by Geri Borcz
"And you, my lord, are incorrigible," she said.
Rhys lowered his gaze to stare at her damp mouth, swollen from his kisses, and at the chafed spots where his whisker stubble had scraped the tender skin on her neck. She bore his claiming marks.
"And you, my lady, are mine," he said.
Deep in his soul, Rhys craved Juliana above all things. He wanted her chaos and unpredictability, her free spirit and unending loyalty.
"I belong to no man," she said. "Send me to Bekton or send me home. Send me before...before Roger comes."
Instinct told Rhys that she meant to say something else, and it hurt to recognize that she still didn't trust him enough to share her thoughts. One day though.
"'Tis too late for that," he said, his expression hardening.
Rhys would never let her go.
Her face lost its animation, and Rhys sensed a different kind of tension overtake her arousing movements. Reality intruded into his sensual haze. Juliana's fingertips slid up his chest, caressed his neck, then glided to his cheek and down to his chin.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, exploring his lips with a feather light touch. She spoke of the slap, but the gnawing urgency clamored deep inside Rhys: she meant to deny him and his claim. "You ask too much of me."
He fired her passion, he realized with a sinking feeling, but not her heart. As long as she stayed with him, he could live with only that, he reasoned.
"I ask naught of you, Ana, beyond a good wife's duty to her husband," he said.
"Jesu, she cried, pushing against him. "You're stubborn unto death."
As he resisted her puny efforts, he watched the warm light in her eyes dim. She may have seemed eager for him a few minutes ago, but not now. Never before had his pride taken such a beating.
Rhys wanted Juliana with an intensity so palpable; he tasted it. He wanted her to desire him, as much as he desired her. Now and forever. But he wouldn't beg. By the Saints, he wanted more. It was her duty to care for him.
"This one time, I'll relent," he said. "First, though, sweet Ana, you'll give me a taste of what I want."
* * *
Juliana wondered which of them had lost their mind. Rhys for seducing her in the garderobe, or her for hoping against all sane reasons he'd succeed. He confused her unmercifully by never reacting as she expected.
He excelled at making it difficult to retain a thought.
Recklessly, she'd struck out in hurt and insulted him beyond tolerance, yet he chastised her not with a heavy hand as she feared, but with the tenderest caresses of an ardent lover. This subtle retribution he meted out for her crime frightened her, because he aroused the most incredible feelings. To her horror, a sweet languor invaded her limbs, crippling her reasoning.
Pinioned between hard rock and harder man, her heart slammed into her chest. Beautiful he'd whispered in that midnight voice. A feeling of well-being surged through her body. She forgot the sting of his earlier comments and centered on the sincerity that still rang in her ears. Her senses reeled from the heady promise that a bit of jealousy signalled a beginning.
A beginning to what? A beginning to her life as an unimportant burden? Think. He hadn't changed his reasons for her presence in his home. Instead, she'd fallen prey to his beguiling spell. She melted like snow in the hot sun whenever he came near. What about her future after he slaked his lust? Once he pushed her aside, could she content herself with a few fleeting memories of paradise?
She stared into Rhys's chiseled face, the hazy light kissing angles honed by strength and years of battles. Dark lashes fringed eyes that had never seemed bluer, like mountain water swirling in the clearest pool, deep and inviting. Nor had they ever seemed more promising, or searching, or persuading.
"What do you want?" she said. She meant to demand, but it came out a breathy request.
"A kiss," Rhys repeated so softly she strained to hear. "One freely given and willingly shared. A memory."
Her knees weakened.
Guard your heart. Trapped by his strength and faced with his compelling desire, she refused to acknowledge his wet whispers, or his gentle touch, or his little kindnesses. She didn't want anything to intrude that might override his many faults.
But the wisdom to stay focused slipped away. Rhys stood too close for clear thinking. The overwhelming pressure of his warm body covering hers sent sensual ripples throughout her nerves.
Holy Mary and Joseph, he felt so right. So wrong. She inhaled his earthy scent, virile man and desirable sins, with every erratic breath and trembled inside. Her traitorous body sought his hard contours, the intensity of his pull so powerful it drove out all coherent thought, except one that refused to stay quiet.
Choose between Rhys and Roger.
Her body throbbed with need. Her heart ached.
What madness lured her to put her lust for this man above her pride? Above a lifetime of love, honor, and loyalty that she owed to her brother? Juliana realized with startling clarity that she'd forsake all those things, once she gave in to the desire to lie in Rhys's arms.
Worse yet, Roger meant to kill Rhys. Though Rhys negated the danger with an infuriating confidence, Juliana knew her oldest brother too well.
Roger always won.
Nay, of all Rhys would take from her, he asked too much for her to live with the guilt of knowing she caused his death.
"A kiss? Then you'll let me go?" she asked over the growling of her empty stomach. His wicked grin stirred a thrill that curled her toes.
"Then I'll escort you back to table," he said. "This night, Ana, we'll appease one hunger at a time."
Not the complete freedom she'd foolishly hoped for, but a simple kiss to gain her immediate release from his disconcerting nearness. From the frightening sensations that tested her loyalty and pulled her in opposing directions. She needed distance to reclaim her wayward sanity. A kiss, such a small price to pay.
Juliana nodded and touched her mouth to his.
Over and done.
A brow arched, and she stared into an expectant gaze.
"That, my sweet Ana, is what a good daughter gives to her father before she retires for the eve," Rhys said. "Of late, you're not such a good daughter, and praise to the Saints, I'm not your father. Cease playing. Kiss me, Ana. Give me your fire."
"I can't," she said.
The wet and wild kiss he demanded would drop her into the shameful abyss she feared. This dark and enticing devil tempted her fall from grace. Where they stood or how many curious people awaited them no longer mattered. She craved Rhys that much.
"Then you've not kissed enough men," he growled. "You need the practice."
Did Rhys still believe she panted after Oliver? Was the man blind? Incensed that he called her innocent and of loose moral fiber all in the same breath, Juliana narrowed her eyes. She tightened the fingers that clutched at his waist.
"And you're the man to remedy my lack?" she said.
A prod at the top of her thighs signalled agreement. The picture popped into her mind of Rhys lying naked, with all those splendid muscles open to her admiring view and leisurely touch. Never, before meeting him, had she entertained such bold thoughts about a man. Not even her late husband had sparked such wicked desires burning within her depths. Fitted so intimately against Rhys, she lost her breath and the words to deny him.
Juliana panicked and sent a silent plea heavenward--show her a way out of this madness. Help her to resist before she lost herself in this man, before she lost her family, before she lost her heart.
Something solid and pebbly slid under her touch.
His sword belt.
A heavenly answer?
Jesu, did she dare try to turn his own sword upon him?
"I'll be the only man," Rhys said. "We'll practice, Ana, until you master the skill. That skill," he added, then whispered, "amongst others."
His fingertips feathered across her heated cheek with a gentleness that belied his tone. A tone unaccustomed to disobedience.
; Dizziness assaulted her.
"Well? I'm waiting, Ana."
Juliana needed to escape from the rioting emotions he provoked within her, escape from him, escape from Adington before she brought disaster down upon them all.
She'd asked for aid and received a sign.
Now, the rest was up to her.
Juliana responded before she lost her nerve completely and without thinking through the rashness of her idea. He asked for a memory? Well, she'd give him a kiss that scorched to the leather of his polished boots.
"As you wish, my lord," she said.
She relaxed her body into Rhys, soft and pliant against his muscles. Through half hooded eyes, she watched surprise, then pleasure bathe his handsome features. Drawing on a boldness she scarce knew she possessed, she wet her tongue, then drew the tip slowly and provocatively around her lips.
"Sweet Jesu," he said.
His hiss of breath provoked a thrill that cascaded from her fingertips to her knees. Juliana tried to force down the unsettling sensation.
The blaze in his eyes became too much for her to bear. She lowered her lashes, then touched her tongue to his mouth and traced the curve and texture of his lips. She circled the sensitive edges of his mouth and absorbed the shudder that passed through him. Another strange sensation uncurled deep in her stomach. A whisker stubble brushed against her lips, bringing a shiver of delight that caught her off guard.
She caressed him with her tongue until his lips parted. With the hand around his waist, she kneaded his back, trying to ignore the enticing feel of sinewy cords that bunched beneath her touch. Instead, she concentrated on tugging free the other hand trapped between their bodies.
Brushing her lips to his once, twice, she settled them with warm pressure and slid her tongue softly into his mouth, tasting his need. His throaty growl matched her unexpected pleasurable moan. She welcomed the trusting arms that coiled around her body, and without realizing it, snuggled tighter to his heat.
Juliana took the lead and slanted her mouth over his. She stood on tiptoe, pushing forward in an effort to get closer, until Rhys twisted his back into the wall for balance. The abrupt shift recalled her purpose.
"Not so tight," she whispered against his mouth. "You're so strong, you crush me."
As she'd hoped, he loosened his snug hold. Her mouth returned to his, while her hands roamed his body, lulling him.
His breathing sounded harsh and ragged to her ears. The coldness of the sword touched her questing palm. She eased her fingers around the hilt.
Startle him with a swift lunge backward. Grab the sword.
He'd stand at her mercy, then. She trusted her skill with the weapon that much.
Should she use him as hostage to effect an escape? What if he doubted her purpose? Bluff her way out? Or--put the weapon to deadly use?
Ugly questions chipped away the veneer of courage she tried to hide behind. The steel's chill penetrated every nerve ending. Her hand shook.
Somewhere in the back of her mind a memory bombarded her resolve--Roger, I swear never to pick up another weapon. She'd given her oath, and he trusted her enough to believe in her honor.
But did that oath bind her now?
She gripped the wide hilt until her fingers ached. For a long moment, she debated with herself. Her hand, arm, and body trembled with indecision.
Strike. If ever, now.
With an anguished cry, she pressed her mouth against her tormentor. Her tongue slid deeper. His body grew harder.
Juliana inhaled the sweet taste of Rhys as she glided further into his warmth, and for a fragment of eternity, he slipped deeper into her heart.
~~~~
CHAPTER 15
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Lady Juliana?"
The insistent rap and muffled call rocked Juliana from the edge of her mental precipice. Her hand slid from the sword hilt, and she broke off the self-serving kiss with a groan, an odd sound, a mixture of relief and anger that mingled with Rhys's frustrated grunt.
Coward. She buried her forehead in Rhys's shoulder, ashamed of such disintegrating willpower.
"I swore to behave," she said more to herself than to him. "And I do keep my word."
She heaved a sigh. Trust and honor were prickly things.
"Ana?" Rhys whispered, cradling the back of her head in his palm. The tenderness that laced his gruff voice scraped her battered nerves raw. "What I said earlier... I never truly thought you'd go back on your oath."
She nodded, unable to speak past the sudden guilt lodged in her throat. The taste soured on her tongue.
The decision had escaped her. Or had it? Perhaps she'd made her decision? Her thoughts jumbled into a confused mass, too much to ponder now.
"Ah, love," he murmured, caging her within the protection of his arms. He crushed her against his tunic, surrounding her with the warmth of his chest and body like the rich material surrounded him. "I've never enjoyed bargaining more. How you do make conceding a point worthwhile."
"Practice?" Juliana said.
Rhys tilted her face to meet his eyes. He scowled.
She shot him an innocent smile.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Lady Juliana," again said the voice through the door. "Are you unwell?"
Rhys whispered near her ear, "There's someone who wishes to meet you."
The pride in his voice puzzled Juliana. Her mouth formed a surprised 'oh', but she saw the smile shining in his eyes and nodded. Reluctantly, she stepped back and smoothed her skirts with trembling fingers, then gulped a calming breath, ready to leave the stale chamber and face whatever came next.
"Come," Rhys called instead.
The door swung open and Juliana halted her step. The young lady with the startling eyes, whom she'd seen earlier at the dais, breezed into the small chamber. She carried herself with an aplomb that saw nothing amiss about walking in on two people in the garderobe.
"Papa, is aught amiss?"
"Lady Juliana of Stanmore," Rhys cut in, as he stepped forward and extended his hand toward the maiden. "May I present my daughter, Isobel?"
Papa?
Shock rolled in turbid waves through Juliana. Her harried mind first sorted through the knowledge that Rhys possessed a daughter, then absorbed the news that Isobel wasn't a leman.
"You are well come to Adington, my lady," Isobel said, then made her obeisance.
Polite to a fault, but ludicrous given where they stood.
"Daughter?" Juliana squeaked.
Holy Mary and Joseph.
That Juliana had again jumped to the wrong conclusion, and with such unwarranted zeal, struck her as mortifying. Penance. Surely that explained her constant lunacy around this man. God sent him as her penance for disturbing the natural order of women's blind obedience.
Her face flamed. Juliana contemplated swooning to avoid their eyes, then dismissed that idea. God only knew what inhabited the rushes scattered on the plank floor, and she'd never swooned in her life. It'd make matters worse, if she couldn't fake it correctly. Perhaps if she slinked away and hid under a bed, no further disasters could befall her this eve?
She shook her head.
"I'm so embarrassed," she admitted.
Isobel straightened and flashed a winning smile.
"You needn't be," she said with worldly wisdom. "At times this is the only quiet place in the whole keep."
The mischief gleaming in the impish face didn't help. Juliana groaned to herself, then threw a silent promise to atone for all the disparaging things she'd imagined. Well, almost all. Rhys still addled her wits. Nothing in her lifetime of dealing with rough warriors had prepared her for someone as vexing or complex or disturbing as he.
Amongst the riot in her soul, sweet emotion welled within her breast. Too powerful and too fast. Juliana felt light-headed. He didn't keep a mistress her heart sang. Chagrin at her errors, coupled with Isobel's audacity to readily accept such an unusual situation, dived into hilarity.
"Juliana?" R
hys said, darkness chasing away his proud expression. "Does this displease you?"
Juliana stared wide-eyed at Rhys, then back to the fragile innocence before her whose smile wavered.
"I adore children," she choked out. Her hand flew to her mouth, but a tiny giggle escaped from her lips.
A smile cracked Rhys's face, dispelling the concern.
"His daughter," Juliana chuckled, laughter bubbling to the surface.
She couldn't hold it back. She flung her arms wide, yanked Isobel to her and smothered the young lady in her glad embrace, while exploding with peals of laughter that sent the torch flame gyrating wildly.
"This is Isobel," she cried.
"Aye, my lady," Isobel said on a muffled giggle.
Juliana hugged Isobel to her chest and laughed until her eyes watered. Then gasping for air, she wiped a knuckle at the corners of her eyes.
"Oh, your pardon, 'tis that I thought--I thought--"
"Ana, sweet," chuckled Rhys. "What did you think?"
She lifted her gaze to his face. His teasing eyes and softened features said he'd missed the jest, but he enjoyed her infectious humor. Juliana dropped one arm from around Isobel and turned a sheepish face to him.
When cornered use the element of surprise and attack. She'd learned the truth of that strategy as a child, biding time on the practice field with her brothers, and in getting out of one scrape after another. Good advice then, why not now? Take the offense and put your opponent on the defensive.
"You're a widower?"
Rhys's eyes widened and his mouth fell slack. Juliana decided to abandon her ill-devised offensive in favor of a dignified retreat. The dumbfounded expression on a face usually etched in confidence resurrected her mirth, but she met him with bland curiosity.