GREENWOOD

by Sue Wilson

  Thea glanced down at the place of their joining and slid her hand between their bellies, reverently touching the hard, silken steel of his shaft as her flesh opened and wrapped itself around him. So wondrous! So unbelievably, shatteringly right!

  And yet there was something new in this, newer even than the desire he had awakened in her. There was a bond of closeness she had never shared with any man, an intimacy she had never dreamed existed. Time spun out endlessly behind them, unraveling the dark fabric of the past. And before them? There was no sense of time at all, only this moment when she looked into his eyes and saw the man she loved.

  He started to speak, then stopped, caught in a shudder of passion as she squeezed tight around him. "Witch," was all he managed. It was a breath of adoration. He rocked against her, slowly, steadily, melding his movements to the needful rhythm of her hips.

  For once, no quick rejoinder came to mind. Nothing came to mind at all. She was everything he thought her to be. A sultry enchantress spread among the furs. A Celtic priestess driven to lust beneath the rising moon, drugged on the magic his body made in her. A fairy wood nymph captured in his arms, whose vaporous presence he defined with his touches, his kisses, with the building thrusts that drove him inside her.

  Her need grew, flooding her with a heavy arousal she had thought sated. Tension returned, tightening her limbs around him, freezing cries in her throat.

  "Come with me again, Thea," he whispered. "Thea-Thea-come, sweet, take me again."

  Holding her close, Nottingham rolled to his back, bringing her to kneel astride him. She moaned softly, feeling him deeper within her than she thought possible. Her flesh ached with wanting, and instinctively she moved against him. Sensation spiraled around her, and she let her head drop back. The weight of her hair fell behind her, spilling across his thighs like burnished silk.

  She had thought to take him, truly, thought to make him mad with passion, but her body had turned traitor to her every seductive plan. She could only move with him, feel herself, soft and melting-wet, shuddering down the length of him. Her thighs quivered as she pulled back, missing him. She was lost in this, lost to this. He had made her drunk on the feel of him.

  "Thea-"

  The sound of her name drew her back. She opened heavy-lidded eyes, closed lips grown slack with passion, and took in the sight of him with unsurpassed longing.

  Perspiration gleamed on his brow, on the gilded expanse of his chest. His face bore an open, needful look, as if his senses had ravaged him and made his hunger for her unbearable.

  Hypnotically, his gaze drifted from her eyes to her breasts. He reached out and grazed her hardened nipple, then trailed his fingers down her belly, to the dampened curls wreathing his shaft.

  "Here, sweet," he said, sliding his finger against the front of her, finding, circling, massaging the swollen bud of desire. "Feel me here."

  The simple touch took her breath away. She swayed into the pressure of his hand, then back into the sweet, glutted fullness within her. Her movements quickened as she rode him, rubbing against him gratefully, then wantonly, wickedly, without restraint.

  Desire glinted dark in his eyes as he watched her, absorbing the effect he had on her as if her pleasure doubled his. His hands moved to her buttocks, drawing her down on him, kneading, demanding the fiery friction of their bodies as he thrust up against her. Every muscle in her body burned, begging for release, and-oh, God!-deep inside she ached, wanting him touching her, reaching her, again, and again, and again.

  An erotic haze engulfed her, blotting out everything but the thrill of loving him. She found herself on her back, anchored beneath him, dazed, crying her breath away in small, desperate sounds.

  He took her leg in his hand, cradling the back of her knee as he spread her wide and thrust into her ruthlessly, with an abandon that drove her senses from her.

  She circled his hips with her legs, meeting him, matching his intensity with the force of her need, driving the last of his demons away, leaving nothing but the fury of her love. He buried himself in her, over and over, filling her with sensations she did not know existed, bringing her higher, higher, closer to the blazing, surging heat of him, to the hardness of him.

  Every nerve in her body shattered, and in the last minute before she knew she would die from the pleasure, he stiffened, his harsh cry bursting against her neck.

  He sank into her with a body-wracking shudder, calling her name, sweeping her with him into the maelstrom of release.

  They did not move for minutes-hours-afterward, both dazed by the enormity of what had happened between them. In time, Nottingham withdrew with slow, gentle care and pulled the furs around her. She lay in his arms, her cheek nestled against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, the racing, pounding reminder of life she had restored to him.

  Outside, the wind howled through the castle turrets, driving ice against the shutters. Odd to think that once she had hated this place, thought it sinister and forbidding. Complained about the discomfort of cold stone and narrow, airless corridors. She had never felt safer, had never known more comfort than that of lying wrapped in this man's arms, listening to the crackle of the fire.

  The Sheriff breathed deeply now, shakiness departing, and in time he stretched catlike among the furs, rolling her beneath him. "You're looking smug, Thea," he murmured, nuzzling her mouth with his beard.

  She smiled, touched her tongue to the fullness of his lower lip, sucking it, pressing her mouth against his. His tongue joined hers as she slid within his mouth, weaving slowly around hers, drawing out the kiss and the maddened drumming of her heart.

  "Victory becomes you," he whispered as their lips parted. "I should let you have it more often."

  The stain of color warmed her cheeks. His fingers traced her lips, the arch of her neck, the hollow of her throat. Fire followed his touch, sizzling a path between her breasts.

  "Speak of smugness," she managed, but her voice broke as his hand fanned across her belly to her inner thigh, easing her legs apart.

  "You thought you would leave me lying vanquished and spent? So easily? So soon?"

  The rich, throaty sound of laughter welled within her. "I cannot believe I could want you again so quickly. But I do."

  "You're becoming decadent."

  "I know," she sighed. "There is naught for me but a nunnery."

  "Nunnery, indeed. There is naught for you but a bed and several nights of a man's diligent attention."

  "And days?"

  He bent to kiss her, and she felt the length of him growing hard, pressing into her.

  "Perhaps-possibly-it would take days, as well."

  ~*~

  "I'm sorry, Sir Guy. The Sheriff left word he was not to be disturbed."

  "Disturbed? Disturbed? Damn it all! Morning is nigh spent!"

  Echoing through the heavy oak door of the chamber, the words sounded muffled and far away. Nottingham heard them through the last vestiges of sleep and lifted his head off the pillow, grimacing at the anticipated intrusion.

  "He will summon you, Sir Guy-"

  "Summon me, you witless imbecile? God's oath! Have you gone soft in the head? Has he? It's not every day we see a royal visit in these God-forsaken hinterlands!"

  Gisborne's growling receded down the hallway with the ring of nailed boots, and the Sheriff heaved a sigh of relief. For once, his guard proved himself to be adequately intractable or his cousin had the good grace not to intrude. He wasn't sure which; he didn't care which. Prince John's arrival was well over a fortnight away and nothing, absolutely nothing that happened today would tear his attention from this bed. And Thea.

  He lowered his head to the pillow once more, rousing to the intimate embrace they had found in sleep. He lay half atop her, his arm and thigh crossing her body in bold possession, as if he had not yet had his fill of her and would mount her again at her next waking. Her limbs draped loosely around him, as if she had only to open her eyes to be ready.

  Even the length of h
er dark tresses bound them together; the mahogany skeins of her hair streamed across the pillows and twined about his fingers. Without moving, he relished the fragrant silkiness and recalled how he had buried his hands in that softness the night before, how it had tickled the inside of his thighs.

  His body stirred at the recollection but he kept very still, hardly breathing. Thea slept soundly, and he would not wake her. Nor would Gisborne or the castle noise or the whole of the shire should they beckon him today. The thickening in his loins he could live with. His need for her had become a familiar companion, an intermingling of delight and frustration that washed over him whenever she was near and grew tenfold when they were apart. Now the frustration, at last, was gone, and he knew it was not due solely to the night's lovemaking. Something was different. Changed.

  He buried his lips in the warm, fragrant crook of Thea's neck, reassuring himself of her presence.

  She was here, beside him still, sharing his bed, sharing herself, bringing him pleasure that made his every fantasy of her pale by comparison. There were no ghosts between them now, no specters to battle or hide from, just the reality of belonging to someone.

  As difficult as it was for Nottingham to believe, there was another part of Thea entwined with him now, as unfathomable and mysterious as the haze of erotic memories that filled his mind. Her availability to him, her selflessness, her gentleness, her caring-all those things he admired in her, the traits so opposite the ones inherent in his own nature-lay within his heart, as real to him as the lavender scent he had soaked from her skin. In giving herself to him, she had bestowed upon him a host of tender, fragile emotions he had never known and left behind something remarkable, something very akin to the feeling others called love. It was a sentiment that the arid recesses of his soul lapped up eagerly.

  He lay with these strange, new feelings as they played alongside the more familiar, physical responses of his body. The old, rarely restrained urge to sate himself with someone as close and tempting as Thea-that was something he comprehended. But love? He was not certain. Had he ever truly loved before? Even sweet, young Alyce whom he had barely known?

  He was not certain he would recognize such a feeling were it to sprout in the hardened soil of his heart. And yet some strange dichotomy existed within him now, for as much as he craved her, Thea's need for rest won out over his need to have her again.

  Ah, he was not himself. That much he knew. He was no more the evil despot, but a man whose strength and power could be subdued by the faint, sleepy rhythm of his lover's breath against his shoulder.

  The Sheriff sighed and brushed his lips across the rose of Thea's cheek. He should have known. The woman's witchery had altered him forever.

  He would not have moved at all had the air of the solar not turned bone-piercingly cold. Aside from Thea's body and the tangled bedclothes that covered neither of them, the only warmth came from a bed of dying embers in the hearth. If he did not get up and tend the fire, the chamber would soon become frigid.

  Reluctantly, he extricated himself from the chaos of bedwraps and settled two of the warmer furs over Thea's sleeping body. He could not immediately remember where he had left his clothes. They were neither in the sleeping alcove nor on the steps, although one of Thea's stockings lay draped across the high back of his chair. He picked it up, trying futilely to recall how it came to be there.

  He bent low over the hearth and spied the nest of pillows and sheepskin where he had first taken her. A flush of heat consumed him. No, he had not "taken" her, but joined with her in a way alien to him-unlike the strained, hurried couplings of his youth or the polite, deferential bonding of his wedding night. And a world apart from the countless eves of blurred decadence he'd sought from nameless castle whores.

  He had experienced it all with Thea: the frightened excitement of an untried lad; the gentle restraint of a new husband; the wild, uninhibited abandon of a man surrendering to his senses. Experienced all that and more: the deep, soul-confounding moments of giving himself to her fully, unreservedly, of letting her reach within him and draw away the darkness from his heart.

  He scratched his tousled head and knelt to the ash-covered hearth. Perhaps she had taken him. He grinned. They would have to replay the sequence of events to be sure.

  He blew the ash from the coals and added scraps of kindling, prodding the embers until flames shot up. Thea slept through his attempts at firemaking and, he was quite sure, would sleep for hours more. He had exhausted her. He smiled, then corrected himself again. They had exhausted each other, which did not begin to explain how he could be up and feeling such stamina, such...hunger! That was it!

  He found his braies cast to the far side of the rumpled furs and slipped into them. Shouldering into his robe on the way, he went to the door and opened it halfway.

  "Fetch one of the kitchen girls," he ordered the guard outside.

  "Yes, m'lord," the guard replied, his eyes lit lasciviously.

  "No, you fool!" The Sheriff cuffed the sentry's helmeted head. "I want food! Bread-hot bread, none of that stuff left over from last night-and cheese. Some weak ale. Tap a fresh keg." He paused and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "And honey," he added, as if he had made a wonderful discovery. "Bring butter and honey. And be quick about it! I'm ravenous!"

  He closed the door, almost giddy with feelings of rejuvenation. It was a new day, he realized, flinging the shutters wide. Snow covered the shire; he could think of no reason to leave this room. He had an army of soldiers and household servants to insulate him from the world, and the most exciting creature in all of England warmed his bed. By the saints, what had she done to him that his heart should pound so? That his breath should catch somewhere in the region of his knotted belly?

  Still not wanting to wake her, he made a trip to the garderobe and splashed icy water from the basin over his face. This simply would not do, he decided. He could tolerate water that had lain beneath a thin layer of ice, but Thea must not be subjected to such harshness. Not a woman who was used to bathing in sun-dappled forest pools-

  The tap at the door came more quickly than he expected, interrupting his thoughts. Were even his servants more efficient on this miraculous morn? He flung the door wide.

  "Millie!"

  "Aye." She pushed her well-padded hip against the door and eased her way through, carrying a large, breakfast-laden tray.

  "I expected-"

  "Discretion, perhaps? From a kitchen wench?" The Saxon woman huffed with indignation as she placed the tray on the oak dining table. "Sheriff, you addle-brained twit, sleep till noon and there will be talk."

  "Noon?"

  "'Twas all I could do to pry your sentry's ear from the door and buy his silence with a hard-earned tuppence. And Gisborne-why that fool is fair pacing a trough in the corridor outside, spouting his vile suspicions at every turn. Sweet saints, man, 'tis my lamb you've got there tangled in your bedfurs. Have a care for her."

  "I do, Millie. I do!" Nottingham followed close on Mildthryth's heels as she barged past him, picking up the stray items of clothing strewn across the solar. "Besides, I could have sworn it was what you advised. A bedding, you said. Quite succinctly. Unequivocally. A bedding."

  "Aye." Mildthryth closed her fist around Thea's wrinkled shift and shoved the garment under his nose. "But can you manage it without blaring your conquest to the shire like a cock at dawn? Must I save you from yourself with such regularity? Must I be saving her?"

  Nottingham straightened and faced the old woman with as much dignity as he could rake together in his disheveled state. "I did not harm her, Millie, nor would I. She is more to me than life itself. She is life. If I thought I might do her wrong, bring her dishonor or a moment's regret-if I thought I would cause her to shed as much as a single tear, I would send her back to Sherwood so quickly-"

  "Aye, that I believe," she said softly, "but there is the rest of the world to consider, and the rest of the world is at your door this morn."

  The Sheriff glanced a
t the iron-banded oak planks, fully a hand's length in thickness. Suddenly they seemed a flimsy barrier.

  "Do not fret. I can keep most of them away. For a while." She patted his hand. "Now tell me, save a priest-" she looked at him pointedly, "-what have you need of?"

  "Privacy," the Sheriff muttered, feeling as never before the burden of his title and power.

  "A fresh gown for my lamb, to be sure, and her hair brush," Mildthryth enumerated. "Come on then, I am trying to help you here."

  "A bath then. And soaps."

  "Ah, yes! Her lavender oils."

  "Privacy," the Sheriff repeated, and this time he knew his face was written with the desperation of a man whose precious time of respite was quickly running out.

  Mildthryth smiled. "'Twill take some doing, but I can buy you the rest of the day. Perhaps another eve. I'll spread the word that you've taken ill, that is if you can keep from popping your head out the door and claiming to be 'ravenous' for all the world to hear."

  "You once told me I was a besotted fool. Do you remember, Millie?"

  The Saxon woman shook her silvering head as she stooped to pick up Thea's stocking. When she looked at him though, the Sheriff saw only the breaking of a pleased, self-satisfied grin on her ruddy face.

  "Aye, Sheriff. And that you are. I've thanked Our Lady countless times for the blessing of it. She is a rare thing, my lamb, and made for you like no other woman the Maker's thought to piece together. And you, despite your faults, are made for her. 'Tis a fit, like lock and key, perfectly fashioned. Now, Sheriff, to bed with you!" She waved him aside, rehearsing aloud the rumors she would spread. "I'll say your belly's revolting from last eve's mutton. 'Twill be easy enough to believe. I'll say you're abed and called your surgeon for a purgative-"

  "Charming-"

  "And any soul with a whit of sense would steer clear of your chamber, indeed of this very tower, if he relishes his head on his shoulders come dawn. Perhaps 'twill work." She gathered the armful of clothes in her apron and held the bundle close to her bosom. "'Twill at least explain the moaning and-"