Daring Damsels

by Domning, Denise

  Aware that her defiant stare hadn’t wavered, he said, “You will not leave Tangston on your own again. I will not allow you to recklessly endanger your life. Do you understand?”

  Her lips flattened with resentment. She didn’t answer.

  Thomas shifted in his chair, while the dog near the fire tucked its tail between its legs and scurried under a table.

  Fane strode closer. He stood near enough now to catch her arm, if he wished. “You will heed me, Rexana.”

  Her chin thrust up a fraction. “Answer me this, husband. How did you know to find me here? How did you know of my friendship with Thomas?”

  Fane smiled. How cunning, that she’d changed the subject and avoided agreeing to his demand. Yet, he would have a compliant ‘aye, milord’ from her before their conversation was through. “How? I am a High Sheriff. I have my ways.”

  Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, but her chin nudged higher. “Rudd told you?”

  “I did not ask your brother. My men spoke to Thomas yesterday when they questioned the tavern owners and villagers. He freely admitted he knew Rudd. ’Twas difficult for him to tell of Rudd’s treachery, but Thomas is loyal to the king. He felt honor bound to do so.”

  Her stunned gaze flew to Thomas, then back to Fane. She blinked, as though unable to believe what she had heard. “Naught you have told me proves my brother is guilty. Did Thomas explain how Rudd supported him and his family over the past months? How Rudd visited every sennight to make sure his leg wound was healing?”

  Thomas’s head moved. “I told them, milady.”

  With deliberate patience, Fane folded his arms over his chest. “Did he tell you, love, that Rudd asked to use his barn, and paid a sack of coin for the privilege? Your brother planned to meet there with his fellow traitors.”

  She gasped.

  Bowing his head, Thomas moaned. “Milady, I am sorry.”

  “I do not believe it!” Anguish glittered in her eyes.

  Fane saw the effort it cost her to keep her head held high. “Love, you must accept the truth. Rudd is a traitor.”

  “He is not!”

  “I have detailed eye witness accounts of the meetings held in local taverns. Over a score, to be exact. I also have the missive which bears his signature.”

  Her lush mouth trembled. “’Tis forged.”

  “The signature is his. Rudd admitted to me, the first time I questioned him, that he signed the document.” Fane held his hand out to her. He willed her to place her fingers in his, to accept, at last, what she must. “Come with me back to Tangston. I will show you the evidence.”

  “I will not—”

  He loosed a low, warning growl. “Come, wife. My patience wears thin. I have waited long enough for you to accept this.” And me, his heart roared. And, by God, me!

  Her breathing became ragged. Her hands clenched and unclenched. She looked down at Thomas. Torment etched her face, yet she graced him with a stiff nod. “Good day.”

  “Good day to you, milady,” Thomas whispered.

  She swept around the far side of the fire, her gown as bright as the leaping flames. She moved well out of reach, as though she believed physical distance could keep her from him.

  “Rexana,” Fane called.

  Halfway to the door, she faced him. Her loosened braid flipped back over her shoulder. Like a potent physical caress, he again felt its glorious silk wrapped around his wrist. Binding him to her. Her to him.

  “You will never stop me from leaving Tangston alone,” she said. “Nor will you keep me from proving my brother’s innocence.”

  A rough laugh burst from him. “Foolish words, little fig.”

  “I mean them.”

  He started toward her. She yanked open the door, strode out, and slammed it behind her.

  Spitting a curse, he crossed to the door to wrench it open. She didn’t even glance back. Her braid swaying side to side, she marched past Thomas’s bewildered family and Fane’s armed guards, untethered her mare, and swung up onto its back. Even in anger, she moved with sensual grace.

  She would move with such beauty beneath him as he brought her to writhing, moaning pleasure.

  Fane halted and planted his boots in the dirt. “Where do you think you are going?”

  She coiled the leather reins around her wrists. Her eyes glittered with rebellious intent.

  “If you run from me now, you are forever mine.”

  She smiled, a disbelieving turn of her lips. With a sharp cry, she wheeled the mare around and spurred it toward the road.

  “We will stop her, milord,” a guard yelled, running to his horse.

  “You will follow at a discreet distance, but you will not interfere.”

  Frowning, the men glanced at each other. “Milord?”

  Fane swung up onto his destrier. As though attuned to his heightened state, the horse whinnied and sidestepped. Fane’s blood roared. He struggled to keep a clear mind, to keep his desire in check for a little longer.

  He fixed his gaze on Rexana. “Obey my orders. The only man to catch Rexana will be me.”

  Rexana galloped past fields, down pitted dirt lanes, and through groves of sun-dappled trees. She rode until the sun had slipped from the midday sky. Until her wind-whipped hair felt like straw against her cheek. Until the sweaty mare stumbled and, with a reluctant groan, Rexana knew she must stop to let the horse rest.

  As she slowed the animal to a walk, a shiver rippled through her. She’d traveled many leagues, yet still, she sensed Fane’s presence. Rexana stole a glance over her shoulder again, as she had numerous times during her ride, but saw only distant riders, too far behind and moving too slowly to be pursuing her.

  She shook off her unease. Fane hadn’t come after her. He’d only chased her for a league or two. To her amazement and relief, the mare had outrun his destrier, and he’d fallen back. At times, she’d thought the breeze carried the clop of hoofbeats or the snort of a nearby horse, yet each time she swung around, she found herself alone.

  Her imagination toyed with her. Fane had let her go.

  At last, had he accepted that she would never surrender her fierce loyalty to Rudd? That whatever Thomas, the eyewitness accounts, and missive implied, she would always believe her brother guiltless? That she couldn’t rest, now more than ever, until she found undeniable proof of his innocence?

  Fane must have. He’d let her go.

  Yet, even as her mind offered reassurance, a wild tingle trailed down her spine. A simmering anticipation she couldn’t dismiss.

  Her imagination, again.

  Rexana studied the road ahead, recognizing the familiar stretch near Ickleton. How fitting that her heart had brought her here, to the place that gave her solace. She guided the mare into the ancient trees’ cool shadows, then took the winding deer path to the secluded pool.

  As the glade opened before her, she sucked in the calming scents of loam, grass, and violets. Her breath rushed out on a half sob. Here, as she had so many times before, she would stretch up her arms to dance. Here, she would defeat the anxiety warring within her. Here, she would vanquish the nagging voice that warned Fane wasn’t one to forget a promise.

  Or leave it undone.

  Resisting another shiver, Rexana slid from the mare’s back. The horse began to graze. Smoothing her hands down her bliaut, she strolled to the center of the glade. She halted in a shaft of sunlight. Closed her eyes. Called to the ancient place to inspire and enlighten her.

  Reaching her arms up to the sky, she dipped and whirled. Grasses tugged at her bliaut. Butterflies and bees whizzed from the heads of wildflowers. Birds flitted through the tree boughs overhead. Leaves rustled.

  Her soul shuddered. She begged for answers. Resolution.

  If you run from me now, you are forever mine.

  Her inhalation snagged in her throat, like delicate silk caught on a rock. Her body twisted, turned, and arched.

  I have waited long enough for you to accept this.

  Confusion floode
d through her. Yearning. Desire. Need.

  She spun faster. Faster.

  Her back arched. Her arms stretched.

  She twirled, faster again.

  “Rexana.”

  Had she imagined Fane’s voice? Panting, she stumbled to a halt. Her pulse thundered like a galloping horse. As she swept hair from her face, she saw him.

  Fane walked at the edge of the glade, holding the destrier’s reins in one hand. With unhurried strides, he led the horse toward the pool. Sunlight gleamed on his windswept hair and touched the firm set of his mouth.

  His head tilted, and his gaze locked with hers. His expression held not anger or scorn, but acceptance. Knowing. A promise that what happened now, between them, was inevitable.

  “W-why did you come here?”

  A faint smile touched his lips. “You brought me here.”

  Resentment gnawed at her. “This is my place. I never wished you to find it.”

  The destrier’s hooves sank into the soft muddy bank. The horse dipped its head to the water to drink. Fane chuckled, released the reins and looked at her. “You speak false, love. You wanted to be chased. I have caught you.”

  She gasped. “I did not—”

  “Now, you lie to yourself.”

  A fierce trembling racked her body. The leaves overhead shifted, as the little voice inside her murmured in agreement. He spoke true. A secret part of her had wanted him to catch her. A part of her had led him here to fulfill his promise.

  As she struggled to control her thoughts, his gaze flicked around the glade, then settled on her. “’Tis a fine place to make love.” His voice sounded almost reverent. “I could not have chosen better myself.”

  Tangled emotions warred inside her. “I did not bring you here to fornicate,” she cried. “I meant to run from you.”

  With a laugh that sounded almost tender, he set his hands upon his hips. “You really thought you could run from me and our marriage?”

  “Why not?”

  “Where did you think to go? You are my wife. Our marriage is legal, and we are well known throughout this county. Wherever you tried to hide, I would find you.”

  She fisted her hands. “I could seek refuge in a nunnery.”

  His grin widened. “You would make a rotten nun.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

  “You are not a woman who would enjoy endless hours of prayer, or a life constrained by religious rule. Not to mention celibacy.” He winked. “You are a woman of passion and wild joys. A woman to be loved, cherished, and treasured by a man.”

  His words warmed her like molten sunlight. Pleasure shimmered through her.

  Shaking her head, she fought the traitorous pull. “Milord, you are a rogue.” Despite her intended scorn, her words came out in a breathless rush. She sounded like a woman intrigued. Tempted to the point of desperation.

  He took a step closer. “I mean every word.”

  Her pulse skittered, then pounded at a faster rhythm. “Do not play with me. You married me for my noble blood. You wanted the prestige of my family name.”

  “I cannot deny that is true, but—”

  “You never wanted me for who I really am.”

  A sigh exploded from his lips. “Rexana, I wanted you from the moment I saw you dance.” His gaze sharpened with a hunger that shot deep inside her. “I saw your soul that night in my hall. I wanted you then. I want you now. God’s teeth, have you any idea how much I desire you?”

  Warmth flooded between her thighs. Her legs quivered. She struggled against her melting, yielding body. “My brother—”

  “Nay. You will not hide behind your loyalty to him. He has no part in this. He made his own choices. He is responsible for his own fate. This matter is between you and me.” As Fane spoke, he moved closer again. He halted before her. His breath warmed her brow. He didn’t touch her, yet she felt his body’s powerful sexual aura. It wove itself around her. It drew her, like a vine, to him.

  Her body screamed for his touch.

  Oh, God. One touch, and she would be his.

  He stared down into her face. Softly, so softly, he said, “What do you want, Rexana? Do you want to run? Do you want out of our marriage? Or are you curious to see how wondrous it can be between us?”

  Her last, unraveling shred of reason warned she shouldn’t heed his entreaty. That she should stay true to her goal of an annulment. That she should resist the sensual web his words wove around her, grab her skirts, and run.

  Yet, reason faded in the wake of another, more vibrant cry. One that tempted her like a potent nectar. It said that Fane was her destiny. All that had happened since Rudd’s imprisonment had led to this one, pivotal moment.

  A primitive rhythm seemed to flow up from the ground beneath her feet. The same rhythm echoed in the breeze, pushed up through every stalk of grass, quivered in each tiny, fragrant violet. It pulsed through her veins, as heady as sap, to pool in her womb. The ancient magic coaxed. Tempted. Enlightened. She hadn’t realized before now that every time she’d danced in despair and loneliness, she had danced for him.

  “What do you want?” he whispered again, his words hot on her skin. “What does your heart say?”

  Tears dampened her eyes. Did she dare tell him that she desired him, with a passion that excited yet frightened her? How could she want him, when he sought to persecute her brother?

  Yet, the spell of the ancient place pulled at her. Wooed. Infused her with hunger.

  He raised his hand, so his fingers hovered over her heart. “Here, now, your lineage does not matter. You are not a titled lady, fettered by tutoring and civility. You are the untamed, stubborn, incredibly beautiful woman who lives in your soul.”

  His fingers brushed her bliaut, just above her cleavage. “That is the woman I saw in your dance. The woman I love.”

  “Love?” Joy swelled within her.

  He nodded. “Let me show you how much.”

  His fingers slid across her breast. Heat blazed on her skin. Her eyelids fluttered. As her body arched into his caress, he pulled her into his arms. His hard loins thrust against her womanhood, and the wanting inside her flared.

  “Oh, Fane. Aye!”

  “Rexana, how I love you.”

  “Show me,” she whispered. “I am willing.”

  His lips swept down on hers in firm possession. He squeezed her tight. He held her as though he feared she might slip away. As though he would never let her.

  A sigh rushed between her teeth. His mouth left hers to nibble a path across her jaw.

  She shivered. “You tease.”

  “I seduce,” he growled against her tingling skin.

  His hands skimmed down to her bottom, and she wriggled against his hardness. He groaned and inhaled sharply.

  “I shall seduce too,” she murmured.

  “Careful, love. Our dance will finish before it has properly begun.”

  “Why?” She squirmed out of his arms. “You must take the lead in this dance?”

  His words rumbled low in his throat. “After the first time, you may lead. Aye?”

  “If you wish.”

  “Good.” He reached for her, his face stark with need. On instinct, she stepped backward. Grass heads brushed against her hands. He pursued, and she laughed.

  She had taken no more than two steps, when he pounced. He pushed her down, cushioning her fall. She landed on her bottom in the lush grass. She half giggled, half squealed, as he dropped to his knees, prowled onto her, then pressed her onto her back. Nibbling the side of her cheek, he rolled her over, his limbs entwined with hers. The sweet scents of crushed grasses, flowers, and the spicy musk of man filled her senses.

  Over and over they rolled. Kissing. Touching. Laughing. At last, she fell still, her head pillowed in a patch of violets.

  Breathing hard, he settled himself over her. He grinned. “You are a fetching sight with your hair full of grass.”

  She feigned a frown. “And you are a barbarian, husband, for tossin
g me to the ground.”

  He chuckled. His mouth caught hers in a slow, wet kiss.

  Moaning, she reached up to tangle her fingers through his silky hair. The kiss deepened. His tongue meshed with hers in a steady, sensual rhythm. Her womb pulsed with a similar beat.

  He shuddered. “I cannot wait much longer.”

  “Nor can I.”

  He smiled. As his fingers slid to her bliaut’s ties, a tremor rippled through her, rattling the haze of pleasure. What did she have to do? Would her first experience hurt?

  She shifted beneath him. “Will it—”

  “Shhh, love. I will be gentle.” He shook. “Though, by God, ’twill be a valiant effort.”

  The last tie whispered free. His hand slid underneath her yellow gown to her linen shift, and closed over one of her breasts. She gasped.

  He groaned. “Ah, love.”

  His thumb rubbed over her nipple. Heat shot down between her legs. Sensation so sharp and urgent, she cried out.

  He bowed his head. Swore between his teeth.

  He caught her gown, pulling it up to her thighs.

  “Fane?”

  “Let me lead,” he begged, even as his fingers searched through the layers of bliaut and shift. “Let me give you pleasure. Let me show you this dance between man and woman.”

  A draft, then his hand, brushed her inner thigh. She started. As he touched her sex, she jumped again. “Oh!”

  “You like this? ’Tis only the beginning.” His skilled fingers worked the nub of nerves. Each sensation was more delicious than the first. She could scarcely breathe. Her eyes squeezed shut.

  Through the exquisite haze, she became aware of him shifting to one side. He fumbled with his garments. The points of his hose popped. He shifted again, and then his warm maleness brushed the place where his hand had been.

  Her eyes flew open.

  His snarled hair hung down beside his taut jaw. His gaze smoldered. His mouth tensed, as though it took great restraint to hold still above her. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips over hers in a rough kiss. He nibbled her bottom lip and his hardness glided against her. Teased. Tempted.