by Rue Allyn
His eyes held a sea-deep question. She laid her fingers on his lips. “If you wish it.”
“I do,” he said beneath her touch.
“Perhaps someday I might be allowed to look on your beauty?” She moved her gaze past his ear, unable to believe her own daring or what she had asked of him.
She felt him smile.
“Juliana.”
She forced her gaze back to his face.
“Would you like to look on me now?”
She nodded. “I have never looked on a naked man.”
“Surely you saw men when you cared for the sick.”
“Aye, but,” she shook her head, “I did not ‘look’ at their bodies. I saw only the wounds or signs of sickness. You are most definitely not sick.”
“Then, Milady Ravensmere, I ask you to assist me to disrobe.” He rose with her in his arms and strode to the bed, setting her carefully on the edge. Next he stood before her, waiting.
She ran her eyes over him, hungry for the feel of him. She extended her hand but did not touch. Like the hummingbirds in the gardens of Palermo, her fingers hovered, first at the laces of his shirt, then above his belt, next at his sleeve. “I do not know where to start.”
He grasped her darting hand and put it to rest over his heart, beside the laces of his shirt. “Here.”
She looked into his eyes where something dark, dangerous, and exceedingly desirable smoldered. His pulse beat fast and strong beneath her palm.
“Start here.” He moved her fingers into the lacing. “For if you do not start soon, I will surely die of longing.”
And so she began, plucking at strings and laces, prying at his belt, rolling, shifting, and lifting. He helped, removing his own boots and raising his arms to aid removal of his shirt. He stilled as she lowered his breeches then reached for his breechclout.
She held her breath when she finally pulled the linen from him, not knowing what to expect.
“Well?” Robert’s question fell into the silence.
“It’s so . . . so . . . um, dark and red.”
He chuckled, and it shook. “That is twice now that you have lied about your concerns.” He picked up a coil of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “Never lie to me, Juliana, for I will do all in my power to be worthy of your trust.”
She stared up at him. “I believe you, but I do not lie. That part of you is quite ruddy.”
“I doubt the color of my cock is what concerns you most about it.”
“Is that what you call it, a cock?”
“’Tis one name for it.”
“’Tis red like a cock’s comb.”
“And you, Juliana, are trying to avoid the subject of its size.”
She leaned back, eyeing the thick, veined object with some apprehension. “It seems perfectly proportioned to you . . . ”
“And?”
“And you are a very large man.”
“And you are not a large woman.”
Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed. “Aye. Will you fit?”
“Yes, sweet, I will fit.” He knelt, bringing his intent gaze to her level.
“How?”
“Let me show you.” He reached for the laces of her gown.
’Twas a delight for Juliana to have Robert undress her. He refused to let her stand, but gave her freedom to lean and lift against his body as he peeled the clothing from her. She reveled in the chance to touch his skin, to feel the swell and ripple of his muscles as he moved. She liked touching him very much. So much, in fact, that she failed to notice when her clothing finally disappeared and Robert began exploring her as she did him.
He tickled the back of her knee on her good leg. She gave a surprised yelp as her leg buckled in reaction and she tumbled backward on the bed, pulling Robert with her. Rather than suffocating her, his weight felt comforting and right. Her arms circled his neck. Her fingers toyed with the curls at his nape.
He kissed the slope of her breast, then lower and lower again until his mouth covered her nipple. She felt the sharp tug of his suckling and an answering ache deep within her belly. Her hips arched. She pulled on his hair where her fingers played.
Robert lifted his head and looked a question at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Do you not like my mouth on you?”
“Aye, I do. But it makes me ache.”
“Good. ’Tis passion, Juliana, and the greater the passion, the greater the pleasure.”
“You mean to make me ache more?”
“I pray we may both be so blessed.”
“I make you ache as well?”
“In the best way possible.”
“And where will all this aching lead?”
He kissed her cheek. “To heaven,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
He rolled from her body and took her hand. “Touch me, I beg you.” He placed her palm on his phallus.
Instinctively she curled her fingers round him and pulled.
He groaned.
She let go.
“Nay.” His hand shot out, capturing hers and restoring her grip. Showing her how to caress him. “Do not stop.”
“But . . . ”
He kissed her and rolled onto his side, placing himself between her and the rest of the room. His tongue probed her lips, and she opened. He licked inside, tasting and teasing until her tongue stroked his. She felt as if she were falling, though the bed and his arms supported her. She clutched his shoulders. He leaned over, pressing her into the mattress.
The bed curtains rattled. Juliana stiffened. Robert replaced his lips with his hand.
“Shhh, sweeting. Say nothing and allow me to take care of this.”
She nodded.
“Has the bitch led you to perversion already, Sir Robert?” Basti hissed the question. Muffled movement beyond the bed indicated that all of the witnesses had returned. Robert twisted his shoulders, shielding her with his body.
“The only perversion here is your eagerness to see innocent blood spilled. Now close those curtains and do not disturb us again before morning, else you will find ’tis your own blood that I spill to bring you satisfaction.”
The curtains snapped shut.
“They will see us,” she whispered.
“Shadows only, and if you stay where I put you, they will see nothing but my back.” He spoke for her ears alone.
“Oh.”
“Now, do you recall where I placed your hands earlier?”
“Aye.”
“Then please you put them there again.”
She felt for him, and found his cock. “It is not as stiff as . . . Oh my.”
“Oh my, indeed, wife.” He spread kisses across her face.
She felt him chuckle.
“Did my touch cause that?” she asked.
“’Tis the usual effect of a woman on a man.”
“Your body would respond so to any woman?”
“We will have this discussion another time.”
“But . . . ”
He took advantage of her open mouth and kissed her in that way that made her feel like she was falling. His hands stroked her breasts. Her hips twitched. She could not get enough of the feelings he created. His hands traveled lower, touching, stroking, and probing. She wanted . . . she knew not what.
But Robert knew. His mouth followed, lingering at her breasts, teasing the nipples to taut aching peaks, while his fingers performed a magical dance. Somehow he pulled all her passion and longing from her, twining it ’round them both until she no longer knew where he stopped and she began.
At the intrusion of one finger, her inner muscles melted. Her insides matched the slow steady rhythm of his caresses, clenching and releasing with each clever stroke. She became completely fluid under his touch. Her legs spread of their own accord.
She followed him willingly, eager to go where he led.
He rose above her, caressing her thighs and making her moan. He settled between her legs. Then he touched her center. Pl
easure shuddered through her.
“Aye, Juliana, give me your passion, your liquid fire.”
His hand left her, and his damp finger traced her lips. The scent of her own arousal filled her nostrils. His tongue trailed in his finger’s wake, lapping at the moisture.
Then she was kissing him, tasting the heady mixture of their flavors. His hands lifted her hips, and he slipped a small way inside her. She stilled at his penetration, testing how it felt to be joined with him. He paused, waiting for her. She felt strain shiver along the length of him.
“More,” she whispered against his lips. She plunged her tongue into his mouth as he thrust deep within her body and stilled again.
His mouth muffled her cry at the sharp pain that came and left in that one quick moment. When she quieted, he lifted his lips from hers. She panted, trying to suppress the urge to move around him.
“I am sorry for your pain, Juliana.”
“’Tis gone now,” she said between pants. “This pressure and the ache you say is passion, they are unbearable. May we continue?”
Robert placed his mouth against hers and smiled. “As you wish, wife.” He began a slow rhythm that made Juliana grind her teeth.
“Husband,” she whispered. “This cannot be right.”
“I assure you it is.”
“The pressure increases.”
“Ah, let me try this.” He caught her nipple between his lips and sucked. A fierce tugging pierced her breast. She cried out. A moment’s relief spun through her, followed by still greater pressure. Robert moved within her at the same slow rate.
She fisted her hands in his hair, lifting his face to hers. “’Tis unbearable now. Do something!”
“Yes, milady.” He kissed his way to her other breast, still stroking her insides with that agonizing slowness. He plucked at one turgid peak and lapped at the other. Juliana gasped and thrust her hips against him. Robert sucked and pinched lightly at the same time. She screamed, clutching at his shoulders, certain that, if the pressure increased much more, she would fly apart. Of a sudden his strokes began to quicken. Her hips writhed, seeking to relieve the intense ache. “Please,” she begged. “I can stand this no longer.”
Robert lifted himself on his arms. The rhythmic thrusts continued, faster now. “Look at me, Juliana.” She could barely make out his face in the dim light. He reached between their bodies, and she burst into a thousand pieces. A keening cry left a mouth she could no longer feel. Still she felt his body ram into hers once, twice more. Somehow she heard a deep, masculine shout. His arms gathered her splintering pieces, and she floated together with him in a haze of pleasure.
Some time later, she became aware Robert had shifted their positions so that she did not bear his weight. She lay on her side, one arm above her head, the other resting on his shoulder. One of Robert’s arms was flung over her hip, his hand warm on her thigh. Her leg was drawn up atop his hip, and he pulsed hard and strong within her.
How long had they lain thus? Had he left and re-entered her without her knowing? Had he stayed all this time? Would she conceive? Bear Robert’s child?
The idea was more pleasant than she expected. Her hand drifted down to her belly and encountered his hand, rubbing gentle circles above her womb.
She turned her head and lifted her gaze to find him watching her.
“You are a brave and courageous woman, Lady Juliana Ravensmere, and much better than I deserve.”
She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant.
He laid a finger against her lips. “No questions. Now go to sleep, you are tired.”
She found she was tired and decided not to argue. “You have much to answer for, Sir Robert.” She relaxed against him and fell instantly asleep.
Chapter 15
Robert lay awake for a long time, after he finally grew flaccid enough to leave her body, after the witnesses shuffled from the room, after the candles guttered and the dawn light filtered through the window shutters. Juliana was right. He did have much to answer for. He could only pray that when the time came, he would not have hurt her too much.
He shifted so he could watch her sleep, knowing that the mere sight of her could ease his guilt and regret. Every time he thought he understood her, knew all there was to know, she surprised him, revealing some unsuspected strength or weakness. How could a woman with such vast experience of the evil of men tolerate being among them even for brief periods, let alone spend a lifetime locked to a man in marriage? Now he understood why the Beguine life appealed to her. Once Edward dissolved Juliana’s existing marriage, would her Scottish husband understand? Would he be patient in teaching her that not all men were like her uncle, Basti, or Aelfred Clarwyn, the first Baron Ravensmere?
When she had spoken of her uncle, Robert had wanted to kill the man and cursed himself for the impulse. Nonetheless, for perhaps the first time, Robert acknowledged that he carried no blame for the inability to right all the wrongs done to Juliana in the past.
If he continued to dwell on the past and his failures, he would never surmount them. He must concentrate on the future, on protecting Juliana at all costs from those who threatened her now. His duty, if not his mind, was clear. He would keep her safe or die trying, until the time came to hand her over to Edward and the Scot.
He slept for a bit, then woke and watched the daylight reveal Juliana’s face. Too soon they must rise and face the day. He smacked her gently on the behind to get her to move, and then kissed her soundly awake.
“Mmm,” she purred when he gave her time to breathe. She settled comfortably against him, prepared to go back to sleep. Robert was tempted to let her, but reality had already intruded in the form of a knock at the door.
“No you do not, milady.” He shook her awake. “’Tis time to break our fast. We have much to do this day.” He leapt from the bed and went to the door. He held a mumbled conversation with the servant who had brought their breakfast then returned to Juliana who now sat upright. Her red-gold curls tumbled about her face to fall over her kiss-reddened breasts.
“What must we do today, husband?” She stretched, and he feasted on the sight of her delicate curves. It pleased him that she seemed well recovered from the night’s events. But he knew that no other such night would occur. When they reached England, Edward would have the marriage set aside. Much though Robert longed for more nights in her arms, he would not fight his king for Juliana. Aside from his vow not to lift his sword, the shame for any woman who wed a Clarwyn was too great.
“Do you not recall our plans to outwit Basti?” he spoke casually.
“I do.” She jumped eagerly from the bed and crumpled to the floor with a cry.
“Juliana!” He raced to her side and lifted her carefully from back onto the bed.
“I felt so very good, I forgot about my foot.” She smiled, though tears of pain dusted her cheeks, and she clutched the injured joint.
Pleased with both her compliment and her courage, Robert kissed her, sipping at the salty drops. “Here, let me see.” Tenderly, he unwrapped the heavy bandage the doctor had swathed about her limb. He bit back a gasp. The foot was swollen and discolored from toe to mid-shin.
“It looks horrible, does it not?”
He looked up to find Juliana’s gaze on his hands. “Aye.” He kept his voice grim, refusing to give in to the rage he felt building inside him. “Once I get you to England, I will come back and kill Basti.”
“No, Robert.” Her gentle fingers touched his shoulders. “’Twould stain your soul forever to do murder, even to such a one as Basti.”
He bent his head, praying she had not seen his resignation. He already had deaths on his soul, and whether the killing was justified or not, he was beyond redemption. He re-wrapped her ankle and stood. “Wait here.”
She smiled up at him. “I am not going anywhere.”
He found her shift and a practical woolen gown and helped her into them. Sitting her on the bed, he handed her some bread and cheese. He dressed while he bro
ke his own fast.
“Do you have a brush?” Juliana asked as she dusted crumbs from her fingers.
“Aye.” He found it in the small chest the servants had brought yesterday. He hesitated, pretending to have trouble finding the brush while he made certain the casket of beans still lay at the bottom. Satisfied, he closed the lid, gave the brush to Juliana, then went to the door and asked one of the guards to send for Fra Marco. While he waited for the priest, Robert gathered their few belongings in preparation for leaving. The knock came; Fra Marco had sent a note. Robert checked the seal. It was unbroken. He went to the fireplace and scanned the contents.
Sir Robert,
Basti has discovered how I aided you. I am safe at present with my connections here, but my open assistance will now do you more harm than good. The bishop’s chair waits for you and Lady Juliana. Go to the Inn of the Three Swans and ask for Dominic. He will help you to carry out the plan we discussed. Burn this letter before you leave.
May God go with you.
Fra Marco Donatori.
Robert carefully burned the letter, separating the ash before he went to the door again. “Lady Ravensmere and I are ready to depart.”
• • •
At an inn many leagues north of Rome, Juliana perched on the bed, and Robert sat as far from her as possible in the room’s only chair. A lighted brasier rested on the floor between them, they warmed themselves and chewed on the meat pies provided by the host.
“I have thought,” Juliana said, “of a way for us to escape this marriage and any anger Edward might have because of it.”
Robert swallowed and looked up from his pie. “Either you have wrought a miracle or you are much smarter than every priest I consulted in Rome.”
“No.” She smiled. “But I am perhaps more imaginative.”
“So how would you solve the dilemma of our marriage?” Robert nearly choked on the words. As necessary as it was, he found himself reluctant to end his time with Juliana until the last possible moment.
“I must die.”
He did choke. He forced down the lump of pie that blocked his breathing. His throat still felt tight, so he gulped half his ale, just to be certain the meat had gone down.
