by Kim Bowman
Holding on to the tatters of his control, Marek’s fingers slipped lower to stroke her, ready her. Her startled cry became a long, rolling moan, and her palms dug into the muscles of his shoulders. Frantic, desperate cries escaped her as he kept up a relentless rhythm; caressing her, teasing her, penetrating her, driving her toward losing all control. She spread her thighs, lifting her hips to meet him.
Before he allowed her release to peak, he stretched over her arching body and settled in between her awaiting thighs. “Oh, my sweet one…” His words trailed off into a moan as he slid his cock inside her, her warmth slick with her want for him. His eyes rolled back and closed tightly beneath their lids. Briefly he stretched her, withdrew then pushed a bit further, slowly repeating the torturous movements until he felt the tightening of her barrier. “Oh fuck,” he groaned, forcing his body to stop — to hover on the threshold of her innocence. His body seized with tension. A breath escaped from between his clenched teeth. Then with one agonizing thrust, he breached her.
Brynn’s cry was muffled by his lips, and she froze beneath him. He distracted her with kisses and whispered beautiful endearments in her ears in his thick, husky brogue, diverting her until the pain subsided and was once again replaced with that honeyed heat she craved.
He forced himself to breathe, to fight the overwhelming urge to come inside her. She tightened around his shaft in frantic spasms. By the gods, it was too much. Rhythmically he plunged, letting his desire overtake his mind.
~~~~
Her heart raced and her mouth went dry as she raked her fingers across his glistening back, fervidly trying to pull him in ever closer. She couldn’t get close enough. Together, they were one. He leaned in to taste a kiss as his pace quickened, sending waves of sheer bliss throughout her. Brynn moaned and shuddered beneath him, encouraging him to thrust harder by taking hold of his backside, pushing him deeper. A breath caught in her throat as she dangled perilously close to the edge, and then suddenly without warning, something exquisite exploded inside her and she screamed his name, arching against him. “Oh, Marek!”
Marek entwined his fingers with hers, stretching her arms above her head as he caught her scream with his mouth. His body tightened and shuddered, and a deep groan escaped him. He finally allowed his own release to come, readily spilling his seed. He wrapped his arms around her and collapsed, breathing in short pants. His lips fluttered against her damp skin, his breath warming a path along the curves of her breasts as he whispered endearments.
Soon, Marek slept soundly with his head on her chest, and she stroked his hair, letting his nakedness warm her. Brynn fought sleep, for she still could not believe even at that very moment he truly was in her arms.
Chapter Eighteen
Take What Is Yours
Brynn roused Marek with teasing kisses. He woke with a groan and stretched, and then smiled up at her. She lay on his chest, her hair dangling freely in a cascade of tangles and curls.
“How long have you been awake?”
“For most of the night,” she admitted. “I feared that if I fell asleep, when I awoke, you would have been just a very wonderful dream.”
“Oh, I am real enough.” He rolled his shoulder, stretching the joint.
Noticing his wince, her eyes drifted to the jagged, raised line. “What is this?” She inhaled a sharp breath, taken aback by the lengthy scar she’d somehow missed in the shadows of last eve’s darkness. She traced the puckered skin with her finger, concerned he had been in a battle she knew nothing about.
“One of many forms of Engel kindness,” he replied. “Dagger,” he said, pointing to his shoulder. “Arrow.” He pointed to his neck. “I came to the Crossroads in search of an Engel known as Lord Westmore.”
Brynn felt sick at the mention of the Engel’s name.
“He started these raids, and we have been trying to defeat him ever since. He raided my village and he… killed my family.” Marek averted his eyes, the cold chill in his voice hard and evident. “But I know they are well taken care of, away from that Engel. He is the one who gave me these,” he said, pointing to his scars. “And then the bastard had the cowardice to steal my horse and leave me for dead.”
Brynn’s hand trembled. She withdrew her touch, needing to regain her composure.
“Do you know this Engel?” Marek’s eyes narrowed.
“I do not,” she replied, re-examining his scars. “They have healed nicely.” A bird chirped its morning song from behind the small shuttered window. “The sun is rising. I fear I must get back to work before Daman notices I’m missing.” Brynn lowered her lips to Marek’s for a kiss, but he didn’t accept it. His mouth was straight and sullen, visibly upset by her comment. “Have I angered you?” She sat up beside him, pulling the worn woolen blanket around her to ward off the cool morning chill.
Marek simply stared at her. Brynn knew he was contemplating thoughts instead of speaking hastily, but she couldn’t read his stone-like features. “Honestly, Brynn, I cannot understand why you are still in the Crossroads. That was not the deal I made.”
Brynn bit her lip, uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was headed.
“I thought you to be safe in some village far from here with a family and a few children to look after, not slaving away for sex-deprived soldiers in this shit tavern.” He raised her lowered chin with his finger. “I’m so sorry. I will spend the rest of my life trying to earn your forgiveness.”
He was truly sincere. She could see the hurt in his eyes, how much it pained him still. She paused, not finding words to fit her emotion. “There are plenty of us here. I'm not the only one who was given false promises. Daman, he sells us off like livestock — at least, he used to. With the raids, many cannot afford to purchase slaves, and so here I am — stuck — doing the bidding of Daman, trying to keep myself alive and unnoticed any way that I can, until—” Brynn was too afraid to tell him that Lord Westmore could tear her away or handle her at any time he so deemed appropriate.
“Has anyone ever touched you?”
Brynn had never seen Marek so angered before. “No, I swear it.” She shook her head. “There has been no other.” On the verge of tears, Brynn hung her head, ashamed at how low her status had become. She wished his intentions for her had been different. Memories of that fateful night swirled in her mind. “There will never be anyone but you.”
“Come here.” He pulled her close. “You will forever be mine.” Marek comforted her, kissing her forehead. “There is no need to worry. I will deal with Daman later, but right now that sun is rising and I am not ready to give you up to it just yet.”
Snuggled in his warmth, Brynn relinquished all fear to the safety of his arms, allowing him to taste and caress her body, pleased to be his for a second time. She would let the sun rise to high noon without a care — with him, all the world could wait.
~~~~
“Marek, I must go.” Brynn searched for her bodice. “I’m surprised no one has reported me missing at an hour like this.” They had made love twice more before Brynn found herself remembering the day that lay before her. Spying the missing garment hiding beneath the bed, she snatched it up and shoved her hands through the armholes while trying to lace it all at once. “Please, help me with this, Marek.” Flustered, she wasn’t able to tighten the laces as Marek had done a perfectly wonderful job of tangling them the night before. As his fingers set to work fixing the laces to their proper order, he kissed along the ridge of her collarbone.
“Enough.” She scolded while plaiting her hair to the side and securing the ends with a tiny strip of twine she found on the floor.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he confessed, straying to find his own clothing.
“Neither do I, but if they catch me up here with you, it will be my backside to pay.” Finished with her clothing, Brynn turned to stare at Marek’s figure.
He faced away from her while securing his trousers, and she gaped in awe, watching the muscles in his back flex with e
very movement. Two large inked tattoos stretched across his shoulder blades like wings and rippled as if they were waves blowing across a lake with every effortless move. He was the most handsome man she had ever set eyes on. Without a doubt, Brynn was more in love with him now than ever before.
“When will I see you again?” he questioned while pulling his tunic over his head.
“The wedding.” Brynn tugged on the rope keeping the loft door secure. “You will find me there.” She disappeared below.
“Well, well… look who finally decided to join us! A new-found calling as a wench, Brynn? I hear the tips prove better.”
“Allina, hush your mouth. Good morning, Brynn.” Abby shooed Allina from the area.
Brynn rushed down the last few stairs to engross herself in the food preparation. She grabbed her apron then secured it around her waist before taking her place in the cooking line.
“Late night, last night?” Abby teased Brynn, who snatched a few vegetables from a bowl to chop.
“I do not wish to speak of it,” Brynn lashed, feeling her cheeks grow hotter by the moment. Shy little Brynn had become a woman and everyone knew it.
“That good, eh? Be careful — you will chop your fingers off.”
Brynn wanted to run and hide. Marek would soon have to exit, and there was only one way down. He was bound to use it at some point… the problem was when. There wasn’t a single soul in the kitchen who did not know what terrible sin she had committed. Instead of taking her frustration out on Abby, Brynn turned her emotions over to her vegetables, hacking away as hard as she could with many of the pieces ending up on the floor instead of the stew pot.
“So who is this mysterious man, Brynn? How much did you charge him for the night?” Another snide comment departed Allina’s lips.
“Allina, hush or leave the kitchen! You are nothing more than a jealous and foul woman whose only way of getting a man to look at you is by pulling up your skirts, so it would be best if you keep your hands and your eyes off that man if you know what is good for you! Not every woman needs to resort to selling herself for a bit of attention!” Abby wagged a finger at the scowling barmaid.
At the insult, Allina huffed and muttered a curse.
As if unaffected by Allina’s all-too-common behavior, the others kept up their conversation about the mysterious warrior seen racing up the stairs to the loft with Brynn the night before.
“What was he like?” one young and curious girl asked, anxious for details. “You know… what was he like?”
“Does he have any brothers?” teased another.
“Where did he come from?”
“Have ye’ known him long?”
“When do the rest of us get a go at him?” an older woman asked. “I’m not getting any younger!”
The questions never seemed to end. Why, suddenly, had she become such an intrigue to them? They spent most days trying their best to ignore her now that she belonged to Lord Westmore, but with just one little incident with a man, they had said more words to her than ever before. Perhaps it was because of the scandal that would ensue if word of her behavior ever left the kitchen.
“He is no one of consequence.” Brynn shrugged, trying to end the conversation.
“Well, you certainly picked the most handsome man I have ever seen to be no one of consequence,” retorted Abby with a hearty belly laugh. “If you don’t want him, I will scoop him up and take ’im to the loft for a bit of a toss meself!”
An all too familiar voice replied before Brynn was able to respond to Abby’s bold comments. “If only we met under different circumstances, love.” Marek had made his way down the stairs while the others were too busy teasing Brynn to notice his descent. With a forceful kiss to Abby’s cheek and a playful wink at Brynn, Marek grabbed some food then strolled from the kitchens.
The women stood in awe. Abby’s lips made a large oval shape. She tried to speak as her hand touched the still wet kiss on her cheek, but no words would flow. Her face flushed from the affection the handsome warrior gave her. She continued to revel in it for the rest of the afternoon, boasting she had won Brynn’s mighty warrior over and how he was going to soon whisk her away to a land of rolling hills and flowers where she’d never have to lift a finger again. He would wait on her hand and foot, all the while worshiping the very ground she trod upon.
Brynn smiled, knowing that he, indeed, would.
They continued the preparations for the wedding, all silliness set aside. All the platters, stews, and foods needed to be transported to the celebration some distance from the tavern. Only then could they enjoy a very rare few hours off to enjoy the festivities. Finished with the meat platter she had been working on, Brynn licked the turkey juice from her finger, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried to the celebration.
The wedding was in the final stages of the ceremony when she arrived, so Brynn busied herself for the remainder, keeping a wary eye open for a familiar face in the shadows. Instead of finding Marek, she caught the eye of a pale-faced Abby.
“Abby,” Brynn called, taking her friend by the shoulders. “Whatever is the matter?”
Abby wrung her hands. “He is here, Brynn. Here at the wedding.”
“Who?”
“Lord Westmore,” she whispered with unease, as if something horrible would happen if she dared say his name aloud.
“But Brute said he would be busy attending to business and would not be here for the ceremony.”
“You need to leave, Brynn. Go busy yourself in the kitchens or return to Daman’s. I will say you are ill should anyone ask. I fear for your safety amongst all these drunken sods. What if he — he could…”
Take her. Brynn forged a smile, ignoring the foreboding thoughts racing through her mind. “I’m sure I will be fine, Abby. Just please, do me a favor and warn me if you see him approach. I’m not about to let him spoil my one night of freedom.”
“But he might take you.” The fear in Abby’s eyes reflected into Brynn’s. “Men cannot be trusted. Ever.”
“I know, but there is one I do trust with my life. He would not let harm befall me.”
Abby smoothed her palm over Brynn’s and nodded in agreement. “I don’t know this man, but I know you speak the truth.”
“Abby.” Brynn took her friend by the wrist. “He does not know of my connection to Westmore.” Only the gods knew what Marek would do if he were to ever learn her secret. He would act the fool and try to kill Lord Westmore for her honor. He almost died battling the Engel once. If he were to try on her behalf and fail, Brynn would no longer have a reason to live. She would take her own life before her heart had time to shatter.
Abby gave Brynn’s hand a comforting squeeze before parting ways.
Brynn followed the tune of the musicians, seeking respite. What wonderful music! The tin whistles, pipers and drums strummed together with joyous singing tugged at her insides, begging for her to dance along. She tapped her toes with the drum beat, watching as couples joined hands with others, dancing in circles and lines around the joyful newlyweds. How bittersweet their happiness was, for she knew she would never have a life like that of her own. She had aspired for so much more in her short life, but now accepted her fate as a lowly servant. Her restless heart would never be content, but she could still dream — no man could take that from her.
A slight tap to her shoulder brought her spinning about, nearly crashing into the broad chest behind her. She smiled expecting to see her warrior, but instead a grinning Owen reached for her hand.
“Would you like to learn the steps?” His grip was warm and tender, his eyes expectant.
“I should not.” She pulled her hand back to safety.
“What harm is there in a dance celebration?”
“You know, Owen.” Anything could be reported to Lord Westmore. His disapproval could have disastrous effects.
“It is a large group of people — a wedding. Come.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she whined as he led her closer
to the group of dancing villagers. She watched the steps at first, wary of anyone noticing her lack of knowledge of the ancient dance, but soon she was surrounded, protected by the crowd of people and forgetting herself in the stirring music. The steps came naturally, as if she had somehow always known them. The beating of her heart equaled that of the drums, and her spirits soared like a songbird taken to flight.
~~~~
He saw her then, twirling about with him — the red-headed man from the tavern. The barkeep made her smile, but Brynn was oblivious to the hidden agenda behind those innocent looks. That look of wanting, desiring, owning; except she was his. His, damn it. Marek took a deep breath, trying to slow the erratic beat of his heart. That look on her face — happiness. Joy.
He could never be enough for her. He couldn’t give her all the goodness and hope she deserved in life, but he vowed to try. He wanted to take her away from this hell. She turned his insides to mush and his heart into a massive fire. Could he ever make her smile as such? Get a hold on yourself. Stop wallowing and go to her. Take what is yours.
Marek edged his way through the crowd. A jovial tune on the pipes sent a whirlwind of dancers spinning in every direction, but his course didn’t waiver. Eyes narrowed and determined, a devilish grin curled his lips when the red-head caught sight of him. How menacing he must look — that pleased him. No words were needed — his eyes spoke volumes. Whether it was the rumbling of the sky above them or the look on Marek’s unwavering face as he stalked toward his prey he would never know, but the fearful way the man holding his woman looked at him could have been compared to a mighty wolf cowering away with its tail between its legs.
“My lady.” Marek took Brynn’s hand from Owen’s palm. “Dance with me.”
“You’re here.” She stared at him in disbelief. “I didn’t think you would come. Marek, this is Owen, my dear friend and protector of sorts.”
Marek gave the man a curt nod. “My thanks. You must be a good man for such praise.”
