She climaxed abruptly, surprising herself and him, and he stood holding her tightly to him as she repeatedly shuddered against him and with a will born of too many battles he tempered his own raging emotions.
Faith remained melded to Eric when Colin entered the woods. Colin immediately stopped when he saw the intimately embraced couple and turned quietly around, leaving them their privacy.
After a few minutes Eric eased Faith away from him, though he lifted her up into his arms.
“I have never—” She could not finish; her breathing was too labored.
“I am glad you never,” he said with a simple, “though I promise you will many times from now on.”
With those orders given he marched out of the secluded woods with his embarrassed wife hiding her blushing face against his shoulder.
Chapter Six
Faith rode her own horse for the remainder of the day, silently absorbed in her thoughts. Her willing, almost demanding response to her husband’s intimate touch shocked and embarrassed her. She found it hard to accept the obvious… the obvious being that she was physically attracted to her husband. An absurd notion, since she barely knew the man; and yet . . .
She shook her head, willing her nagging thoughts away, though they returned instantly to torment her. Was she insane for feeling this way? Wanting, actually aching for him to touch her again the way he had in the woods. And if he made her feel so out of control fully clothed, what would his hands feel like upon her naked flesh. For that matter, what would his naked flesh feel like to her touch?
Now she not only worried about him discovering her secret; she worried about this relentless, tormentingly pleasurable ache she had for her husband.
He rode beside her in silence, almost as if the incident in the woods disturbed him as much as it had disturbed her. Occasionally he would order Borg or Colin to ride beside her while he rode up ahead and conversed with certain men who appeared to be in command of different groups. She knew his warriors consisted of those proficient with longbows, crossbows and swords. She had heard her father speak with envy of Lord Eric’s skilled troops and how no one could defeat them. Watching her husband, she understood why. He kept himself conscious of his troops every movement. He was alert to all about him—his men, the animals and the land. He was an exceptionally skilled warrior and perhaps that was why he was called the Irish devil. Anyone who possessed such uncanny power surely had to be a cohort of the devil himself.
Colin approached them with more speed than usual, Borg not far behind him.
“Looks like foul weather ahead,” he said. “It may be wise to camp early and be prepared.”
Eric looked to the distance and studied the sky that was heavy with a variety of suspicious clouds. “I thought the same myself.”
“We need an area with sufficient cover from the storm,” Colin added.
“Agreed,” Eric said. “Borg, stay with Faith while I go see to the camp with Colin.”
He did not bid her one word before he departed or even send her a nod. He simply galloped off with Colin, while Borg maneuvered his large horse beside hers.
“Help me understand him, Borg?” she said, startling the shy man.
“My lady?” he questioned as if her query was strange to him.
Faith spoke frankly, feeling she could trust the man beside her. He may be a warrior, she thought, but he was a caring soul and she clearly understood that he respected, admired and, if she was not mistaken, cared for Eric as deeply as a brother would.
“Lord Eric is my husband and I know little of him. I wish to learn so that our marriage may be a good one.”
Borg nodded, accepting her explanation, and spoke softly. “He is a man who deals in truths.”
His statement startled her and she grasped hard on her reins. Truth was something their marriage was definitely not based on. Her identity had been kept secret from him and her attack had been kept from him as well.
“He is accustomed to the lies the kings and leaders feed their people and knows how to deal well with them, but with his men he expects honesty. I think that is why so many of them would gladly give their lives for him for they know, without a doubt, he would do the same for them.”
Faith made no comment and Borg continued. “He explained to all who joined him that they fought for their freedom. That he would acquire land and they would all be free to join him and work the land not only for him to prosper but for their own lives to flourish. And to prove he was true to his word, he would always see to their care in every battle they fought. He made certain his men were generously provided for, from food to fill their bellies to wraps to keep them warm to fine-crafted weapons. His soldiers did not suffer like so many did. He saw to their well-being and even to their deaths, their bodies always being properly and respectfully disposed of.”
Faith spoke the truth when she responded, “He is a good man.”
Borg nodded. “A man of true honor. I watched him sit beside a young warrior all night as he lay dying. He was frightened and Eric spoke softly and reassuringly to him and was beside him when he took his last breath.”
This was not a man to be called a devil and Faith asked the question she was not certain would receive an answer: “Why is he called the Irish devil?”
Borg smiled and the difference it made in his usual somber face caused Faith to grin in return. “You are not afraid of him, this is good. And you care for him, I can tell, this is also good. He needs someone to care for him.”
She did not ask why that was better left for another time; right now she hoped for an answer to her question.
Borg remained silent for so long, she feared he disregarded her query; but he spoke finally with the usual nod of his head. “Lord Eric is a fearless warrior. He enters every battle with no thought of losing his life, and it shows on his face. His adversaries insist that he must be marked by the devil, for the devil fears nothing. And those that have looked into his eyes during battle and have lived insist that they have looked into the lifeless eyes of the devil himself and begged for mercy.”
Faith shivered.
Borg instantly regretted his words. “I am sorry, my lady, I should never have told you thus.”
“Nonsense. I asked. I want to know about Lord Eric.”
“Not tales of battle; such stories are not fit for proper ears. I should instead tell you tales of his youth.”
“You grew up with him?”
He smiled again and it pleased Faith to see his joy.
“Let me tell you of Lord Eric’s first fishing venture.”
In minutes Borg had her laughing at a tale of a very young boy who landed in the lake, but had managed to hold onto his fish even though he could not swim. Though Borg assured her that he was now an excellent swimmer.
Borg entertained her with many tales and she grew more fond of the gentle giant with each story, for she came to understand how much each man really cared for one another and how through the years that friendship was forged with pain, sorrow, laughter, tears, respect and admiration.
When a rider approached them and informed Borg that camp was being set up several miles ahead, he nodded. And when they were once again alone he turned and with his somber expression said to her, “I am glad Eric chose you as his wife. You are good for him.”
She smiled. “Thank you, though he did not have a choice. I was forced on him.”
His expression did not change; he simply said, “The devil does as he chooses.”
Faith stared wide-eyed at Borg, though his eyes remained fixed on the clouds that darkened the skies overhead. He implied that Eric chose freely without force, but her father had given him no alternative. Would he have denied her father’s demand if he so chose? Had he favored a union with her?
The odd thought brought a sense of pleasure to her, to think that he had actually chosen her, as if he favored her the most of all from those who had been offered to him. The pleasant thought lingered and strangely enough made the idea of marriage to the
dark lord sound more appealing.
“The sky will open up soon. Have you another cloak?” Borg asked with concern.
Before she could answer, the sky did as Borg predicted and within seconds the two of them were drenched, every article of clothing being soaked steadily with rain as the heavy downpour continued.
Borg directed Faith toward a good-sized tent in the clearing they came upon after coming up over a small rise. It was almost impossible to see in front of them, past the driving rain and through the gray fog that rolled into camp along with them.
Her dark brown wool cloak was completely soaked through, causing her tunic and shift to absorb the excess water. Her body began to feel the dampness and her feet did not fare any better after dismounting. One step into a deep puddle and her soft leather boots quickly soaked with water.
Borg hurried her into the tent, Rook on her heels, assuring her he would fetch Bridget to help her. He disappeared into the downpour before she could protest. Surely Bridget would have much to do herself, such as securing adequate lodging most importantly, rather than tending to her.
Rook was about to shake his large body when Faith shook her head and held the flap of the tent back. He stepped outside, gave a quick and sufficient shake and hurried back in to sniff around and find himself a spot to camp for the night.
Faith saw that one of her small trunks sat in the corner of the tent alongside a larger trunk and that the ground had been covered with a thick layer of straw. Rolled bedding lay to the side in waiting and a small table with two benches beneath held two flasks, a thick candle and a covered basket.
“M’lady,” Bridget said on a sneeze as she entered the tent with an appropriate yet hasty bob of her head.
Faith shook her head. “You must go get out of those wet clothes at once.”
“After I see to you, m’lady.”
“No, Bridget,” Faith said with authority. “I will not risk you catching a chill for my comfort. You will do as I order and that is that.”
“But m’lady, Lord Eric instructed that I was to look after you.”
“You will do me no good if you take ill. It will be me looking after you then and possibly more if everyone does not see to getting themselves dry. Now do as I say.”
Bridget attempted to protest but Faith did not allow her to speak.
“You will do as I say. I will have myself dry in no time.”
Bridget nodded. “Yes, m’lady.”
“Bridget, have tents been erected for all?”
“No, m’lady. The women are to share the few available tents and the men have fashioned shelter amongst the trees. Are you certain there is nothing I can do for you?”
“I am fine, see to yourself,” Faith said with a smile and chased Bridget out with a wave of her hand.
Faith slipped off her cloak, draping it over her arm as she hurried to her trunk. Whoever had chosen her trunk had chosen wisely. There was linen toweling and a change of clothes within. Faith wasted not a moment in drying off and changing clothes. It would do her no good to have her husband find her naked when he entered.
She paused in her task of slipping off her shift. Did he expect her to be naked for him? He had mentioned later. Was that why this tent was prepared? For them finally to consummate their vows?
A shiver ran over her chilled, damp body and her fingers fumbled with the wet garments as she hurried to undress. She could only hope that with the chilled rain the devil would prefer to remain partially clothed during bedding.
Faith slipped on a dark green shift, covering it with a pale yellow tunic trimmed with an even darker shade of green. She dried her hair as best she could, making certain her long hair once again concealed her scar.
She was arranging her wet garments over the trunk to dry when Eric entered the tent. His presence filled the confined space to capacity, causing Faith to gasp softly for a breath.
“My lord . . .” she said once she was in control of her voice. She averted her eyes from him, the picture he painted too sinfully appealing to gaze upon.
He stood soaking wet. Wet garments. Wet hair. Wet skin. Wet lips. He was simply wet in all the right places and she flushed with her embarrassing and unseemly thoughts.
“The weather is most foul,” he said, breaking the silent tension.
She was grateful he chose the weather to discuss and not her heated face. “Will this delay our journey?”
“Only if it persists till morning,” he said, removing the belt that held his sword and placing it beside the table. He proceeded to remove his tunic and Faith immediately retrieved a dry linen towel from the trunk and moved like a dutiful wife to assist her husband in undressing.
He accepted her help as if he expected it; but then, it was her duty and he was expecting nothing less than what she was supposed to give. She took his wet tunic and handed him the towel as she saw to the care of his garments and tried with all her willpower to avert her eyes from his naked chest.
Unfortunately that was nearly impossible. Her eyes simply insisted on straying to the muscles and bulges that comprised his impressive chest. Full of strength and power and yet comfortable enough to rest her head upon. And with the thick muscles glistening with rainwater, Faith found herself hard-pressed to ignore him.
Eric watched her nervous movements. She did not know what to expect of him or herself. He understood her concern and hoped to alleviate it. The sooner she grew accustomed to his presence in her life the sooner she would grow accustomed to his intimate touch.
But he did not wish to rush like a heathen in lust. He wanted her to grow to trust him, rely on him, perhaps even care for him. This marriage had been forced on her and he did not wish their union to be forced. He wanted her willing and wanting. So he would take his time, though by night’s end he intended that their vows be sealed once and for all.
He walked over to his trunk, keeping his back to her, and searched for dry clothes. Finding the desired clothes, he quickly stripped off his remaining garments, presenting a completely bare backside to his new wife who pretended not to look at him.
He smiled, catching, from the corner of his eye, the way her curious and cautious glance drifted over him and the way she chewed nervously at her bottom lip which was already swelling from her repeated nibbling.
He wondered what her reaction would be if he should turn around; and having the devil in him, he did just that. He was not surprised to see her turn away from him as he turned toward her. And he was not surprised to see her neck and cheeks flame brightly.
Eric stifled his laugh, pleased with his new wife who simply continued to delight him at every turn. He wondered how long her blushing would continue but then with what he had in mind she probably would be in a continuous state of blush for some time to come.
“Are you hungry, my . . . Eric?”
“Yes, famished,” he answered and finished dressing.
Faith searched the basket and was delighted to see that a generous meal had been prepared for them. Meats, cheeses, breads, tarts, berries and nuts weighed heavy in the full basket and Faith saw to arranging the mouthwatering fare on the table. She also saw to Rook, who had made himself cozy on a thick cushion of straw near the tent flap. She brought him a good portion of meats and cheeses and filled a wooden bowl with rainwater for him.
Eric and she sat opposite each other at the table while the rain continued to batter the tent. A few drops managed to penetrate the corners, leaking here and there but not where they sat comfortable in conversation and in sharing their meal.
“Your leg is well?” she asked, having noticed he continued to wear the bandage as she had instructed.
“Yes, it pains me no longer and the redness has almost disappeared.”
“A few more days and you should be able to remove the bandage.”
“You will see to it for me.”
He did not ask or order, but simply instructed. And she simply agreed with a brief nod.
Eric prided himself in his patience. He clearly
understood it was a necessary virtue and while battle helped define that virtue, lust helped to eradicate it. Therefore, before he lost complete patience he intended to discover a few answers to a few nagging questions.
He poured wine from the one flask into each of the tankards Faith had removed from the basket and casually asked, “Why was I not told of your existence?”
Faith was caught off guard. How had she failed to realize he was a brilliant strategist? She should have been more alert. She had always kept herself alert, particularly after the attack. But he had managed to penetrate her defenses and cause confusion. Or had the confusion been of her own making? Was it simply the truth he sought?
Faith answered as honestly as she could. “I can only assume that my father felt I was not of an adequate nature for you.”
He looked at her oddly. “Whatever would make him assume that?”
The truth.
It hung suspended between them and Faith was uncertain what to do. If she told him everything now, would he understand? Did he know her well enough to know the truth? She doubted it. They barely knew each other. Clearly, he would not understand; therefore she required more time with him before he would come to know and accept the truth.
Still she fought hard to answer as honestly as possible. “My father did not favor me.”
“Why?”
Faith shrugged. “I disappointed him.”
“In what way?”
How should she answer him? Did she tell him someone had attacked her in the stables when she was summoned late one night to see to an ailing villager? Did she go on to explain how she fought for her life only to win and yet lose at the same time? Did she tell him her father felt she was fit for no man? But then her father thought him the devil, so perhaps he thought her an appropriate wife for the dark lord.
He waited patiently for her answer. What would she tell him?
She partially told the truth. “I was not an obedient daughter.”
He wanted me to die and I refused.
Eric reached across the table and brushed a stray crumb off her bottom lip. “Will you be an obedient wife?”
The Irish Devil Page 7