Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  His lips curved ever so slightly and he blinked, lifting his gaze once more to her face.

  In the depths of his smoldering eyes Page saw the stark intensity of his desire for her, and shamelessly rejoiced in it. Her breath accelerated, and her heartbeat quickened with the knowledge that he wanted her still.

  Warmth flared through her. “Neither... neither did I,” she revealed, swallowing convulsively. Her thoughts scattered.

  He moved toward her, and Page felt her legs go suddenly weak. Heat suffused her. He stopped to set the candle upon the brazier. “Neither did you what?” he asked softly.

  “Neither did I what?” Page repeated dumbly. He turned to face her, lifted a brow, and she recalled herself at once. “Oh! My mother! Neither did I know my mother!”

  “I know, lass,” he said.

  Page’s brows knit. “How could you possibly?”

  His jaws clenched. As she watched, he closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, and by those gestures Page surmised he was trying to temper himself and his answer.

  “Because,” he answered tautly. Anger swirled in the depths of his golden eyes. “No mother—no mother worthy of being called so—would have allowed her daughter to grow to womanhood without something so simple as a name.”

  Page felt the sting of tears come to her eyes at the slap of truth, but she didn’t turn away. Jesu, she refused to feel shamed by it! Nay, instead she would take refuge in the outrage he seemed to feel on her behalf.

  “Nay,” she agreed. And for the first time, acknowledged, “No mother would have.” She unclenched the fist at her side, and then squeezed it closed once more. “Nor a father,” she yielded, her voice shaky with indignity.

  “Nay, lass,” he agreed, closing the distance between them in a few easy strides. He reached out with a finger to lift her chin. “Nor a father.”

  Page felt herself begin to quake, though she wasn’t afeared, she told herself. On the contrary, she was titillated by the warm, gentle touch of his finger upon her face. “Nay,” she agreed, her voice thick with emotion. A shiver coursed through her.

  “I always blamed myself,” she admitted to him, “for driving her away. My mother...”

  His brows drew together. “How could ye? Were ye’ no’ but a babe? How could ye have possibly had anythin’ to do with her leaving?”

  Page shrugged and tried to look away. “I used to dream of her face,” she said softly.

  He lifted her chin, urging her gaze upward. “I, too, once blamed myself for things I shouldna... but we canna take the world upon our shoulders, lass.”

  “But my father blamed me, as well,” Page yielded. “Impossible not to feel culpable when his words and heart accused me every time he set his eyes upon me.”

  “Ye deserved better... Only tell me your heart’s desire,” he murmured, “and I shall give it, if I can. I want to make it all up to you.”

  Her breath caught on a strangled moan.

  “Anything,” he whispered. “Anything at all.”

  Her brows flinched. She reached out to place tentative fingers upon his arm. Another shiver bolted through her as she touched him, and he responded with a shudder of his own.

  “I want you to be happy here,” he urged her. “I want you to make this your home.”

  Page swallowed. “I... I wish...” She forced in a breath. “Only... to be known as Suisan... to you... to your people. I... I don’t want them to know.”

  “Och, then Suisan ye are,” he murmured low. “Bonny and sweet.” Another quiver swept over her at the earnestness of his vow. “What else... Suisan... what else would please ye? Merely ask and ‘tis yours.”

  Page closed her eyes and swallowed with difficulty. When she opened her eyes once more, she knew they revealed her heart to him wholly. She couldn’t help it. Never in her life had anyone spoken so sweetly to her.

  Never in her life had she yearned for someone’s love more.

  And yet, she couldn’t ask for it. Dared not.

  “Naught,” she lied, swallowing once more. “Naught more.” She stared at his mouth, her body betraying her. Even as she stood there, heat suffused her. Her breasts began to ache with the sweet memory of his touch. Lord save her wicked soul... mayhap the words would not come, but her Jezebel body knew how to respond.

  Try though she did, she couldn’t wrench her gaze away from the sensual curve of his lips. Couldn’t stop herself from yearning for the touch of his mouth upon her own.

  The feel of his hands, warm and tender, upon her breasts.

  He lifted his thumb to her lips, caressing gently, and her breath caught. Her head lolled back. Eyes closed.

  He moved to kiss her, but hesitated.

  In a fit of fury, Iain had carried her up here, to his bedchamber... with only one thing in mind. That, he could scarce deny. And yet now that he had her here, he found he could not.

  Damn, but he’d destroyed the lives of the only two women he’d had in his life—his mother and his wife—and he couldn’t bring himself to ravage yet another.

  Christ, but he wanted her.

  “Och, lass,” he whispered, his heart racing. “If ye dinna cease to look that way...”

  She lifted her face higher, he thought, opening her eyes, and blinking much too innocently. He lapped at his lips gone dry.

  “What way?” she asked quietly, her soft pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

  “Waiting,” he whispered. “As though ye were waiting...” He reached out with his free hand, hooked it about her waist, and drew her closer.

  “And if I do not... what will you do?”

  It was a challenge, he thought. Damned if she wasn’t making this more difficult for him. His heart leapt at the look of acquiescence in her wide, beautiful eyes. So be it. He wasn’t noble enough to refuse her invitation. He drew her against himself, letting her feel him, letting her know.

  He wanted her too damned much—far too long.

  His heart began to pound as he bent his head forward a fraction, restraining himself still, for he wanted her to be the one to dictate, beyond doubt, all that came to pass between them. He wanted this, aye, but more than that, even, he wanted her to want him.

  Christ, but he’d wanted her long before he’d ever set eyes upon her, he realized in that instant. Aye, for he’d never realized how much he’d needed to see himself in the eyes of an eager lover... until now... this very moment... while she looked upon him with those yearning eyes... and tempted him with lips that trembled so sweetly in anticipation of his kiss.

  Och, but he wanted to kiss those lips, wanted to devour them... wanted to love every inch of her delectable body, then spill himself deep within her body as he’d craved to do the first time. He’d wanted it so badly. Wanted it now... though he knew he would not.

  Never again could he bear to see the hatred that had been so vivid upon Mairi’s face that fearsome morn. And less could he endure it were it to come from Page, for Mairi had never once gazed at him the way Page was gazing at him now.

  He felt the air between them grow thick with his need, and his nostrils flared with the luscious scent of the woman standing so boldly before him.

  “What will you do?” she dared whisper once more.

  Iain’s body reacted with a violence that nearly unmanned him, hardening him fully. He swallowed, hard, trying to keep his reason.

  One more time, he thought to caution her. “If ye dinna walk away, lass... now... I shall be forced to show you.” His heart quickened, his breath, as well, as she leaned into him instead of drawing away. She lifted a hand toward his face, and Iain caught her wrist, fearing her touch.

  Once she set the warmth of her fingers upon his flesh, he would be lost. She would be doomed.

  Aye, for he didn’t know whether he could find the will again to keep from planting his seed deep within her. womb. Visions of her bearing his babe came swiftly to mind, and he was at once torn. Torn between wanting fiercely to see her body swell with his bairn, and dread of her revuls
ion.

  “Suisan,” she whispered breathlessly. “Call me Suisan.”

  “Aye,” he murmured, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears. “Suisan...” He released her hand, letting her touch his face with the delicate tips of her fingers. He closed his eyes as she caressed his whiskered jaw, and a shudder shook him at the gentleness of her touch.

  “Show me,” she whispered boldly, and lifted herself upon the tips of her toes. “Show me...”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Page could scarce help herself.

  God have mercy upon her wicked soul. She knew what it was she was asking—knew, too, where it would lead.

  But she wanted the touch of his lips upon her own with a hunger that was madness. She tilted her head back, inviting without words. Holy Mary, Mother of God...

  She closed her eyes and prayed with all her might that he might want her too.

  He groaned, and the guttural, tormented sound was like heavenly song to her ears, an echo of her own longing... proof of his own. The hand at her chin moved to cup her face so gently that she had to fight the sudden overwhelming urge to weep, and then his fingers slid to her nape... sweet merciful Jesu... causing gooseflesh to erupt. A blissful sigh escaped her as she stood there, her body suddenly awash with delicious sensation. It was as though she were standing bare within a warm misty shower—like nothing she had ever known—and more glorious, even, than it had been before!

  Dear God, but she wanted this...

  Her hands slid up and wound about his neck, clinging shamelessly, tugging him down... She didn’t care. How could she care? In his arms, she became everything she’d ever longed to be.

  And more.

  The first tentative touch of his lips upon her own sent her pulse skittering and her heart leaping from her breast. Soft... stirring, it caused her knees to weaken and her breath to catch. All the more desperately, she clung to him. Sweet Mary, but she couldn’t help herself. He responded by clutching her more firmly against himself.

  She felt him then, unmistakably male, and her breath caught. Though she trembled at the proof of his desire, she exulted in it as well. For no matter what else he might feel for her, this, Page knew, could scarce be denied.

  He did want her.

  As a man wanted a woman.

  The knowledge thrilled her.

  Once again his mouth covered hers, achingly tender, tasting, caressing, suckling, coaxing, and it was all Page could do to cling to him while he savored her lips in that slow, erotic way that snatched her breath and whetted her senses. She felt the passion he held in restraint in the shuddering of his body, in the way that he gripped her arm and urged her backward into the room while he kissed her, and was wholly undone by it.

  “I need you,” he whispered, removing his breacan and jerking it free, casting it to the floor. “So much...”

  Page couldn’t reply, too overcome was she by the power of his words.

  His hand splayed across her back, lowered to her bottom, pressing her more solidly against his arousal. He held her there, and his lips slid to her cheek, to her temple. “D’ ye feel how much?” he whispered at her ear.

  “Aye,” Page answered, swallowing.

  “Och, lass...” She felt his jaw tauten against her face, heard him swallow, and felt her throat convulse with overwhelming emotion.

  “Jesu,” Page croaked, her eyes closing, her heart pounding madly. She wanted him to want her.

  Wanted him to make love to her. So very much.

  “I need you to tell me what it is you wish me to do...”

  Page shook her head, unable to voice her single coherent thought.

  “D’ ye wish me to stop?” he asked her.

  “Nay,” she answered at once.

  Never did she wish him to.

  He growled, a sound of immense satisfaction, and bent to sweep her up into his arms suddenly. Page gasped, clinging to him. Her heart hammered fiercely as he bore her to the fur-strewn bed and laid her down upon it.

  Standing before her, he drew his tunic up and over his head, and the sight of him, magnificent in his nakedness, filled her with awe. She swallowed.

  “Now, lass... I’m gain’ to show you how ‘tis really done,” he promised, straddling her and trapping her beneath him. His smile was utterly wicked.

  Without another word, he bent to kiss her, and Page thought she would draw her final breath, so profoundly did the touch of his lips affect her.

  For the briefest instant, she forgot even how to respond.

  “Open for me,” he demanded. “I want to taste you,” he whispered seductively against her lips. Page obeyed, shivering at his whispered words. “That’s it,” he murmured, coaxing her lips and her heart. He dipped his tongue gently within her mouth. “Mmmnnnnnn,” he whispered.

  Page’s heart jolted. Tentatively, her heart hammering fiercely, she gave him her own tongue to spar with, taking his example, wanting to give back equal measure. She wanted to please him. Dear God, she wanted to please him. Lifting her hands to his chest, she allowed her fingers to roam his shoulders and tangle within his hair.

  “Ah, Christ,” he hissed, and groaned, wrapping his arms about her and rolling with her unexpectedly. “I believe I’ve changed my mind,” he revealed. He grinned engagingly as he settled her atop him. “Make love to me,” he urged her. She froze, as though unsure she’d heard correctly, and he tossed his hands playfully. “I’m yours,” he declared with a wink. “Do wi’ me what you will.”

  Iain thought she looked terrified, and he suppressed a chuckle. His grin widened, and he lifted a brow in challenge. “You might even torture me if it please you.”

  At once her beautiful lips broke into an impish smile, and she asked, “I can do anything?”

  “Anything’ at all,” he assured. What better way to be certain she dictated their lovemaking?

  Her brown eyes flickered with mischief. “And what if I should, indeed, decide to torture you?”

  Iain’s heart lurched. His eyes narrowed with infinite pleasure over the wicked possibilities that flashed through his thoughts. “Then I should die a contented man,” he disclosed. And God help him, he thought he just might.

  His hands slid beneath the hem of her gown, guiding it up her bare calves. His body quickened painfully at the delicious feel of the warm, soft flesh beneath his fingertips.

  Still, she hadn’t moved, merely watched him, her breasts rising and falling with her every breath, her expressive eyes wide and anticipating. When he reached her thigh, she suddenly reached out, stilling his hand.

  For the space of a heartbeat, Iain thought she meant to refuse him, and then she slid his hand away, smiling softly as she did.

  His heart stilled as she lifted herself enough to tug the gown from beneath her. It snatched free of their bodies and she drew the gown up, slowly, teasing him. The wench. His heart hammered fiercely. He dared not look away, wanting to miss nothing as she tugged the gown up and over her head. She flung it aside, and with it came free the gold braided binding from her hair. Like strands of silken thread, her beautiful tresses cascaded down to cover her exquisite breasts. It was all he could do not to reach out and brush it aside, expose her to his hungry eyes once more.

  Ah, but Christ, it was the look in her eyes that made his heart quicken painfully. Pleasure. There was no mistaking it. She took immense pleasure in revealing her body to him—though no more than he did in watching her do so.

  She was beautiful.

  Exquisite.

  And God, but he wanted her... now... this moment... madly.

  Reaching out, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her from his body, eager to take her. She gasped softly, and then again when he settled her over his shaft. His body trembling, he guided her down over him. “Ride,” he bade her, his jaw taut with savage pleasure as he watched the rapturous expression come over her face while she sheathed him fully.

  Her head fell slightly back, her eyes closed.

  The sight of her drunken
ed him.

  “Marchaich mo ghradh,” he murmured, lapsing into the old tongue as he cast his head back against the bed to savor the feel of her body enclosing him. “Ride, my love,” he whispered.

  For an instant Page was too overwhelmed by the feel of him filling her body so completely to hear, much less understand, his behest, and then he spoke so passionately in his guttural tongue—some strange endearment that prickled her senses and made her bold. Warmth flooded her from within, flowing there from that region where they were joined.

  And then he repeated his wicked demand, and a shudder shook her. Sweet Jesu, scandalized though she might be by his bawdy request, followed by those words... my love... she knew she would do anything at all... if only he asked.

  She wanted to please him—that was all that she wished. Nothing more.

  His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements, gently at first, and tentatively Page began to move with him. She was rewarded with a deep moan of satisfaction from Iain MacKinnon’s sensual lips.

  “Aye, lass,” he whispered. “That’s it.”

  Page continued to move atop him, marveling at the power of her woman’s body. Her breathing belabored and her heart pounding madly at the sight of him lying so powerless beneath her, she took immense satisfaction in every groan of pleasure she elicited from his lips. Every sigh.

  And then he suddenly abandoned her to her own pace. His head cast to one side, his jaw taut, he allowed her to move at her own will, while his hands slid upward, exploring her breasts, her sides, her shoulders... her face. He drew her down and kissed her deeply, and dear God, wanton though she might feel, she closed her eyes and abandoned herself wholly to carnality.

  His hands left her face. Like flittering butterflies they explored her shoulders once more, moved down to cup her breasts, kneading them gently, his fingers masterful in their stroking, and Page thought she would die from so much pleasure.