Tenderness for Ian washed through her. He was giving her this. Offering her the protection of Robert's memory. No one but Christiana and Morvan need ever find out. It was an incredibly noble gesture on his part, for the reputation of a man he had never known.
“You do not have to do this. Robert is dead. People will talk, but then they will forget, especially if I am not here.”
He stepped close, and ran his fingers along her jaw and chin and tilted her face up to his. “I choose to do it.”
“Why?”
“I could say that I fulfill the promise of protection that I made to you at the river. I could say it is because our marriage secures this property to me more completely. But the truth is neither so noble nor practical.” He brushed her lips with his. “I have not allowed you to leave from the start, and I do not now.”
He kissed her. A sweet kiss, but luring and seductive. It made her feel weightless and airy, as if he were casting a spell on her.
“I want you. It is that simple,” he said. “You do not go.”
She gazed into his perfect face. She saw none of the anger from the last few days, but instead a tight and determined expression, as if he expected an argument. She wondered if he thought she would repeat the insults she had heaped on him, and declare she would rather go with Duncan than be his wife, no matter what it meant about Robert's name. He could not know that she had taken refuge in that animosity to protect herself from these other feelings that he evoked.
Then again, maybe he suspected as much. You are afraid of yourself with me, and that is another thing entirely from hatred.
He kissed her again, and her whole body tingled. It was a wonderful sensation. She did not fight it, because she no longer had to. “I thought that had changed,” she said.
“Nay. Wanting you never changed.” His hands caressed down her face to rest possessively on her shoulders. His thumb stroked up and down her neck, creating a little line of pulsing, warm contact.
“You make a bad bargain, Ian. After that hunger is satisfied, you will still be stuck with me. Forever.”
“Aye.”
“I am hardly the biddable woman you planned to marry after we parted.”
“True. But I expect you will be less ill-tempered after you are well bedded.”
“Is that what you think? That I—”
“I think that Robert asked you to live an unnatural life. Some women are suited to it and it does not matter, but not you.”
“And you think to show me my true nature?”
“If ever I met a woman who was too long a maid, it is you.”
It might be the truth, but it sounded like an insult. Her anger flared. “My life was happy and content and full.”
“For a long while, but not for some years now, I think. Not since the virginal girl became the virginal woman. Do you deny your resentment that the savior and teacher could not be a man with you?”
Pulling away, she glared at him. “Do not mock him. Do not ever. If you prove to be half the man Robert was, I may not regret this marriage too much.”
He pulled her back, into his arms, against his taut body. “And if you show me one tenth the loyalty you showed that old man, I may not either,” he said tightly, claiming her mouth with a consuming kiss.
He took her lips fully in his. A gasp of surprise died in her throat and the desire he had been toying with rushed, stunning her. His own passion waited for her, pulling hers with it as it climbed, awing her with its force and danger. There was nothing gentle about the way his tongue grazed her teeth and palate before thrusting in a savage, insistent way. Her whole body responded to that command with a frantic immediacy.
He gentled the kiss, replacing ravishment with seduction. It was just as devastating in its own way, as he teased at her mouth almost delicately and caressed her body almost chastely. He played at the hunger he had awoken, and marvelous chills of pleasure spread through her until she nearly cried for him to give her more.
He wrapped his arms around her. “I want to claim you now, here, at once, but I will wait for tonight. A virgin deserves a little wooing.”
She leaned against his strength, her ear against his chest, the need he could so easily provoke racking her with frustration. It had been an eloquent demonstration of his knowledge of this hidden part of her, and of what he expected in this marriage.
“You like that, don't you? That I am an overaged maid.”
“I find that I am glad for it.”
“Why? Because it is a prize taken only once?”
“Perhaps. Or a gift given only once.”
She made a face at him. “I don't think it will be as nice as your kisses suggest.”
“Don't tell me that you still have a young girl's fear.”
“I have had more time than most to worry about it.”
“You are in luck, Reyna,” he said softly. “After all, you give yourself to the Lord of a Thousand Nights. I will show you such pleasure that you will not be worrying about such things at all.”
She gazed into his eyes. She really had little choice in this. The decision had been his, not hers. She wondered if his temporary lust didn't lead them into a grievous error, and if this life might not be the hell she had declared it would be two days ago. He was no Robert of Kelso, she thought, and realized with shock that she was glad for it. Tonight would have been somehow obscene with Robert.
“What are you looking at?” Ian asked.
“You.”
“And what do you see?” He asked a little stiffly, as if he anticipated an offensive response.
“I am not sure. Odd contrasts. A man who can be both kind and cruel.”
“Do not read complexity where none exists, Reyna. I am very simple. When I am pleased, I am kind. When I am angered, I am cruel.” He guided her toward the orchard path. “Now I will give you some advice to avoid the latter. You may call me Ian, or husband, or your lord, or any endearment you may want. But no more whoresons, bastards, churls, or spawns of the devil.”
He smiled when he said it, but she knew it had been no jest.
He had lied. He did not woo her during the day.
He seduced her.
Reyna suspected that with Ian of Guilford it had always amounted to much the same thing.
No pretty words and flatteries. No poetry and chivalrous gestures. Just a constant presence, and considerate attention full of the unspoken reminder that he wanted her and would have her soon.
A blur of festivities created a colorful setting to the anticipation drumming between them. Throughout the tournament and dinner and hunt, even during Duncan's leave-taking, each warm look and casual touch and occasional kiss he gave her increased the cadence of excitement to a more expectant pace than before.
She was helpless against it. Her spirit had already yielded, and it knew no resistance to his practiced talent. Her body knew even less. Her arousal in the garden never completely quelled, and her condition made her very alert to him, very conscious of the arm on her shoulder or waist, of the lips brushing her cheek, of the hand taking hers. His possessive touches became little plucks on the strings of desire. Delicious. Devastating.
By the evening meal an odd tightness had lodged low in her belly, and her whole body felt taut and strangely alive. Her excitement, and his subtle awareness of it, made her unsettled and silent. He, on the other hand, appeared completely at ease. As if he had done this, well, a thousand times before.
Morvan and David planned to depart for Harclow in the morning, and so the evening meal lasted longer than normal. Everyone seemed prepared to sit at the table talking over wine, even after the food was gone. And so it startled Reyna when Ian's hand slid up her back.
“We will take our leave now,” he said.
She glanced up and down the long table. “Everyone will know.”
“They already know, Reyna. We are newly married. In fact, Morvan has given me several peculiar looks, as if he finds it extremely odd that we left the bedchamber at all today.”
“I'm sure he does, considering how little he has been out of his since he came.”
He rose and took her hand and led her toward the stairs. Reyna tried to retreat like a worldly widow.
As soon as they were out of sight, the hand resting on her waist suddenly pulled her close and a scorching mouth found her neck. With a gasp she found herself pressed against the stairwell wall, looking up into a severe face and fiery eyes. He held her head and claimed her mouth with a searing kiss that made the earlier one in the garden seem tame. It was wonderful. And terrifying.
“I thought the day would never end,” he muttered, pressing a possessive caress down her back and hips. “I should be canonized for the restraint I have shown with you.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She scampered to keep from being dragged, worrying that his impatience meant he would just throw her on the bed and do this thing. She had rather counted on things building more slowly, as at the river.
He pulled her into the solar, kicked the door shut behind him, and turned her into his arms. She was awestruck by how dangerous he looked. She instinctively pushed against him a little.
He noticed. “I have frightened you.”
“A little,” she mumbled, feeling absurdly foolish. “Not much.”
“Too much.”
He walked away, toward the table. Some wine had been placed there, and he poured a cup. It took him too long to do so, and she wondered if her failure to match his passion annoyed him. He came back looking much less threatening, and offered the wine to her. She shook her head.
“I think maybe you should.” He drew her to the chair, onto his lap, and offered her the cup again. She took dutiful little sips. He watched her while he stroked her back in a comforting way.
“How do you feel now?” he asked.
“Stupid.”
He laughed. “Stupid? So much for my reputation.”
She bit her lower lip. “Nay, not just stupid, as you well know, but stupid enough. I am twenty-four years old, Ian, and here we sit with you calming me as though I were some girl.”
He took the cup and set it on the floor. “I should have been more careful with you. You did say that you had worried about it more than most.”
“Aye. When I was younger I convinced myself that I was very fortunate to have a husband like Robert, and to have never had a proper wedding night.”
He stroked her arm. “And when you were older?”
She looked at the fingers caressing her through the silk sleeve of her cote-hardie. The warm, light lines of pressure felt incredibly soothing and compelling.
“And when you were older?” he asked again.
She was embarrassed that he had guessed about that. But then he understood the world of the senses far better than she.
“And when I was older my mind held to that notion. But sometimes—at night—”
“Who was in your dreams at night? Robert? One of his knights?” he asked softly, moving his hand to her hair and face. Gentle touches. Subtle and exciting.
“No one I knew. A presence more than a person.” She had become very conscious of sitting on his lap, of his arm around her and that other hand lightly stroking her cheek and shoulders, artfully summoning again the anticipation of the day, which her fear had temporarily suppressed. Sparkling sensations dripped through her. Talking about those nights of dreaded, compelling discomfort only made the titillating expectation worse.
“And did you prefer that phantom's kiss to mine, Reyna?”
“Will you be jealous of a specter now?”
“Perhaps.”
The mood had subtly changed. She sat in a heavy silence, watching his hand caress her arm more firmly and then move to her thigh and leg. That sensual power flowed from him, surrounding her, invisibly reminding her of the pleasure she had felt with him before.
“I almost went mad with you lying beside me last night,” he said, kissing her cheek, keeping his face next to hers, inhaling and closing his eyes as if to savor what he smelled and felt.
“You should have let me leave.”
“I could not. I could tell from the way you undressed that you had never done that before. You lay so rigidly I knew you had never shared a bed with a man. That is how I knew your secret for sure. It should not matter that I am the first with you in all these things, but it does, and I kept you with me so I could savor my pleasure in it. You looked so beautiful while you slept, I could not take my eyes off you.”
His soft words pulled at her heart. They vaguely alluded to emotions other than lust. She straightened and looked at him.
Eyes full of warmth met hers. His hand stroked into her hair and cradled her head. “Kiss me, Reyna.”
She leaned forward hesitantly and pressed her mouth to his, awkwardly aware that her lips trembled. He responded gently, carefully drawing her into it. When his tongue joined them together her own met it, the touch a poignant connection.
He embraced her tighter, making her feel very small within his enclosing strength. No longer impatient, he led her slowly into her passion this time, seducing her toward the yearning pleasure with languid kisses on her mouth and neck and slow caresses on her thighs and stomach. Quickly she became the one who grew impatient as her breasts longed for his touch. She plunged her tongue into his mouth boldly and pressed his head close and knew a special exhilaration when he kissed her harder.
She felt a glorious freedom as the dizzying sensations took control of her. They were wonderful and marvelous when there was no worry, no guilt, no shame. He skimmed up the skirt of her gown, and then that tantalizing stroke was one of skin on skin. Something inside her sang with euphoria and relief. Her body came alive in an unearthly way, as if it possessed a separate consciousness that awoke beneath the intimacy of the strong hand on her body. She emerged breathless from his kisses, her arms tight around his neck, and looked into knowing eyes that absorbed her into him.
She touched that sensual mouth, caressing the lips with her fingertips. She kissed them softly, bit delicately, imitating him, trying to give him the sweet pleasure he had given her. His jaw tightened and his arms tensed and he accepted her small seduction for a while. Then something broke loose in him and he leaned her back into a dominating kiss of primitive possession.
Never breaking or loosening the bond, he eased them both to their feet and cupped her bottom with his hands and pulled her up against the length of his body. Stretched and bowed into his support, her yearning breasts pressed against his chest, and her womanhood throbbed with a hollow ache.
How did he manage sanity when she knew only mindlessness? How could he separate when their heartbeats, their breath, and every inch of them both yelled for continuation, for completion? When he eased her away she almost cursed him, but then she felt his fingers working the lacing on her gown.
“You do not make it easy to go slowly, Reyna,” he said, smiling his devastating smile while he slid the gown off her shoulders. He knelt on one knee to untie the garters at her knees and slip the hose off her legs.
“I am not afraid anymore,” she said, looking down at him, stretching her fingers through his hair. “I don't want to go slowly.”
He lifted each of her feet and swept the gown away. “But I do,” he said. “I want to look at you while the pleasure builds. I want to watch your body tremble at my touch and beg for relief. I want to hear your cries when the madness makes you offer yourself to me.” He rose and glanced down her body. “Remove your shift, Reyna.”
His words sent a streak of lightning through her body, straight to that pulsing hollow. The shift slid down her arms, off her breasts, past her legs.
He reached for her breasts, caressing them lightly, and they swelled even more in that craving way. She soon knew what he meant about her body trembling at his touch and begging for relief.
“You are so beautiful. Perfect.” His thumbs grazed the tight peaks. She lowered her eyes to the tanned hands holding her,
teasing her, arousing incredible sensations.
She did not doubt that in the end it would be as he said, but she would not have it all one way. She began unfastening the closures to his pourpoint.
Her boldness pleased him. He continued caressing her, pulling her closer, moving his hands over her nakedness while she undressed him. That inflaming touch distracted her so it was slow, clumsy going, but finally she had his shirt off. He pulled her up against him, and she reveled in the heady intimacy of embracing his naked back and chest.
He lifted her up and laid her on the bed, and then sat to pull off his boots and lower garments. She watched the muscles of his back and shoulders move, and could not look away when he rose and slid the clothing down his hard hips. He turned, magnificently naked. She examined his sculpted chest and torso and phallus, astonished by the new heat that the sight of him brought.
He came down beside her. Resting on his forearm, he traced her lips with his finger and watched the path with a thoughtful expression.
“You have had little choice in this,” he said. “I would know your will now. Do you want this?”
The question stunned her. Surely he could tell that she already almost cried for him as he had said she would.
He read her expression and shook his head. “I do not mean that. I have known from the first that I could make your body want me.”
He was asking a harder question. She was surprised that he sought this knowledge, astounded that it even mattered to him. “Aye. I want this.”
“With me?” The two words spoke volumes that included all of her references to his brigandry and dishonor, all of her curses. But her mind did not settle on those defensive denials now. Instead she remembered his swift justice for the poor tenant farmer, the strong arm saving her from the blackness at the motte, and his decision to continue a marriage that was her only chance for a decent future.
“With you.”
He leaned down and kissed her so gently that she thought her heart would break. “Then let us see what is possible between us, Reyna.” He pulled her against him until he molded her to his flesh, every inch of her skin connected to his.
He made love to her as if his own control were limitless. The kisses and caresses alone left her breathless and sightless, and her body stretched into his while her fingers explored the taut skin and muscles on his back and shoulders. He played at her breasts, creating a delicious anguish, brushing with a light touch and teasing with his tongue until she gasped again and again and arched her back, begging for more.
Lord of a Thousand Nights Page 16