Tears of love pooled in her eyes and she shook her head. “Nay, my lord, I cannot wait.”
With that Faith broke free of his grasp and moved once again to mount him.
Eric attempted to protest but she was quick and successful in her attempt to slip his swelled manhood inside her.
Her startled grasp jolted his emotions in opposite directions. He grew harder from the tightness of his partial entrance within her wet nest and he grew upset thinking of her suffering further discomfort and pain.
“Enough,” he ordered, but before he could grab her arm she moved further down upon him.
“Eric,” she cried out when his manhood attempted to penetrate her maidenhead and she felt the first painful sting.
“Enough, Faith,” he insisted, though he throbbed unmercifully with desire.
“Nay, nay,” she said, shaking her head back and forth.
He silently cursed his own raging desires and her stubbornness and as she slowly attempted to take the full hard length of him inside her, he reached out and took command.
“Forgive me, my love,” he said and with his hands around her waist he brought her down hard upon him, sending him full length into her.
She let out a gasp and he gave her no pause to think. His large hands sat firm on her waist and he took command of her ride. Her hands settled on his arms and after the initial shock of his solid entrance faded, what remained was sheer, exquisite pleasure and she wanted nothing more than to stay astride and ride him forever.
Her head fell back and then forward, her fiery mane spilling down around her and her moans of passion filled the room, echoing eerily off the thick stone walls.
A barrage of emotions attacked Eric full force. His concern for her pain, comfort and satisfaction far outweighed his own desires. Actually, the concern he felt for her managed to rage his passion past the limits of sanity. He had never experienced the overwhelming sensation of feeling complete, as if two halves had been joined to form one solid, overpowering desire that fueled and fed them both. One could not now exist without the other. They were whole, no longer separate beings but one forever, and he liked the strange, empowering sensation.
His name spilled from her lips along with her pleading moans. She begged him to end her torture and then she begged him not to stop. She was lost in a void of pure pleasure, sweeping her up and out of reality.
“Come on, my sweet Faith, come on,” he urged, his rhythm turning demanding.
Her ride turned fast and furious and with it his words repeatedly urged her to join him.
“Aye, my lord,” she agreed with an urgency she barely understood.
Their naked bodies shined with a fine sweat and they rode together, each lost within the other, emotionally and physically. Eric was near to exploding from the warm, wet, welcoming feel of her tight sheath and Faith felt the scream of final surrender deep in her throat as he repeatedly thrust the full thick hardness of him deep inside her.
Their cries of surrender rang out simultaneously and as one they erupted in a climax that united their souls and joined their hearts.
Faith collapsed on Eric, her head coming to rest on his moist chest, his arms wrapping protectively around her damp body. Several minutes passed before either could calm their breathing enough to speak, and then neither could find the words.
Silence hung heavily in the room as they continued lying joined together until finally Faith shifted to move off her husband. His powerful embrace prevented her from detaching herself.
“I like being inside you.”
His blatant remark heated her already flushed cheeks and made her all the more aware of his potent size. Even with the climax she could still feel the strength of him snug within her.
“Do you hurt?”
She felt completely exhausted and utterly pleasured and could feel only the barest hint of soreness, and his thoughtfulness pleased her so her reply came easily. “Only a little.”
Her ear flat against his chest picked up his low growl that erupted into words. “I should not have allowed—”
“Nay.” She stopped him, raising her head to look at him directly. His stark blue eyes blazed back at her. “I wanted you.”
His hands moved to push back her mane of raging curls away from her face. “And I wanted you.” His kiss was gentle though probing and it was a rising heat they both tempered as they reluctantly pulled apart.
“Why now did you believe me a virgin?” she asked curiously, resting her chin on his chest.
His hands moved to stroke leisurely down her back. “In all honesty I must admit that I never suspected otherwise. It was my own foolish pride that interfered. I wanted to hear you admit the truth.”
She smiled. “And my stubborn pride ruled my better senses. I wanted to believe you knew me well enough to know the truth without asking.”
“Aye, sweet Faith, I know you well.” His voice was low, his tone certain. His hand moved down over her backside. “And I will know you even better before this night is done.”
She shifted once again in an attempt to move off him and again he prevented her leaving with a firm hand, though this time she winced.
“You hurt,” he said, not asked, and with a gentle slowness lifted her off him and brought her to rest alongside him. “You should not have mounted me. Now you suffer.”
She rested her head comfortably on his shoulder and draped her arm over his broad chest. “I am fine.”
“If you speak the truth then you chance me wanting you again,” he said candidly.
“Promise?” she asked with a wicked laugh.
“You tempt fate, wife,” he said, enjoying her playful nature.
“Nay, I tempt you.” She shivered, her damp body catching a draft from the tapestry-draped window.
“You are chilled,” he said with concern.
Before he could move, she sat up. “I will fetch us a blanket.” She was almost off the bed when she caught sight of his bandaged leg. The white cloth was soaked with blood. She did not hesitate to set to work tending the bleeding wound.
He was about to protest, but thought better of it. They would waste time arguing and she would win in the end. And besides, he favored watching his naked wife fuss over him.
A clean new cloth was applied to the wound in no time and she covered him to the waist with a soft, wool blanket. She then took a few minutes to cleanse herself with a cloth by the fire and Eric looked upon the intimate scene with pleasure.
Her body was firm and trim from digging in her garden, her stomach flat, though he would change that soon enough. He would take her often, not only to get her with child but because he desired her. How lucky he was to have a wife he favored bedding and favored to look upon and favored to be with . . . and who he loved.
Was he mad to think himself in love with Faith? Why else would these strange emotions attack him so incessantly? Could he actually be in love? Could it not be merely respect and admiration for a unique woman that he felt?
He grew hard again as he stared at the way she intimately ran the cloth between her legs, stroking and cleansing the thatch of red fiery curls.
“Come to bed,” he ordered much too harshly.
She smiled at his demand and obediently slipped naked beneath the covers to lie against him. “You must not move your leg or it will continue to bleed.”
“Then we have a problem,” he said and took her hand, placing it over his swollen manhood.
He felt warm, hard and sticky. “You need cleaning.”
“That is not what I need.”
She whispered in his ear before she moved off the bed. “I know what you need.” She hurried over to the hearth and retrieved a warm, wet cloth from the bucket. She returned and folded the blanket down behind his feet.
He watched her, wondering what she planned. Was it a repeat performance? He could not allow her to mount him again. He was concerned for her comfort. He thought to mount her this time, though she would probably protest, given her concern for his leg.
She gently washed his potent erection. “Tell me,” she said, reaching for a clean towel to dry him. “Is it permissible for me to intimately taste you as you did me?”
She managed to shock him a second time that night and seeing his stunned expression she laughed before stretching out between his legs and slowly introducing herself to the taste of him.
Chapter Twenty-three
Faith woke before her husband the next day just as morning dawned on the horizon. So as not to disturb his much-needed healing slumber she gently slipped out of his embrace, tucking a pillow under his arm when in his sleep he reached out for her. He seemed content with the substitute at least momentarily, affording her time to see to her own care.
She found Bridget waiting in her chambers. A light early-morning fare sat ready on the table, a pot of her favorite chamomile leaves brewing, and a steaming tub of water scented with rose oil sat before the warm hearth.
Faith squealed with joy. “Bridget, you are wonderful.”
The young woman smiled at the compliment and immediately reached out to assist the lady of the keep. “Let me help you undress, my lady.”
Faith did not protest. Her limbs were sore from their unusual exercises and she could think of nothing more soothing than steaming water. She sank into the huge tub with a grateful sigh, the almost-hot water a perfect temperature as it engulfed her body all the way up to her shoulders.
Bridget placed a folded towel on the rim and Faith rested her head back on it.
“You are too good to me,” Faith said in appreciation.
“You deserve to be treated well, my lady,” Bridget said, gathering the mass of red ringlets in her hands and twisting the strands to secure them with two combs at the top of Faith’s head. “After you rest and before the water chills, I will see to washing your hair.”
Faith closed her eyes. “Thank you, Bridget. I do appreciate your attention.”
She listened to the crackles and pops of the large logs that flamed in the hearth and relished the toasting warmth that drifted over her. She had not felt this satisfied in a very long time. And it was all due to last night and her surrender.
She smiled like a contented cat that had just finished a fine meal, for that was the way she felt… full and content. She had not thought surrender could prove so worthwhile, but then surrendering did not necessarily mean defeat.
A soft sigh ran from her lips and a gentle blush stained her cheeks. She had acted like a wanton woman last night and had thoroughly enjoyed her wicked actions. She had never felt so in command, so powerful as she did sitting astride him. The pain had been sharp, but only for an instant and then . . . she sighed again, remembering.
She wished for more opportunities to couple with her husband and she wished to be more inventive in their coupling. The taste of him had been pleasurable and she had feasted like a starved cat. She giggled, recalling his demands and how those same demands had turned to pleas of surrender, with him screaming out her name.
She did so enjoy that moment, though he did promise retaliation. But then she looked forward to his promise.
Bridget got down on bended knees to wash Faith’s hair. Her thick, strong fingers roughly scrubbed the heavy strands right down to her scalp and Faith remained with eyes closed as Bridget rinsed, twisted and patted the wetness from her hair.
Faith saw to her own bathing and drying and Bridget saw to combing her hair by the fire, after she had dressed in a deep red shift and tunic, and taken a few bites of warm crusty bread and a mouthful of potage.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Bridget asked with reluctance and concern.
Castle gossip traveled fast and Faith had no doubt that the daily topic of conversation was the bedding of Lady Faith and the Irish devil.
Faith turned to face Bridget with a generous smile. “I have never felt so grand.”
Bridget giggled. “I know the feeling.”
“It must be their Viking blood,” Faith said with a laugh.
“Aye, it gives them stamina.”
The two women giggled like young girls in love.
A knock at the door made them both turn their heads.
“You may enter,” Bridget called out.
The door opened and Borg filled the doorway. Actually, part of his head was above the doorframe. He bent his neck and entered the room, coming to stand full height.
“Your husband demands your presence in his chambers, my lady,” he informed her with a grin.
Without thinking, she said, “I thought he would sleep the morn away after such a strenuous night.” As soon as the words escaped her lips, her hand flew to cover her mouth as if attempting to retrieve her remark.
Borg laughed and Bridget giggled.
“Lord Eric has frightened the servants who have brought him his morning meal, he yells at Colin who fights to keep him abed and curses the warring clans who caused his injury,” Borg informed her when his laughter died.
Faith stood quickly, causing Bridget hastily to withdraw the comb from her damp hair. “The wound does not still bleed, does it?”
Borg shook his head. “Nay, his bandage is dry and he insists he is well.”
“Another day abed and then limited use of the leg for a few days thereafter and he should be fine. He is not feverish?”
Borg found her question amusing. “That I cannot say. No one dares go near him.”
“Tell my lord I will be with him momentarily. I have one thing I must see to,” she said and rushed over to her wooden chest to grab her dark red cloak.
“Colin has seen to Rook this morning and Mary the Cook feeds him well at this moment,” Borg said.
Faith nodded. “I had no doubt Rook would be well looked after. He has a way of winning people’s hearts and when he knows I am in good care he does not worry.”
Borg gave her a quizzical look. “Where is it you go, then?”
“To offer a prayer,” she said.
Borg moved alongside her as she approached the door. “I go with you. Eric ordered me not to return without you or I would suffer his wrath.”
Faith cast him a skeptical look. “He would not harm you.”
Borg shook his head and smiled. “No, but his wrath is something I do not wish to experience. It chills the soul.”
Faith stopped at the door and turned suddenly. “Bridget, you have been most kind. Thank you.”
Bridget shook her head as Borg hurried to her side, kissed her cheek and whispered, “Lady Faith does not understand her position . . . be patient.”
Bridget swatted him on the arm… not that it did much good. “She will always be a kind soul and I will always do what I can to protect her.”
Borg winked at her. “So will I.”
Faith hurried up the stairs, knowing exactly where she wished to go.
Borg caught up with her, finding her hasty flight curious. She had passed the chapel and yet she wished to pray. Where was her destination?
She made her way to the barican that viewed the River Deel. The river could only be seen from this height, though the morning sun was now cloud covered and a fine mist lay low over the land, preventing a view of the green fields and rolling hills that spread out for miles.
Borg hesitated, remaining a few feet away, giving her privacy for what obviously was the place she wished to pray.
Faith looked up, blue sky peeked through gray clouds with the promise of a lovely day. But for now the land lay shrouded in a eerie mist that frightened most—but not Faith. She often thought that God covered the fields, valleys and meadows with the all too familiar mist to protect the animals and give them time to forage and nourish without interference from humans. And to her it was the perfect time to get His attention.
She cast a smile to the heavens and spoke a simple prayer of thanks and appreciation for all He had given her. And she specifically requested that He look after her stubborn husband and help heal him. She finished with another prayer of thanksgiving and then turned to join Borg.
“Why do you not pray in the chapel, my lady?” Borg asked as she hooked her arm in his.
Faith paused briefly before she offered an answer. “ ‘Tis the heavens I wish to look upon when I cast my prayer.”
Borg accepted her explanation with a slow nod and together they made their way to Lord Eric’s chambers, jumping aside to avoid the frightened young servant girl who ran crying from his room.
Faith called out to her, bringing her to a sudden halt, and she offered an apology for her husband’s rude behavior. The young girl was stunned speechless. Faith then asked if she would take her cloak to her chambers. The girl bobbed her head and though tears still shined in her eyes, she smiled and hurried off.
“Do not dare attempt to stop me, Colin,” Eric warned with a snarl that was meant to intimidate. “I am getting out of this bed now.”
“Nay, you are not,” Faith said, entering the room and going straight to her husband’s side.
Colin had a firm hand to Eric’s chest and quickly and gratefully vacated his position beside the bed at her approach.
“Where have you been and why did you leave me to wake alone?” he asked, irritated. Before she could respond, he shouted, “Borg, Colin, get out.”
“It is not necessary for them to leave,” Faith said.
“Out,” he shouted at the two men and they both laughed loudly as they walked out and shut the door behind them.
“You lack proper manners,” Faith insisted.
“Manners be damned. Why did you leave my bed?”
Faith noticed he had seen to his morning wash and his freshly combed dark hair lay over his shoulders and brushed his naked chest. The wool blanket covered him to his waist and she assumed he remained naked beneath. The thought thrilled her and she smiled.
“My query amuses you?” he asked caustically.
“Nay, my lord,” she said, repentant, though her smile remained. “My thoughts were elsewhere.”
“Why did you leave?” he asked again and reached out, taking her hand in his and gently tugging her down to sit beside him on the bed.
“I required a bath and fresh clothes.”
“You could have bathed here.”
The Irish Devil Page 25