Angel of the Knight

by Hall, Diana

  Lust Gwendolyn recognized and could ignore. But the wistful tremor in Falke’s voice betrayed more. He needed comfort from the visions of death in the village and the threat of betrayal from within the castle walls. Comfort that he had so willingly given to Lady Wren. Gwendolyn could not deny him.

  “Aye, milord. I would willingly give you a kiss.” And much more.

  She steadied herself for the crushing bruise of his mouth on hers and then closed her eyes. She waited. Nothing happened. She opened one eye.

  His face hovered over her own, his lips just a breath away from hers. “I fear your lord has mishandled you.” His lips met her own, gentle, searching, imploring. With a whisperlike caress, his mouth explored the outline of her upper lip. Each touch took away her breath, and her fear.

  “Did that lord of yours ever do this?” Falke nibbled the corner of her full mouth, then traced the line of her neck with his fingertip. Her pulse quickened at his touch.

  “Nay.” She sighed as delicious heat meandered down her neck and dipped between her breasts.

  “I thought not.”

  Gwendolyn smiled at the pride in his voice. And the knowledge that he wanted her to feel this pleasure intensified all the exotic sensations speeding through her body.

  Coupling was no mystery to her. The Cravenmoor knights took women whenever they wished, in the great hall, the solar, even during meals. A few slobbery kisses, two or three grunts, and most had finished in blink of an eye. Pain had contorted the women’s faces, and a look of relief accompanied the last thrust. Never had Gwendolyn imagined a man’s touch could be so wanted, so desired, and never had she thought the act could be so…deliciously…slow.

  His breath at the hollow of her neck sent a shiver of delight along her spine. A rough, callused hand cradled her head, supporting the weight of her thick hair. The other combed through her damp strands, making bare toes curl as his strong, long fingers caressed her neck, collarbone, then the contours of her breast, finally resting near the stiff peak.

  Her back arched as though pleading, begging, demanding the mound be captured. As though sensing that desire, Falke complied, but with his mouth. Lightning quick sensations pulsated through her. Hot, driving, needful.

  The thin shift that she wore suddenly became too thick, too hot to bear against her sensitive skin. Her fingers itched to touch him, yet she lacked the boldness. The best her timidity would allow was to wrap her arms around his neck and let her fingers play with the silky, flaxen hair. Purring, she nestled closer while breathing in his essence of sweat, passion and maleness.

  Hard, smooth muscles along his chest met the soft mounds of hers. The contrast made her want to explore the difference between his body and her own. Pushing past her shyness, she slipped her hands beneath his tunic and traced his sculpted back. His groan of pleasure dissolved her bashfulness and replaced it with wanton curiosity.

  Moving before she lost the courage, Gwendolyn dipped her fingertips below the waistband of his woolen breeches. His muscles clenched, sending a delightful jab to the apex between her legs. An ache began to build, radiating upward, toward her breasts, her fingertips and down her back.

  “Angel,” Falke growled, as he tore his lips from the valley of her breasts. “Go no further lest you are willing to give me all.” Want burned in his eyes, straight through her to the core of her soul.

  A year more with Titus. Long, bleak days. She could fill them with wishful thoughts, or memories of Falke, here and now. Of his touch. His kiss. ’Twas a simple decision.

  “I am yours to take, my lord.”

  “Angel, you do me in,” he said with a chuckle as she pushed him to his back with a gentle shove.

  Gwendolyn laughed, at him, at life, at the thrill of power that he was allowing her. Bold with want, heady with love and drunk from his musky scent, she shed her inhibitions. The laces of his tunic were gone, leaving a deep wide valley of tanned skin for her to touch, taste and nip. With impish laziness, she trailed kisses down his neck, then flicked her tongue across his exposed nipple.

  His response tickled her. She’d had no idea a man could react the same as a woman. The skin tightened; his groan came from deep inside his throat. She thought of the sweet ache that emanated from between her thighs. Did Falke feel the same heat there? To further test, she slid her hand slid down his flat chest, along his hips, then rested on the shaft.

  “Angel, your lord taught you too well how to please.” Falke spoke through clenched teeth. His manhood dug into her palm. Stabbing heat radiated from the point of contact. Reason, caution, desecration evaporated from her mind like a morning mist.

  Urgency overtook her. She needed….something, something that her body knew Falke possessed. Straddling him, she let the weight of her hair tilt her chin up, and concentrated on the ever-building fire located at the juncture between her legs and his manhood.

  Instinctively, she rocked, begging, “Falke, pray, ease this need.”

  “I am ever willing to champion a lady,” he whispered in her ear as he lowered her to the ground. His lips never hurried as they traversed the contour of her shoulders. The tie of her shift had loosened. Or had Falke untied it with his teeth? She couldn’t seem to remember, only that each inch her shift dropped allowed him more skin to touch, kiss and massage.

  He ignored her insistent pleas to end this torture. Had she thought his unhurried pace a blessing? Now she cursed it. She barely noticed when one hand slid beneath her gown; Falke’s breath across her sensitive breasts consumed all her attention. Embers that had smoldered in the pit of her stomach flared into incredible heat as his hand cupped her womanhood.

  “Falke!” She meant to scream his name, but instead spoke with a deep, husky voice. With cursed slowness, one finger entered her, and she shuddered from the thrill and ecstasy.

  Passion urged Falke to take this woman, lust tempted him to ravage her, but he could not. Pleasure held her in rapture. Hypnotized by the emotions flickering across her face, he reveled in her delight. With her eyes closed, her body soft and giving, she tilted back her head, giving herself freely to passion’s joy.

  Her lord had never shown her such enjoyment, such delight. Somehow, he would find a way to free her from her selfish master, and then spend nights instructing her on the art of lovemaking.

  Liquid heat bathed his hand as tiny shudders trembled across her bare skin. Her breasts peaked and a rosy glow flushed her alabaster skin. Now was the time. His excruciating wait would be over.

  “I need more.” Angel opened her eyes wide, the irises dark with a woman’s desire.

  “And you will get more,” Falke promised as he lowered himself over her. Still exercising a self-control he never knew he possessed, he entered the tight sheath of her womanhood. Basked in the pull of the tight glove of warmth that encircled him. Entered bit by bit, letting her grow accustomed to his size. Marveled at the smoothness of her as he slid deeper, deeper, deeper.

  It was all too much for Gwendolyn to comprehend. Too many sensations. The forest breeze that danced across her exposed breasts. The currents of ecstasy that curled along her inner thighs as he lowered himself into her. But most of all, she was aware of the indescribable pain of need that kept growing as he filled her with his shaft.

  “God’s wounds, woman.” Falke’s slow transgression halted abruptly. “You are a maiden.”

  “Aye.” Gwendolyn sighed, still engrossed in the play of emotions traveling through her. Spine-tingling tremors racked her body, and still she felt the need for more. Greedy for satisfaction, she wrapped her legs around his hips and arched forward. “Now, Falke, now.”

  Once given the power of choice, Gwendolyn had no intention of releasing it. ’Twas her decision, hers alone. And she would have Falke, all of him. A tilt of her pelvis, then she clenched her legs and pushed.

  “Nay, I thought you were a fallen wo—”

  ’Twas no use arguing, nor turning back. The barrier separating Falke from Angel’s core broke with her thrust, and he tumbled
deep into her. Though maiden, her body instinctively began the rhythmic dance of lovemaking, and Falke found he could not deny her.

  A moan began her travel to fulfillment. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, urging him deeper, closer to the edge of control. He ceased to be. Instead, he felt himself joining with her, he and she becoming one.

  If passion had a face, ’twould be Angel’s. Her fairy-silver hair fanned about her, the light breeze carrying strands to his face, their touch a caress. Each of his plunges brought her breasts to within kissing range, a challenge Falke could not ignore.

  As he fell into her, her eyes opened. Clear, sapphire eyes that shone with awe, pleasure and rapture. She rose to meet each thrust with anticipation and exhilaration. Then she laughed—a great joyous sound that seemed to surprise her.

  “Laughing, are you?” Falke rotated his hips slowly, enjoying her slight gasp. “A man does not wish to hear his woman giggle as he makes love to her.”

  “Really? ’Tis this ache I feel. Like my body is becoming air, and I am rising on the clouds.” Guilt clouded her eyes and Falke instantly regretted his banter.

  “Laugh all you wish, my angel.” He gripped her softly curved backside and brought her forward as he thrust. “While I travel with you to the heavens.” Want dictated the pace. The thrust. The quickening.

  Comprehension left her. Caution deserted her. She met Falke’s gaze, darkened to midnight from his lovemaking. His hot, pulsating shaft reached deep within her. She trembled from the sheer pleasure. How could she explain this gift he bestowed on her? A life spent guarding her feelings. And now, Gwendolyn could release. Let them fly free.

  And she was flying, higher and higher. Faster and faster. She felt herself rise above the soft mossy ground, her soul reaching to merge with Falke’s. Her blood pounded. She couldn’t get enough breath. Still Falke drove deeper, faster.

  The whirlwind grew within her, fueled by Falke’s exquisite dance, twisting Gwendolyn into an explosive ball of want, desire and passion. And then she exploded. Great waves of bliss undulated through her and she groaned in pleasure.

  Her fulfillment was Falke’s undoing. He could not withdraw, only join in her completion. With a mighty plunge, he released his hot seed, clutching her to him as she racked his back with her fingertips. Time ceased as he emptied his loins within her waiting womb, joining as he had with no other woman.

  Sated, exhausted and still transfixed by the intensity of their lovemaking, Falke laid his head on her breasts. Inside her, he could feel the spasms of her fulfillment ebbing. And his desire reawakening.

  ’Twould be cruel to have the woman again after so thorough a joining. With regret, he withdrew and lay beside her.

  “Nay!” She protested feebly and lifted her heavy lids.

  “Aye.” Falke smiled at the rosy glow across the skin and the deep even breaths of her naked chest. He kissed her shoulder, then slipped up the edges of her gown. “You must rest.”

  Like a kitten, she curled up next to him, her body molding to his. “I’m not tired. I’m…wonderful.”

  “Aye, that you are.” Falke wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer, thinking she was correct in both statements. Later, after she napped, he would ask about her lies. Mistress? With her maidenhead intact? Yet he found it hard to be cross with her. The knowledge that he alone knew her as a man gave him great satisfaction.

  Chuckling, he intertwined his fingers with her own and kissed each blunt-nailed fingertip. Her callused hands showed the signs of hard work and strength. Nestling her head under his chin, he wondered just how long he should let her rest before he could justify another round of foreplay. As he felt his manhood quicken, Falke knew the wait would seem like centuries.

  Gwendolyn fought to reach wakefulness. Something was skipping along her hip, reaching under her gown, playing in the down between her legs. A recognizable warmth crept up her limbs and lodged at the pit of her stomach.

  “Falke!” She turned and smiled as she met his mischievous gaze. She could feel the strength of his desire pressing against her shift. His hand sheltered the triangle of her womanhood.

  “Twice we’ve made love and now you wish it again?”

  “A thousand days and nights would not be enough with you.”

  His hand traveled along her inside thigh, making her skin spark with anticipation. How could she deny this man who had opened the gates of her soul? Had let her feel for the first time the tremendous waves of passion?

  “But alas, I fear I must return to the village. The sun has already crested—”

  “What?” Gwendolyn stumbled to her feet, searching for some break in the leaves. Panic seized her as she spotted the golden disk in the western sky. She had missed the midday meal. What would Cyrus think? How could she explain away her absence for the entire morning and afternoon?

  Gathering up her belongings, she wrapped her recognizable old gown beneath her belt of pockets. “I must leave. Now.”

  “Wait, Angel.” Falke jumped to his feet, searching for his breeches, boots and tunic as he spoke. “Come with me to the village—”

  “Nay, I cannot.” Gwendolyn spotted the bowl of hair dye and snatched it up. Perhaps she could find some copse of trees and reapply her disguise. Her hair was dry, but a fast application would stay for a few weeks at least.

  Falke pulled up his breeches and gave her an indulgent smile. “Have no fear, Angel.” He pulled on one boot. “And no excuses. I took your maidenhead.” The bravado in his voice grated on Gwendolyn’s ears. A man would crow about taking a woman’s virginity.

  Giving her a wink, Falke added, “So there is no lord to keep you from me. There is nothing to separate us. I will have those thousand days and nights to love you.”

  “Nothing stands in our way?” Pray God, let him see the error of his ways. Let him see he misspoke and let tenderness rule his heart instead of lust.

  “Nothing. I will find you a place in the village. The work is hard, but the nights will be worth—”

  Stunned at his audacity, Gwendolyn sputtered, “You expect me to just accept you bringing a mistress in right under my—” All the tender feelings for the golden giant scuffling for his clothes dissipated. “My friend’s nose.”

  He didn’t care about her. Or rather, Lady Wren, Gwendolyn corrected. Oh, he wanted his angel, lusted after her, but the woman he should cherish above all others he didn’t concern himself with, not even wondering whether this would hurt her.

  “Of whom do you speak?” Confusion wrinkled his brow as he grunted to get on his tight leather boot.

  “Lady Wren,” Gwendolyn fumed. “Your fiancée. Remember, the woman who aided you? At her own peril, I might add. The woman who saved your sorry hide by treating the sick, helped you gain your knights’ approval. And you would return these favors by parading a mistress right under her nose? Spurning and embarrassing her in front of the peasants? Have you no heart? No thought of loyalty?”

  Fueled by anger, her heart slashed with hurt, she unleashed all her fury. “I’ll not put my faith in your cheap vows and promises.” She released one last blow. “Your father was right not to expect much from you. It saved him the heartache I now feel.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes, and again Falke felt the same sense of déjà vu; as though he had seen her just this way before. He reached out to give comfort.

  Turning her back to him, she glided away, blending in with the forest, disappearing as the underbrush concealed her. Sinking to the ground, he rubbed his fingertips over his eyes, worried that there might be tears. Every word she’d spoken cut him to the quick with its truth.

  He always seemed to fail the ones he loved. Mother, Ozbern, Angel—and most of all, Lady Wren.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gwendolyn wiped away the perspiration on her cheek, then returned to stirring the enormous vat of laundry. The bright sun, along with the fire under the kettle, made the air stifling. Few came her way, avoiding the heat and the chance she might ask them to relieve
her.

  But she wouldn’t. The laundry was the chore Falke detested most, and the least likely place for him to visit. For the past week, since their afternoon of lovemaking, she had managed to avoid him. And if he sought her out, there were plenty of reasons to explain away her absence. Ill to tend, soap to make, huts to repair, women to instruct in herbal medicine. Anything that would keep her away from Falke’s presence.

  But this hour, midday, was the worst. Falke and his men would leave the fields for their meal. Even now she could hear their easy laughter and banter as they approached. Villagers called out joyful salutations and the knights returned each greeting by name.

  Though she should rejoice at the bond now forged between the warriors and serfs, only selfish thoughts filled her. Did Falke ever think of the mealtime he’d spent gorging himself on her kisses and lovemaking? Did he realize how much he had hurt her?

  ’Twas all that Gwendolyn could think of. Gooseflesh prickled along her skin as she recalled the sensual touch of his hands on her body. Like a bellow, Falke’s full, masculine laughter carried across the village, flaming the embers of want she struggled to extinguish.

  Gwendolyn clutched the paddle, leaning her forehead against the work-worn surface. Her fervent pace had not even gifted her with dreamless sleep. When fatigue forced her eyes shut, she was still haunted by him, reliving those sweet hours, and the terrible heartache caused by his callow soul.

  A mistress right under her own nose! It made little difference that the woman was herself. Falke didn’t know that. And thank goodness he didn’t.

  What if he chose to announce to the world that she was no longer a virgin? ’Twould be her word against his that ’twas he who’d deflowered her. He could give her back to Titus as soiled, and thereby free himself of a forced marriage to retain his land. Unmarried and devoid of any masquerade, she would be without protection against her uncle.