by Nicole Locke
He left her little time to catch up to her emotions when he grasped one tender breast in his rough hand. Her body burned at his touch. Then his fingers moved, calluses scraped, fingers tightened. Fire seared away the last of her worries and frustration. She gasped.
He inhaled and released his hand. ‘I knew I couldn’t be gentle.’
She covered her hand over his and reached for his other hand. Raising them to both her breasts, she tightened her hands until he cupped her again, until the searing heat pooled through her. His breathing was harsh, but he held still. ‘You should have gentleness,’ he said fiercely.
‘I want you.’ She tugged at his hands, wishing them to move. ‘I wouldn’t know the difference.’
‘But I would know the difference. I know what you deserve.’
‘I want you.’ She released her hands, grateful his stayed where she placed them. ‘If this is the way it needs to be—’
‘It doesn’t need to be— No, I’d be lying. ’Tis what it’s to be. Need. Want. Desire. I cannot give you gentleness.’
Despite his words, his hands softened. His fingers caressed in circles. Her breasts became full, heavy. His hands cupped, weighed. Her nipples ached.
Reaching for him, she tugged and pulled at the material still covering him.
‘Do you know how I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this? That windy day beneath your tree, your breasts outlined by the tunic. My God, I thought you’d beggar me then.’
She remembered, remembered him standing before her asking permission to touch her.
‘Next time,’ she whispered, desperate for his hands to keep moving. ‘Next time ask permission.’
He yanked off his tunic. ‘Next time,’ he repeated the words reverently. ‘Not now.’
He slid both his hands to her sides and jerked her towards him. ‘God, not now.’
His lips took hers, demanding a response. She gave it. With a sound, her lips parted, giving him the access he needed. He murmured his approval as the kiss changed. His lips now softening against hers; his tongue now tracing, tasting, enticing. He held back, asking her a question she didn’t know the answer to.
But she wanted to know as she touched his jaw, encouraging more.
Instead, he tilted his head, trailed his kisses along her jaw, running his teeth and tongue against the cords in her neck, nipping and tasting along her collarbone.
All the while his hands brushed feverishly along her sides, warming her, heating her.
His mouth gentle, his hands rough, Gaira felt her body spiral, tighten.
When his mouth reached her breasts, she couldn’t help the murmurs of need that came from deep within her. As if eager to taste all of her, he gave tiny licks and kisses until his tongue curled around her nipples, peaking and inflaming them.
Allowing her weight to be supported by his wide palms at her sides, she arced her body towards his mouth. His eyes narrowed on her. She saw the heat of them. There was no anger, no control. No Robert she recognised.
She didn’t understand any of his emotions. Her own feelings were just as foreign. But she knew one thing. He might have released her body from her clothes, but he had left one part of her confined. And she wanted to be free of it as well.
‘My hair,’ she said. ‘Unbind my hair.’
One hand caressed her side as he straightened to gaze at her bound hair. ‘Your hair,’ he whispered, slowly stroking her plait from the base of her neck to the wrapped tip. ‘Your hair is like fire to me.’
Robert gave a gentle tug to the leather strap and dropped it. ‘Once I saw it, the sun’s rays held no heat for me.’
His hands cupped the back of her neck before his fingers threaded from the base of her head to the tip of her hair. ‘It was torture watching you brush it, touch it, plait it.’ His fingers were sure, reverent. She felt every caress on every strand. ‘You touched it so easily, while I yearned to be burned by its flames.’
He repeated the motion till her hair fell loose. Then he arranged each coil. She felt the tips of his fingers along her collarbone, the brush of his knuckles against her breasts.
Watching her, he threw off his shoes, his belt, his hose and his braies. Again, there was no warning. She barely comprehended the bared maleness of his body and her own emotional response, before his arms were around her, pulling them down to their clothes at their feet.
His body was hot broad planes of flesh and muscle. He supported his body beside her, but she felt pinned beneath him as his hand roughly rubbed from her hip, down her leg and back up again. It was not a caress, but an imprinting on her body. Having once denied touching her, he touched her everywhere. And everywhere his hand touched pursuits of heat raced through her body. She felt as if it was something other than her own blood pumping through her veins. And it was. Desire was hotter, sharper.
But his mouth was hotter yet as it followed behind his hands. Greed fed desire, became lust, want, need. She felt her skin indenting under his fingers. His breath prickling her skin under the wet heat of his tongue.
On her shoulders, on her arms, on her breasts and lower still, his hands and mouth coaxed and pulled at something deep inside her. And then he stopped before raising himself.
She wasn’t giving him a chance to ask. She widened her legs.
She watched the change in him. Watched his control slip before he gathered himself.
‘Touch me,’ he said hoarsely.
Touch him, when her body demanded more. Touch him, when she knew his body demanded release.
He was letting her body adjust to his. But it couldn’t, didn’t adjust. Not when emotion after emotion sped across his face and great muscles across his chest and arms glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. She felt as if she was swimming in a rapid river: frightened and exhilarated at the same time.
Compelled, she flattened her palms against the parts of him she could reach. The curves of his shoulders, the rough hairs of his arms, the ridges of his abdomen. He trembled with every stroke. And she did it again. Her fingers curved, pressed, traced. When her hand went against his thigh, he grabbed her wrist.
‘Not yet. Not while I need to be closer to your flame,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Need to be inside you.’
He released her wrist and moved between her legs. His hand went to her centre and stroked the wetness she knew he found there. Gently, carefully, frustratingly. She wanted more.
She grabbed his hand and linked her fingers with his. Joining with him in the only way she knew how. She felt the rapid pulse in his wrist. Knew the effort it cost him to wait. Her body readied even more. She untwined her fingers, moved his hand to stroke her more.
He clenched his eyes, his features sharpening. ‘Is it enough?’ he asked. ‘Are you ready enough?’
‘Aye, I am ready, Robert. Aye.’
Sliding his hands underneath her thighs, he lifted her pelvis towards him. The position pressed her closer. It was not enough. Without the direct contact from his fingers, she tried to use his body. She retracted her legs, pulling his body closer. His control slipped.
‘God!’ He moved. She felt the sharp entrance; the sweep of fire searing her. The pain was too much. She grasped his shoulders, her fingernails dug in, but he did not stop.
He was lost in the feelings consuming them both. Hunger. Desire. Need. And she gave herself.
For him.
‘Closer,’ he said. He released her legs; his hand braced at her sides. ‘Your heat burning.’ His hips bucked harder and she pressed back. No longer pain, but fire and pleasure.
With each thrust he moved her, her dress and chemise bunched beneath her shoulders. She lost her grip on his shoulders and grasped his wrists, trying to hold on.
He had said closer. And they were. She felt him, every bit of him. But it still wasn’t enough. She wrapped her legs tightly across his
thighs and pulled tighter. Closer. She tightened against him.
‘Robert!’ She broke, her body releasing in contractions.
Her slackened limbs could no longer follow his movements. When she didn’t think he could go any deeper, he tensed. A surge of wetness joined her own. She was held suspended before he rolled to his back.
She felt the loss of his weight, but not the heat. His hand and fingers trailed along her side. The meandering caress matched the way her body felt. Replete...joyful.
She turned her head to look at him. Even in the dim light, she could see he did not feel as she did. There were grooves by his lips and his brow was furrowed. She turned to her side and tried to flatten the creases with her fingers. He grabbed her hand and placed it by her side.
‘Nothing, but...’ she began.
He laid a finger against her lips. ‘Peace, Gaira. I’ll have peace now.’
She didn’t want peace. She wanted to talk, to argue away his frowns. ‘Are you regretting already?’ she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.
‘I regret many things. Not this.’
She laid her palm against his chest, feeling his pounding heart.
His mouth curved slightly. ‘I’m savouring, Gaira. Savouring how your body felt against mine. It has been a long time for me, too long for any man. I could not be gentle with you, but I’m trying now.’
He closed his eyes, but she kept hers wide open. The moonlight cast bright rays throughout the cellar. There was no doubt why she gave her heart to him. English or not, he was a braw man.
She traced the white scars from his cheek down the side of his neck to his chest. The scars were worse across his chest and on the insides of his arms. They were broader, but they were not sword cuts; they were too flat and there were too many. She knew what these were.
‘These burns were from the fire, weren’t they?’ she asked.
He tensed under her. ‘Aye,’ he replied.
She flattened her hand and caressed his chest until his body relaxed. Then she moved to his arms. On the inside of both his arms, the scars were almost symmetrical. Her hands stilled, then trembled.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. He did not say anything. It was as if he was waiting for her to say it.
‘You carried her from the fire, dinna you?’
He looked away from her. ‘The fire started in the room next to hers,’ he stated, no emotion in his voice. ‘I found her on her bed. Too still. Her gown was on fire. Her hair...’ He breathed in raggedly. ‘Her golden hair was turning black. Brynmor was burning to the ground. The stairs were already gone. By the time I got her outside to the courtyard, fire and people were everywhere. There was no safe place to roll her, to stop her from burning.’
He looked far into the blackness of the cellar. ‘Outside the gates, I stopped every last ember flaming on her body, but I couldn’t stop the fact she breathed her death into her. There was so much smoke. She never woke.’
Gaira’s tears hit her hand resting on Robert’s arm. She imagined how he fought against fate, God and himself to rescue Alinore. She imagined the agony of his failure. It wasn’t hard...she knew the destruction of fire.
Leaning over him, she followed the fall of her tears with her mouth. She kissed every spot where they landed. When his arms crushed her body to his own, she wrapped her own around him.
She knew that physically, his body could be inside her. Yet, she felt closer to him than that. She didn’t feel any distance between them. It felt as though he was holding her, closer, deeper, than was physically possible. As though he was holding his very soul against hers.
When he cupped her face and kissed her again, she tried to convey every piercing emotion she felt. She wanted to love and heal him. When he deepened the kiss, all she wanted was him.
* * *
They must have slept. Dim light streamed in from the cellar door, giving Robert an ample view of Gaira’s long limbs draped against him. Her head was tucked in the crook of his arm, her breasts curved into his side. She slept, but desire was already sweeping away the contentment of holding her.
He had not had enough of her. He glanced at her lips, knowing their natural colour would be darkened red by his rough kisses. She was so giving in her response to him. Perhaps this time he could be gentle. He eased away from her and pushed himself up. Her hair wrapped around his arm and his body quickened.
No, not gentle. He wanted her too selfishly again. Wanted to see her in the light as he took her again, see her wake as she— Dammit. It was morning.
Their time together was over. But if his plan worked, he could hold her forever.
It was hard to stop what his body wanted to do and even more difficult to stop his heart’s demand to hold her longer.
They had to separate and fast. He stroked her hair away from her face. Her eyes slowly opened. The joy shining from them was brighter than any sunshine.
‘It is morning, my love,’ he whispered.
Her brow furrowed and her eyes darkened.
‘You are not escaping,’ she said, tension in her voice.
He shook his head. ‘You have to go now. If we are caught, your brother won’t give me a sword to fight him.’
She stood and grabbed her chemise. ‘I doona know why you are doing this.’ Shoving her arms and head in, she warned, ‘Do you think I’ll love you still if you kill my brother?’
‘Aye.’
Glaring at him, she grabbed her dress and pulled it over her head.
‘You won’t do it easily,’ he said, ‘but when you love, Gaira, you love for life. Just as I love you.’
Damn the man for going soft on her.
He smiled and stood. Naked, every finely defined muscle was displayed before her: the carved mounds of his chest, the ridges of his stomach, the bulge of his thighs. He was a feast for her female eyes. She didn’t want one more scar on his body. But what did he care? And damn him for being right.
If he killed Bram, she would still love him. Even if Bram got past Robert’s defences, she could no more stop her heart for her brother than for Robert. Rage and helplessness poured through her. She hated feeling helpless.
‘Oh, I wish the lot of you to hell!’ she raged.
Chapter Thirty-One
The sun’s heat made the air thick with the morning’s light rain. Robert’s clothes were damp and confining. He tore off his tunic.
He was aware of the crowd gathering, just as he was aware of the earth under his feet and the slight wind pulling at his body. They were all part of the terrain and might be of some use in the fight to come.
What he wasn’t aware of was Gaira. He couldn’t see her anywhere. It was just as well. He could ignore the crowd; he didn’t know if he could ignore her.
Even now, he tried to release his body from the feel of her. But she was coiled with each fibre of his body. When he breathed, he still smelled her scent. He even felt the rise and fall of her chest resting against his own. He held his sword, but it wasn’t steel, cold and flat, he felt. It was her flesh, hot and supple.
It would be foolish to fight today as he used to: empty, but for his training. Gaira was with him now. Just as he fought for her, he would fight with her now, as part of him. He was no longer empty. She had filled his heart.
If only the last night with her had not ended with thorns. But the thorns were part of their love as well. And because of that love, he had to fight her brother.
It was more than his promise to protect. Her brother needed to know the conviction of his feelings for Gaira. It was their only hope. He had committed too many crimes against the Scottish people.
He must prove his love for her. If it was through death, then so be it. He had run out of ideas of how else to prove it. He’d also run out of time.
His sword glinting, Bram wal
ked into the circle. Malcolm and Caird followed behind him. Their voices were low, but the conversation heated. Bram raised his hand and both brothers walked away.
Bram began to speak to the crowd. Robert assumed he was reciting the crimes against him. He didn’t listen. He knew what he was.
* * *
Gaira stood on the steps of the keep and listened to every word Bram announced. She didn’t have a choice. Her feet wouldn’t move.
Using every word she knew, she began to curse. When she didn’t have any more, she made some up. The words didn’t bring her satisfaction. ‘More the wanwordy I. They’ll break my heart as surely as cold porridge sticking.’
But she wouldn’t worry any more. She was going to do something about it. It took a long time to reach Caird and Malcolm through the thick crowd blocking her view of the fight. But each ring of metal felt like a knife prick on her heart.
When she finally reached Malcolm she hit him on the side of the head. She took some satisfaction in his wincing.
‘A fat good you two are.’ She nudged between them. Malcolm and Caird were in front and she could see Robert and Bram circling.
Malcolm gave her a rueful glare, but Caird spoke. ‘He is laird.’
‘I’m supposed to think that’s the law? What good will the law be when our brother is dead?’
‘Bram’s never lost,’ Malcolm boasted.
‘Robert beat you both.’
Malcolm shifted. ‘It was a draw.’
There was another ring of metal as Bram and Robert’s swords met above their heads. She could see the sweat glisten on Robert’s brow and his arms rocking with the effort to break the pressure. Bram’s frown deepened. He did not look angry, but frustrated. She didn’t have time to wonder why.
‘I thought you would speak to Bram?’ she demanded.
‘We did,’ Caird said.
Gaira rolled her eyes and looked at Malcolm. She didn’t expect Caird to elaborate.
Malcolm obliged. ‘We did. Apparently, the children—’
