by Carol Arens
She stepped inside and was pleased to see that the water and basin had been emptied and cleaned and the chessboard lay ready on the table. He closed the door behind her and as she stepped away, he took hold of her and pulled her back against him, kissing the back of her head and wrapping an arm around her waist. She fell back against him, enjoying the way he moved her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck. Her body ached with every touch of his mouth on her skin. A throbbing beat deep within her and she wanted...more.
He released her and she tried to regain her balance. Her heart raced in her chest as she walked to the table. Sitting on the far side, she waited for him to sit. He poured her a cup of ale and brought it to her. If she did not gather her wits, this would be a very quick and embarrassing game for her. She drank deeply and tried not to look at him.
Once he sat down, they divided up the pieces and began.
It took an immeasurable amount of concentration to play this game when all she could think about was his mouth. She even found herself staring at his lips as he made his moves. The chamber felt very hot and she wondered if the servants had put too much wood on the fire.
‘Before we continue, I would like to place a wager on the outcome,’ he said. His voice had a husky edge to it as he spoke. ‘The winner receives a boon.’
‘A boon?’ Her voice sounded squeaky and unnaturally high to her ears. ‘What boon?’ She needed to know what this wager meant.
‘Whatever the winner asks of the loser, she or he must do.’
Her breasts tingled and her mouth burned at his words and she fought the urge to touch either one of them. He meant to do this to her—she could read it in his eyes. But from the way his mouth opened slightly and his breathing changed, it affected him as much. So, her chances of winning and claiming this boon were almost an even match.
Better than even since she had more skill than he did.
But every time he reached for a piece to move, he licked his lips, forcing her attentions there. To his mouth. To remembering how it felt against hers.
So, it was no surprise to her that the game ended with her as the loser. She pushed the pieces aside and faced him, ready to learn the price of his victory. Isobel met his gaze and waited.
‘Kiss me.’
She frowned—that could not be his prize, surely not?
‘I claim your kiss as my boon.’
‘A kiss? Just a kiss?’ she asked, not sure how that was a prize worth playing for.
‘Whatever and however many you decide, Bel,’ he said softly. ‘I just want you to kiss me.’
Her body pushed her to move before she could think more about this. A kiss? A single kiss? On his mouth? Or more than that? She stood and walked over to him. He opened his legs so she could step closer to him. He smiled, welcoming her to him. Isobel looked down into his eyes, still trying to work out how to do this, when his next words proved her undoing.
‘I beg you, Bel. Kiss me.’
Her mouth was on his without another thought about how or how many. She touched their lips together as he had before. Then she slanted her mouth and took his as she wanted to. Over and over again. Dipping her tongue inside until he touched hers back. Tasting him. Nipping at his mouth.
Leaving his mouth and trying to catch her breath, she traced the tip of her tongue around his jaw and down on to his neck, as he had done. He leaned his head back, giving her an easier path. She kissed where she had touched, tasting the saltiness of his skin, until she reached the place where the curly hair of his chest tickled her face.
Her knees wobbled and she leaned against him, still not done. She felt him rise and harden against her leg, but instead of being fearful, it made her feel powerful. She had done that to him. She had.
Isobel kissed the other side of his neck and then back up to join their mouths. This time, his tongue moved into her mouth and she hoped...she prayed...that he would take control and make her just feel. Instead, his hands never moved from where he’d placed them on his legs. Finally, aching with a need she’d not felt before, she asked him for exactly what she wanted.
‘Touch me, Dar,’ she whispered. ‘Touch me, please.’
She kissed him again, waiting for the feel of his strong hands on her, but they did not move. Isobel leaned back and looked at him.
‘Ah, for that, Bel, you must be the victor and claim it as your prize.’
She almost screamed at him. But it took her only a moment to realise he was serious. He still felt guilty, an unnecessary and untrue burden, for what he thought had happened between them. This was another way he atoned—making her the one in charge. She wanted to hit him and kiss him at the same time for this mad scheme of his.
So, she settled for another kiss before stepping back, determined to be the winner of their next game.
* * *
He watched as the steely determination he’d seen in her gaze entered it once more. He was getting deeper and deeper in trouble here. What he’d thought of as a way to let her become accustomed to the pleasures that could be between a man and woman would soon become his own downfall. His body ached for release. It had readied itself as soon as she stepped near to him and her plea to touch her simply made his rising flesh like the standing stones in the far field. If he touched her, he would have her beneath him in but a second and he would fill her to her womb in the next.
Nay, regardless of her ardour, she was an innocent and needed to be brought gently into this. A repeat of her first time would destroy any chance between them, so he clenched his fists and let her have at him.
He was strong enough to control this as long as not in whisky’s grasp. He would be strong enough.
But, hell, after she placed her mouth on his, he knew he was going to die a painful, agonising, unsatisfied death over this. What a fool he was to make such a challenge!
He watched as she took her seat and placed her pieces on the board. Her face was flushed red, her mouth looked well kissed and plump and inviting. Her breathing was rough, but her body showed every sign of arousal. Ha! Now, the challenge was an even one.
* * *
Her play was haphazard at best. He took piece after piece, in spite of her every attempt to win. The only thing that kept him going was her clear desire to have him touch her. He nearly laughed aloud as he finally realised she wanted him to touch her intimately.
So, when he won this game—and it was evident he would—what could he choose as his prize?
He needed to handle her growing passion and desire carefully now after mishandling her body so badly. Step by step. Not too quickly, even if she thought that was what she wanted. He needed to have a care, a great care, for her innocence since he’d taken her virginity with so little.
Athdar knocked over the red king, claiming the game and the victory. For a moment she looked disappointed, but then her eyes lit up and she licked her lips in expectation of his request. Having decided what his boon would be, he stood, walked around the chamber putting out most of the candles and the lantern and banking the fire in the hearth. Then he faced her.
‘My boon is...’
He tugged off his boots, loosened his belt and removed it. Then he climbed on the bed and laid down. He tucked his hands behind his head and met her gaze.
‘Kiss me again, Bel. Here on the bed,’ he said, in a voice that cracked from the desire he felt pouring through his veins.
It was a challenge he never should have made, for he could see her accepting it and plotting his demise, or at least the demise of his self-control. Isobel loosened her own laces and let her gown drop to the floor. She stepped out of it and used her toes to tug her soft leather shoes from her feet. The last thing she did, the one that made him begin to pray, was to take the tie off her braid and shake it free. As the lovely, hip-length blond curls flowed around her, his body shook.
She m
oved slowly towards the bed, gathering up the bottom edge of her chemise so she could climb up. Kneeling next to him, she moved her gaze over his body as though he was Ceard’s latest sweet dessert.
This had been a mistake, possibly the biggest miscalculation he’d ever made in his life. And, from the hungry gleam in her blue-green eyes, she was going to make him pay for doing this.
‘More kisses, then?’ she asked softly. ‘Do you have any rules this time?’
Damn his control! His answer slipped out before he could think about it. ‘Just your mouth on me...mine!’
She noticed the slip and smiled, a wicked curving of her lips before she licked them and leaned down to him.
Oh, she began at his mouth, but clever and bold lass that she was, she did not stop there. She tasted his mouth, sliding her tongue to his, plunging it in deeper when his tongue moved away, until she had to stop to take a breath. When she glanced down at his body and shook her head, he should have surrendered and called this off.
‘Take this off,’ she said, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it up. He leaned up and let her take it off him. When he lay back down, he slid his hands up and took hold of the headboard. He was going to need it.
Her mouth touched him everywhere. Her tongue tasted his skin and her lips kissed a path from his mouth to his stomach, stopping only at the waistband of his trews. His body arched against her mouth over and over again and her gentle laugh taught him not to tease her this way again. Her hair swirled around her, its feather-like touch on his skin intensifying every touch of her mouth.
She paused along the way to touch and outline the various scars he’d gained in fights and battles through his life. And licked and kissed them each in turn. When his hardness twitched against the fabric of his trews, she watched it before looking back at him. He held his breath when he thought she was considering whether or not to give that part of him such attention. Lucky for him this night, she proved how innocent she was and ignored that randy part of him that craved her touch.
Climbing back on to her knees, she came back to his mouth and kissed him, open-mouthed, hot, wanting. Dar knew what she wanted, so he released the headboard and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. Rolling so that he covered her, he plundered her mouth the way he’d wanted to, pressing his hardness against the softness of her belly. She tangled her fingers in his hair, held his face to hers and opened to give him as much as he could take. Their tongues danced with each other and nothing was not done then: licking, feeling, tasting, biting...
Hunger. Lust. Need.
He tasted them all in her mouth and gave them back. Then, when he knew he was nearly too far gone, he fell back away from her, panting heavily on the bed. As did she.
A few minutes passed before he felt as though he could breathe and speak again. As the passion cooled, the room felt chilled, so he got up and helped her under the covers, before putting his shirt back on and removing his trews.
He knew he would not sleep this night, not with the erection he had and the heat still pumping through his body. Once she had settled, he lay there, trying not to think about her lush body and her willing mouth. He turned on one side and then on the other.
‘I cannot sleep,’ she said, her words echoing through the chamber.
‘Nor I,’ he admitted.
‘I will be back,’ she said, as she slipped quickly from the bed and left the chamber.
So now he knew he was not the only one left unsatisfied.
He knew also where she would go and that she was safe, so he remained there abed, trying to cool his blood. Some minutes passed and then longer and still she did not return. Part of him felt extraordinarily prideful in a masculine way for having been able to arouse her like that. But the randy part chastised him for not seeking satisfaction. There would be time enough for that between them.
The room grew colder, the bed chilled and he no longer wished to be there alone, so he went to find her.
* * *
The cold stone floor felt good somehow on her stockinged feet. She needed the coolness on her skin. She would have peeled off the length of plaid wrapped over her chemise and rolled on the floor if she thought it would help her. Sitting before the loom, she tried over and over to find the rhythm needed.
And could not.
Knowing that no one was watching her now in the dark, she dropped the plaid and let the chill air of the hall permeate the thin linen of the chemise. Her nipples ached. Even the material of the undergarment teased them too much. Finally, minutes passed and her body relaxed.
Passing the shuttle over and under the threads, over and again, she watched the pattern shape under her hands.
This tension within her was the price of her lie.
If he did not think he’d abused her, he would have continued to the conclusion of the act. But convinced he’d hurt her, he would not.
And she knew not how to make him believe the truth before he discovered it for himself.
Mayhap that needed to happen? But would he ever trust her when he discovered the truth and knew that their handfasting was not necessary? Too distracted to think this all through, she turned her thoughts to something that bothered her.
When Athdar was drunk and grieving, he mentioned childhood friends that included Robbie. Yet no one knew the names when she’d mentioned them today. Childhood friends that no one knew? It made no sense, but she decided to speak to Athdar about it.
She’d no sooner thought about him then she could feel him standing behind her.
‘It is cold down here, Bel,’ he said, draping the woollen plaid over her shoulders.
‘The cold felt good,’ she said, as she put the shuttle between the threads and wove another row. She liked that he shortened her name to Bel. The first time he’d said it almost on a moan. It was something no one else ever did, save for her father.
‘Are you staying here again? Did I drive you from the chamber?’
For all his strength and bravery and self-assurance, a hint of doubt lay under his words. Fear, even. As though he would force her away.
‘I am not leaving, Dar,’ she said. Turning to face him, she told him what she’d thought most about. ‘I am staying, regardless of what my father has to say. If you will keep me, that is?’
‘In spite of how things began?’ He moved closer to her then, bringing his heat and his strength.
‘I worry more that you did not want marriage and now have one. You have been convinced you are a danger somehow. Will that always stand between us or can you reconcile yourself to this?’
Mayhap because she’d watched him for so long it was possible for her to see the pattern in his actions. Before she knew she wanted to help him, she saw it.
‘We are joined now, Bel. There is no going back.’
He did not know they had not consummated the public claiming that was part of handfasting. If he did, he might feel differently. That was her worry.
He took her in his arms then, wrapping himself around her and just held her. They stood like that for a short time, until someone asleep near the front of the hall coughed, reminding them that there was no privacy here.
‘Come,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her back to their chamber.
‘There was something I wanted to ask you about, but forgot,’ she said as they reached their room and he closed the door. ‘You said something strange when you...when you were drunk. I asked Nessa and Jean, but they have never heard about the people you mentioned.’
He lifted the bedcovers and she climbed under them. He remained on top as he had last night.
‘I cannot believe that neither Nessa nor Jean knew people who I knew. They are the same age I am.’ He shook his head and shrugged. ‘Whose names did I speak of?’
If he could not remember what happened or did not between them, it
should be no surprise he did not remember speaking of childhood friends.
‘You mentioned Robbie, of course. That is how it began,’ she explained. ‘Then Duff, Kennan and Jamie.’
Though his body reacted, he shook his head, denying he remembered. ‘I do not remember.’
‘I understand that. But who are they? Who were they?’
He shook his head again. ‘I do not know those names. I had no such friends.’
‘I must have been mistaken,’ she said. In the face of his denial, it was foolish to insist he knew boys or men he claimed not to know.
She lay quietly for a while, waiting for sleep to take her. Athdar was quiet, too, then. Isobel had just fallen asleep when the screaming began.
Chapter Seventeen
Isobel stood in the corner of their chamber, staring in terror at him. Athdar had no idea of when she left their bed or what had happened. He tried to get out of bed to go to her, but his arms and legs would not move. Looking down, he realised he was completely tangled in the bedcovers.
And covered in sweat.
The door crashed open at that moment. Two guards came running in, followed by Broc. Weapons at the ready, it was clear they expected the worse here.
‘Halt!’ he yelled, finally freeing himself from the bed and going to Isobel. Her face was as grey as the ash in the hearth and she was shaking. He stumbled across the chamber and slowed before he reached her.
‘Isobel? Are you well, lass?’ he asked.
She blinked several times as though finally seeing him and then shook her head. Broc approached after waving the guards out.
‘We could hear you below,’ he said. His expression was dark with concern. ‘What happened?’
‘Me? What do you mean?’ Athdar asked without taking his eyes off her. From the way it looked, she was the one who must have been yelling.
‘It sounded as though you were under attack. You were shouting. Loud enough to wake most everyone in the keep.’