Untamed

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “What did you hope?” he asked.

  “That you were not the bloodthirsty devil gossip said you were. That there was kindness in you. That…”

  Meg’s voice caught at the gliding pressure of Dominic’s thumb over her lower lip.

  “That what?” he asked.

  “I can’t think…when you…”

  “Do this?”

  Dominic repeated the slow caress.

  She nodded slightly. Even that small motion was enough to shift his touch to her upper lip. Her eyes widened at the unexpected sensation. Without thinking, she pulled back, only to find that his other arm had come around her, holding her for his touch.

  “Don’t fight me, small falcon. I am your husband. Or does my touch displease you so much?”

  “N-no. I just didn’t expect to be treated kindly by you.”

  “Why?”

  “You think badly of me,” Meg said.

  “I think like a husband who doesn’t know his bride. If I am to change my thinking, then I will have to know you better, won’t I?”

  Meg’s eyes widened. Dominic could almost see her turning his words over in her mind, testing them for truth or falsehood…weighing him almost as carefully as he was weighing each of his own actions.

  “You have the right of it,” she admitted after a moment. “You must know me better. Then you will understand that you can trust me with your honor.”

  Dominic made a neutral sound and stroked his thumb over Meg’s lips again. More sensations shimmered through her, unsettling her. She hadn’t known that her body had silky threads of fire hidden within.

  “So soft,” Dominic said in a deep voice.

  “You’re not.”

  He raised his left eyebrow and the corner of his mouth in amused agreement. At the moment, there wasn’t one part of his body that was soft. Being this close to his reluctant wife had a profound effect on him.

  “Your hand,” Meg explained, not understanding Dominic’s rueful amusement. “’Tis hardened by war. Yet careful. I feel rather like the peregrine.”

  “The thought occurred to me,” Dominic admitted, smiling slowly.

  Meg looked into gray eyes that burned with a clear masculine fire. The sight was so beguiling that she didn’t look beyond, not wanting to see the warrior’s calculations that lay beneath. She was fairly light-headed with relief; of all the things she had anticipated on her wedding night, none had involved being gentled by Dominic’s touch as though she were an untamed falcon newly brought to the mews.

  “Are you still nervous of me?” Dominic asked.

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  “You need to be accustomed to your new estate,” he said. “Should I keep you in a darkened mews with eyelids carefully seeled, so that nothing is real to you but my voice, my touch, my very breath?”

  When Meg would have answered, the back of Dominic’s hand brushed over her lips as lightly as a sigh, scattering her thoughts before she could speak.

  “Nay,” he said, answering his own question. “Not even the finest seeling thread of silk would I permit to mar the beauty of your eyes.”

  The touch of Dominic’s hand on Meg’s throat drew a startled sound from her.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said soothingly. “Like my peregrine, you are much too fine and fragile and courageous to damage with careless handling. Close your Glendruid eyes and simply feel, wife. Let me touch you until you no longer fear my hand.”

  While Dominic spoke, he continued the caresses that were both reassuring and disturbing, sending glittering thrills coursing through Meg.

  Slowly her eyelids closed, leaving her without a Glendruid woman’s clear sight into a man’s soul. For long moments there was only the whisper of flames and the soft rush of breath between lips parted in surprise. Meg had never known anything like Dominic’s caresses, yet she kept feeling that she had. The familiarity haunted her.

  “Why, ’tis like sunlight,” Meg whispered at last, remembering when she had felt such undemanding warmth before.

  “What is?”

  “Your touch.”

  Dominic’s smile wasn’t nearly as gentle as his fingertips, but Meg’s eyes weren’t open to measure the difference.

  “’Tis only fair that my caresses be as soft as sunlight,” he said, “for your skin is as tender as any rose petal I’ve ever known.”

  A smile changed Meg’s lips. Then her mouth opened slightly on a swift intake of breath when Dominic’s fingertips skimmed from the hollow of her throat to trace the sparkling chain of Glendruid crystals that wrapped around her body just beneath her breasts.

  “Gently, falcon,” Dominic said in a low voice. “Soon you’re going to trust yourself to my arm.”

  “Even your strength couldn’t support me if I gave my whole weight to your wrist.”

  Dominic laughed and swooped like an eagle, lifting Meg in one arm. Her eyes opened in surprise.

  “Will I have to make you go hooded?” Dominic asked. “Close your eyes and see as the newly caught falcon sees.”

  As Dominic spoke, he bent and touched Meg’s eyelids with the tip of his tongue, closing her eyes.

  The unexpected caresses stole Meg’s breath. By the time she got it back, Dominic was sitting in the big chair that had once belonged to John’s grandfather, and she was half reclining across her husband’s lap, her legs draped over one arm of the chair. She stirred restively, only to be restrained by her husband’s hands.

  “You are a falcon, remember?” he asked. “This is how we will learn about one another.”

  Slowly the tension went out of Meg’s body. Dominic shifted her hair free of its captivity, sending it cascading over the chair’s arm and down to the floor, where it lay like embers waiting for fire.

  A breathless sound came from Meg, nervous laughter or a tremulous sigh or both at once. The hushed intimacy and unexpected caresses kept taking her by surprise. They made her body feel both taut and languorous, flushed with heat. In the space of a few moments Dominic had given her more pleasure than she had ever expected from a man.

  Yet Meg found she wanted more. As certainly as she had sensed the pain beneath Dominic’s ruthless self-control, she now sensed that there was a seething, twisting, hungry fire at her own core. She had never guessed such a thing existed within herself. It was like looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger, unnerving and enthralling at once.

  Without realizing it, Meg settled more deeply into Dominic’s grasp. The telltale softening of her body against his sent both cold triumph and hot hunger racing through him. He was heavy, full, hard, stirring with every rapid beat of his heart.

  Meg smiled as though even through closed eyes she could see the evidence of his arousal straining against the supple leather of his undergarment.

  “Are you peeking?” Dominic asked huskily.

  “No, but I would like to.”

  The thought appealed to him as well.

  Slowly, he cautioned himself. I can’t take her until she bleeds, no matter how stoutly she denies having lain with my enemy.

  But it would be sweet indeed to be naked with her, to have her touch me as she touched the peregrine.

  The thought of Meg’s pale, slender hands stroking him dragged a rough sound of hunger and anticipation from Dominic.

  “Are you laughing?” she asked.

  “Nay. Would I laugh at a fierce peregrine beguiled by her master’s touch?”

  The pleasure curling through Dominic’s voice charmed Meg. She smiled again and leaned against his chest. Heat radiated up from his body to her, luring her as greatly as her own pleasure, for the stones of the keep still held the chill of winter. Without understanding why, Meg yielded still more of her weight and herself to the man who was weaving a calculated spell of delight around her.

  “You are like the sun in another way,” Meg murmured.

  Dominic looked down at Meg’s long, dark auburn lashes, creamy skin, and strawberry lips softly parted. The girl was yielding to him with a s
weet sensuality that was as unexpected as the fierce hunger she called from his body. Need raked him with razor talons that threatened to slice through his self-control.

  He needed her the way fire needed to burn.

  Ruthlessly Dominic fought the violent passion Meg had aroused in him so unexpectedly.

  “How am I like the sun?” Dominic asked when he trusted his voice not to reveal his naked hunger.

  “Heat, my lord. You are like fire.”

  “Do I burn you?”

  “Not painfully. You warm me like sunlight after winter’s long siege.”

  “Then come closer, small falcon. Lay your head against me. Learn my scent and taste and textures.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Meg gave in to the gentle pressure of his hand against her head. In silence she smoothed her cheek along Dominic’s leather-clad chest. The texture of his garment was as fine and supple as a kid glove, and it fit him the way his own skin did. When she realized how clearly she could feel each ridge and swell of muscle, an odd tremor rippled through her.

  “You’re cold,” Dominic said. “Let me warm you.”

  The thickening of his blood with passion made his voice low, almost rough. He feared it would make Meg wary. He didn’t want that. Not when she was coming over to his side of the sensual battle without a fight, taken in ambush by the skilled caresses of a man from whom she had expected only blows.

  The touch of Dominic’s mouth against her own startled Meg. Her eyes flew open, only to be closed once more by tiny, quick kisses. In a hushed silence his lips roamed over her face as his fingertips had.

  “You taste clean,” Dominic whispered. “Like warm rain.”

  “Gwyn says I am a creature of water and growing things.”

  Glendruid.

  Meg’s breath caught, for Dominic had taken her lower lip between his teeth and licked his tongue across it. Almost as soon as the odd caress began, Dominic retreated, leaving no more than a beguiling hint of his taste. The tip of her tongue traced the place where his teeth and tongue had touched her.

  Passion’s talons clenched, hardening Dominic’s whole body as he fought against a need that was rapidly becoming ungovernable. He had expected many things of his wife, but not an artless passion that set fire to him as no woman ever had.

  “Did that hurt you?” he asked.

  “Nay.”

  “You started.”

  “You have the most surprising way about you,” Meg said simply. “I don’t know what to expect next.”

  Dominic’s smile was a fierce slash of victory; an opponent who was easily surprised was easily defeated.

  “Did it displease you?” he asked.

  She shook her head even as she slowly licked her lower lip again.

  “You taste of the Holy Land,” Meg said.

  “Do I?” he said thickly. “How so?”

  “Lemon infused with sweet.”

  “’Tis only the Turkish candy.”

  “My candy didn’t taste that good,” she said.

  “Next time, choose the one that is as yellow as the sun.”

  “Next time I shall have you taste it for me.”

  “And then you will taste me?” he asked.

  The idea both startled and intrigued Meg. Her eyes opened. In the room’s dim light, their color was a green so dark it was nearly black. She could see nothing of Dominic but the strength of his shoulders and jaw outlined against the dying fire.

  “Is that…seemly?” she asked.

  Dominic started to say that Duncan of Maxwell’s courtship must have been a rather boorish affair, but bit back the comment just in time. The last thing Dominic wanted to do at the moment was ruffle the feathers he had so cautiously and patiently soothed. He wasn’t certain that his self-control would be up to another round of gentling this night.

  God’s teeth, but I ache. Not since I was an apple-cheeked boy have I been this hard!

  “’Tis not only seemly,” Dominic said as he shifted Meg discreetly on his lap, “there is great pleasure in it.”

  “How so?”

  “Lick your lips.”

  She did. He watched with an intensity that did nothing to slow the savage beating of his blood.

  “What did you feel?” he asked.

  “Er…” Meg frowned and admitted, “Nothing, in truth. My lip was dry and then it became wet.”

  Dominic smiled darkly as he bent down to Meg.

  “Now see how this feels,” he whispered.

  With great care Dominic ran the tip of his tongue around the rim of her mouth. He meant to do no more than that, but the startled sound she made, the parting of her lips, and the warm rush of her breath created a temptation too great to deny.

  His tongue slid into her mouth more gently than he wanted and less gently than was wise at this stage in the seduction of his very special falcon.

  The glide of Dominic’s tongue startled Meg for a moment. Then she realized that, though unexpected, the caress was rather pleasing. He tasted of exotic sweets and yet was familiar as well, heat and the faint savor of salt, as well as a complex flavor she couldn’t define. In an attempt to taste more fully, she returned the soft stabbing of his tongue with her own.

  Dominic’s fingers speared through Meg’s hair, pulling her head back, opening her mouth so that he could take it deeply, repeatedly.

  At first she was too surprised to move, but the primal rhythm of the kiss and the sensuous penetration and retreat of his tongue soon sent cascades of shimmering, glittery sensations through her. Heat leaped deep within her, a fire both tender and fierce ignited by the sweet friction of tongue over tongue.

  A low sound was torn from Dominic’s throat. He wanted to put his hand beneath the silver fabric and feel the curves of Meg’s breasts change to meet his touch, but the silver-and-crystal chain was too cunningly fastened for him to defeat without ending the kiss. And that he would not do.

  Dominic’s hand abandoned the frustrating Glendruid chain and instead sought the hem of Meg’s dress. There was no hindrance there. He swept up the fey, filmy cloth and felt the living heat of his bride’s flesh beneath his palm.

  With the same patience Dominic had shown for the peregrine, he gentled his wife again and again, his touch retreating and returning, caresses that slid higher and higher up her legs while he watched with eyes that measured even as fire ate into his very bones.

  Then Dominic lowered his head and seduced Meg’s mouth with the slow, sure strokes that echoed those of his hand. Finally Meg began stirring with a different kind of restlessness beneath the deep kisses and warm caresses. The slow tremors that took her owed little to fear and much to the hushed sensuality of his hand stroking her while the kiss deepened into an elemental joining.

  Even as Dominic told himself that he must stop very soon, that he should have stopped already, that the seducer was rapidly becoming the seduced, he couldn’t deny himself one more gliding caress up the warmth of Meg’s calf, across the hidden crease at the back of her knee, a slow caress up her silken inner thighs.

  He knew he should stop there as he had before, but found the temptation to push farther irresistible. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he curled his hand around her, cupping her softest flesh in his broad palm. In the same motion he traced her secret warmth with his thumb.

  Shocked by the intimacy of Dominic’s hand between her thighs, Meg stiffened suddenly and tore her mouth free of Dominic’s. He barely noticed her struggle, for she was a sultry mist against his palm. Violent triumph swept through his tensed body and a low groan of need was dragged from his lips.

  Too soon. I must not take her.

  Reluctantly Dominic released the lush fire he had so briefly touched and looked at his unexpectedly sensual wife.

  Meg was staring at him with wide green eyes that still glowed with passion recently ignited. Her lips were red, glistening, parted with shock and pleasure combined. Her breasts rose and fell with each ragged breath she took.

  Dominic longed
to see Meg as she was now, sprawled across his lap, but without the dress concealing her hunger for his seed. Just the thought of seeing her naked in languid disarray was enough to bring him to the edge of bursting. Slowly he began drawing up the silver folds of her dress, wanting to see the moist yielding of her body to his touch, her flesh flushed and glistening, scented by passion.

  “Dominic—”

  “I am your husband,” he said in a low voice. “You can’t become accustomed to being my wife if you cover yourself and lock your legs together like the jaws of a sprung trap. Have I hurt you in any way?”

  “N-no.”

  “Do you believe I am intent on hurting you tonight?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Then yield to me what any other husband would simply take.”

  Slowly Meg’s legs relaxed but for the trembling she was helpless to stop.

  Again the silver cloth began its gliding retreat up Meg’s body. The sweet foretaste of triumph brought husky laughter from Dominic as he looked at the graceful arch of Meg’s foot, the feminine curve of her calf, the dimpled knee peeking from the silver cloud of her dress, the creamy thighs, and the lush thicket that was the color of fire.

  She lay within his grasp; it all lay within his grasp, the land and the heirs and the dream of life that had kept him sane during the brutality of the Holy War.

  “John’s curse was in vain,” Dominic said thickly. “I will have sons of you after all.”

  Sons.

  Even as Meg’s reason told her that it was her duty to bear her husband heirs if she could, her pride cried out at being nothing more than a vessel for Dominic’s ambitions.

  She had felt a wild, sweet fire burning in her soul. He had felt only triumph at seducing her.

  “Nay!”

  Meg didn’t realize that she had moved until she saw her own hands yanking on her wedding dress, trying to push the wispy folds of cloth back down her legs.

  “Don’t be shy,” Dominic said, laughing softly. “Let me see John’s vengeance lying open, swollen with passion, pleading to know the sword within the softness.”

  “Count not your victories before you are through the gates!” Meg retorted.