“Then do it,” she urged, engulfing him with the strength of her desire. “I cannot stop you. I cannot stop myself.”
Brant groaned at her throaty confession. Della grabbed onto his shoulders in anticipation and parted her thighs to him. When he pulled his finger out of her and lifted her up, she was forced to reach into the branches for support. Brant sucked a ripened nipple into his mouth, sucking, biting, licking, kissing. A hand kneaded the flesh of her butt as he took himself in hand to guide his arousal to her wet folds, teasing as he rubbed the tip back and forth over her swollen nub.
Arching her back, she thrust forward in the rhythm he’d taught her. He slid into her with ease. Della let out a loud moan of satisfaction, propelling him forward with a mighty thrust of her hips. She was so hot and her liquid caused his shaft to glide freely. Brant grunted his animalistic demands into her heaving breast as he continually sheathed himself within her.
Della seized another tree branch above her head for support as his movements became more fervent. His lips grazed the opposite breast, giving it as much attention as he had its twin.
“Yea, Della,” Brant encouraged with another violent thrust. “That’s it, accept me within you. Let me ride you.”
He plunged in and out of her softness, his shaft possessing her very core with its thick length. She treasured the potency of her husband as he claimed her. He was so strong, so powerful. His size dominated her. His strength commanded and controlled her. She gripped the branches as his hands supported her backside under the heavy gown she wore, squeezing and spreading the mounds. The rhythm of his hips quickened, urging her to her release.
Della screamed as she neared the trembling end of her agony and the beginning of her zenith. His hips attacked with the unrelenting persistence of a conquering army, pumping deeper and faster inside her. Suddenly, his barbarous yell joined hers as he released his seed, their joined flesh trembling in perfect unison.
As the quaking subsided, Della’s limbs weakened and dropped from the tree onto the support of his shoulders. Her heavy breath mingled with his.
“It’s a good thing one is only allowed to do that once a night, lest it might get addicting.” Della sighed against his shoulder, completely sated. She was too weak to be self-conscious. “It might be I who shackles you to a bed. Methinks I may make you my prisoner.”
“Ah, my poor misguided wife.” Brant chucked as he kissed her brow. “We shall see how many times a night one can do that.”
“You mean?” She leaned back as he set her on the ground. He nodded as he fastened his braccas at his waist. A heated flush came to her features, but her eyes flashed with excitement. “How many times?”
He leaned over and picked up the rest of their discarded clothing. Looking up through the long strands of his blond hair, he shot her a devilish smile. “Come, wife, let us go abovestairs. We shall find out together.”
* * * * *
“M’lord?” The midwife looked up in mild surprise. “How did you get in here?”
“Never you mind how.” Stuart slipped off his wet undertunic and threw it on the floor near the small fire. The full moon had outlined the hard lines of the castle and he had seen the lax castle guards easily in the pale blue light. They didn’t expect intruders, instead watching the distant competitions in the exercise yard, jesting and wagering at their posts. He’d swum the freezing waters of the moat and scaled the rough stone of the newly constructed wall to get back inside Strathfeld. The stonemason had yet to completely smooth the stone, making it easier to climb.
Stuart shook the water from his short hair and gave the woman an irate look. She crushed herbs and paused to scrape at the powder she prepared with her long fingernail to test its consistency and dig out a few unwanted specks. “I wasn’t about to sleep on the ground without the benefit of my servants, who even now slumber soundly within the keep.”
Serilda nodded and motioned to the bed. “Then sleep if it’s why yer here, m’lord.”
Even her flattery in using the title that was not his didn’t cheer him.
“Why did you not send word sooner, Serilda? Do you know how much harder things are now?” Stuart pouted in anguish, ignoring her invitation for sleep as he scowled.
“No, why don’t you tell me how hard things are?” Serilda glanced to where his shaft lay between his thighs and gave him a catlike smile. She busied herself grinding another handful of herbs into powder, crushing them onto a slight piece of marble with a flat stone.
“This isn’t amusing,” Stuart fumed. “I have spent my entire life catering to her fears, becoming her friend, so much so that five years ago I could take it no more and disappeared. I trusted you to keep me informed.”
“You soon forget,” Serilda said bitterly. “You also left me five years ago.”
“Nay, I have been back since then. Do you forget our nights together so easily?”
“Nay.” Serilda hid her emotions from her eyes, instead choosing to flash him a relaxed smile. “Though one can hardly claim that once or twice a year is being attentive, m’lord.”
“I never stopped you from finding pleasure elsewhere.” Stuart said with a lustful smirk. “In fact, I remember watching you get it elsewhere on occasion.”
Serilda chuckled. “I ne’er claimed I waited alone.”
“Is that why you didn’t tell me sooner? Because of your stupid woman’s jealousy?” Stuart walked to her table and leaned his palms on the wood. “I have already told you, if I was allowed to marry you I would have, but then we would be poor. Where would we live? In a cottage while you sold your poisons?”
“I did send you word,” Serilda shot back in irritation. “It was I who told you of the proposed marriage.”
“But you were to make sure it never happened. You knew well what I would have wanted. If I couldn’t make it back in time, you were supposed to take care of him.”
“Have you seen him? He is as healthy as they come. He ne’er has need of my services. Mayhap if he needed a soothing ointment fer his muscles or a sleeping potion I could have done something. But I could not poison his food without killing everyone in the manor.” Serilda waved a dismissing hand. “Besides, who was to know the betrothal announcement would come so quickly? And the wedding so soon after that?”
“You were supposed to make sure Lord Strathfeld died from his wounds.” He pounded the table. “Della would have never allowed the marriage if not for her father!”
“You didn’t get back in time, m’lord. Mayhap she isn’t as taken with you as you think. Five years is a long time in the heart of a woman,” Serilda defended, bitterness touching her words. A solid mask fell over her dark beauty. “Don’t blame me.”
“How could I have gotten here on time? I only found out about it a sennight ago.”
“It’s not my fault.” Serilda scooped up the powder with her little fingernail and tasted it. Lowering her voice, she said thoughtfully, “Almost ready.”
“You were to stop Lord Strathfeld from making the betrothal announcement.” Stuart rubbed his wet hair in frustration. “You were supposed to kill him!”
“Yea, and I did, too. Have you seen him up and about of late?” Calmly, Serilda lifted her hand and held out a fistful of grainy powder. Motioning her fist to a goblet at the end of the table, she commanded, “Mix it in that ale there.”
Stuart took the goblet and held it under her hand. The grains fell silently into the liquid as her finger’s loosened. Eagerly, he watched her stir the concoction with her long nail. He licked his lips in anticipation.
“Now, drink it,” she ordered, turning back to her grinding stone and licking her wet finger slowly while watching him.
Stuart did as she commanded, drinking the mixture in several gulps. He wiped his mouth on his arm. Setting down the goblet, he moved to her small bed.
“Now, we can talk.” Serilda smiled as she set down the grinding stone. She dipped her finger into the bitter powder only to place the herb into her mouth, swallowing it with
her spit. Turning to him, she unfastened her simple dress. “Soon, you will not be so aggravated.”
Stuart watched her as he sat on the bed. He licked his lips, jealous and aroused by the idea that she had taken other lovers. “How many have you taken since I was last here?”
“Men or women?”
He groaned, his shaft so hard it felt as if it might break.
“I seem to remember watching you get yer pleasure elsewhere.” Serilda let her dress fall from her shoulders. “Would you like me to drug a maid for you, my lord?”
He didn’t answer.
“How did you do it?” Stuart fell on his back in her bed, calmed drastically by the drink. “How did you kill him?”
“Lord Strathfeld was wounded at Martin. I made sure the wound ne’er healed and when he did not die fast enough, I rubbed poison into it.” Serilda came to him on the bed. “He would not have lasted much longer. I just helped him along.”
“You didn’t do it soon enough.” He grabbed her, pulling himself up so he could press his face between her plentiful breasts.
Serilda rubbed his short, dark hair, scratching her fingernails into his head. “It’s true, but you said she would ne’er marry the barbarian. Mayhap it’s you who misjudged her.”
“He took her maidenhead,” he whined. “It was to be mine.”
“Nay, I took it from her.” She shot him a naughty grin as she lifted two fingers to show him her shortened nails. “He ordered her ‘checked’. Methinks he feared she carried yer babe.”
Stuart laughed. His arms tingled with the potion she had given him.
“I have a present fer you, which might make you feel better.” Serilda let go of him and opened a small trunk by the bed. She picked out a bundle and handed it to him.
“I know naught of presents, but come back and I will show you how to make me feel better.” He scratched his naked stomach as he fell back onto the bed.
Serilda laughed as he dropped the unopened package and pulled her to his chest. Strange and colorful lights began to dance around them. “Do not worry. Soon, there will be no one to stop you. I have seen the future.”
“Yea, witch.” Stuart let the drug take him over completely. “I have seen it, too.”
Chapter Fourteen
Della languidly stretched her arms above her head, sliding against the soft fur coverlet. A contended sigh whispered dreamily from her parted lips. She refused to open her eyes, satisfied to lie in the soft cloud of the bed. Her body still stung with pleasure from the night of lovemaking. Brant’s stamina had been tireless and Della swore she could still feel the brand of his touch over the whole length of her body.
By the end of their fourth joining, Brant had explored every inch of her. She in turn learned the workings of his desire. His lips, his skin, his appetite, everything had been so new to her. He’d shown her repeated pleasure until her body refused to move, and he’d shown her positions from which her limbs would surely never recover. When he was sated and finally let her rest, she’d drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep at his side.
She felt him breathing next to her naked body. His knee came between her legs from behind and his arm wrapped around her so that his hand rested possessively on her breast. He flexed his fingers gently against her nipple. A wave of longing shot through her.
Again? She smiled, liking the idea. She wondered if he still slept.
Opening her eyes, she saw it was indeed late in the day. She couldn’t remember when she’d lazed about so long in bed—probably because she never had.
“Brant?” Della’s eyes sparked with naughty pleasure. “Lord Blackwell, are you awake?”
When she received no answer, she disentangled her legs from his and turned in his arms. He slept quietly, his chest rising and falling in a deep, even sleep. She took her finger and ran it down the center of his chest, watching his eyes to see if he stirred. Her sex grew moist as she thought of him inside of her.
Leaning back, she peeked at his member. It lay limp and soft on the bed. Della frowned in puzzlement. It had looked much bigger at night and had been very hard.
I’ve broken it! Della gasped.
She watched his face to see if he showed any signs of pain as she flicked it with the tip of her finger. He didn’t move and he didn’t seem to be hurt. Growing adventurous she touched it more fully. It was silky and pliable and the skin moved peculiarly when she rubbed it. Della tried not to laugh as she glanced back up. Brant’s chest still rose and fell in sleep.
Mayhap it only works at night, Della concluded. Her heart dropped a bit in disappointment. But then she felt his shaft twitch in her hands and quickly looked down to see what had happened.
Before her eyes, it started to grow and form in her palm. The more it grew, the firmer it became. Della moved her hand to the base of his shaft. She wrapped her fingers about the width and squeezed gently while running her hand to the tip. Almost instantly it sprung to capacity. Her breathing deepened as she recalled the delight he had been able to give her. Grabbing his butt, she pulled him toward her hips.
“Methinks you are up to no good this morn, wife,” Brant grumbled sleepily. He’d felt her turn in his arms. It had been part of his war training to be able to wake quickly and look as if he still slept. When his mind had determined there was no need for him to be too on alert, he’d relaxed enough to let his wife explore his body. It had taken all of his might to hold still and let her touch him. Lifting one eyelid to study her, he asked, “Are you not sated, wench?”
Della blushed prettily, but didn’t stop her bold advances. “It’s your pagan curse, m’lord. If you have complaints, take it off me.”
Most women of little experience were too self-conscious to make such bold confessions. He was amazed, though greatly pleased, by her assertiveness and by the quick change in her temperament toward him. She’d softened dramatically. Brant moved his hand over her smooth hip. In one deft motion, he lifted her leg with his hand and rolled so he could enter her. “Nay, wife, if you are cursed, I will you to remain so.”
Della shifted her hips to accept him.
“Nay, not yet.” Brant gave her a purposeful growl. He still wanted her, but after the night of love play he was finally able to control his lust. During the night, every time she’d moved to accept him, he had been unable to resist. “Let us play a little game.”
“But—” Della’s hips searched again.
“Nay, I will ask you a question and if you answer, I will let you have a little.” Brant smiled, proud of the idea. “Yea, and if you choose not to answer, which is your right, I will take a little away.”
“But—” Della moved her hands to his hips and tried to pull at him.
“Nay, you cannot touch me. You have to keep your hands above your head.
Della grumbled, but did as he said.
“Do you understand the rules?”
“Yea.” She pretended to pout.
“All right, my first question.”
“Nay, I answered the first! Where is my reward?”
“Greedy wench.” Brant liked her eagerness. He rubbed the tip of his shaft against her. “Now, who is the cleaning spirit?”
Della cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Hmm.” Brant frowned.
“She is a spirit that cleans,” she offered weakly.
“If you don’t want to tell me, fine.” Brant made a move to roll off her.
“Nay, I’ll tell you!” Then, her voice a small whimper, she said, “It is I.”
Brant laughed. “Methought as much. Why?”
“The servants were being lazy. It was the only way I could get them to listen to me and clean. At first I would just do some of the chores myself while they slept, but then one night I got angry at all the work that needed to be done. It was as if they stopped working on purpose to let the spirit do it. So I tore the manor apart. A few discreetly placed hints and the servants were working for fear of the spirit.” Della blushed. “I was seventeen year
s and I could think of nothing else.”
“All right,” Brant allowed with a thoughtful nod. He narrowed his eyes to examine her closely. “How many years are you?”
“Two and twenty.” Della rolled her eyes.
“Methought you were a bit aged,” he teased. In the opinion of society, she was past her prime. Girls usually got married as early as thirteen and then it was to old men.
“Nay, methinks you are the elder one, Brant the fiery thorn!” Della hit him in the shoulder. He swayed off her in mock pain.
Della straddled him and held him by his wrists. If he really wanted to, he could throw her off him with little effort. He didn’t struggle too hard.
“What will you do to me, m’lady?” Brant pretended to be scared, but it didn’t hold for he was soon eyeing her breasts as they bobbed before his gaze.
“I don’t know yet,” Della pondered. “Mayhap, if you are behaved, I will let you stay here as a slave.”
“Bed slave?” Brant questioned hopefully.
Della laughed at the eagerness in his tone. “Nay, I have too many of those at the moment. But I do need someone to clean the garderobes.”
Brant growled, bucking her naked body off him.
Della landed on her backside and Brant quickly rolled to trap her with his leg.
“That isn’t amusing, lady wife.” Brant nuzzled her throat, tickling her with his whiskers, causing her to shiver. Even in jest, the idea filled him with jealousy.
“Fine, then if not a slave…” Della sighed. “I have a question.”
“Yea?” The sound was muffled into her throat as Brant forgot his game.
“Where did you get all the scars on your body?”
“In battle.”
“That much is apparent.” Della inched away to look at his face. “How?”
“You don’t wish to hear such things.”
She gave him an odd look. “Don’t think you know me so well. If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked.”
Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice Page 22
