by Speer, Flora
But first, she would have her reward. She would know the joy of lying in Magnus's arms while he made her his.
“After the last few days,” he said, his voice rough, “you must realize how much I want you.”
“I think I do,” she responded, not adding that she wanted him, too.
“It's different for a woman,” he informed her.
“Is it?” She hoped her smile was as alluring as she meant it to be.
“You are remarkably bold for an innocent girl.”
“Perhaps I am. But I refuse to be ashamed of what I feel for you”
He was staring at the horizon again. Still, she saw how his eyes burned with silver-grey fire.
“No woman has ever approached me in this way,” he said.
“Oh, Magnus, surely you jest.” She couldn't restrain herself; she laughed aloud at the very thought of an entire royal court filled with females who all ignored Magnus's manly attributes. To her delight, he laughed with her, his teeth flashing and his stony face relaxing into a younger, gentler expression. How she wished he could always look that way.
“What am I to do with you?” he asked, shaking his head as if bemused.
She did not answer him. She had made her offer and she would not repeat it. She didn't think repetition was necessary. The way Magnus looked at her when William approached them to suggest they all retire to the larger of their cabins to eat their evening meal, and the touch of his hand at her waist as she started down the ladder to the lower deck, told her of his desire. When the cold beef and the cheese and bread were finished, washed down with ale and a few early cherries, Lilianne excused herself and sought her own small cabin.
She wasn’t surprised when Magnus followed her a short time later, though she did wonder for a moment whether he had come to kiss her or to argue. Nervous but unafraid, she favored him with a smile and put out her hands, inviting him to come nearer.
His first kiss left her reeling. Catching her tighter, he kissed her harder still, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Lilianne put her arms around his waist and hung on while she responded eagerly.
“This is madness,” he whispered, wrenching his mouth from hers. “Yet I cannot stay away from you no matter how hard I try.”
Even through the layers of their clothing she could feel his need, hot and hard and eager for her. Some part of her had known since the first instant she had seen him at Manoir Sainte Inge that they were bound to come together in passion. Every hour since their meeting had been leading to this moment, with her fumbling at the buckle of Magnus's sword belt and him trying to remove her gown, while her hands kept interfering with what he was doing, and his actions made useless her attempts to unfasten the belt.
Somehow, laughing at their own eager clumsiness, kissing and nibbling at each other as they worked, they succeeded in stripping each other until they stood unclothed in the tiny cabin that was so small he could hardly avoid touching.
Not that they wanted to avoid touching. Magnus naked was so magnificent that Lilianne ached to handle every part of him. He had shaved that morning before leaving Richton Castle, but it was evening and his dark beard was beginning to grow back. The bristles scratched when he kissed her. The hair on his chest was softer than his beard, silky to the touch of her searching fingertips. His shoulders were broad, his arms hard with muscles, and his legs were long and straight. Then, there was the masculine, private part of him that was so huge and eager that Lilianne was well and truly intimidated.
She didn't think Magnus had noticed her sudden qualms, for he wasn't looking at her face. He was studying her tall body with an expression of reverence, his gaze slowly moving from her shoulders to her breasts, to the indentation of her waist, and on to the curved flare of her hips and to the place where her thighs began. There he paused, his heated expression making her blush.
“You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.
His hand brushed the inner swell of her breasts, his fingers curling around her mother's amethyst ring. He lifted the cord holding the ring, removing it over her head so she was, at last, completely naked, divested of the final trace of family and of her former life. Magnus dropped the ring onto the untidy pile he had made of her clothing.
Lilianne moistened her lips and met his gaze.
“You look frightened. If you want to change your mind,” he said, “now is the time. But if I touch you again, or kiss you once more, I'll not be able to stop.”
“I haven't changed my mind,” she told him. “It's just that you are so very large.”
“You are a large girl,” he said, his lips curving into an inviting smile, “and much to my liking. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
“I trust you, Magnus.”
“You are courageous, too,” he murmured.
He reached for her, and suddenly Lilianne was tumbled onto the narrow bunk with Magnus on top of her. Then his mouth was on hers, and his hands were caressing her. Fully aware of the probing intensity of his desire for her, and still a little embarrassed by the way that, just a short time ago, she had all but implored him to make love to her, she expected him to take her with eager haste.
To her delight, he did not rush her. Slowly, tenderly, he caressed her, cherishing her abundant femininity from her thick, too-curly hair to her too-lush torso, and right down to her toes. He kissed, and tasted, and allowed his tongue to wander into crevices and onto sensitive promontories until Lilianne's breasts were hard and aching, her loins were throbbing with an emptiness that screamed to be filled, and her mouth was bruised yet still craving more of Magnus's kisses.
Only then, when she was panting and thrashing about in the limited confines of her bunk, did he settle himself between her thighs. Lilianne gasped in surprise at the first slight sensation of pressure. She saw his strained face above her and through the confusion of rampant desire he had evoked she dimly recognized how valiantly he was trying to restrain himself. For her sake, because he cared about her, he would not be hasty. When he pressed a little harder, she pushed back, then winced as his huge, rigid flesh began to stretch her maiden body.
Magnus placed his mouth over hers, holding her head so she couldn't twist away. For an instant the tenderness of his kiss enchanted her, gentling her into brief relaxation, until he pushed hard against her once more. She gasped into his mouth as he buried himself inside her. He was so large, so very large, and he filled her completely.
“Don’t move for a little while,” he whispered into her ear. “Just lie still. I promise, this will never hurt again.” He smoothed back her hair and kissed her nose, and then her mouth with exquisite gentleness. She wriggled a little and the stretching sensation began to ease. Fascinated by her own body’s warming response to his intimate presence, she moved again.
“It doesn't hurt any longer. In fact, it's quite nice,” she said, knowing words were insufficient for what she was experiencing. She ventured another tentative movement, thrusting cautiously against the bulk that filled her. “Very pleasant.”
Magnus groaned as if he were the one in pain, as if he was trying not to reveal how much it was hurting him to hold her this way.
“Stop what you're doing,” he said. “I dare not lose control.”
“I don't think I can stop.” She kept moving. “It's lovely, beyond anything I've ever – oh, Magnus!”
The words were barely past her lips before Magnus clamped his mouth over hers again. To quiet the noise she was making, she realized. He had covered her cry of surprise and pain in the same way when he claimed her maidenhood. She was no longer a maiden; Magnus had made her a woman. She rejoiced in the glory of his possession, her few moments of discomfort receding into distant memory as Magnus began to move inside her – deep, deep inside, where the most amazing sensations were unfurling, rippling and cascading through her. What he had made her feel back at Richton Castle was nothing compared to the splendor he was evoking within her now. Unable to control her reaction, she matched him thrust for t
hrust.
She cried out as the world burst asunder into emotion so piercingly sweet that she was certain she was dying of happiness.
* * * * *
He had no right at all to make love to her, even less right to lose control and spill his seed in her. The consequences for her could be devastating and possibly deadly, if he got her with child. Even so, Magnus could not regret what he had done – no, what they had done, together. Except for a moment of discomfort when he first entered her, Lilianne had been with him all the way to the shattering climax. As his violent, too-long delayed and absolutely unstoppable release came upon him, he had heard her crying out her own pleasure.
She was clinging to him, moist and soft and relaxed as a newborn kitten, despite her size. More like a tall lioness, he corrected himself, repressing a smile. His lioness. His woman, the only woman meant for him.
In the eyes of the world they both inhabited, he had no right to touch even her fingertips, much less to kiss or embrace her. But, claiming that since they owned nothing and could hope for nothing, they were free to take each other, she had boldly given him the right to possess all of her, every delicious inch of her glorious body.
Magnus thought about Lilianne's claim for a long time, holding her in his arms while she slept. Slowly he recognized and accepted the incredible fact that for a blissful hour with her, he had forgotten the threat of the terrible death hanging over the brother he both loved and hated, a death that would almost certainly include him, too. His fate must not include Lilianne. He could not let violent harm come to her.
For this one, blessed night, she was safe, and his. When Lilianne stirred and reached for him, Magnus postponed all worry and gratefully sank once more into the sweet reprieve only she could offer.
Chapter 13
In early morning they made love a third time and it was as marvelous and stirring as the first and second times. Magnus left Lilianne weary and slightly sore, but happily aware of the erotic possibilities of her body, and of his. She stretched against him in luxurious contentment, expecting to fall asleep in his arms. Instead, Magnus rose from the bunk. The last, lingering traces of sensual contentment vanished when she saw him pulling on his clothes.
“It's time,” he said, touching her shoulder lightly, in a way that made her wonder if he was restraining himself so as not to return to her. The look on his face spoke of duty, not passion. “Get dressed while I make sure William and Braedon are awake. I'll bring some food for you.”
She didn't want to leave the narrow bunk that bore the scent of Magnus's body, and of their lovemaking. The last thing she wanted to do was ride to Manoir Sainte Inge and arrange to bury her brother. She experienced a pang of guilt over her reluctance, and over the way she had for a few hours forgotten all about poor Gilbert. Instead of mourning his loss with solemn prayers, as a good sister ought to do, she had rejoiced in Magnus's embrace.
The guilty recollection brought her to her bare feet. Quickly she gathered up her clothing, donning each piece as she located it, starting with the amethyst ring that hung between her breasts like a weighty reminder of family responsibility. By the time she had fastened her belt and pulled on her shoes, Magnus was back, bearing a wooden platter on which rested a chunk of bread, part of a cold, roasted bird, and what appeared to be the last of the cherries, now somewhat bruised.
“I'm not really hungry,” she began.
“Eat while food is available,” he instructed. Following his own advice he tore off a piece of bread and began to chew on it. “Be glad William and Braedon haven't devoured all of it. Those two have mighty appetites.”
He offered her a choice morsel of breast meat. She nibbled on it, then swallowed the entire piece with Magnus watching.
Braedon knocked once on the cabin door and stuck his head in without waiting for permission. “Captain Piers says to tell you he'll send the rowboat ashore in half an hour. If we're not all on deck when he's ready, he'll sail on to Calais and we can go ashore there.”
“The captain's charm wears thin,” Magnus muttered. “We dare not antagonize him, because we'll need him to pick us up in a few days. Lilianne, are you ready?”
“Yes.” She handed the platter of leftovers to Braedon, who favored her with one of his cheerful grins before carrying it away. Lilianne breathed a silent sigh. Nothing in Braedon's demeanor suggested disapproval of her, though he and William must be aware of how she and Magnus had spent the night. She was not the least bit ashamed of what she had done with Magnus, but she genuinely liked Braedon and William, and she didn't want either man to regard her as no better than a tavern wench.
Not until she was on deck did she remember that she was going to have to reach the rowboat by climbing down a net. Once again she pulled off her shoes, stuffed her stockings into them, and tied the shoes to her belt. She went over the rail with Magnus beside her and Braedon below at the bottom of the net, from where he steadied the rowboat while two of Captain Piers's men waited with oars in hand.
Halfway down Lilianne decided climbing up was much easier. She wasn't going to say so to Magnus, though. His arm across her back was welcome as she reached the end of the net. He helped her to the bench at the rear of the rowboat and William dropped into the boat right behind them. Immediately, before Lilianne was properly settled on the bench, the little craft began to move.
She bent to pull on her stocking and shoes. When she was finished, she straightened and glanced back at the Daisy – and gasped in shock. Magnus, who was sitting beside her, raised his brows in a question.
“Do you see the man standing by the rail, watching us?” she asked, choosing her words carefully, aware that the men who were rowing could hear whatever she said. “He’s not one of Captain Piers's sailors.”
“I don't know him,” Magnus responded, frowning a little as he looked toward the ship. “I’ve never seen him before. Have you?”
Lilianne shook her head and mouthed the word, later. Magnus nodded his understanding and said nothing more, though he sent another keen glance toward the man. The morning was cloudy and wind-swept and the rowers were battling through heavy surf, so Lilianne hoped they were too busy to pay attention to her, or to Magnus.
As soon as the keel of the rowboat grated against the sand, Magnus and his friends jumped out. Magnus picked up Lilianne and carried her through the shallow water to set her down on dry land. The rowers were already heading back to the Daisy.
“The man watching us from the deck,” Lilianne said to her companions, “is Norbard, Erland's closest henchman.”
“Why didn't you tell me so at once?” Magnus demanded.
“What could you have done? Order the rowers to take us back to the ship so you could confront him? What good would that do?” she asked. “I thought you'd prefer not to let the men from the Daisy know I recognized Norbard.”
“You were right to be discreet,” Magnus admitted. “Still, Norbard has seen you, and he knows you’ve seen him.”
“I’m certain he was the cloaked person I noticed in the inn at Hythe. I couldn't see his face then, but his size and the way he moved were familiar to me. Norbard doesn't walk smoothly. He always seems to jerk his body from place to place very abruptly.”
“So, Norbard was aboard the Daisy all the time,” Braedon said thoughtfully.
“I'll wager my armor that he was locked in the cabin that we assumed must be a storeroom,” Magnus said, “and that his presence is the cause of Captain Piers's ill humor. The captain lied when he claimed to have no other passengers, and he evaded my questions about that cabin.”
“Norbard may have boarded the Daisy in secret, traveling as one of Royce's agents,” Braedon offered. “He has probably used the ship before on legitimate business for Royce. Captain Piers would have no cause to doubt whatever reason Norbard gave for this present voyage.”
“That would explain the captain's evasiveness with me,” Magnus agreed. “Not to mention his reluctance to take us aboard.”
“But, why is Norbard
on the Daisy? “ William asked. “Why is he going to Calais? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Perhaps he is the cargo Captain Piers spoke of, that he intends to land at Calais,” Braedon suggested.
“Or, possibly, Norbard will be put ashore between here and Calais,” Magnus said.
“At least, we can be sure we won't find him at Manoir Sainte Inge when we arrive there,” Braedon said.
“If he comes to the manor later,” Lilianne said, “he will know my story of taking Alice to a convent with Erland as our escort is false. Norbard knows I wasn't traveling with Erland. Magnus, what shall we do? Shall I change the story I tell the men-at-arms?”
“Try not to say anything at all to them about where you've been,” Magnus instructed. “Just say you are returning home early on Erland’s orders and he will follow later. Norbard can't dispute that; he doesn't know where Erland is, but he does know Erland is a French spy, so a quick crossing to England on Erland's part may seem reasonable to him.”
“This is all speculation,” William noted.
“True,” Magnus said. “The only thing we know for certain is that we don't know when Norbard will appear at Manoir Sainte Inge.”
“And that,” Braedon said, “means we ought to complete our business at the manor as quickly as possible.”
“Lilianne, I am sorry,” Magnus said, “but Gilbert's funeral will have to take place at sunrise tomorrow. I know that won't leave you much time for preparations.”
“Once we find Gilbert, everyone at the manor will understand why he must be buried in haste,” Lilianne answered, her voice trembling a bit. “Gilbert has been dead for more than ten days.”
“I cannot imagine anyone daring to interfere with a funeral, so you should be safe until it's over,” Magnus said to her. “I want you and William to be prepared to depart as soon as Gilbert is buried, without returning to the manor after the ceremony.”
