Gareth shivered when she moved her hand from his chin to brush his stubborn lock of hair from his face. Elena could not bring herself to meet his grey eyes, so she ran her fingers through his thick wavy hair, caressing her way down his neck to his shoulders. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his rough shirt as she took a shaky breath. Leaning forward even more, she closed her eyes lazily as she pressed her lips to his warm mouth. She felt a moment's panic when Gareth did not immediately respond, but all thought quickly left her mind when, in a rush, Gareth dragged her body flush against his. Once again, she had only to initiate the kiss to have him meet her more than half way. Without even realizing she had done so, Elena moaned as Gareth ran his hands up and down her back, the thin chemise heightening the friction rather than diminishing it. He devoured her mouth hungrily, stealing the very breath from her body, before sliding his lips over her smooth cheek to explore the delicate folds of her ear.
Elena dug her nails into his shoulders as she let her head drop back, her neck suddenly too weak to hold the weight of it, although the rest of her body felt light as a feather. Her skin glowed with warmth as if the candle on the table were instead a bonfire, threatening to consume her. Gareth took advantage of her exposed neck to leave a new trail of burning kisses. Elena brought her head up sharply when Gareth's hands swept around her waist and up her midriff to cup her breasts. The sensations his touch sent through her body caused her breathing to come in quick, shallow pants. The rapidly diminishing logical part of her brain realized that Gareth's breathing was just as labored.
Gareth's kisses returned to her mouth as their bodies sank lower on the bed. Without consciously planning to, Elena ran her hands down to Gareth's waist and tugged on his shirt, pulling it out of his breeches and up over his torso and shoulders. Their lips parted for a mere second as Gareth impatiently tugged the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. The pressure of his renewed kisses pushed her fully back on the bed and as he followed her down, he pulled off his chausses.
He kissed the silkiness of her eyebrows, the smoothness of her skin, the fullness of her lips.
The rest of their clothing quickly followed, though later Elena could never remember how the sleeve of her chemise came to be ripped nearly off, or how Gareth's breeches had come to land on the candle where they had smoldered for a few seconds before plunging the room in darkness.
The moon sent pale beams through the tiny window, bathing the lovers in its silvery light, hiding the flush of Elena’s cheek when Gareth kissed the peak of her breast. His face was lost in shadow as he rolled atop her, but she saw the rugged contours of his visage with first her fingertips and then her mouth. She learned the sculpting of his muscled back, the firm roundness of his buttocks. She drank in his scent as if it were life-giving air and she a drowning woman. She was nearly overcome with so many sensations. One moment, she reveled in the silkiness of his hair, the next, in the saltiness of his skin, the rasp of his whiskers against her neck, the grip of his callused hand on her hip, her breast. Elena barely recognized the delight of one part of him before she discovered a new one. I could spend a lifetime learning his body, she thought, and in the slumberous heat of passion, the thought did not scare her. It enticed her.
Without fear or hesitation, she gave herself to him and he worshiped her for it, kissing and caressing her with a gentleness that touched her soul. His hands roamed her body, memorizing the soft curves that so perfectly fit his hard hollows. Her skin was sweet to the taste, the scent of her hair intoxicating. He buried his face in it before he was distracted by a velvet ear lobe. He was acutely aware of her womanly softness, the vulnerability of her body—strong though it may be with long, lean muscles and taut abdomen. He wanted to cradle her in his arms protectively at the same time he wanted to crush her to him and sink into her body. It was a disturbing and overwhelming feeling, how completely he was in her thrall. He felt his blood pounding, his breath coming faster.
Gareth forced himself to slow down, to make this experience good for Elena. He knew not why she had initiated their lovemaking, nor what the future held for them, but for this one night, he would show her just what she meant to him.
Focused now, he spent endless moments savoring the soft skin of each breast before dragging his lips across her stomach. He heard her breath hitch as his lips brushed soft curls and he grinned wickedly up at her before parting her legs and dropping his mouth to her core.
Elena’s back arched off the bed and she grasped a handful of his hair in her hand, mumbling incoherently, “What…you can’t…that’s…” before falling back and succumbing to the pleasure he wrought. Gareth focused his long-building desire for Elena into that one intimate kiss, wringing sobs of pleasure from her, branding her with his tongue and lips, marking her as his own. He felt the tension in her body build, and while one part of him wanted to bring her to completion, another part—the more primal and ruthless side—needed to posses her. Now.
He dragged his lips back up along her ribcage, not with soft kisses as before, but with nips of his teeth and scratching of his night beard. Elena opened her eyes and in the cold glitter of the moonlight, they were dark and smoldering. She dug her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth to her own, biting gently at his lips, licking his teeth, tangling his tongue with hers. She dug her nails into his buttocks, urging him closer and he complied, sliding his shaft along her tender wetness. He heard her suck in a shaky breath and he repeated the motion again and again until she hissed, “Now!”
He smiled at her imperious tone, but for once was more than happy to comply with her demands. He positioned himself at her entrance and slowly slid home, gritting his teeth with the effort it took to take his time and make it right for her. He heard Elena take a sharp breath and he searched her face, seeing a slight frown mar her forehead.
“Is it…does it hurt? Should I—“
“No!” she interrupted. “For God’s sake, keep going!”
Gareth grinned and pressed a hard kiss to her lips as he sank the final crucial bit. His carefully slow pace drove him to the brink of his self-control, but he held back, adjusting his angle, tilting her hips, and caressing her at that delicate juncture. He was rewarded with murmured words of endearment and encouragement; little sighs and moans that stoked his desire to an inferno. His lovemaking took on an urgency that must have translated to Elena for she responded by lifting her hips, tossing her head until finally, the storm racked her body, convulsions of pleasure involuntarily pulling his own release from his body. She cried out and Gareth kissed her hard, swallowing her cry as he smothered his own.
When at last they lay back, exhausted, they snuggled together on the narrow bed as comfortably as if they had been doing so their whole lives.
Chapter 17
Gareth awoke early the next morning as the sun's first rays made their way into a tiny window, high on the wall. He was disoriented for several seconds as he stared at the clean wooden walls of the room. Of late, he had become used to sleeping outdoors, on the ground. As he tried to stretch and found his arm pinned beneath Elena's head, his mind quickly cleared and he turned to survey his bedfellow.
Her hair was a soft tangle of reddish-brown waves and curls spread about the pillow like a silk veil, its sweet scent filling his nostrils and reminding him of the night before when he had grabbed double handfuls of the silken strands and buried his face in their fragrance. Her face nestled against his shoulder was beautiful, peaceful, and, he thought, content. The last time he had watched her sleep, she had been deathly ill, her face flushed with fever, her hair dampened with sweat. Even when the fever had broken, her eyes had remained slightly glazed with weakness for days afterwards. Then they had almost made love, stopped only by Cynan pounding on the door that English soldiers were after them. There had been no soldiers last night. No Cynan pounding on the door. No illness to befuddle Elena's mind as to what they were doing.
Gareth brushed a feather-light kiss against Elena's brow. No, there had be
en nothing to stand in their way last night. There had been only love. Gareth swallowed but did not try to deny himself the emotion. Yes, last night he had succumbed to the feeling that had been steadily growing since he had seen her standing at the top of the stairs in Richard's great hall those many weeks ago; the feeling that had grown despite her haughtiness, despite her complaining, nagging, and bickering as they rode through Wales; the feeling that grew tenfold that horrible night he found her huddled in the middle of the road; the feeling that would have to cease once they returned to England, returned to Richard's court.
Gareth took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing himself to forget that last thought. They would have almost another week before he had to hand her back to Richard and to her fiancée, perhaps a few days more if they were lucky and the roads were bad.
Elena squirmed in his arms and opened her eyes, smiling lazily at him. He grinned back at her, immensely relieved at her response. Dipping his head, he kissed her gently, her lips like warm velvet under his mouth. Of its own will, his free hand slid up the smooth skin of her torso to caress her breast. His heart began hammering against his ribs as Elena's hands began their own exploration over his body.
Staring down at her, he was entranced by the fiery colors ignited in her hair as a shaft of sunlight struck it. Her eyes also were illuminated, their cinnamon depths pulling him towards her for another kiss. An inch before his lips were to touch hers, Gareth's love struck mind finally recognized the significance of the light on Elena's face. Pulling back abruptly, he saw her scowl.
"'Tis morning, love, and I had best duck out before the others awaken. There are at least three men in this house who would sever my head from my body if they were to discover me in your room."
Elena laughed shakily, and Gareth wondered if she was just now aware of the implications of their stolen night together. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she sat up as Gareth climbed from the bed. As he retrieved his discarded clothing, she studied his supple body without embarrassment, though her scrutiny made him nervous. Suppose she didn't like what she saw? Glancing nervously over his shoulder, he saw admiration and raw desire on her face. He almost returned to her then and there, consequences be damned, but forced himself to stay focused.
Once dressed, Gareth turned and bent to drop a quick kiss on her lips. "I've no plans today. What say we travel about town and find a seamstress? We've been through enough to have earned at least one day's play."
Elena's eyes sparkled at his mention of a seamstress. Grabbing his face before he could straighten, she kissed him soundly on the mouth before flopping back down on the bed.
"If we have a day to do what we want, then I want to sleep another hour. I've been up with the sun for so many days, I feel like a chicken!"
Gareth laughed and said, "Sleep away, my lady. The day is yours." Carefully opening the door, he peeked outside before quickly leaving. Once in the hall, he stayed where he was a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
"Gareth!" his father called out from the other end of the hall. Gareth's heart stopped and his mouth went dry. He felt like a twelve-year-old who had been caught peeping at the bathing milkmaids. Full of dread, he turned and watched his father walk down the hall.
"Is she still asleep?" Morgan asked.
Gareth swallowed to force his heart back down into his chest, then he cleared his throat. "Yes, I thought I'd check on her, but she's asleep."
"Poor dear, she probably needs the rest, especially after last night."
Gareth's eyes widened to the point he was afraid they would tumble out of his head. "Last night?"
"Yes. Cynan said you convinced Elena to play on the Viking stumps last night in the market."
Gareth's heart resumed beating. "Oh, yes. She did very well."
"Well, best not to disturb her then. Let's go sit by the fire and talk about your strategy."
Gareth nodded and allowed himself to be pulled down the hall on legs that were rubbery with reaction to almost being caught, and weak from…other things.
***
After Gareth left, wedging the door as closed as it would go, Elena stretched lazily, curling her toes and yawning. This was heaven, she thought. To simply be able to lay here in relative comfort and cleanliness for as long as she wanted. More sleep was definitely what she wanted, but as she lay on the narrow pallet and gazed out the tiny square pane of the window, she found that she was not the least bit sleepy. In fact, she felt as if she could hike across Wales. Elena laughed at the whimsical thought. Two months ago, she would have thought something like, "I could dance all night," or, "I could help Lady Elizabeth change her clothes twelve time today." Still, sleepy or no, it felt wonderful to lay here and know that the day was hers to do with as she pleased. Hers and Gareth's.
She glanced around the room, her gaze coming to rest on the heap of cranberry-colored wool. A new dress! And the finest cotton! She had not been so excited about having a new outfit since her mother had first helped her prepare for moving to Richard's court. The fact that Gareth had thought enough of her to give her such a gift gave her pause.
Sitting up slowly, Elena leaned over and collected her torn chemise. Her cheeks warmed as she thought of the night spent in Gareth's arms, his compactly built but strong body pressed against hers. What would Margaret and Catherine and all the other girls back at court say if they knew what she had done. Not only done, she corrected herself, but enjoyed! She did not regret for a moment what had happened last night. In the bright light of day, she forced herself to admit that she had long found Gareth attractive. But somewhere along their travels, she had come to desire more than his handsome face or broad shoulders. His focus, his determination, the way he put her safety above all else; she had never had someone make her feel as cherished as he did. And this gift…
No, she was not sorry for what happened last night. In fact, she would do her best to see that it happened again before she must face the possibility of a wedding night with Brackley. The wayward thought of the earl this time did not bring an involuntary shudder. Not because she was resigned to her fate, but because suddenly she saw before her not Brackley as a bridegroom, but Gareth. She gasped aloud at the thought. Wed? To Gareth? He held no land, no position of honor or prestige. The blood rushed from Elena’s face and she had to sit down, because suddenly, she found that she didn’t care that he was a simple knight, and a Welsh one at that. The realization left her dizzy, as if she’d held onto her plans and expectations for so long that they’d served as her anchor and she was now adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Could she truly be happy with a man such as Gareth? She laughed aloud at herself for such a foolish question. She knew without a doubt that Gareth could show her a happiness far beyond what she had once hoped to achieve. The question was, could he be happy with a woman such as herself? The thought was disconcerting to say the least, for she’d rarely suffered self-doubt, but she found herself in new territory, stripped bare of her arsenal of feminine wiles. She glanced again at the pile of fabric. Such a gift gave her hope that Gareth did in fact return her feelings.
Vowing she would find a way to discover his feelings for her before they reached Richard’s court, Elena stood and pulled on her chemise. As she laced herself into her worn cotehardie, she reveled in her plan to burn it and scatter the ashes at sea as soon as her new dress was made.
***
"What have you discovered about Elena's loyalties?" Morgan asked gently as he and Gareth broke their fast on crusty bread and tangy goat cheese.
Gareth pulled his thoughts from the previous night's activities and swallowed his mouthful of bread. "Elena holds no great love for either Richard or Henry, but maintaining her livelihood is, understandably, utmost in her mind. As a mere lady-in-waiting, she would hold no importance for Henry, hence, she would most likely lose her position in court. Although she did not say she would oppose our efforts, neither did she offer help or support."
"Not even if you asked for her help?" Morgan asked, eyeing
Gareth speculatively.
Gareth looked sharply at his father, exasperated with himself for his adolescent fear of discovery. Deciding to ignore his father's unspoken questions, he shook his head. "I can't do that, Da. She is here now because of a quirk of fate. Because she rode the wrong way on that blasted road after Richard's party was attacked. If she'd had her way, she would have spent these past weeks in the luxury of court, being pampered and flirting with the courtiers." Gareth felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of Elena flirting with the wealthy, handsome men of Richard's court, but he continued. "We simply can't ask her to make that sacrifice."
His father gazed steadily at him for a long moment and Gareth focused his attention on his meal, willing his expression not to reveal his feelings for Elena.
“You and see seem to get along well.”
Gareth nearly choked on a crust of bread. Reaching for a tankard, he washed it down and scowled at his father. “Well enough.”
“Perhaps more than well enough, I’m inclined to say.”
“More than well enough for what?” Gareth asked sharply, but God help him, he knew.
“What if you married Lady Elena. Your loyalties would be hers and we need not worry about—“
“No!” Though the idea had sprouted in the back of his mind since awakening with Elena in his arms, he could not abide the idea of manipulating her into marriage simply to aid Lord Stanley’s plans. Not when his own feelings were engaged. Elena would never willingly marry a man of his station. She had made clear many times what she sought out of life and that was position, wealth, and security. Security he could give her—with his life, if need be. Wealth he had enough, at least enough to keep her well fed, well clothed, well sheltered, though perhaps not as lavishly as Elena hoped for. But position was a tenuous thing in Wales, and soon all of England if Henry Tudor’s plans came to fruition. He knew how important such a thing was to Elena and he would not risk her compromising her dreams.
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