Rational thinking was impossible for Faith; her body simply had a mind of its own. She ached for him, wanted him and loved him. At that precise moment she realized that she had totally surrendered to the Irish devil. Fear of the consequences startled her and her body shivered.
“Shhh, easy,” he whispered near her ear and placed warm, tender kisses along her neck. “I will not hurt you.”
“Promise?” she asked softly.
He looked into her dark eyes, so pure and innocent.
Innocent.
Would the word forever haunt him?
He chose his words carefully. “Do you keep secrets from me, Faith?”
“I have no secrets.”
His hand moved to press between her legs. “I will find none here?”
Softly and with strength, she said, “You will find the truth.”
With suspended breath she waited. The choice was his. Did he truly know her? Did he truly care enough to accept whatever the consequences were? Did he truly desire her or was it simply just —?
An anxious knock sounded at the door before it swung open and Bridget rushed in.
Chapter Fifteen
Bridget gasped at the intimate sight of them together on the bed and immediately looked away. “My lord, my lady, forgive me.”
“What is it?” Eric snapped.
Bridget refused to look directly at them. “It is Borg. He is in pain.”
Faith instantly moved to leave the bed, but Eric stopped her with a strong hand to her stomach.
“Does he suffer?” Eric inquired.
“He requested to see Lady Faith,” Bridget answered, her face flushed and her nervous glance focused on the floor.
“Please, Eric,” Faith whispered. “He may be ill.”
“He best be ill or I will ring his neck.”
Faith suppressed the smile that wished to surface, knowing it would do her no good to demonstrate the pleasure his unexpected reaction caused her. He was angered by the interruption. Was the dark lord beginning to soften?
Eric gave quick instructions to the trembling woman. “Tell Borg she will attend him.”
Bridget bobbed her head and fled the room.
Eric’s muscled leg slipped over Faith when she made a move to leave. “We have matters to discuss, my lady.”
The hardness of his knee resting so intimately between her legs sent a flood of emotions soaring through her and she fought to remain in control. “I have told you—”
“Nothing,” he finished for her. “But I expect you to tell me everything soon enough.”
He swiftly removed himself from the bed.
She was startled by his words. Why should she admit anything to him? The decision was his to make, not hers. She told him what she would. She would say no more.
Faith hurried off the bed and grabbed her healing basket as she followed her husband out the door. He accompanied her to Borg’s chamber, not a single word exchanged between them.
Closer inspection of Borg’s condition did indeed confirm that he was in pain.
“See to him,” Eric ordered Faith with a chilling command and with what Faith realized was a trace of fear.
Bridget stood beside the bed, nervously ringing her hands.
Faith calmly took control, sitting on a stool beside the bed. “Does the pain come from the wound?”
Borg nodded. “Lower portion of it.”
Faith turned to Eric. “Do you carry a knife?”
He immediately reached down into his boot and produced a thin bladed one.
She took it and gently cut away the bandage.
Borg winced even though she carefully peeled the bandage off his wound.
Bridget gasped and Eric’s jaw grew taut.
“That bad?” Borg asked, looking to Eric for an honest reply.
Faith answered. “Not as bad as it looks, though unnecessary. You had no business getting out of this bed before I ordered it.”
Borg had the good sense to look contrite.
“Stubborn fool,” Eric said.
“It runs in the family,” was Borg’s reply.
“You will stay abed until Faith directs otherwise.”
“Is that an order, my lord?” Borg snapped.
“If necessary,” Eric barked back.
“Enough,” Faith ordered sharply, surprising the squabbling brothers. “I need to put a healing poultice on the inflamed area and then he needs to rest.” She waited for no response but turned quickly to Bridget. “Fetch me hot water and clean bandage cloths.”
Bridget nodded and took herself quickly off.
The time grew late yet Faith remained alert as she bathed the slightly reddish area clean, prepared and applied the poultice and bandaged the wound. She then made a soothing brew of Saint-John’s-wort and chamomile to help Borg sleep. She did not feel the aches and pains of her long, laborious day until she had finally finished the task at hand.
A soft moan issued from her lips as she bent to retrieve her healing basket from the floor.
Eric brushed her hand aside and scooped her up into his arms. She did not protest; her head fell gratefully against his chest.
“Bridget, you will attend Borg until I order otherwise.”
“But, my lord, who will care for my lady?” she asked anxiously.
Eric was about to scold her for even daring to ask when Borg spoke, low but firm.
“That is Lord Eric’s concern, not yours.”
Bridget looked with wide, surprised eyes at Borg, who motioned her toward him. She walked over to the side of the bed and he reached his hand out to her. She took it, sitting beside him on the bed.
Eric smiled and tucked his wife closer to him, her soft breathing a sure sign that she was close to a deep slumber. He returned her to her room and she did not stir when he placed her on the bed. He was tempted to undress her, but realized that would be unwise of him. Very unwise. He placed a light wool cover over her and brushed the wild riotous curls away from her face.
He leaned over her and faintly traced the thin scar with his finger. “What secrets do you keep from me, dear wife?”
His whispered words stirred her and she turned her cheek into his hand. He stroked her face, ran his thumb over her moist lips and groaned with the want of her.
He stood and stormed out of the room to his own. This had to stop, this obsession with her. He intended on getting answers and instead he found himself with more questions. Where once it was only her virtue in question, he now discovered he wanted to know about the attack. What had really happened that fateful night? Why wasn’t the attacker caught? What was she hiding?
The haunting questions disturbed his thoughts and continued into his dreams as he finally took to his bed and slept.
o0o
Eric faced a busy morning, listening to the peasants’ minor complaints, meeting with the stonemason, talking with the carpenter, drinking ale with a traveling merchant and seeing to the petty squabbles of the servants. He was beginning to think that it was easier to fight a battle than to manage a castle.
However, he amended that thought when he took his stallion out and rode to the rise to view his land. He still could not believe this all belonged to him. He had chosen wisely when given this spread of land.
The castle backed onto the River Deel and had access to two more rivers with connection to the River Shannon. Not all of the surrounding terrain was farming land, but that suited his purpose. He wanted a land that would protect and produce and his men had battled the elements and the land itself to dig the fields clear and clean for planting.
He had hired an army of men to build the castle and where it would have taken years to complete, he would see to its full completion in another two years. It was not the largest castle in Ireland but it would be strong and durable if under siege.
The woods to the west kept the larder stocked with its wealth of birds and beasts and the fields inside and outside the castle walls added to the abundant pantry. His people would not starve.
An autumn chill wrapped around him, racing through the black-and-red wool cloak he wore. Colors he often wore and he had ordered made into a plaid that would suit his taste. He looked to the gray skies that threatened rain, but even the dismal cloud covering could not dampen his spirits. His land lay before him in stark splendor. He had accomplished much and he would accomplish more. Next spring he would start building another keep, closer to the coastline, and he would give it to Colin to manage. He intended to firm his foundation and allow no intruders to take what was his.
This land, this bit of Ireland was his, and he would defend it with his life. He would nurture and nourish it and it would respond in kind. He would make certain his holdings and wealth grew and he would one day pass the legacy he had built on to his son.
A fine mist began to fall over Eric but he paid it no heed. His thoughts were busy with plans for the future and the seeds that needed planting now… the most important seed being the one he wanted to plant in his wife’s belly.
With the mist turning to a fine rain, Eric made his way back to the castle with thoughts of finding his wife.
He found her in a small dilapidated cottage behind the kitchen, not far from her barren garden. She was looking it over with the delight of a young child who had just received an unexpected surprise. Rook sniffed around the one room, the space of which was barely sufficient for two people, and then darted past him out the door to answer nature’s call.
The open door provided the only source of light and with the gray, watery skies that light was severely limited. A mound of ash lay in a cold hearth and a broken chair and broken bed were the only pieces of furniture to occupy the room. Yet Faith looked absolutely joyful.
The limited light quickly vanished when his large frame filled the doorway.
Faith turned with a start, though her smile remained constant.
“I frightened you?” he asked, stepping inside to allow the dim light entrance.
“No, not at all.” Her answer was honest. “Rook would have warned me of an intruder.”
“I do not intrude?”
Always. You intrude on my heart, my soul, my emotions.
The reply remained in her thoughts and she simply shook her head. “You are my husband. A husband never intrudes on his wife.”
“Spoken like a dutiful wife.”
She nodded and forced her eyes to remain on him, a difficult intent. He looked much too tempting. His damp, dark hair was drawn away from his face, heightening his handsome features and his devilishly sinful blue eyes. His deep red tunic appeared almost black in color and hugged his muscled body. And all she could think about was touching him.
Her sensual thoughts betrayed her and she blushed, thinking how it would feel to run her fingers over his naked chest. She turned her head away, hoping to avoid discovery.
“Did you seek cover from the rain in here?” he asked.
“No,” she said, turning her back to him as if she were surveying the room. “Mary told me about this place. She mentioned how it was empty and I thought that perhaps if you had no good use for it, I could use it as my healing cottage.”
She felt him walk up behind her and she continued talking, giving herself time for the heat to fade from her cheeks. “I require a place—”
“To hide from me?” he asked in a whisper near her ear.
His warm breath tingled the flesh on her neck, and she shivered. “Nay, I do not wish to hide from you.”
His arm slipped around her waist and he slowly drew her back against him. “Then why do you hide that lovely telltale blush from me?”
She could not keep the quiver from her voice. “I do not—”
“Want me?”
His lips rested near her cheek and the strength of him pressing hard against her made his own desires obvious. Could she deny her want for him when he plainly displayed his?
“Would it matter if I want you?”
“A man prefers a willing woman.”
“Even a husband?”
“Especially a husband.”
She relaxed against him and he kissed her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”
Would she be sorry if she spoke the truth to him? Would her admission of her desire for him help to solve their dilemma? No sound answer came to her. The choice would be hers alone, and she made it.
“I want to touch you.”
He turned her around in his arms. “Touch wherever you like.”
She dropped her head to rest against his chest and to avoid his eyes when she spoke. “I wish to feel flesh.”
He raised her chin. “You want me naked?”
She shook her head, her cheeks once again heating. “Nay, your chest, I wish to touch your bare chest.”
He obliged her, stripping bare to the waist.
She stood staring at him, unable to move, her eyes set on the wide expanse of his chest, bare of hair and so very hard of muscle.
“I am yours to explore, my lady,” he said softly, extending his arms out.
She stepped forward, two small spots of heat still staining her cheeks. He moved toward her, his hands remaining extended as if in supplication.
She advanced hesitantly, her hand reaching out, her fingers straining forward.
Eric made the next move, stepping into her reach.
Her hand lay flat upon his chest for a moment and then she faintly ran her fingers over him, skimming his soft nipple and running down along his ribs.
He had never experienced such exquisite torture, never had his own nipple harden in such pleasure; never had he hardened so painfully as he did without having laid a hand on a woman. And he cursed himself for surrendering to his own foolish desires, but he allowed her to continue, ached for her to continue, prayed for her to do so.
And she did.
Faith moved forward, her other hand running over his flat midriff, up along his muscled manly breasts and thick, hard nipples and then down along his narrow waist, only to start all over again.
She sighed with pleasure, but as she continued to roam, tease with a pinch here and a pinch there, her sighs turned to soft moans and her body swayed toward him, the sensuous motion defining her desires.
“You like the feel of me?” he asked, tempting her lips with a brief kiss.
“Aye, I do,” she said, her lips pouting over the loss of his.
He gave her another fleeting kiss and she sighed in frustration.
Without thought to her actions or regard to the consequences, her hand roamed down his stomach, rushing to cup his bulging manhood intimately.
He tensed when she grasped him, though her touch was gentle and inquisitive, but if he allowed her to continue he was afraid he would not want her to stop. His hand covered hers, stilling it.
“Please, Eric,” she said, her own pleas surprising her.
He realized then that he had allowed her to go too far, much too far.
A crack of thunder caused her to jump in fright and she slowly backed away from him, her eyes wide and her breathing labored.
” ‘Tis a fool, I am.”
“Nay, ‘tis passionate you are.” He advanced on her with determined strides.
She raised her hands in a futile defense. “You will have no answer from me.”
“I seek none,” he said and grabbed her around the waist. “You forget how I have pleasured you before.”
She shook her head, attempting to deny him.
He laughed softly. “I will hear your moans of surrender.”
The dust flew up and around them as he took her down upon the straw-filled bedding that lay in the corner of the room. His hand instantly moved beneath her shift, between her legs, and when his fingers found her rich moisture, she froze.
“You touched,” he whispered gently. “Now I touch.”
His finger entered her slowly and she cried out softly from the pleasure it brought her. She was so wet it was easy for him to insert a second finger and easier still to quicken and sharpen his strokes.
Their tongues tangled wildly and his own body protested most vehemently, forcing him to respond.
“Saints be damned,” he mumbled, pulling his mouth away from hers, slipping his fingers out of her and spreading her legs so he could nest between them.
He cursed the heavens and all above for making him want his wife with such an aching tenacity. Then he cursed his own stubborn pride as he rubbed himself intimately over her. And he cursed the saints again when she threw her arms around him, moved against him with wanton desire and screamed his name as she exploded in climax.
He swallowed his own anguished cry of release. He had not spilled himself outside of a woman since he was a young boy. And he would not let it happen again.
He turned a scathing glare on his stunned wife. “Remember this moment well for the next time you touch me, I promise you will feel the full force of me inside you and the consequences will be yours to deal with.”
He stood and stormed out of the cottage into the raging rain.
Chapter Sixteen
Faith lay motionless, her body shivering, though not from the damp chill in the room. It was his blatant promise that caused the uncontrollable shivers. She wrapped her arms around herself for much-needed warmth and comforting.
What was she to do? Swallow her pride, admit her virginity and submit to her husband’s will? She would be a fool to deny that she wanted to copulate with him. And yet she wanted more from him than a lusty bedding. But why? What did she truly want from him?
The answer came easily. She wanted the dark lord to love her.
Faith got to her feet, smoothing down her garments and brushing dust from her hair. She walked over to where his discarded garments lay on the floor and picked them up, hugging the soft wool to her chest.
She had spent many years alone after the attack, barely tolerated by her family, not accepted by the villagers and loved by Rook alone. She had never dared to dream that one day she would marry and bear children of her own, so she rejoiced in every new babe she delivered.
The Irish Devil Page 17