She would have collapsed to the ground had he not held her upright.
Once she caught her breath, she wriggled free of his hands and slid down until she knelt before him. She clasped his head between her hands and found his mouth with hers.
He tasted like her passion—warm and wet and mysterious.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing the pillows of her breasts against his muscled chest.
Then she cupped his eager dagger and slowly lowered herself onto him.
He groaned in pleasure.
She echoed the sound.
He filled her perfectly. For a moment she only savored the feeling. But he was hungry for her and for his own long-awaited release.
So, clinging tightly to each other, they grappled as fiercely as they had on that night long ago when they’d engaged in deadly battle. But this time it was love that fueled their fight.
When Rand erupted in a victorious cry loud enough to wake the dead, a thrill of pleasure coursed through her as well.
The sound was quickly swallowed up by the earthen walls. Their weary breath made only the softest stirring on the air.
Miriel’s mouth turned up in a smug smile as she rested her head against Rand’s shoulder. Never in her wildest dreams had she considered the passageway she’d frequented so often in her youth would prove so useful now.
“’Tis the perfect hiding place, isn’t it?” she whispered.
He agreed with a chuckle. “No one would ever suspect.”
“And no one will ever find—”
The scrape of the trunk being dislodged and the light that stabbed suddenly into the tunnel made them separate and scramble for their clothes.
“Shite!” she hissed.
Clutching her kirtle awkwardly before her, she narrowed her eyes at the widening opening.
Sung Li was crouched there, staring in at them, completely unsurprised.
Miriel scowled back. How the wee old servant had managed to discover where Miriel was, not to mention singlehandedly sliding aside the heavy chest, was a mystery.
“What do you want?” Miriel snapped, vexed that she’d been interrupted, angrier that their trysting place had been found.
Before Sung Li could answer, their three sons—Adam, Tian, and Alexander—poked their heads in.
Bright four-year-old Adam, who had been studying with Sung Li, asked, “Ma, Da, what are you doing? Are you playing Zhuōmícáng?”
Sung Li had taught him the children’s game of hide and seek from the Orient.
“Aye,” Miriel quickly replied. “We were playing Zhuōmícáng. Da was hiding, and now I’ve found him.”
Adam screwed up his forehead. “But why are you naked?”
Sung Li shooed the lads back and gave Miriel the impertinent, imperious frown to which Miriel had grown accustomed.
“Your daughter is missing,” Sung Li informed her.
Miriel’s heart fluttered. “Feiyan?”
Rand, who had no patience for Sung Li’s vague declarations, hurried into his clothes, demanding, “What do you mean, missing?”
“You come,” Sung Li instructed, turning away before Rand could bristle at a servant issuing orders.
Miriel’s hands shook as she fastened her lacings. She was sure Feiyan was fine. The lass was a precocious seven-year-old, plagued by curiosity. She’d probably only wandered into a forgotten corner of Rivenloch…just as her parents had.
Nevertheless, Miriel made haste.
The lass could be anywhere.
It was wintertime. A storm might be coming.
And Rivenloch was a large estate surrounded by a dense wood where any manner of beast—or outlaw—could hide.
Colin
COLIN PLACED THE blame for what happened squarely on his own head. It had been his idea to steal away from the keep this morn. He’d selfishly wanted time alone with his wife. He’d never imagined his simple wish would wreak such chaos.
He was admiring how the light shimmered upon his wife’s tawny tresses when her sword came toward him in a downward slash. He raised his blade just in time to block the blow.
“Aha!” he crowed.
Undaunted, Helena tossed her head and braced to launch another attack, circling him like a wolf.
The buttery light of sunrise spilled across the fresh white snow as they sparred in Rivenloch’s deserted tiltyard.
As always, Colin felt a curious combination of lust and wariness when he faced his wife in combat. Beautiful Helena’s fiery glare might have been tempered by an eager, hungry grin. But he knew better than to trust that temper when she was in the heat of battle.
“Come, husband,” she taunted, “we haven’t got all morn.”
He gave her a wry smile. He knew her tricks. She was trying to make him careless. If she could urge him to incaution, she’d seize the upper hand.
“What’s the hurry?” he asked, feigning nonchalance while he kept his sword at the ready.
“I’d hate for you to miss breakfast.”
That made him snicker. Though no one would guess it from Helena’s firm and shapely form, Colin’s wife ate twice as much as a grown man. She was doubtless famished already this morn.
Sure enough, Helena attacked while he was in mid-laugh. But he was ready for her. As her blade thrust forward, he dodged aside.
Recovering quickly, she thrust again. He deflected the blow with a swipe of his shield. Snow sprayed across the field, glittering in the dawn’s light.
Grinning like fools, they continued to face off, feinting and retreating, striking and blocking, whirling and leaping, slogging through the drifts until their steely chain mail was coated in powdery snow.
Helena’s emerald eyes were bright with excitement. Her cheeks were flushed. Her breath made fine mist in the chill air. He hadn’t seen her so happy in days. And that made him happy.
If there was one thing he knew about his wife, it was that she craved battle the way a caged falcon craves flight. Swordplay warmed her blood and made her feel alive. At home, she was accustomed to sparring with Colin every morn. But for the last sennight, there had been no time for even a brief tussle on the battlefield…or in the bedchamber, for that matter.
Of course, fulfilling her need for battle was Colin’s less noble motive. He knew that nothing made Helena more amenable to his lusty advances than a good swordfight. He planned to take full advantage of that fact as soon as she tired of sparring.
The only hazard he faced after so many days of abstinence was distraction. Helena was a skilled and ruthless fighter. But sometimes that was hard to remember when he was gazing upon her wild golden locks. Her flashing eyes. Her challenging grin. And the way her chain mail draped her voluptuous breasts to perfection.
His inattention must have shown in his face, because she chose that instant to swing her blade around, hard enough to lop off his head. He raised his shield, warding off the blow just in time.
Unfortunately, surprise made his instincts take over. He immediately charged forward. His shield collided far too forcefully with her head, knocking her on her arse in the snow.
He staggered back with a grimace. God’s blood. He hadn’t meant to hit her that hard.
“Ah, Hel, I’m sorry,” he began, preparing himself for a barrage of outraged cursing.
When none was forthcoming, he furrowed his brows. “Hel?”
Sitting in that undignified position, she stared blankly at the snow between her knees, stunned. She seemed lost in a distant world, unable to hear him. Without warning, her eyes rolled up, and she fell backward in a faint, landing with a soft plop in the snow.
“Hel!”
Colin’s heart plunged into his gut. He dropped his weapons, cursing his careless strength. Then he dove forward onto his knees beside her to cradle her head.
“Hel, can you hear me?”
She wasn’t moving.
“Hel? Helena.”
Using his teeth, he tugged off one of his mailed gloves, dropping it beside him. With
trembling fingers, he carefully brushed the stray hair from her face.
“Helena, wake up.”
She was completely limp. He gave her a gentle shake.
“Come on, Hel.”
There was no response. He patted her rosy cheeks, trying to get a response.
His heart was pounding now. He’d been knocked unconscious before and awakened. But he’d also seen men who didn’t. Dear God, if he’d hurt his precious Helena, he’d never forgive himself. If he’d killed her…
His throat caught. Nay, he couldn’t think of that.
Was she breathing?
He lowered his head, turning his ear to her parted lips.
That was his mistake.
The minx’s wicked teeth suddenly clamped down on his earlobe, and his fear turned instantly to regret.
He bellowed in outrage and pain. Trapped and helpless in the viselike grip of her jaw, he wasn’t even able to feel relief that she was alive.
She mumbled something he couldn’t understand.
“What?” he gasped.
“I said,” she bit out, still clinging tenaciously to his ear, “Do. You. Yield?”
A braver man would have simply endured the pain.
A pluckier man would have refused to surrender.
A prouder man would have sacrificed his ear and called it a wound of war.
But Colin was more clever than he was brave or plucky or proud. He chose his battles wisely. And he knew if he let her win this one…
“Aye,” he squeaked out, “I yield.”
When she released his ear with a smug chuckle, the honey warmth of her voice helped to soothe his pain. Still, when he drew his fingers across his tortured ear, he was surprised she hadn’t drawn blood.
“That’s your weakness, you know,” she informed him with a cocky lift of her brow as she sat up, dusting the snow from her gloves.
Still cupping his sore ear, he sat back on his haunches with a wince. “My weakness?”
“Your soft heart.”
“Indeed?” The corner of his lip tugged into a fleeting smile. Two could play at that game. “And what about your weakness?”
“My weakness?” she scoffed, hopping up to her feet and brushing the snow from her thighs. She stared smugly down at him. “And what would that be?”
He extended his hand for her assistance, and she took it, bracing herself to haul him to his feet.
Instead, he tugged back hard on her wrist, pulling her suddenly off-balance and forward into his lap with a clash of chain mail and a surprised squeak.
“Overconfidence,” he whispered against her gasping mouth, just before he claimed it in a kiss.
Helena
SHE MIGHT HAVE been able to prevent the catastrophe, if only she hadn’t lured Colin into the tiltyard. She’d known very well what she was doing. After all, Helena was no innocent. As sure as day led to night, sparring with her husband would lead to swiving him.
Of course, she’d let Colin pull her onto his lap. She wasn’t fooled for an instant by his help-me-up ploy. She’d used that tactic herself countless times.
Still, she had no choice but to let him win. If she didn’t, they would be fighting till noon. And she had other plans. The stable was only a few yards away, and it was as good a place as any for what she had in mind.
Afterward, she’d tell him the happy news. They would be blessed with their fifth child next year.
Colin would be ecstatic, of course. He and Pagan were engaged in a friendly competition for who could sire the most children. So far, they each had four.
Helena, on the other hand, had no interest in the numbers. She believed her sons and daughters—Hew, Grim, Jenefer, and Nichola—could knock the stuffing out of any of Pagan’s children. And that was what mattered most to her.
But all thoughts of happy news and warrior children, indeed all rational thought, escaped her when Colin pressed demanding lips to hers. His breath melted her frost-chilled flesh. His tongue swirled like a warm snowstorm inside her mouth. And when he slipped his bare fingers into her damp hair, she locked her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.
She might have stripped off her armor and made love to him right there in the snowy tiltyard, witnesses be damned. But she suddenly felt the sharp prick of Colin’s dagger against her throat.
She gasped. Hell! She should have disarmed him. Perhaps she’d bitten his ear with a bit too much force. Perhaps he sought revenge.
“What do you want?” she whispered breathlessly.
Colin murmured against her mouth, “I’m taking you hostage.”
Her lip curved into a one-sided grin. Colin never let her forget that when they’d first met, she’d abducted him and held him for ransom.
“Up,” he commanded.
She held her hands up in surrender. Then she glanced down pointedly at his lap, where her backside was warming his loins. “Are you sure?”
“Wicked lass,” he said, clucking his tongue. Then he prodded her with the dagger point. “I’m sure.”
Slowly, carefully, lest she nick her neck on his blade, she eased up from his lap. He followed her, keeping his dagger at her throat, until they were both standing.
Smoldering mischief danced in his green gaze as it slowly caressed her body from head to toe.
“Now, m’lady,” he drawled, “you’re my hostage. What ransom shall I demand for a—”
Helena smirked. She swept her hand suddenly forward to cup his cock, rendering him instantly speechless. She had no patience this morn for his leisurely love play.
The dagger faltered in his grip. With her free hand, she easily knocked the weapon away. Then she seized the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.
He groaned in pleasure.
She chuckled in lusty triumph.
She released his lips just long enough to gloat, “Now who’s the hostage?”
Then she seized him by the arm and dragged him toward the stables.
To be honest, her abduction was met with very little resistance. They burst through the door, heedless of the startled horses. In a melee of kissing and groping and clawing at each other’s armor, they managed to slam the door shut behind them.
Somehow they shivered out of their chain mail, sending up puffs of dust and bits of straw that glistened in the sunlight seeping through the cracks of the wooden door.
It had been far too long since they’d last coupled. Helena could feel her blood, already hot from battle, surge in her veins faster than a winter flood.
Colin was clearly swept up in the same raging current. He raked the linen from her bosom and feasted on her breasts.
She moaned and clenched her fists in his thick chestnut mane.
Curving an arm around her waist, he tumbled her into the pile of hay. In a mad rush of desire, he hiked up her underskirts and plunged forward. As he sheathed himself in her welcoming warmth, she sucked a sharp breath of awe between her teeth.
It wasn’t the most graceful swiving they’d ever done. There was no sensuous seduction. No romantic finesse. No murmur of affection. No tender gesture. No heartfelt promise.
There was only a hasty, torrid coupling. The two of them thrashed and gasped and mated like wild beasts until they erupted in a roar of completion.
Then they collapsed in a weak heap, spent and satisfied. There would be plenty of time for honeyed words and loving gestures later. For now, their desperate tryst was perfect.
Until someone pounded on the stable door.
“Shite,” Helena hissed, annoyed, but in no hurry to extricate herself from their sensual embrace.
“Are we going to answer that?” Colin whispered.
“Not if we can help—”
“Hel!” It was Deirdre.
Helena didn’t respond.
After a moment, Deirdre said, “Helena, I know you’re in there.”
Helena scowled. “Well, if you know I’m in here,” she yelled, “then you know you shouldn’t be banging on—”
“Open
up,” Deirdre said. “I need you.”
The command was subtle. But the understated concern in Deirdre’s calm words struck Helena to the core, turning her ire to alarm.
She clambered up to locate her clothing. Colin followed her lead.
Something had happened. She didn’t know what. But it was serious enough for Deirdre to risk the wrath of interrupting Helena in a tryst. It must be dire indeed.
Deirdre
DEIRDRE STOOD OUTSIDE the stable door, sword in hand, biting her lip. She could no longer blame the mistletoe or her husband for what had happened. This was entirely her fault.
Deirdre was Laird of Rivenloch, after all. She had one duty—to look after the clan. And she’d utterly failed.
Of course, once she decided this was her battle to fight alone, Pagan insisted on lending aid. At present, her loyal husband and clan—and even the mummers and musicians—stood armed and assembled in the tiltyard behind her, breathing fog into the cold morning air, eager to help.
Deirdre was about to bang on the door again when Helena snatched it open. She was only half-dressed, but she had a dagger in her grip and a grim cast in her gaze.
“What is it, Deir?” she demanded hoarsely. “What’s happened?”
Behind Helena, Colin was tying up his trews. Hay was strewn through his dark hair.
“The lasses,” Deirdre breathed, “Hallie, Feiyan, Jenefer…”
The shirtless Colin pushed past Helena to bark, “Jenefer?”
Colin’s aggression toward Deirdre was understandable, given the circumstances and how protective he was of his children.
But Helena wouldn’t let her husband use such intimidation against Deirdre. She grabbed his arm to restrain him.
“What about the lasses?” Helena asked.
“They’re…missing.”
“Missing?” Colin aped. “What do you mean, missing?”
Miriel’s high-handed servant Sung Li stepped in front of Colin. “Missing. It means they cannot be found.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I know that, you pesky…” He made a grab for Sung Li’s throat.
All Things Merry and Bright: A Very Special Christmas Tale Collection Page 25
