by Carrie Lofty
"And what of me? I didn't want to dream because all I found were nightmares. It was easier to lose myself." She rose on her knees and looked down at his troubled face. "Do you have a dream, Gavriel? I should very much like to hear it"
His breath came as a slow, shuddering exhale. "I said you were my wife because I wish it were true. I wish I could be your husband and that we..."
"What?"
"That we could be in love."
Gently, afraid he would flinch or push her away, she took his hands and flattened them on her hips. His fingers tightened ever so gently. She toyed briefly with a whorl of hair behind his ear before pulling him close, cradling him at her breast When she kissed the top of his head, he shuddered and sighed.
"The fleras here in Toledo," she whispered. "Do they permit marriages without posting the banns? Without witnesses?"
"I know not."
"I believe the answer is yes." She framed his face with her hands and found his eyes, two sparkling black jewels. "Don't you agree?"
"Yes," he said softly. "Will you be my wife, Ada?"
"Yes."
"Here? Tonight?"
She laughed, relishing the bubble of happiness wrapped around her heart "Right at this moment But only if you kiss me again."
He did—a quick, fierce kiss that stole her balance. Her knees trembled. Gavriel took the weight of her body against her own and lowered her onto the mattress beneath the window.
"Ada, mi inglesa. Mi ama."
My love.
She shifted against the long length of him, feeling sheltered and cherished. Their touches made the darkness intimate and close, not a fearful place at all. But she had always felt that way with him. The nightmares would not come. The worst would not happen. Not with him.
"You were right," she said, petting his face. "I had nothing to live for. I think you knew what that was like, to face each day as a burden. I only wondered how and when I would find my next taste. Without that, I had nothing. No future or dreams. I didn't know what it was to live. This has been living, you and me these few weeks. Fighting. Risking and trying."
A quick, sharp memory of that morning, standing before the judge, cut through her happiness. The bubble burst, leaving only fear. "And now," she whispered. "Dear God, I don't want to die."
"Then you should not" His voice was hard, stripped of tenderness. His hands squeezed at her hips. "You can do this, Ada."
"Do what?"
"The trial tomorrow. You can survive it."
"I'm not a warrior!"
"No, but you're a fighter. What have you learned from Jacob?"
"Not enough!"
His face shrouded, Gavriel yanked her hands above her head. Moments before, she would have thought the move one of sexual teasing. He had held her in that same position by the river, claiming her, but now he would not relent.
Anger replaced thoughts of love and tenderness. They had so little time together, and he was determined to ruin it She wanted comfort, not more instruction. Thrashing, she tried to kick free of the skirts that kept her legs tangled, free of his imprisoning weight. Gavriel pushed a knee between her thighs and leaned into his hip. She was pinned.
Old instincts pushed forth, giving her strength. She twisted her wrists until one slipped free. Her elbow smacked him in the face. Reflex made him snap away from her, clutching his nose. She scrambled out of reach. When she found the empty clay chamber pot, she busted it against the wall and took two shards in hand.
"Bruja," he said, wearing that teasing half-grin.
"Maton.”
"Bully? Mi ama, I'm only proving the point" He gestured to the shards of hardened clay she still clenched in her fists. "Now set those aside."
Ada sat cross-legged but she did not release her weapons. "Explain yourself."
"You've learned your strengths and how to find weaknesses. You cannot lift a sword against a trained man, but you learned how to wield your dagger—the very dagger once used to cause you pain. You know how to run. You're stubborn. And you can be cruel."
"You're mocking me."
"Not at all." He urged her back to the squashed mattress, divesting her of the impromptu weapon. "You will fight. Tomorrow. With no tears or resignation."
"For you."
"No, not for me. For us."
A moment of darkness crossed his face. He touched her cheek with an aching tenderness. Ada kept from blinking or moving lest she find herself in the midst of a beautiful dream, so rare and fleeting.
"You won't tell me why you've come here or why it was allowed," she said. "Will you?"
"No."
"Is your life in danger because of it?"
"No."
"Do you love me?"
"More than I thought possible," he said harshly.
"Then we have tonight, and I am thankful for it"
His hesitant, teasing smile appeared. The untried attempt at cheer looked almost comical on her stern warrior, this man she would have as her husband. But she wanted to throw her arms around him and celebrate the effort, Gavriel's strange and unexpected victory.
So she did.
With her arms wrapped tightly around him, she pulled him down to the mattress. The heavy, solid weight of masculine muscle settled over her as his mouth found hers. They tangled together, all limbs and tongues and impatient sighs. Ada closed her eyes and gave herself over to the experience, her strange wedding night She pushed fear and regret aside to make room for the delicious heat building between their bodies. .
Gavriel kissed her deeply. He seemed to touch her everywhere, all at once—closing a rough hand over her breast arid kneading the sensitive flesh, cupping the back of her neck to draw their kiss into a long, breathless discovery. No furtive touches and shame this time. No feeling of manipulation or struggle. Just a sweetness that imbedded in her bones and turned her body to flame.
He clenched his fingers in her hair and yanked backward. She expected to feel his lips on her throat once again, anticipating his journey lower, lower to nuzzle between her breasts.
But he stopped.
* * *
"What is it?"
Gavriel winced at the crack in her voice. She was still so quick to doubt. Even now, she expected him to hesitate and withdraw. Not that he blamed her. Skin burned too often expects pain from a fire, not warmth and comfort. He had to ease past her worry and help her forget the morrow. She possessed strength enough to survive the coming trial, but he could not leave her until he knew she planned to use it
He studied her delicate features and tightened his fingers down to her scalp. She winced again. "You hair," he said. "Tis a liability."
"What do you—?" He yanked again, harder. Her head snapped back. "Ow!"
"A beautiful liability," he whispered, kissing behind her ear in apology. The soft, tempting skin urged him to linger. He licked the salt, tracing a path down to the notch at the base of her throat He dipped his tongue inside and gloried in her gasp.
"Cut it for me."
He raised his face to see her, wishing for a stronger light. Silk tangled around his fingers. He pulled a handful of those deep, glossy strands to his nose and inhaled. "Inglesa, do not ask that of me."
"Cut it for me," she said with more determination. Blue eyes shone wide and black in the dim moonlight. "Use the shards I was ready to use on you."
Dread gave way to relief. If she was willing to wrestle free of him in that little cell and ask him to lop off her hair with a shard of pottery, her instincts were thriving. She would fight The compact he had forged with his traitorous father, permitting a single night alone with her, would be the end of Gavriel. He no longer cared, for she might be strong enough to survive.
If she did not, he would dedicate the rest of his short life to ending his father's.
"Not yet." He did not recognize his own voice, a breathless. plea choked with grief. "Let me see your neck. Let me kiss you there."
She peered through the darkness like the witch she was, able to read languag
es and speak in tongues and see into his very soul. Never had he felt more vulnerable; she threatened much more than his life. His heart beat in her hands.
She stood before him without embarrassment or pretense. Only Ada. With infinite slowness, as if they had a lifetime, not mere hours, she raised her arms and gathered that thick, shimmering mane of hair in one hand. She swept it forward, every strand, until it draped like a cloak over one shoulder. The sight of her pale, arched neck stole the moisture from his mouth.
It had taken weeks for them to reach this point again, poised on the verge of pleasure, but the act of disrobing took only moments. The laces at her bodice slid free beneath her nimble fingers. She pushed free of the fine linen garments that had once been beautiful, expensive creations, now worn to frailty because of their exploits. Entirely bare, her skin glowed in the moonlight, a pale vision he would never trust as real—and certainly not as belonging to him.
But there she stood, gazing at him with heavy-lidded eyes and a teasing smile that had once threatened to drive him insane. The insanity building in him now had more to do with lust and want, the insatiable need that tempted him to untold wildness. He took her hand and grazed a kiss across her knuckles. She shivered.
"You're cold," he said.
"Then warm me."
Ada slid to the floor, all grace and curves, until she knelt with him. He took one hard, bare nipple in his mouth, the only place where he touched her. She arched slightly, offering all he cared to take, but neither did she reach for him. Her soft moans charged the air as blood gathered thick and pulsing at his groin.
Why did he resist, using only his mouth? Why did he merely tease first one nipple, then the other? His body ached with the effort to keep from grabbing her, turning her, entering her. But he feared the devastating pull of their desire. He feared missing some detail that, in the days and weeks of madness to come, he would regret overlooking in the mad rush to have her. So he kissed, licked, and nibbled with infinite care, learning her body.
A sob mingled with her moans. Gavriel raised his head to find her face bathed in tears. He kissed one, then another, hot and salty on his tongue.
"Don't cry, mi inglesa. Please."
"How can I help it? I—this is breathtaking."
Succumbing to his need, he filled his hands with her flesh. The soft weight of her breast fit his palm, the perfect temptation. "Yes, you are."
The soft slope of each breast, the hollow of her belly—still too thin after her illness—and he could resist no longer. He had sold his soul for the promise of her safety. His woman. His wife. The need to possess crashed over him. He held her close and arched her more fully, claiming a nipple once again. He sucked deeply and ran his tongue in faster circles. Her hoarse cry split the night air and banished her tears.
He roamed over her torso using only his mouth, worshipping the gift of her body. Now calloused and rough, his hands were not sensitive enough for him to appreciate the smooth softness of her skin.
Another shiver ripped through her body. Another breathless gasp. She writhed in his arms, twisting her hips until her pelvis pressed close to his. Gavriel groaned.
"Let me kiss your neck" he whispered. "Before we cut your hair."
Before Ada could reply, he turned her around and pushed her down to her hands and knees. He swept the long curtain of her hair aside and gathered her close. His body curving over and around hers, he kissed the nape of her neck. She arched and pressed her backside more fully against his rigid shaft.
Gavriel shucked his tunic and breeches and returned to her, flesh over flesh. He reached around and found her wet folds. The feel of her slick skin, so ready for him, stole the last of his tattered control. Sliding into her was sweet bliss, air burning in his lungs as she opened for his slow penetration. She whispered his name on a long exhale.
"Mi inglesa," he rasped against her neck. "Mi esposa'.'
Their dance ebbed, a gratifying pattern of slow to frantic to slow again. Unhurried, Gavriel withdrew until they nearly parted, men pressed inside. He reveled in the aching, exquisite feel of her body accepting his, each time, every time, until his measured pace became a torture. Fire flooded his veins. Breathless, he pulled her torso flush to his and barely withdrew before driving into her again.
He bowed his back and rested his forehead in the valley between her shoulder blades. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he should slow. He should savor. He should tend to her aching body and give her the release she sought. Yet every muscle quivered and throbbed as he committed himself to the mania of his need. Tenderness fled. Months and years of restraint gave way to the sheer, brutal violence of his passion.
But Ada did not retreat. She matched his need for more, pushing back to meet his quickened thrusts. Her cries gained such strength that Gavriel released her breast and covered her mouth. He clenched her body, poised with her on the edge of satisfaction.
"Hush, miama," he ground out "Keep the storm inside you."
With his hand clamped over her mouth, and with her teeth nestled against the fleshy pad where his thumb met his palm, he began to thrust again. He nuzzled his mouth in the tangle of hair just behind her ear, pressed his lips there, tasted her. Urgent breaths matched the fierce rhythm of their bodies. At the sudden, sharp spasm of her release, she bit hard and shuddered. Her every muscle tensed and trembled.
Gavriel plunged into her once more. Hot light blazed behind his eyes as the pleasure crashed over him, dark and right and beautiful.
Chapter 31
Collapsed on her side, Ada lay with Gavriel on the floor of the cell. He curled around her, sated, still nude, their pose a soft imitation of their coupling. Having shifted his hand from her mouth, he gently stroked her stomach. The lazy rhythm of his touch lulled her to a place of utter contentment, her body, mind, and soul joined.
Forever. Yes, she could stay in that place forever. And she would have, no matter the cost
As the euphoria of their passion receded, cooling, she shivered in the fading night. Not even Gavriel’s warm, lean body and the shielding strength of his arms could protect her from the morning. Grief scratched the inside of her eyelids. It settled across her naked body like a shroud, one that knives could never cut or tear.
But if she had hours, mere minutes left with him, she would not waste them on useless grief. The future was not fixed. If Gavriel believed she was fierce enough to fight her way to freedom, she would do it. She would survive, eager to wake in his arms for the remainder of their days.
She rolled over and warmed the front of her body along his. He smiled against her cheek, a beautiful smile that still surprised her. Humbled her. But she felt the ridges along his back. He flinched and his smile died.
"Let me see ," she said.
He did not move. His breathing accelerated An echo of that familiar distance hardened his face, so near to refusing her.
She petted up and down his back, like easing a terrified child. "Please, Gavriel. Share this with me."
With a shuddering exhale, he rolled onto his front and rested his head on crisscrossed forearms. In the slanting moonlight, the scars on his back stood in exaggerated relief. Roads and valleys of old, old injuries stretched beneath newly healing wounds. Sitting back on her heels, she traced one diagonally from the cap of his shoulder to his hip. Layers of pain. Years of hatred, from others and toward himself. The physical proof of his past added scars to her own heart.
Can you forget this?
She continued to pet the furrowed skin. His muscles bunched beneath her fingers—a man at war, not a man who had just found satisfaction. But she kept touching, not knowing how else to reach her wounded warrior. The smooth rhythm of her hands across his body soothed her own nerves, and Gavriel's breathing evened, softened She moved to his shoulders, arms, and the back of his neck. Her fingers pressed deeper, more massaging than touching. Then she skittered a touch up, along his sides, the lightest feather's caress.
He laughed
Ada held perfectly still.
"Are you well?"
She moved her hands again, along his ribs. His shoulders quivered Laughter shook free as he flinched, protecting himself from her touch. "Ada, stop!"
The startling sound, one she never thought she would hear, echoed with the strength of a shout.
"Let me see your face," she said
She leaned low over his body and turned his face to the side, meeting his eyes. His tentative smile eased into deep, masculine laughter. As she had wanted to that morning, when he had first offered his smile there at court, she touched his face—his lower lip, then his dimples and the rounded tops of his cheeks. Fire tingled against her fingertips. His gaze never left hers, as dark and intimidating as ever, but made more potent by the emotion swirling in his eyes.
"You aren't supposed to be laughing," she whispered.
"Then don't tickle me."
Breath clogged her throat. Breath and wanting. "Remember what I told you about small steps."
"I remember."
The temptation to continue beyond the boundaries of those scars pulled at her. She slid her palms down his sides to his hips. He groaned. Not from pain. He groaned like when he pushed into her, the sound of a man in need of more.
Bolder how, she touched his firm, rounded buttocks. He tensed and choked on some sound She grinned and straddled his thighs, clenching hers to keep him still. The rumbling vibrations of his welcoming laugher slid up the insides of her thighs. Although he could flip her, pin her, take her with ease, he lay there and let her explore. The heady strength of him coiled in waiting. She tightened her fingers into muscle, deeper, deeper still. He hissed and exhaled a shaky breath.
Rubbing his backside, his thighs, she felt the pulse of desire accelerating again, beating a familiar pattern of push and retreat. She leaned into each stroke of her hands, putting more force into the sensuous, massaging strokes. He groaned again. The deep and dangerous sound settled low in her belly.
"Lift up," he said.
She raised on her knees, just slightly. He turned beneath her with one fluid movement. Instead of looking at his scarred back and his taut backside, she found herself staring at his face. Then down to the breadth of his chest. Then to the rigid length of his manhood. Her fingers hovered above the feast of his flesh, uncertain which of the bounty to touch first He smelled of sweat and of her.