by Lynn Kurland
“Oh.”
“Good night, my love.”
“But,” she blurted out, “there isn’t anywhere else to sleep.”
He kissed her chastely, then he pulled away.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she protested, throwing her arms around his neck and holding on. “That wasn’t satisfying at all.”
He frowned, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against him. “Not satisfying? You leave me in agony on the couch downstairs, cast a bowl of ice cream onto my lap and tell me to eat it, and now you talk to me of dissatisfaction? My lady, you don’t know the meaning of the word!”
Oh, yes she did. She leaned up on her toes and planted her mouth on his. Then she slanted it. Then she opened it and didn’t give him much choice but to do the same. He groaned, a satisfying, heartfelt groan that made her want to grin. She kissed him thoroughly, learning to relish the feel of his hard unyielding body pressed tightly against hers. Yes, there was nothing quite like being locked in Kendrick’s embrace and knowing he didn’t want to let her escape.
She kissed him until her toes curled up in her shoes and her knees began to tingle. When Kendrick began to sway unsteadily, she knew the time for halting had come. She pushed out of his arms and smiled up at him, loving the dazed look on his face.
“That, my lord, is satisfaction.”
Then she breezed into her room and shut the door in his face. She leaned back against it and put her hand over her heart, wincing at the erratic pounding in her chest. Satisfaction? She felt like she’d just run a marathon!
“Genevieve?”
His growl came through the door clearly.
“Yes, husband.”
“I’ll repay you for your sport.”
I sincerely hope you will, she thought with a smile. “Good night, Kendrick.”
He grunted.
“Sweet dreams,” she added.
“This is war,” he said distinctly.
“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
He cursed, fortunately in old French, but she had the feeling she figured prominently in his slander. His curses faded as he walked away from her room, leaving Genevieve smiling broadly.
War? Oh, she certainly hoped so.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“You fool!”
Bryan winced at the force of the shout. He held the phone away from his ear as Mr. Maledica swore vigorously for several minutes in a language Bryan couldn’t understand, and didn’t want to learn. It sounded like French, but it was a dialect he had never heard. He didn’t want to speculate about which slum his employer had been in to learn it.
“God’s teeth, McShane, you are the most incompetent little swine I’ve ever known! How difficult could it possibly be to hire a mercenary or two and send them in to snatch a witless girl? A ten-year-old child could execute this plan with more skill!”
“Y-yes, sir,” Bryan said, his teeth beginning to chatter. Chin up, lion. At least Maledica doesn’t have his fingers around your throat.
“Must I do your thinking for you?”
“I t-tried, sir—”
“And failed miserably!”
Bryan’s teeth chattered some more. “Of course, sir.”
“Now, hear me well, little mouse. I don’t want to have word reach me of another of your failures. You will find a way to capture Miss Buchanan, even if you must do so with your own two hands, is that clear? ‘Tis obvious that after your last bungling attempt, she will be slow to leave the keep. I daresay you haven’t any choice but to follow her inside.”
Bryan winced.
“No more failures, McShane.”
“No, sir.”
The line was disconnected abruptly and so loudly that Bryan’s ear rang. He fumbled with the receiver several times before he managed to replace it in its cradle.
So Maledica wanted him to go inside Seakirk. Bryan broke out into a cold sweat. God help him, he didn’t want to! De Piaget had told him not to come back, and Bryan knew he hadn’t been making idle conversation. He’d never get past the gate guards, and, if he did, he’d never make it back out of the castle alive.
No, he couldn’t do this personally. He would go as far as the village, but no further. He would have to find someone capable this time, perhaps someone less easy to bribe but less prone to the vapors, unlike his last two thugs. A pity he couldn’t find a man of the cloth to exorcise Kendrick; that would certainly make things easier.
His lion sat up and roared encouragingly.
Bryan smiled for the first time in ten years.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Genevieve woke to the sound of faint noise. Well, maybe Kendrick had called someone in to fix the dishwasher. She rolled from her bed, showered and dressed, then ran downstairs.
“Merde!”
So, Kendrick was cooking again. She poked her head inside the kitchen.
“Damnation, burned again!”
Genevieve ducked as a frisbee-size pancake, charred to a beautiful black, went sailing over her head and slammed against the wall behind her. Kendrick had another one on his spatula, primed and ready for launch. He saw her and lowered his arm.
“Good morrow to you,” he snapped.
Genevieve fought her smile and walked over to him, ignoring the kitchen full of smoke. She calmly turned on the vent over the stove, took the spatula from Kendrick’s hand and flipped the burned pancake into the sink. Then she stuck her finger in the batter and tasted it.
“Kendrick, it’s wonderful!”
“Aye, a pity neither of us will ever know just how fine. Damn me, but these bloody wretches burn before I can get my spoon under them!”
“You have the heat up too far. Medium is hot enough. If you keep it on high, one side burns and the other side stays raw.”
“I know that!”
“Are you sure you want pancakes?”
Kendrick stomped over to the freezer, jerked out a carton of ice cream and threw her a glare before he cursed his way out of the kitchen.
And so progressed the day. Kendrick wanted to go riding; a storm of epic proportions arrived and thwarted his plans. He wanted to drive to the village; the car wouldn’t start. He wanted chocolate-chip cookies; the brown sugar was as solid as marble and just that impossible to soften. Genevieve could only laugh helplessly at his frustration. In payment, he dumped her over his shoulder, hauled her into the library and tickled her in front of the fire until she was sobbing with laughter.
Genevieve thought his frustration an amusing thing until he left her at her door again that night. He kissed her until her knees buckled, then turned her around and pushed her gently inside the room. She had too much pride to beg him to kiss her just a few more times. Though the outcome of the war was yet to be decided, she knew he’d scored a victory that night.
Genevieve shivered as she sat on a bale of hay and watched Kendrick brush his horse. Actually, his horse was simply the horse he had chosen a week ago, on the day he had come back to life. During his ghostly years he had overseen the filling of his stables and now possessed a dozen of the finest horses on the island. Or so he claimed. Genevieve didn’t have any reason to doubt him. The animal currently being groomed was a magnificent beast, huge, strong, and as black as midnight.
Kendrick hummed as he worked, his hands smoothing over the silky flanks, combing the mane into a waterfall of darkness. Genevieve closed her eyes and pretended that his hands were skimming over her skin. He was driving her crazy! It had been almost a week since their wedding and it had been the longest week of her life. He never touched her until they were upstairs in front of their bedroom door and then he more than made up for spending the day pushing her away. They’d been there in the hallway for over an hour the night before, kissing and caressing and teasing each other into a frenzy. Genevieve had tried to pull him inside the bedchamber with her, but he wouldn’t come. If she heard him tell her one more time that he was sure she wasn’t ready yet, she’d haul off and slug him.
The stall
door closed with a soft bang and Kendrick wiped his hands on his jeans.
“Ready to go back?”
She nodded, her teeth beginning to chatter. She slipped her hand into his and sidled up to him as they walked back to the hall. Having his arms around her certainly would have taken the edge off the chill.
“You know,” she began casually, “the ground sure is wet.”
He smiled down at her, the twilight casting most of his face in shadows. “It is.”
“Gosh, there are even puddles here and there. I could get my feet wet.”
“ ’Tis a good thing you wore your galoshes. And your slicker. Bloody frigid out tonight.” “I would be a lot warmer if you’d carry me.” “Can’t. I’ve got a sore back.” “You lie like a rug.”
He laughed and squeezed her hand. “I’m covered with dust and horsehair. I didn’t think you’d wish to be covered by the same thing.”
She almost said that what she wanted was to be covered by his big, warm body, but it sounded a bit too earthy even for her recently acquired lustful state of mind. She had her doubts it would impress Kendrick. He’d probably tell her that was a sure sign she wasn’t ready for anything.
A shower, her red feety pajamas and a delicious meal of imported super-chunk peanut butter sandwiches weren’t enough to improve her mood. She scowled at her husband through dinner, then scowled at him as he walked with her up the stairs.
But when he took her in his arms at the door, she didn’t have the energy to scowl anymore. She melted against him, loving the feel of his tongue caressing hers, his hands in her hair, his hard frame pressing her back up against the door. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood up on her toes to better reach his mouth. His shoulders were tense beneath her wrists and the muscles in his neck were taut. She wove her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth down harder against hers. It occurred to her, in the back of her mind, that she had changed very much from just a week ago, but she didn’t give it too much thought. Entertaining intelligent thought while Kendrick was working his magic on her mouth was completely beyond her.
His hands slipped from her hair and she pulled her head back to protest. Before she could open her mouth, he had pinned her against the wall firmly and had captured her mouth again. She had no idea what he intended until she felt his hands on her ribs. Even through the thick flannel she could feel his touch burning her.
Then one of his hands moved to the zipper of her pajamas. She would have helped him find it if she’d been able to unclench her hands from his hair. Luckily, he didn’t need any help. Soon the hiss of a zipper opening greeted her ears as cold air greeted her bare skin. Cold air was immediately followed by warm hands. Her breaths became moans and her knees became mush. If he hadn’t been pinning her against the door with his hips and legs, she would have collapsed. She was torn between the feelings his mouth was arousing and the feelings his hands began to arouse. All she knew was that she never wanted any of the feelings to end.
Which was, of course, precisely what happened. First he slipped his hands around to her back, then he moved his head to rest it on her shoulder. He merely stood there, breathing hard, holding her so close he robbed her of air.
“Kendrick,” she squeaked.
“Aye?” he asked gruffly.
“Why did you stop?”
He pulled back and put his hand on her zipper, then he stopped and looked at her. With a low moan, he brought the edges of the garment together and zipped it closed. Then he put his hand behind her head and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“I love you,” he said.
“Please don’t stop.”
“I have to.”
“Kendrick!”
He kissed her swiftly, then turned and walked down the hall.
“Kendrick! Damn you, come back here!”
He turned slowly. “I can’t. Genevieve, you aren’t ready—”
“If you tell me one more time I’m not ready, I swear I’ll pick up that broadsword of yours and geld you, you jerk!”
He winced. “And we certainly wouldn’t want that.”
“Kendrick!”
He made her a low bow and turned, disappearing down the winding staircase. Genevieve stomped into her room and slammed the door shut. How could he do this to her? If this were really a war, she’d done nothing but lie down and let him walk all over her. It was going to stop. She’d give him a taste of his own medicine. Right after she had a cold shower and a terrible night’s sleep.
She walked to the bathroom, already planning her attack.
Kendrick parked the car, gave it a pat on the hood for starting and behaving so nicely on the trip to the village, then ran lightly up the steps to his hall. He held a single red rose in his right hand. It was hardly enough to appease his wife, but it might be a start in the right direction.
He made his way into the kitchen, the smells of supper drawing him as though he were a starving waif. He walked in, did a double take, then stopped so suddenly he almost lost his balance. Was that Genevieve? With those ridiculous beasts in her hair? He approached hesitantly, wondering just what had possessed his wife to wrap her hair in such a fashion. She turned around and looked at him blandly. He gasped. Her face was blue!
“What,” he asked in a strangled voice, “have you done to yourself, wife?”
“I’m wearing a beauty mask.”
A beauty mask? Kendrick wasn’t about to ask for the details. He laid the rose down on the table. “What are those animals in your hair?”
“Curlers.”
“They look painful.”
“They are.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“The honeymoon’s over, buster. This is real life. I do this all the time.”
He sat down at the table with a thump. She did this all the time? He couldn’t bring himself to believe it.
And then it hit him. She was trying to score a point against him. Ah, well, perhaps he deserved it. It had been his intention to make her desire for him greater than her fear of the bedding. Obviously he’d been a bit too thorough. Her threat to geld him still rang clearly in his mind.
Perhaps he could talk her into washing all the blue mud off her face, then he’d be her willing slave for the rest of the evening. That prospect brightened his outlook considerably.
He waited until after supper before he broached the subject.
“Love, that beautiful mask must be uncomfortable.”
“It is.”
How to phrase his request delicately? No idea. So, having no other choice, he forged ahead boldly.
“Wash it off and I’ll do your bidding for the rest of the night,” he offered.
She lifted one eyebrow. The mask cracked in a few places and several chips landed in her lap.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
She pushed away from the table. “I’ll come clean up the mess later.”
“I’ll see to it.” He smiled at her hesitation. “I’ll rinse off the plates first and I won’t put any bones down the garbage disposal. I’ve learned my lesson.” The smirks and snickers of the repairmen still stung his pride when he thought about them too long.
“If you’re sure.”
“Oh, I’m very sure. Make haste, wife, before you scatter blue slivers all over the house.”
She nodded and rose, her ridiculous headwear looking like a misshapen crown. Kendrick chuckled once she had gone. Ridiculous or not, his wife was adorable. He chuckled some more as he cleaned up the kitchen with skill Worthington would have admired; then he retired to the library. After building up the fire, he sat down on the couch, enjoying a few moments of peace in which to contemplate what sorts of delightful things his wife might require of him. He prayed she would make it something that required his undivided attention for a lengthy amount of time. Perhaps she would care to have her hair brushed. And then her shoulders rubbed. Who knew what that could lead to. Kendrick closed his eyes and smiled broadly. Ah, this evening could fini
sh well indeed.
The door behind him closed with a soft click. He didn’t move. Just a few more seconds of precious strategy-planning time, then an assault on the quarry. With any luck, Genevieve would be too distracted to realize what he was doing until he had her in his arms and was well on his way to giving her pleasure. Genevieve cleared her throat softly. Kendrick opened his eyes and looked at her.
And rational thought deserted him.
Merciful saints above, she was a vision. Where she had purchased the flimsy gown (and he hesitated to give the scant sheath such an elaborate title) was a mystery, but it had been a fine purchase indeed. It couldn’t have been any more transparent or it would have greatly resembled that plastic wrap in the kitchen that was forever folding over onto itself and making him daft. His usual remedy was to fling the entire roll away. Oh, how he wanted to do the same thing with his wife’s gown.
She moved to stand in front of the fire. “It’s a bit chilly,” she said, in a low, husky voice.
Kendrick couldn’t agree. A sudden, stifling heat flooded his veins. Obviously Genevieve didn’t know that the firelight behind her revealed all of her curves. He looked up at her face, framed by that glorious mane of hair, then began to suspect she knew exactly what the light was doing to her garb. He felt his mouth go dry. Since when had his wife turned into a siren? Was it the beautiful mask? Nay, she had been as beautiful last night as she was tonight. The gown? Nay, not that either. She was just as fetching in her red nightclothes. Whatever it was, he wanted to find out firsthand just how deep the change went. He held out his hand.
“Come here.”
“No.”
He frowned. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting.
“Why not?”
“The fire is warm.”
“I’ll keep you just as warm, my lady. I vow it.”
“My lord, you seem to have forgotten our bargain.”
“What bargain?” By the saints, the flimsy robe couldn’t be enough to keep her warm. If she would just come a bit closer…
“You are at my mercy tonight, Kendrick. I’d like you to remember that.”
