She was standing in the middle of the tiny room, clad in the oversized, shapeless wool shirt and stockings. That she appeared to be having difficulty tying the leather points was evident, for the hose was sagging like an old man's wrinkles around her thighs.
“I am determined to master the task. I watched Inaya do it,” she said, holding up one of the short leather thongs. “But I vow I must be stupid, for I cannot grasp how she tied them. Twice I thought I found success only to move and have everything fall down again.”
By way of demonstration, she took a step and Tamberlane heard several audible popping noises as the points slipped out of the corresponding loops on the belt and the left stocking rippled down her leg and puddled around her knee.
After some consideration—including whether to smile or not at the perplexed look on her face—he walked forward and took the thong out of her fingers.
“There is a knack,” he said. While she watched, he folded the point in half. “Thread this through the hole in the belt first, then bring it down and through the eye in the top of the stocking and loop it again... like so.” A twist and snap of his fingers produced a fine, tight knot.
She had him show her again then tried one herself. “But...and forgive me again for asking... how do you manage the ones in back?”
Tamberlane hesitated. Normally there was a squire or page present to assist him in trussing his points so the problem had never arisen. But Roland was not the most reliable one to assist a half-naked young beauty to get dressed.
Quicker than his better judgement would allow, Ciaran went down on one knee behind Amaranth and reached beneath the hem of the shirt, excruciatingly careful not to come in contact with her skin as he raised the top of the stocking and located the lower edge of the belt.
Amaranth stood as still as a statue, barely daring to breathe. She had not expected him to assist her himself and while she knew he would work swiftly and with as detached a manner as possible, she could not help but be aware of the heat of his hands and the shifting hem of her shirt. Staring at a fixed point on the far wall did not help. Neither did staring at Hugo, who chose that unlucky moment to affectionately lick the back of Maude’s ear.
A soft, near-soundless whimper escaped her throat, one that abruptly halted the movement of Tamberlane's hands.
He was midway through tying off one of the points. The backs of his fingers were tucked between the top of the hose and her leg, and at the sound of her softly expelled breath, his gaze shifted to the visible tremors that shook the folds of her shirt. The leather point fell slack in his fingers and the unknotted end slipped free of the loop. His right hand opened of its own volition and spread flat over the top of her leg, the fingers shaping to the curve of her thigh. The left hand did the same, holding still for but a moment before his thumbs stroked softly up and brushed along the delicate crease that marked the curve of her bottom.
Tamberlane groaned inwardly and closed his eyes. He brought his head forward and touched it to the hem of the shirt, the only barrier standing between him and a lust so shameful it burned through his body and sent a tremor shaking through his arms.
Amaranth felt it. She felt it in his hands and she felt it at the small of her back where his brow rested. She was loathe to make a sound or move in case he misread her response and pushed himself away again. Some of that fear came from her own shocking desire to feel his hands move higher, move across her bare skin and explore the heat he was causing to rise within her.
She felt his hands tighten where they gripped her thighs. A ragged sigh brought the warmth of his breath through the cloth, sending yet another spray of shivers rippling down her spine.
“This is wrong,” he whispered, his words muffled against the wool. “It is wrong and I know it is wrong, and yet... I am helpless to stop myself. I see you and I want to touch you. I touch you and I long to caress you. I caress you and I lose all sense of myself.”
Startled by the emotion in his voice, Amaranth slowly turned within the circle of his arms, noting that the pressure from his hands had eased enough to allow her to turn, but did not release her completely.
When she looked down, she saw that his eyes were closed, his jaw clenched like a ridge of granite.
It was an odd time to notice how long and thick his lashes were as they lay against his cheeks. Odder still, that her hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they sent her fingers furrowing into the black waves of his hair.
The dark green eyes opened and she knew she had nothing to fear there. She saw only the naked honesty of his hunger and confusion... and the silent plea for understanding.
Amie sank slowly onto her knees before him so that they faced one another on an even level. She smiled faintly, whether to ease his burden or her own, she would never be sure, then leaned forward and brushed her lips across his.
The touch was light, the kiss fleeting. She did it a second time and a third. On the fourth his hands started to slide up from her hips to the small of her back the, pressure increasing until he was pulling her forward. The breath left his lungs on rush that might have been her name or it might have been a curse—she could not tell. She only knew that he was crushing her to his chest and his lips were claiming hers with a passion that she had never felt before.
He held her face between his hands and the kiss became bolder, deeper. His tongue was there to taste her, to probe between her lips, lashing and swirling and insistent.
Amaranth shuddered with every heated thrust, but as suddenly as he had invaded her mouth, he abandoned it again leaving her bereft, gasping. His fingers remained tense where they were tangled in her curls, but he bent his head and touched his brow to hers, shaking it slowly side to side.
“The good friar was right: I am lost,” he whispered. “God knows, I am floundering, for you have bewitched me.”
She did not know how to respond, not with her body melting and her blood rushing through her veins like liquid fire. She knew how she wanted to respond. She wanted to drag his mouth back to hers. She wanted him to kiss her again... and again... and by all that was holy and unholy... she wanted him to do more than just kiss her.
“God is not here,” she said, her voice barely above a broken whisper. “There is only you and me, my lord, and in truth, I am as lost as you.”
He groaned like a man in pain and his hands slipped down to cradle her neck. “Amaranth... you know nothing about me.”
“I know all that I need to know... and more than you think, my lord. It is there in your eyes each time you look at me.”
He shook his head and startled her somewhat by laughing. “No. No, I think my true dilemma would surprise you. Possibly even amuse you.”
Amaranth’s heart stumbled inside her chest and she remembered placing her hand over the book of spells in Marak's chambers. She remembered the heat that spread up her arm after she uttered the words that promised to make the most taciturn of men unburden his soul to her.
"It was Marak's fault. He made me say the words."
"Marak? What has he to do with any of this?"
"It was Marak's doing," she cried softly, her eyes filling with tears. "He cast a spell."
Tamberlane frowned. "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't. How could you when it was done without your knowledge. But if... if I am to blame for causing you discomfort, I would beg your forgiveness.”
"Discomfort? Aye, there is a deal of discomfort, sweet Amaranth. Discomfort of the type I know not how to ease." He shook his head at her obvious distress and swore softly again. "That is to say... I know how to ease it, I have just never had occasion to put that knowledge into practice. But there is no spell involved, only the ignorance of a man who has never lain with a woman before."
Amie kept her gaze fixed on the front of his tunic for several throbbing heartbeats before she looked up. "But... you said you were bewitched."
"And I am," he said gently. "But it has nothing to do with Marak's spells. He makes them up as he goes
along, using foreign words that sound impressive to simple peasants but have nothing whatever to do with magic."
"Like... noctar?"
"A night beetle found in the desert."
"Rathban?"
"I believe it has to do with a rash brought about by heat and sand."
"Sunandam?"
"A bitter fig."
"So... there was no spell cast?"
"None."
She digested that knowledge for as long as it took her heart to swell with joy, then leaned into him again, her whispered words soft against his lips.
"Then we will both discover something new this day, my lord, for I have never known the true meaning of desire before."
"And... you know this now?"
"I think I knew it back at Taniere," she admitted, "but was too frightened to allow myself to think... to believe it could be so."
A low growl in his throat preceded a kiss that was so deep and ardent, it stripped away her ability to think or move. It sent rushes of liquid heat coursing through her body making her thankful she was kneeling already for her legs would not have been able to hold her up.
When her lips were pink and throbbing, he found the pulse that beat below her ear and followed it down the length of her throat. While her hands clutched at his tunic for support, he unfastened the laces that bound the front of her shirt and pushed the cloth aside, trailing the heat of his tongue across her bared shoulder. His hands continued to ease the shirt down until it lay in folds about her hips, clinging by the merest thread of modesty. Her breasts gleamed pale as marble in the scant light that bled through the closed shutters.
“You are as beautiful as the flower that bears your name,” he whispered.
She raised a hand self-consciously to cover the angry red scar on her shoulder, but he caught her wrist and lowered his mouth to tenderly kiss the edges of the wound.
“Every part of you is beautiful," he insisted. "Even this.”
His kisses moved lower, savoring the feel of her supple flesh beneath his lips. He circled a nipple then caught it between his teeth and when she gasped from the pleasure, he rolled his tongue around and around the sensitive peak until she was light-headed and quaking.
Amie’s arms went around his broad shoulders. Her hands came together at the back of his head and she held his mouth against her flesh. The heat of his lips, the swirling of his tongue, the strong greedy suckling that seemed to want to pull her soul from her chest combined to send her head arching back and sent a cry shivering into the cool air.
He kissed her hard and full on the mouth. He send his hands skimming down to her waist, pushing the shirt all the way to form a woolen puddle around her knees. His fingers combed through the pale yellow thatch of curls at the junction of her thighs and stroked into the velvety heat between. When he sought to explore the mysterious folds, she cried out and pressed down on his fingers, and when he slid them free, they were wet and shiny and Amie was panting against his shoulder as if she had run a mile through the woods.
She felt as if she had. The first touch of his fingers had turned the gentle ripples into hard, sharp spasms that had shaken her to the core. She could feel the wetness flowing down around his fingers, slicking her inner thighs, and she did not know whether to be embarrassed or to beg for more. She'd had no idea such pleasure could come from a simple touch.
"You cried out... did I hurt you?"
The expression of tender concern on his face, the tension in his body was so raw and poignant, emotion flooded through her in soft, lush waves and brought a tearful smile to her lips.
“You have definitely not hurt me, my lord."
He kissed her smile and murmured, "If I do, you will have to forgive the clumsy fumblings of a fool who knows no better."
Her fingers trembled a moment against the front of his tunic, then skimmed down and started to unfasten the leather belt at his waist. "There are no fools present here this day. Only two people who wish to learn and discover."
Tamberlane did not move. Nor did his eyes stray from hers for one tenth of one hundredth of a heartbeat. He was aware of the belt falling away then of her hands gathering up the hem of his tunic. He had to release her and raise his arms for as long as it took to aid her in tugging both the tunic and his shirt up and over his head, but his hands lowered quickly again and settled firmly at her waist.
“I am told,” she whispered, her cheeks scalded red, “that for a man the act is instinctive. It comes... quite naturally.”
“And for a woman?”
Amie ran the tips of her fingers up his bared arms, then across the hard breastplate of muscle that sculpted his chest. His skin was warm and firm, the hairs on his chest were fine and soft and tickled her fingers as she spread them flat. The flesh across his belly was lean and ridged with more muscle, and as her hands freed the lacing that held his own point belt snug around his waist, her gaze was drawn to the solid bulge straining against his hose.
"For a woman?" she whispered, having lost the thread of conversation completely.
“I want to know what gives you pleasure.”
She looked up, her eyes shimmering with more emotion than she had allowed herself to reveal in half a lifetime. “We will have to learn together, my lord,” she said on a shiver. “For you have already given me more than I would have dreamed was possible.”
His mouth captured hers again and together, they sank slowly down until they were lying on the floor. Tamberlane made some attempt at providing softness by dragging the blanket off the cot and tucking it beneath her, but he was back in her arms before she knew he had gone. His lips covered her breasts, they trailed down to her belly and chased after the visible tremors that caused her flesh to shudder and her limbs to quiver apart with an invitation.
He slid a hand between her thighs and this time he knew the wetness was for him. A moment of tugging at the remaining laces and fumbling with hose, and his weight was replacing his hand, the solid heat of him causing her limbs to flare wider and her hands to clutch at his shoulders.
His flesh slipped along her cleft twice, each time touching on raw nerves that brought her arching up beneath him. With a groan that cast all modesty aside, she slid her hand down between their bodies and curled her fingers around his shaft, guiding him into her heat. Her head tipped back as she felt him pushing, thick and solid inside her. Her body tightened around him, her limbs rose of their own accord and wrapped around him, holding him, clinging to him as his hips rose and fell in the hard, pounding rhythm of his need. It was pleasure, pure and exquisite.
She felt his hands, his arms, his body grow tense and rigid, and when a second wave of bright-hot sensations rose and burst within her, he did not stop but held her closer through the writhing and clenching, then thrust again, deeper and harder, straining toward his own release. When it came, it was explosive and caused him to rear up on outstretched arms, his head falling back, his body a rigid mass of muscle that jerked and pulsed and filled her with a flooding joy.
They remained locked together and continued to rock with the pleasure, seeking every last flutter and twitch. His thrusts gradually slowed and a groan brought him sinking back down into the circle of her arms.
Amie lay beneath him, stunned. Her hands were splayed flat on his hips, her fingers gripped the taut flesh with no intent of letting go. He was still a throbbing, formidable presence inside her, though most of the urgency had been expended. His forehead was resting on her shoulder, his breaths were shallow and warm against her skin, and she savored these few minutes of intimacy, having expected nothing so wondrous to occur.
Tamberlane had neither the wit nor the desire to move. He lay there torn between a need to lift his head and roar his pleasure... or to remain where he was until they both perished from hunger and thirst.
His sins were lust and greed and he acknowledged both readily. He had been driven by lust to know the secrets of this woman’s body, greedy to hear her cries and whimpers and know the intense pleasure was not
his alone.
He turned his head and kissed the side of her neck. Her skin was warm and smooth and he could feel the sudden jump in the pulse that beat softly just below her ear.
When he lifted his head, her eyes were closed, her lashes attempting to hide the faint shine of tears beneath. Her cheeks were mottled red with a blush and her lower lip was curved between her teeth, but it was her body that told him what he needed to know.
"Look at me," he commanded gently.
Her lashes lifted slowly and a single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and trickled down her temple. He caught it with his lips and carried the salty wetness to her mouth, sharing it in a kiss that was gentle and tender and eloquent in its raw sincerity.
"I was never a very good monk," he murmured. "I spent more time in horsehair trying to discourage impure thoughts than I did for most other sins combined."
She continued to look up at him, her eyes very wide, very solemn, the violet flecks nearly overshadowing the blue.
"I only mean to say that if you still fear some magical spell may have corrupted me in some way, that is simply not true. I have shattered more of God's laws than I care to recount."
Amie's hands slowly relinquished their grasp on his hips. A buttery silkiness surrounded his flesh where they were joined and, curiously enough, she felt no disgust, no pressing need to wash the evidence of his pleasure away. With Odo, she had always felt the need to bathe in scalding hot water. She had taken herbs and potions and cleansed herself with soured wine to insure no trace of his seed took hold within her.
With this man she felt as if she wanted to remain bound to him forever.
She lifted a hand and gently brushed aside a long black lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. "I fear only that you may have corrupted me, sirrah, for I had no idea a body was capable of such pleasure. Do you think... it would always be like this? Or was it just the once?"
Ciaran's dark eyes searched hers. He had not expected such a question, and because he had no knowledge to base an answer upon, he lowered his gaze to the pink tips of her breasts, which were already gathering into tight, hopeful little peaks. His blood still coursed hot through his veins, his flesh was furrowed deep in the tight, wet heat and he was very much aware of her long, slender legs still locked fast around him.
Dragon Tree Page 24