moonlight shining down over the muscles flexing in his arms, his shoulders, his chest…

  Why was she suddenly so thirsty? The need to lick and bite him nearly made her moan aloud. She flicked her tongue out to wet her parched lips.

  His eyes caught the quick movement, and he groaned again.

  “But…what if I want ye to?” she asked, her voice a sensual whisper, a soft pleading. By the gods, she wanted him. But…would he want her? He’d kissed her, she’d seen the desire in his eyes at the waterfall, and by the creek, but that didn’t mean he truly wanted to be with her. Men were men were men—at least that’s what Maude would say.

  His gaze burned down into her, traveling over her face, searching her eyes. He seemed unsure, as though pondering the consequences. Consequences be damned! If she was going to die, she was going to live first!

  “Kiss me, Tristin,” she demanded, raising a hand to run her fingers over the stubble on his cheek. He sucked in a breath and stilled.

  “You do not know what you are asking,” he whispered.

  Her heart jolted, her pulse pounding like wild deer stampeding through the forest.

  “But I do…I need ye, Tristin… Please…” Was that her voi
ce? She sounded lost…broken. Desperate. For him.

  The man, the knight, the commander leaning over her shuddered, the plains of his belly undulating as the muscles beneath the taut skin clenched.

  “Ah, Bell…” he groaned, and before she could exhale the breath she’d been holding, his head descended and he whispered a kiss over her lips. “You mean to break me…”

  Trembling, she slid her hand over the firmness of his chest, over his neck, and behind his head. She savored in the thick silkiness of his hair, and he shuddered again.

  He closed his eyes.

  “No more than ye have broken me,” she replied, pulling his head down and brushing her own lips against his. His breath caught, and she held hers, waiting, wondering, hoping that he would feel the same as she, that he would need her as much as she needed him.

  His mouth covered hers hungrily, devouring her, ravishing her lips with a growl. She moaned and held on, flinging the blanket off her other arm so she could snake it around his neck. The chill of the night sang along her the flesh of her breasts, but the heat rushing through her veins joined it in harmony.

  Tristin leaned in, pressing the hardness of his chest against the softness of hers, and it was the sweetest agony. His maleness against her womanliness…is that what it meant to feel adored? As he moved above her, deepening his ravishment, the hairs of his chest tickled her nipples, the hard-pebbled peaks shooting pain-pleasure through her body.

  Stars began to form behind her eyes.

  Tristin touched her waist, his palm hot, his fingers rough from holding a sword. The hand on her waist glided down to the curve of her hip, and he gripped her there, holding her down. Then, with a flick of his arm, he threw the blanket off her completely, revealing her nakedness to his gaze, once more.

  She tensed and gasped, and, as if waiting for her shock, he invaded the recesses of her mouth with his tongue. With his hand on her hip, his other hand was free to encircle the back of her head to keep her face still as he plundered her, taking what he wanted, what she wanted to give him. His kiss sent ecstasy spiraling through her, winding up her every sense, and tossing them about. She was floating outside of her body yet present within it, trapped by the sensations, the yearning.

  Her heart thudded an erratic rhythm, and she could feel his doing the same. His heartbeat racing beneath her fingers on his neck.

  Bell Heather loosed her hold, letting her hands fall to his shoulders where she felt the undulation of his back muscles tensing and releasing, like a great beast holding back its attack. He released her mouth, only to sear a path down her cheek, to her neck, and then down to her collarbone. She moaned, the heat of his mouth like fire on her sensitive flesh.

  Pulling back, Tristin stilled, staring down at her, his face a mask of desire. His mouth was kiss swollen, and she couldn’t help but feel pride that she’d done that to him. His gaze danced over her nakedness, skimming over the flatness of her belly and up to the heavy globes of her breasts. His hand on her hip made a slow, tantalizing journey to her belly, just beneath her navel, his fingers making an achingly gentle circle there, then turning north to slide, much too slowly, to just below her breasts.

  She watched his eyes, the flare of fire, the darkening of passion…and she knew her own eyes reflected the same.

  He raised his hand and made another slow circle around her throbbing nipple. She gasped, and when he lowered his head, his lips took possession of her tip. Her breasts surged at the intimacy of his touch, his mouth, his lips encircling her. His tongue flicked her budded peak, once, twice, and the stars behind her eyes began to swirl, growing brighter. She groaned, unable to bear the sensation, the pleasure, and when he suckled her, she nearly flew away, arching her back into him, begging him to take more, give her more.

  “Trist-Tristin…please…I want…” She didn’t know what she wanted, only what she needed. She needed him…to stop the ache, to fill the empty space within her.

  His breath skittered over her sensitive breasts, and she moaned. “What is it you need, my Bell?” he murmured, taking the other nipple into his mouth and giving it the same devastating attention.

  “I need ye…please. End my suffering…” Tristin was the man, the only man, she could ever desire this much. It didn’t feel like a normal desire, it felt like, if she couldn’t have him, couldn’t feel him inside her, she would die.

  He chuckled. “Suffering, are you?”

  She shuddered, thrashing her head from side to side. “Aye, I may die from want of ye.”

  Tristin’s second chuckle vibrated through her and she is nearly overcome when he removed his hand from her neck only to slide it down to cup her breasts—they were full, heavier than she’d ever felt them. It was as if they’d been waiting for his touch.

  Leaning down, Tristin brushed a kiss over the flesh beneath her left ear. A mewling sound escaped her throat and she wound her arms around him. Bell Heather slipped her hands over the muscles of his shoulders and down his back, her fingers brushing his waist band. Eager, she pushed it down. She wanted to touch him, to feel the hardness of his backside in the palms of her hands.

  “Bell,” he moaned her name, against her ear, “are you sure? After this, there will be no going back…”

  Going back? She never wanted to go back. Back to that lonely existence, where the world passed her, crawling, and her only thought was for pigs and sprigs of herbs. Nay. With Tristin, she’d never be the same again. And she didn’t want to be.

  “Aye, I am sure,” she declared, her voice husky with heady desire.

  Searching her face, he took a long, deep breath, holding it, and with his right hand, he slid down the softness of her belly and into the thatch of curls between her thighs. Stunned, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding, and threw her head back. Tristin slipped his fingers into her wet, aching folds.

  “Ah…you are wet for me, my Bell…” Tristin’s voice was deeper than she’d ever heard it, and it thrummed through her, making her womanhood clench. As it clenched, he pressed down on a spot just under the hood of her sex, and her mind exploded, the stars in her eyes falling from the sky to collide with her soul.

  “So sensitive…so lovely. Oh, my Bell, so beautiful in the moonlight,” Tristin murmured into her breast before taking her nipple into his mouth once more. She thrashed, arching her back, thrusting her arse into the air, unknowing what she was begging for, what she needed from him.

  “Tristin, I-I…” She was nearly sobbing.

  Tristin grunted, moving away from her, but she groaned, the chill of the night returning to batter her senses. Where had he gone? Before she could ask him, he was back, and this time, he was pressing her legs apart, pushing her hips into the hay and moving in between her thighs.

  This was it…this is what she’d dreamt about, what she’d woken up wet and ravenous for. Him, between her quivering thighs, his thick, long, hard manhood lodged against the heat and pulsing ache of her most secret place.

  He leaned over her, with his hips wedged between her thighs, and he kissed her, robbing her of breath, of sense, of care. She dug her fingers into the flesh of his back, silently urging him on. With his hard body atop hers, she was pinned, the weight of him delicious.

  “I will make it good for you, my Bell,” he rasped, then kissed her again, biting down on the swell of her bottom lip. With one hand, he reached down between then, grasping the girth of his shaft, and he placed the tip of it against her entrance. He looked up, meeting her gaze with eyes blacker than the deepest midnight. And with their eyes locked on one another, as if joined by soul, he thrust into her, filling her, tearing her asunder. And she’d never felt so whole.

  Chapter Eighteen

  She was hot. So hot. And tight. Her channel gripped him like a velvet fist. It was good. So good. Better than he could ever imagine. Slowly, he withdrew until the very tip of his manhood was all that remained within her, then he held his breath and slid home. The pleasure blinded him, filling his vision with sparkling lights. She was
soft and warm beneath him, her round, lush breasts pressed against his chest. It was where she belonged, beneath him, against him, in his arms. Her body wrapped about his, her cries of surprise and rapture filling the air.

  He thrust again, pulling out and pushing in deeper. Her eyes slid closed, and he knew she was marveling in the sensations. He’d known she was an innocent. Though she was a beauty any man would desire, she had chosen to withhold her precious treasure from them.

  But she’d given it to him.

  And he would cherish it. Cherish her.

  He kissed her neck, eliciting more cries, more moans. Lord, but she was a lusty woman, the kind of woman a man could get drunk on.

  And he didn’t care that with one single movement, he’d broken his vow. He could only care that she was here, and she was his.

  Mine.

  He planted his knees, gathered her into his arms, and thrust in ever deeper, rocking her with the power. Her beautiful breasts shook with the force of his urgency to claim her.

  Just as he’d told Bell Heather; there was no going back now. He was well and truly captured by her. And he could only hope he’d survive long enough to set them both free.

  “Tristin,” she cried, “I need…” She thrashed her head, her long hair spilled over the hay, and he was mesmerized by unfettered loveliness of her. He bent down and took her mouth, sucking her air into his body, swallowing her cries as he moved inside her, faster, deeper, filling her with all that he was.

  He could feel her release coming, the walls of her femininity clutching at him. It nearly drove him mad. She groaned, the sounds of her building pleasure heaving from her, and then she came, her body shuddering with the explosion.

  Panting, desperate, his manhood thickening, he slammed into her one last time, letting her body claim his just as his claimed her. His release tore through him and he yelled, the power of pulsing, throbbing drawing the blood from his head. He saw flashes of lights in the darkness, then nothing…and as he descended from the heights of heaven, his vision cleared, until he was looking down into the face of an angel. Her skin was flushed, her eyes were glowing, and her lips were parted as she breathed heavily.