The Irish Devil

by Donna Fletcher

  When she was finished cleansing the leg, she removed the soiled towels beneath and replaced them with fresh clean ones.

  “I am sorry if I hurt you,” she said, handing him a tankard for him to drink.

  He did not take it from her. “You are gentler than you know. What is this you give me?”

  “A potion that will soothe and relax so the stitches will not overly pain you.”

  “Nay,” he said firmly. “I wish my wits about me.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “You require rest to heal properly.”

  “I will rest later.”

  “You can rest now, while I work on you.”

  “Nay,” he repeated more firmly.

  “You are being stubborn and foolish.”

  “Think what you will, wife, but I will not drink that sleeping brew.”

  “It will but rest you.”

  “Nay,” he said once again and in a harsh tone that warned she was not to ask again.

  “As you wish, my lord,” she said with a shake of her head and placed the tankard on the table.

  “Empty it,” he ordered.

  “What?”

  “Empty it. I will not have you slipping it in my drink later this evening.”

  She did not argue. She spilled the contents into the dirty water bucket. “Satisfied?”

  He was about to smile when the pain struck him again and he winced, cursing quietly beneath his mumbled breath.

  She tossed the empty tankard on the table and hurried to his side, grabbing his hand. Eric gratefully took hers in his and squeezed gently.

  “Part of the wound is deep and must first heal from within. I will stitch it to hold it fast so that it might heal, but you must promise me that you will stay in this bed and rest until I instruct otherwise.”

  He pulled her down toward him and she was amazed by the strength in his hand. She had thought that his injury would have weakened him and yet the potency in his grip proved her assumption wrong.

  Her face rested not far from his. “I will stay in this bed if you will give me your word that you will keep me company.”

  His blue eyes ran hot with passion and Faith was certain he wanted more than friendly company, but she knew if she failed to agree she would have a problem of keeping him well rested, so she gave her word.

  “You have my word.”

  He released her. “Then stitch me and be done with it so that you will be able to join me.”

  Bridget returned, knocking on the door and waiting for permission before entering. Faith was busy stitching the wound and Bridget hastily placed the silver tray on a small table near the hearth. After making certain neither Lady Faith nor Lord Eric required anything further from her, she hurried from the room.

  Faith had the stitching done in minutes, the wound only taking ten and his arm required none. She applied salve after making certain his leg and arm were thoroughly cleansed and dried and then followed it with clean bandages.

  “Do you prefer to eat first or shall I bathe you?”

  While Eric wanted nothing more than her delicate hands washing his warm body, his leg throbbed unmercifully from the stitching and he required a period of rest before proceeding to seduce his wife.

  “Food, I think.”

  “Good,” she said with a smile and he could not help but stare at her stunning face. Her pale cheeks were tinted red, high along her prominent cheekbones, and her dark eyes were framed by the most exquisite long lashes that curled slightly at the very tips. Her flaming hair was tied back, the white braided stripe of cloth having difficulty keeping the mass of springy curls together. Several strands fell free along her temples, tempting his fingers to reach out and touch. But it was her lips that tormented him the most, thin and yet plump from her nervous chewing as she concentrated on her stitching.

  They looked as if they ached to be kissed and he did want to kiss her.

  He also wanted to rid her of that white, soiled strip of cloth, tied tightly around her waist, then her green tunic and . . . every piece of clothing she had on. He wanted her naked before him, stark naked so that he could see, touch and taste his fill of her.

  Faith handed him a thick slice of dark bread and cheese and she sat a goblet of wine on the small table beside the bed.

  “Join me,” he said.

  He asked so kindly that Faith found herself unable to refuse, though she said, “First let me clean up some and then I will gladly share the meal with you.”

  He nodded and enjoyed the bread and cheese, talking with her as she cleaned her worktable.

  “Will I suffer with the fever from this wound?” he asked, wanting to make certain he would remain in good physical shape for the sensually strenuous nights and days he had in mind.

  “Your arm worries me not. The leg is a different matter, though I see no signs for alarm. The skin is warm and only slightly red. I cleansed it well and the salve I applied should help heal it, but you must stay off it. You can participate in no strenuous activity until I am certain the leg has healed properly.”

  Eric swallowed the food in his mouth, washing it down with a swig of wine. “No strenuous activity?”

  Faith removed her soiled tunic, discarding it to the bucket filled with the soiled towels. “None,” she confirmed and helped herself to the dried fruit and a piece of cheese. “That is, if you want to be up and around soon. The more stubborn you are about allowing the wound to heal, the longer you will be unable to do as you wish.”

  I wish to make love to you.

  Eric wondered how she would react if he spoke his thoughts out loud.

  “More food?” she asked, but Eric shook his head and dusted his hands of any crumbs.

  “Nay, I grow tired.” And disappointed. How would he handle this dilemma? He wanted his wife tonight. He intended on having his wife tonight, the question being how did he seduce his wife if he could not move his leg?

  “I will bathe you quickly so that you may rest,” she said, his sudden frown disturbing her.

  “Do not rush,” he ordered, the thought of her hands rubbing him clean too enticing to have it over and done with before he could enjoy and respond to her touch.

  “I will get your robe,” she said, moving toward his chest at the end of the bed. “I do not want you getting chilled.”

  “Nay,” he snapped, startling her. “I am hot.”

  She hurried to his side, pressing the back of her hand to his cheek. “You feel warm, though not feverish.”

  “I am comfortable,” he insisted more calmly.

  Faith looked at him oddly for a brief moment and then turned away to gather the items she required to bathe him. She took her time, well aware that his blazing blue eyes watched her every move.

  How she would manage to bathe him and not lose control of her senses was a question she had been attempting to avoid since she realized her husband wanted her. The realization startled her, for she had not expected an injured man to concern himself with passion. And at first she thought perhaps she saw what she had wanted to see, that her husband had sorely missed her and returned, wanting her with a desperate passion.

  Now, however, she understood that she was not mistaken, he did want her and she wanted him just as desperately. He had warned her on his departure that they would settle this upon his return. But he was injured and she could not allow him to cause further damage to his leg. What was she to do?

  Bathing him was certainly not going to help the situation.

  She grabbed the rope handle of the bucket that sat by the hearth. The heat of the roaring fire kept the water warm but not hot and she carried the half-filled bucket to the side of the bed and placed it on the floor. She then gathered a clean cloth and a bar of soap that she had scented with a mixture of sweet wildflowers.

  Towels were next, actually anything she could do to delay the inevitable, she did. She carefully arranged the basket of towels a distance away from the bucket of water. She slowly rolled up the sleeves of her shift. She retied her hair, fu
ssing to make sure all the strands were tucked back away from her face. And finally, when she could think of no further acts to delay her, she dropped the scented bar and cloth into the bucket.

  She reached into the bucket, grasped the cloth and twisted it so tightly that not a drop of water remained and then with a trembling hand she reached out to start on his face.

  He grasped her wrist with a light firmness. “We settle this tonight, wife.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Faith kept the tremor out of her voice though her hands continued to tremble after he released her wrist. She brought the cloth gently to his face and wiped his brow and cheeks, running over his chin and down along his neck. “What do you wish to settle, Eric?”

  He was quick to answer. “This madness between us.”

  She returned the cloth to the bucket, rinsing it and lathering it with soap before she twisted the excess water from it and brought it to cleanse his chest. She ran the cloth over his thick muscles in slow circular motions. “You have suffered a serious injury. Your leg needs to rest.”

  “I have suffered far worse injuries,” he insisted with a knowing smile, “and still returned to battle to fight again.”

  She rinsed the cloth yet again and motioned him to sit up, which he did slowly. “See . . . you have not as much strength as you think.”

  Her words disturbed him, for he had felt the weariness in his body. The wounds had taken their toll on him and she was probably correct in advising him to rest, but he did not wish to rest. He wanted his wife and it was becoming more evident by the minute, his loins growing hard as she moved the wet cloth down over his back.

  “I have all the strength I need,” he protested once he rested back against the pillows.

  Faith said not a word. She continued to cleanse his body, moving the rinsed cloth along over his arm. She found it difficult not to admire the cut of his defined muscles and the smooth hardness of his skin. She found it even more difficult to ignore her own body’s response to her intimate touch of him.

  Her heart beat a fast, erratic rhythm; her nipples hardened most obviously beneath her shift and she grew so moist with the want of him that she thought she would climax without his hands ever touching her.

  He sensed her thoughts. “You want this settled as much as I do.”

  She threw the cloth down into the bucket. “Aye, my lord, I do, but—”

  He would not permit her to speak another word. “Finish bathing me.”

  “We need to—”

  “Do as I order,” he demanded.

  She acquiesced with a silent nod, snatching the soapy cloth from the bucket, and proceeded to wash his one leg, the injured leg having already been cleansed before she had stitched the wound.

  She gave thought to speaking her mind several times as her hand slowly ran the wet cloth over his leg and then reached for a towel to dry his sturdy limb. But Borg’s advice kept echoing in her mind.

  Surrender.

  If that was her wisest move, then how did she surrender under the present circumstances? She did not wish to see him cause his injury any undo harm. His arm did not concern her it was a minor abrasion. So what, then, were her options?

  “Finish,” he ordered again.

  She reluctantly admitted to herself that his curt command actually seemed appropriate. This matter needed finishing once and for all. And though she chose to surrender, she would do it her way. She would be in charge. She would take command. She would surrender her virginity willingly.

  “Aye, my lord,” she responded softly. “I will finish this.”

  She brazenly yanked the towel off him and if there had been a hint of doubt as to his intentions, it vanished at the sight of his prominent arousal.

  Determined to succeed in her own intentions, Faith made certain a fresh cloth was rinsed in a bucket of clean, warm water before she brought the moist cloth to lay low on his belly. She placed her hand flat on top the cloth and lazily stroked it back and forth just above his nest of dark hair. She then ran the cloth on either side of his loins, venturing near but never intimately touching him.

  Her intentional avoidance drove him mad with the want of her touch, but he forced himself to remain still and silently watch her.

  She toyed with him, running the damp cloth near and around his sprouting manhood, coming dangerously close but never brushing his manly flesh.

  What annoyed him even more was that her playful little game aroused him to a fever pitch. He grew harder with each deliberate swipe of the tormenting cloth, so that when she finally discarded it and grasped him full and hard with her own hand he groaned with much relief and much pleasure.

  Her eyes held a bewildered yet intent look, a strange and dangerous combination. What would it produce? Where would her unplanned actions take her? Did she wish to indulge him or harm him? He waited anxiously and suspiciously.

  His discovery was so startling that his merciful groans echoed off the stone walls as she stroked him with a tormenting rhythm that soon had him sitting up fast and eagerly reaching out for her.

  A firm yet delicate hand to his chest pushed him back against the pillows.

  “Nay,” she all but whispered, “I will not risk you suffering further harm.”

  She stepped back a short distance away from the bed and as if fearing she would change her own mind she hastily shed her clothes. She finished quickly and stood perfectly still, baring not only her nakedness, but her vulnerability.

  Eric’s eyes feasted on her without restraint, roaming her exquisite body, savoring this long-awaited and intimate perusal of his naked wife. She was stunning… pale skin, full breasts, a narrow waist his hands itched to grasp and a thick nest of red curls that brought a wicked smile to his lips.

  “Come here,” he said in his usual demanding tone and held his hand out to her.

  She made to move and then hesitated. “You must promise me you will not move your injured leg.”

  “With what I have in mind to do to you, that will prove difficult,” he admitted, his smile replaced by a look of sheer determination.

  She slowly shook her head. “Then I have no choice—”

  He interrupted sharply. “I will not be denied—”

  She finished just as sharply. “Nay, you will not. I will straddle you.”

  He had always successfully concealed his emotions. He had learned long ago that it did no good to allow anyone to see the effect their words or actions had upon him. But her candid remark shocked him speechless and his eyes widened with genuine surprise.

  She approached the bed with a hasty apprehension as if wanting this over and done, but when she came to stand beside the bed she appeared to have a change of heart and she slowly, like a lazy cat, crawled over him until her naked body was completely sprawled over his. She carefully brought her legs up to flank the sides of his waist so as not to disturb his wounded leg. And there she rested, her head upon his chest.

  His hands drifted up over her back. Relishing the smoothness of her silky skin, he moved down along her slim waist that gave way to rounded hips and a firm backside that he cupped solidly in his eager hands.

  She in turn tasted his chest with a tentative kiss, liking the cool, clean flavor of him on her warm tongue. She proceeded to lick, nip and kiss her way up his neck to his lips.

  He took command from there, his hand grasping the back of her head and forcing a kiss from her that raced their emotions to a fever pitch. His hands moved to her waist, yanking her up to give his mouth easy access to her full breasts.

  Rational thought completely escaped her. Passion hot and bold remained and took absolute command.

  She managed to place her hands flat on his broad shoulders, steadying herself as he proceeded to suckle her hard nipple. There was no gentleness to his taste and yet his harsh feasting shot ripples of pure passion straight through her and she shuddered with a soft moan.

  Her pleadful moan brought him back to her lips and there was a whispered roughness to his query, “
Do you want me, Faith?”

  Her simple, “Aye,” disappeared into his mouth as he claimed her surrender with a conquering kiss.

  “Are you sure you want me?” he asked again, nipping at her sensuously swollen lips with determined bites.

  Before she could respond or even think a coherent thought he yanked her up and slipped a finger fast inside her.

  “Aye, you do want me,” he confirmed with a sinful smile.

  She gasped as another finger followed in pursuit and she heard his brief laugh mingle with a low growl.

  “You feel so good,” he murmured near her ear. “So warm, so wet, so ready for me.”

  His fingers were working their usual magic, making her lose her senses and thinking of only one thing.

  Him.

  She found herself willingly moving to the steady rhythm he had set and along with that incessant rhythm his kisses became more urgent, his mouth rushing all over her, wherever his lips could reach.

  When they had both reached an unbearable heat that could only be quelled by the finality of coupling, Eric moved to push her beneath him.

  “Nay,” she protested, shoving his hands away and moving to mount him eagerly.

  She settled herself near his bulging manhood and grasped him firm in her hand to guide him into her.

  “Stop, Faith,” he shouted and leaned forward, his hands grabbing her beneath her arms and pulling her to him. “You cannot do this.”

  His powerful hold was steady on her and their faces nearly touched.

  “Why?” she asked, confused.

  “It is too painful a way for you to lose your virginity.”

  The shock of his remark was evident in the drop of her mouth and the widening of her stunned brown eyes. “You believe me a virgin?”

  “Aye, I do,” he answered without a moment of hesitation and with a brief, tender kiss. “And I will not see you suffer pain.”

  Her shocked expression immediately turned to one of disappointment. “But I want you.”

  It took all his willpower to say, “When my leg heals, we shall finish this.”