by Linda Madl
He kissed her fingertips. Then he slipped her gown down, freeing her arms and exposing her breasts. Cool air stirred across her throat and teased the aching heaviness. She glanced at him, wondering whether a man wanted to touch a woman's breasts as much as she wanted him to.
She never asked. He took a ripened nipple into his mouth. Leandra gasped in surprise, then pleasure. But the satisfaction brought was only momentary. She threaded her fingers through his hair and arched her back to help the pleasure spread through her body. The touch of his lips and the flick of his tongue stirred hidden needs in secret places. She shifted in his arms. For the first time she understood the weakness that made a woman willingly open herself to a man. Offering him all. A strange, tender magic.
She didn't ever want the sensations to stop. She tugged greedily on his hair when he pulled away.
"Patience, lioness.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Let's take our loving in comfort.” He reached for the counterpane on the bed and spread it before the fireplace. Then he pulled her back into his lap, nestling her between his thighs and deftly slipping Leandra's clothes over her hips. She kicked her legs free of the gown and leaned back against him.
With one arm wrapped around her waist, he stroked her thigh and kissed her shoulder. Each stroke moved tantalizingly closer to her inner thigh, coaxing to life sensations she had never experienced. A moist heat flooded through her lower body. She tensed, clamped her legs together, afraid that he might discover this peculiar reaction.
"Relax."
"What if something is wrong?"
"What could be wrong? Does something feel wrong? Have I hurt you?"
She shook her head.
"Then let me decide if something is wrong,” he said. “These things are new to you."
When she relaxed, her thighs parting slightly, he encouraged her to open more, drawing her own leg up alongside his, her bottom pressed tight against his hard groin. One strong hand held her against him, fingers spreading across her ribs and brushing the underside of her breast His other hand teased her secret curls, stroking, brushing closer each time to the source of the moist, aching warmth.
"You are lovely,” he whispered into her ear. “You are right not to hide anything from me.” She realized that he stared down at her body over her shoulder. The firelight kept nothing from his eyes, not even her most private places. Gone was the modesty that she'd always been so certain she would never surrender to a man.
His fingers slid into the dewy warmth between her legs. She tensed. He crooned softly into her ear, his fingers moving over tender folds of flesh.
She sank back into his embrace unaware of her sighs or of the gentle movement that her hips made against him.
"Yes, dance as you please,” he whispered. “'Tis my pleasure, too.” Wonderful feelings dissolved her body, leaving her mindless beyond the reality of his hands, his lips, and his body. At some point he groaned.
She stopped, fearful that she'd done something wrong. She tried to pull away. “What—"
He clasped her against him, even tighter than before. “No,” he groaned again. “Give me your hand. What Amice told you is true."
He pulled her hand back against his groin. She found something long, hot, and remarkably hard. “It does grow, and it needs no tucking when the time comes,” he whispered hoarsely. “It finds its way to love with only a little help of passion and care."
"How does it feel?” she asked, leaning her head back to look into his face. “I mean, does it hurt when it's like that?"
"It only aches to find a home in you,” he said with a smile.
"And if we don't—"
"One of the things I learned from my teacher is that there are many ways for a man to find satisfaction.” He kissed her ear and caressed one breast with a feathery touch. “Move against me, sweeting, as you were doing."
She yielded once more to the seduction of his hands, the strength and warmth that tenderly built pleasures in her that she'd only suspected existed. She was unprepared for the brink when it came. A glimmer of pleasure blossomed inside, spreading throughout her body. Bright and promising, she arched her back reaching for it, knowing instinctively that this was the joy she sought with Garrett. The pleasure radiated through her, welling up from deep inside, and pulled her over the sweet edge of elation. She plunged, showered through brightness. A cry escaped her, muffled with a sigh of pleasure. She sank back into his arms, exhausted and glowing.
She snuggled closer, only to turn her face against his bare shoulder and wrap her arms around his neck. The musky male scent of him filled her senses, and she fervently kissed his throat, tasting the dearest man in the world. She pressed her bottom between his leather-clad thighs. His grip on her tightened. He tensed and his great body shuddered.
She froze, uncertain of her role, but little by little realizing from the pattern of his breathing that he'd experienced something similar to her own pleasure. “Garrett?"
"'Tis good,” he sighed into her ear and held her close. He stroked her back, a faraway look in his eye. “Now you know how loving works between a man and a woman."
She nodded. “'Tis truly beautiful for something that looks so strange."
"We broke no vows, Leandra. You are more knowing, but still unknown by a man. You are still a virgin."
"But I love you,” she murmured, too weak to move. Before she slept, she sighed, “My heart is yours."
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Chapter Sixteen
GARRETT AWOKE TO the harsh gray dawn with Leandra snuggled against him. No fire burned in the hearth. But her naked body lay toasty warm next to his half-clothed one in the bed where he'd carried her during the night. He got up then rejoined her after he'd washed up. Despite the cold of the pale morn, her skin glowed with the blush of a contented woman. Her breathing was deep and even, sweet and untroubled.
Beyond their chamber the inn and the village slept peacefully.
"Sweet Jesu,” he prayed, and closed his eyes against the morning light, against reality. He would not deal with that just yet. Instead he let himself drift on the remnant of last night's pleasure—in the blissful ease that weighed down each limb. He had no desire to move. He wasn't even certain who he was. For the moment he was satisfied to be a man lying with his woman at his side. All he wanted was to dream once more of the sweet submission, the slow possession, and the final wondrous fulfillment.
"My heart is yours.” He could still hear her words. She had given him her heart!
A smile touched his lips, and he drifted on. Wrapped still in the fading fragment of their pleasure, he slowly became aware of something else. Inside of him something different ticked along steady and true. The sensation was new and strange, but pleasant and welcome: a serenity, a harmony, a wholeness of being that left his mind and heart as blissfully happy as his limbs.
She made him whole. The realization both astonished and frightened him. Could he ever give her up?
Down the lane from the inn a dog barked. Along with the sunlight, cold truth crept through the cracks in the window shutters.
He frowned at the unpleasant thoughts. Reginald may have asked him to help win the lady, but not like this. Yes, there were excuses. Fate worked against them. Certainly the wanton spirit of May Day was an influence. So were the coupled lovers they'd stumbled upon. And Leandra's frank questions.
Beside him she sighed in her sleep.
The sweet scent of the crushed May flowers still woven in her hair filled their private world. With a new smile he reached for her, tenderly touched her hair and brushed a finger along the pulse in her throat. He'd found a life as dear as his own, dearer. Last night he'd discovered paradise in living. With dawn's first light, reality snatched it away.
He closed his eyes and flopped back down on the pillow. He could blame the potion. Without it he would never have dreamt of falling in love with her.
"Damn Brenna. Damn her spiteful hide.” The words were out before he realized he'd spoken.
Leandra st
irred again.
"Damn who?” Warm lips touched his cheek, and a firm breast pressed against his bare shoulder. Newly awakened desires tingled through him.
"You're awake. I can tell by your breathing,” she whispered into his ear.
Passion stirred. He didn't dare touch her.
"Damn Brenna.” In repeating the curse, he realized how much he meant it. If Brenna were a man, she'd be guilty of treason. How he longed to throttle the heedless girl. “I know that she's your kinswoman, Leandra, but damn her for betraying you and Reginald. Damn her for doing this to us."
She raised herself up on one elbow and considered him for a moment.
He refused to meet her gaze. Apparently she didn't like what she saw. She drew up the sheet to cover herself—to his disappointment. His body was already reacting to her touch and to the tempting glimpse of her tight pink nipples just as she pulled the sheet between their bodies.
"I'm not certain Brenna deserves your curse.” Wariness edged in her husky voice. “I'm the one who brought the potion.” She rolled to her back to look up at the canopy above them. He could see the stubborn thrust to her chin.
"Then damn the Fates, if that makes you feel better.” He almost reached out to put an arm around her, but decided that would only lead to other things. In the light of day those things seemed best avoided. “Aren't you angry about what the potion has done to us? Thank God we've broken no vows yet. But soon we face a life of deceit, denying our love day after day in the presence of my liege lord and your husband."
She relaxed and gave a little sigh that puzzled him. “Well, neither Brenna nor the Fates are here to damn, so what should we do?"
"We must leave here before anyone realizes who we are.” Fortunately, she didn't seem about to go hysterical on him. “Do you think you are strong enough to ride today? You understand why we can't stay, don't you?"
"Yes."
He thought he heard a desire in her voice to say more—to argue. He prayed she didn't want to talk about last night. He didn't want to recall any more than he and his body already had.
"Your chill aside, and love potion or not, our sharing this room could be difficult to explain,” he said. “Even to a reasonable man like Reginald."
"Yes, I suppose so."
They lay silently staring up at the faded fabric stretched above them, obviously reluctant to leave the curtained world they'd shared so passionately during the night.
* * * *
ALTHOUGH THEY NO longer touched, Leandra could feel the tension in his body, a tautness that spurned her touch. The rejection hurt. He admitted that they loved each other. They'd shared the secret things that only a husband and wife share. They were joined in pleasure, sweet and beautiful. At least she thought it was. But he wanted to go on as if nothing between them was changed.
Offended, she sat up, putting more distance between them and wrapping the sheet around her, covering her confusion and pain. She turned on him and made no effort to hide her anger. “What if I'm got with child? Is it not true that when a woman takes pleasure with a man, she conceives? What then?"
For an instant he stared back at her, astonishment on his face, as if he didn't believe his ears. Then laughter began to shake him, slowly at first, then with more violence, sending tremors through the entire bed.
Her face burned with shame. There was something here she did not understand. “How can you laugh about such a thing?"
"Sweeting, I've heard that churchmen believe that a woman takes pleasure when she conceives, but that assumes that the man took his pleasure in her.” Chuckles continued to rumble through him. “We did nothing to get you with child, Leandra. Nothing that makes you less virtuous than you were or will be for your wedding—” His voice broke. The light of laughter vanished from his eyes. He whipped back the covers and swung out of bed.
"So where do we go, then?” she asked, wondering at the anger etched on his face as he prowled the chamber, his chest gloriously bare, gleaming with golden curls in the pale morning light.
"To rejoin Wystan and Brenna?” she suggested. Her cheeks still burned; not in response to his laughter, but because she realized to her surprise that she wanted his child. She longed for a laughing, blue-eyed baby with tawny locks to brush around her fingers.
"Yes, then after Wystan and Brenna are reassured, we find an antidote to the potion and swallow it.” He found his shirt, pulled it on, and reached for his boots.
"But only Vivian can make the antidote,” she reminded him. His confidence perplexed her. She suspected that a simple antidote—even Vivian's—was not the solution to their problem.
"That's what she said.” He still worked at lacing his boots. “But there is more than one love potion, so there must be more than one antidote."
"Oh.” Obvious male logic. Reasonable, irrefutable, and lacking any consideration of the heart. But she was soon lost in watching his long fingers work with the leather laces. Vivid memories of his touch overwhelmed her. She envisioned again her fingers tangled in his gleaming chest hair, knew the pressure of his thighs along-side hers, and felt the tenderness of his fingers stroking places on her body she never thought to touch or expected a man to seek.
"If the spell is lifted, then we are free of this passion for each other.” He gave a final determined yank to his laces.
She shook the intimate visions from her mind. “That's what you want?"
He studied her, his face grave. Then he rose from the chest where he sat and stalked across the room, swooping down on her like a gyrfalcon seizing its prey. She froze, naked and tangled in sheets, unable to escape. He grasped her chin and bent to bestow a fierce, yet overwhelmingly tender kiss.
Every thread of her being yielded to him, reached for him, and gave to him in return. His power over her was as masterful as the night before. She forgot her confusion and fear, forgot everything but his lips, firm and warm, moving over hers.
"That's what I want.” His voice was a harsh whisper when he released her. “Because I love you, and I know that I can't give you up to Reginald as long as I feel like this. The antidote will free us."
She gathered the sheet tighter to her chest, not out of modesty, but in a struggle to catch her breath and to keep her thoughts from fluttering off with the light-headedness his declaration brought. He loved her! The night was not forgotten.
She gazed up at him, memorizing his expression: open, earnest, tender, hard, and forbidding all at once. She wasn't so certain she wanted to be free of the potion's power.
"What if—” she swallowed in an effort to find her voice. Still she could only summon a whisper. “What if I told you that I can't become Reginald's wife, that I can't take vows of faithfulness to him because I love you? What if I told you that I would go anywhere with you?"
He bowed his head and sank to his knees before her, taking her hands, which still clutched the sheet, his fingers warm against her heart. Sunlight gilded his hair—glimmering strands of gold, bronze, and ivory. When he looked up, his eyes were clear and dark. He wore the gentlest, most loving expression she'd ever seen on a man's face. A lump ached in her throat, and tears sprang to her eyes.
"If you told me that, lioness, I would remind you that this feeling is only from a potion, not from our hearts. Your future and Lyonesse's are under Reginald's protection. Mine is as his loyal knight and as a warrior in France. A love between us has no future. When you break a vow, when you are disloyal, everyone knows."
She looked away, ashamed of her weeping, unable to face the love and painful honesty she saw in his face. She wanted to deny everything he said, to think of some exception, some happy ending, but none came to mind. He wiped away her tears with his thumb, then gripped her hands even tighter.
"Listen to me. I know about the price of betrayal. No one forgets betrayal or forgives it. They make you pay over and over again. Men like Leofric spit on your pride and walk on your honor.
"Because of my uncle's treason against the king, my mother died of shame. Chycliff
was forfeited to the crown. My father died drunk. I have struggled for years to regain what we lost."
"Why did your father not fight like you have done?” she asked, a glimmer of understanding coming to her. “Why did he let himself and you suffer for his brother's crime?"
"My father was unjustly implicated.” He hesitated, as if he were gathering strength to say the words. “My uncle was a small man, one who took satisfaction in taking others down with him. He claimed my father had a part in the plotting. There was enough association to make Father look guilty though he was innocent.
"But the accusation coming from one he loved crushed him. To the day he died he tried to make excuses for his brother.” Garrett shook his head without releasing her gaze, his blue eyes captivating hers. “My father deserved a better fate. But he would not fight for it. I won't do that. I won't accept whatever comes my way, not if it isn't what I want."
"Your father was like my father,” she said, the whole picture suddenly becoming so clear to her.
"No, not like your father.” He gave an emphatic shake of his head. “Your father hides in his chapel."
"Indeed, like my father,” she repeated. “He was crushed by the death of my mother. He turned to the Church. Your father simply took refuge in drink when he lost his brother to betrayal."
She watched Garrett contemplate her words, denial softening into consideration.
"I see some truth in what you say."
"So we have taken up our fathers’ battles, you and I,” she finished.
He nodded. “I covet the honor of the Bernays. You fight to protect Lyonesse. Are you willing to endanger your homeland and your father?"
"Never!” She shook her head. Her tears freshened as her loss struck her anew. “No. Nor do you wish to give up the honor of the Bernays."
"I'm not being selfish, Leandra. Do you know what happens to illicit lovers—to runaways? They are never received in any respectable household again. Never. Sometimes the Church excommunicates them. They lose their home, their family, their friends. They are condemned to wander. They belong nowhere. Do you understand what I am saying? The price is too high. I have paid once. I could again. But I would never ask that of you."