Devil's Knight

by Geri Borcz

  Delicious. He tasted of wicked nights and sultry breezes. Her nose filled with his intoxicating musky scent. The faint shudder coursing through him echoed in her body and spurred her to retrace her path.

  "Can another make you feel that?" she murmured between kisses, mimicking words he'd once whispered in her ear.. Greedy fingers eased up his torso, massaging heated skin before teasing whorls around flat nipples. "You tremble, Rhys, quiver with want. Your body begs for me to touch... everywhere."

  "Ana, my sweet Ana," he groaned, raising one hand to free the strands from her thick braid and stroke her hair free, while the other caressed exposed skin within its reach.

  Through a curtain of hair, she fumbled with the drawstring to his chausses and tangled the knot.

  "I want to watch you in your passion," she whispered, flicking her hair back so she could nibble his flat stomach. "Hear you cry out my name."

  The muscles contracting beneath her lips and the throaty moan drifting to her ears sent shivers rippling along her spine. Pleasing him doubled her soaring pleasure, and hunger clawed at her insides. Too impatient, she abandoned the knot and slid her hand lower, circling slowly before easing between his legs.

  She cupped her palm on his obvious need, caressing him, stroking him gently, while he overflowed her hand. Hard. Pulsing. Upon hearing his sudden intake of air and feeling his body jerk, she chanced a glance up at him.

  "You do cry out, don't you, Rhys?"

  "Vixen," he said.

  The softening of his harsh features stole her breath. Then lifting her under the arms, he slowly dragged her body up the length of his, every soft curve intimately nuzzled to hard muscle, until the top of her thighs caressed the thick proof of his readiness to match her at this game.

  "Rhys?" she said, a mere hint of sound, hungry and demanding and passionate.

  Once her feet dangled in air and her moist lips hovered near his mouth, he clamped strong arms around her. He held her as if he'd never let her go, and she wished with all her heart that it was true.

  "Now, Ana," he breathed. "Kiss me, now."

  Juliana needed no urging. The heat raging between their bodies quickened her breathing and drew her like a moth to a flame. Clasping him around the neck, she combed her fingers in the ebony hair that fell loosely around his shoulders.

  "How do you want it?" she whispered, emboldened by his response. Her mouth touched his, a light, provocative brush. "Wet?" Another brush. "Deep?" Another brush. "Hot?" She teased him by slowly circling her lips with the wet tip of her tongue. "Tell me," she breathed, "what you like."

  "Jesu, all three," he said, and plowing his fingers into her mussed hair, anchored the back of her head in his palm. "I want to taste you, again," he murmured against her lips. "Now."

  He slanted his mouth over hers, swallowing her glad cry, and in a forceful stroke, plunged his tongue into the inner warmth. Wet, hot, and deep.

  Juliana lost herself in the overwhelming kiss, tasted his urgency. Sweet, so sweet. An answering demand stampeded through her yielding body. Never had she felt so alive. On a whimper she pressed closer, eagerly meeting his advance and retreat, dueling with his tongue, wanting more, needing more.

  His broad hand slid down to her nape, then glided down her back to cup her bottom. The other hand soon joined and pulled her snug against his heat. With his fingers, he tugged on her robe until the material bunched in his hand, then he slipped beneath the fabric and grabbed her bare thigh, lifting her leg to wrap around his waist.

  She moaned low in her throat and circled his waist with her other leg, while her arms clenched tighter around his neck. He plundered her mouth and rocked her in his arms. The repeated friction of the tangled knot against her most sensitive bare skin shot through her like lightning bolts.

  "Hold on to me," he broke off from her lips long enough to gasp.

  "Don't stop," she begged.

  "The bed?"

  Tangling her legs around him and pressing herself into him like a second skin, she pleaded, "Nay. Don't leave me."

  "Tell me. Let me hear you say it. Do you want me?"

  "Aye, Rhys," she said.

  "Forever?"

  "Forever isn't long enough," she said, adamantly shaking her head. "I want you, Rhys, more than anything. Now. I'll die, if you stop."

  Fire leapt to his eyes, darkening the hue to molten steel. Her ragged breathing matched his, and her control burned to cinders. She captured his mouth again.

  Resuming the fiery kiss, Rhys backed her against the wall's solidity. Braced between the cool stone and his warm chest, Juliana arched into him and sought the heat she craved from his hands. He parted the robe. Callused palms and fingers kneaded her waist, then dipped to squeeze the curve of her bare hips. One hand propped her weight, while the other sought the silky flesh that ached most for his knowing touch.

  "You're so hot," he whispered, trailing wet kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat, skimming her chest, until he captured one taut nipple in his mouth. "So beautiful. Your body weeps for me."

  He ravished with his lips, while his fingers stroked the sensitive nub again and again. A primitive growl rumbled low in his chest.

  Juliana gasped, her nerves splintering into tiny fragments. She threw her head back against the wall and moved her hips in frantic rhythm with him, but he withdrew his hand and clamped onto her bottom to still her actions. Hugging him to her, she buried her face in the crook of his damp neck.

  "Help me, Rhys," she said, the tiny cry smothered in the warmth of his salty skin. "I--I want...."

  "Ana," he said. "I can't wait--I can't gently--"

  "Later," she growled, nuzzling her breasts against his chest and wiggling her bottom. "Be gentle later, Rhys." For emphasis, she grazed his shoulder in tiny nips with her teeth.

  He leaned his weight into her and fumbled at his groin.

  "Give me your fire, Ana, now," he said. Uttering a savage sound, he parted her tender folds and penetrated her slickness in one hard thrust.

  Juliana drew in a shuddering breath of wonder. She matched him as he pushed again, deeper, then again, deeper, until he filled her completely and touched her heart. Crushing him in her arms, holding him tightly within her body, she wished desperately to become a part of him.

  Immediately, he stilled his movements.

  "Am I hurting you?" he said on a thread of air. "Sweeting?"

  Curling her hands into the tight muscles of his back, she nuzzled his ear. "Nay," she breathed, awed by the restraint she heard in his raw voice. "You could never hurt me. I--" love you, she almost finished, but caught herself in time. He'd never believe it wasn't a trick. Instead she managed to say, "I'm melting."

  Then, the ability to speak deserted her entirely. Every nerve, every fiber, every sense centered on the man in her arms. Rhys thrust hard and deep, rocking her with the force of his passion higher into the flames. Again and again. He demanded her fire. With each burning stroke, he demanded more, demanded all she could give.

  And she surrendered to his blaze. Again and again. His name trickled from her lips with each gasp of air, until she thought to burn alive in his sun.

  "Ana," Rhys groaned. "Ana." With a harsh shout, he drove into her, the strength of his release consuming him.

  And consuming her. Juliana felt the violent tremors of his body, and as he flooded her with his seed, her own release triggered. A sweet, convulsing ecstasy.

  Ravished.

  Breathing hard, he cradled her in his arms, and she clung to him, awed by the strange pleasure and intensity surging through her body. A consummation so volatile it left her exhausted and trembling.

  "Can you die of this?" she wondered aloud.

  "Aye," he said between gulps of air, "you've killed me. 'Tis far easier in a bed."

  "Next time," she whispered, not the least contrite.

  "Sweet Jesu, wench, do you never obey? You're still clothed."

  Juliana smiled contentedly into his neck.

  Without another
word, Rhys swung around with her in his arms and deposited her back upon the bed--this time infinitely more gentle than the last.

  She sank into the softness of the mattress, happy and sated; every inch of her feeling as creamy as frothed milk. Marveling at the difference in how she felt now and how she'd felt after each coupling in her first marriage, she realized the answer in an instant. Love.

  She stretched, and her eyes drifted shut, while she savored the moment and the tingling in her toes. When she opened her eyes, he stood gazing down at her, his face implacable.

  "I'm sorry," he said, his voice empty and flat. "It was a mistake."

  Then he left the chamber before she had even broached her terms.

  Juliana felt like screaming. Had nothing changed about his attitude toward the manner in which he intended to keep her and her land?

  She needed answers. Hurrying to put herself to rights, she then grabbed the door latch to go after him and was startled to see a soldier staring back at her.

  He flushed with unease.

  "Am I a prisoner?" she asked, then an ugly thought hit. "Where is Sir Oliver? Has something happened to him?"

  "He's been summoned to answer my lord's judgement."

  Juliana's heart sank. Jesu, what had she done?

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 20

  Rhys sought his father's counsel in the great hall. The fatigue he'd kept at bay through sheer will settled like a leaden weight in every joint and muscle. Recriminations soured his mood even further.

  Beyond the hearth stood Alain, with Sir Oliver flanked by two guards.

  "What you're suggesting--" Richard said.

  "Nay, I'm suggesting naught," Rhys said. "I'm saying I understand what she did. And I still mean to wed with her."

  He'd tried so hard to protect Juliana, to tame her wildness without breaking her spirit, to reach beyond the hard shell in which she encased herself to touch the fragile woman within.

  But he'd failed.

  Patience and firmness and understanding worked against him. Oh, he did well in waking her passion, she was a passionate woman, but he didn't know how to awaken her heart.

  He'd offered his trust, something not lightly given, and the bitter taste of emptiness flooded his mouth.

  "So what do you advise I do with that one?" Rhys asked, jutting his chin toward the blond knight.

  "I warned you before about him. Clap him in irons and be done."

  A nod from Rhys brought the lackwit forward.

  "Sir Oliver, Lady Juliana doesn't deny firing an arrow that came near to hitting me. Do you deny then taking up the position she yielded? And I warn you, think well on what you say. If you lie to me, you'll die where you stand."

  The lackwit's eyes rounded wide before he squared his hunched shoulders and stood without flinching.

  "'Tis true, I took over what Ana could not, my lord. I have far more skill with the crossbow than any weapon. But you may thank her poor aim for your life."

  The burly guardsman nodded.

  "You know of this?" Rhys asked him.

  "Aye, my lord. I was positioned next to Sir Oliver and the lady." He spoke in a strong, unwavering voice. "I saw it with mine own eyes, for my bolt followed hers to its target. Lady Juliana shot true and knocked the bow clean from the cur's hand an instant before he drew down on your back."

  Had Rhys misjudged her? An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

  That Juliana handled a bow or crossbow at all amazed him, few women possessed the talent. But then again, naught about her compared to other women. He plowed his fingers through damp and tangled strands.

  "Are you saying she didn't shoot at me on purpose?" he said, staring straight at Oliver.

  Oliver nodded. "Ana couldn't put an arrow into the curtain wall, if she stood two paces in front of it. Never could. She saw your danger first and but thought to aid you, I swear. If my cousin felled an enemy, 'twas God's hand that guided her arrow."

  Cousin?

  Rhys latched onto that word. A suffocating tightness eased from his chest. He closed his eyes against a burst of gladness so bright it must surely fill the hall.

  Cousins.

  That explained her staunch concern for the lad. That explained the odd affection.

  That explained... oh, what a dolt.

  Rhys swallowed a groan.

  "At Stanmore," Oliver rambled into the awkward silence, "a man would be hard pressed to find the garrison when she practices." He reached high on the back of his leg. "And I speak from experience of her faulty skill."

  Aye, a wound that required binding. The scene Rhys had witnessed upon first approaching Stanmore's gate paraded across his mind's eye. Hadn't he begun to question the oddities from the first?

  A besotted fool. Nay, a blind, besotted fool. Jesu, the woman tested his sanity.

  He didn't notice Juliana had slipped into the hall until she gasped.

  "So you'll know, my lord," she said, stepping forward. "I did not shoot at you. I shot towards you. There is a difference."

  "You make no sense, my lady," Rhys said, then muttered, "but why does this not surprise me."

  Proud, defiant, she met his stare without backing down or cowering in fear. How different from the napping kitten Rhys had left nestled in the bed. His groin tightened. He wanted her again.

  She clamped her hands at her middle. "Ungrateful wretches, the pair of you." Her indignant gaze swiveled between Rhys and Oliver before halting on her cousin. "'Twas your own doing that you were hurt, you oaf, and well you know it."

  "Do you deny your poor eyesight, Cousin?" Oliver countered.

  But Juliana talked over his hot declaration and swung her affronted gaze back to Rhys. "And I greatly tire of providing your poor amusement, my lord. After I lend you aid, still you dare laugh at me?"

  "Your pardon," Rhys said, failing in his attempt to remain composed. "I'm not laughing, Ana." Then, he leaned closer and whispered, "But I'll keep in mind not to vex you when you have a bow in your hand."

  "I aimed over his head," she muttered back on a watery note. "'Twas an accident, Rhys, that my shaft hit Oliver. I would not intentionally harm him, and never you." She sucked in a breath and clamped a hand over her mouth.

  Although Juliana plainly regretted that admission, Rhys didn't. Nay, his heart swelled near to bursting. He'd heard his little warrior admit she cared for him.

  "What I meant is—well, as I tried to explain before, but muddled—"

  "Aye, Juliana?" he said, leaning forward to catch every word, sure she meant to openly declare for him.

  She lowered her gaze to the rushes "'Tis my fault. Earlier, when we spoke, I misunderstood."

  All the breath rushed from his lungs in a resigned whoosh. 'Twas too soon to push her for the three words he long-wished to hear. Still, armored with the knowledge that he'd engaged her heart in some small way, he could face Roger. And prevail.

  But, Sweet Blood of Christ, what damage had he done to the progress between them in allowing his accursed temper to rule?

  How to explain to Juliana the tangle?

  With the castle looking on, he couldn't spout lovesick explanations. Or slap her in the face with the demand of the Scot's king, or with the news that he'd sent a messenger to Stanmore, challenging Roger to single combat.

  A heavy cloud passed in front of his sun, lending a pall to his happiness. Did Rhys now dare to snuff the life from her budding feelings for him by killing her brother? He saw no way out of this coil.

  "I believe you, Juliana," Rhys said. "For I, too, misunderstood your words."

  Later, he'd explain all to her in privacy.

  "Go now," he said. "Join my lady mother and Isobel." And he pointed to the gallery with a brief flick of his hand.

  To his amazement, she obeyed without arguing. Once she left, a chagrined Oliver inched closer.

  "Now that you're privy to my shame, my Lord Rhys," he whispered, "my injury was the reason for what you witnessed when you first happened
upon us in the wood. Do not blame Ana, I beg of you. She swore not to tell a soul."

  "Rest easy," Rhys said, "your cousin is high in my favor. And your secret is safe with me."

  "Pray, do not think her ungainly, either, my lord."

  "Nay, of course, not."

  "She's better with a sword," Oliver said.

  Rhys all but laughed at the lad's misplaced attempt to regale him with Juliana's finer qualities. No doubt, if she'd heard him detail her sordid accomplishments, she'd have boxed his ears.

  A shadowy smile tugged at the corners of Rhys's mouth as he recalled the delightful view of an exasperated Juliana from over Roger's shoulder and the disastrous conversation with her in Baldwin's hall regarding his sword.

  "Wicked for her size," Oliver continued. "She near practiced my arm off, trying to best the twins. Hates to lose, but her sulks are short. Always are."

  God, Rhys hoped so.

  "You have my apologies for my hasty accusation, Sir Oliver," Rhys said. "But 'tis still the matter of endangering my lady's life. 'Twas ill-advised to allow your cousin upon the wall."

  "Aye, my lord, I see that now," Oliver said with eyes downcast. Then he raised his gaze to face Rhys squarely. "I am deserving of punishment for my stupidity and await your pleasure."

  Rhys studied the young man who offered no excuse to lighten his burden. No doubt Juliana shouldered most of the blame for the poor timing, but the lad protected her anyway. Just as she always protected the lad. Actions worthy of a knight, and an endearing trait in a wife.

  "Remember this lesson, lad," Rhys said, then dismissed him into Alain's charge.