by Shari Anton
Ardith had already surmised as much.
Without another word, Gerard rose and left the room. He quickly returned, carrying a small, ornate chest. He nudged the scrolls aside and put the chest on the table. From inside he withdrew a dagger—a work of art in the form of a weapon.
Rubies and emeralds winked from the hilt of ropetwisted, gleaming silver. Inscribed runes ran the length of the tapered blade to its lethal point. Ardith nearly shuddered at the dagger’s deadly beauty.
Gerard placed it on the table in front of her.
“Lion’s Teeth,” she whispered, remembering the name.
“You know of these daggers?”
“Corwin told me of them many years ago. They were given to the first Baron Wilmont by William the Conqueror.” She glanced into the chest. Empty. “The other?”
Gerard reached down to the inside of his boot and flipped out a piece of leather. From an inner sheath he withdrew the mate to the dagger on the table.
He admired the blade, his expression somber. “I have carried this since I first learned to hold a weapon. This blade has often stood between me and death. As this one has served me well—” he pointed to the dagger on the table “—so shall the other serve you.”
Chapter Nine
“My lord, you cannot give me this dagger,” Ardith protested. “It should stay with its mate. ‘Tis part of Wilmont’s heritage.”
He nodded. “And therefore mine to do with as I please.”
“What if I lost it?”
“If the shoemaker follows my instructions correctly, your dagger will fit its sheath as securely as mine.”
Ardith crossed her arms. “Then you can save the expense of the boots. I do not need a weapon.”
“Since you choose to wander about unescorted, you will carry one. The next time someone intends you harm, you will be able to defend yourself.”
“My lord, I know Percival was a bit overbearing, but you overreact to—”
“Overreact? Had I not intervened, Percival would have taken you on the chapel floor! Or did I misunderstand what he meant by showing you how well you would deal together?”
Ardith shifted slightly. “He intended to try.”
“And would probably have succeeded.”
“What if I promise not to venture out by myself again?”
“Wise, but changes nothing.”
“I have no idea how to use a dagger.”
“You will when we finish your training, beginning on the morrow, after you get your boots.”
Gerard could be the most obstinate man. Couldn’t he see she had no wish to carry the weapon, couldn’t imagine pulling it out to threaten anyone, much less drawing blood? She mustered her last argument.
“My lord, I have spent my entire life learning to heal wounds, not inflict them. I daresay I would rather chase a bug from the room than squash it. I am no warrior.”
He shoved his dagger into his boot, put the mate back into the open chest. “Some vermin warrant squashing.”
Ardith stared at the dagger, resigned to the inevitable, but still puzzled over Gerard’s stubbornness. He gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward, looming much too close for coherent thought.
“Does your silence mean you yield?”
“You give me no choice, my lord.”
“None. If it eases your mind, know that you may never need to use the dagger in earnest. Draw the Lion’s Tooth and anyone of noble blood, or even not so noble, will know you are favored of Wilmont and have second thoughts of doing you harm.”
She looked up into his eyes, the color of them heating from spring green to summer emerald.
“You are favored, Ardith,” he said in a husky voice. “Surely you know as much.” He brushed a fingertip across her cheek, the gentle caress astoundingly intense. “These suitors of yours, tell me, are you enamored of any?”
All of the men Bronwyn had presented as potential husbands paled when compared to Gerard. And she had compared, from color of hair to sincerity of smile, from sureness of stance to command of voice. Not one passed the tests that included, much to her embarrassment, the size of hand and length of fingers.
“Nay, my lord,” she exhaled.
The last of her breath caught as he hushed further words. His lips were warm, tentative at first. Using just the right slant of lips, he achieved a tantalizing pressure, carving out and consuming yet another piece of her soul.
His tongue flicked along her lower lip until she opened to his prodding. He leisurely explored the rough edge of her teeth, then probed and circled, urging her to boldness with seductive rhythm.
Blessed Mother, the man could kiss! And just as she thought the pleasure too much to endure, he deepened the kiss and her body reacted.
Her hands slid up the long length of his arms, responding with a heart too full of love for Gerard to consider any other man as worthy of notice. Had she any doubts of her love for him before, they scattered as dry leaves to the wind.
Gerard delighted in Ardith’s reaction to his prompt for more potent intimacy. He knew now that none of her suitors had tasted her honeyed mouth. He basked in her innocence, knowing she belonged to him alone. With growing urgency, he relished the idea of exploring her secret places and revealing the pleasures of coupling.
Without breaking the kiss, Gerard pulled Ardith to her feet. He struggled to be gentle as he drew her body close. Her form fitted perfectly against his warrior’s frame, supple where he was solid, her curves melding against his angles.
His hand swept upward from the dip of her waist, grazed along her ribs, then halted at the swell of her breast. Through the layers of silk gown and linen chemise, a hardened nub welcomed his palm. Her breathing rattled in her chest as he kneaded the peaked mound. Then a small hum of surrender sounded deep in her throat.
Today, now, he would bed Ardith. He could wait no longer. For weeks he’d endured erotic visions of Ardith, sprawled in full splendor on his furs, a beckoning smile on her lips. He’d imagined her responding to his touch with reckless abandon, offering her virgin’s blood without misgiving. He vowed to ease Ardith’s initiation to the unique pleasures shared between male and female.
Ardith knew she was dying. Her legs weakened to the consistency of pudding, unable to support her weight. Her arms grew heavy, useless, held upright only by fingers twined into Gerard’s dalmatica. She couldn’t breathe. A fever gripped her body, coursing through her veins from a bubbling cauldron of heat buried deep within her core.
She would joyfully relinquish her spirit if only Gerard would hold and caress and kiss her until her final breath.
Ardith sighed when Gerard’s lips moved from her mouth to her ear. She fought the dizziness, pressing her forehead into his brawny shoulder.
“Hellfire, how I want you. Yield to me, Ardith.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the seductive tone, the near plea in his voice. She knew what he wanted, couldn’t pretend ignorance, and she wanted Gerard with all the intensity his tone conveyed.
Yet, heart and mind battled over the wisdom of surrender.
Gerard sought to ease his lust, merely exercise his liege lord’s seigneur rights. She’d be a fool to believe otherwise. If she judged his intent correctly, soon she would marry—a man of Gerard’s choosing. ‘Twas the way of things, and Ardith, though disinclined, accepted her fate.
But before submitting to another man’s lust, she could know the joy of indulging Gerard, the way a wife indulges a husband, and store the memory away. Loving him as she did, she wouldn’t shun this one chance to have him in the most intimate way possible.
“Willingly, my lord,” she answered.
A smile of triumph spread across his handsome face. He bent, and with a swoop of his arm, swept her off her feet. Floating, cradled tight against Gerard’s massive chest, Ardith threw her arms around his neck as he carried her to the lord’s bedchamber.
Ardith gaped at the mammoth bed crowding the room, occupying the space of at least four pallets. S
uspended from posts as thick as young trees, hangings of deep ruby enclosed the bed on three sides, the fourth curtain tied back by woven, tasseled cords. The mat was piled high with furs of bear and wolf.
“Do not be frightened, Ardith.”
Ardith shook away whatever expression had betrayed a moment’s hesitancy. “I fear many things, my lord, but not you, not what we are about to do.”
“Gerard,” he said a bit impatiently. “Here I am not lord, only a man.” He swooped down for another kiss, then lowered her to the edge of the bed. She sank soundlessly into the softness of feathers, not the straw she’d expected.
Then he knelt, removed her slippers and tossed them over his shoulders. He gathered the hem of her skirts and raised the cloth to just above her knees. With deft fingers he untied the strings securing her hose. He took his time at peeling away the hose, petting her calf and running a finger along the crease at the back of her knee. By the time he finished baring the second leg, Ardith’s breath had gone ragged again.
“Now your hair,” he said, tugging at her hands, pulling her to her feet. “I would have it loose.”
Gerard quickly removed the veil and circlet, then untwisted Ardith’s long plait. He slowly ran his fingers through the strands, separated and fluffed until her auburn hair flowed in shimmering waves around her shoulders and down her back.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, pushing the tresses aside, kissing her neck, reaching for the gown’s laces. He loosened them, then gathered up the cloth and pulled the gown over her head.
Through the thin linen chemise he could see her lovely body—her delicate shoulders, the gentle curve of her back over a tiny waist, the rounded flare of hips over firm buttocks. His control slipped a notch, but his fingers didn’t tremble as he untied the string at the chemise’s neckline. The cloth parted, exposing the flesh of her upper back, begging his touch. Very gently he widened the opening.
Ardith’s blue eyes had darkened and glazed. He gathered her in his arms, putting a hand on her buttocks to push her close against the bulge of his desire.
Gerard nearly groaned when she pressed against him. His patience wearing thin, he reached for the hem of her chemise. Ardith put a hand to her breast and flushed. He enjoyed the show of modesty, further proof of her innocence, but he wouldn’t let her carry modesty too far.
“Nay, Ardith. Do not hide from me. I would see you.”
She slowly removed her hand, her blush fading. Gerard quickly uncovered her body.
Hellfire, Ardith was lovely. She shook her hair forward in an attempt to cover her naked breasts, which only heightened their allure. Fingertips meshed, she covered the triangle of reddish curls at the juncture of her legs, deepening his curiosity.
Then slowly, with resolve in her eyes, her hands rose from shielding her woman’s curls. She gathered her hair and pushed the tresses over her shoulders. Vulnerable but valiant, she stood stripped of clothes and pretense, his for the taking.
Hunger gnawing at his loins, he beheld the nymph who’d bedeviled his dreams. Her delicate beauty beckoned. Gerard gladly answered her siren’s call.
Ardith held her breath as he caressed her breasts. His touch was firm, encompassing. As his palms grazed her nipples, they puckered and hardened. She leaned into the caress, seeking more of the delightful sensations. But she wasn’t prepared for the feel of his warm, moist mouth when he bent and suckled a nipple.
The tug of his lips and rough texture of his tongue drove her wild with pleasure. She tangled her fingers in his hair, cradling his head until she could stand no more of the sweet torture. Ardith found his mouth and kissed him with ardor.
He smiled, picked her up, and tossed her onto the bed. Curling into a wolfs pelt, Ardith watched Gerard dispense with his leather shoes and cross-bound hose. He untied and cast aside the girdle around his waist. Ardith’s bravado fled when he reached for the hem of the dalmatica. She closed her eyes, heard Gerard’s amused chuckle.
The bed sagged under his weight as he slid in beside her. She opened her eyes to see him reach for the cord and close the curtain. Enclosed in a private world of red-tinged light, Ardith called forth her daring. He’d covered his male parts, but not the rest of his warrior’s body. Corded and muscled, broad and trim, Gerard was magnificent and, if only for a while, hers to savor.
Gerard claimed Ardith with arousing caresses, taking care to move slowly. He started with her face, cradling her chin, moving down to her neck. With a single finger he traced her collarbone to the hollow of her throat. Then he spread his fingers, foraging under the fur for her bosom.
The twin mounds were high, firm and like silk to touch. Aching to behold her beauty, he drew back the fur and gazed on perfection. “You are so beautiful, Ardith.”
He gazed, and admired and fiercely vowed she would soon be his in name as well as body.
Gerard reached down, tracing the long scar across her belly.
“Gerard?”
He heard the uneasiness in her voice. “’Tis the mark of your battle with the boar, is it not?”
“’Tis ugly.”
Surprised at the bitterness, he assured, “Your scar was nobly won. I know of no other woman who bears a mark of such bravery.” Then he bent and kissed her scar from end to end.
Elva had said a woman need only lie still and endure, an impossible feat under Gerard’s ministrations. Did he think her wanton for returning his kiss, for gliding her hands over the breadth of his shoulders and the taut sinew of his back? His soft moans had to mean he liked her touch, enjoyed the nips on his neck. His nipples had even puckered under her fingertip. Brazen? Maybe. But Gerard liked the caresses, she was sure.
Confident of the discovery, Ardith gently tugged and pushed until Gerard yielded to her wishes and rolled on to his back. With featherlight kisses she traced the scar on his neck, then the long, ragged battle wound across his ribs.
“You could have died from this wound,” she said between kisses.
“I very nearly did.”
“And was it nobly won?”
He hesitated, then said, “I stepped before a blow meant for my father. In the folly of my youth, I thought myself invincible, and learned otherwise.”
Lower and lower the scar traveled. When she kissed his navel, his stomach quivered. Ardith smiled inwardly at the reaction, reveling in newfound power. She pushed the pelt down to find the end of the scar, and found more than she sought.
“Oh…my…lord,” she breathed when her hand brushed his manhood, standing rigid from a thatch of curly, golden hair.
Eyes wide, she stared at the long, thick shaft. She’d seen male members, on small boys mostly, but also on men in unguarded moments. Lenvil’s manor was much too small to guarantee anyone complete privacy. Never had she realized the proportions an aroused male could achieve.
Belinda had judged Gerard’s size correctly. Ardith swallowed hard. The whore had said he would furrow deep, but hadn’t commented on the depth or width required of a woman’s field to accommodate such a plow.
“Touch me, Ardith,” he said with a ragged voice, stroking her hair. “Fear no part of me.”
“Gerard, I…”
“’Tis only flesh become hard to allow our joining. Touch me, Ardith.”
His shaft twitched beneath her trembling fingers, then stood solidly proud. She stroked upward along the tautskinned underside, feeling his heat, realizing that by touching him her own desire increased.
One hand? Two hands? Ardith spread her fingers, but before she could close around him, Gerard pulled away and rolled her onto her back.
Gerard could barely control the need to seek release. Knowing he must raise her need to match his own, he nudged her thighs to part. She opened to him. His thumb found the nub at the apex; his finger slid into her tight sheath.
Ardith arched into his brazen caresses. Every nerve in her body burst to life, every muscle craved to move to the circle of his hand.
His mouth left her breast. “There may be pain,” he said,
regret clear in his voice.
“I know. Gerard…please…”
He moved over her, cradled her hips in his hands and raised her slightly. Slowly, inch by inch, his sword filled her tight, hot scabbard. He paused, then plunged.
Ardith cried out as he severed the barrier, her nails digging into his arms. Gerard captured the last strains of her cry with his kiss.
“Easy, sweet one. The pain will go away. Hold on to me, and together we will see paradise.”
Time proved him right The pain receded. Just as she began to relax, he moved, slowly at first, then faster and deeper. She reached for she knew not what, until wave after wave of ecstasy rippled through her body. Paradise. Heart pounding hard against her ribs, Ardith embraced the heavens.
The pulsing of her pleasure drove Gerard over the edge.
Hellfire, Ardith pleased him, in both body and spirit. Propped on his elbows, he planted kisses over Ardith’s face as breathing slowed and heartbeats returned to a normal pace. Thrilled and replete, he rolled to relieve Ardith of his weight. She followed, snuggled into his side—and yawned.
Gerard used the heel of his foot and his long reach to retrieve a fur. He wrapped it around them to entrap the heat of their vigorous loving, then gazed into hazy, mesmerizing eyes of blue.
Ardith smiled and cupped his cheek, drawing him forward for a kiss. “You were right.”
“Naturally,” he answered, not quite sure which of the many things he’d told or shown her in the past hour she considered right, but it didn’t matter.
She laughed lightly. “You are also rather arrogant, but then, it suits you.” She yawned again. “Is coupling always so tiring?”
Gerard brushed back a handful of dampened hair from her face. “Only when very good.”
“Were we good together, Gerard?” she asked, her eyelids fluttering closed.
“Oh, yea, scamp. Very, very good.”
She fell asleep with a smile on her face. He pulled her closer, tucking her head into a comfortable niche on his shoulder. She slid an arm across his chest and a leg between his thighs.
