Blood Sword Legacy 01 - Master of Surrender

by Karin Tabke

  Isabel shook her head, still unable to bend her mind around exactly what was expected of her. Was she to bear the bastard a bastard? Nay! She would not. She would not give herself to any man but her wedded husband. She looked up at the set jaw of the man who had since his arrival turned her life inside out. Aye, she could admit she lusted for the man. Her cheeks warmed. She would not lie. But he was a landless knight; there was no future for them.

  Isabel sighed heavily. And she was a landless Saxon noble. She had nothing but the remains of her father’s treasury at her disposal, and that she would not touch, for in truth it belonged to her brother now. And she would never take from Geoff.

  So, like Rohan, she had nothing. Was nothing enough? Mayhap it would be if there was love between them, but there was really only the ramblings of an addled old woman in the forest.

  Isabel’s chest tightened as grief and despair engulfed her. For the first time since the Normans’ landing, she felt the urge to give up. To go away and lick her wounds. To be left completely alone. She was tired of taking care of everyone. She wanted someone to take care of her.

  She settled back against the hard chest of the man who dominated her every thought, and she closed her eyes. Mayhap when she awoke, the world would be brighter.

  It was not. A dark gloom hung over the manor, giving it a dull, sad pall. Whereas the villagers had looked cheery and carefree that morning, now they looked forlorn and sullen. Wulfson met her stare with a furious glare. Isabel’s cheeks flushed hot. ’Twas not her intention to shame the knight in the eyes of his master.

  Rohan tossed his reins to Hugh and dismounted; he turned to Isabel and extended his arms. She moved easily into them, and as he drew her from the horse, her body pressed against his. She caught her breath at the heat that radiated from him. She looked up into his stormy eyes. Her heart beat so hard against her breast she felt as if it would break out. The storm passed in his eyes; he turned and extended his arm to her. She took it.

  He ignored Wulfson, who did not look nearly as afraid as Warner had when she gave that knight the slip. Indeed, Wulfson’s face twisted in furious anger. Rohan ignored his man. They swept into the hall, and despite her fatigue, she perked up when she saw it was vacant of any Willingham. She did not have the strength to trade barbs with the peevish Deidre.

  Isabel sat quietly throughout the meal, the day’s events unfolding again and again in her head. She was tired, confused, and afraid. But she also felt a different, more ready tension. She watched Rohan’s large hand cut meat in their trencher, then grasp the goblet of fine wine and drink heartily of it. He had killed with no compunction today. Yet those hands could be gentle. And had been with her. She trembled. What would he expect from her this eve?

  She looked up to see his tawny eyes quietly contemplating her. While they burned, there was a serene sheen to them. Isabel dropped her gaze to her food and nibbled on a piece of spiced capon. Emotions collided in her heart. She would not succumb to him. She could not.

  She would come to her husband a virgin. She could not bear the thought of bearing a bastard. ’Twas not fair to the child, and ’twas not fair to her. She knew Rohan would press her for complete yielding. She would not bend. On this matter, she was steadfast in her resolve.

  “Isabel, what plagues you?” Rohan softly asked.

  A sudden wave of hot tears welled up in her eyes. She shook her head, but a big tear plopped onto her hand. She moved to wipe it on her sleeve, but he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it away. He raised his lips, hovering just above her skin, and said, “Your bravery today was commendable. Do not despair overmuch, damsel. This war is coming to a close, and you will benefit from the outcome.”

  “Rohan.” She choked as emotion overcame her. “I must know of my brother. Too much hinges on his life.”

  He squeezed her hand gently. “Nothing changes between us should he return.”

  Isabel withdrew her hand from Rohan’s. “You are wrong to think that. He would be a worthy ally to you and your duke. I cannot think William would relieve him of his lands and title. He is rightful lord here.”

  “This land is still unsettled, Isabel. Much can change. William is a man of his word and not one to change his mind with the direction of the wind. He will see his loyal subjects where he will. And we are all subject to his discretion.” He smiled, plucked a piece of succulent capon from the trencher, and waved it beneath her nose. “Eat, Isabel, you will need your strength.”

  She looked up to see a flash of fire in his eyes. Her belly did a slow roll. She opened her mouth, and he popped the meat between her lips. When she closed her mouth around his finger that lingered against her bottom lip, a hard, sensual jolt nearly unseated her. Rohan smiled and slowly withdrew his finger.

  His action surprised her. The erotic charge the soft brush of his fingertips across her lips elicited shocked her. Just moments before, she sat determined to end their physical liaison. But now, a different hunger consumed her.

  She watched him watch her, and when he understood her thoughts, his lips turned up into a slow, knowing smile. Heat infused her cheeks. She turned and looked away from him. She had fought so valiantly to put carnal thoughts of this man far from her mind. But with this one, single, innocent touch, her body flamed for more.

  “May I be excused, Rohan?” she asked softly.

  “You do not hunger for food, Isa?”

  She refused to look at him. Instead, she shook her head.

  “Nay. I am weary. I seek a bath and my bed.”

  Rohan stood and offered her his arm. She took it, and he led her to the bottom of the stairway. Without looking back, Isabel ran up the stone steps to the chamber she shared with him. Once inside, she closed the door and pressed her back against the hard timber. She caught a hard breath and pressed her hand to her belly. Her entire body flared hot with desire.

  A soft knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She opened the door to Enid, who stood wringing her hands. Isabel bid her maid come in, and Enid quickly set about preparing a bath for her. As she bustled about the room, several times she cast an eye toward Isabel. Finding the maid’s actions annoying, Isabel said, “What pricks your mind, Enid?”

  Once again, the tiring woman stood wringing her hands. “There is word of others lurking in the forest. The branded souls from Dunsworth.”

  Isabel’s heart went out to the poor people. Henri was a menace. He would see every Saxon and no doubt some of his own countrymen dead. Indeed, Isabel knew it was only a matter of time before the two brothers clashed, and one would not rise. The thought of Rohan lying on the cold, hard English soil as his life blood drained from him terrified Isabel. Her heart squeezed so tightly she could not draw a breath. The unexpected emotion that claimed her at the thought of Rohan’s death terrified her as much as his death itself. She sat perfectly still. What did it mean? Did she—did she have feelings for the dark knight? Isabel pressed her hand to her throat and swallowed hard. The buzz in her belly and the heat in her loins told her what her head did not want to acknowledge. Somehow, in the last week, a man, a sworn enemy, had found his way into her heart.

  How could it be? She tried to swallow but the dryness in her throat hurt. Nay, she could not care for a man such as Rohan du Luc! Could she?

  “Milady?” Enid softly questioned. “What ails you?”

  Isabel blinked and shook the crazy thoughts from her head. She looked up to Enid and smiled. “Forgive me. I am weary. What did you say of the people of Dunsworth?”

  “They band together in the forest.”

  “Do they seek refuge here?”

  Enid shrugged, still holding back.

  “Tell me where they hide, and I will alert Sir Rohan to fetch them.”

  “’Tis rumored they are marked by the devil’s brand now. They conjure spells and are more bent on revenge than rescue, milady. They hold no trust for the Normans.”

  Several boys brought in steaming buckets of water and poured them into the copper tub, fil
ling it. Once they left the room, Enid helped Isabel undress. As she sank into the steamy water, Isabel closed her eyes, and as much as she did not want to think of her feelings for Rohan, the buzz in her belly made her smile. “Enid, Sir Rohan is not like his brother. Rest assured, he means the villagers no harm. I will talk to him on the matter. Now, please leave me to my bath.”

  Enid made haste to leave the room.

  Twenty-two

  Sometime later, when Rohan ascended the steps, the weariness he had experienced as he and his men planned for more harassment from Henri and what was left of the marauders disappeared. His blood warmed as he thought of the soft and creamy maid in his chamber. And for the first time since their return to the manor, he gave his mind over to what the seer had proclaimed. While he was not one to believe in spells and magic, he believed A’isha, and he believed Wilma. And he believed the fire that burned hot and strong in his heart for the maid upstairs. Aye, she was his destiny, and she would know it before too much more time passed.

  He rubbed the scar on his chest and hastened to his chamber, where Hugh had set up his bath. He looked forward to the hot, steamy soak, but what he looked forward to more was stretching his tired limbs out beside the smooth warmth of Isabel.

  When Rohan entered the room, it glowed in the low halo of firelight. The copper tub steamed near the hearth. Several tapers were lit on the cabinets. Fresh linens sat folded on a stool next to the tub. Isabel was curled up asleep in the large chair he surmised had been her father’s on the other side of the hearth.

  He was careful not to disturb her. As he closed the door, Hugh materialized. Rohan shook his head, not requiring the squire’s assistance. He closed the door, bolting it. He moved quietly toward the hearth and the maid who slumbered beside it. A tenderness he had never experienced, not even for A’isha, overcame him for the brave girl. Quietly, Rohan unstrapped his sword belt and set it aside. He continued to undress. Once free of all clothing, he stepped into the tub and sank into the welcoming water. As he rested back against the rim, Rohan let out a long, heavy sigh. He closed his eyes for several long moments, and when he opened them, he found two of the most mesmerizing eyes softly watching him.

  His belly made a funny quivering movement. He scowled, not liking the feelings infusing him at that moment. Isabel smiled and began to rise from her seat. “Nay, Isabel, rest. I will see to my bath.” When she sank back into the upholstered chair, he let out a long breath of relief. The way he was feeling at the moment, if she so much as touched him, he would come apart at the seams. And while he intended to keep to their bargain and indulge in that ripe body of hers, he wanted so much more.

  As he washed and then rinsed himself, Isabel’s gaze never once left him. Finally, feeling most uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he demanded, “What ails you, woman?”

  She smiled and shook her head and continued to watch him. When Rohan stood to complete the rinse, she boldly refused to cast her gaze away. He rose hot and thick before her. “Do you desire me, Isa, as much as I desire you?”

  With no hesitation, she nodded. Rohan growled and stepped from the tub, not caring that he dripped water over the rugs. He strode to Isabel and swooped her up in his arms. He carried her to the bed, where his body followed hers into the thick fur pelts. He dug his fingers deep into her damp hair, and before he pressed his lips to hers, his gaze scoured her face for protest. He found none. “Isa,” he breathed, “what spell have you cast upon me?” Not waiting for an answer, his lips descended onto hers, and he felt her, warm and pliant, open up to him. He took everything she offered.

  His head spun as her fingers dug deep into his hair and she pulled him tighter against her. Her body arched, the hard tips of her breasts digging into his bare chest. A hot, crazy sexual inferno engulfed Rohan, and suddenly he could not get enough of her. He tore his lips from hers. His hand pulled at her shift, ripping it in half, exposing the most glorious breasts he had ever laid eyes on. Voraciously, he plundered them with his mouth.

  Isabel squirmed and arched, pressing her body hotly against his. As if he were drunk, his eyelids were hooded, his limbs became heavy, his head swirled. His loins filled with hot blood. He would have her this night and every night thereafter.

  “Isa,” he breathed against a nipple, his breath ragged, “you make me forget everything.”

  She moaned in response, and when she slid her hand down the hardness of his belly to his rigid cock and wrapped her hands around him, Rohan shuddered against her. “Jesu, Isa, you make me insane.”

  He moved his hand down to cover hers, and in unison they moved up and down the thickness of him. His hips undulated against her belly. Their hot, moist breaths mingled. In one great thrust, unable to contain himself, Rohan spilled his seed into her hand. He groaned, his body stiffening as she pumped him, milking him dry of all his seed. When he shuddered against her for the last time, Isabel scooted out from under him. She grabbed a linen from the stand next to the bed and wiped herself clean, then him.

  Rohan, while sated for the moment, was not done with her. He pushed her back onto the pillows. “Isa, ’tis not what I wanted.” He kissed her long and deep, and his hands traveled down her belly to her soft curls. Isabel moaned beneath his lips. When he dipped a thick finger into her waiting wetness, she cried out, arching toward him. “Let me make love to you,” he whispered against her lips. “Let me love you all night long.”

  His lips traveled from her lips to her chin, and then he pressed them to her throat. His hand moved slowly back and forth, the sheen of sweat erupted on Isabel’s skin, and the sultry scent of her sex swirled in the air, heightening Rohan’s senses. His lips tasted each pink-tipped nipple, and when he pressed his lips to her belly, Isabel hissed in a breath.

  She felt as if she were caught up in a wild, wanton vortex. The heat and velocity of Rohan’s assault made Isabel forget herself. All she wanted was total consummation. He moved another finger into her, and the slick sound of her juice as she moaned and thrust against his hand added more fuel to her out-of-control flame. When he nuzzled her mound, Isabel stiffened in shock. “Relax, Isa,” he softly said, the percussion of his breath against her swollen lips driving her mad with want. “Let me love you this way.” Slipping his fingers from her before she could answer, his tongue breached the seam between her loins. Isabel strained against him. As his tongue lapped her there, his fingers swirled slowly around her creamy, straining nub, and the wave she had craved emerged, gaining full force with exhilarating quickness. He suckled her nub, and with his middle finger, he pressed deep into her, tapping that sweet spot. In one liquid wave, she came into his mouth. Grabbing his hair, she trembled beneath him and truly thought she had died and gone to heaven. As each spasm wracked her straining, sweaty body, Isabel cried out.

  When he took all of her into his mouth and suckled her nether lips and nub, she lost all control. Her thighs fell wide open, and her hands slipped from his hair. She lay hot, wet, and panting, cradled in the fur pelts, unable to catch a decent breath. Her chest heaved as she sought to breathe a regular breath. Rohan moved back up her belly, his long hair trailing softly against her sensitive skin, heightening her experience. When he kissed her, she tasted herself and nearly died of shame, but he did not give her the chance to dwell on it. His shaft had filled and pressed against her moist curls.

  Isabel shook her head against the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. If she looked at him, she would not be able to resist the call of his eyes.

  He pressed the head of his cock to her thigh. “Allow me entrance, Isabel.’”

  She moaned and shook her head. Though her hips moved against his and her breasts quivered wanting his touch once again, she could not.

  He pressed her, his hot breath mingled with hers. Isabel opened her eyes and gasped. Rohan’s eyes burned with the brightness of a thousand suns. His wide, muscular shoulders hovered over her. His dark hair shrouded him, reminding her of a fallen angel.

  She opened her mouth to deny him, but no words came
forth. A terrible battle raged. Her desire and, yes, her love for this man wreaked havoc with her morality. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Nay, Rohan, you cannot.”

  If ’twere possible, his body stiffened further to steel. She felt him tremble against her. But he did not press her. Instead, he moved to her side, releasing her from his touch. Though he lay only inches from her, she felt as if he were leagues away. Her body yearned to follow his, to give him what they both so desperately wanted. But she could not do it. The thought of him casting her aside after he had what he wanted from her tore through her with unimagined pain, and just as harsh was the vision of her begging in the streets of Alethorpe with his bastard strapped to her breast.

  Isabel took several minutes to collect herself. She wanted him to understand, she needed him to. Finally, after long drawn-out moments, her body was once again quiet and free of the liquid desire for the man lying beside her. She rolled over to find him facing her, his eyes bright in the firelight. He looked not angry but perplexed.

  “Rohan,” she began softly, not trusting her voice. Her emotion ran high, and she felt once again as if she would burst into tears. When he did not respond, she scooted closer and reached out to press her hand to his chest. He flinched and pushed her away. “Do not touch me, Isabel. I cannot control my body.”

  She closed her eyes and sank back into the furs. Taking a big, deep gulp of breath, she continued. “’Tis the same with me, Rohan.”

  “Then why do you deny me?”

  She let out another long, pensive breath. If she told him of her fear of him casting her aside, he would deny it and promise the moon to get between her thighs. ’Twas what men did, was it not?

  She smiled sadly. Mayhap, but not Rohan. He did not strike her as the type to play a man or a woman false. He told her days ago there would be another after her. So instead of delving into emotions where he would think she held a love for him and mayhap use it against her, Isabel gave Rohan a reason he could respect and, more than that, relate to. “The man I give myself to will be my husband. No bastards will I bear.”