by Geri Borcz
"You exaggerate."
"I'm not addled," he countered. "The lusty fools tripped on their tongues in their haste to move aside so that she might pass!"
If Rhys thought to gain a sympathetic supporter, he was mistaken. Angharad rolled her gaze heavenward.
"You're their lord, Rhys. They show respect and loyalty to the lady you've chosen to wed." She shrugged, then added, "But even so, 'tis up to her lord to see she has no reason to seek more from them."
"Her duty to me is reason enough," Rhys said.
"Duty makes for cold comfort, son." Angharad sighed her impatience. "Cease ordering her to your will and try wooing her. Sweet words persuade better than a bark."
Rhys glanced to the alcove again. He imagined persuading Juliana. Every luscious inch of her... out of that teasing gown... into his bed... long, slow and thoroughly.
If his mother could hear his thoughts, she'd blush to the soles of her feet.
"You're wrong, my lady," he said, his anger ebbing into gnawing frustration. "Sweet words mean little to her." He dragged his palm across his face, from forehead to shadowy chin. "Especially coming from me."
"Try, Rhys," Angharad said. "Juliana's in a strange place, surrounded by strangers, and fearful."
"Juliana?" he scoffed. "'Tis no fear of me in her, mores the pity."
"Fearful of what will happen to her family," Angharad said. "She's no flighty maid and understands well the seriousness of this business. Use patience with her. Use some of what you know about women." Angharad turned to leave, then pivoted. "And if you've any wits at all, you'll tell her that she's beautiful this eve."
With that parting advice, his mother turned away, back down the rows to the head table.
Rhys grumbled to himself about females who lacked discipline, then blew an irritated breath. He'd missed something. Somehow he'd come out the villain in this.
Not one day in his home and already Juliana had seized a measure of control. Both of his parents had sided with her. That realization didn't sit well. If Rhys weren't careful, she'd have the entire castle, and him, jumping to her every whim.
By the Rood, how long did she plan to stay in there? Surely, she'd come out to eat. Rhys knew she was hungry. Even the most deaf person in the hall knew she starved.
He'd not chase her like a repentant swain and beg her to eat. No doubt that's what she expected, but he'd done nothing beyond asserting his place as lord of the castle. He straightened his spine and glanced again to the alcove.
She'd not twist him around her little finger. Nay, she'd come to him with an apology on her lips. With that decision firmly rooted, Rhys turned back toward the table.
He took one step--two--swore under his breath, then swiftly reversed his direction. Fie on his men, let them think what they will.
~~~~
CHAPTER 14
Once through the narrow archway, Rhys rounded the corner that led to the garderobe. To his surprise, Juliana stood a few feet inside the recessed entry, with her face pressed against the cool stone, next to the closed door.
He came behind her with a cautious step. She'd stomped from the hall, spitting anger. No telling what vile talents she'd learned from her trio of rough brothers to dissuade a man's unwelcome attentions.
Rhys read her unchanged mood in the white-knuckled hand fisted against the wall. In contrast, though, she appeared shaky.
He stopped two paces from her, nearly choking on his rising anger. Did the thought of marriage to him sicken her? By the Saints, why couldn't Juliana meekly accept her lot like other women?
Then he knew. Because if she'd resembled the usual colorless horde of noble women in any way, he wouldn't have given her a passing thought. He stared at her back, his burning gaze tracing the delicate material as the folds caressed her supple body. Desire and need shot through him.
For her, he admitted to himself. Only for her.
Somehow, this unorthodox vixen had managed to slip beneath his guard and tangle around his heart. But she didn't care for him. The sudden panic that bolted through every nerve put him on edge.
"Juliana?" he said, more harshly than he'd intended.
She jumped, startled.
"Can I not seek a moment of privacy?" she said without turning around. "Must you stand guard here as well?"
"You didn't come in here for privacy."
"Of course, I did."
Her stomach gurgled.
Rhys crooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the crowded hall. "Nay, you may wish them to think that, but I know better. Your sense of direction is faulty."
"Give me a horse and I'll prove you wrong."
"Not a few hours past, you swore to behave," he growled, nettled that she still spoke of leaving. "Is this how you keep your word?"
"A vow tricked from me, aye," she mumbled to the wall. "Else, I'd have gladly seen you knocked on your arrogant arse."
He heard the ache in her voice.
Tears?
His eyes widened.
Defiant, proud, fierce, Juliana embodied so many things he admired. She possessed a sultriness, a sensuality, and an appeal that kept him wrapped in knots, until he questioned his sanity. And right now, her vulnerability pierced the armor of his anger.
Not surprising, Juliana babbled--illogical nonsense, not even worth pondering. Instead, her disgruntled words formed a ludicrous picture in his mind and brought a tender grin to his lips.
"Then, my lady," he said, "I count myself fortunate that, in your way, you have kept your word."
"Go away. You've humiliated me enough for one day."
The flatness of her tone cut deep. Weepiness always flustered him. He hunched his shoulders and shifted his feet, suddenly feeling like a green youth.
"Come and eat before you drop to the floor."
"I'm not hungry."
Another rumble contradicted her words.
He grinned.
"Liar." Rhys strode closer, inhaling her fresh rose scent against the stale air trapped by the stone and mortar. "You've not eaten since yester eve. But if you'd prefer to appease another hunger first...?"
He touched his fingers to her shoulder, aching to draw his hand down the satiny curves outlined by the gown.
Juliana whipped around, knocking his hand away. The liquid shimmer in her eyes changed lightning quick to determination.
"Thanks to you, my clothes are ruined." She clasped the skirt with her fingertips and spread the material for emphasis. "And though you dislike me in this, not for you, my Lord Adington, nor for anyone will I ever don rags!"
Her vehemence surprised him. Did he misjudge her motives? Perhaps she did seek to please him with her attire. Guilt increased his discomfort and he said the first thing that came to mind.
"I'd prefer to see you as God made you."
She gasped. "You would not dare."
The mercurial switches amazed him. Good, anger he dealt with better than tears. He never backed away from a challenge, and taming Juliana presented the biggest challenge of all. Rhys buried his smile behind a stern demeanor.
"Haven't you learned yet, Ana? I'd dare anything."
He leaned closer, lured to the soft texture of her mouth, but a hard slap to his cheek jerked his attention from erotic images. The sharp crack echoed off the walls.
Juliana dropped her hand and sucked in a quick breath, seeming as surprised as he. Her eyes rounded.
"I'm sor--" Then they narrowed with outrage and alarm. She inched backward. "Stay away from me."
She pushed through the garderobe door at her back, then slammed the portal in his face.
"God's death," he hissed to the thick door.
What nonsense wormed into her head this time? His cheek stung as he kissed the wood grain for only an instant. Tolerating tantrums rarely marked a good beginning to wedded life, so he decided to set their future tone right now. Using little effort, he shoved through the door into the narrow cubicle after her.
The necessary room lacked few appointments--the doo
r on one wall, and a short distance opposite, a knee-high stone slab with a seat cut into the center. Light came from a small resin torch that hung in a wall sconce to the left of the door, and to the door's right, an arrow slit provided the meager ventilation.
Juliana jumped away from the opening door and cried out in shock. "I'll scream."
"Never," he said in a deceptively calm voice, shutting the door behind him, "ever, try to close a door on me again."
He advanced on her retreating step while he spoke. A frightening edge cut his quietness, more menacing than if he'd raged.
"This is my castle, Juliana. Scream, if you wish to. Who's to gainsay me? I'll enter any chamber I choose, whenever I choose to do so." He wagged his finger. "And if the sorry whim enters your head to raise a hand to me again, I promise you, my lady, your backside will suffer my wrath."
"Haven't you insulted me enough?"
"I'm the one insulted. When I choose to tell you of your beauty, you'll have the grace to stand and listen."
"Is that what I heard?" she said. "Why do this? Do you hate Roger so much? Hate me so much?"
Rhys halted, taken aback by her question.
"Hate you? By the Saints woman, I've disobeyed my king and handed your brother my head on a platter for you."
She shook her head. "For my land. You want my land."
"Aye, I do." Rhys inhaled to calm his temper. The woman muddled his thinking. "But hate? Aye, I hate that you flaunt yourself."
"Flaunt? I have never flaunted in my life."
Without breaking her astonished gaze from him, Juliana backed into the small room, until her heel struck the base of the seat.
"All I can think about is ripping that cursed gown off," Rhys continued. "About all the warm skin underneath, burning for my touch. I want you, Ana."
As he stalked her, Rhys watched anger, then determination, then uncertainty glitter in her amber gaze. Better. She needed to worry about the consequences of provoking him.
"Oh, you wretch. Need you add to your sins and spout lies as well?" She sidestepped and raised her arms in front of her, palms up in a futile attempt to ward him off.
"I've spoken no lies, Ana," he said, closing the gap and blocking any escape.
He backed her against the unyielding wall.
"Pray, forgive me, my lord," she said. "I little realized that you often sneer your compliments."
Rhys watched her lips quiver and a pink tip dart out to moisten them, and he missed a breath. His ire vanished as quickly as it rose. He succumbed to the maddening impulse that had nagged at him since she'd first stepped into the hall.
Cornering her against the stone, he molded their bodies together from chest to thigh. His shoulders trapped her hands between them.
"Curse the gown and your brother," Rhys said in a hoarse whisper against her surprised mouth. "I'd see you." He leaned into her, flattening her between the hard wall and his hard body, leaving her nothing for leverage to shove him away. "All of you, Ana."
Bracing his palms against the stone on either side of her shoulders, he savored the soft curves so evident beneath his muscles. Heat flooded his body in a violent rush. He absorbed the outraged rise and fall of her breasts, the frantic pounding of her heart, and her body's trembling.
"Nay," she gasped against his lips.
"Aye," he countered.
God's death, he knew the timing and the place were wrong. But not the burning ache she evoked, nor the merciless tempest within him that her nearness spawned.
Rhys captured her mouth, ignoring the strangled sound coming from her throat. One taste, one hard, demanding, fiery taste. Sweet, so sweet. He tilted his hips, bringing his painful arousal into contact with her softness.
"You judge. Do I lie?" he whispered on a ragged breath.
"I--I--'tis a hall full of people out there."
"What does it matter?"
"What must they think we do?" she whispered.
"That you obey your lord?"
Rhys grasped one of her hands. Slipping it lower between them, he lodged the delicate palm on his groin where he craved her touch the most. His palm guided hers, measuring him with her fingers through the paltry barrier of cloth.
"Feel what I think of you, Ana?" he groaned, then chuckled upon seeing her eyes widen and hearing her rush of breath.
Rhys tormented himself with the fires of the damned. Long past a frenzied lad--burning for a woman, yet afraid she'd get away--he'd not hop on and off her like a cheap camp follower on the dirty garderobe floor. Nay, his Juliana deserved scented sheets, warm wine by a cozy fire, and unhurried attention to every luscious inch.
He clenched his teeth against the volatile surge of desire she wrung from him. A minute more of this exquisite torture. Let her understand who ruled as master.
"Look where we stand," she said.
The unwilling eagerness that rang in her breathy plea shot sparks of excitement to the bulge nestled in her warm palm.
"We can remedy the place," he said.
"Nay. Cease this."
"Not yet, sweeting," he said as a painfully slow breath escaped. "Not yet. Lick your lips."
"Rhys?"
"Give it to me, Ana," he said. "If you wish to leave."
"One kiss?" she said.
"You know how I like it. Wet... and deep... and hot," he said in a seductive whisper.
She obeyed, and a growl of predatory satisfaction rumbled in his chest.
Wedging his boot between her feet, he nudged her legs apart and settled himself firmly in the cradle of her hips. Hot. Pulsing.
He pushed against the slight mound, then swallowed her tiny cry as his tongue invaded her mouth. Smooth and silky. His breath quickened. Every heartbeat pumped the blood faster, and fanned the flames higher.
An instinct as old as time shook Rhys. He moved his hips. Slowly, he pressed and returned to her yielding body in rhythm to his probing tongue. The kiss was too much. Not enough.
Sensual ripples coursed through Juliana from the intimate touch and encouraged his hand to wander and explore. In a slow glide, he caressed her hip through the satiny fabric, sliding his fingers to her ribs.
Then he stroked farther, until one breast filled his palm. He drank in her low moan, as she arched into him, then he gave her what she sought. His thumb rubbed against a velvety button. He teased the nub with small whorls between his forefinger and thumb, until the tiny swell strained the cloth.
Perfect. Every part of her fit as though made for him--only for him.
The fires of temptation threatened to burn him alive. With herculean effort, he tore his mouth from hers.
"So?" he said, gulping air. "Do you yield, Ana?"
He couldn't resist gliding the raspy tip of his tongue across her glistening mouth.
She twisted her head to the side to dodge him, but presented her delicate ear to his hot tongue instead. "Rhys, I can't think with you doing that."
"Good, don't think," he murmured, nibbling a heated trail down her neck. "Yield to me."
"Nay," she said with urgency, digging the nails of one hand into his chest and pushing against his waist with the other.
He grunted approval of her aggressiveness and undulated his hips. "Nay? Your body doesn't lie, Ana. You want me. Your body says, aye." For emphasis, he continued teasing her breast with a soft, knowing touch.
"We agreed, Rhys, one kiss."
A little whimper of pleasure escaped from her throat, triggering a reaction deep inside him. Who was conquering whom? Her shiver, as she arched into him again, captured him completely.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered against her skin. Rhys raised his head. "Kiss me again, Ana."
Steadying his crushing weight with one hand against the wall, he lifted the other and cupped her heated face in his palm. His fingertips caressed the silky hair unraveling at her temple, while his thumb stroked her stubborn jaw line.
"You truly think so?" she whispered. Dreamy eyes gone smoky with desire searched his face.
"Aye," he breathed, warmed by her sudden shyness.
"Even in this gown?"
"Fishing for compliments?"
"But you said..."
"I said that I don't want anyone looking on you except me."
"You were so angry."
"I won't share you with anyone," he said. "Best you remember that."
Rhys watched a sparkle light her widened eyes and a faint smile tease the corners of her mouth. He realized he'd revealed too much. How witless to flatter her with jealousy. He groaned to himself. Never show an opponent a weakness, not if you intend to win the battle.
"You're such a confusing man," she said.
He harnessed his raging senses and mustered control, then reduced that effort to ashes. Rhys sucked in a ragged breath upon seeing the hunger she tried to hide.
"Jesu," he said in a reverent whisper, "but I like how you look at me."
Rhys drowned in a caldron of hot need and silently cursed.
Above stairs a bed waited, but here on the other side of the door, the hall teemed with people whose curious gazes fastened on the archway. In their minds, they ticked away the minutes.
"You must let me go," she said.
As much as his aching body taunted him to end his pain, he knew he asked too much for Juliana to face their smirks afterwards.
"Aye, you've the right of it," he said, deliberating misunderstanding her request. "'Tis far too distracting for a man to make love to a woman when she needs food. Jesu, but you're a noisy wench."