by Lisa Hendrix
“Nnh. You in me.”
“Aye.” He found the tight ring of her maidenhead and paused there, the tip of his finger barely in her. “In you here.” He went back to her breast, working the peak with his tongue until she relaxed and let him in.
He fit a second finger beside the first, but his fingers were large and she was small and oh so tight. There was a stretch and a sudden give. She sucked at the air and clamped her legs together, trying to stop him.
“Stay open to me, Eleanor. You’ll find more pleasure later if I do it this way.”
Again, she obeyed. He took his time, and a little later felt her moisture flood over his hand.
“There you go, sweeting. Now, sit up and help me with my laces.” He shifted back to kneel between her legs, continuing to move his fingers gently within her as he helped her upright. “I want my skin against yours when I take you.”
She found his ties in the dark, and as she pulled at them, he worked a third finger in beside the other two, felt her maidenhead give again. She shuddered but didn’t stop, and soon his doublet was loose. He had to abandon her for a moment to pull it off and rid himself of his shirt, but he went right back. She moaned aloud this time and wriggled more firmly onto his fingers, helping him now. Ready.
“Braies,” he said, but she was ready for that, too, her hands already at his waist. She gave a tug, loosed the waist, and peeled them down.
His cock sprang free, and for one brief moment he thought of urging her to take him into her mouth, to enjoy that tongue she’d teased him with so often in the last weeks. She would surely do it, just as she’d done everything else he’d asked of her, and it would be sweet, so sweet. But not this time. This time, it was about possession, about binding her to him. Whatever pleasure he took from her tonight was only a boon—but a boon he intended to savor.
Releasing her, he kicked away his braies, pressed her back, and slid his chest up the length of her body in one long, slow motion, relishing the feel of every inch of her, from woman’s hair and hard mound to silken belly to pebbled breasts. She beckoned him up, drawing him into her arms.
When he lay full on her, breast to breast, he kissed her deeply and began to move, not in her yet but against her. As before, she moved against him in search of what she wanted. Her hands slipped over his back and shoulders, her heels hooked behind his knees to pull at him.
He shifted and reached down to bring himself to the right angle, and she moaned and bucked up to meet him and he was in, the whole of him at once, her heat enveloping him as completely as the night enveloped their bodies. Her gasp was half pain, half pleasure, all his.
“You are given to me,” he breathed into her open mouth, making his claim a part of her being. He repeated it in Norse so the gods would hear and knew he understood his debt to them. Then, remembering his promise to himself, he raked his thumbs over her breasts to set her quivering around him, and he thought, just for a moment, that he wouldn’t mind living forever if he could pass the years buried in her like this.
They moved together, just the two of them, surrounded by forest and stars, beginning slowly and gradually coming to each other faster, harder. She was liquid fire, all slick, wet heat in his arms. He slid toward the edge, too fast. Too fast.
Summoning the last of his will, he made himself go elsewhere, think of things not-Eleanor, so she would have time to find what she needed from him. She built, thrashing, her nails raking his back, that wondrous, unmaidenly moan rising around him until finally it broke and she thrashed beneath him, her body clenching and pulsing in release.
A little longer she was killing him a little longer.
He held back as long as he could, until her spasms began to ease, then turned his mind to her, nothing but her, drove into her hard and let go, tumbling after her, out of control.
Finally, spent, he slipped into mindless nothingness. It was Eleanor’s hand that drew him back, gliding across his cheek to find his mouth. He kissed her fingertips as she traced out his lips. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing if you are smiling. You never truly do, but I thought you did the last time we …” She was blushing, he was sure of it. He’d never known it was possible to hear a blush in a woman’s voice, but he could now, and he knew just the shade of pink that colored her cheeks and breasts. She brushed a kiss across each corner of his mouth. “I think you do now, as well. I wish I could see it.”
“The moon will be up soon. You can see it then.”
“I fear it may vanish.”
“Then you must help to keep it here.”
She did her best, kissing and touching, soothing over the scars on his back. They lay joined a long time, the sweat drying between their bellies as they traded kisses back and forth. Eventually, though, he softened and slipped out of her and the night air grew chill, and even with him atop her to keep her warm, Eleanor began to shiver.
Still covering her, Gunnar groped around till he found cloth. “Here’s, um … my doublet, I think. Put it on while I start a fire.”
He helped her with the doublet and tucked the blanket around her legs, then pulled on his shirt and stumbled off in search of his gear. “Shite! Ow.”
“What? Are you all right?”
“Fine. I forgot about a branch, that’s all.” Gunnar rubbed his belly where he’d nearly impaled himself, then traced the branch to the fallen tree it was part of and followed the trunk to where he’d hidden his saddle and gear. He knew just which pouch his flint and steel were in, and he found them quickly.
The fire he started wasn’t much, since all he had was what tinder and twigs he could find by feel, but it was enough to begin. He lit one of the candle stubs he kept in the pouch and handed it to Eleanor so she could start gathering her clothes. The first thing she did was hold the flame up to see his face.
“Your smile is gone.”
“No it isn’t. I’m smiling right now.”
She closed her eyes and felt his mouth with her free hand, then shook her head. “That is only your common smile, the half smile. The real one must only come out in the dark.”
“Or between your legs,” he suggested, to which idea she made a sour face. Chuckling, he dressed quickly, lit a second candle off hers, and went off to gather more wood.
“You laugh, but the priests warn us women every year of the dangers of going into the woods with wicked men like you,” she called after him. “Just this morning, Father Stephen charged us to avoid the sins of the forest.”
“That’s what he called it? The sins of the forest?”
“He did. I thought that of all those going a-maying, I was the least likely to stray, since you were not to be there. Instead, I am the most grievous sinner of all, and more so that I enjoyed the sinning so very much.”
He stopped in his tracks. “Did you?”
“Surely you could tell.”
“I suspected so,” he admitted. “I hoped so.” He carried a handful of sticks back to the fire and added a couple to the flame.
“I can barely tell if the proper side is out,” complained Eleanor as she felt her way along a sleeve. “’Tis one thing if my clothes are disheveled when I return, another entirely if it is clear I’ve had them off. Can you not build the fire higher?”
“No. I don’t want to lead someone here. The moon will be nearly full tonight. It will give us enough light soon, and I will help you sort them out,” he promised. “Though if you were to leave them off entirely while we ride, you would see me smile for certs.”
“You, monsire, are a ribald.” She threaded her arm down a sleeve to turn it. “Is bedding always so pleasant?”
“If it is done right, between two people who are well matched in their desire.”
“We must be very well matched, then.”
The corners of his mouth twitched, as did his tarse, despite being so freshly and so thoroughly spent. “You may be right. Stay here by the fire. I’ll get my horse.”
Carrying his piece of candle, he went a stone’s throw
down a deer path to the tumbled-down gamekeeper’s cottage where he’d tethered Ghost for the day. He led him back to the glade and, working by candle and firelight, saddled him, then left him to graze a little while he carried a small bag of shelled hazelnuts and another of dried apples over to Eleanor.
“’Tis a poor supper, but all I have with me,” he said as he sat down beside her. She’d managed to get her clothes on.
“I like hazelnuts.” She took a few nutmeats and a slice of apple and nibbled at them while he disposed of several handfuls of each. Silence stretched between them, but it was a companionable one, as though they’d known each other so long and so well that they found little need to speak. The moon rose after a time, and in its clear light, Gunnar inspected Eleanor’s clothes.
“All looks well to me.” He pinched out the candles, dropped them into the pouch with his flint and steel, and hooked the pouch onto his belt. “It is time we go, my lady, lest your father’s men happen on us here.”
“Aye. I like it far better when you call me Eleanor.”
“As do I. But for now, you must remain Lady Eleanor to me, as I must stay Sir Gunnar to you. It would be dire if either of us slipped before others.” He rolled the blanket around the last of his gear, shoved it back into the hollow, stamped out the fire, and prepared to mount.
“Do you want me behind or before?” asked Eleanor as she reached up to him.
“Before,” he said, and helped her up into the saddle proper. He swung up behind the saddle and pulled her back hard against him, and she settled into his arms.
He turned west, to circle around through a more open part of the forest where the moon could light the way. Even so, the going was slow. They rode a long way in silence, letting the surefooted Ghost pick his way through the forest at his own pace. Gunnar was in no hurry, content simply to hold Eleanor for as long as possible.
“I would think it difficult for you to live always in Lesbury,” she said thoughtfully. “People would see that you do not age. I saw that you haven’t changed since Richmond.”
“The steward minds the lands, and I visit only when I must.”
“Where do you live in between?”
“There is wild dene along the coast, east of Durham and a little south, that a friend and I call home. But we wander a lot, too. That is how I came to be at Richmond. And at Raby.”
“Ah.” She settled to silence again, and in time, they reached the main track and turned north and east, toward Raby.
“You never told me why,” she murmured.
“I thought you slept.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Why what?”
“I have been thinking about all that you said, and all that you did not. I come back over and over to the same question. Why did you want me to see what you are?”
There it was, the final piece. He hadn’t expected she would ask for it tonight, thinking she would need more time. But then he hadn’t expected most of what she’d done or said. The depth of her courage left him in awe.
But he still wasn’t certain whether he should tell her or not, whether telling her that he needed her heart before she offered it herself would somehow change the love itself, weaken it so much the magic wouldn’t work.
He found a path between. “I want you for wife. I am going to ask your father for your hand.”
She nestled back against him with a sigh. “I hoped you would take me away one day. I have dreamt of it for years, since Richmond.”
Take me. Ah, so she hadn’t been talking about tupping at all. Not that it mattered now. “And now, knowing what I am, do you still dream of it? Are you willing to be mine?”
“I am already yours. Given to you, you said.”
A place in the center of him glowed with satisfaction, but he pressed on. She had to understand and want him anyway.
“It will be difficult. I am not a rich man. You will have few servants, few of the fine things you have now. What you will have is a husband who leaves you before dawn every morning to spend his day in the field. I’m a bull, Eleanor. Think of that, and tell me you will be happy with a bull.”
She pulled his arms more tightly around herself as though trying to stay warm. “I cannot pretend I am not frightened of that part of you and of the evil that created it. But I will be happy with the man who returns to me each night, and pleased to welcome him into my bed and my body. That is more than I—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “It is more than most women have from marriage. Speak to my father. I will affirm that I want you.” A distant horn sounded over her last words, and she stiffened. “The search party.”
“Aye.” Gunnar reined Ghost to a halt and sat listening. “They are perhaps half a mile off. We will dismount here.”
“You’re not taking me back yourself? You will be named hero once more.”
“I will be named defiler of virgins,” he said as he swung down. He helped her off, but kept her in the circle of his arms. “I did not plan what passed between us tonight. I thought you would need time to come to peace with what I am, and I told the steward I was going to Durham. If we return together now, after a night in the forest, it will not matter what tale we tell. All will know. But if you are found alone and lost, and I return to Raby in two days’ time as I said I would, no one will suspect.”
“Two days! But—”
He stopped her protest with a finger across her lip. “It is better this way, my lady. Both you and your honor will be secure, and I will use the time to set things in motion, the quicker to carry you to Lesbury.”
“I don’t have to be truly lost, do I? I fear I have used up all my courage for this day.”
She? Who had more courage than most men? Gunnar pulled her back against him and pressed a kiss to her neck. “No. I will see you safe until we near them, then I’ll send you ahead to be found while I hang back.”
He tied Ghost to a tree well off the track and they set out, moving carefully so they wouldn’t stumble into a search party unawares. There was little chance of that; the various parties crashed through the brush in the distance, driving startled animals before them like beaters at a poorly organized hunt. When they closed on one party, Gunnar stopped in the deep shadows beneath a tree and pulled Eleanor into his arms so he could put his mouth by her ear—and so he could hold her one last time.
“Oh, God. I hear my father’s voice amongst the others.” She didn’t sound happy.
But all Gunnar could think was that her father would see her safely home. “They will come out just there, I think.” He pointed to the moonlit crown of small rise ahead. “Cry out and run toward them as though you just heard them. They will carry you home.”
“Where will you be?”
“Here. Watching over you.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, gave her one final squeeze, and hoisted himself up onto a branch where he could see but not be seen. “There are the torches. Go, my lady. Be found.”
“Two days,” she whispered up to him. And then she was off, calling for aid, flying across the field into her father’s arms.
CHAPTER 12
“OH MY LADY!” Lucy rushed across the courtyard as Raffin helped Eleanor down from her father’s horse. “I thought you were lost.”
“I was, but—” began Eleanor.
“Later,” snapped Westmorland as he leapt to the ground behind her. He grabbed Eleanor by the arm and stalked toward the door, barely giving her a chance to get her feet under her. “Your mother is half mad with worry. You will relieve her mind and then to bed. Wait in chamber, Lucy.”
Lucy, who’d been scurrying along on their heels, fell behind with a weak, “Yes, m’lord.”
He swept Eleanor through the hall, up to the solar, down the passageway, and up the tower stairs without another word. He’d barely said anything at all thus far. After making certain she was unharmed and asking how she’d become lost, he’d gone silent. From the way his fingers bit into her arm now, however, she knew he was angry, and she could understand, what with having to turn out the entire
castle to search for her. At least he wasn’t shouting. Yet.
He finally released her when they reached the lying-in chamber. “I will remain here to escort you to your chamber.”
“There is no need, my lord. I have caused you much trouble already, and—”
“I will remain.” He pushed the door open and shoved her inside. “Here she is, Joan.”
“Eleanor! Thank the heavens.” Lady Joan jumped up from her chair and hurried over to gather Eleanor into her arms. “What happened? No, never mind. I will hear it tomorrow. Tonight, nothing matters but that you are found.”
“It was so foolish.” Eleanor burrowed her face against her mother’s shoulder, the better to hide her lie. “All I did was go into the woods a little way, and the next thing I knew …”
“The woods! Why?”
“To make water.” Now that she was saying it for the second time, it sounded far too weak a reason to wander off, so she added in a mumble, “And the other. I wanted to be well away from where we were eating, but I went too far. I turned wrong somewhere.”
“You certainly did. Poor dearling, you are shaking,” said her mother, which only added to Eleanor’s guilt. “Lucy should have gone with you.”
“She bears no fault in this,” said Eleanor quickly. “I sent her off to play with the boys before I realized I needed to …”
“Ah, well, what matters is that you are safe and hale.” Lady Joan cupped Eleanor’s face in both hands. “This is the second time we have almost lost you. Heaven must surely have plans for you, to bring you back safely each time.”
“Whatever Heaven’s plans are, they can wait,” said Westmorland. “She should be abed, Joan, and so should you.” He turned sideways in the door and waited, stiff as one of the family effigies in the church. Eleanor felt herself pale.
“Look at you. You are exhausted.” Lady Joan kissed Eleanor’s forehead and felt it for fever. “At least you’re not ill. I will send Amy to help with—”
“Lucy will see to her,” said Westmorland. “Eleanor.”
“God’s rest, madame.” Eleanor gave her mother a quick kiss and ducked out past her father, who bade her mother a curt God’s rest before he tugged the door shut and grabbed Eleanor’s arm again.
