The Crusader's Kiss

by Claire Delacroix

  They would be safe and warm in the cave, though.

  She liked that he did not ask her questions or make demands. He simply let her lead him away from the company. It was that cursed confidence to be sure, and the realization made her smile.

  Many had retired, and still others made preparations for the night. They had danced vigorously and would sleep well. Wooden platforms groaned overhead as the villagers rolled themselves in cloaks and blankets and furs, whatever they could find, and huddled together.

  But Anna led Bartholomew away. She was warm from their dancing, but her heart raced because of the admiration in Bartholomew’s eyes. The dog padded silently behind him, and she liked that he had won the beast’s loyalty so quickly. Her mother had always said that dogs were the best judges of men.

  That she had reminded them all of this after a hound in the village snarled at Sir Royce had not been appreciated by the baron.

  The land became rocky as they approached the cavern where she and Percy often took refuge. She paused in the last cluster of trees to listen and look. There were no footprints outside the cavern’s opening, and the snow gleamed in the starlight. She and Bartholomew crossed the river on the stones placed within its course, and she was impressed that the dog managed to do the same.

  They ducked into the shelter of the cavern and she was glad it was high enough that Bartholomew did not have to bend. She continued alone to the hiding place at the back, locating the tinder and stolen candle. She lit it, then turned to face him, watching the golden light play over his features.

  “Your own refuge?” he asked, looking about himself with curiosity.

  “In a way. When Percy and I have stolen from the baron before, we have hidden here.”

  He arched a brow. “Do you often steal from the baron?”

  Anna shook her head. “Not since the new burn. There was a time when there was more traffic upon the road to Haynesdale, and a passing merchant could be relieved of his coin or his provisions without much trouble. When there were fewer of us in the forest, sometimes one would ride to Carlisle on a stolen steed and buy more provisions with that coin.” She shook her head. “But two years ago, so many more came to us. At the same time, far fewer travel to Haynesdale.”

  “You must have thought we offered salvation.”

  “I thought that fat saddlebag might contain the most food.”

  Bartholomew’s gaze was knowing. “And Percy paused to peek, because he was hungry, and so he was both disappointed by his prize and caught.”

  Anna nodded.

  “Was he caught here?”

  Anna shook her head. “Nay. It is undisturbed. His curiosity must have compelled him to look sooner.” She smiled. “He is a curious boy.”

  “He is that.” Bartholomew took a step closer to her. She gripped the candle, her valor slipping away now that the prospect of intimacy was upon her. “And so all went awry with our arrival.” He paused directly before her, his gaze searching.

  “For your company as well,” she had to point out.

  He smiled a little. “And yet, I cannot regret our arrival at Haynesdale.” He reached out with a fingertip and touched her cheek, his light caress sending a shiver through her. “Why did you bring me here, Anna?” he asked quietly.

  “Because I would challenge you to make me moan.”

  Bartholomew’s smile flashed in his surprise. “You are a bold maiden,” he said, and that admiration filled his tone.

  She was no maiden, but when she opened her mouth to tell him as much, the weight of his finger fell upon her lips. His gaze was sober and locked with hers. “I know,” he continued with heat. “That you have known unkindness from men.”

  Anna’s heart fluttered.

  “And I would vow to you not only that I will not injure you, but that you can halt me with a single word, at any time.”

  Her mouth went dry. She felt warm and flustered, yet knew that her choice was utterly right. She claimed his hand and lifted his finger away from her lips, pausing to kiss it. “I know,” she whispered. “You defy my every expectation of French knights, and that is why I have brought you here.” She licked her lips. “Bartholomew,” she added, hearing a reverence in her own tone.

  He smiled and stepped closer, framing her face in his hands. He bent, studying her for a long moment, then captured her lips beneath his own. His was a sweet hot kiss, filled with passion, yet requesting her participation, not demanding it.

  That he asked, even after her invitation, was all the evidence Anna needed that she had chosen aright. She dared to put her arms around his neck to draw him closer and rose to her toes, surrendering completely to his touch.

  * * *

  Bartholomew knew he had to take matters slowly. Though Anna gave every appearance of being her usual fearless self, he could feel the tremor within her. It betrayed the uncertainty she would clearly prefer to hide. He moved slowly, ensuring that her pleasure was served first.

  She seemed to know that he was determined to see her pleased, and that appeared to feed her confidence. Her kiss became bolder the longer they embraced. He opened his mouth to her and she mimicked him, her tongue daring to tangle with his own. She pressed against him in silent demand, wanting more of what he gave, and Bartholomew caught her close.

  She was intoxicating, her passion and fire heating him to his marrow. He wanted her as he had never wanted a woman before. His fingers were untying the laces of her kirtle before he realized what he was doing, then he halted and stepped back. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips reddened from his kiss, but her eyes widened in uncertainty. “What is amiss?”

  He surveyed them both and grimaced. “Too much garb.”

  She laughed in surprise, then blushed. “You might fix that.”

  “Nay, I would have you do it.” He lifted his hands and smiled at her, hoping to reassure her that she was in control of their union.

  Her cheeks burned brighter, but as he had anticipated, she did not delay in taking his dare. She unbuckled his belt and set it aside with care, her respect for his weapons nigh as great as his own. “I still cannot believe you carry a fragment of the true cross,” she whispered, her fingertips sliding over the pommel of his sword. “Your friend must be affluent.”

  “He is generous, to be sure.”

  “You have known him long?”

  “Most of my life. He took me into his care when I was younger than Percy, and taught me all I know of life.”

  “A strange choice of companion for a knight,” she mused.

  Bartholomew found himself grinning. “He oft said he would have preferred to have left me behind, but I would not allow it.”

  She smiled up at him. “Aye, I can imagine you to be so stubborn as that.”

  “At least we have a trait in common.”

  Her smile turned knowing, then she tugged his tabard over his head. She folded it with care and laid it beside his belt. She wrinkled her nose as she surveyed his hauberk.

  “Over my head,” he said. “I will bend over and you must ease it to the ground. Do not attempt to catch it. Just get it off my back.”

  Anna nodded and he bent as he had said. As was oft the case, the hauberk caught on his padded aketon. Anna tugged it free and it fell to the ground with a clatter of steel. Bartholomew rolled his shoulders once he was relieved of its weight.

  Anna, of course, tried to lift it. She swore softly but with vigor. “All day, you bear this burden?”

  “It is better than a blade between the ribs.” Bartholomew scooped up the hauberk, putting it alongside his belt.

  Anna was frowning when he turned. “You said you came from Outremer.”

  “Aye. My friend was sworn to the Templars, and he was dispatched to serve in Jerusalem. I went with him as his squire, almost fifteen years ago.” He turned his back on Anna that she might unlace his aketon. He felt her fingers tugging on the lace.

  “But he left the order?”

  “His older brother died, and he became heir to his fa
mily holding in France. It was a surprise to him, to be sure.”

  “Did he take a wife?”

  “Aye, for he desired an heir with all haste. To be sure, he knew little of women after his years in the service of the order.”

  “One might not lead to the other for many men.”

  “True, but it did for Gaston. He is a knight of much honor and merit.”

  “You admire him.” He heard the smile in her voice.

  “How could I not? He was all I knew a knight should be, and as soon as he had the right to do so, he dubbed me a knight.”

  “Granting you rich gifts.”

  He turned and helped to tug the aketon forward.

  Her gaze was assessing. “He must have thought well of you.”

  “I hope so.”

  Anna arched a brow.

  “You are right,” Bartholomew acknowledged with a smile. “I know so.”

  “Yet there was no place for you in his new household?”

  “Why do you ask as much?”

  “Because you are here and he is not. Further, this is not France.” She propped her hands on her hips to regard him as he removed the aketon and set it aside. “Or did you lose his favor?” She shook her head. “I cannot believe it. A man such as you and a man such as he would find no points of disagreement. It would be honor and integrity on all sides.”

  Bartholomew smiled at this assessment of his nature and that of Gaston, not just its accuracy but that Anna thought well of him.

  She snapped her fingers and turned upon him. “Fergus said aught of this,” she said, evidently just recalling as much. “That there was little point in his offering you a post as you had declined Gaston’s offer.”

  Bartholomew felt the back of his neck heat, for he neither wished to confess his secret nor deceive her. “I declined the post Gaston offered to me,” he admitted.

  “Why?”

  “Because I would seek my own fortune. It is possible for one man to be too beholden to another.” He lifted the circlet from Anna’s hair, then removed her veil and wimple. It was simple to find the pins that bound her braid in place and when he had removed them, the plait fell to hang down her back.

  “I suppose,” she ceded as he unbound her hair and pushed his fingers through its thickness. “But where do you expect to find your fortune?” She glanced over her shoulder. “In Scotland, among the kin of Fergus? Or maybe you seek an heiress?”

  “Why are you so curious?” he demanded in a teasing tone, wanting to deflect her interest.

  “Because they said you had chosen this road through Haynesdale. I cannot imagine why. There is not an heiress to be found within a week’s ride of here.”

  Bartholomew shrugged, aware that she watched him closely. “It looked more fair than the alternative, no more than that.” He beckoned to her, his manner playful. “Now you are the one overdressed.”

  She smiled and lifted her hands, giving him access to her belt and the laces on her kirtle. Once they were unfastened, he slid one hand beneath the crimson wool, holding her gaze as his hand slid up to cup her breast. She stared at him, then licked her lips.

  He bent and kissed her lightly, then teased her nipple with her finger and thumb. She could step away if she so desired, for he had one hand on her breast and one on the back of her waist, but Anna held her ground. She gasped as he tugged the cloth over her head, bending to kiss her nipple through the cloth of her chemise. She arched her back and shivered, then he caught her close and flicked his tongue across the turgid peak.

  “Your boots,” she whispered and he halted to look down at her with a grin.

  “Truly? You were thinking of my boots?”

  Anna laughed, her eyes sparkling in a most alluring way. He took their cloaks and made a nest on the floor of the cavern, noting that Cenric had taken position as sentry at the opening. He tugged off his own boots and unlaced his chausses, then removed his braies. He turned to Anna clad only in his chemise, and pointed. “Your shoes and stockings.”

  To his delight, Anna sat on the pile of cloaks and leaned back on her elbows. She lifted one foot toward him. “I think you should aid me, sir.”

  Bartholomew knelt before her and unlaced her shoe. He eased one hand under her chemise, trailing it up her leg. Her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply, but she did not pull away. He eased aside the chemise, baring her calf to view, and inclined his head to unfasten her garter with his teeth. She giggled and squirmed.

  “Your breath tickles!” she protested.

  He touched his tongue to the tender skin behind her knee and she wriggled anew. It took some time for him to see both garters untied and both stockings removed, and by then, Anna was flushed.

  He stretched out alongside her, his hand upon her breast and kissed her with leisure. She rose to his touch and her nipple tightened beneath his fingers. He kissed her ear, her neck, the hollow of her throat, then closed his mouth over the sweet bud of her nipple. He kissed it and teased it, coaxing it to a tighter bead, then grazed the tender flesh with his teeth. When Anna was writhing beside him, he leisurely turned his attention to the other breast. He could feel the heat emanating from her and smell her arousal, but he wanted to be certain she was fully pleased.

  His hand was beneath her chemise, moving from her knee up the smooth flesh of her thighs. She arched her back and opened her mouth, offering an invitation he could not refuse. He kissed her, even as his fingers slid into her slick heat. He swallowed her first gasp of surprise, then her quiver of delight. His fingers moved against her, conjuring more desire and he smiled into their kiss when she clutched his shoulders.

  “Bartholomew!” she whispered and he grinned at her.

  “You granted me a dare,” he reminded her.

  “But surely this is sufficient.”

  “Surely we have only begun.” He caressed her with the end of his thumb, loving how she gasped in pleasure, and knew what he had to do. “Before I make you moan,” he whispered. “I think we should explore the treacherous tickle that so surprised you.”

  “I but concocted a tale,” she argued, clearly not understanding his intent.

  “And I would show you the truth,” Bartholomew vowed. He winked at her, savored her confusion, then tugged back her chemise. He slid between her thighs and granted her a more intimate kiss.

  The way she gasped in astonishment was most satisfying, but Bartholomew would strive for more success than that.

  The lady, after all, had yet to moan.

  * * *

  Who would have guessed that a person could die of pleasure?

  Anna certainly had never imagined as much, but Bartholomew’s kisses—his tongue, his teeth, his caresses—made her both burn and tingle. She was aroused and desperate for some satisfaction she could not name.

  He tormented her without cease—nay, he did cease, each time she thought she drew nearer to some culmination. He teased her and she knew it, but she could scarce complain. It was incredible to have such a man conjure her pleasure with such diligence, putting himself in her service, so to speak. Anna thought it could not be right, but then, she could find naught amiss with what he did.

  She found herself lying back in the furs and savoring the sensations he awakened.

  It was a curious balance, for while he paid homage to her with his touch, she felt that she was in his thrall. She had no notion of how to reciprocate, and he gave her no opportunity to do as much. His amorous attention was relentless.

  And more than welcome.

  Still, Anna fought the urge to satisfy him with that moan. She feared that when she did moan, he would halt, and she did not wish for that. She called herself selfish, then reasoned it was all part of his scheme. She could not have named how many times he ushered her to some nameless summit, then tugged her back.

  She was panting and flushed from head to toe when he fed her desire to a crescendo again. She knew she could not hold out much longer, but she tried. Anna bit her lip as her heart pounded. She gripped his shoulders
as the quiver began deep inside her, and she locked her thighs around his head. Bartholomew gave her no quarter, his touch feeding her need steadily, his wicked tongue making her want to roar. His hands gripped her buttocks, ensuring she could not escape the sweet torment he inflicted upon her.

  She finally surrendered and moaned, feeling that the sound came from the very core of her being. It also lasted far longer than she could have expected. Bartholomew chuckled then touched his teeth to her, the sensation making her cry out as the tumult passed through her like a great wave.

  Anna found herself in Bartholomew’s protective embrace when the tremors passed and she opened her eyes to find his own eyes twinkling in close proximity. “So, it is a treacherous tickle that will make this lady moan,” he teased. “That is worth the knowing.”

  “I am no lady.”

  He caught her chin in his hand and turned her to his solemn gaze. “This night, you are my lady,” he murmured with heat and kissed her with such thoroughness that she was left breathless. She felt his erection against her hip and knew his pleasure had to be won, as well.

  She might have rolled to her back and spread her thighs, bracing herself for the deed, but Bartholomew locked an arm around her waist and rolled to his own back so that she sprawled atop him. He pulled up the hem of his chemise and placed his hands on her waist. “I am yours to command,” he whispered, his voice husky.

  There was a lump in Anna’s throat that he so understood her fears. She rose to her knees and straddled him, her concern rising anew. His hands moved to cup her buttocks and he lifted her into place, so that she could feel his heat against her.

  “As slowly as you like,” he murmured and Anna eased lower. She watched him inhale sharply as he was drawn within her and savored how he closed his eyes.

  Did it give that much pleasure to him? There was a satisfaction for her, as well, particularly as she watched him being as tormented as she had been.

  She moved steadily and slowly until he was completely within her and felt his hands flex. He whispered her name, and she felt powerful to have such a man as this in thrall to her. She moved, savoring his reactions. He was shaking beneath her, struggling to maintain control, and as soon as Anna realized as much, she knew she had to test him further.