Lisa Jackson_Medieval Trilogy 01

by Impostress

  As she watched him, she wondered what it would be like for him to kiss her bare skin, to strip off her clothes and touch her in the most private of places. Oh, she was a wanton. This was her sister’s husband. The man Elyn was to live with for the rest of her life. Yet Kiera couldn’t push him away. The sensations running through her body were new and treacherously delicious. Erotic pulses snapped through her blood, pounded in her heart. The thin, frail fabric of her chemise was little barrier, yet she wanted to cast it off.

  No. Don’t do this, Kiera. You can’t.

  His tongue found the stain and pressed hot and rough through the slick fabric.

  She let out a soft moan. This shameful act couldn’t be happening. Couldn’t. She would stop it right now. “I—I don’t think … oh!”

  His mouth found her nipple and through the lace and silk he kissed, wetting the fabric so that it clung to her as tightly as a second skin. “Then don’t think,” he whispered against her, his breath fanning already hot fires deep within her belly.

  Slowly he slid a hand upward to touch her other breast, gently kneading, strong, callused fingers massaging her skin and toying with her nipple. Dear God, she ached inside, began to move, found her own fingers running eagerly, desperately through his hair. Sinful as it was, she wanted him. All of him. Upon her, around her, beneath her, inside her. Touching, melding, kissing. Erotic images filled her mind, images she’d never witnessed, never experienced, but now seared through her brain in exciting and sensuous detail.

  All thoughts of denial fled. His teeth scraped against her nipple and she arched her back.

  “That’s it, little wife,” he growled, sliding upward to kiss her full on the lips, his mouth open, her own an invitation. His tongue slid between her teeth, the tip skimming the roof of her mouth, then mating with her own. The world spun, the chamber seemed to melt away, and all Kiera could do was return his feverish kisses.

  She couldn’t think, didn’t try as he pulled her chemise upward, exposing her legs. She knew she should stop him, but as his fingers caressed her calves and thighs, and delicious shivers slid down her spine, she didn’t. She had vague thoughts about the elixir and why it wasn’t working, and why she was so weak when it came to refusal of this man, but her musings disappeared as he touched her, probed her, sending spasms through her.

  “You’re so tight,” he whispered, his voice thick with pleasure as he began to stroke. She was moving with him, accepting him, opening to him, kissing him and wanting more … Somewhere deep in the back of her mind she knew she was making a vast mistake, an irreversible error that could never be forgiven, that she should try to stop this now, but the pleasure of the moment, her dizzy head, and the incredible ministrations of this man held her tongue. She spread her legs further and he growled as he kissed her through the bunched fabric that had collected over her abdomen.

  “Beautiful … beautiful wife,” he said.

  “I’m not—” she said, trying to explain that she wasn’t Elyn.

  “As beautiful as any woman.” While still touching her with one hand, he slowly untied the laces of his breeches, and his manhood, straining against the fabric, slipped out. She swallowed hard upon seeing the length of him, the thickness. No … this could not happen. She gasped and tried to draw away, but he swore, “I’ll be gentle. Tell me if anything displeases you.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered as he kissed her again, then stretched atop her, his weight pressing into hers, his hand slowly sliding from her, his shaft hard against her skin. She felt bereft, wanting more of him, and then he kissed her again. Hard. His hands tangled in her hair, his muscles straining.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  No! She couldn’t do this. He was Elyn’s husband and yet … she wanted him. “Wait,” she begged.

  He paused, took the time to stare into her eyes and brush a wayward strand of hair from her skin. “For?”

  She couldn’t think of a single excuse other than the truth. Why wasn’t that damned potion working? He nuzzled her neck, tingles raced over her skin, and the heat within her was a palpable ache. “I don’t feel that we are wed,” she said breathlessly, her head spinning.

  “Were you not there?”

  “But I knew not the priest …” Her words were thick. “Mayhap we should wait until Lawenydd’s priest returns and … and have another ceremony and …” He stared down at her as if she were a half-wit and then a small smile curved his lips.

  “I don’t think another wedding would change things.” He kissed her then, harder still, his lips molding over hers and his tongue touching and seeking hers. Kiera’s arms wrapped around him of their own accord, her fingers tracing the grooves of his shoulder muscles, her mind swimming. His mouth and hands were everywhere, caressing her buttocks, kissing her nipples, rubbing the curve of her spine and holding her close. His tongue was moist and anxious as it trailed across her skin, his fingers kneading, stoking the fire that was already burning white-hot within. She writhed and ached. A deep, dusky want that no amount of rational thought could deny pulsed through her blood. His lips found the most intimate part of her, his fingers and tongue probing, gently teasing. All her doubts were lost in the darkening room and she bucked as the first spasm hit her. A primal cry tore from her throat, the ceiling spun, and she had barely time to catch her breath before he was atop her again, his mouth covering hers, his knees parting hers, his body melded against her damp, flushed skin. The chemise bunched as he pushed forward, the tip of his shaft grazing the sensitive skin surrounding her womanhood. She gasped; he pressed forward. Oh, God, she wanted this.

  Her fingers curled in the bedding.

  He moved, prodding deeper.

  “Oh!”

  There was a rending, a burning pain, and she tried to wriggle away, but he kept moving, straining above her, holding her close and kissing her.

  “The pain does not last long,” he whispered against her neck. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and the pain gave way to a warm, needy pleasure. She caught his rhythm and began to move with him, faster and faster, as wild as a swollen river, as hot as the sun. “Kelan,” she cried out as her body arched and all the dying flames in the room seemed to burst behind her eyes …

  A growl escaped his lips as he threw back his head and shuddered with his release.

  His breath covered her face and he collapsed atop her, his weight flattening her breasts.

  “Elyn … sweet, sweet Elyn.”

  She froze. Elyn … oh, God … All her warm thoughts turned to ice. What had she done? Oh, no … this wasn’t supposed to happen. As if aware of her distress, he kissed her lips and rolled onto his side, then cuddled up behind her. Her buttocks pressed into his groin and he rubbed against them, his manhood probing even deeper. Her mind was still fuzzy, yet guilt grabbed hold of her soul. Deep inside she felt him and he seemed to thicken yet again. No … she couldn’t … but he pushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck, his fingers splayed upon her abdomen, pulling her tight. Oh … no … but her rump pushed into him and he moved, stretching her further, rubbing against a spot that caused delicious pain to wash over her.

  Moaning like a wanton, she knew that she was lost. As long as she was in bed with him, she couldn’t deny herself the sinful pleasures he offered.

  “I will bed you like this for the rest of my life,” he vowed, his breath fanning her fevered skin as he touched her in a spot that sent delicious thrills through her.

  “Nay—”

  “Shh … I know. Neither one of us wanted to marry, but—” He moved just so and she gasped. “Is this so bad?”

  “Heaven,” she sighed, and twisted to kiss him on the lips.

  Chapter Six

  Dear God, what have I done?

  Kiera’s head thundered in pain as she opened a bleary eye. One strong male arm was wrapped around her midsection, and a muscular leg trapped one of her own.

  Cautiously she opened the other eye and, wincing, found herself staring into Kelan of Penb
rooke’s rugged face. Her sister’s husband. Although Kiera had said the vows and consummated this lie of a marriage, she was not legally Kelan’s wife, nor would she ever be. Elyn’s name in Welsh law took precedence over Kiera’s acts, though Kelan would certainly have grounds for an annulment, should he want it … oh, by the fates, she’d made an irreversible, sinful mistake … many mistakes. And now … and now she’d suffered the loss of her virginity, her own purity. What man would ever want her now?

  And what other man would you want? Can you even think of another when still you are sore from the pleasures this man, your sister’s husband, brought you?

  She hazarded a glance at Kelan and noticed the small details. His face was relaxed, his mouth slightly ajar, and the warmth of his breath teased her skin. Dark hair fell over his forehead and he seemed almost boyish in slumber. But all he had to do was open one eye and he would be the lord of the manor again, the hard warrior. Half lying over her, his chest pinned her arm, while his own arm was flung across her chest, his hand cupping her bare breast.

  She felt a flush steal up the back of her neck. What was she to do? When Elyn returned … oh, God, mayhap she was already within the castle walls … waiting to take her rightful place!

  Elyn should have been here in this bed. Her bed. She should have been the one whose chemise was drawn over her head, whose breasts were kissed and laved, whose legs were parted …

  Images of the night before flashed behind Kiera’s eyes, and the ache pulsing through her head was intensified by her guilt. Once more the sharp soreness between her legs reminded her of how foolish she’d been. Throughout the night, she’d given herself to Kelan of Penbrooke over and over again. As if he were truly her husband. She’d known it was wrong, but hadn’t been able to resist this man, this husband of her sister.

  Oh, Lord, what would happen when Elyn sneaked back into the castle? She could never know, never learn that Kiera had made love with her husband. Shame burned through Kiera as she tried to inch away from Kelan. What would she do now that she had known this man’s touch? What was to be become of her now that she no longer had her virginity to bring to her own real marriage?

  And where the devil was Elyn?

  Had she returned from her tryst with Brock, and was she already waiting in some alcove, ready to trade places?

  Or was she still missing?

  Hardly daring to breathe for fear she would wake Kelan, Kiera slowly extracted her arm from beneath him and, wincing against the pain running through her body, slid her legs to the side of the bed. She noticed the stain on the rumpled sheets and thought of the vial of pig’s blood that had been wasted. Think not of it. Find Elyn. Now. Explain that … that what? That even though you finally agreed to her plan, you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain? That the potion took too long to work? That you couldn’t refuse Kelan of Penbrooke? That you were so overcome by drink that you found the man irresistible? What kind of pathetic excuses are those?

  Kiera shoved aside the nagging recriminations pounding through her tender brain. There was no turning over the hourglass, or changing the sundial. ’Twas done. She’d pretended to be her sister as planned, but then things had gone awry. Last night she’d made love to her “husband,” and could even now be carrying his child. Her mouth turned to sand at the thought. What then? What then?

  No! She couldn’t think of that. Noiselessly she placed her legs over the side of the bed though her mind was still unclear. Hurry, Kiera. You don’t have much time. He will eventually awaken. You must locate Elyn.

  Standing woozily, she took a deep breath, and was determined to set things right. Well, as right as they could be. She snatched her soiled chemise off the floor and threw the flimsy garment over her head. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Elyn’s wedding dress. Shuddering, she told herself she would never wear that horrid gown again. Never. There had to be something else. Her feet bare, Kiera hurried to the small alcove where Elyn kept her clothes. All the tunics and gowns were in the vibrant colors her sister loved. Red Lincoln velvet, yellow damask, a deep blue silk … suddenly, she imagined Elyn as if her sister were close by, and she felt deep, unbearable shame at what she’d done. A lump filled Kiera’s throat, yet she felt anger as well. For Elyn had left her to her fate.

  Curse you, Elyn, where are you?

  Have you not returned? Mayhap because you didn’t believe I would take your place. Mayhap you didn’t expect me to go through with your plan.

  But why then did Elyn visit her in the early morning? More important, Kiera thought angrily, why put her in this impossible situation to begin with? Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong, and horribly so.

  Without any answers, Kiera angrily pulled on the first tunic she reached. Then, refusing to gaze at the man sleeping so damned peacefully in Elyn’s bed, she edged silently to the side of the bed where she’d left the vials. She needed to retrieve them and hide them on the off chance that he might waken before she returned.

  She noticed one of the vials pushed near the wall by the bed. Silently she bent down to pick it up just as Kelan snored loudly and rolled, throwing an arm in her direction, his fingers narrowly missing her shoulder. She froze. Didn’t move a muscle. He muttered something and his eyes moved beneath his eyelids.

  She tried again, stretching her arm just as he sighed and, to her horror, opened an eye.

  Her heart stopped.

  Slowly she drew back her hand and saw his eyelid lower, as if he hadn’t caught a glimpse of her.

  She couldn’t risk him seeing her with the vials. She could explain being out of the bed, that she needed to go to the latrine and relieve herself, or that she needed to send for her maid. But she would have no excuse to be carrying pig’s blood and an empty little jar that had been used for sleeping potion.

  Carefully, not making a sound, she kicked the rushes a bit, hiding the vessels. Then, holding her breath, she quickly made her way to the door.

  Kelan didn’t stir.

  She paused with her ear to the thick oak and strained to listen. It wouldn’t do to have someone in the castle see her sneaking out of Elyn’s bedchamber. Through the panels she heard not a sound, yet her palms were wet with sweat as she unlatched the door. It creaked open and she cringed inwardly.

  The hallway was empty and nearly dark.

  She glanced over her shoulder one last time.

  Kelan didn’t move.

  Good.

  Slipping noiselessly into the corridor she closed the door with a soft thud. Torchlights burned low in the hallway, giving off smoke and some light. And the early morning sounds of the castle stirring, muffled conversation, footsteps, and even quiet bursts of laughter filtered through the darkened corridors to her ears.

  Heart constricted, sweat collecting down her back, she hurried into her own chamber and prayed that Kelan wouldn’t wake up. Not for hours. If she was to find Elyn, she would need time. That was, if Elyn had decided to return.

  Don’t think like that. Of course she wants to return. She wouldn’t leave you in this predicament forever. Nay!

  But that little nagging worry didn’t leave Kiera’s mind as she hastily washed herself with the water in a basin. She wiped her face and arms and even quickly cleansed the sore spot between her legs with the cool water. Afterward, she finger combed her hair and changed into her favorite gold-colored tunic and deerskin boots. After swinging her heavy mantle over her shoulders, she pocketed her dagger, a weapon she never failed to carry since her encounter with the thug in the forest, which still haunted her.

  Her stomach was in her throat as she entered the hallway again. What if someone had realized she was not Elyn during the ceremony? What if Elyn had been caught stealing back into the castle and now their father knew of their deception? What if, God forbid, Elyn had been hurt and couldn’t return?

  Kiera hurried down the back staircase and braced herself as the sound of footsteps pounded up the stone steps.

  “Oh!” Penelope cried, nearly runnin
g her sister over. “There you are.” She seemed relieved. “Where’s Elyn?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What? But I thought the plan was—”

  “She didn’t return last night,” Kiera whispered as Penelope followed her down the staircase to the second floor. “I was hoping that you or Hildy may have heard from her.”

  “No. I’ve heard nothing.”

  “Damn.”

  “Then … then …” Penelope’s eyes rounded in comprehension. “But I thought she was to come back and—”

  “So did I!” Kiera pulled her sister into an alcove and pressed a finger to her own lips. “But then it wasn’t as if we had an agreement. She could have thought I wasn’t going to take her place, for I never said I would. Oh, damn.” Frustration burned through her. “Listen, Penelope, not a word of this to anyone!”

  Penelope nodded, her head bobbing in hasty agreement. “No one.”

  “Just Hildy. We’ll need someone to help us. Now, I have not much time. I must find Elyn before her husband awakens.”

  “Her husband,” Penelope repeated thoughtfully as she stared at Kiera. “What happened last night? You know, after Lord Kelan went upstairs to Elyn’s chamber?” Penelope blinked and swallowed at the horror of it.

  “Nothing,” Kiera whispered harshly, though she felt her cheeks flame. “I mean he was drunk and I gave him the potion and … he’s still sleeping. Now, I’m going to go see Father, show the servants that I’m feeling better. But I’ll say that I ran into Elyn in the hallway when she was going to the latrine and … oh, bother, what will I say … oh! That she is still feeling ill … nay, that she is tired, that’s it, and she wants—no, she and her new husband want their food brought to them and left outside the door. Then you must see that no one goes into the room.”

  “But why would they not come downstairs?”

  “Because they’re so … so involved.”

  “What? Oh …” Penelope rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t—oh!”

  Kiera grabbed the front of her sister’s tunic. “You can and you must, do you hear me? If anyone finds out what I‘ve, I mean, what Elyn and I have done, ’twill be hideous. Unthinkable! Father will probably collapse and die, just after he’s flailed Elyn and me—and, yes you—for lying, until we are near dead; the Lord of Penbrooke will be embarrassed at being played for a fool and will … will probably flog me yet again, as well as Elyn and anyone else involved in the plot.”