“Nicholas, please.”
“This will hurt,” he murmured in apology. Then he reared back and drove in, feeling the tearing of her maidenhead around his cock, feeling her body stiffen. He swallowed her scream as he kissed her roughly, sliding his hand between them to circle and stroke the hard nub of flesh until the shudders wracking her body were those of pleasure instead of pain.
When she was bucking and arching against him, he moved higher on her body and lifted her legs up, opening her body more and driving deeply into her, staring down so that he could see where they joined, his darker flesh spearing her paler, pink flesh, her golden curls caressing his rod each time he shafted her. “Watch,” he purred, using his fingers on her clit again, smiling as she shuddered and broke around him, wet waves of cream coating his cock as she screamed in ecstasy, her blue eyes darkening to midnight in her pleasure.
Sliding his hand up her side, he painted her nipple with cream before lowering his head and catching the plump pink tip between his teeth. With a hungry groan he licked it clean and continued to suckle as he shafted her with short deep digs of his cock, working one arm under her hips and lifting her for better penetration. The satiny, tight confines of her pussy tightened convulsively around him again, and Nicholas growled against her breast, palming her butt. Burrowing his head between her breasts, he pounded himself into her as she started to scream and score his back with her nails as she came again.
He climaxed inside her with a roar, flooding her welcoming depths with his seed, as an orgasm unlike any he had ever known ripped through him. When it finally ended, he rested on her sweet body, struggling to breathe.
To his disgust, he realized his eyes burned with tears.
He loved her.
This was his soul mate, the one he had been born for, as she had been born for him. What a sad joke for life to play on him, and of all the times to be playing it.
His Spanish bride, the woman he had been promised to for the past ten years, was to arrive in three months for their marriage.
And now, he held his heart’s desire in his arms.
His mother knew the moment she saw his father she loved him. But they had both been of noble blood. And both had already been promised to the other. Fate, or perhaps God, had been kind.
But Nicholas—he cuddled her sweet body to his, and damned himself to hell. He should have gone hunting with his brothers that day.
∞∞∞
Nicholas kept her, for three short months, after they managed to find the bandits.
He still could not believe what he had seen that night.
After they had finished their loving, she had lain against him for a few brief moments and then had leaped to her feet, agile as a deer and stood listening, her eyes closed. He had sat up slowly and watched her. The forest fell into an unnatural silence and he had the oddest feeling it was speaking to her. An unseen wind blew her hair back from her face, caressed her body, but left him untouched.
Her eyes opened and locked with his and she said softly, “They are close. They’ve left their camp and go hunting for sport tonight. We must go, my lord.” And her voice had throbbed and echoed while her eyes glowed richly with her power.
She had pretended to be lost, while Nicholas stood, waiting in the shadows, sword drawn and ready. He never should have allowed it, but she was a persuasive little witch, and she had convinced him, rather, he had let her convince him.
And he knew he wanted no other women to die. His conscience could not take seeing another broken, bleeding body, so many of them hardly more than children.
She had stared at him, her blue eyes swirling with power and confidence and rage and he had known, just known, that she could do all she promised, and more. There need be no more deaths, no more rapes, nor bloodied, broken women who stared at everyone and everything with fear in their eyes.
It could all end, that very night.
Once the bandits came upon her, Nicholas came out of his place in the shadows, and the bandits turned and saw him, laughing. They numbered eight, and could easily dispose of one highborn lord, even a knighted one.
Of course, Nicholas had a few weapons they knew nothing of.
And so did Aislinn.
Three of the eight died the moment they laid hands on her, simply falling to the ground, stone cold and drained of life. She had smiled coldly, smugly, as she lifted her gown and daintily stepped over them.
Three others went after Nicholas and he dispatched them with his sword, not even bothering to use any of his mind-magic. He saved the traitor, the one who had been a family servant, for last and he took his time, letting the bastard think he might even spare him.
The other two were the leaders and Aislinn insisted she be allowed to deal with them. Nicholas had not answered, intent on dealing with them himself, but before he could even move two steps, she had started and finished, reaching out towards him with an unseen hand.
Using her gifts and his, she had the men convinced they were women, the women they had abused, and they were caught in a mental loop of endless abuse and rape and torture.
He asked how long it would last.
She had coldly said, “Until they decide to end it.”
Until they committed suicide.
He had to admit, it was rather…fitting.
They had left the men screaming, whimpering, crying like the broken women who had survived what had been done to them, begging and pleading for mercy.
∞ ∞ ∞
They started to meet, often and always in secret.
In those few short months, he had learned his magic was more similar to hers than he had thought. He had nowhere near her abilities, but he could move things from one place to another, including himself, with just a thought. He couldn’t create fire, couldn’t summon the elements like she could, but he had more magic inside him than he had thought.
She helped bring it out.
He was not certain whether he was happy or sad about that. He was seeing the world through new eyes, and learning how to spin rainbows from his own hands. Such pure, fine magic, and so few things he could share with anyone other than Aislinn. Only with her.
It gave such joy, brought such joy.
The rush it gave him was a maddening, sexual one that never failed to bring a wild grin to his face. It was little wonder she had looked so much like a goddess striding out of the stream that first morning. Wielding such a deep, seductive power was addictive. It soon changed so many things about him—the way he walked, the way he looked at things.
Now that it was out, how could he ever push it back inside again?
And now that he had her? How could he ever live without her?
∞ ∞ ∞
Would he come?
Aislinn didn’t know.
Pacing back and forth, she cast one fretful glance after another towards the tree line. To the left ran the stream, her mare waiting patiently for her. Kicking her long skirts out of the way, she paused to stare at Diana. The gray mare gazed back at her with wise, knowing eyes.
Frustrated, Aislinn said, “Stop looking at me so, Diana.”
The mare heaved a sigh and went back to grazing, occasionally lifting her eyes to study her mistress worriedly.
Her chest was tight, with both residual rage and fear. Her throat was swollen, raw and aching from the tears she had finally stopped shedding. There would be no more tears—no matter what he told her. She would not shed another tear over Nicholas Montgomery.
The rage inside her had finally burned itself from a wildfire down to a smoldering one that was just waiting to be stoked again. And the pain…oh, the pain, it was a biting, gnawing thing that continued to eat at her, driving her to near insanity.
But no more tears. She was a witch, a strong, proud witch, not some silly little silken lady who would pine herself away over the likes of the handsome lord.
The past three nights had been the longest of her life. And she had shed enough tears to last her a lifetime.
In the little shop that had belonged to her parents, where they had spent so many nights in each other’s arm, he had come to her, lain with her one last time. Afterward, he had told her—while she still had his seed wet on her thighs, while her heart still thundered from the climaxes he had given her—that he was to wed another three days hence. He had known for years, and had not told her. He had shattered her. The pain had been visceral, devastating—betrayal at its worst, while she still had his semen inside her.
But, most painful had been when he had offered to make her his mistress. No, she thought with a snarl. His whore. No matter how much he professed to love her, if he was fucking her while married to another, providing for her while married to another, it made her a whore.
It was even more painful, though, that she had been tempted…very tempted. And if he knew how very few choices she had, how very little time, he would have pushed, and she might have given in.
And she would have hated herself.
Eventually she would have hated him.
But he loved her. He would not leave her, surely.
“I am not being foolish,” she insisted, staring into Diana’s dark, soft eyes. “He loves me. I know he does.”
The mare seemed to shrug before returning to nibbling delicately at the grass.
“What is taking the man so long?” she wondered aloud. Her hand clenched and her right eye twitched ever so slightly. Her skin crawled as the wild magic ran loose inside her, her control weak and shaky. She could go to him. Or bring him here. She was more powerful than him. It would take so very little.
No, she told herself adamantly. Not now. Just a month past, she had heard rumors of a woman hanged concocting herbal potions. If that alone endangered a woman, what would happen to a woman who could summon a person to appear right before her very eyes? Or to a man who disappeared into thin air? She couldn’t endanger him that way.
Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths, swallowing the power down, calming herself, soothing herself, as her mother had taught her years earlier. Though neither parent had been quite as powerful as Aislinn the same laws for magic still held. Control was everything to a witch.
Once the prickling of her skin stopped, she opened her eyes and resumed her pacing.
Damn him, she thought. Why is he not here?
Tension filled the air, warning her only moments before he appeared with a flash of light in front of her. She could not stifle the pride, or the fear, that feat brought. Only months before he had not been capable or even known he could do such powerful magic. In such dangerous times as these, it might have been better if he had never learned.
“Nicholas,” she whispered, flinging herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. “What kept you?”
“Aislinn,” he murmured, closing his eyes against the pain that swept through him. Why could he not free himself of this spell she had cast around him? Why could he not go a single moment without thinking of her? “Aislinn, we cannot see each other again,” he said, drawing her back. “We have spoken of this.”
“I needed to speak with you again,” she told him, clutching at his shoulders, staring up into his deep-green eyes. His hair, long and thick and the color of midnight, fell around his face, tumbled to his wide, powerful shoulders. She had lost count of the times she had buried her hands in that hair, held him pressed against her while he loved her, his strong, muscled knight’s body rubbing against her.
“I am to wed today,” he said gently, as if the softer the words were spoken, the less pain they would bring. His deep blue doublet gleamed dully, shot through with threads of silver. On his right hand, he wore a large ring of hammered silver that reflected the dim light filtering through the trees.
“You cannot. Nicholas, we belong together. You know it as well as I,” she whispered. Stay with me, come away with me, she pleaded silently.
“I cannot shame my family that way. I told you from the beginning we could not be husband and wife. Aislinn, you knew of this always.” He cupped her cheek in one large hand, studying her lovely face, the soft blue eyes, the silky blonde hair that curled wildly around her shoulders, committing those features to memory.
As if he could ever forget. He would see her image every time he closed his eyes, from now until the day he breathed his last.
“Things have changed,” she told him, drawing away and taking a step back. Closing her eyes, she turned to face the stream. “Drastically. We had no idea this would happen.” The warmth in her heart was slowly turning to ice and she felt cold, so very cold. Aislinn was certain that if she was touched, she would shatter. Aye, you told me that we could never be together. But you never told me why. I never would have lain with a man promised to another. She liked to think she could have resisted him that first time, but if not, then after. Surely after—she surely would have stayed away after that. No woman liked having her heart broken.
“I knew I loved you the first time we were together, the first time we made love,” Nicholas whispered roughly. “But I cannot dishonor my family.”
“And what of my honor? You claimed to love me, you lay with me, night after night, never telling me that you were promised to another, only that we could never be together. You knew I would think that I could change your mind, that I would think I could persuade you to stay with me. And you betrayed me, telling me only days before you were to wed your Spanish bride. And you even fucked me one final time before you told me.” She turned slowly as she spoke and smiled with cool satisfaction when he flinched at her blunt language. “What of my honor?”
“You are a woman,” he said simply. And then, he could have bitten his tongue off. Witch or not, he was a man who knew better than to anger a woman, particularly one he loved so dearly.
Her blue eyes narrowed and flags of color rode high on her cheeks. “A woman,” she repeated, shaking her head slightly. She moved away from him, crossing her arms over her chest.
“So because I am a woman, my honor means less than nothing. Or is it because my family’s wealth comes from being merchants, not being lords? Does your Spanish bride have honor? Would you insult her this way?” she asked coldly, arching an arrogant brow at him and smiling a tiny, cold smile.
“I must go,” he said, roughly. Shaking his head, he turned away, tensing his arms and tipping his head back. I cannot do this again. His heart was already shattered and his own honor bruised from what he was doing, the choices he had made, the way he had hurt Aislinn. “The offer is open, Aislinn. Be it now or twenty years from now, you can come to me. I will love you until the day I die and I will be with you as often as I can.”
“It seems that I cannot be your wife. I will not be your whore,” she said heatedly.
“That is not what I offered you,” he rasped, glaring at her with angry, insulted eyes as he grabbed her arm and jerked her against him. “Never have I thought of you as such.”
“A woman who lies with a married man that is not her husband, and allows him to provide for her is a whore. Call it all the pretty names you wish, Nicholas Montgomery, but I call it whore. And I will not do it,” she said, her voice chilly as she jerked her arm away from him. “And you dirty what we had by even suggesting it.”
“That is your choice,” he said quietly, shoulders slumping. “I’ve loved you as I have loved no other.” He opened his eyes and looked at her, his gut freezing at the changes he saw on her face. The laughter that had always been there was gone, the warmth and the vitality absent, replaced by a lifelessness that frightened him.
He remembered, for some odd reason, something his mother had told him only last night.
Honor is important, Nicholas. But so is love. Honor and love are both things that last. But honor will not keep you warm at night. Nor will it make you happy.
He did not know why she had said such an odd thing. She knew nothing of Aislinn. Of course his gifts came from her, so he perhaps she knew more than she let on.
But his mother was a woman. She could not be expe
cted to understand a man’s honor.
“I do love you, Aislinn.”
A cold smile, one he had never seen, spread over her face, leaving her eyes empty and cruel. “Yes. I know that. Of course, your honor means more than I do. A pity, that. I hope your honor keeps you happy and gives you many sweet memories in life, Nicholas.”
“You have already given me more sweet memories than I could ever have hoped for,” he said, his voice hot and smoky, his hands itching to touch her one last time. He would have given anything to erase that coldness from her face, to leave her happy this last time. It was the last time, he knew. Her pride would keep her from coming to him, even if they both lived two hundred years.
“I hope you are not too surprised when I destroy them,” Aislinn said mockingly, strolling around him in a slow circle, pausing by Diana to stroke the mare’s neck.
“Nothing would do that.”
“Be careful what you say, Nicholas. I would have said that, once, but three nights ago you destroyed my sweet memories, and they are now bitter. My heart has been like ashes in my chest and the only thing worth living for was the belief that you would see reason,” Aislinn said, stroking her hand down Diana’s graceful neck.
“My sister is dead. My father died just weeks ago, and Mother has been gone for several years,” Aislinn said, with a faraway look in her eyes. “When father died, the church decided it could seize the money and—”
“Why did you not tell me?” Nicholas demanded. He knew her father had died. But the church had taken the money? She had nothing? A shameful joy bloomed inside his heart. She would have to come to him if she wanted to survive. He would be the only way she could make it, unless the church returned the money.
Unless she wanted to join the church.
She froze him with a look. Fuck me. She would not dare.
“Why?” she asked. She shrugged her slim shoulders, shoulders far too small for the burdens she had been bearing the past weeks. “I do not know why I did not share it with you at the time. Perhaps…” her voice grew disturbingly quiet and Nicholas had to strain to hear her. “Perhaps I knew this was coming. Perhaps I knew I would never share my life with you, so why share my troubles?”
Under Your Spell Page 2