Desire honed his voice harsher than he intended. "And if I bid you come to me willingly—my wife in every way—would you oblige mein this?"
The fiery hold of his eyes trapped upon hers nearly robbed her of her courage. Yet she knew she could allow herself no time to think, or even reason ...
"I—I would." She heard her voice as if from a very great distance. "Then show me, wife."
Chapter 18
Show me, wife. It sounded so simple, yet simple it was not. His features might have been carved in iron; she sensed something in him that frightened her, yet excited her, too. In her inexperience, at first she did not recognize it for what is was ...
Hunger. Starkly male, rawly possessive, hotly primitive. And all at once the blaze in his eyes made her pulse begin to race. She trembled to think that this man, this warrior among warriors, might want her so.
A single step brought her dose within the taut confines of his legs, braced slightly apart to keep his balance. Within her breast beat the resounding clamor of her heart. Scarcely daring to breathe, she splayed her palm across his chest, thrilling to the way the crisp, dark hairs tickled her palm. The other crept up to join its mate. Gathering all her resolve, she squeezed her eyes shut, levered herself up on tiptoe, and pressed her mouth to his.
For the space of a heartbeat—nay, two—his mouth lay hard and dosed beneath hers. Guided by instinct, she parted hers, slowly acquainting herself with the shape and texture of his lower lip. Then all at once he crushed her to him, his arms almost frighteningly strong, and the kiss was no longer hers to control, but his, hot and searing, tinged with a savage desperation borne of passion and hunger and need. She sensed his pain, his anger, his hurt, as he explored as he would, tasting and devouring her mouth, seeking out the honeyed sweetness within. And all the while her mouth craved his with an eagerness that wrung a groan from deep in his chest.
He released her mouth only to raise his head and stare at her through eyes that flamed like tire. His fingertips trailed a rousing path down her neck to rest with precise awareness on the trembling swell of her breasts, a touch that robbed her of breath.
"I made you my bride," he said quietly. "Then I made you my wife." His eyes darkened. "Mayhap it's time I made you a woman."
Both his expression and his tone were darkly intent, his message unmistakable. Shana felt a quiver tingle along warm, forbidden places. The memory of the filling pressure of his shaft buried deep and hard within her kindled a dark, sweet yearning.
Her hands were splayed on his chest, all dense, dark fur. "Thorne,"—there was a breathless catch in her voice—"you are hardly recovered ..."
"Then you must help me, sweet." The words were both provocative and teasing. She caught her breath at the rare, laughing gleam that flared in his gaze. His hands were already at the laces of her gown. An instant later he cast her garments aside, leaving her as naked as he. She gasped as he dragged her against him only to find his leg at last protested his intent. A laugh rumbled deep in his chest. They tumbled to the bed. Shana, ever conscious of his injury, twisted her body quickly so that she landed not on top of him, but on her side.
Thorne rose quickly on an elbow. Greedily he charted the tender feminine flesh and supple curves that lay open to him. His mouth grew dry, as and as the deserts of the Holy Land. He seized her hand and carried it to his jaw.
His laughter was gone. "I did not he with Lady Alice," he said almost roughly. His gaze trapped hers. "Nor with the girl at Langley."
Her heart lurched. Her fingertips moved slightly against the raspy hardness of his cheek, a fleeting caress. Her eyes clung to his as her lips formed a tremulous smile "Truly?"
He lowered his head. Their lips almost touched but not quite. His voice stole softly through the silence, his heated breath mingling with hers. "Truly," he vowed, the pitch of his voice low and rough, thready with need. "Mother of Christ, how could I? I've thought of no woman save you since long before we wed. 'Tis you and no other who is ever on my mind, Shana, ever and always."
His declaration washed through her like warm, sweet wine. Thorne was not a man to utter pretty speeches that he might gain what he sought more easily. He was a man who would take what was his as if it were his due ... So it was that a well-spring of emotion unfurled within her, like the cascading rays of the sun.
Then the bold invader was back again, his mouth taking hungry possession of hers, his kiss both commanding and demanding, tender yet searing and fierce
"Now touch me, wife. Touch me as I have spent these many lonely nights dreaming you might."
He dragged her palms to his chest. Her fingers knotted in the dark pelt that grew so thickly, then slowly uncurled, her sensitized fingertips just barely grazing crisp, wiry curls. Her movements were hesitant at first, almost clumsy, for she had never imagined touching a man like this—had never imagined she might want to ...
But Thorne was only too glad to show her, finding in her an eager, willing pupil. Her knuckles skimmed the taut plane of his belly. She gloried in the way his muscles jumped beneath her touch. His hand closed around hers, guiding with unwavering intent straight to the very heat and heart of his manhood. Shana's pulse thundered wildly in her ears. She felt him, huge and throbbing in her palm. Touching him so made her shiver, nay, not in fear, but with the tingling excitement of anticipation.
Her heart was beating so hard she thought surely it would choke her. Her touch was so brazen and bold that blood scalded her cheeks, chest, and belly. As her fingertips skimmed daintily over his ridged hardness, she marveled at the wondrous contrast between velvet-skinned softness and splendid, steely heat. Though the size and breadth of him made her quiver, she did not retreat, for all at once she was rilled with a heady sense of power. She reveled in the shudder that racked his body, the way his shaft seemed to swell still further, and the knowledge pleased her ... as well as him.
He rolled to his back. Hard hands caught at her hips, skimmed the backs of her thighs, guiding anew until she lay astride his hips, her breasts crushed against the mat of hair on his chest. Against her woman's softness she could feel him pulsing and erect... Stunned, Shana gaped down at him, the contact both stunning—and rousing. Blood rushed like fire in her veins, spawning a heavy ache there, at the place where their loins nestled with such fevered intimacy. She felt as if she were burning from the inside out.
She half rose above him, a soft cry of confusion on her lips. "Thorne—"
"Hush," he said thickly. "Hush and I'll show you." His features were tense and strained, his eyes fiercely aglow. A thousand tiny shivers raced along her spine as at last she gleaned his intention.
The sensation was indescribable. The entire world seemed to hold its breath. A twist of his hips and then he was with her—inside her. She felt herself filled with him—ail of him—stretched and impaled with the rigid thickness of his shaft.
"Sweet jesus." The words were nearly lost in a ragged rush of air. But she heard his blistering passion and it merely heightened her own. Guided by instinct alone, she braced herself against his chest and closed her eyes, tilting her hips forward, then back, gasping at the long, silken friction evoked as his filling invasion began anew
Thorne was lost in an agony of pleasure, awash in a hundred different sensations. He gritted his teeth and sought to hold back, to let her ride him as she would and discover for herself the rhythmic tempo of ecstasy. Silken tendrils of hair teased his belly as her tentative movements slowly caught fire. He filled his hands with the fullness of her breasts, leaning forward to have a pouting pink nipple with the tip of his tongue and suckle long and deeply. He was so aroused he thought he might burst, for she was so hot, so smooth, melting him inside and out with her satin heat clinging tight to his swollen flesh.
A muffled groan tore from deep in his chest. His hands slid back to her hips. His fingers dug almost convulsively into her soft flesh. He lunged wildly into her furrowed heat. Her whimper of pleasure snapped his control. He plunged hot and hard, again and ag
ain in mindless frenzy— straining, grinding, churning. And all the while, Shana met him eagerly—more than eagerly, the writhing undulation of her hips in perfect balance, in perfect union.
His mouth sought hers. He kissed her with greedy urgency, spinning her into a dark realm of bliss. Her senses spun adrift. A tight coil of heat gathered low in her belly, in the place Thorne possessed so fully, and rippled outward with each driving thrust of his body inside hers. Sunlight, sweet and pure and golden, shimmered in her blood. She cried out as pleasure reached its zenith, a wondrous rapture that blazed the heavens to ashes and sent her soaring, free of earthly bounds. His climax burning inside him, Thorne thrust deep, so deep she felt he pierced her very heart and soul. His body shuddered and tensed beneath her; his climax erupted inside her, hot and honeyed.
In the aftermath she lay curled against him, feeling the frantic throb of her heartbeat ebb, breathing in the musky scent of their lovemaking, conscious of the rock-hard binding of his arm holding her close against his side.
Something had happened this night, something that far surpassed the joining of man to woman, woman to man ... something far less transient than male and female grappling for the sweet release to be had in the arms of the other In some strange elusive way, she felt bound to him, as if by some invisible hand—nay, not just in body, but in heart and mind and spirit and soul.
She could not help the wistful, fleeting question that whispered in her mind—had Thorne felt it, too? The heavy hand of despair descended, swift and merciless, enshrouding her chest, dimming her joy. That he had was too much to contemplate, too much to hope for ...
Too much to believe.
She was wrong.
From the beginning Thorne was aware his lovely wife was unlike any other woman he'd known in his life. Pride had dictated he tell himself otherwise; he had no respect for a man so besotted with a woman he had no will of his own. True, she roused his passions, and with a thoroughness he could not hide! Indeed, never had he craved a woman as fiercely as he craved his wife. It took but a single glance and his blood flamed like molten fire. His manhood stood at rigid attention; his breath left his lungs in a heated rush.
Yet Thorne could not dismiss this burning ache deep in his gut as mere lust. His male appetite for the pleasures to be had in taking a woman had always been healthy; but while such encounters had always been highly satisfying, they were also naught but a fleeting, casual diversion.
But with Shana ... oh, with her, it was far more than the desperate need to assuage the driving hunger she roused. In the night, she met him halfway—nay, more than halfway—for it seemed she could fight such treacherous longing no more than he.
He had dreamed of having her willing and eager and sweetly pliant in his arms—and faith!—so she was. He caressed her in bold, wanton ways that indulged his every fantasy—and fired a few more. She surrendered all he demanded—then accepted no less of him. Each restless shiver of her flesh beneath his palm, each breathless whimper caught in the fervor of his kiss drove him wild. And when he urged her to explore his body with shy, tentative hands, he thought he would explode with the pleasure wrought by her innocent touch She brought to him a greater completion that any he'd ever known; long after the tempest of passion blew calm and gentle, he remained filled with an emotion that ran far deeper than lust, or even desire ...
He could not help the twinge of bitterness that wound its way inside him. He told himself over and over that he should have been satisfied, for never had he dreamed Shana would yield so willingly. But Thorne had come to realize he wanted more than just her body He wanted her heart ...
For she'd already stolen his own.
No longer could Thorne deceive himself. His unwilling bride had crept into his heart like a thief in the night, seizing that which he had not known was in his power to give ... He could not fight it, nor lift a hand to stop it.
For the deed was already done.
For the first time, there existed an unspoken truce between them—a peaceful closeness and companionship—that he treasured beyond measure. He was loath for the day it would end.
But this interlude, precious as it was, could not go on forever.
There was a quiet, gurgling stream but a stone's throw from the cottage. Thorne regained his strength daily, and he and Shana had taken to spending the afternoons there, letting the peacefulness of the setting gather all around. Glittering shafts of sunlight pierced the low-hanging clouds above the mountain ridge, shading the horizon with dappled hues of pink and purple haze. They had spread a blanket beneath the shade of a massive oak tree Shana lay curled against his side, her head nestled against his shoulder.
"Shana." He spoke her name quietly. "We must leave in the morning for Langley."
His announcement met with silence. Beside him, she went completely still. They had not spoken of the conflict that separated England and Wales, nor of the reason they had come to this mountain-rimmed valley. An oppressive weight descended on her chest, until she felt as if she were being crushed. In that instant, she experienced a stinging resentment that Thorne chose to shatter the tremulous peace that enveloped them so unexpectedly. Here in this secluded valley, so far from the troubles that cleaved the country in two, they had found a wondrous haven where neither England nor Wales existed. She had not known until now how precious it really was.
Her heart wrenched. If only they could stay here forever. If only ...
But alas, it was not to be, though everything within her protested her hurt and despair. She sat up slowly, winding her arms about her knees and drawing them up close to her chest. Despite the showering rays of the sun warm upon her head, she shivered, as if a frigid wind swept across her heart.
Thorne curbed his impatience with difficulty. Her withdrawal was painfully acute. "We can stay no longer, Shana. My leg is nearly healed. There is no longer any need to remain here." Regret lay heavy in his tone, but there was no mistaking the thread of steel laced within.
"And there is every need to make haste back to Langley, is there not? After all, the troublesome Welsh must be subdued." In her pain, she lurched to her knees and lashed out at him furiously. "And what about Maeve and Avery? Tell me, milord, do you secretly regard them as foes? Have you fooled us all that you laughed and talked with them these past few days? Was I wrong in thinking you cared little that they were Welsh? Maeve saved your lite and we have taken shelter in their son's home, a son who fights in Llywelyn's army. What if you came face to face with him on the battlefield and slew him? Would you care that you robbed her of her son's life?"
His hands shot out. He snatched her to him almost roughly. "Aye, I would care," he said fiercely. " 'Tis all the more reason to end this war quickly that lives may be spared, both English and Welsh. Were it up to you, methinks you would have me throw down my sword and wring my hands in indecision, like a foolish old woman! If so, you know little of honor, princess—little of loyalty and all that goes with it." He gave a harsh laugh. "Oh, but I suppose 'tis too much to ask that you try to understand, for you are ever ready to believe the worst of me!"
For all that his features were etched in bitter reproof, there was a faint hurt in the gaze that pinned hers so relentlessly, something that caught at her breast like a clamp. A spasm of guilt knifed through her.
"Once it was so," her voice was low and unsteady, "but not now, Thorne ... not now."
His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her upper arms. "You chose not to believe me when I told you I played no part in the slaughter at Merwen—in the death of your father. You had no more faith in me when I denied that the carnage at Llandyrr and the other village was of my doing. Do you mean to say you suddenly choose to believe me now, after all this time?"
He searched her eyes for the answer, even as Shana searched the furthest depths of her heart.
"Yes," she whispered, and knew it for the truth.
He relaxed his hold on her. Some of the tension seeped from his features. His tone was almost pleading. "I do not kn
ow why someone has chosen to perpetrate these attacks in my name. Someone is trying to—to use me." He expelled a pent-up sigh of frustration and spoke almost as if to himself. "To soil my reputation, mayhap. I must find out who and put an end to it, for I'll not have my name so slandered."
Shana frowned. A tingle of foreboding crept up her spine and she shivered, unable to shake a tingly sense of unease, mayhap even danger. But 'twas not for herself that she feared, but for Thorne ...
But before she could catch hold of the thought, Thorne's fingers coiled in her hair. He turned her face up to boldly claim her lips in a raw, unbridled kiss that robbed her of breath and stripped all else from her mind. Wordlessly he pulled her down on top of him. And when at last their hips surged again and again in a wildly primitive dance as old as the heavens, there was a frantic, almost desperate urgency to the clinging, driving rhythm of love.
But when morning came they were on their way back to Langley ...
Back to war.
Neither spoke of it, yet the knowledge was there, like an invisible wall they could neither see nor touch. They were civil and polite, but the closeness that had marked these past days was gone.
Early in the morning of the second day of their journey, they met a small body of knights from Langley. The leader explained Sir Geoffrey was concerned that their absence was overlong. Fearing they might have come to some harm, he had dispatched a search party.
Shana and Thorne had found their pace slowed considerably since they had but one horse, but now they rode hard that they might sight Langley before nightfall.
Soon tense white lines appeared around Thorne's mouth. Though his posture was straight as a watch tower, his features were pale and drawn. Clearly the ride brought him no little amount of pain. Shana was nervous and concerned by the time they trotted through the gatehouse.
My Rebellious Heart Page 27