It was one of complete trust.
She’d given herself to him completely, and his heart lurched with the knowledge that he still could not do the same. But he’d bring her pleasure, at least for this moment. He thrust his fingers inside her tight, wet sheath and moved his thumb to the place he knew would make her cry out.
And it did. Closing her eyes, she parted her lips just enough to show him the tip of her tongue. As much as he wanted to press his mouth to hers, Toren wanted to see her expression more.
“Toren.”
He knew what she needed.
And he gave it to her, stroking and caressing. He felt the wetness beneath his fingers as the deep, sensual sound escaped from her soft, supple lips. He did capture them then, moving his mouth across their sweet softness as she melted beneath his fingers.
Lifting his head again, Toren smiled as his proper English lady slowly came back to him.
Perhaps proper wasn’t accurate. Sensual. Smart.
“Beautiful.” He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
He half expected her to argue the point. Instead, she simply said, “Thank you.” Most women did not accept compliments well, but Jules was not most women.
“I want to please you, Toren.”
He’d withdrawn his hand and began to draw away from her, knowing their joining could not be repeated before the present uncertainty was settled. Even now she could be carrying his babe—in the lake, he’d not had the presence of mind to withdraw from her before his release.
“Nay,” he choked out. He did move away then. He was uncomfortably hard, but that was no matter.
“Toren,” she reached for his arm and stayed him.
“Jules, do you understand what you’re asking?”
Was she so innocent that she did not?
“When a man and a woman come together. . .” He couldn’t believe he was saying this. “There are ways to prevent it, but I didn’t. . . I took no precautions at the lake. I can’t continue to put you at risk that way.”
She didn’t understand.
“A bairn,” he blurted out.
Jules shook her head, smirking. “I may not have much experience,” she said. “But even I know ’tis not possible to grow with child from what you just did to me.”
Oh God. No.
“You are not—”
“Let me please you, Toren. I—”
“Nay. I don’t. . .”
He was about to say he didn’t deserve it. And he didn’t. Which was why he hadn’t gone to her before now.
She reached out so quickly he didn’t have the chance to stop her. Dammed if the woman didn’t actually lay her hand on his extremely hard cock.
“Show me. Give me the same power you have over me.”
Although it was beneath the fabric of his low-hanging shirt and breeks—he’d not been prepared for visitors—he could feel her touch so intensely Toren was afraid he would spill his seed even now.
“Jules—”
“Mayhap I will not ask.” The saucy woman lifted his shirt and loosened the ties that would ensure there was no turning back.
“You do not have—”
Dear lord, she pulled down the only remaining barrier between them. Moving the material aside, she actually put her hand on him—and the intensity of the pleasure he felt confirmed what he’d already suspected: their connection was both unusual and special.
He’d dreamed of this. Imagined her hand, and more, on him so many times that he was powerless to stop her.
The room had grown uncomfortably warm even without him attending to the fire. He shifted so that he could brace himself against the stone wall with one hand, for something told him he’d need the support.
Her feather-light touch teased him beyond measure, and when he could take it no more, Toren covered her hand with his own, wrapping both of their fingers around his swollen member. After just a few strokes, she needed no guidance.
“’Tis like you did to me.”
She began to move her hand even faster.
“It feels so hard. But soft here.” She stopped pumping him to circle his tip with her thumb, exploring the skin with a light caress. He could not do this.
The urge to be inside her was so strong, he simply could not resist it.
He envisioned pushing her against the wall and entering her, thrusting so hard there was no doubt he’d spill his seed inside her.
He never had the chance.
Jules wrapped her delicate fingers around him once more and moved so expertly he could do nothing other than clench his buttocks and lose himself to her.
“Oh Jules.”
He’d surely die of pleasure, the pulsing sensation so strong he clenched and released a thousand times in that brief moment.
Not even aware he’d shut his eyes until he opened them to find her watching him, Toren stared at her in wonder.
“How did you—”
She smiled so broadly he couldn’t help but do the same.
He moved away then, reaching for the cloth near the wash basin the maid had left earlier. He quickly cleaned himself, fastened his breeks lest he be tempted again, and made his way back to the blonde goddess who had just given him the most powerful release of his life, rivaled only by their lovemaking in the lake.
“I’m not sure. But I quite liked it.”
Liked it. For him, those words were too small to belong in any description of his Juliette, let alone the pleasure of being with her.
He pulled her to him then, and they stayed in each other’s arms for so long the fire at the other end of the chamber began to smother itself.
He wanted her to stay with him. Tonight. Every night.
“You should go.”
His voice was harsher than he’d intended.
“Aye.”
Without another word, Jules slipped out the door. She glanced back once and was then gone as quickly as she had come.
Though she was staying in the room next to his own—by design, if he’d correctly divined his sister’s intentions—the void she left was so complete Toren nearly called her back to him.
A chill that had nothing to do with the dying fire ran up his back at precisely the same moment the candle by his bed snuffed out.
Luckily, he did not believe in omens.
19
Finally.
Although it had only been three days since Jules and her party had arrived, it had felt like the longest three days of his life. When one of the knights Catrina had sent to Douglas as messenger walked into the hall, Toren wanted to embrace him.
The man nodded to him from the entranceway of the hall where they sat eating a rather subdued meal, and Toren tried to ignore the glances from those gathered around him. Especially from her. Did Jules suspect this was the message that would determine their future?
The day before, Lord Hedford had warned him that Juliette’s father would not be put off much longer. He’d sent a message to the man in his capacity as Juliette’s guardian, explaining that they had been delayed, but it would not buy them much time. Hedford had gone hunting with Waryn, and though they’d asked for him to join them, the prospect of spending an afternoon with his brother-in-law made him yearn for home. To be back among his brothers and clansmen.
But Jules is not in Brockburg.
Toren had waylaid Hedford in the stables and decided to be blunt.
“I know that you are an English spy.”
The man’s gaze had not wavered.
“And that you’re likely retired due to an injury that sent you home and to the altar.”
Although Hedford had not validated his observations, neither had he denied them.
“Though I’m unsure as to why you’re still here. Or why you agreed to come in the first place.”
Though not as tall or broad as he, the Englishman was nevertheless a large man, one who must have been formidable before the injury that had given him a near constant limp.
“I told you—”
“That
you want peace. That’s not an answer.”
Hedford frowned, a remarkable occurrence for a man who showed expression as rarely as Catrina’s husband did.
“My wife.” Lord Hedford didn’t look happy to admit such a thing.
That was not the answer Toren had expected.
“My wife pleaded with me, and she can be quite persuasive.”
He could imagine, her visit to the tent city still fresh in his mind.
“She and Juliette are more akin to sisters than friends. And Juliette. . . she cares for you. As you are surely aware.”
He had never been more intensely aware of anything.
Hedford shrugged. “Hallington will not be pleased. But the man never is. Perhaps that’s why we’re here.”
He would have liked to ask the man about Jules’s father, but their conversation had been cut short by Alfred’s arrival. He’d not seen much of the lad since their arrival at Bristol even though he’d sought him out on more than one occasion.
Now, standing at the back of Bristol’s hall, Toren carefully avoided a serving maid who smiled suggestively.
“What news?” he asked as he pulled the messenger into an alcove which afforded them some modicum of privacy.
The trusted messenger was a young, scarcely bearded Scottish knight, one of the few who had remained when Waryn took back Bristol. He had ridden across the border and back more swiftly than most, though not quickly enough for Toren, for the message he’d brought was of utmost importance.
The knight looked over his shoulder, presumably to ensure their conversation was indeed private, and then said, “Douglas knows of the arrest and says to carry out your mission.”
No. Please God, no.
“What else?” he growled.
“That was all he said.”
Toren had both feared and suspected such an answer. It didn’t matter that Hallington himself was innocent. The incident with the clergymen had reminded him as much. The rumors had resulted in a loss of faith so grievous, it would be near impossible to come back from it.
The king wished to eliminate the threat to the tenuous peace, no matter who was truly at fault. Had he not been personally involved in the situation, he might have agreed with him, and with Douglas.
The messenger looked over his shoulder, then nodded to him and walked away.
“Brother,” a soft voice said behind him.
Catrina slipped her small hand into his, and he let her guide him to the garden, where the sun’s dwindling light cast an eerie glow. They sat on a bench surrounded by flowers, and neither said a word for a long while.
“What will you do?” she finally asked.
Hell if he knew. He’d thought of nothing else for days, but he still struggled to form an answer.
“Talk to her. Tell her.”
He glanced at Catrina’s profile, pretending to consider her suggestion.
“Trust her, Toren. She loves you.”
“And I love her.”
It was almost impossible to say such a thing aloud, but the words slipped from him easily.
“I know.”
“If I refuse, our clan will pay for that decision.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, shifting on the hard stone bench. “Douglas may understand.”
He gave Catrina a hard look. “Understand that I fell in love with the daughter of the man I was sent to kill? And even if he does, what then? I stand by and allow him to send someone to kill a man who could be my father-in-law? If she’d even have me now. And if he accepted such a match. The man could very likely refuse my suit—”
“Toren, quiet!”
He had not intended to raise his voice.
“So don’t tell her. Don’t tell Douglas. Don’t ask Hallington for her hand. Trust no one, as always. If that’s what you want, Toren, then by all means, continue down the same path you’ve followed since Mother left.”
She leaped to her feet and began to walk away before turning back toward him.
“I would never betray your trust, brother. But know this. If you don’t tell her, you’ll lose her either way. Though the outcome is doubtful, Bryce and I will help you to the utmost of our ability. Always. But if you’re determined to be a horse’s arse, then you can do so alone.”
Dear lord. Had he really helped to raise such a woman?
He smiled. Though her words were harsh, they were also full of love. And he was so incredibly proud of the woman she had become. Of the men his brothers had become.
He had to protect his family.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?
Juliette closed her eyes as Christina pulled the ivory comb through her hair. They’d often done this growing up, and it always comforted her.
“I haven’t seen him since he left the hall. I had hoped. . .”
She closed her eyes and attempted to enjoy the soft pull on her hair. But Christina would not let her.
“We cannot stay here forever,” her friend said, telling her what she knew to be true.
After Toren had gone off with the messenger last eve, she’d expected him to return and explain everything. Instead, Catrina had left the hall after him, only to come back looking extremely vexed.
Juliette had then assumed Toren would come to her bedchamber to explain the evening’s events, and to give her the answers he’d promised her, so she had lain awake for hours, waiting.
He had not come.
She heaved out a sigh. “If I ever decide to trawl through the English countryside again, looking for love, please advise me otherwise.”
Christina chuckled behind her.
“I don’t believe your father will allow you to trawl anywhere after this ill-fated excursion.”
“I do believe you’re right.” She kept any other musing on her future to herself.
“Christina, I wanted to speak to you about your husband.”
Her hand paused momentarily before resuming its ministrations.
“What do you know about his background precisely?” she ventured.
She couldn’t see her friend’s face but knew her well enough to read the long pause.
“You know,” Christina finally stated.
“Aye, and Toren confirmed my suspicions. How long have you known?
“Since just before we left Condren. When I asked that we accompany you here. It took some convincing, but much less than expected. Which is when he finally opened up about his past, his role in the English government—”
“As a spy.”
“Aye, as a spy. A good one, I assume, as I only surmised then he knew all along of your father’s plans concerning Henry Rode. He knows your father better than either of us assumed.”
“I’ve guessed as much. Why do you think he has all but assisted Toren and I?”
“I do believe he—”
“Pardon, Lady Juliette?”
She hadn’t heard the door open. She turned to see a familiar maid standing at the entrance.
“Yes, Elise?”
“Your presence is requested in the hall, my lady.”
Toren! He would not come away unscathed from—
“You’ve a visitor.”
Juliette looked at Christina, who appeared as confused as she felt.
“A visitor?” she repeated.
The chambermaid simply nodded, but her worried expression was Juliette’s first indication there was a problem. Her second indication did not take long to manifest itself, for as she and Christina followed Elise down the stairs to the hall below, she could hear a raised voice she recognized all too well.
Dread pooled in her stomach. How had he found them so quickly?
With one final glance at her friend, who looked desperately uncomfortable, Juliette took a deep breath and rounded the corner.
His back was to her, which gave Juliette an extra moment to prepare for the wrath that was sure to be unleashed on her.
“Good day, Father.”
It appeared they’d waited to summon her last,
for everyone else was already gathered in the hall. Including Toren. He stood near the entrance, his face as expressionless as that of Catrina’s husband, who stood next to him. Their close proximity caught her off-guard. Juliette couldn’t recall ever having seen them stand so close.
“Juliette.” Her father was mad, aye, but relieved as well. He surprised everyone gathered, including her, when he took several strides toward her and embraced her openly. It wasn’t that her father had never hugged her before, but she could not remember him doing so publicly. He was a warrior in every way.
She took a deep breath, smelling dirt and sweat and. . . home. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to go back to Chauncy Manor and forget the uncertainty and heartbreak of the days since she’d left. To take the well-worn path to the abbey each day, be ordered about by the abbess, who put her to work under the guise of ‘instruction.’ To see her brother, whom she missed dearly, read to the ladies, and wait for the rare moments when her mother appeared more happy than forlorn.
The velvet of his surcoat brushed against her cheek, and as he released her, Juliette received the type of greeting she’d expected.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, so loudly that others may have mistaken it for yelling. She knew otherwise. This was her father’s brusque way of speaking. When he truly raised his voice, all would know it.
When he pulled back, she realized with a shock that her father, who was normally quite regal-looking, seemed rather disheveled. Stewart Hallington’s blond hair, a shade darker than hers, fell to his shoulders. His beard appeared more grown than usual, as if he’d not bothered to trim it.
Lord Hedford stepped forward.
“As I was saying, my lord—”
With one pointed glance from her father, the sharp and typically commanding Lord Hedford was completely silenced.
“Juliette?”
She was not afraid of him—at least not exactly. But she was also not very comfortable at the present moment.
“I trust you’ve attended to your business, Father?”
She laced her voice with the same sweetness she’d needed throughout her childhood when circumstances dictated.
His eyes narrowed.
The Chief's Maiden (Border Series Book 3) Page 19