The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3)

by Cecelia Mecca

  Even though he was dimly lit, she could see the lines of each muscle in his chest and stomach. She stepped closer and ran her hands along his arms, reveling in the bumps and curves of his muscles.

  “Ah God, lass. . .”

  So this felt good for him?

  “I will explore every bit of you before the night is through,” she said.

  He pulled her to him in response, and instinct drove her to wrap her arms around his back. Kissing her neck, he trailed a path toward the sensitive flesh behind her ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath as he teased her there. She gripped him, not embarrassed to beg.

  “Please.” She wanted. . . more.

  He gave it to her.

  Grasping her buttocks, he pressed into her until she could feel the full length of his manhood against her.

  “It’s time to cool off,” he whispered.

  “What—”

  She felt the rush of air against her body before she realized what he had done. She was sure she’d never disrobed herself so quickly in her life. He stood back and simply stared. How odd it was to stand there before him, utterly naked as a needle.

  He reached out, cupped her breast, and rubbed the tip with his thumb. It hardened instantly.

  He’d reached beneath her shift before, but it felt different now that she was completely naked. More sensual. She closed her eyes and wondered if it would also feel more intense when his fingers played with her down there.

  The pressure of his hand lifted suddenly, and when she opened her eyes, ready to protest, she realized he had only pulled away to remove the remainder of his own clothing. He stood in front of her, tall and proud.

  She looked down.

  Oh dear.

  “You said it was time—”

  “For a swim,” he finished.

  Was he serious?

  Apparently, he was. Taking her by the hand, he pulled her toward the edge of the water, and before she could decide if this was a good idea, her toes were wet. The water was not frigid, but it was not very warm either.

  “Don’t think, just keep moving.”

  Hadn’t she done that all night? Or all week, to be precise?

  So she did. Before long, she was submerged up to her waist.

  Toren released her hand and disappeared underwater with a splash, only to emerge right beside her.

  Holding her breath, she ducked her head under the surface and swam away, but not too far. When she emerged, she turned to find Toren behind her. He grabbed her around the waist and pressed his body against hers. She could feel the evidence of his need against her again.

  Juliette shuddered.

  “Cold?” Moving her wet hair to one side, Toren kissed the sensitive spot below her neck. She wanted him to do what he’d done the past two nights in her chamber—to stroke her and fill her with his fingers—but could not bring herself to say such a thing aloud.

  “Nay, I’m not cold.” Just the opposite. She felt warm all over when he was this close to her.

  He reached around to cup her breast once again. But his hand stayed there only briefly before lowering to the spot that had given her so much pleasure.

  It was as if he’d heard her thoughts and thought only of pleasing her.

  He slipped inside and moved. . . back and forth. His fingers circled and pressed.

  “I. . .”

  She wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what exactly.

  “What is it?” He continued to press into her with increasing speed. She grabbed his hand, needing to hold on to something.

  “Show me,” he said.

  At first she didn’t understand, but when he stopped moving his hand, only starting again when she reached down to guide him, she realized he wished for her to set the pace.

  Everything ceased to exist besides the two of them. And then everything inside her tensed and an explosion pulsed through her, radiating wave after wave of sweet sensation. The sounds she made surely weren’t her own.

  “I’m going to make you mine, Jules.”

  What did that mean? He’d made it clear she was anything but his. Had he changed his mind?

  Spinning her around, Toren moved his lips over hers, his tongue plunging inside to capture her own as water splashed around them. Jules belatedly understood what he had meant about making her “his” when he reached down below the water’s surface and she could feel him pressing against her.

  That was not his finger.

  She wanted this. She wanted him. She didn’t want a stranger to show her. Or to never know a man before committing herself to a life of servitude.

  “Show me, Toren,” she said, sensing his hesitancy and echoing his earlier words. He’d slowed his movements, and Juliette wanted to be sure he understood.

  “Make me yours.”

  He grabbed her then, pulling her up so her legs wrapped around his waist. The man was holding her body weight up with one arm, acting as if it were effortless. With the other, he inched his hardness closer to her core, where his fingers had been.

  “This is irreversible, Jules.”

  She didn’t answer him. Couldn’t if she’d wanted to. She felt a pressure then, a fullness as he pressed.

  “This will hurt a bit.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Ouch!” He’d thrust into her and stilled, his hands now both holding her buttocks. It would have been difficult to change her mind even if she’d wanted to.

  Which she did not.

  The initial sting gave way to an. . . interesting. . . sensation.

  And then he began to move.

  The warm water—had she ever thought it cold?—was like a blanket surrounding them on every side. He held her, moved her, thrust into her and with each movement, she wanted more.

  Catching on to the pace quickly, Juliette helped as best she could.

  “Kiss me,” he asked, and she did so gladly.

  This time it was she who captured the tip of his tongue with her own. As he moved faster, water splashed onto her from every side. The completely foreign but highly enjoyable sensations were every bit as powerful as before, but this time the knowledge that they were truly joined made it somehow. . . sweeter.

  She pushed down onto him, and Toren tore his mouth from hers.

  “Bloody hell, Jules.”

  That feeling was stealing up on her again, the building one that made her feel like she was nearing a cliff, only it would be safe to jump off the edge. To soar through the air and revel in her very aliveness.

  “Please.”

  He guided her as she pulled on his hair, holding him close so she wouldn’t fall into the dark recesses of the water beneath them.

  “Toren! It’s happening again.”

  And it was. She screamed—a most unladylike sound—though she wasn’t alone. He did the same, making one final thrust as she pulsed around him.

  She didn’t want to move. Or want him to move. Juliette simply wanted to stay in this position forever.

  Still breathing heavily, Toren looked at her, his expression solemn.

  “You’re a maiden no longer.”

  He regretted it.

  “Good.” She did not.

  Somehow she had to make him understand she really had wanted this. That she didn’t have the slightest care about how wrong it had supposedly been. Nothing in her life had ever felt more right.

  He lifted her up and away from him, but then wrapped his arms around her. With her cheek pressed up against his chest, Juliette inhaled deeply, trying to remember the smell. Tomorrow, he would be gone.

  “You know,” she said, pulling back to look at him, “I thought earlier to convince you to keep me.” The words had not come out as flippantly as she’d intended, so she rushed to finish. “I’d decided to keep you.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “But since I can’t, thank you for giving me this instead. It had to be with you.”

  His smile vanished.

  “Nay, lass. Thank you for giving
me the most precious gift anyone has ever bestowed on me. I don’t deserve it. And should not have taken it. But it’s done, and by God it was magnificent.”

  She did smile then. Whether he realized it or not, he complimented her constantly.

  They stood in the waist-deep water, wrapped in each other’s arms, for so long, Juliette began to shiver. But she would not be the one to end this night. Once they left this otherworldly haven, it would be the start of a long journey.

  A lifetime of knowing desire. And love.

  And having lost it forever.

  Toren couldn’t recall the exact moment he’d made the decision to become the very man he’d railed against. His brother-in-law would be vastly amused.

  He walked to the bank of the lake hand in hand with Jules. If they could have stayed in that water forever, left their troubles on shore and began life anew together, Toren would have jumped at the chance.

  She was shivering from cold, and he wrapped his tunic around her as soon as they reached their clothing.

  “Use it to dry yourself,” he instructed. Though she looked at him oddly, Jules did as he asked. They hastily picked up and shook out their discarded garments.

  The water stood in stark contrast to the castle in the distance. The feast and dancing would continue late into the night, especially now that they were nearing the end of the tourney. But there was no glamour or glory here. Just nature and peace.

  And love.

  He’d fallen in love with the one woman he could never claim as his own. . . and he’d taken her despite knowing he shouldn’t.

  “How will I get this back on?”

  Jules held the wrinkled velvet dress in her arms, carrying it to him as gently as if it were a wee bairn.

  “Just so,” he answered and proceeded to help her don the shift and gown, which required lacing up each side. With her soft leather shoes in place, she was completely clothed, though none who spied her in such a state would have any doubt as to her actions that night.

  “Come to my tent. It’s much too early for you to go back now. We’ll wait until most of the guests are asleep. Besides,” he wrapped the belt around his waist and secured his dagger and sword into place. “I can’t very well escort you back like this.”

  His tunic was too wet for him to don, so he stood shirtless.

  “I think it’s a fine look for you.”

  He turned back to catch her appreciative glance at his muscles. Mayhap the tent would be a good idea for another reason as well.

  “In that case, for my lady, I will fight in the last match as such tomorrow. For your viewing pleasure.”

  “You had not planned on participating, even so close to being named champion?”

  He took her free hand and they walked away from the stream.

  “Nay. But if it would bring you pleasure, I will do so. As I am.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she said.

  “That, my fair maiden, is a challenge. Toren Kerr, third of his name and chief of Clan Kerr of Brockburg, accepts it as such.”

  14

  After she made it back to the castle, escorted by Toren, Juliette slept deeply for just a few short hours before Christina burst into her chamber with Helen.

  “Still sleeping? Juliette, hurry. We don’t want to be late for the final match!” She tugged on her hand. “I’ve never known you lay abed beyond sunrise.”

  She allowed the maid to help her into a pale yellow gown lined with gold thread about the neckline, which plunged lower than most of her gowns. She normally allowed her hair to flow freely, but today the maid braided it, weaving small crystals into the plait to catch the sun’s rays. It was a trick she’d read about in an ancient text that told the story of how one Egyptian servant had won the heart of a pharaoh. She carried them with her for just the right moment, and today was certainly that.

  Toren was leaving. And after last eve, she was more certain than ever.

  He was the one she’d come here to find.

  Truly, in her heart, she hadn’t expected to find love at the tournament. She had wished for it, aye, but to have actually met a man who made her feel as he did. . .

  When they were finally alone, Christina grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “What did you do?”

  She simply smiled.

  “Juliette, nay. Tell me you’re jesting.”

  “I love him,” she said simply.

  “Love him—”

  “It was my choice,” she added quickly.

  Her stomach turned as Christina’s eyes took pity on her. She might as well tell her everything.

  “He’s leaving today.”

  “He’s. . .”

  Her poor friend’s eyes widened bigger than Toren’s tournament shield.

  “So that’s your plan? Give your virginity to a man you’ll not be marrying. Wave goodbye as he heads back to Scotland. And then what?”

  Christina feebly attempted to warm her hands by the dying embers of the fire.

  “I don’t know.”

  She didn’t have a plan. Her heart urged her to make him stay, but Toren Kerr was not a man who could be made to do anything. But she was just so confused. He appeared to care for her as much as she cared for him, so why did he not wish to marry her? What was keeping them apart?

  A hard knock on her door came at just the right moment.

  It was Christina’s husband waiting to escort them to the meal. Even the simple breaking of their fast was grand this morning. And while the crowning event, the melee, was still to come, this morning’s event was just as revered.

  Toren would be matched against the English champion, and none were pleased the scoundrel Blackburn would represent their country. If only the legendary Waryn men had been here to defend their titles. Lord Thornhurst, alas, had been injured in his last match.

  If she thought the meal was grand, Christina fairly fainted when they reached the lists.

  “Have you ever seen anything like it?” Christina asked.

  “’Tis most impressive,” her husband agreed. The crowd had swelled beyond capacity. It seemed every seat in the galleries and all the bench seats below were filled, but Christina spotted an opening in the berfrois. Many waved ribbons and colorful cloths in the air, and the crest of every important family in Northumbria was represented.

  Musicians played as everyone awaited the two champions. Grooms, handlers, physicians, and tournament officials all gathered at the entrance to the lists. Juliette sat with her companions, scanning the crowd for him.

  Cheers greeted both men as they entered the field simultaneously. Toren sat taller and more regal, even though it was supposedly he who was the barbarian.

  It was impossible to carry on a conversation over the noise, but she smiled at Christina, who gave her a curious look in return. Did Christina judge her as others would? She was the one person whose good opinion truly mattered to Juliette. Her heart crumpled a little in her chest at the prospect, but her friend finally smiled back. Even though Christina was surprised, mayhap disappointed at what she’d done, she would support her, and Juliette loved her for it.

  “He’s coming this way! Juliette, your ribbon.”

  Sure enough, Toren maneuvered his mighty warhorse toward her once again. When he tipped his lance to her this time, she not only tied her favor to the end of it but waved to him as well. He raised his hand in greeting, and Juliette wondered if the galleries would open up and swallow her.

  For that was how she felt. Consumed in every direction by light and happiness. In that moment, she decided she would not do it. Whatever happened, she would not let this man simply walk away.

  After Blackburn took his favor from another, the men retreated to their respective recesses and prepared for the match. She tried to ignore the speculative eyes that were trained on her. Let them whisper about how she’d given her favor to Toren again and again. Juliette did not care.

  “He will no doubt win,” Christina shouted, and Juliette silently agreed.

  �
�Blackburn is highly skilled,” Hedford replied, also shouting. “He’s won tournaments across the continent, though some question his methods.”

  Did he cheat to win? The possibility didn’t surprise her given his behavior during the tourney, but there wasn’t a chance for her to press Lord Hedford. The herald’s horn blasted, signaling the start of the match.

  Juliette couldn’t watch.

  She squeezed her eyes closed as the men met each other, but they flew open upon the first sound of wood and metal clashing.

  Both men were still seated, though they had each lost their lances.

  Back in the recesses, they were handed fresh lances—a pattern that occurred two more times, the last pass a clear point by Toren.

  This joust was perfectly horrendous. She squirmed in her seat, alternating between opening and closing her eyes.

  Finally, on the fourth pass, Toren knocked Blackburn to the ground, but the man immediately rose to take his sword from his squire. Though by rights Toren could have stayed seated, using the advantage of height in the ensuing swordfight, he did not.

  Her chief had a peculiar sense of honor.

  He raised his fist, indicating both opponents should return to their recesses, a move within his rights to properly secure his weapon. Spectators’ necks strained to see what was happening, but since Toren was clear across the lists from where she sat, she only caught sight of him when he began walking back toward the center.

  Whispers of surprise around her were matched with Christina’s much more blunt comment, “By God’s blood, what is he doing?”

  What, indeed. She would kill him.

  The daft man had removed his armor. And though his legs were still covered with the thick leather favored by the Scots, his chest was completely and utterly bare. Nothing. No shirt, no mail. . . nothing to shield him from his opponent.

  She suddenly remembered his promise. She would have laughed aloud if she weren’t so scared.

  “What is he doing?” Christina asked.

  In response, she reluctantly smiled. The man truly was like a Greek god who’d chosen to honor humankind with his presence. As he swung his sword upright in preparation for the fight, his muscles tensed. Juliette was sure she’d never see such an awe-inspiring sight again for the rest of her life. Some of the guests stared at her, but she pretended not to notice.