"Do you wish me to stop?" he asked, wiggling his fingers as she took him deep.
"No," she said, with a gasp and a moan.
"Then what do you want?" he asked, his thumb replacing his palm for more dexterity on the bud bringing a great deal of pleasure to his wife.
"I don't know," she ground out between clinched teeth, as her back arched upward, her eyes flying closed as she gave over to her moans.
"You have to tell me what you want, what you like." His voice sounded ragged to his own ears, and he felt as if he was ready to explode.
"Your mouth," she panted, as she continued working herself up and down on his fingers in a near frenzy. "Your tongue."
A keening cry escaped her and she apparently lost her train of thought, for she only panted and moaned.
"Where do you like my lips and tongue?"
"Oh Garrick," she pleaded, slamming herself upward into his hand, her entire body twisting, trying to get nearer to him.
"Where do you want my lips?" he asked again, watching her beautiful face express her building desire.
"Please Garrick," she said, her back arching, her body language making it plain where her body wanted his lips.
"Where?" his voice rasped.
"On my breasts," she nearly shouted.
He did not hesitate, but dipped his head and sucked her nipple roughly into his mouth. She locked her arms around his head to hold him there.
Several keening cries escaped her. "Please," she begged him.
"What?" he asked, gently between licks and nibbles to her nipples.
She seemed oblivious to his desire to find out what she begged for, because she only answered with his name. He bit down on her nipple, she cried out, and her thrusts increased.
"Oh please Garrick," she cried, as she increased her pace. Garrick used that as a cue that was what her body was crying out for, and he drove his fingers in and out, and she became a writhing, quivering mass of flesh beneath him.
"Garrick?" she questioned, in a nearly frightened voice before a gasp was cut short, and her hips drove upward and she became still.
Garrick felt his wife's muscles begin milking his fingers, and he gave one final thrust, his thumb pressing on the bud, and his wife let out a cry as she found her release. He never dreamed his beautiful wife could be even more so, but at the moment of her climax, she appeared as if she was truly an angel from heaven.
He pulled his wife's panting body against him. Garrick's heart settled down from its rapid drumming, and only then did he realize his fingers were still embedded deep within his wife. He wanted to drive another part of himself into her warm sheath, more than he wanted to draw his next breath. Slowly he slid his fingers free and raised himself back to his feet. He watched Ryann stretch, her breasts still bare, her thighs and the gold between her legs still exposed.
Her blue eyes were steady upon him as he drank her beauty in. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, watching her sit up stiffly.
She had a look of wonder upon her face. "I did not know I could feel such a thing," she said, with a blush creeping up her cheeks.
"Did I hurt you," he asked again, and was surprised at the fear in his own voice.
"Yes," she said a little breathless. "In a wonderful way." Her cheeks were crimson as she looked up at him, and he found himself to be speechless. In that instant he used every ounce of strength to keep from grabbing the nude woman before him and plunging himself so deep within her, she would find more wonderful ways her body could sing to him.
"I was not too rough?" he asked, helping her gently to her feet.
She regained her feet before replying. "No," she said, still sounding somewhat breathless. "Although my bodice may argue against me," she said, as she pulled the torn pieces back together.
"I do not apologize," he said, and before he knew what he was about, he dipped his head down and planted a gentle kiss on the top of each mound.
When he raised his head, it was to look into her smiling eyes.
Garrick cleared his throat, staring at her, "Did I frighten you?"
"No my lord." She took the step forward that brought her small figure against his. He could feel every inch of her skin through their clothing, pressing against him, she stood on her tip toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
"Garrick," he said, having to clear his throat again.
"My lord?"
"You called me Garrick just a moment ago," he said, watching her step away, her small hands pulling the fabric he had torn together. A small blush rose up her cheeks.
"I thought a man who holds a title after fighting for it so long, would like to hear it upon others' lips."
Her words warmed him, and he felt like grabbing her, and crushing her to him.
"You are correct my lady wife."
"I am happy to please you.
"Why?"
For a moment she looked surprised, then a slow smile crept across her lips. "It is a wife's duty to please her husband."
"You do your duty well."
Her smile broadened.
"Is it also the duty of a husband to please his wife?"
She seemed to consider a moment, her lower teeth working her upper lip. Her smile had faded, then returned, her dimples reappearing. "It seems only fair does it not?"
He gave a slight nod, standing to his full height. "Do you find pleasure in my hands?" He knew immediately her thoughts strayed to what his hands had done to her, only moments ago.
Another blush tinged her cheeks, and her gaze fell to her feet. "I never knew there was such pleasure to be had."
Garrick bent forward, placing his lips next to her ear. "Soon there will be more than my fingers filling you," his voice was low, and full of promise as his breath spread across her ear. He felt her shiver.
Pulling his cloak from around his shoulders he gently placed it about hers, pulling it securely together in the front, until she took it in her own small hands to hold it together. He turned slowly from her, and began walking back toward the army. He felt her more than heard her fall into step next to him. Halfway back up the hill, a stand of wildflowers caught his attention. He didn't know the first thing about flowers, but he guessed them to be adequate enough. He paused and broke a few, handing them to her. She faltered for a moment, looking up at him.
"For one as beautiful as you," he said, and it seemed as if she took them tentatively.
A faltering smile crossed her face. "What is wrong? Do you not like flowers?"
"They're lovely,” she rushed to reassure him, going so far as to bury her nose into them. As she inhaled a great sneeze began to build within her she unleashed onto the blooms. She looked to him, but another sneeze exploded from her. It seemed like an endless stream escaped her before he grabbed the stems of the flowers from her hands, and slung them angrily away. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her further up the hill as she tried to catch a breath, in between the sneezes.
Garrick felt the tug on his hand and reluctantly stopped to turn to her. The sneezes had ceased. "Please don't be angry at me," she said, looking up at him.
He couldn't help the scowl, and the spark of anger that she thought he would be angry because she had a bad reaction to the flowers he all but forced upon her. Gently he touched his fingers to the bottom of her chin, and tilted her face up to him. "I am not angry with you." To prove it to her he bent, and placed his lips against hers. He wanted to show her how gentle he could be, but at the first touch, he was lost and wanted all of her. His thumb became a vice on her chin, anchoring it in his hand, as he held her still for his lips that immediately roughened, and his teeth bit down on her lip before he drew away.
He gazed down at her still upturned face, licking his lips, tasting her upon them. Abruptly he dropped his hand away from her, turned and moved back up the hill. She again fell into step with him, and immediately left his side when they reached his men.
~ ~ ~ ~
The village was devastated, the small manor house leveled. Ryann waited quietly w
ith the others as Garrick and his men spread out through what was left of the burned out homes, and bodies. Bodies lay everywhere. She wanted to weep, but the smell, the smell made her want to gag. Some of the people here were burned, the smell of the charred flesh still hung heavy in the air, mixed with the smell of blood. Perhaps the most devastating of all was her husband's impassive face. Not a hint of sorrow or horror had shown, not even knowing this was his people, his village, upon his land. Now he and his men moved carefully, and Ryann waited, praying someone here had survived.
It seemed an eternity, she had long lost sight of Garrick, but yet she waited for him to come to her, and let her know it was safe for her to enter among the dead. Finally, she saw him coming toward her with a bundle in his hands he carried awkwardly. All the way to her he walked, and she knew long before he reached her he carried a baby. It screamed its dissatisfaction with what happened here. Her husband’s eyes were unreadable as he gently handed the baby to her. Its face had turned red and its body quivered with its increased outrage, as it was jostled again when she took it.
Immediately she pulled it against herself, pressing it to her, holding its tiny head, cradling its small buttocks, in an effort to calm and warm her.
"She couldn't have been very long into the world when this happened," Garrick said, and there was no inflection in his voice with this news. "The mother's throat was cut."
Her arms tightened around the baby as she bounced it, cooing to it gently, warming it, doing her best to soothe it. The poor thing. Her heart went out to the little girl, born to such a tragedy.
"We will stay here to bury these people. We will lose a day."
She heard a strain in his voice, but she knew it was not for the task at hand, but for the delay in arriving at Kinsey. She felt a keen disappointment as well.
"Yes my lord," she said. And immediately he was turning from her to see to his task, and allowing her to see to hers. In her mind she went through the people she had brought with her, and knew a wet nurse was not among them. The next thing was to find an animal she could get precious milk from, for the poor baby who seemed in no hurry to settle down. How could she? She had to be hungry and she immediately set Marcus to the task of finding that animal and getting it milked, while she set out to find a way to feed that milk to the infant.
Chapter 10
Ryann adjusted the cloth the baby was wrapped in, using the end to wipe the spot of milk off the baby's chin. Marcus was there, as he was throughout the night, to take the baby from her hands, so she could clean the milk from the wine skin to be used again. She did not think any normal child would have taken to the crude nipple they made from the wineskin’s cork, but the baby was starving and had not turned it away the first time. Safely in the big man's arms, who held her ever so gently, she leaned over her and wiped her chin again, cooing to her, but the small child seemed oblivious as she waved her arms angrily, just before she began to sit up a wail for the milk taken from her. She had done so each time they fed her, but Ryann was concerned she would drink herself sick, for it was no small amount she drank. So she and Marcus fed her often, but the small child still acted as if it was not enough. She would be relieved to find her a wet nurse so she might get what she seemed to be lacking with the goat milk. She had never had the care of a child so small. For all she knew, it could be a typical reaction for a newborn to want to eat continuously. No one travelling with them seemed to know. Many offered their guesses and opinions, but it was obvious they were as awkward as she.
Straightening, she turned from Marcus and nearly collided with Garrick. His face appeared thunderous as he stepped aside to let her pass. She did so tentatively, hearing his heavy step next to her, feeling his power envelope her. Moving toward the well she felt her shoulder seized as soon as she turned the corner of a half standing wall. Garrick's grip was tight, confining, as he glared down at her.
"What do you do with Marcus?" he asked, and for the first time in a short while she felt fear try to move its way up her spine.
"I needed help with the baby and he helps," she said, her voice, she was glad hid the fear.
"What of Lena?"
"She knows nothing of babies, cooking, washing. All she knows is fighting."
The look her husband gave her made her want to smack him. It said clearly Alena knew other, more carnal things, and she suddenly wondered if they had experienced those things together. She had heard the Fenton Bastard only took whores to his bed, but isn't that what a concubine was? She did not think now was the time to ask such a question. And Alena once told her they had not.
"I do not like Marcus sharing that," Garrick said, waving his hand toward the others, "with you."
Ryann was puzzled for a moment, not comprehending what exactly her husband objected to.
"You will have no man's child but mine," he declared, shaking her.
It suddenly occurred to her, her husband was jealous. She could not help the laughter that escaped her, for it was a relief that it was not something she had done that angered him. Immediately Garrick released her, and took a step back, his eyes even darker, if such a thing were possible.
"I can show you what to do and you can help me with the baby, instead of Marcus," she said. Though she thought such a thing was a reasonable solution to the situation, her husband looked appalled.
"I...I cannot," he stammered, and she nearly took pity on him.
Instead she arched her brow at him and sighed. "It is only Marcus to help. I cannot manage alone."
Garrick seemed to straighten, his nostrils flared as if he was preparing for something unpleasant. "I will help."
She could not help the massive smile that split across her face. "Don't worry," she said with a wink. "I'll be gentle."
She nearly laughed again when his jaw dropped open and he stood staring at her. She turned away quickly, and using the water already in the bucket drawn, she showed him how to clean the wineskin.
She couldn't say Garrick made as good a helper as Marcus. As a matter-of-fact he looked out right terrified when she tried to show him how to cradle the baby, hold its head, change her linen, and wrap her warmly. It was all Ryann could do not to laugh at the strong warrior. The only thing that kept her from it was the near rapture he had on his face, at each cooing sound the baby made.
She didn't know if it was a look of relief or remorse when Garrick had to again become the commander and lead his men out of camp. She had been smiling every since. She didn't think many people would see the Fenton Bastard as a good father, but Ryann thought differently.
The day progressed much as it had the day before. Despite having the baby to take up her day, it still moved as slowly as they did. She watched Garrick ride back and forth, studying him, watching his easy movements with his horse. What a fearsome warrior he made. Ryann did not pretend he was not. His face set in dark stone, his nearly black eyes intense and could burn anything he directed them upon. The scars on his face, on his body, showed him to be a man used to pain, a man who had cheated death more than once. But when Ryann looked at him, it was only the warrior she saw for a short breath, it was the true Garrick she saw after that.
He rode ever vigilant, never slouching in his saddle, but always watching, protecting the people under his command. He was a harsh task master, yet not unreasonable, a father figure keeping his children in line, obedient, and safe. He moved as one with his horse, his hands were gentle on the reins. She was yet to see him jerk upon the stallion harshly, or lay a heavy hand or heel upon him. For all he appeared to be, her husband was so much more.
They stopped for a midday meal, but Garrick never came to her. Throughout the rest of the day she never caught sight of him, and she worried. Is that what life was about married to a man like him, always worrying if she would become a widow? She was happy when Alena fell into step beside her, she offered a welcome distraction from her current worry.
"Have you slept with my husband?"
Her dark head whipped toward her, the woman's
dark braid flew around her head to fall across her shoulder. "Will you cast me away if I have?" she asked, in the challenging way that made the part of Ryann that liked her, wish she didn't.
"Answer me," Ryann replied, using her own confidence in her title to bring authority into her voice.
The woman beside her sighed, and Ryann took that opportunity to look at her again. She was tall, sitting on her sleek big boned bay, her posture was much like Garrick's, confident. She did not think if she was forced to be anyone's concubine, she would be as together as Alena. Add to that dilemma, the scars that took from her beauty, and Ryann thought she herself would just be an empty shell.
"When we arrived back in this land I had no one, and I mean no one. I did not know where my next meal would come from, and Garrick offered me a deal I could not refuse."
Ryann felt her hands tighten on the reins, her back tense, and for some absurd reason she felt tears sting at the back of her eyes. She forced her hands to ease their grip, and admonished herself for the tears.
"He offered me his protection, and a means to survive. What difference would it be if I became his whore?" she asked, her green eyes boring into Ryann when she turned her head. Ryann recognized the look in her eyes, it was the look she saw fleetingly upon her husband's face. A look of self loathing that cut deep.
"I understand," Ryann said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Where it came from she did not know. She did not understand the pain she felt knifing through her. It was not unheard of for a husband to take a woman that was not his wife. It was quite unusual for one to not, and suddenly Ryann worried Garrick was still enjoying this woman's charms. What could she say if he was, or any other woman for that matter.
"No, you could not possibly understand," Alena hissed at her, and Ryann nearly gasped at the anger that edged her beautiful green eyes in red, and turned her face thunderous. "I was stolen from my family when I was still a child. I endured the emir because he would beat me if I did not comply, starve me, and humiliate me. Then these knights appeared, and my only thought was they are my own kind. I helped them, not so they could help me, but because I needed to give them that comfort, for I had had none. When they rescued me I was so grateful, I was finally free. But in the end I was not. I feared I was in worse shape because I was forced to be something I was not. By agreeing to Garrick, I had become what I had fought so long not to be. In the end I never had sex with Garrick."
Angie Arms - Flame Series 03 Page 14