“Will you not?” he asked, moving toward her, guiding her to lie beneath him on the tunic. He propped himself on his elbows and wriggled his hips to settle into the welcoming cradle of her thighs. “What do you suggest we do about this...” Reaching down, he tugged at her twisted skirts to loosen them from about her legs and sank more snugly against her. “This ‘state’?”
He felt her hands at his waist, then the sun’s warmth upon his bare back as she shoved his shirt up. “You could take this off, for a start,” she said.
Giving a swift tug on the neckline, he pulled the shirt over his head and cast it aside. She smoothed her palms over his waist and around to his chest, their warmth rivaling the sun for heat. Despite that warmth, he shuddered as her touch sensitized his flesh, made him ache to take her now, with no further preparation than this.
He stared down into the emerald beauty of Gillian’s eyes and knew he’d best do something to slow the pace, else he’d never last long enough to give her the pleasure, the sharing, she deserved.
Where he found the strength to roll off her and sit at her side, he didn’t know. Gillian reached for him and settled her hands upon his chest, confusion clouding her gaze. “I meant what I said,” she told him. “You’ll not escape me so easily.”
“I’ve no desire to escape you.” He glanced away from her, lest she be frightened by the nigh uncontrollable yearning he knew he couldn’t disguise. “’Tis just that I want you so much—” Holding out his hand, he showed her how it shook. “I doubt I was this nervous, this eager, the first time we made love,” he said with a rueful laugh. “But it’s been so long for us both, and I want to make it last, to give you pleasure.”
The heat in her eyes cooled, the look of yearning faded from her face. “It’s been four years for me, but I doubt ’tis been so long since you last took your pleasure,” she said, lowering her hands to rest in her lap and not meeting his eyes.
Although he felt a flush rising to his cheeks, a chill settled onto his flesh where she’d touched him. “Do you think I would seek what we once had with another?” he asked with a calm that belied the fire, the sense of outrage, kindled by her assumption.
“Why wouldn’t you, especially since you chose to break off all contact with me?”
The hurt he heard in her voice was nothing compared to what he saw in her eyes when he made her look at him. “I didn’t want anyone else,” he told her quietly. Holding her gaze with his, he willed her to understand. “Nor did I wish to taint what we’d shared, to cheapen it for a moment of mindless release.” He reached out, brushed a fiery lock of hair behind her ear and settled his fingers against the delicate flesh of her throat. “Since I met you, Gillian, the only woman I’ve ever wanted is you.”
“I cannot believe that is true,” she said, her tearbright eyes a stark contrast to her scornful tone. “I was little more than a child when first we met, and more lad than lady. I doubt you found anything appealing about me at all.” She tried to shrug away from his touch, but he refused to permit it, instead clasping her arm with his free hand to hold her steady.
“But it is true,” he assured her. “I could see from our first meeting that you’d strength and courage, more heart than most anyone I’d ever known. Everything I’ve learned of you since has served to bolster that opinion. Then there’s your beauty....” He smiled and traced a finger along the firm line of her jaw. “There was a lovely young lady hiding beneath those lad’s clothes and that coating of dust. How could I resist her? And the woman you’ve become takes my breath away.” His breathing unsteady, he leaned forward and gently kissed her lips. “You are all I could ever want, and more than I deserve. ‘Tis my good fortune that you’ve not seen much of the world beyond I’Eau Clair, for otherwise you’d never deign to so much as notice me.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, striking him like a sword through the belly. She opened her mouth to speak, but her breath caught on a sob. Shaking her head, she tried once again to slip from his hold.
“Nay, my love. I never meant to make you cry.” He snatched up his shirt from the ground and dried her face, but more tears fell to replace those he’d wiped away. “I never should have brought you here again, nor allowed things to go this far,” he said, more to himself than to her. “If only I’d the strength to leave you alone,” he muttered.
“What makes you believe you’re the only one involved in this, in deciding what is said and done?” Gillian asked, her words startling him as much as her abrupt change of mood. “I’m no weakling without a mind of her own, as you well know,” she pointed out. Grabbing the shirt from him, she swiped it over her tears and tossed it aside. “Must we go back and forth, blaming ourselves for things beyond our control? Dredge up the past and allow it to taint our future?” As he watched her, she pulled herself together, straightened her spine, tossed back her hair, assumed the bearing of the strong, commanding woman he knew her to be. “Assuming we ever get beyond all this and have a future.”
“You are an amazing woman, Gillian.”
“Do you want us to have a life together?” she demanded.
“’Tis my dearest wish,” he said.
She moved closer to him, wrapped her arms about him. “Then what are we waiting for?”
Chapter Seventeen
It took Gillian nearly every bit of will she had within her to be so bold, to force the past behind them—where it belonged—and forge ahead. She’d do whatever she must to drag Rannulf with her into the future, into their future, the one they’d create between them. She knew he’d not shared with her everything that weighed heavily upon him, but ’twould do neither of them any good to delve further into the past, not now.
Onward, then, she ordered herself. There’d be time aplenty later to sort out all their cares and worries, to decide together how they’d resolve their troubles.
For now there was just Rannulf and Gillian, two lovers who’d not shared their love, their passion, in far too long.
Willing her hands not to tremble, she reached out and stroked her fingertips over the smooth muscled flesh of Rannulf’s shoulders, tracing a path from freckle to freckle along his collarbone till her hands met in the center of his chest. The heat of his skin ignited a matching warmth inside her, bringing a flush to her face and making her lips tingle with the urge to follow her fingers’ journey.
Her clothing felt too tight, too heavy for the sunny day, but she couldn’t force herself to stop what she was doing long enough to loosen her laces and remove it. Rannulf enjoyed her touch, she could see, for his eyes had grown darker, heavy-lidded, and the smile on his lips spoke of pleasure. She didn’t dare risk breaking the spell she wove by ceasing her caresses.
But why should she stop? Passion was a game for two to play, and while she’d be perfectly happy to give Rannulf all the pleasure she could, mayhap he’d be willing to return the favor.
She was attempting to be bold, after all.
All she had to do was ask.
Twining her fingers in the reddish curls covering his chest, she bent and brushed her lips over his—and avoided meeting his eyes to keep hold of her courage. “I find I’m growing overwarm,” she whispered by his ear. “would you help me with my gown?”
He moved back enough to see her face, his gaze as he scanned her face a caress she felt from head to toe. “’Twould be my pleasure.” His eyes held hers captive while he loosened the ties of her bliaut, his fingers’ slow movement at her sides, her throat, heaping fuel upon the already smoldering burn of desire pulsing through her veins.
The bonds of sight disappeared when he helped her to her feet and tugged her bliaut over her head, then did the same with her undertunic, but he did not permit her to feel the lack, binding her to him with words instead. “Your skin is softer than silk, more delicate than a dream. I cannot wait to see how it glows in the sun, to feel it beneath my lips.”
Leaving her clad only in her shift, hose and shoes, he knelt at her feet and caught her gaze with his once more as he un
buckled her shoes and slipped them off. “Your hair—” He shook his head, and a flush of color rose to his cheeks. “I’ve dreamed of your hair draped over us both as we seek our pleasure. The mere sight of your unbound hair is all it takes to fill my mind with images of us together, cloaked in nothing else.”
The pictures he painted in her mind, coupled with the touch of his fingers as they crept up her legs and untied her garters, nearly caused her knees to give way. But she focused instead upon his beloved face, on the thought of where this all would lead, and resolved to savor every moment of it.
He slipped off her hose, then rose to his feet and took her by the hand and led her to the grassy edge of the pool. She followed along, uncertain what he intended, but willing to wait and find out.
“The taste of water on your skin has haunted me,” he told her, “ever since we fell in.” He eased her down onto the soft grass and sat beside her. “But I doubt any explanation would satisfy Talbot should we return in the same condition again,” he added with a chuckle. “Not to mention the fact that then he’d know we’d left the castle.” He shook his head. “We cannot have that, so this will have to do.” She watched as he trailed his hand through the water, then brought his fingers to rest on the bare skin above the neckline of her shift.
The water and his fingers painted a cool path over her overheated flesh. She closed her eyes at the sensation, then gasped at the feel of his tongue, hot and moist, following the droplets’ course down her chest and into the cleft between her breasts. “Delicious,” he murmured, the brush of his lips, the vibration of his voice, winding tight the tension building within her. He nudged aside the strap of her shift until it fell down her arm, then captured more water in his hand and let it trickle from her shoulder down to her breast. “I want more.”
She did, too. She wanted to share this with him. She’d no desire to sit quietly, to be a passive recipient of his caresses. Somehow she found strength enough to break through the cloud of passion engulfing her, to reach beside her and dip her hand into the pool. “My turn,” she said, holding his gaze captive with hers as she painted a trail of water over his shoulder and down his chest.
She watched, fascinated, as he drew a hissing breath through his teeth and shuddered. “Finish it,” he muttered when she continued to stare at him. He reached for her even as she bent close to follow the water’s path over tight muscles and soft hair, ending at the flat coppery nipple in its nest of curls. He wove his fingers into her hair and held her to him for a moment, then pulled away. “’Tis heaven, my love, but if you do much more, I swear I’ll be through before we’ve started,” he told her with a shaky laugh.
Not yet willing to stop, she traced her fingers over the same route she’d taken with her tongue. “Are you sure?”
Rannulf grabbed her hand, brought it to his mouth and nipped at her fingertip. A bolt of molten heat streaked its way to her core. “Aye.”
Her sense of disappointment vanished when he scooped her into his arms and brought her back to their scattered clothing, settling her among the garments and following her down onto them. “We’ll not stop again, I promise you.” His hands shook as he smoothed her hair back and rested his hands palmdown upon her aching breasts. “Not until I’ve made you mine once more.”
His hands were never still, stroking her, teasing her as his mouth teased hers, making her shudder with need. Gillian wanted to make him burn as well—he could hardly push her away when he was busy himself, and she took full advantage of every opportunity. She loosened the drawstring at his waist and had his braes halfway to his knees before he tried to stop her roving hands, and by then ’twas too late—his only response when she closed her hand about his manhood was a groan of pleasure.
“You like that?” she asked, smiling when he reared up over her and tugged at her shift until it lay pooled at her feet.
“What do you think?” he asked, his voice rough.
She chuckled, then could do naught but gasp at the wave of yearning crashing over her when he stroked his fingers from her breasts to the juncture of her thighs, then captured her nipple in his mouth and cupped her with his hand. “Rannulf!” Eyes open wide, she stared down at him, at the muscled perfection of his body highlighted by the sun.
He raised his head from her breast and rose on his knees to kiss her lips with a tender thoroughness at odds with his hand’s continued bold caresses. “What is it, my love?” he asked when they paused for breath.
“Now,” she gasped. “I want you now.”
He kissed her again, wrapped her in his arms and rolled until she lay atop him. Before she could give voice to her confusion, he reached up and gathered her wildly disordered hair in both hands and arranged it over her back and shoulders, smiling when it settled about them both. “You see? ’Tis just as I said.”
But it seemed a strange way to make love. Still, once she stared down at him, spread out beneath her like a banquet of delights, she could see some definite advantages to this position. And she wanted him so badly, she’d not refuse him much of anything at this point.
Rannulf helped her shift to take him into her body; once she did, she could do naught but feel—his strength beneath her, surrounding her as his hands on her hips helped her to move atop him; the rasp of his chest hair against her already sensitized nipples; the brush of her hair sliding over them and adding another caress to the multitude of sensations overwhelming her.
But what she felt most was love—Rannulf’s touch, the way he gazed into her eyes, the words he whispered to her, all cried out that he loved her.
She hoped her love for him shone out as brightly.
All too soon ’twas too much to bear. Never taking her eyes from his, she gasped her pleasure, then cried out again as he followed her into fulfillment.
She collapsed on him, her arms unable to support her any longer. He nudged aside a swath of her hair and kissed her cheek, nuzzled his way to her lips. His touch gentle, he gathered up her hair and moved it away from her face. “I love you,” he whispered.
“And I love you,” she replied, smiling at the way his eyes shone with happiness.
In the end, nothing else mattered.
So much time had passed since they left the keep. Once they’d recovered from their lovemaking, they had to scramble into their clothes and hurry through the passageway to make it back in time for the midday meal. Gillian’s hair beneath her veil was a tangled mess despite Rannulf’s best efforts to help her comb it. He just hoped she didn’t run into anyone on her way to her chamber.
What Ella would have to say when she caught sight of her mistress, he didn’t want to consider.
After he judged she’d had time enough to reach her room, he cast a quick look into the hall, where servants were busily setting up for dinner, before slipping away along the corridor and up the spiral stairs.
Marged stepped out of the shadows lining the back hallway and stared after the Norman. What had the two of them been up to? She gave a crude laugh. ’Twas clear enough to her what they’d been doing. Lady Gillian—her high-and-mighty mistress—looked as though she’d been dragged backward through a hedgerow.
Although milady would not be out swilling the pigs in penance for her sins, she’d wager.
She gave a satisfied smile. She could scarce wait until her master heard this bit of news. Mayhap ‘twould cure him of his yearning for the lady, though knowing him, ’twas just as likely he’d desire her all the more.
What Richard would make of all this she dared not guess. His dislike of Lady Gillian grew by the day—nay, with every shovelful of dung he tossed onto the midden—till now he wore his hatred gathered around him like a mantle.
He was lucky no one else but her had noticed his hatred for the lady; if they ever did, mucking out the stables would seem good work indeed compared to what he’d find himself doing.
If he survived at all.
Richard’s master had been too busy to take much notice of him of late—and ’twas her good fortune as
well. She and Richard found chances aplenty to sneak off to the loft, or to places like this hallway, for a quick coupling.
He was a lusty man, ‘twas true, but ’twas all to the good. She’d seldom found a man her equal when it came to satisfying her hunger. She grinned. Or one as skilled, if truth be told. Richard had proved a most gratifying lover.
’Twas why she was here now, waiting for him, but he must have been delayed by some task. It wasn’t like him to refuse himself a chance for pleasure.
The sound of voices coming from the hall had been rising steadily; a glance out into the large chamber showed the benches filling fast. She twitched her bodice up to a more modest position and tucked her hair back under her kerchief before slipping into the hall. Taking a brace of pitchers from a harried manservant, she headed for the table on the dais as though she belonged there.
She gave a satisfied smile. Aye, she’d serve the mistress herself this day, observe Lady Gillian and Lord Rannulf, see what she could learn.
The sooner she gathered enough information for the master, the quicker he could take possession of I’Eau Clair.
And the sooner she’d be paid. Her heart beat faster in anticipation. Who knew how Lord Steffan would reward her?
Perhaps there’d even be a position here for Richard as well.
’Twas all she could do to hide her excitement. Before much longer Lady Gillian would have a new master, and Marged’s life would be much richer than she’d ever dreamed possible.
Rannulf had no sooner closed the door of his chamber behind him and begun to undress before someone pounded on the portal. Wrestling his tunic back into place, he crossed to the door and jerked it open. “What is it?” he snarled, noticing too late that Talbot stood before him.
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