by Nora Roberts
But he laughed as he said it and suddenly released her arms. He shifted off her and Lianna shot upright, sweeping her hair back from her face. She sprang off the bed and across the room, her breasts rising and falling in such a way that Ambrose could not take his eyes off her.
He came slowly to his feet. She was magnificent. Slender and elegant in her chemise, which clung to her pretty white breasts and rounded hips. Beautiful, proud, elegant—and frightened. Though she fought to keep from showing it, he saw that behind the sparkle in her eyes there was a tinge of fear. Her lips trembled, though she stood straight and tall—a delicate yet formidable warrior woman.
She would never admit her fear. He could see that. She would rather die than beg him to be gentle.
He had bedded many women in his time, all of them willing—eager, even—for his touch. Yet this one, his bride, feared him, despised him. He knew she considered him beneath her. He wanted suddenly to command her senses, her mind, her body, to melt her ice with fire and have her come eagerly into his arms and his bed.
He went to her, moving slowly so as not to frighten her any more than she already was. He saw her back up apace, then stop herself, no doubt knowing that she couldn’t escape him a step at a time.
“Lianna.” He reached out and cupped that dainty chin in his fingers, forcing her head up. The candlelight spilled over her, setting her pale skin aglow.
“Be calm. I’ve no intention of hurting you.”
“You already have!”
He raised his brows. “I have not.”
She hated to admit it, but it was true. He had curbed his strength carefully and had done her no harm. Yet.
“Perhaps it is your pride that is hurt,” he said and ran a finger along the sumptuous curve of her lip.
She trembled all over. And a new fear consumed her as she stared into Ambrose’s eyes. He would see that she herself was torn—torn between a strange, heated attraction to him and a desire to flee. Something piercing and brilliant in those silver-gray eyes seemed able to read her soul, her heart.
She struggled for the frosty dignity that would be her only protection.
“I told you once—at the inn—that I know my duty, and I do,” she said quickly. “But there is no need to rush into anything, my lord. Is there? You must be fatigued from your battle…”
“I am not.”
“And perhaps injured…”
“Nary a scratch.”
“And we scarcely know each other!” she rushed on.
“That can be easily remedied.”
He was grinning at her! Lianna’s heart flipped over, and she cursed it for a traitor.
She ought to be furious with him at the way he’d treated her tonight, and yet…
There was a weakness in her knees that made her actually long to lean into him, to feel his arms snug around her again. Surely, surely, he couldn’t read that in her eyes.
“Wait…my lord.” In desperation, she wrenched away and retreated to the window. Beyond, the darkness gleamed, a half-moon glistened in a pale curve of light, and the stars glittered pure as crystals. “Look at the night. It is so lovely. Perhaps if we gaze out for a while at the moon…and the…sky…we will see a falling star,” Lianna chattered, scarcely knowing what she said.
Ambrose pulled her away from the window and into his arms. “Now why would I care to see a falling star, Lianna, when I can gaze into your eyes?” he said softly.
Her skin burned where he touched her. This odd tingling sensation, the leaping in her heart, had never happened before—not when any of her suitors had touched her, looked at her, complimented her. Confusion warred with panic in her head, and Lianna found herself gazing up at him in desperate appeal.
“Kind w-words, my lord, but…they say if you make a wish upon a falling star, it will come true…”
“What would you wish for, Lianna? I would know.”
“Wish for?”
He nodded, and his hand slid down through her curls, slowly, gently, and cupped her nape. His fingers were strong and warm against her skin, sending delicious shivers down her arms.
“I would wish….” Suddenly the words burst from her. “That you would not stand so close to me…or hold me so…”
“But you are my lawful wife,” he reminded her, his voice low, firm, and not the least bit reassuring. “And you are ready to do your duty. You married me of your own free will and in good faith, and I can do with you as I please. Whatever I please.”
She sucked in her breath, every inch of her tensing. “Then I would wish that you were human and not a barbarous monster!”
She tried to pull away from him, but found herself inexorably caught, held, imprisoned by arms far stronger than any that had ever touched her. “I would wish that you would show patience, mercy, understanding, that I could somehow touch your heart…if you had a heart!”
“Touch my heart?” He stared down into her eyes, his own glinting with amusement. He leaned closer, his strong, handsome face only inches from hers. “You have a better chance to catch a falling star, Lianna, than you do to touch a warrior’s heart.”
“That, my lord, is obvious,” she cried, and kicked at him, but instead of releasing her, he only grunted, then laughed and tightened his hold.
“Come,” he said, and swept her off her feet, cradling her against his chest. “There have been enough words between us this evening. I am a warrior, Lianna, a brute and a barbarian, as you say—and for a man like me, words are of little use. To stay alive, I must act.”
He set her down upon the bed, not ungently, but neither did he give her a chance to roll away. Even as she tried to bolt, he pinioned her once again, clasping her wrists above her head, gazing into her eyes with unmistakable determination.
“You have every right,” Lianna said between gritted teeth. “So do what you will. For Penmarren’s sake, I gladly sacrifice myself to your base needs, your low animal…”
She made a moaning sound deep in her throat as his mouth came down upon hers and incinerated her words. And not only her words. Her bones, her blood, her soul. The kiss was deep, roaringly hot, vanquishing.
His mouth worked clever magic. His body pressed her down, down into the velvet covers. And her heart soared as never before when his hands roved over her with strokes of unexpected gentleness.
As if drawn onto a battlefield, Lianna found herself waging a war of heat and desire. Determined to feel nothing, to want nothing from him but to be finished with him and left alone, she found herself swiftly caught up in a maelstrom of emotions so stormy and riotous she could scarcely think. Her arms flung around his neck, she pulled him close, closer, and as his tongue thrust boldly into her mouth, she quivered as if he’d shot an arrow through her. She was kissing him back before she knew what had happened, writhing beneath him, not to escape but to satisfy an exquisite urge that grew more insistent with every touch.
“So beautiful.” His lips scorched lightly along her throat. She trembled. “Let me look at you, Lianna.” His voice was excitingly deep. “Let me love you.”
He leaned back slowly and she sat up, her breath coming in shallow gasps. They gazed into each other’s eyes, neither of them able to look away. “I want to see all of you,” he said huskily and instead of wishing to flee from those gleaming eyes, Lianna angled forward as he touched a hand to the neckline of her delicate gown.
She shivered as he removed the ivory gown. The warm light of his eyes pleased her, and experimentally, she tossed her head, letting her long sable curls swirl around her shoulders and over her breasts. To her delight, a muscle clenched in Ambrose’s jaw, and his eyes darkened to the color of smoke.
“Your turn,” she heard herself whisper, amazed by her own boldness. She reached for his tunic and removed it, then gazed at him in wonder.
He was splendid. So splendid. All steel and bronzed muscle, his stomach flat, his chest broad and powerful, furred with soft, dark hair that invited her fingers to touch it.
But even as she
did so, she realized that his warrior’s patience was wearing thin. He made a growling sound deep in his throat and snatched her to him, tangling his hands in her hair, pressing his mouth against her breast.
Her startled gasp quickly turned to a moan of dizzy pleasure. Sweet sensations such as she had never known swept through her as he laid her down among the silk and velvet pillows and with his roughened hands and seeking mouth set about exploring every tingling inch of her.
Her breasts ached as his palms rubbed against them, building to a slow torment. How could such strength be curbed into such tantalizing gentleness? she wondered as thought buckled beneath waves of pure, sleek pleasure. Pulling him down upon her, closer, ever closer, Lianna pressed wild kisses against his flesh. Reason, time, dignity vanished. There were only Ambrose and her—the two of them alone in the whole wide world, only passion and fire and bliss so sweet her blood sang with it.
Her throat quivered as he stroked it. Gently, surely. Seductively. Flames licked through her. Lianna clutched at him, her own hunger building, building to a consuming arc of fire. The length of her body grew aroused and torturously sensitive as he rained moist, hot kisses upon all its secret places, and she cried out, begging him wordlessly, tremblingly, to fulfill the promise of those kisses, to relieve the almost painful ache that had begun to rock her with primitive need and longing.
He laughed low in his throat and continued to torment her with knowing hands and ruthless mouth. He held her, opened her, took her, inch by inch conquering her body, melting her defenses, storming her soul.
There upon the velvet-covered bed, by firelight and moonlight and starlight, they discovered each other, princess and warrior. They were locked in a sweet, rough battle that was as ancient as the earth and from which there was no retreat.
They waged the battle long and hard into the night—until victory claimed them—a fierce, wild victory sweetened with joy. Lianna felt herself exploding again and again, brilliant colors and sensations tearing through her, Ambrose’s strong arms and hard thighs clenched her, holding her earthbound while her senses soared and her heart throbbed at his every touch, kiss, and thrust.
He drove her to the brink of madness and sent her toppling over. She set him afire as he’d never been afire before. He buried his face in her hair, plunged inside her and stormed every battlement. Bodies linked, hearts racing, blood pounding, they wrested shattering fulfillment from each other’s arms.
Outside the castle walls, the moon sailed across the sky, the stars winked and glowed. Within Lianna’s bedchamber, the fire in the hearth gilded their sweat-slicked skin with palest gold. Spent and shaken, they lay together across the bed, all in a heap, and at last—at long, long last—at peace.
6
CALM AND LIANNA’S senses slowly returned. She became aware that she was entangled with Ambrose, arms and legs entwined, linked, touching so intimately that it was no wonder she still felt the flush of heat.
She felt no urge to move or escape. This alarmed her, and she lifted a hand to her heart. What in heaven’s name had come over her?
She had lost her mind, become crazed. Over a barbarian.
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to have given herself to him with reluctance and silent revulsion. She was not supposed to have enjoyed even one moment of it.
But she had thrown herself into their union with such passionate desire—no, need—that a pink blush stole over her naked form as she remembered it.
You hate this man. You loathe him. He forced you to this marriage, he is a bloodthirsty bastard who takes what he wants and lives by the sword and…
He made you feel more alive than you ever have before. He made you forget you’re a princess and feel like a woman. He made you want him with all of your soul, want him so deeply and powerfully that you gave yourself to him, to this enemy, with abandon—and, may the angels save you—with joy.
She swallowed a cry in her throat and slid off the bed, extricating herself carefully from Ambrose’s heavy limbs. Shivering, for the fire had died down, she pulled on her sleeping gown and then lifted her cloak from its peg and wrapped it around her. The star-brooch glinted at her shoulder as she crept to the window and stared out at the purple sky.
She wanted to hate him, this man who had swept her from her home and brought her to this accursed castle. But he was not what she had expected. She remembered how he had laughed at her when she’d fallen off the bed in the inn. The way he’d fought the men who would have harmed her in the forest, killing them with single-minded fury. The way he’d plundered her mouth with sweet kisses and awakened her body to glorious pleasure as they tossed upon the bed like cresting waves across a burning sea.
Her wish—if she had but seen a falling star—would have been to touch his heart. But, heaven help her, he had touched hers.
If she wasn’t careful—most careful—she would find herself in love with him.
“No,” Lianna whispered, scarcely realizing that she spoke aloud until the next moment, when she heard his voice beside her.
“No, what, Princess?”
How long had she been gazing at nothingness, lost in dreamy thought? She’d never even heard him rouse himself from the bed or don his tunic. As she glanced up at him, so darkly handsome in the dim room, her heart ached, and she searched his somber face for some of the same emotions that she felt.
But she found none. Ambrose looked like the fierce warrior he was—strong, cold, aloof. And in a hurry to be gone.
“I was thinking aloud.” Her reply was soft, and she knew that a ridiculous blush was staining her cheeks.
“Oh?” For an instant she thought he was trying to search her mind, as she sought to search his. His gaze settled on her, warming, but then, just as quickly, it grew cool.
“You should return to the bed. The air is chill.”
Instead of obeying him, she merely pulled the cloak closer around her.
“Stubborn as always, I see.”
He spoke evenly, yet he found himself exerting every measure of self-discipline he possessed to steel himself against the beauty that radiated from her. It smote his heart to gaze at her and remember the feel of her in his arms, the sweet, enticing warmth of her beneath him, the scent of roses and woman that had filled his nostrils as he loved her. If he was not careful, he thought in alarm, he would find himself thinking of her when he had no business to be thinking of anything but the matters at hand. Whether fighting or leading war councils, he could not afford to be distracted by thoughts of a woman—any woman, even one as spectacular as this one.
“I must leave you,” he said curtly. If he didn’t leave soon, he would carry her to that bed and make love to her again. And again. By all that was holy, he wanted to do just that. “William is to ride out on a scouting mission at first light, and I have need to speak with him before he goes.”
Then his gaze fell upon the roots and plants protruding from the pocket of her cloak. Frowning, he snatched them before Lianna could protest.
“There is a crone in the village who knows of the healing arts. She will tell me if these are to be used solely in innocent medicines—or if they could be used for ill purposes as well.”
“So you doubt my word?”
“I doubt everyone’s word, lady. It is why I still live today.”
They had made love to each other in that bed, kissed, touched, held each other in the most intimate of ways, and he doubted her word over a simple matter of herbs?
“What did she do with her plants and herbs, Ambrose?” she asked quietly, her dark hair swaying back from her face as she lifted her eyes to his. “Your first wife—did she try to poison you?”
Anger pulsed through his veins. He set the plants down upon a low table. “How do you know about my wife’s dabblings?”
“So it’s true, then? Mine was only a guess, since you are so wary of that which I’ve gathered. But…” Lianna took a deep breath. “Is that why you killed her?” she continued, as steadil
y as she could. Her eyes were glued to his face. “Because she tried to poison you?”
His hands tightened into fists. “So you think it still,” he said, his voice low, harsh. “Even after—”
He broke off, his mouth white with anger. Had he been about to say “even after last night”? Lianna would never know, for instead of completing the sentence, he seized her arm.
“You must fear me, then.” Granite eyes pierced her. “For if it were true, I could kill you as well. As easily as a hawk swallows a mouse.”
“You’re trying to frighten me.” Lianna spoke calmly, but the slight quaver in her voice gave her away.
“Do you know how she died?” Ambrose asked brutally. “She fell—from the parapet in my bedchamber.”
“Fell?” It was a whisper. “Or was pushed?”
“What do you think?”
She stared into that stern, hard face, with its harsh lines and the dark stubble across his jaw. Studying the gray shards of his eyes, she remembered how tender had been his kisses in the night, the care he had taken not to hurt her.
“She fell.” The words came from her in a cool, soft breath, edged with certainty.
Ambrose slowly nodded. The tension went out of his shoulders, and a flicker of relief lightened those penetrating eyes.
“Actually,” he said, “she jumped.”
“Jumped?”
“Madeline became so caught up in her potions and strange medicines—trying to ensure that she would bear my child—that she grew desperate.” He sighed, released her arm, and raked a hand through his hair. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does matter. Please tell me.”
He hesitated, but the urgency in her gaze, and something in her voice, made him sigh again and lead her to the gold-cushioned bench beneath the window. They sat side by side, and as the candles sputtered low, casting pale, glimmering shadows across their faces, he spoke to her in a low, grim tone.
