Desire

by Jayne A. Krentz

  She forgot all about the argument, the insults, and the outrage that had gripped her a moment earlier. Memories of the way Gareth had touched her last night flooded back, only to be swamped beneath the new excitement.

  A thrilling elation swept through her, driving all else before it. She wanted to know those glorious sensations again.

  Gareth tore his mouth from hers. "I congratulate you, madam. I know of no one else who can provoke me the way that you do. Now you must suffer the consequences."

  Clare searched his eyes. "Are you truly angry with me?"

  "I am not certain how I feel at the moment." Gareth's voice was rough and dark and dangerous. "I only know that when we have finished this, there will be no more talk of an annulment."

  She shivered. "I never asked for an annulment. I only brought up the subject because you implied that you might not be able to do your duty in the marriage bed."

  "You will discover soon enough that I intend to fulfill my responsibilities." Gareth bent his head and took her lips once more. His tongue invaded her mouth.

  Clare's fingers clenched in his hair as she responded to the deep kiss.

  He was attempting to intimidate her, she thought, mayhap even frighten her a bit. But it was impossible.

  She craved his touch, and the obvious passion in him set her own clamoring feelings ablaze.

  Clare felt his leg sink between her thighs. He drew his knee upward, opening her to his touch. He caught hold of the skirts of her overtunic and the gown beneath it and pushed both all the way to her waist.

  Clare shuddered and tightened her hands in his hair. She arched herself against his probing fingers.

  "You are as wet as roses after rain." Gareth sounded awed. He stroked her the way he had last night, stroked her until she was trembling and desperate.

  Clare clutched at him, her voice breaking on a soft, demanding little cry. She wrapped her leg around his, seeking more of him.

  "Why in the name of all the saints did we waste last night?" Gareth whispered, his voice hoarse and strained. "I was a fool." He eased one finger gently into her.

  Clare moaned. Her body tightened around him. She gulped air. "It was my fault. I was confused. I thought I wanted to wait."

  "You were confused and I was an idiot. What a pair." Gareth dropped a string of heated kisses down her throat to her shoulder. He probed her with a second finger.

  "Oh." Clare gasped. "Oh."

  "So tight. A sweet, unopened bud."

  "Does that diminish your enthusiasm, my lord?" she asked anxiously.

  He groaned and lowered his head to kiss the curve of her breast. "Nay, madam, it does not."

  She smiled, vastly relieved. "I am glad."

  "I seriously doubt that the combined forces of both heaven and hell could diminish my enthusiasm at this moment."

  Clare could feel him stretching her, making her grow soft and even more damp than she already was.

  She was shaking with her need now. The magical tension that she had first experienced last night was twisting her insides again.

  Anticipation made her restless and impatient.

  "Hurry." She nipped at his ear. "Please, hurry."

  Gareth raised his head and looked down at her. His eyes were as mysterious as the mist that sometimes shrouded Desire. "I have married a tyrant."

  "You must forgive me, my lord. I told you, I am accustomed to being in charge around here."

  "When it comes to this, your wish is my command." Gareth loosened his own clothing, freeing his erect manhood.

  Clare caught a glimpse of his aroused body as he centered himself between her legs. In spite of her spiraling excitement, she experienced a brief tremor of uncertainty. "Mayhap we should try to diminish some of your enthusiasm before we proceed further."

  "It is far too late to do anything to diminish my enthusiasm."

  "I did not mean to offend you. Tis not your fault that you are not the right size." She hugged him tightly and kissed his throat. "I'm sure we'll manage somehow."

  "Aye. We will."

  "I am very enthusiastic myself now, Gareth."

  "I can tell." He covered her mouth with his own and began to push himself into her.

  Clare, expecting a sensation similar to that which she experienced when he slid his fingers into her, was startled by the blunt, hard feel of him.

  He pressed harder and she was more than startled. She was stunned.

  "Gareth."

  "Trust me."

  "Wait, we must discuss this matter further," Clare squeaked.

  "It was your earlier discussion of the matter that got us this far."

  "Aye, but?"

  "Trust me, Clare," he whispered.

  She braced herself and clung to him as if preparing to descend into the Pit. "I am ready," she said bravely.

  "It is not going to be all that bad, you know." He thrust deeper. Sweat broke out on his brow. "At least, I do not think it will be too difficult."

  Clare squeezed her eyes shut. "Tell me when it's over."

  He gave an odd, half-strangled exclamation. "Aye, I'll try to remember to do that."

  Clare felt him tense and draw in his breath as if readying himself for a dangerous feat of arms. He surged all the way into her, sheathing himself to the hilt with one powerful motion.

  The shock of his entry stole Clare's voice and breath.

  When she recovered, she clawed at Gareth's broad shoulders. She was furious at finding herself robbed of the thrilling pleasure she had expected.

  "Joanna had the right of it. This part of marriage is, indeed, a great nuisance."

  "Hold yourself still for a moment." Gareth sounded as shaken as she was.

  "Be still, I said. Stop wriggling."

  Clare opened her eyes and scowled up at him. "I thought it would feel the way it did last night."

  "It will." Gareth was clearly fighting for his self-control. "Eventually."

  "By Saint Hermione's little toe, you have tricked me, Hellhound."

  "Nay, 'tis just that I have no experience with virgins."

  "I knew you were too big," she grumbled. "I knew it right from the first moment I saw you."

  Gareth rained soft, persuasive kisses across her nose and cheeks.

  "Forgive me Clare. I did not want to hurt you."

  The apology mollified her somewhat. "In truth, I am not in any great pain. At least not any longer. But I am very glad the business is finished."

  "Clare?"

  "You may cease now. Surely this marriage is properly consummated. You no longer need fear that I will have it annulled."

  "For the last time, do not move," Gareth bit out each word very carefully and distinctly.

  "I was merely attempting to find a more comfortable position."

  "I will see to your comfort."

  "You will remove yourself?"

  "Not just yet."

  She was disappointed. "Does that mean you have not yet finished doing your duty?"

  "Aye." He began to glide slowly and cautiously back out of her.

  "I can certainly understand now why it is difficult for a man to work up sufficient enthusiasm for this sort of thing night after night," Clare muttered.

  "It helps if one's wife does not chatter continuously during the effort."

  "Oh." Clare was chagrined. "My apologies," she said stiffly. "I did not mean to interfere with your concentration. I was merely trying to?"

  "Hell's teeth, that is enough." Gareth sealed her mouth with his own.

  Simultaneously he pushed himself slowly back into her, filling her to the limit.

  Clare moaned, but not with pain.

  Gareth withdrew almost completely and repeated the process.

  Again and again.

  Each stroke was carefully measured and delivered with excruciating control. The rigid lines of Gareth's face and the tensed muscles of his body told their own story. He was a war-horse straining at the reins, all leashed power and trembling readiness.

  C
lare held her breath and closed her eyes. But after a moment or two she realized the slow strokes of his body within her were not unpleasant.

  She could feel the sweat on Gareth's back. It dampened his tunic. Yet despite the obvious effort he was exerting, his enthusiasm showed no sign of fading.

  Her eyes flew open when he lifted her legs up over his shoulders. Before she could protest the new position, he moved his hand downward between their bodies and touched her.

  Without any warning, the coiling tension seized her once more.

  "Gareth."

  "I told you to trust me."

  He took the small, swollen nubbin between thumb and forefinger and plucked gently.

  Clare screamed. The sound was muffled by Gareth's mouth. She dug her fingers into him and gave herself up to the wondrous ripples of pleasure that washed through her.

  She was dimly aware of Gareth's ragged shout of satisfaction. It mingled with her own breathless cries as they both sank deeper into the sea of fragrant flower petals.

  ***

  A long while later Gareth opened his eyes. He stretched luxuriously, unable to recall ever having felt so good in his life.

  He squinted at a rose petal that was perched on top of his nose. He blew it off and watched as it fluttered into the air. He was practically buried in scented blossoms.

  He smiled.

  The heady fragrance of the heaped flowers was threaded through with another earthy smell, one that gave him intense satisfaction. He had made Clare his wife in every sense of the word. There would be no more talk of an annulment.

  The mountain of flowers stirred and shifted. He turned his head and watched as Clare sat up. She fussed with her clothing and shook petals from her hair.

  When she realized that he was watching her, she smiled shyly down at him. She didn't say a word.

  "You may speak now. I did not intent to silence you forever." Gareth reached out to remove a yellow petal from her sleeve.

  Clare grinned. "I do not know what to say."

  "Neither do I." Gareth wrapped his hand around the back of her head and brought her mouth down to his for a lingering kiss.

  Clare leaned closer. Her hair, smelling of fresh herbs, drifted over his face. Her fingers flattened on his chest and slowly worked their way down his body. Gareth felt himself throb gently in response.

  "I believe your enthusiasm has been reawakened, my lord."

  "I believe you are right." Gareth wrapped his fist in her soft hair. He pulled her closer.

  A sudden pounding on the workroom door made Clare flinch. She straightened and sat up again quickly.

  "My lord, are you in there?" Ulrich called loudly. "The blacksmith is here."

  "Damn it to the Pit." Gareth sat up reluctantly. "I'd better get out there or by supper everyone in the hall will know what we were doing in here."

  Clare frowned. "Surely you don't think they will guess that we?"

  "Aye."

  She turned a lovely shade of pink. "By Saint Hermione's thumb. Is that all anyone can talk about lately?"

  "You must face the fact that the details of our marriage will always be of great interest to everyone on this manor."

  "I do wish our people would find something else to talk about."

  "It is doubtful that they will as long as we provide such interesting entertainment." Gareth climbed out of the flower bin.

  He realized that Clare had referred to the inhabitants of Desire as our people. It was a good sign.

  "My lord?" Ulrich shouted again. "Are you in there?"

  "Aye," Gareth called. "I'll be out in a moment." He turned back to assist Clare out of the pile of flowers.

  She was a rare sight. He gazed at her, momentarily enthralled. Dripping in soft, fragrant petals, she looked like a creature of magic rising from a woodland bed.

  Then he saw the small red stain on her undertunic. He reached out to touch it. His jaw tightened.

  "Did I hurt you very badly?"

  "Nay." Clare wiped at the petals that clung to her skirts. "Off with you. You have business to attend to.

  I must straighten my clothing."

  Gareth could not tear his eyes from her glowing face. She was his now.

  She belonged to him as she had belonged to no other man, not even Raymond de Coleville, her pattern of chivalry.

  Clare might have loved de Coleville?mayhap she still did?but she had not given herself to him. She had kept herself for her lord and husband, the Hellhound of Wyckmere.

  I know well how to protect what I have taken by my own hand, Gareth thought with a fierce rush of determination. And I will protect you, lady of Desire.

  "In time you will forget him, Clare," he said aloud.

  She gave him a blank look. "Forget who?"

  Ulrich struck the door three more times in quick succession. "Shall I send the blacksmith home and tell him to return later, my lord?"

  "Nay, I am on my way." Gareth turned away from the sight of Clare covered in flowers. He went to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the bright sunlight.

  "Well, Ulrich? Where is our blacksmith?" Gareth closed the door firmly so that his friend would not see Clare.

  "In the stables." Ulrich's gaze was amused. "You spent a great deal of time in the workrooms. I did not realize you were so interested in the mysteries of perfumes."

  Gareth started across the courtyard. "You know me, Ulrich, I am always interested to learn how a thing works."

  Ulrich fell into step beside him. "Aye, you are ertainly one to delve deeply into the most intimate details."

  "I have certain responsibilities as the lord of this manor."

  "Aye." Ulrich gave him a sage look.

  "Only a fool would fail to acquaint himself closely with the inner workings of the source of his future income."

  "No one has ever called you a fool, my lord." Ulrich eflected briefly.

  "Bastard, Hellhound, Devil's Spawn, Opener of the Window of Hell, mayhap, but never a fool."

  Several people turned to watch as the two men rossed the courtyard.

  Gareth frowned when he saw a number of onlookers hastily avert their heads. He had a leep suspicion that they were concealing grins.

  That suspicion was given more weight when Gareth noticed that John Blacksmith was gazing at him in open-mouthed astonishment.

  "Is something wrong, Blacksmith?" Gareth asked with dangerous politeness. He had the distinct impression that he man was on the verge of bunting into laughter.

  "Nay, my lord." John shut his mouth and wiped it on he back of his dirty sleeve. "The sunlight is very bright today. Blinds the eyes."

  "I doubt that the sun is any brighter than the fires of our forge."

  "Ah, true, my lord. Very true. Ye'd think I'd be ccustomed to the brightness, wouldn't ye?" John looked helplessly at Ulrich.

  Ulrich merely smiled and said nothing. One of the men-at-arms who was standing nearby turned swiftly away rom the scene and rushed into the stables.

  Gareth shrugged and let the matter rest. From long experience he knew it was useless for him to attempt to comprehend whatever it was that the blacksmith and everyone else found so amusing.

  "Very well, let's get to work, Blacksmith," Gareth said. "I brought no armorer with me when I came to Desire. I can employ one from Seabern if necessary, but I am told that you are uncommonly skilled with hammer and anvil."

  John flushed a deep red at the compliment. "Aye, my lord."

  "Do you think that you can handle the work of mending my men's equipment as well as keeping the horses properly shod?"

  John drew himself up and squared his shoulders proudly. "Aye, my lord. I believe I can handle the task. I've done a fair bit of delicate work for my lady and the prioress. I've even fashioned some keys and locks."

  "Excellent." Gareth clapped him on the back and led the way into the stables. "I'll show you what needs to be done. And when we've finished in the stables, I have an interesting mechanical device to show you."

  "Wha
t mechanical device would that be, my lord?"

  "An Arab machine designed for extracting oil from roses and cinnamon and such. It is broken at the moment, but I believe I can repair it. I will need your help."

  Twenty minutes later the muffled chuckles and hastily swallowed grins still had not entirely subsided.

  Gareth left the blacksmith to his work and walked over to where Ulrich stood leaning against a stable post.

  "Do you think," Gareth said in a very low voice, "that you could possibly explain the jest that everyone appears to find so very entertaining this afternoon?"

  Ulrich's eyes gleamed with laughter. "I can explain it, but you very likely will not find it amusing."

  "That is understood;" Gareth muttered. "Nevertheless, I grow curious about the cause of such extended merriment. Just tell me why in the name of the devil every man in the vicinity is struggling not to collapse with laughter."

  Ulrich cleared his throat. "I believe it has to do with the rose petals that are tangled in your hair and clinging to the back of your tunic, my lord."

  Gareth groaned. "Hell's teeth." He ran his fingers through his hair.

  Crimson petals fluttered to the stable floor.

  "You have the look of a man who has been tumbling about in my lady's flower bin," Ulrich said.

  "Unless you accidentally fell into it, and I will admit that you are prone to accidents lately, there is little doubt about what you were doing in the perfume workrooms."

  Gareth planted his fists on his hips and swept the grinning crowd with a thoughtful look. The smiles vanished instantly from every face.

  Satisfied, Gareth threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  ***

  Three mornings later, Clare took her customary walk along the cliffs into the village. To her great astonishment and secret delight, it was not Joanna who accompanied her, but Gareth.

  He'd hailed her from the courtyard as she came down the steps.

  "I believe I'll join you, madam." Gareth had left to Ulrich the supervision of the stonemasons who had arrived to start work on the new wall. He had walked over to where Clare stood waiting. "I want to take another look at the cliffs above the two small coves."