by North, Evie
The steps to the tower were narrow and they climbed single file. She went first with the light of the candle to guide her and she sensed his gaze on her back, on her hips beneath her gown. She thought, if she turned, she would see that gleam in his dark eyes again. She allowed herself to sway more than usual, as if his stare had freed her from any constraints she might otherwise have had.
Edwina was a desirable woman and she was enjoying his attention.
She smiled, glancing back. “Here we are.”
At the head of the stairs was a small tower room where it was possible to look out on all sides, through narrow slitted windows. A crossbow rested in the corner, with a goodly amount of arrows, in case they were needed to discourage their unwelcome visitors.
Edwina set the candle carefully down and went to the window slit to peer out through the night’s darkness.
Below her she could see the Scots had made a fire and were standing about it, arguing. They were bare legged beneath their kilts and their skin looked raw and cold. Behind her she felt the warmth of the stranger and then his breath upon her cheek as he leaned over her shoulder to peer down.
“They have not gone,” he said and she could hear he was disappointed. “Why do they linger?”
“Perhaps they think you a prize worth lingering for,” she remarked, wondering what he would say to that.
He said nothing, his gaze fixed on the men below.
“Are you a prize worth lingering for?”
He shrugged, glancing at her sideways.
“I have told you my name,” she reminded him a little impatiently.
His mouth quirked up and his dark eyes slid to hers. There were flecks of gold in them, she noticed. Her heart began a slow, heavy thudding, and she knew she should move away but the feeling of being so close was intoxicating.
“My name is Hadden,” he said. He reached to stroke his fingertip down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She felt her blood beating and his finger found the pulse in her throat, stroking it gently there, making her dizzy with a longing that was growing by the moment.
Below them the Scots yelled out, one pushing the other to the ground, and Edwina and Hadden turned to stare, breaths held. The other Scots held the aggressor back and after a moment the fallen man climbed to his feet, brushing the snow from his clothing.
“They argue among themselves,” Hadden said. “That is good. Let them kill each other and leave us alone.”
“What will happen if they stay?” Edwina asked.
“Then I will stay.”
He was so close. She need only move a fraction and their lips would touch. She felt her body grow warm and eager, urging her to make that move. A step, a lift of her face to his. She felt his hands resting on her shoulders, and then his mouth brushed against her like soft moth wings, but it was enough to send her emotions catapulting.
“Should I stop, lady?” he asked huskily. His hands slid down her arms, finding her hands and bringing them up to his chest, still enclosed in his. She freed them, pressing her palms to his tunic, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the cloth. His mouth brushed hers again and she gasped, opening her lips to the tip of his tongue.
The Scots were below, with all the danger their presence held for her, and perhaps that was part of the eagerness she felt for this man, this stranger. They may be dead in an hour, a day. What did it matter what she chose to do in this moment?
“No,” she managed, pressing closer. “Don’t stop.”
His mouth claimed hers now with passion, and she was in his arms, enjoying the heady feeling of his caresses. His tongue darted between her lips, stroking hers, and she clung closer. Her body was afire.
Outside there was a thud and the smell of burning. Hadden pulled away with a curse, turning to the window. Slowly, feeling dazed, Edwina followed.
There was an arrow, with a burning cloth wrapped around its head, lying upon the steep pitch of the roof. The fire was already going out, dampened by the snow and the cold.
Edwina gave a sigh of relief. If the Scots thought they could burn them out then they were mistaken. All the same, she looked toward the flag. “I think we should put it up now,” she said. “Even if no one comes the Scots might think they will.”
“Let’s give it a try,” Hadden agreed.
The flag was in a wooden chest against the wall and Edwina attached it to the rope on the flagpole; Hadden began to haul the flag upwards with the rope, through the gap in the roof of the tower, to the very top of the pole. He paused and took off his tunic, which was restricting his movements, and completed the task in his shirt sleeves.
Edwina watched him, admiring the tightening of the muscles in his arms and shoulders, imagining that body lying upon hers, her hands smoothing his flesh. Her own body was ready for his and she had to resist the urge to touch her breasts or rub her hand between her legs. She had done these things before in her lonely bed but never had the feelings been so intense.
The air outside was still and cold and the white flag hung forlornly against the night sky. Edwina had her doubts anyone would notice it but at least there was a chance it might persuade the Scots to go away.
Hadden was at the window again. The Scots had begun to cook something in a pot they’d unloaded from one of their horses. Their hair was wild, as wild as their natures, she suspected, and shuddered.
A warm arm slipped about her shoulders and suddenly she was held against his hard, muscular body. “They’ll leave soon enough,” his voice soothed. “And until then I will protect you, Edwina.”
Edwina smiled and glanced up at him through her lashes. She rested her hand upon his arm, feeling the hard muscle there, and then she allowed her hand to stroke upwards to his shoulder, to the curls of hair that lay against his neck. He was watching her, that gleam in his eyes again.
“Do you have a bed?” he said bluntly.
Startled her eyes flew to his and she wondered if she should take offence, but her body was thrumming with desire and she knew this was what she wanted too.
“Downstairs,” she said.
He followed her. “Are we alone?”
“Yes.”
He grunted. “Good.”
The bed was her brother’s; it was the finest in the manor house and she climbed upon it and sat smiling at him as he stripped off his shirt. His hands rested on the waist of his trousers but he hesitated. “Are you a virgin bride?” he asked her curiously.
Edwina wondered what he would prefer but in the end she told him the truth. “Yes.”
“And this Sir Jerome? Is he likely to come after me?” But he said it in a way that made her laugh, as if he wasn’t in the least bit afraid of Jerome.
He reached out to cup her cheek and then his mouth was on hers again and she fell backwards into the softness of the feather mattress. It was bliss the way his mouth clung to hers, and now he was squeezing her breasts, caressing the hard nubs of her nipples, creating a wave of pleasure throughout her body.
She moaned when his hand slid under her skirts, creeping along her bare thigh, finding the slick place where she had run her own hands many times, desperate for some pleasure in this barren place. He knew what he was doing, she could tell that. The way he stroked the pearl he found there, the clever pressure he placed upon her.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh please,” she whispered.
He chuckled and brought her to her climax with a deft twist of his fingers.
Edwina lay shuddering, her heart thudding, her breathing harsh. It had been delightful but she wanted more than that. She wanted him. She reached out and stroked the bulge in his trousers.
He didn’t need to be asked twice. Quickly he divested himself of the rest of his clothing and she saw his cock spring up eagerly against his belly. Long and thick, it promised her much pleasure and Edwina caressed him with her fingertips.
“Are you sure you are a virgin bride?” Hadden was frowning.
Edwina felt a spurt of anger. “Of course. It is just
. . . Sir Jerome is old and fat and I want to lie with a young and handsome man, someone I can dream of in the years to come. I want to do everything I will never do with him.”
He was flattered by that.
“Oh lady, I will certainly please you.” He was unlacing her clothing, and she arched against his lips and his hands. His thigh rested between hers and she rubbed against it, eager for the burst of pleasure he’d already given her. He reached down to stroke her again, and then his cock was nudging between her swollen lips, pressing to her maidenhead.
“You will ache for a moment,” he said, his voice low and breathless, as if holding himself back was not easy for him. “Lady?”
She nodded eagerly and stretched up to kiss his mouth. The kiss grew hot and passionate and during it he breeched her maidenhead, making her gasp with the burn, but it soon faded and she lifted her hips as he began to push deeper inside her. The fullness was pleasurable and when he moved and reached down to add pressure to her pearl, she found herself moaning aloud.
His dark eyes were narrowed, concentrating, and when she cried out in her ecstasy, he let go of the hold he had on himself, thrusting deep within her and giving a deep, low groan of satisfaction.
For a moment they were still, his head resting on her shoulder, her arms loosely holding him. The pleasure began to fade, leaving her wondering if she had done something incredibly foolish. If her brother were to find out, if Sir Jerome were to discover she was no longer a virgin . . . But she reminded herself that it wasn’t her maidenhood they cared about, it was her fortune.
Hadden had lifted his head and was watching her. He smiled, and there was a catch in her chest, as if a dart had struck her heart. “I am lost for words, my lady,” he said, and kissed her temple, letting his lips trail down her cheek. “You are beyond perfection.”
She felt the blush warm in her cheeks.
His mouth grazed lazily across her skin, little nips and kisses, and then, when he reached her breasts, his tongue made leisurely circles around her nipples. She felt herself growing eager again, wishing he would move faster, bring her to her climax once more, but he seemed determined to take his time.
“This is for me,” he laughed, when she complained. “I am making memories for myself this time, Edwina.”
She wondered why he would need memories like this. Surely there were women aplenty for him? But she let him take his time, moving down her body with lips and tongue, and crying out when his mouth closed on her little pearl, sucking until she could hardly bear to be touched. And then he nudged his cock—so hard and thick—inside her and kept going until he filled her completely.
This time she was able to enjoy the act without fear of pain and she moved with him, learning quickly, shifting slightly so that his shaft brushed against her pearl and caused a tingle of pleasure each time. Growing and growing until suddenly he lost all control and she held him as they cried out together.
After that they slept, warm and safe together, in the depths of the bed. The candle burned down to nothing and outside the Scots’ voices were muted and far away. Once, in the night, he got up and went downstairs. To see to his horse, he whispered, when he returned.
His body was chilled and she wrapped her arms around him to warm him, and that led to kisses and caresses, and soon he was taking her again, making her cry out with the joy of it. Edwina didn’t want to think of the night ending; she didn’t want the real world to intrude on this wonderful interlude.
She was still trying to catch her breath when suddenly he looked down at her and said, “I’m hungry.”
***
Edwina had made a thick and hearty soup some days ago and now she swung the pot over the flames and began to heat it. She added some of the sorrel she had gathered this afternoon, to give it flavour. The room was smoky and close, but better than outside in the snow in the dark. At least they were warm and safe here.
Safe? Was she safe? Had the spell really brought this man to her or was it sheer coincidence that he’d arrived with the Scots? She didn’t want to think about the future, how it would feel when he was gone and she was alone again. Already she felt so comfortable with him he might have been a part of her.
Edwina glanced sideways at Hadden. He was standing by a tapestry that her brother had brought with him from home, after their father was killed. It was one of the fine things that used to hang on their walls. There were others but most of them had been sold. Her brother was constantly in debt and she thought that was the reason why her father had made her his heir. That and the indisputable fact that she was his favourite.
“Why are you here all alone?” he asked.
“My brother and his family are in Carlyle and the servants went to the village to attend a wedding. I did not wish to go but I said they could. They were due back two days ago but the weather prevented them returning.”
“And you are not lonely? Don’t you wish for company?”
“No. At least, not for their company. I was happy once but not now. And soon, when I marry Sir Jerome . . .” Her mouth turned down but she tightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. These were not things he needed to hear and nor did she wish to think of them.
“Do you think the Scots are like us?” he said.
“Like us?” She opened her mouth to tell him they were devils with no feelings at all and then paused. That wasn’t true. “Some of them are brutal and violent,” she said tentatively, “but then so are the English. And I knew a family of Scots who lived close to my father’s house on the border. I was friends with the youngest daughter. It is King John who has stirred this animosity among the people of the north.”
He was silent a moment and then he nodded. “You are generous and wise, lady. I do not think I would be so generous with my enemies.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder and saw he was watching her as she stirred the soup. When it was nearly ready she arranged two bowls to warm on the hearth and fetched some of the hard bread that was all that was left. It would have to do. The servants would be bringing some food back with them but until they arrived this was all Edwina had. The basket with its remaining greens and berries was emptied and the fresh food set out on a platter, arranged as if it was a feast fit for a king.
Hadden eyed it warily.
“I know what is safe,” she assured him. “You will not be poisoned. See?” And she picked up a dock leaf and chewed it before swallowing. He picked up something similar and nibbled it, not looking as if he was enjoying it particularly. Edwina popped a red berry into her mouth and smiled. His eyes followed her movement, lingering on her lips, and his eyes darkened.
“Why were you going to Carlyle?” she asked him.
“Business for my . . . father,” he said.
“What business?” She wondered why he had hesitated.
“Private business.”
“Why won’t you tell me?” she said, curious and a little irritated. “You know all about me. We have nothing else to do, have we, but to talk and stay warm?”
Something in his face changed. Already she recognised that look and her heart began to beat faster.
“There are many ways we can pass the time,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I have not even begun yet.”
She jutted up her chin, half teasing. “You said you were hungry.”
“There are many forms of hunger, Edwina,” he said, but he did not move toward her, and when she filled the bowls with soup and broke some crusty bread, he sat down at the table and took a spoonful. “This is good.”
They ate a moment in silence and Edwina found she was hungry too.
“What will happen to you if you do not marry Sir Jerome?” Hadden asked. “Would you prefer to stay a spinster in your brother’s household?”
“No. Of course not. My brother hates me, and his wife takes his lead.”
“So it is best if you marry and move away?”
“I would be the wife of Sir Jerome. I don’t want that either. Why have I only these two
choices?” she asked him, her frustration clear in her voice and expression. “Why can’t I do what I want to do? Why must I always be told what to do?”
“It seems a waste,” he said carefully, breaking his bread into smaller pieces. “A beautiful and clever woman wasted on a man who will never appreciate her.”
Edwina raised an eyebrow. He was flattering her but it was sweet to hear his words even if she didn’t entirely believe them. Or perhaps she had just become sanguine.
“I would appreciate you,” he added boldly.
She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “And how would you show that appreciation, Hadden?”
He took a spoon of the soup and chewed thoughtfully, but his eyes gleamed seductively, and she felt pleasure brush over her skin, sensitizing it, making her imagine his touch upon her again. So different from the mauling she was going to get from Sir Jerome.
“I would bring you pleasure, lady,” he said simply. “Much pleasure.”
She tried not to shiver but the tips of her breasts began to tingle and the bud between her legs began to ache. “And then what? I could not live by pleasure alone.”
“Why not?” he retorted arrogantly. “But you are right, there must be more. Hmm, I would buy you beautiful clothing and you would live in a fine house with fine things about you. Certainly you would eat fine meals, no berries or weeds,” he added, with a look askance at the platter she had placed before him. “You’d be waited on hand and foot.”
Edwina thought about this as she ate. “That sounds very nice,” she said evenly, “but I would be bored, I think.”
He looked surprised, and she hid a smile.
“I am used to keeping busy,” she explained. “I would not like to sit about while others made decisions for me. At my father’s house I was allowed to share in discussions with his steward. I played my part in the running of the house and he listened to me. He gave me an allowance and control over it.”
“Ah.” He smiled a smile that made him even more handsome. “Even better. In my house you could make your own decisions and be the ruler of your own destiny. How would that suit you?”
Was he serious? Of course not, she reminded herself. This was only a game, a bit of play-acting to pass the time, and although she enjoyed the fantasy it made her sad to know it could never be real.