One Snowy Knight

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “Always with the threats, de Servian.”

  He rotated after her. “Cease making me go around in circles, or I shall beat you for making me dizzy. No more idle threats—I mean it.”

  “Then stop turning, and you will not get lightheaded.” She pushed at his chest, until he dropped back to sit on the edge of the bed. Kneeling before him, she worked at the knots on his boot lacings.

  With Skena on her knees before him, Noel had a hard time drawing air. He grinned like a king’s fool. Someday soon he would teach her why. “If I kiss you may I be Noel again?”

  “I am nay lass to be had for a kiss,” she taunted, pulling off his boots. “Stand, whilst I disrobe and inspect you.”

  He arched a brow in challenge. “Nay. I require a bribe, wife.”

  “A kiss?” she asked.

  Noel nodded slowly. “Already she comes to know my thoughts.”

  Skena wiggled her fingers as if trying to make up her mind. “Tis only one problem, de Servian—you have a habit of not stopping at a single kiss.”

  “I have heard no maidenly protestings. If my memory serves me correct, I recall someone gasping, oh, Noel, do not stop…please do not stop last night.” His hands gripped her about the ribcage, his thumbs brushing under her breasts.

  Swatting at his hands, she lifted his surcoat over his head, and then loosened the drawstring on his silk sark. Skena slowly pushed the material up his chest and then tugged it off.

  Her eyes glowed with appreciation. “I admit a passing fondness for your chest.” She ran her palms up the smooth ripples of his stomach to his strong shoulders, then outward. “As well, I concede your arms are—”

  “Beautiful?” he mocked, standing up.

  Damn, but he loved this woman. She made him happy. Skena gave him the bright promise of joyful days to come. The only regret to touch his life now was that Fate had not set them on the road to finding each other long before ravens and a snowstorm brought him to her.

  She nodded faintly. “One might say that.” Her hand on his shoulder, she walked slowly around him. Placing a kiss between his shoulder blades, she stopped by his other side to undo the points of his chausses, where the lacings attached to his braies at the hips. She moved in front of him, and leaned to brush her lips over his, taunting, then hopped away as he tried to pull her to him.

  “Enough, Skena. This grows maddening,” he growled.

  “Cease fashing, or I will scream for help,” she teased, untying the points on the other side of his hip. “Surely, the brave warriors of Challon would rush to a maiden’s aid and restrain you whilst I complete the viewing?”

  “One step toward that door, my love, and I shall stuff a rag in your mouth and lash you to the bedposts,” he warned, kicking out of the woolen chausses.

  Skena stepped against him, pressing her soft lips to the side of his throat, while she dragged her fingernails lightly up the insides of his thighs. His body flexed taut as a bow when her hands continued across the front of the braies to loosen the drawstring. Small beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  Eyes flashing, she nipped at his chin as she pushed the cloth down over his hips. Bringing her hand up between their bodies, she wrapped her strong fingers around the base of his shaft and then leisurely worked the soft, burning flesh toward the mushroomed tip. “Is this one of those other ways for a woman to warm a man’s blood? Faster ways?”

  “Ah…aye…lass. ’Tis also a way…to push him…ah…to madness.” He sucked air, fighting to focus on what she was saying. Unable to stand it anymore, his hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her movements. “Enough, witch, or this will be a short bedding. Have you finished your scrutiny? Am I deemed of worth?”

  Skena ran her hands over his arms, then to his neck and finally his chest. She nipped his earlobe and whispered, “I think you will do.”

  “Good.” Taking hold of her hips, he spun her to face away. “Tis my turn to assure myself you are without fault and fit to be my lady wife.”

  With trembling hands, he took hold of the ends of the gold lacings up the back of her gown, and somehow he managed to undo the knot. As he slid the golden cord through the eye hooks, he reined in the urgency pressing him to rip open the back of the gown. He had a feeling Skena would treasure this dress, and mayhap one day Annis might don it to wed some handsome warrior. Stiffening his resolve, he carefully drew the cord back and forth, until he feared his teeth would crack from gnashing them.

  Finally, the long cord pulled free. Sucking in a steadying breath, he pushed the dark red velvet to each side to reveal the perfection of Skena’s back. Noel pushed his trembling hands inside the kirtle, feeling the heat off her flesh. She shivered. As he peeled the gown over her shoulders, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her back. Trapped by the gown across her upper arms, she could only stand while he chained kisses along the strong slope to her neck. She shivered, the gooseflesh raising as his tongue swiped out to taste her. Pressing his body to mold to hers, he savored the power in him, relished how she trembled.

  He craved to push her forward, her belly to the plane of the bed, and take her with one swift plunge. Only this night was for Skena. He had a feeling her wedding night to Fadden had fallen far short of what young girls dream. This night was about teaching her the full meaning of love, how this physical expression would seal their bond, making them one. Instead of releasing the full strength of his yearnings, he carefully kissed his way down her spine until he was on his knees. Turning her around, he slowly peeled the gown from her body. He drew her to him, squeezing her tightly as he placed the side of his head to her heart, listening to the rapid beating.

  Skena’s hand reached out to softly cup his chin, and then lifted until their eyes met. Her thumb swiped away the single tear that fell from his eye. “Why do you cry? Are you not happy with me?” Her lip trembled as she awaited his answer.

  His throat choked with emotions. Speaking was too hard. Finally, he forced out the words. “Happy? Yes. I feel that and more. Howbeit, I am humbled by our love—and more terrifying mayhap because of my child’s days—I taste the panic of what would happen to me if I ever lose you.”

  This time, the tear that fell came from her eye. “I understand for I, as well, tremble with that fear. Love me, Noel. Make me forget that darkness.”

  Skena reached out and took his face into her hands, her shimmering eyes speaking more than words ever could. She leaned to him, her soft mouth moving over his, burning as fired-iron. The muscles in his arms tensed to steel to prevent him from crushing her any tighter, so moved was he by the power of this rare emotion. Love. A force that could topple kingdoms. Or drive a man insane. He loved Skena with every shade of his soul, to the depth of his heart, a magic no wizard could ever match. It made him stronger. It saw him weak.

  Pulling back, she kissed his right cheek, then the left. “I love you my snowy knight. What magic was cast that night which brought me to you! What wondrous, beautiful magic!”

  Noel could no longer rein in. Rising to his feet, he took her mouth and let loose age-old mating instincts. He kissed her, holding back nothing, spearing his tongue into her mouth in a rhythm that would echo how his body would soon claim hers. Barely aware of what he was doing, he pushed the gown down off her arms, the soft velvet pooling at their feet. Skena was left in only a thin chemise. He started to remove that as well, but changed his mind, liking how it both shielded and revealed her flesh. Leaning her back to the bed’s plane, he followed her down, relishing the feel of having Skena under him.

  Running her hands up his arms and to his shoulders, she toyed with the curls at the back of his neck. Skena rasped out a plea, “Show me all the ways to make a man burn.”

  The mating scent filtered through his blood, setting scorching fire to roll within him. It nearly blotted out all thoughts, so primitive the power. He covered her body with his, pressing down with the heaviness of his muscles, letting her feel his heart thunder a cadence of love. He kissed her hair and whispered
the raw desperation born of years of loneliness, “Love me, Skena. Never stop.” His hands cupped her neck, his thumbs brushing lightly along her throat. “So many years I have yearned for you. Needed you.”

  He chained kisses along her jaw, then over her cheek and to her temple. Leaning his head against hers, he closed his eyes and reveled in the overpowering emotions filling his entire being. He never knew love could be so intense, making all that had come before pale shades by comparison. He could tell her a thousand score over that he loved her. It would not be enough. Never enough.

  His hand palmed over the side of her hip and then down to her bare thigh until he found the hem of the chemise. Slowly, agonizingly, he gathered the fabric to her waist, the gauzy material rasping over her sensitized skin. Rolling to his side, he drank in the arousing beauty of her body, how the thin material clung to her full breasts, how the shadowy tips pushed against the fabric with each breath. He gently curved his hand around her right breast, feeling the tightness of the soft mound, speaking to him of how she responded to him. It was torture. Finally, he dragged the chemise over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her naked.

  Skena was still unsure of the ways of men and women. She trembled, but held still for his gaze to devour her, clearly wanting his pale eyes to look upon her breasts, yearning for him to stare at her with his unveiled desire. In the days to come, she would become more bold. For now, he relished his role as tutor.

  Barely breathing, he just gazed at her. “My beautiful lady wife.” He did not move for several heartbeats, stunned by the impact of his dreams now being a reality. He wanted to make this last, but feared his body would betray him. The wanting twisted his gut, a writhing, living creature demanding appeasement. The insistent pounding of his groin was agony.

  He searched her eyes, allowing her mind to speak to him with the kenning, for yes, he now believed she could reach him in this manner. No longer fearing this power, he opened himself to her. What he saw in her eyes’ brilliance was more than any man could hope for, more than any deserved. He was blessed—whether it was by his God or hers he little knew. Little cared. She was his, and he would fight to protect her, kill to keep her.

  Lowering his mouth to her breast, he heard the hiss of air from Skena as his lips latched around the tip. His tongue swirled around the stiffening peak, feeling the flesh tighten with each stroke. When he suddenly drew on it her hips flexed off the bed. Her hands fisted in his hair at the back of his head as though to keep her from coming apart.

  He moved to press his mouth between the valley of her breasts and then slowly glided kisses down the center of her belly. She tensed when he reached the dark curls, likely afraid he planned to move even lower…mayhap even secretly curious about the dark lure. He hesitated, hovering just above her, allowing his hot breath to caress the soft hair. A wicked grin spreading across his lips, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her mons, feeling her hips arch in fear…in temptation.

  “The night is so wonderfully long this time of year,” he whispered as he covered her body with his. When her muscles relaxed, he laughed. “Only a reprieve, my love.”

  He laced his fingers with hers, raising her arms above her head, at the same time his legs spread hers wide. In excruciating torment, the tip of his shaft nudged against her slit, moistening his sensitive skin with the scalding hot dew her body wept. The solid weight of his warrior-honed muscles pressed Skena into the bedding, the deep feathered ticking almost cocooning them in a nest. Her rounded softness met and conformed to his. Perfection, as if she had been fashioned for him alone. He was heavy, yet he could see reflected in her luminous eyes that she relished the sensation. Offered up her surrender.

  For a breathless moment, he just stared down at her. He wanted to capture the image of Skena’s pagan beauty in his mind’s eye, almost seal this shard of time in amber. Years from now he would summon the precious memory, revisit it, and treasure its special glory and power. He wanted to recall his beautiful wife adored by shadow and firelight.

  “I have dreamt of this, of a wife, a family, for many long, cold years. Too many. I had begun to think such wishes were naught but a chimera that existed only to torment me with what I could never have. But you are real, Skena. You are mine. Mine.”

  He kissed her, his mouth ravaging hers at the same instant he plunged into her, forged their bodies into one in the crucible of their passion. Her female heat surrounded his swollen flesh, blistered him, branded him. His tongue pressed along the seam of her lips, and she opened for him with a sigh. His warrior lady did not just accept what he wanted of her, but she demanded, their muscles working against each other, yet straining together in a fervent urgency.

  Conjuring a raspy inhale from her, he trailed kisses long her jaw, then down the arches column of her neck. Skena’s nails bit into his arms, when he laved his tongue against the spot where her blood sounded a tattoo of passion. In response, her heart jumped, slamming against his ribs. He felt its force next to his and savored the potency of this rare magic between them.

  Lifting slightly, he stroked inside her again, going deeper, his body slamming to hers in a dance primeval. Skena moaned. Pleasure not pain. He whispered against her temple, “See, wishes do come true and shall reign forevermore in our lives.”

  He set a frantic rhythm of plunges that had Skena clinging to him, her sharp fingernails biting into the flesh covering his shoulder blades. Then clinging was not enough for her. She arched hard to meet his frenzied thrusts.

  Noel’s body went rigid, vibrating with the need of his release. He fought it, wanting to prolong the beauty, the splendor, only her internal muscles tightened around his flesh like a fist, followed by the undulations rippling down the length of his erection. There was no holding back. His mind and body exploded into a thousand score, blue-hot cinders, blinding his sight as Skena pulled him into a maelstrom of consuming fire. She clung to him as the scalding heat of his seed poured into her welcoming body.

  His mouth latched on the side of her neck, drawing hard. He would mark her. Noel smiled. She had marked his back with her fingernails. The tracks they had cut into his flesh would quickly heal. The marks she left on his soul branded him as hers.

  He would have it no other way.

  Waking up at first light, Noel slid from the cozy bed and tugged on his sark. Padding silently across the floor barefooted, he went to fetch his bride’s present. When he had been preparing to come north, he heard these Highlands were often wet and bitter cold. Using common sense, he had commissioned two heavy mantles made for him, each a serviceable brown wool lined with wolf fur. He wished Skena to have one. He had seen how threadbare both her mantles were. He wanted her warm through this coming winter. Going to the chest at the foot of the bed, Noel lifted the lid and removed the neatly folded item.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed he offered Skena a gentle smile. “My bride’s gift to my lady wife.”

  Skena scooted up in the bed, rubbing the sleep sand from her eyes, and then gave him a crooked smile. “But you already gifted me with this lovely ring.” She wiggled the ring on her finger.

  “Guillaume gave that to me for you. It was his lady mother’s, intended one day for his lady wife.”

  “Then why is he not saving it to give to Rowanne? Surely, we must return it to him? The gesture was lovely, but I cannot accept something that rightfully belongs to my cousin.”

  “Nay, I spoke nearly the same words to him. He said while he treasured the ring, that something whispered it was not predestined for Rowanne. I saw his eyes. He meant it. Still, I wanted to offer something from me to you.” He stood and unfurled the heavy garment. The cloak was a deep brown wool, lined with fur of wolf killed in summer when the fur was reddish brown. Perfect for Skena’s coloring. Holding it up he said, “Your mantle is not warm enough. I would have you better protected. Come, try it on.”

  Skena laughed. “I am unclothed, husband dear.”

  Noel felt deep happiness filling his heart, his soul. “
You will find, wife, I am very observant of such details.”

  She shyly slid off the bed, allowing him to wrap the mantle about her. Pursing her lips she finally smiled. “Tis strange to feel the fur against my skin.”

  “I had two mantles made for myself, fearing the wrath of this North Country. I did not know when I applied that foresight that one would cover such a beautiful woman. And she would be mine.” When her mouth opened, Noel knew she was going to protest his use of the word. Taking hold of her shoulders, he jerked Skena to him and kissed her ever so softly. “Yes, beautiful. I shall hear none of your prattle otherwise. The cloak suits you well, enhances your striking hair and eyes.”

  She looked up at him, her expression hungry to believe he meant his praise. He wanted desperately to make her understand all that she caused him feel, how important, vital, she was to him now. All that she gave him. Only it was too much. Love filled his heart to overflowing, the emotions overwhelming him. Words were too feeble to express the blinding intensity of this magic.

  So instead, he let passion say what he could not speak. Leaning to her, he brushed his lips against hers. When she gave a small gasp, feeling the power of their bond, he deepened it. She moved against him, wanting the pressure, the friction of their bodies. The minx slid her knee against the outside of his thigh, rubbing like a cat.

  Something in his mind snapped, and he moved so fast she had no time to react. Pushing her against the stone wall, his mouth claimed hers with a hunger that seared his mind. Bracing his lower arm against the wall, he parted the mantle and leaned into her. The stone was cold, but the heat of her body encased in the warm mantle shielded her from the chill. He used his lips, his teeth, his tongue, working her mouth until she gave him what he wanted. He was not rough, yet he devoured her, kissed her again and again with a ravenous need that was frightening.

  Part of him was terrified at just how important Skena was to him. It made him vulnerable, and he was not sure he liked the sense, but there was no changing it. Skena was everything he longed for in the dark, empty nights. She was the sun in his life.