by Joanne Rock
A stab of disappointment filled her as she realized she had been hoping for more—a sense that he wanted to protect her for her own sake. Because he had grown to care about her the same way she had come to care for him.
He had taken her cause when she was an exile, pulling her out of her banishment and back into the world. Renewing some of her faith in herself. And even if he had done none of those things, the tender way he treated her son alone would have stolen her heart.
“I will try to remain hidden here, but winning the day means my son is free from du Bois forever. If I think I can help you and still keep him safe, I will do so.”
“A warrior at heart,” he whispered, his fingers tunneling under her veils to twine in the hair at her nape.
Fire skipped from his touch to set her senses ablaze.
“I cannot allow anything to happen to you.” She had many reasons, but she could not share them with a man who only claimed to protect her because of a promise to her father. Sorcha had already loved once without having those tender emotions returned. She would be careful not to fall into such a treacherous state with this man, as well.
And yet, if tomorrow did not bring success to their campaign, would she not mourn the loss of this chance to be with him? To deny them both something that brought such pleasure when they might not have another opportunity …
Perhaps she only justified what she wanted so desperately, but right now, she needed to take whatever she could from this time with Hugh.
“You think you cannot stay put? Perhaps I should make good on an old threat then.” He leaned close to brush a kiss along her jaw while his fingers massaged the back of her neck.
Dazed with the feel of his hands on her after all this time, she was slow to make sense of his words.
Until he tugged free one of the veils from her circlet.
She stilled beneath his kisses, her heartbeat hammering madly in her breast.
“You would not dare.” She trembled lightly as the veil trailed down her neck, slithering over her bodice to pool in her lap.
“I warned you I would tie your hands,” he reminded her, retrieving the delicate linen from her thighs with a slow, deliberate draw of his fingertip across her legs. “It might spur me on in battle tomorrow if I think of you here, bound completely to my bed.”
* * *
Hugh seized upon Sorcha’s quick intake of breath, pressing his mouth to hers. He hadn’t intended to touch her until he was certain Edward had been swiped from her memory for good. Now he knew she hated the man, but he didn’t have any assurance she was ready to care about anyone else in his place.
If tomorrow ended badly, however, he would never have another chance to touch her. To feel the tide of her incredible passion sweeping through him, dictating everything else in the world but them.
Sorcha had been the first woman he’d had when he awoke with no memories. Now she could be the last. And he wouldn’t trade that chance for anything.
Her hands landed on his chest in a soft slide of fingertips that quickly turned into a scratch of light nails as she gripped his tunic and tugged him closer. He teased the fabric of her veil up her back and over her shoulder to drift down her arm.
He had the feeling she had thought about being bound and at his mercy nearly as often as he had over the last weeks. Sometimes when they were riding through the forest on their slow journey here, he would turn to see her looking at him and her cheeks would burn.
Pulling away from his kiss, she held him at bay, breathing hard.
“Your suggestions are wicked,” she accused, her sweetly quivering form assuring him she did not find his wickedness unappealing.
“You should not dismiss them so easily until you’ve tried them.” He tugged one of the laces that tightened her surcoat and freed the heavy fabric.
Shedding her of her garments now would prevent him from having to do so after he’d cinched her wrists together for the sensual feast he planned to give himself before morning. He had been operating on pure instinct the last time he’d bedded her, but now he had the benefit of experience working for him and he planned to make sure Sorcha never forgot this. For all intents and purposes, this would be their wedding night.
“You’ve seen me wield a knife,” she returned, her fingers at work on the ties of his tunic, her hands trembling with a need that inflamed his own. “So you must know how dire my retribution will be on the next man who treats my affections lightly.”
Her words—however threatening—ignited new hope in his chest. She spoke of affection? The idea that she wanted him for reasons that went beyond passion made him all the more eager to claim her as his wife, if only for tonight.
“Never,” he swore, releasing her veil to fall silently into the fur while he peeled her surcoat down and off.
His eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness and the moonlight filtering through seams in the hide tent helped him to see her pale, womanly form clad in only a thin white kirtle. Her breasts pushed at the fabric, stretching the loose material almost taut so that the swell of full breasts was visible beneath. Hunger surged through him, prompting him to take a nip at her through the fabric until the linen clung moistly to her beaded nipples.
She repaid him by gripping his thighs with her splayed hands, stroking up the muscle and then back down, never reaching the place where he most craved her caress.
Impatient for more, he sought the hem of her kirtle and tugged it up her legs. When he reached her hips, he palmed her bottom just enough to lift her slightly and free the material. As tempting as it would have been for his hands to remain right there, to drag her hips against his and take what he wanted, he released her to drive her passions higher. Hotter.
Pulling the kirtle the rest of the way off, he tossed it aside in the tent, rendering her completely naked except for the circlet adorning her head with two remaining veils. He pushed her down to lie in the fur, her body temptingly displayed for his pleasure.
“I used to have the narrow frame that my sister has.” Her soft assertion, tinged with a hint of regret, surprised him from such a bold and otherwise confident woman.
“What man would not prefer the lush curves of fruitful womanhood to the untried body of a girl?” He bent to kiss the indentation of her slim waist above one round hip. “You are all the more beautiful for the life you give.”
“Your touch makes me believe you.” She twitched restlessly beneath him, her hands scratching lightly over his shoulders while her legs rubbed against his.
He rose to stand, shedding his tunic and his braies, unsure how long he would be able to deny her when the scent of her desire made him drunk with need. Yet he knew he had a little while to wait, since he planned to fulfill the fantasy they’d shared these past weeks.
Stretching out over her, he covered her. Her skin was creamy smooth and sweetly scented by her soap. Roses. He would forever associate the flower with her from the ramble of blooms that used to adorn her cottage. He twined his fingers with hers and then drew her arms high above her head.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was thin and breathless as her breasts swelled against his chest.
Carefully, he wound the linen of her veil around first one wrist and then the other.
“What does it feel like I’m doing?” He cinched a knot between her hands, pulling the fabric taut but hardly inescapable.
“Wicked deeds,” she whispered back, twining her soft thigh between his legs. “You must teach them to me so I may take revenge one day.”
Arching her back against the fur, she pressed her hips to his, sealing his shaft against her belly. The contact lit a fierceness in him he would not be able to subdue.
“You learn too much all on your own.” He cupped her hips and savored the softness of her flesh there before ducking to kiss her breasts thrust high because of her raised arms.
Her sighs were sweet music as he learned the taste of her all over again. It had been too long since he’d last lain with her, and his body
urged him faster.
“I am helpless,” she complained, her breath hitching on the words as he licked a path down her abdomen to the curls between her legs.
“All the more reason to kiss you here.” He positioned his mouth above the plump, hot center of her and gave her the most intimate of attentions. “Once I free you, I fear you will only incite me past the point of no return.”
He spread her legs wide, taking his fill of her while she tried to stifle the urgent noises she made. In the end, he had to still her hips with one hand and cover her mouth with the other as she came for him in a spasm that convulsed her whole body. She whimpered against his palm as she found her release, the waves of pleasure rolling through her and into him for long moments. When at last she stilled, he released her, leveraging himself over her to untie her hands.
He was unprepared for her full-on attack. She rolled him to his back with one shove to his shoulders, using his surprise against him.
She did not hold him down for long though. Rising up on her haunches she sat astride him, peering down at him while a column of moonlight cut across her face, illuminating her delicate features.
“You are my prisoner now.” She arched a sandy eyebrow at him as she trailed exploring fingers up the length of his shaft. “Subject to my will.”
At another time, he might have grinned at this bit of outrageous audacity. Right now, he wondered if she was right.
“Sorcha.” He placed his hand over hers, guiding her fingers to grip him tighter.
Of course, giving this woman additional power over him proved a dangerous thing. A handful of strokes later, he was hanging by a thread, his jaw clenched tight with the need to be inside her.
He rose to sit, keeping her on top of him, balanced on his lap. She made a soft cry, but did not protest as he lifted her hips, positioning her above him. He peered up at her, needing to see her as he came inside her at last.
If this was to be their only night together as man and wife, he would make sure she did not forget it. She would never think of any other man but him.
“Hugh.” Perhaps she picked the thought out of his mind as she steadied herself on his shoulders, her eyes never leaving his.
When he entered her, he watched her every moment of the way. Her legs locked behind his back, holding him close. Her breasts swayed with the movement as they rocked together in a timeless rhythm.
The heat they built bound them together like no ties ever could have. At the last minute he pulled her to him and kissed her, needing to taste her as he spilled his seed inside her. There would be no withdrawal now that they had spoken their vows.
He did not risk his life tomorrow just for himself. He did it for her. For their family. For a future they might forge together.
Holding tight to his passionate wife, Hugh lost himself inside her, the desire burning away everything else between them until there was only this elemental connection.
When the night cooled along with their bodies, he laid her by his side to pass the night. No matter what the morrow brought, they had—at least for one night—come together with no secrets and no memories of the past. If Hugh fell in battle, it would be Sorcha’s name on his lips.
But long before sleep claimed him, he vowed to do anything in his power to win her for all time.
“Are you surprised Eamon hasn’t returned?” Sorcha asked as Hugh held her hours later.
They had slept little, the night passing in a blur of ecstasy. She’d never been so exhausted in such an utterly blissful fashion, though Hugh didn’t seem tired in the least. Her head lay on his chest and she took comfort from the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath her ear.
The only thing that kept it from being the most beautiful night of her life was her fear for the coming dawn. Nay. Even with the fears, it had still been the most beautiful night of her life.
She feared she had already lost her heart to Hugh, but she could never regret the alternate tenderness and fierceness of what they’d shared. The night far overshadowed anything she’d ever experienced.
“I know they’ve been closing the gate at night in the village,” Hugh answered, his lips coming to rest on the top of her head as he stroked her shoulder. “I assume he will not be able to leave until the drawbridge lowers again at first light.”
“I hope you are right.” She did not know Eamon well despite all his years as her groom. But her father trusted the man enough to make him a man-at-arms. Surely that meant he would fulfill this duty well. “But what if he does not return?”
“Do you have any reason to doubt him?” Sliding out from under her, he propped his head on one hand while he watched her in the shafts of moonlight.
“I may be worrying overmuch since I do not trust easily anymore.” She sighed anxiously. “I cannot point to any one thing that makes me uneasy. But I do recall he did not inform me of my sister’s presence in the woods that day near the harbor before we sailed for England.”
“And he should never have left her unguarded for the sake of keeping her presence a secret,” Hugh agreed. “I credited his action to a youthful mistake, but did not think it would be one he’ll make again. He seemed genuinely distressed at the idea of anything happening to Onora.”
Sorcha’s heart eased a little, remembering Eamon’s overtures toward Onora in the days that followed her abduction. She relaxed into Hugh’s touches that still sent dizzying sparks through her even after all the times they’d come together this night.
“You do not think his attentions seemed a bit—inappropriate?” She couldn’t quite pin down what had bothered her, but there had been something in his manner that made Sorcha fear he liked Onora a little too well.
Hugh set aside a blanket that he had pulled over them sometime in the night. Tucking the one end under her arm, he rose from their bed.
“I have not observed him do anything more than sit close to Onora and perhaps gaze at her longingly, but if you sensed something amiss, I will check on his whereabouts immediately.”
“Nay.” She reached to brush his calf as he tugged a tunic over his head, wondering if she should not have spoken. She did not want to become foolishly apprehensive, seeing danger around every corner. “I would not have thought twice about Eamon’s task inside the walls of Edenrock if he had returned last night. I thought he would have been back by then to tell you of his findings.”
“As did I.” Hugh pulled his braies into place and tied them snug around his hips. “Your concern reflects my own. Nay, I only had vague notions that Eamon was not as competent as he should be, but I told myself he had not been at his task for long. Knowing his behavior with Onora only underscores my own thoughts.”
“Will I see you before you head to Edenrock with your men?” Sorcha still did not know how the keep would be taken. They had not passed the night talking strategy, but then again, Hugh had needed Eamon’s help to finalize his plans.
“I do not know.” Kneeling beside her, he reached for her. Kissed her hard. “If it is close to first light there might not be time. Promise me you will not go anywhere near Edward du Bois no matter what happens.”
Sorcha knew the only thing that could make her do so was if Conn’s life was endangered. Or if Hugh needed her. She squeezed him tighter and prayed for his safety.
“You know I cannot make that promise.” Placing a kiss upon his cheek, she released him.
Only to see the dangerous glint in his golden eyes.
“Would you still be the rash and reckless princess?” He rose to stand, his shoulders appearing all the more massive from her view. “Can you not yet see the danger you could bring to others by acting upon your own impulses?”
His words cut her to the quick, especially falling so close on the heels of what they’d shared. What she thought they’d shared.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice to speak.
“I only want to keep you safe.” He buckled his sword belt about his hips and then ducked to kiss her once more, but it was a chaste kiss. A good
bye. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He departed the tent, leaving her alone with the realization that keeping her safe had motivated every move he’d made from his initial arrival in Ireland, to his marriage to her. A marriage he had not bothered consummating until now.
Perhaps that had been part of the plan as well. Claim her as his own only so that he could sway her to his will with sensual sorcery. Heart in her throat, Sorcha rose to dress for the day that would decide her future and her son’s.
Chapter Twenty
Eamon had not recalled that Edward du Bois possessed the soulless eyes of some creature returned from the grave.
He stood in front of du Bois’s seat in Edenrock’s great hall with the tavern wench—Nelda—behind him. She had been hot to enter the keep, but he noticed she shrank back now that du Bois’s attention had turned to them. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought her here. Nelda was no Onora. She did not make him appear successful or important.
And du Bois was no ordinary man. He had grown thicker through the shoulders and chest since Eamon had last seen him, as if the man took additional broadsword practice for sport.
His dark, dusty robes looked as if he had just been in battle and hadn’t bothered to brush himself off. Eamon fervently hoped the dark red stain on his tunic was wine.
“So Sorcha lives?” the soulless knight asked, entertaining himself and a few other men by throwing knives—end over end—into a large board of soft wood. Someone had outlined a star shape in ashes on the wood, perhaps guiding where each man made his target.
The small triangle where the overlord threw was chock-full of slit marks. Du Bois, it appeared, was a very good shot.
“Aye. I was prepared to bring her and her son to you in Connacht, my lord,” he lied, knowing that while he could have easily transported a baby without much notice through the Irish forests, he would have never tried to take the princess.