“It is your wish that we love each other?” He seemed amused at his question and Elizabeth thought that his eyes fairly sparked with arrogance.
“I did not mean that,” Elizabeth stammered. “I only wish to get along with you, and not as your servant, Geoffrey. I am your wife and should stand beside you . . . not hovering somewhere in the background. I think your ideas about marriage most unusual.”
“This is my opinion of your views, wife. It is your ideas that are most unusual,” he argued in his defense. “And it is because you are so very difficult to deal with that I find myself losing my patience. Think this will change when you are settled in my home?”
Elizabeth shrugged a reply. “It would seem that you are the one with the problem, my lord, for you have just admitted that you have trouble keeping your patience.” She smiled at her logic and the expression on his face. “I will be happy to help you overcome this problem,” she added, “if you will allow it.”
“I am not the one with a problem,” Geoffrey responded. He smiled and said, “You try to make me yell again, don’t you? What is your aim?”
Elizabeth did not immediately answer. She lifted her shoulders and turned her gaze away from him.
“You bite the lion and chance being swallowed by him,” he said, rubbing his chin.
“And you are the lion, my lord?” Elizabeth asked, thinking to set another trap.
“I am,” Geoffrey acknowledged, seeing the sparkle in her eyes and wondering at the cause.
“Then that makes me your lioness, does it not?” she inquired with a soft voice.
“I had not considered it, but yes, it would make you my lioness,” he said with a chuckle.
“Interesting,” Elizabeth told her husband. “Did you know that the lioness is the one who hunts and brings the food to her husband?”
“Only because he allows it,” Geoffrey stated with conviction.
“And will you allow it for this one day?” she asked. Geoffrey frowned. “What is it you ask of me?”
“To ride with me into the forest. I will hunt for you and fix your meal and then we will return to our duties.” And perhaps, she thought, you will tell me your plans for Belwain when we are alone and you are not distracted.
Geoffrey threw back his head and laughed, causing his mount to prance in agitation. “You think you are so capable?”
Elizabeth nodded and he laughed all the more.
There was much work to be done, orders to be given, Geoffrey knew, weighing his responsibilities against the pleasure his wife was offering. Ah, but it was too good an opportunity to let pass by, Geoffrey decided with extreme smugness, this chance to show Elizabeth her limits as a woman.
“Lead the way, lioness,” he said, throwing the reins back to her. “Your lion is hungry.”
Elizabeth laughed with delight, feeling very much like a child about to play a new game. All the problems would still be there when the game was ended, but the respite was welcome. For this one day, Elizabeth decided, she would rest from her burden. And show this arrogant husband a thing or two in the process.
She spurred her horse into motion, anticipation taking hold. Geoffrey stayed right behind her, letting her set the pace, as she rode into the forest, her golden hair flying with the wind behind her. He caught her laughter and found himself laughing too. Her enthusiasm was catching, he thought to himself, feeling a lightness of spirit he hadn’t known he possessed.
Elizabeth finally grew tired of the race and pulled to a stop. She slid from her horse before her husband could reach her side. It was she who grabbed his hand and led him to a sturdy-looking tree and commanded him to sit and rest while she saw to their food.
He could not allow that and said as much. “I will not interfere with your hunting but I must stay by your side. That is the way of it,” he added when he saw she was about to protest.
“Then do not make a sound or you will have no dinner,” she warned.
Geoffrey watched her take an arrow and position it against the string of the puny bow, and he could not contain himself. He started to laugh again. “You intend to use that. . . toy to catch our game?” he asked.
“I do,” Elizabeth snapped.
“Then I will surely go hungry,” Geoffrey predicted, though he admitted he didn’t mind.
Elizabeth ignored his barb. She walked a short distance from the horses and then stood, as still as the tree beside her, waiting. The arrow was ready . . . If only the rabbit would cooperate!
So intense, Geoffrey thought as he watched his wife. He stood a short distance behind her, listening to the sounds of the forest, his hand in position above his sword. When would she give up this pretense? he asked himself. Admit that she was ill-prepared and needed his assistance? It would be a while longer, he predicted, for she was most stubborn. He sighed and shifted his weight, prepared to outwait her. Elizabeth turned then and glared at him and he ceased his noise.
She didn’t miss the smug look on his face, but wished she had. So smug, so sure of himself and his ability only. He waits for me to fail so that he can gloat, she thought. He prepares his laugh and his barbs.
If she had to stand there all day and into the night, she vowed she would. Failure could not be allowed, not if she was to keep any of her pride.
Her prayers for victory were finally answered. A fat, though nimble rabbit raced across the small clearing; Elizabeth took aim and sent the arrow whistling through the air, and if Geoffrey had so much as blinked, he would have missed the kill. The rabbit collapsed to the ground, nailed to the earth by her arrow.
His mouth opened before he had a thought as to what he would say. Truth was, he admitted with a bit of sheepish astonishment, he was fairly speechless.
Oh, how she longed to look back over her shoulder and see her husband’s reaction! She did not, of course, as she wished to act most blase about her accuracy, and she knew that if she looked at him, he would read the gloating victory in her eyes. She pulled another arrow from her pouch and positioned it against the tensed string of the bow, keeping her smile to a minimum.
Elizabeth waited until her arms began to ache and then she changed her strategy. Ever so slowly she began to walk into the denseness, hoping to startle game into motion. Her aim worked, and Elizabeth felled another rabbit.
When she had gathered both rabbits, she turned to her husband and smiled. “I am most fortunate that the rabbits do not know I use a toy, my lord. Don’t you agree?”
Geoffrey laughed and said, “They are most stupid animals, wife, but even so, I must tell you, well done.”
Elizabeth made a formal bow and replied, “I thank you for the compliment, Geoffrey. I do believe it is your first. You have my appreciation for your kind words.” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with merriment. She felt like throwing her head back and laughing, just for the sheer joy of it.
“I would rather have your kiss,” Geoffrey said, and only then realized how very much he wanted to touch her.
Elizabeth almost asked him if he had forgotten that it was daylight and that he had informed her that kissing was only for the privacy of their bedroom. He was breaking one of his rules, and that fact pleased her. “Then you shall have it, husband,” she answered. She dropped the rabbits and walked over to him, swinging her hips in what she hoped was a provocative manner. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she concentrated on her task, wetting her lower lip with the tip of her tongue before she pulled his head down to hers. Their lips met in a long, searching kiss that left them both unsatisfied. And so they kissed again. The playfulness was suddenly gone and Geoffrey became demanding, wrapping his arms around her and pulled her up against his chest. Her reaction to his forcefulness was an uninhibited enthusiasm; her arms clung to him while her tongue circled and entwined with his in this sensuous battle for fulfillment. He turned her and braced her against he bark of a tree, never breaking his hold on her lips. Stroking her breasts through the material did not appease his appetite, nor did her motion with her hips, rubbing so
seductively against his own, give him respite.
He growled low in his throat and Elizabeth whimpered an answer. The need to touch her satin skin drove all thoughts aside. He lifted the hem of her skirt with both hands until the material was caught at her waist and then caressed the smoothness that was Elizabeth, pleasured beyond belief when he felt her tremble beneath his hands. He leaned one arm above her head against the bark, trying to ease the growing ache in his loins. He pulled his mouth free and rested his head against the side of her face, breathing heavily into her ear. “This is foolish, wife. We must stop. It is not safe here.” His voice, harsh with frustration and need, sounded as if it came from a great distance.
Elizabeth kissed the side of his cheek, her tongue stroking the line of his scar. “It is safe,” she whispered. “It is always safe when I am with you.” She caught his mouth then and kissed him hungrily. “Please, Geoffrey,” she moaned when he tried to pull away from her.
“There are other ways to ease your torment,” Geoffrey whispered in a rough voice. He captured her mouth in a devastating kiss that promised fulfillment and slipped his hand beneath her undergarments. When he touched and began to stroke the dewy softness between her legs, she cried out in ecstasy. Geoffrey’s tongue began to slowly move in and out of her mouth while his fingers imitated the motion below. And then Elizabeth’s hips began to arch more forcefully against his hand; she buried her head in the cup of his shoulder, trembling against the need and desire coursing through her body. Release came in such a rush, shaking Elizabeth with such force that she collapsed against Geoffrey.
Geoffrey thought that he could withstand the sweet torment of holding Elizabeth so near and giving her the pleasure he wished her to have, but found that it was not enough. He held her tightly against him until her breathing slowed and the trembling had stopped, and then stood back from her. Without a word, he began to take his clothes off, willing her with his gaze to do the same.
She was quicker than he, standing proud though shy before him, her clothes at her feet.
Geoffrey took his time looking at her, his passion warm and full of promise. Elizabeth’s breasts were heavy with need, the nipples erect and waiting, straining for his touch.
His control amazed her. She watched him place his tunic upon the ground and turn back to her, and was almost overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of his body. He seemed the Viking god her grandfather had told her stories of, she thought, for he was surely as magnificent in build. And he belongs to me, she thought with wonder, just as I belong to him.
Geoffrey’s hand reached out for her and Elizabeth rushed into his embrace. He seemed content to hold her against him, rubbing his hands down her back with a sigh of pleasure, as he inhaled the sweet scent.
He knelt down beside his tunic and pulled her down beside him, resting her on her back before stretching out beside her. His movements were slow and almost lazy now as he trailed the tip of his finger over one breast and then the other.
Elizabeth pulled his head down and kissed him passionately on the lips, willing him to lose his control.
“God’s truth, Elizabeth, you make my blood boil with my need for you,” Geoffrey whispered.
“It is the same for me, Geoffrey,” Elizabeth admitted, blushing. “I fear you think me wanton,” she added. She parted her legs and tried to pull him on top of her, but Geoffrey held back.
“Not yet,” he whispered as his mouth traveled to her breasts. His tongue began to stroke first one and then the other, always close to the nipples but never touching. He was driving her crazy with his tender torture and she found herself pulling at his hair to stop him. She heard his soft laughter and then his mouth gave her what she wanted, what she silently begged for, as he touched the nipple with his tongue and then took it into his mouth.
Elizabeth sighed her pleasure, let the exotic feeling surge through her body, content.
Her limbs felt blissfully lethargic. Geoffrey leaned up and stared into her eyes, knew that he pleasured her and determined, before he took his fill, to show her more of this new sexual world he had introduced her to.
The need to taste her drove him on. His mouth trailed light, feathery kisses in a circle, around her navel and then slowly moved downward. He found the heat, the wetness he had caused, hidden by the triangle of blond curls, and began to make love to her with his mouth, his searching tongue.
Elizabeth was shocked by the initial touch, did not know that man and woman worshiped each other in such a way, and began to protest. The words died in her throat, washed away by the waves of pleasure her husband caused. She clutched at his shoulders, straining against him as she fought the tension she felt building inside. “Geoffrey!” It was a demand, softened by her gasp.
Her husband knew what she wanted, what she needed to find her release, but held back, keeping her on the brink of the summit until he was sure she was completely out of control. Her throaty moans and the motion of her hips against him told him that it was time. He lifted his head and looked into her passion-glazed eyes as he thrust his fingers inside the velvet heat just once. Elizabeth’s entire body arched in splendor. She shook with the force of her climax and then felt herself floating in a sea of colors, all exploding and blending and finally fading.
She opened her eyes to see her husband smiling with arrogant satisfaction.
“You think me terrible?” she whispered with embarrassment.
“I think you beautiful,” Geoffrey answered. His voice shook and Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude for the control he had exercised.
And now it was his turn, she decided. She wasn’t sure what she was to do but continued to look directly into his dark gaze as she said, “And does the wife touch her husband in the same way?”
“Aye,” Geoffrey replied in a low growl.
“Like this?” Elizabeth asked, taking hold of his hand. She slowly touched one of his fingers with the tip of her tongue and then slipped the whole of it into her mouth and began to suckle it.
Geoffrey’s control snapped. His growl of pleasure was her only warning before he covered her with his body and thrust into her. His mouth captured her moans as he continued to plunder her body and her soul, pushing harder and harder.
Elizabeth wrapped her legs around his powerful thighs and rode with him on the journey toward fulfillment yet again. He was the warrior now, intent on his victory, but Elizabeth was there with him, sharing in his intimate conquest.
“My gentle warrior,” she whispered when the storm was ended and the sun was again allowed to shine.
Geoffrey heard her and smiled. He rolled to his side with a contented sigh and said, “You are wrong, wife. I think perhaps you are my gentle warrior, with your dagger at your side and another hidden beneath your skirts; aye, you would be a warrior if you could, but you have set yourself an impossible task, for you will never be able to shed your gentleness.”
He kissed her temple after his speech, saw that his words had affected her, for her eyes were filled with tears, and felt most content. He was finding it easier and easier to tell her what was inside him, and admitted that he felt no foolishness with his confessions.
“This lion grows hungry,” he yelled with mock fierceness, slapping her soundly on her hip.
“This lion is always hungry,” Elizabeth laughed, rubbing her hip. She stood when he did and only had to hug him twice while they dressed.
“It is most difficult for you to keep your hands off me,” Geoffrey said with extreme smugness in his voice. “Do not pretend such outrage,” he added with a chuckle when she tried to glare at him. “I will have to get used to this clinging nature of yours, I imagine,” he added with a feigned sigh.
“And is that so terrible, husband?” Elizabeth asked. She picked up the rabbits and turned away from him, looking for a spot to set the fire.
“No, only foreign, that is all,” Geoffrey answered. “I will skin the game while you gather twigs for the fire,” he announced.
Elizabeth nodded and threw the rabbits t
o him.
“Why is it so foreign?” she asked. She made a basket out of the hem of her skirt and began to fill it with bits of branches as she talked.
“What?” Geoffrey asked. He was squatting on the ground, a small hunting knife in his hand, and glanced up to look at her. He smiled when he saw that she was barefoot still and thought that she looked like an enchanting wood nymph.
“This showing of affection, Geoffrey . . . there was none between your parents?”
Geoffrey was surprised by her question, but lost his train of thought as he appreciated the enticing curve of her ankles. “Put your shoes on before you hurt your-self.”
“After you answer my question,” she replied in a saucy voice. She saw that he continued to stare at her legs and smiled. “I like to go barefoot.”
“They died before I had much memory of them,” Geoffrey answered. “Now put your shoes on or I will do it for you.”
Elizabeth dropped the hem of her dress and the twigs fell beside Geoffrey. She spotted one shoe by the base of the tree but couldn’t locate the other. “Then who saw you raised?” she asked as she knelt and burrowed under a thorny bush. The tip of her dark boot was visible and she had to flatten herself on the ground to wiggle close enough to reach it. It wasn’t a very dignified position, but necessary. And Geoffrey observed the whole scene.
“You were overly zealous in removing your clothes,” he remarked with a chuckle. “Always in such a hurry,” he chided. The sparkle in his eyes matched his voice and Elizabeth found herself agreeing.
“I hate to wait for anything,” she answered with complete honesty. She sat on the ground and shook her boots free of any surprises before slipping her feet into them. “And I especially hate having the subject changed all the time. Now answer me, please.”
“Answer what?” Geoffrey asked.
“Who raised you?” She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.
“The king himself,” Geoffrey answered. “Throw me your dagger,” he ordered, “mine is too large for this task.” He was still squatting in the middle of the small clearing, looking at the arrows he had just removed from the game, studying how they were fashioned. “Did your grandfather design these?” he asked when he saw that she was watching him.
Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set] Page 17
