by Sandra Jones
After another nod, she tossed the blanket on the bed. Her hands made fists in the sides of her gown, then she pulled it over her head to drop on the ground between them.
Her flesh was pure alabaster with the exception of her chest, which was a rosy shade of pink beneath his scrutiny. Her breasts were as perfect as he’d imagined when he’d explored them with his hands earlier. Heavy yet pert. The nipples stood in hardened buds, ripe berries he wished to lick and suckle. Every inch of her was extraordinary.
With light fingertips, he traced the sway of her narrow waist down the feminine curve of her hip—smooth, supple skin that converged in a triangle at the juncture of her thighs where a small vee of gilt-red curls brought life to his fantasies.
How could he put into words how much he appreciated her beauty when his brain had relocated to his groin? He managed to murmur, “Ma cœur.”
Her hip cocked, and she crossed her arms beneath her breasts, which pushed them closer beneath his view. “Should you not disrobe as well, milord?”
Eleri scowled at herself, hurrying to the sanctuary of the bed while Warren removed his tunic. He probably didn’t like what he saw, the same as Owain hadn’t.
Merlin’s beard! You said you wouldn’t think of anyone else!
She really must keep her word and think only about the two of them.
Diving under the blankets, she quickly covered her nakedness in case her looks disappointed him. Yet when Warren removed his boots and slid his trousers off, revealing long, chiseled legs and his thick staff, she immediately forgot everyone except Warren.
Her throat tightened as he drew near, his imposing, naked form looming before her. Broad shouldered, narrow hipped and carved into hard angles with corded muscles, he made her pine for more of his kisses and tender caresses that always seemed to put her at ease. In his arms she’d finally found the enjoyment and passion she’d been missing.
Reaching her, Warren knelt and offered her his open hand. She clutched the blanket to her breasts and lightly put her fingertips against his callused palm. Locked in his smoldering stare, she watched as he lifted her knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss against them.
“Your Highness, your beauty is beyond compare.”
Eleri rolled her eyes while flushing to her roots. “Must you tease me? I trow well enough that I look nothing like your women from England or Normandy.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he rubbed his cheek against the back of her hand. “’Tis my good fortune you do not. You are unique, rare and utterly irresistible. But what about me, ma belle fée rouge? Would you say I look nothing like your countrymen either?” Still holding her hand, he spread his arms wide for her scrutiny.
Eleri laughed, barely catching her blanket as it dipped in the movement. “You know you do, thanks to me! At least for now.”
A line appeared between his brows. “You prefer me this way? Mayhap my form isn’t to your liking.”
She tugged teasingly on his hand when he looked down, and bit her lip to keep from smiling too broadly. “You just want to be told you’re handsome. I’ll wager you made a very bad monk, my lord.”
“You think I’m handsome?” His eyes darkened.
The chill in the chamber had become a distant memory because suddenly the covers felt too warm.
His gaze lowered to her breasts, scalding her with the intensity of his stare. “At this moment, I’m exceedingly glad I’m no longer a monk.”
She saw his intentions when his smoky eyes lifted to her lips, and she leaned forward, meeting him halfway. Her arms went around his neck as he settled beside her. His kiss was urgent, and restraint hummed in the skin beneath her fingertips like a plucked harp string. Then the kiss deepened as he explored the farthest reaches of her mouth, provocative and inciting. She melted.
He kissed her neck, his hands skimming over her shoulder blades, then gliding to the front to discover the slopes of her breasts. She released the blanket between them, giving him full access. His mouth passed across her chest with kisses and tiny flicks of his tongue, as his fingers scaled the peaks of her nipples. He took her into his mouth and…oh Goddess!…stoked her need with soft nibbles.
Her fingers dug into his shoulder muscles, fighting wild urges. At any moment she would surely die.
“Let me hold you. Let me touch you, Eleri.” He kissed a trail from her chest to her throat. “I must have you.”
A quavering sigh escaped her. “Can I touch you the same as I watched you do?”
He swallowed audibly. “Oui, I would like that. But allow me to pleasure you first. I want to enjoy you as long as possible. We have all night, ma cœur.”
Oh, yes. She wanted the same. All night.
He eased her back on the bed as he moved over her, putting his legs between hers. His arousal touched hers, sending sparks through her, but he placed his hand between their bodies. Kissing her neck, he cupped her mound. She tilted her hips, leaning into his touch.
He moaned against her neck. She felt his finger slip inside to spread the dew against her entrance. She’d never known a man could be caring and unhurried. Hunger twined through her.
She stroked his back and flat stomach, loving the feel of his hard warrior’s body against her softer flesh. “Warren, I need—”
“I aim to give it to you…and more.” He kissed her ear and nibbled her earlobe.
Her body ached with emptiness and longing.
His hand molded to her buttocks as he lifted her. Her knees drew up around him, and he slid down, kissing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as he caressed her with growing abandon. Murmuring praise, he dipped his fingers within her heat, pausing for a taste. His dark head moved between her thighs and she gasped, shock rolling through her. But the warmth of his tongue sent her headlong into ecstasy. She pushed up on her elbows, giving herself to the crashing wave of pleasure he’d created.
Her release was frenzied and manic. She shook all over as the moment took her. He rose, watching her response with heat in his eyes.
“Eleri,” he rasped and nuzzled her throat. His penis rested heavy on her stomach, making the ache inside her return. “Je suis désolé. I was wrong. I…cannot wait.” He groaned against her neck.
With a ragged breath, he pushed up and stared into her eyes with fierce anguish. She gulped for a bolstering breath of courage as his powerful body hovered over her, and he entered. His thickness filled her until she tensed around him. She cried out at the sudden pressure, and he echoed with a moan of satisfaction. Their fit was tight, but so very perfect. She whimpered with excitement when he deepened his thrust, burying himself to the hilt within her. Too long she’d hoped to feel like this.
“See what you do to me, ma cœur!” His body shook as well as he rocked into her slowly.
Her body grew more pliant around him, adjusting to his size. His rhythm unraveled her from the inside out, making her want and want like she’d never wanted before. She ran her hands down his chest, over her distinctive markings that seemed to brand him as hers alone. “Warren, yes… Please.”
Her spirit seemed to soar with his, spiraling together, dizzying, out of control.
The pressure was too much. She would shatter at any moment.
Breathless and perhaps knowing her anguish, he slowed, his gaze meeting hers with hunger and the glitter of some emotion that might be gratification. “Say you’ll be mine, Eleri.”
“Aye,” she whispered. Then through gritted teeth, she pleaded, “Anything, aye!”
He deepened his thrust further than she thought possible, yet she arched into him, taking him deeper still. He groaned. Then, moving with more desperation, he clutched her hips, pulled back and thrust again. Her bones felt as if they would pull apart, yet she reached for him, taking each force of his strong body. When he thrust again, she gripped him tight, wanting to attach him to her completely.
She reached her pleasure again.
He moaned her name, hardening from head to foot, then stilled with his eyes closed in ecstasy, his head tilted back. For a moment they lingered, perfectly molded as one being.
His seed pumped deep inside her, filling her with the sweetest warmth before his head fell forward, touching her shoulder gently. He nuzzled her neck, kissing beneath her chin as he withdrew. Then he scooped her into his arms, rolling her over, and took her place on the bed while she rested on his chest. His arms encircled her as his fingers played up and down her arms.
His skin was dewy but pleasant, so she snuggled against him. A sense of comfort warmed her all over. She placed her hand over his heart and closed her eyes, thanking her goddess for guiding her to him, for the healer who saved him, and for Lew for allowing him to live.
When she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her. His gaze was soft and curious. Never had she seen a more beautiful man, and in comparison, she wondered at the other women he’d held. Courtesans, the noble ladies she’d seen in court processions.
How had she, a shield maiden of Gwynedd, compared to them with her lack of experience and unpracticed skills?
Her one time with Owain had been hasty. A few moments of grunts, pain and a terrible sense of loss when he’d rolled off of her before he’d drunkenly sauntered back to his own bedchamber.
Mayhap it was wrong of her to want what she did, but she could not help longing for more of what she’d just experienced with Warren. And unless she was sorely wrong, he’d taken pleasure from her, as well.
And why not?
The hard part would be letting him go at the end of their journey. Giving him up, handing him over to someone else. Her father.
He was a good choice. Whether Warren wanted it or not, he would be cared for there. And live, of course.
Then she would have to return to Owain’s people—hers now—to her rightful place as their princess.
Warren stirred and pressed his lips to her forehead. His sex hardened beneath her.
Even now, sated, she felt herself aching to be filled by him again.
If it was wrong of her to feel such desires for a man, an enemy, she wasn’t sure she cared. Shouldn’t she do as she pleased? Slake her lust and enjoy her captive, as he quenched his own needs with her.
A few days more. What harm could come from a few days more?
Chapter Nine
Warren held Eleri’s hands as he guided her backwards through the open entrance to the stables. After spending the past few nights in secrecy in her bedchamber, he wanted to bring her elsewhere today during daylight, to walk with her by his side. To give her a chance to see what her life would be like if they wedded. Living as equals, they would enjoy the freedom of being together in his Devon home, a quiet, peaceful life on an English farm where they would want for nothing. To secure his king’s trust, his family’s future, and perhaps even his own happiness, he needed to convince her he was more than a mercenary—in fact, a man who would stand by her side. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe her when she’d uttered that she belonged to him in the throes of passion, but he had no reason to doubt her affection, despite the skirmishes they’d had in the beginning.
Unfortunately, this morning she followed his directions about as well as she ever did, which was not at all, and peeked over her shoulder to see where he was taking her.
He squeezed her hands. “Not yet.”
She laughed, turning around to face him. Her eyes narrowed with feigned disgust. “I cannot walk backwards anymore! I’m too afraid you’ll run me into something.”
He released one of her hands and reached around her, to cup her firm behind. “Trust me. I’d never risk hurting your backside.”
She gasped, bracing a hand on his shoulder, but she stepped closer and rubbed against his groin before pushing back out of his embrace. “I’m still recovering from your debauchery last night.”
He groaned at the double-edged sword of his current arousal combined with revived memories of riding her for hours of mutual satisfaction. “Oh, sweet lady, let’s not remind me here or else I’ll have you in the hay…”
Her arms went around his neck this time, stopping him. “I never said I would be opposed to that.” Her voice was breathy and seductive.
He chuckled. “Don’t tempt me. The lay brothers are always afoot in the stables, tending the livestock. Most are Welsh. Apparently they’re not as leery of me as the priests are.”
She tsked. “Everyone is at mass. Why did you bring me here, then?”
Her saucy glare was irresistible. He kissed her, then retreated before he was too spellbound to refrain from stealing more tastes of her. “To show you Timothy.”
When her brows rose in question, he turned her around, pointing her in the direction of the lamb’s stall where the tiny white animal sat watching.
“Ohh!” Without waiting for an invitation, Eleri vaulted over the stall door to drop on her knees beside the creature. “’Tis just a baby. Hellooo,” she crooned, rubbing the little fellow’s forehead where a patch of black grew, marring the snowy wool.
Warren leaned against the stall and grinned. “The brothers said he was a runt and brought him here where the other sheep wouldn’t pick on him.”
She nuzzled her cheek against his head. “He’s adorable. You know, my father has a large herd of mountain sheep. I sneaked off to play with them when I was naughty.” Her eyes grew serious as she regarded him over the top of Timothy’s head. “My father sometimes grants his lands…and titles…to those who fight for him.”
His chest constricted. He sighed. “Does he? My cousin does the same…and strips them of those who disobey him.”
Her brow furrowed. “Would that be so awful, being disavowed by a king you dislike?”
“Nay, but as I’ve told you before, my family would share the disgrace. I would never allow them to suffer for my failings again.”
Her lips parted to speak, but the sound of the door creaking on its hinges brought Warren’s head around. Abbot Gerald stood in the entrance with the daylight at his back.
“Your Highness?” The priest’s wary gaze flitted between them. “I thought I heard a man.”
Warren touched his sword in a timeworn habit before correcting himself. He made his body relax.
Eleri stood. “Nay, we’re alone. Yorath was just showing me one of your animals. Perhaps you heard the lamb. He’s rather noisy,” she lied smoothly. “You’ve done wonderful work with the abbey these past two years, Father Abbot.”
“Thank you,” he murmured, eyeing Warren. He glided closer. “We’ve had many contributions from Lord Bramber when he visits his keep in Buellt, not far from here. Do you know William de Braose?”
Warren’s pulse quickened. What was the man insinuating? If he recognized him as Norman, why did he not just say it?
“I have no dealings with the thieves.” The princess spat over her shoulder, illustrating her distaste. “The Gorthwr may be generous to your Savigniac Order but they do nothing for my people.”
The abbot’s stare pierced Warren before he turned to offer Eleri a curt bow. “My apologies, Princess. I respect your point of view. And my deepest condolences for Prince Owain. The Welsh praise him highly. I know you grieve for your husband. I, too, have suffered loss this year, though not the great loss of a spouse, but as the subject of a respected ruler and benefactor of our Order—King Henry. These times of the Anarchy are difficult for us all.”
Eleri glanced at Warren, a question in her eyes.
The abbot backed toward the exit. “I came to see how you were faring, and now I must be on my way.” He smiled faintly. “Let the brothers know if you wish to have lamb roast, and it shall be yours.”
Eleri’s hands balled in fists, and Warren feared she might launch herself at the priest to defend the baby sheep.
With a nod, the ab
bot turned and left them.
Warren followed, watching from the door as Abbot Gerald crossed the yard. When he was certain the priest was no longer within hearing range, he turned back into the stables.
Eleri shut the stall door behind her, leaving the lamb swaying on his feet, already pining after her with sorrowful bleats.
Her hand slid into Warren’s. “He knew ’twas you he heard.”
“Aye.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m afraid so.”
Her eyes were round with worry. “But surely he doesn’t know you’re Norman. I mean, how could he?”
Warren grimaced. “Like he said, my father was a fervent supporter, and I bear some resemblance. I’m sure the abbot knows every bastard Henry Beauclerc has acknowledged, as well as some even I don’t know.”
“Are you in danger?” Her fingers twined with his, making his chest constrict.
“Not the kind you might think. I feel certain he’ll send word to De Braose that I’m here.”
She frowned. “Why would he expose you? If he knows you’re the king’s son, would he not wish to aid you?”
“In his thinking, he is aiding me. After all, I’m with two Welsh rebels. But…as I’ve told you before, I’m disliked by many.”
Recognizing more curiosity in her eyes, he winced. There was naught for it. He must tell her. She would learn sooner or later.
He pulled free of her hand. A great weight settled across his shoulders, the same as it always had when he revived his ghosts. “Stephen is on the throne because of me. William Adelin, the true male heir and my half-brother, perished in the wreck of the White Ship, and everyone thinks it should have…nay, wishes…it had been me instead.”
Eleri crossed her arms over her middle where nausea began to pool. Talk of death again made her sick, but she refused to submit to weakness. Not now when she had so many questions for Warren. “I’ve heard of the ship’s sinking. Wasn’t there a reckless captain? And all but two of its passengers were lost at sea? Everyone mourned for the poor young prince—even some of my countrymen. I was a child at the time. When was it? Ten years ago or more?”