Wild Lavender

by Nicole Elizabeth Kelleher

He split the dessert into two equal portions. “Well?” he demanded when she finished her portion.

  “Well what?”

  “Which is better, the cake or I?” When she didn’t answer right away, he frowned.

  “Give me a second, I’m still thinking. I think I need another taste,” and she leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips, then drew back quickly. Gazing up into the sky for help, she mulled over her answer.

  “Perhaps you need another sample.” He kissed her hard. “Well?”

  “How can I begin anew with no cake with which to compare?” she teased.

  “I think I can find a suitable substitute,” he stated happily. He plucked out a turnip from Will’s bundle and held it above her lips.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would. Now tell me.”

  “All right. All right! You are.”

  “I am what?”

  “You are better than cake.”

  “Go on.”

  “I would rather kiss your lips than eat another piece of cake for the rest of my life.” His eyes narrowed. “I swear it to be true.”

  Casting the turnip away, he dipped down again. The soft kiss quickly deepened. Before they could go further, Rina whickered.

  “Later,” he sighed, and heaved himself away. She smiled as he helped her up.

  “You know, I’ve never witnessed a foaling before,” he said. So Anna explained that, barring any complications, it would be fast, with Rina doing all the work. When Rina whinnied louder and shuddered, Anna rolled up her sleeves and positioned herself behind the mare.

  “Look, you can just see the hooves,” she said. Rina’s abdomen heaved, and with a huge contraction, the foal shot out. The baby landed in Anna’s arms with enough force to knock her to the ground. In her lap was a newborn filly. Four long legs twitched as Anna quickly removed thick mucus from its nostrils. Then Rina came ’round to lick her newborn clean.

  “When you said it was fast, I had no idea,” Larkin said, amazed.

  “I didn’t mean that fast. Come, help me up.” They carefully lifted the filly from her lap and let Rina take over. Larkin held out his hand and helped her to her feet. He noticed her soiled shirtfront and eased back.

  “I said it would be messy,” she reminded him. Still, she hadn’t imagined being knocked to the ground and completely covered with, well, everything. She would have to wash her clothing in the pool and wear her long overtunic until her garments dried.

  The tiny thing managed to wobble on four spindly legs. Tullian came over to sniff at the new filly, then, seemingly pleased, returned to the patch of grass where he’d been grazing.

  She felt Larkin’s hand on her shoulder. “What are you going to name her?” he asked.

  “Why, Honeycakes, of course!” she replied.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine—Later

  At the pool, the sun’s rays barely penetrated the willow’s canopy. The air was crisp as Anna took stock of her stained clothing. The shirt was hopeless. Her breeches were not too bad. She stripped to better clean them.

  Kneeling on the mossy bank, she touched her hair, and her hand came away with a gooey remnant of Rina’s foaling. The pool would be frigid during these early days of spring. She stepped gingerly into the water, allowing her body to settle into the depths. The shocking cold was like an iron fist punching her heart, forcing her to gasp aloud in short, violent puffs. Knowing she would never grow accustomed to the bitter chill, she quickly dunked her head underwater, pulling apart her braid to free her hair.

  When she could no longer keep from drawing breath, she resurfaced. Compared to the water, the cool spring air was deliciously warm. She made quick work of scrubbing away the morning’s labor before shivering her way from the pool. Her tunic, heated by the dappled sunlight, warmed her skin. Her hair dripped around her, its loose, wet curls hanging wildly. Holding her wet shirt and breeches, she stepped into the full sunlight and saw Larkin near the campsite. A soft breeze gusted just as he noticed her.

  • • •

  She would be chilled, he’d thought. And wet. He rebuilt the fire so she could sit and dry herself. A soft oath escaped him as she emerged like an apparition stepping through the willow fronds. The breeze had picked up and was blowing her loosed hair in all directions. Her mane was darker when wet, and the normally golden-brown streaks glowed auburn in the sunlight. Now and then he glimpsed a naked leg when her tunic billowed around her.

  He could barely swallow. Later had come. He made no attempt to hide the desire burning in his eyes. She was watching him, suddenly shy, and he smiled as she found the courage to walk closer. He took her wet clothes and spread them on the grass to dry. Then he pulled her to him and touched her damp hair. He ran his fingers down her proud neck and over her shoulders. His hands traveled back up, cupping her face. She pressed herself willingly against his body.

  “You are so beautiful, Anna,” he murmured.

  He lifted her off her feet and set her near the fire. He removed his shirt, then kissed her, easing her back against the blankets. With forced patience, he unlaced the ties that ran from her tunic’s collar to its waist.

  He had never beheld such loveliness. He levered himself over her, enraptured by the feel of her nipples straining against his chest. She was following his every move and blushed as their eyes met. He kissed her, deeper this time, and felt her hands come alive, pulling him tight against her.

  He dragged himself away long enough to remove his breeches and saw her eyes widen in appreciation. He remembered kissing her that first time. He had thought her to be a woman with at least some experience. She’d been married for three years, after all. But after the admissions of the previous night, coupled with her morning’s passion, he now knew better. She was a virgin to the ways of making love.

  She was shivering, so he hugged her closer and murmured into her ear. “Are you afraid?”

  “N-no, not afraid,” she stammered. “I just…”

  And he knew. She didn’t know what to do. “It’s all right. I’ll help you.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll show you how it can be.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

  Against her lips, he said, “Kiss me, like you did yesterday. Let me feel your fingers in my hair.” He murmured these last words. She responded by twining her fingers through his locks and kissing him deeply. While tongues played and lips pulled, he rolled her onto her back. His free hand roamed over her naked skin, touching her everywhere.

  “Ah God, Anna,” he said shakily.

  He lifted his head to gaze again at her. She was perfectly made: long, sinuous, and curved in all the right places. Her skin was smooth and without blemish, nary a freckle or mole to tarnish the creamy surface. His eyes drifted back to her face; she watched him expectantly. He traced the delicate line of her jaw and stopped at the tiny dimple in her chin. He kissed the small indentation. His finger then ran along the graceful yet proud line of her nose, and he noticed for the first time the little freckle on its side.

  He propped himself up on one elbow and let out an irreverent whistle. “Heaven above, Anna, you take my breath away.” Her smile tenuous, she remained silent, as if awaiting his judgment. Lark went on, his hand running up and down her warming skin, unable to get enough of the feel of her. “Can you guess what my favorite part of you is?” She gasped as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger.

  “Not even close,” he murmured as his mouth seared a path to her breast. “Guess again.” Anna moaned as his lips suckled her. His hand followed the curve of her waist and played over the tight muscles of her stomach before his fingers dusted the springy curls of her mound. He lifted his head from her breast and rose back up to see her face as his hand gently parted her thighs. First one, then two long fingers probed.

  “Mmmm,” Anna hummed as his fingers slid inside her.

  “Wrong again,” he teased, balancing himself above her trembling body. “Since you cannot guess, I’ll tell you.” He kissed the side of her nose and said, “It’s this
tiny spot on your nose. It’s the most perfect freckle I have ever seen.” She pulled him to her in a ravishing kiss, and he felt himself losing control.

  “Take me in your hand, Anna. I need you to touch me.”

  As if she’d never felt a man before, her hand hesitantly traveled down his side, then up and over his buttock. When she finally touched him, it was Lark’s turn to gasp. “Move your fingers up and down, slowly,” he pleaded. She willingly complied, and he matched her rhythm by inserting and drawing his fingers into and from her.

  “Oh…” she breathed huskily.

  “Guide me in, Anna. Now. Please,” he begged. She moved his throbbing shaft to her opening, and he sank deeply into her welcoming body. He strained to go slow, but her hips were driving up against him. He plunged again and withdrew, over and over, burying his face in her hair as if he couldn’t get close enough.

  He slowed his strokes, changing the tempo that she was so determined to control. He drove into her quickly, then pulled out as slowly as possible. He altered the pace again, refusing to give her a chance to fall into any rhythm. She was wild beneath him. After her gasps turned to moans and the moans to screams, he began to steadily move in and out, in and out, deepening each thrust. He was so close himself, and barely remembered that he would have to withdraw quickly so as not to spill his seed within her.

  He again covered her mouth with his own while his hips lifted and plunged, pushing her over the brink. His own release was seconds away when she screamed out his name: “Lark!”

  Hearing his name thus pronounced, his body ignored his mind’s duty, and he recklessly drove into her again and again until his seed exploded. He acknowledged the risk they’d just taken, but the thought was fleeting. He kissed her over and over, his body sealed to hers, her muscles still grasping and clenching him from inside.

  He lowered his full weight upon her. Her hands skimmed his back, pressing his shoulders closer to hers as if she were attempting to draw him nearer. He whispered her name, and she opened her eyes. Searching her face, he found only deep contentment.

  The breeze had picked up, gusting with more force, lifting the tendrils of her hair from the ground. She looked, for all the world, as if she were underwater, her locks floating freely about her face. A mermaid.

  Large billowing clouds were sailing across the sky like giant ships, while the sun played a game of hide-and-seek behind them, breaking free now and again to bathe their naked bodies with warmth. All around them, great shadows swept over the canyon floor. The long spring greens flushed and rose, caught in each new breath of weather.

  He held her tighter, indescribably afraid that the next gust would lift her away to the heavens, for even the grasses strained to maintain their tenuous grip to the earth. And he realized in that instant he could not survive losing her. The pain he felt at the mere idea was so acute it passed over his eyes, dampening the joy he felt at finally finding her.

  She must have sensed his melancholy, for she reached up with her hand and smoothed away the worry from his brow. Then, she moved her hand to his cheek, lifting her face so that her lips touched his in a tender kiss. And the sorrowful thought was banished.

  Chapter Forty—The Coming Storm

  Anna stared up at the piling clouds. Around her, the spring leaves on the maples and poplars were silvery, flipped in anticipation of the coming deluge. The trees would have to wait, she determined. The sky would not open its floodgates until evening.

  She held tight to Lark. As naked as she, he was probably feeling the chill.

  He looked down at her, the soft curls of his silky black hair falling helplessly in his face. Completely at odds with his dark, dangerous eyes, his hair was that of a cherub.

  A vicious wind kicked over them, and Anna sighed; they would have to separate. She kissed him again, softly, like before, and he kissed her back. Finally, Anna spoke. “A storm’s coming. We have some time before this one hits. But when it does come, we’d best have shelter.”

  “Do you have another secret canyon to lead me to?” he asked suggestively.

  She smiled at him. “Better—a cave.”

  When he rolled off her, she grew conscious of her nakedness. Larkin picked up her chemise and breeches. He sat in front of her, his brow creased.

  She refused to meet his eyes for fear hers would show him the shame she felt. He had not yet seen the scars on her back. But he opened up her shirt for her, its fabric stiff from drying, and slipped it over her head. Another horrible truth about her marriage went undiscovered.

  A gust of wind blew around them as they parted. The tremendous white clouds of the late morning had been overtaken by somnolent gray masses set on conquering the sky. Larkin went to retrieve the horses while Anna rolled the blankets and packed the saddlebags. She strapped her grandfather’s dagger to her waist and slung Gilles’s bow and quiver over her shoulder. One never knew what game would cross their path. Or what trouble.

  Larkin returned, leading Tullian and Rabbit. He had belted on his sword and dagger. If he noticed that she was armed, he didn’t comment.

  “Ready?” he asked, eyeing her thoughtfully.

  She nodded, and they left the canyon in much the same way that they had arrived, wending their way in the streambed, only slower now, with a new filly in tow. And when the path became too difficult, Larkin lifted Honeycakes over his lap.

  It took two hours to make their destination. Lark scanned the area, trying to find the cave as Anna dismounted. She left Tullian to wander.

  Larkin turned to her. “I thought you said there’d be a cave.”

  “Larkin, if you were any closer, you would fall in.”

  He turned to study the outcropping to his right but still could not see it. She took his hand and led the way, pulling him around the budding lilacs, into the perfectly camouflaged crevasse.

  She explained that it was Tullian who had led her to its location. After drinking his fill from the stream, he’d lifted his head, and his bit had jangled, surprising a rabbit that had been hiding in the brush. Anna had dismounted, hoping to find a warren of coneys. What she discovered instead was that the solid wall of rock was split, the crevice hidden by the lilac.

  The fissure was just wide and tall enough to accommodate a person leading a horse. For months she explored the cave and began outfitting it with supplies. No one else knew of its existence until now.

  She showed Larkin to the opening and found the torch she’d left months before, ready and waiting. Larkin lit it for her and followed her into the cavern. The ceiling of the cave was high and vaulted. The floor was a combination of flat, solid rock and packed clay. The walls were craggy; sharp rocks and fissures abounded, providing recesses perfect for hiding supplies and gear. Anna set the end of the torch into one such fissure, creating a natural sconce on the cave wall. She turned around, and her breath caught as she gazed at Larkin’s inky eyes.

  “First things first, Anna.” His hands encircled her waist as he pushed her against the cave’s wall. She thrilled inside when she felt his lean body thud roughly against her, and she lost all thought as his kiss crushed her lips.

  He stepped away just as quickly. “Stop doing that to me,” she panted.

  “Stop kissing you?” he teased.

  “Yes. I mean, no,” she replied, flustered from the stirrings he had aroused. “I want you to keep kissing me. But you can’t—” He rushed forward again. His lips came down upon hers in another pulverizing kiss, this one longer and deeper than before. A molten heat radiated through her, and she was glad for the rock wall behind her. He pulled at her clothes to reach her breasts and wedged his knee between her thighs, using his leg to lift her against him.

  Circling her arms around his neck, Anna cradled him while his mouth teased and nipped her exposed skin. She thrust her hips forward and Larkin shifted his leg higher, helping her to grind against him. His hand came ’round to support her bottom, bringing her forward.

  She wrapped her still-clad calves around his waist,
seeking desperately to gain purchase, but unable to do so. Again his arm pulled her forward, again she slid back. She wanted him, right where they stood, pressed between the wall and his body. But he was content to guide her forward against him over and over again. An exquisite pressure grew inside her, and the rocking motion was more than she could take. She rode out her passion straddling his muscular thigh while her screams echoed through the cavern.

  Pressing his forehead against the cool wall, he murmured into her ear. “You’re incredible, Anna. You make me want to keep you within my reach every second just so I can enjoy pleasuring you.” Her breath still labored as his tongue darted into her ear. A low, strangled moan emanated from her throat.

  “Can you stand?” he asked.

  She tightened her arms around his neck and shook her head. Her voice had abandoned her and she was afraid she would melt into the dirt floor if he released her.

  “Good.” He chuckled, holding her a bit longer. She clung to him as her breathing evened. “Now?” he asked.

  He slipped away a little. Her legs felt as wobbly as Honeycakes’s, but she could indeed stand on her own. In the flickering light of the torch, she searched his face. “Is it always so intense between a man and woman?”

  “I don’t think so,” he answered.

  “Have you ever felt this way before, Larkin?” she asked him, afraid that he would say yes.

  He waited and took a deep breath before answering. “Never before, Anna. Only with you. Perhaps it’s your reluctant need for me, I don’t know. But I’ve never known the like.”

  Did she need Larkin? Yes, Anna realized, frightened by how quickly she’d come to depend on him. He would leave when his duties called him to his next mission. She stiffened in his arms. “My need, Larkin? Or is it my dependence you seek?”

  “Is there a difference?” he asked, confused.

  “I refuse to be beholden to another. I have been Roger’s…” Anna paused, not knowing how to end the sentence. The only word she could come up with did not even begin to explain how it had been. “I have been his…his property for three years. I refuse to be owned by another man.”