My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  “Ye’d best get some sleep,” Gilead said. “I’ll keep watch.”

  Of course he’d keep watch. He was totally sober. She was the one who was a bit tipsy. She sighed as she curled into a ball under the plaid and drifted off to sleep. Now that she was warm and dry and fed—and maybe a wee bit drunk—she wanted to snuggle. It really was a pity that Gilead didn’t have just a speck of Angus’s unbridled lust in him.

  Deidre awakened sometime later to a cold room. The fire had been banked and Gilead was sitting close to the ashes, arms wrapped around his legs. She propped herself up on one elbow. “Why is the fire out?”

  “I heard a noise outside,” Gilead answered. “I dinna find anything, but decided it best not to take any chances on anyone seeing a fire in here or smelling smoke.”

  “You’re shivering,” Deidre said as she noticed he was still wearing only the towel. “Are any of our clothes dry?”

  He shook his head and gave the plaid a lingering glance. “I was wondering…if I swear to ye that I wilna touch ye improper, would ye consider letting me share that?”

  In the dim light of the fading embers, he looked erotically dangerous. His angular face was half-cast in shadow, the one eye a brilliant blue, the other a dark circle. Half of his full sensual mouth was visible, the hidden part seeming to turn up in a boyish smile. His massive shoulders and bulging biceps were silhouetted against the dying glow and Deidre felt a pulsation begin between her legs. The last thing she wanted was for him to be proper. Maybe it was the wine or maybe it was the aftermath of the abduction, but she decided to be bold. She knew they might have regrets in the morning, but just this one night she wanted to have him. She wanted him to be the man who took her virginity.

  “It’s your plaid. Of course, I’ll let you share it,” she said. “On one condition.”

  “I’ve already told ye I’d not—”

  Deidre put her fingers across his lips. “But I want you to make love to me.”

  Gilead stared at her and a long moment of silence hung between them. Finally, he swallowed hard. “Are ye sure, Dee? Ye’ve had some wine—”

  “I’m sure.” Deidre took a deep breath of her own and opened the plaid, revealing her body to him. “Come here.”

  She heard his sharp intake of breath and then his hands were on her shoulders, caressing them as he brought her closer to him and slid under the plaid. It felt pleasantly strange to have her bare breasts pressed against his hard chest.

  “Dee,” Gilead murmured in her ear as he nuzzled her neck, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” His tongue probed her earlobe and she moaned when he drew it between his lips and nibbled gently. He trailed kisses down her throat, his hands stroking the length of her back.

  His touch set her skin afire. Deidre wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his damp hair. This was as good as she’d always imagined.

  Gilead groaned and brushed his lips against her mouth, barely grazing her, teasing. He kept the pressure light, his kisses soft and warm and gentle. The effect was like stoking a fire. Deidre wanted more of him, longed to feel his tongue inside her mouth, and parted her lips. But he was not to be hurried. He caught her lower lip leisurely between his teeth and tugged, then traced her upper lip with his tongue. He rained kisses across her forehead and closed eyelids, along her cheeks and the tip of her nose. All the time his hands moved, gliding along her spine, kneading the indenture where her back curved, tracing the contours of her buttocks. His fingers slid along her ribs, making her breasts suddenly needy. She pressed closer to him and felt the rocky hardness of his shaft against her leg. Now that she actually had him naked and had seen the size of his manhood, she felt a stirring of apprehension. Lord, that was going to go inside her?

  Gilead growled low and slanted his mouth over hers, capturing her lips with light caresses. Lazy kisses turned into deeply passionate ones as he explored her mouth, their tongues tasting each other, each dueling to take more of the other.

  He cupped a breast, kneading it, his thumb flicking over the nipple. It budded immediately, the heat of it searing deep into her belly. Her body began to tingle all over.

  Gilead lowered his head to her other breast, teasing the tight tip as his tongue whirled around it, not quite touching. He licked a slow circle around the base of the soft flesh, spiraling upward in concentric circles, making her breast feel hot and heavy and full. She whimpered as that torturous tongue finally flitted across the taunt peak, bringing a bit of relief, and then gasped when his mouth covered it and he began to suckle.

  Dear God, the sensation was exquisite. Her breast thrummed in response to the pressure of his lush mouth and a corresponding throb began to vibrate between her legs.

  Gilead switched to the other breast, lavishing equal attention on it before trailing wet kisses across her stomach and making abdominal muscles clench deep inside her. Deidre closed her eyes in complete bliss. How could things get any better than this?

  She felt his weight shift and when she opened her eyes, he was on his knees between her legs. When had she spread them, anyway? From this angle, his manhood appeared even larger. Huge, in fact. Long and thick, it jutted out at her, the dark red of its head pulsating slightly. For the first time, she wondered how much pain there would be. No one had really prepared her for this. Once she had asked the matron the grim-faced Clotilde had put in charge of her to explain what happened between men and women, but the woman had near swooned. So she had only gleaned bits and pieces from eavesdropping on the maids at Childebert’s court. And they had giggled, so maybe the pain wasn’t so bad. So far, everything had felt really, really good. She took a deep breath. “Go ahead. Do it.”

  Gilead raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m not finished.”

  She knew that much. Could see that much. She was still warm and glowing from his kisses, so this would be a good time. What was he waiting for?

  He took one of her legs and lifted it to rest on his shoulder and began to nibble on her thigh, sending delightful shivers throughout her. Gilead lifted the other leg and did the same, this time his tongue flickering a path closer and closer to her core. His arms slid forward, hands cupping Deidre’s breasts as he leaned down.

  She uttered a small cry at the feel of his warm, velvet tongue making broad deliberate strokes between her woman’s folds. Her body trembled as he slowly licked her, teasing the throbbing little nub at her center, inflaming her until she thought she would burst into a blazing inferno. And then, when she thought she could take no more, he sucked hard and she felt herself explode into flames, every nerve tip on fire.

  Before she had time to recover, he slid up the length of her, his mouth ravishing hers in a deep, penetrating kiss. Deidre felt the tip of him nudging at her and then he plunged in, breaking the barrier in one forceful motion. She shuddered against the sharp, sudden pain, and Gilead deepened his kiss, holding his body still within her.

  “Let me know when it stops hurting,” he whispered and took her mouth again.

  The pain was already subsiding, but it felt strange to have something so thick and hard inside her. Deidre could feel her muscles relaxing to accommodate him and then, something else stirred. A deep, longing need, ancient from beyond Time, filled her. She wanted to feel him move. She wiggled her hips a little.

  He responded with a slow withdrawal.

  “No!” she gasped. “Don’t take it out—”

  Gilead grinned at her. “Och, lass. ’Tis only to put it back in again.” He rocked against her slowly, watching her face for signs of pain. She smiled up at him.

  “That feels good.”

  He felt his cock harden even more, if that was possible. She was tight—so tight—and hot and wet. No woman had ever roused him to the extent that Dee did. She might very well be a witch but he no longer cared. He rammed a little harder and deeper. Instinctively, she began to writhe under him, her hips undulating to the natural rhythm of the ages. He abandoned his caution then, and ground into her.

 
Deidre arched her back, taking all of him. The fire that had hardly banked itself reignited, the torrid heat spreading throughout her until her skin felt pricked by a thousand tiny flamelets. Her breathing changed, coming in short, shallow gasps as his thrusts came harder, faster, and deeper. The pulsation in her center increased, building, surging into a prolonged spasm, as deep inside, vaginal muscles contracted and her body convulsed. For a moment the world went black and then she felt something warm squirt inside of her.

  Gilead took in great gulps of air, propping most of his weight on his elbows, but keeping himself buried inside of her. His hair was plastered to his head and his body glistened with sweat. The plaid lay discarded beside them.

  “You can still share my plaid, if you want,” Deidre said with a wicked smile.

  He grinned and rolled over, bringing her to lie on top of him. “Mayhap later, Sassenach. Right now, ye are the only blanket I need.”

  She laid her head on his chest, listening to the slowing, steady beat of his heart. He was still partially inside her and she felt the warm, wet mushiness of their lovemaking. A sigh of contentment escaped her. Gilead was hers now.

  ◊♦◊

  Deidre awakened to find the plaid draped over her and Gilead already dressed and packing the saddlebags. He’d left out some bread and cheese for her to eat.

  Gilead was quiet this morning. She watched him now as he finished saddling Malcolm. She wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him and kiss him, but, from the brooding look on his face, she didn’t think trying to entice him would do any good. What was wrong with him, anyway? Last night they’d been so close…he’d made her feel so good…

  Deidre felt her face flame suddenly and turned away so he wouldn’t see if he looked up. Everything he had done to her had felt good, but maybe she hadn’t pleasured him, as well. Maybe he’d expected more from her. She bit her lip, wishing she knew more about these things. Even The Book, with all its fanciful notions of love between Gwenhwyfar and Lancelot, stopped short of telling what happened. Gilead was, no doubt, used to experienced women who knew how to please him.

  “Are ye ready?” Gilead asked.

  She nodded and then kept her eyes averted as he offered his hands for a leg up onto Malcolm. She felt his weight settle behind the saddle.

  “Ye can take the reins, lass,” he said.

  So he didn’t even want to put his arms around her. She blinked back tears, glad that he couldn’t see her face. So much for her dreams.

  ◊♦◊

  As Malcolm plodded along the road that led to Culross, Gilead cursed silently. He looked at the back of Deidre’s silken hair hanging loose about her shoulders. She looked even more beautiful in the morning sunshine than she had last night in the firelight. A faint muskiness clung to her, evidence of the passion they’d shared. He didn’t dare touch her or he’d take her again, right there.

  He shouldn’t have done it in the first place. He was always in control of his emotions, especially lust. He’d seen what that had done to his mother and father. What had he been thinking? Deidre had been vulnerable after her escape, and a bit drunk. He should have held himself back. The way she had avoided looking at him just now and the way she was holding her back stiffly away from him told him only too well that she regretted their actions, too. She probably thought him an ass for taking advantage of her.

  Pounding hooves interrupted his miserable thoughts. They were coming from up ahead, but the road curved through the trees, so it was impossible to see who the riders were. Malcolm snorted as Gilead took his reins.

  “Slide down,” he said to Deidre, “and hide in the trees. Don’t come out unless I call you.” He was glad when she didn’t argue. He pulled his sword and turned Malcolm to face the party.

  Angus and Niall galloped into view, along with twenty of Angus’s men. They pulled to a stop, mud clumps churning under stomping hooves,

  “Dinna ye find her?” Niall asked.

  By the Dagda! He’d forgotten about Niall. “Aye,” he answered reluctantly.

  “Where is she?” Angus asked. “Is she dead?”

  “Nae.” The thought startled him out of his mood. “Deidre, ye can come out!”

  Slowly, she emerged from the forest to come to stand before them.

  “Did they rape ye?” Niall asked bluntly.

  She turned crimson and glanced at Gilead quickly and then looked at the ground. She shook her head.

  Gilead stared at Niall. The man was a lout. He was probably more concerned with whether Deidre was soiled goods now than if she had been hurt. Guiltily, Gilead felt his own face burn. As far as Niall would care, she was soiled goods. He, Gilead, had ruined her. Even if she didn’t want him, he would have to find a way to stop this marriage to Niall, for if he found out she wasn’t a maiden, she’d pay a horrible price. Gilead shuddered. Why the hell had he not stopped once he’d given her pleasure with his tongue?

  Angus threw a sharp look at him. “Ye are sure she wasna harmed?”

  Gilead shifted in his saddle. “The Saxons dinna hurt her.” Angus’s face grew thoughtful and Gilead quickly added, “Ida thought she was my mother. He was going to use her to barter for land title.”

  Niall snorted. “As if a woman is worth land.”

  Angus raised an eyebrow. “Ye might hold yer tongue in front of yer intended.”

  Deidre glared at both of them and Niall had the sense to look almost chastised. “Well. If I think on it, mayhap a wee bit of land would be worth trading. I would expect my lady to reward me well in bed for it, though.”

  Deidre looked away, caught Gilead’s eye, and looked at the ground again.

  “We’ll be getting back, then,” Angus said. “Elen is worried about ye, lass.”

  Gilead nudged Malcolm forward and started to dismount to help her up. Niall stopped him. “She rides with me.”

  Gilead saw Deidre cringe. “Malcolm’s used to carrying two,” he said evenly.

  “So’s my horse,” Niall muttered and stepped down. He grabbed Deidre’s arm and she tried to pull away, but he was ready for that. He hoisted her into the saddle none too carefully and climbed up behind her. One hand immediately went around her waist. “Mayhap we’ll have a wee kiss before we get home, eh?”

  Deidre didn’t answer, only crossed her arms across her breasts and stared into space moodily as they moved ahead.

  “So tell me what happened,” Angus said as he held his horse back and came alongside Malcolm. “How did you get her out?”

  “She escaped by herself,” Gilead answered.

  Angus’s eyebrows rose. “How did she manage that? Or mayhap, if she is a spy, they let her go?”

  Gilead gave his father a sour look. “She’s not a spy, Da. She said she invited her guard to eat with her. His hands were full when he entered the tent and she banged him over the head with the chamber pot.”

  “Sounds like something Mori would do,” Angus said with a grin.

  Gilead’s face turned even more dour. Formorian. He didn’t need to be reminded of what lust could do. “They chased us for most of the day. I was surprised they’d wander so far from their boats.”

  “How did ye lose them?”

  “The rain washed some of the tracks away. Then I stuck to rocky ground when I could find it.”

  His father nodded and then glanced over at him. “And where did ye sleep?”

  Why would he want to know that? Gilead flicked a deer fly off Malcolm’s mane. “We came on an empty crofter’s cottage.”

  “Ah.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Ye tell me, son.”

  Gilead stared ahead of them to where Deidre was riding with Niall. His father’s men surrounded them, thank goodness. If Niall tried to take advantage of the situation, he could quickly be stopped. Gilead looked at his father and shrugged. “The cottage was warm and dry; we were cold and wet.”

  “And ye’d have to get out of those damp clothes and hang them in front of a roaring fire
, I expect?” Angus said drily.

  Gilead studied his horse’s ears.

  “Well?” Angus asked. “Did ye tup her?”

  He didn’t “tup” her. He had made love to her, with his heart and soul, as foolish as that was. He felt his face grow hot. “Is that all ye think about, Da?”

  A corner of Angus’s mouth lifted. “Mostly. But it isna my love life we’re talking about. It’s yers.”

  Gilead turned on his father furiously. “And why would that be of yer concern?”

  “Normally, it wouldn’t,” Angus replied, unperturbed by his son’s hostility. “Ye have my blessing to tumble as many wenches as ye wish. But this lass is handfasted to Niall, lest ye forget.”

  “She canna marry him, Da!”

  Angus raised a brow. “She canna? She may not want to, but she can and will. Ye know what a temper Niall has. With Ida this close, I doona need to be watching my back, too. I need Niall’s alliance. Deidre will marry him.”

  Gilead set his jaw. “She canna.”

  Angus reined his horse closer to Malcolm and lowered his voice. “If ye spilled yer seed in her, Gil, she may already be with child. The quicker she marries Niall, the better the chance he’ll think it his.”

  Gilead stared at his father, horrified. Another stupid mistake on his part. For certes, he’d never let Niall raise his child. If Deidre were with child—and how she would hate him for that—the babe would be his responsibility. His. If Niall didn’t kill Deidre first.

  “I wilna not let that happen,” he said stubbornly.

  “Ye have no choice,” Angus answered. “Ye’ve had yer fun. If ye pleasured her, there should be no regrets. Let done.”

  “Like ye’ve ‘let done’ with Formorian?” Gilead lashed out at him.

  Angus eyes smoldered and his hand tightened on the reins. Gilead had no doubt that, had they been dismounted, he’d have found himself lying on the ground, nursing a broken jaw. Still, he glared at his father defiantly. He had carried on a double standard too long.